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^T KC e: t e i>/l f X-. e o c3- xj e lever,." 



THE WORKS 

OF 



CHARLES LEVER, 

(HARRY LORREQUER.) 
EMBRACING THE FOLLOWING VOLUMES OF HIS WORKS: 



HARRY LORREQUER; CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON; PAUL 

GOSSLETT'S CONFESSIONS; JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN; 

THE O'DONOGHUE, AND ROLAND CASHEL. 



|;IUtstratert 

WITH THIRTY-TWO FULL-PAGE CHROMO-LITHOGRAPHS FROM 
DRAWINGS BY H; K. BROWNE. 

THE COLOR DESIGNS ENGRAVED EXPRESSLY FOR THIS EDITION. 



TWO VOLUMES IN ONE. 






THE TEXT COMPLETE AND UNALTERED. 



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ci 



NEW YORK: 

POLLARD & MOSS, PUBLISHERS, 

47 JOHN STREET. 
t88o, 



'Y^'^ 



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A \^^- 



u"isriiroi?.ivj: Vv^iTti TKCis voi-.xj:m:e. 



/A^ PJ!£SS FOR [MM ED/ ATE PUBIJCATION. 
THK 

Second Series of Charles Lever'S Works, 

embracing the foli.owikg volumes: 

tom burke of "ours" ; maurice t/ernav, the soldier of fortune; 

the nevills of garrettsville ; martins of cro martin; 

con cregan. the irish gil fll.as; and gerald fitzgerald, 

the chevalier. 

With thirty-two full-page illustrations, 



PK.1NTKI> IN EIGHT COLORS FROM NICW AND ORIGINAL DKStClN.S MADE EXPRESSLY FOR THIS 

EniTION. 



TWO VOLUMES IN ONE. 



Ijcxi.3P©3:?iaX S-'cr-o, ooix-bai±xi.±n.g o-v-ei? 1,200 ]pag:©s. 



Copyright, "The Templeogo'e Lkver," by 

POLLARD & MOSS, 

1880. 



^)-.0 



CONTENTS 



HARRY LORREQUER. 



Preface 17 

CHAPTER PAGE 

I. — Arrival in Cork — Civic Festivities — 

Private Thealrical.s 18 

II. — Detacliment iJuiy — The ' Burton 

Anns," — Callonby 24 

III. — Life at Callonljy — Love-maliing — Miss 

O'Dowil's Adventure 28 

IV. — Botanical Studies — Tlie Natural System 

Preferable to the Linnxan. . 32 

V. — Puzzled — Kxplanation makes Bad 

Worse— A Duel 33 

VI. — The Priest's Supper — Father Malaehi 
atid the Coailjutor — Major Jones and 

the Alihe ... 37 

VII. — The Lady's Lcttci — Peter and his Ac- 
quaintances — Too Lale . 44 

VIII. — Congratulations — Sick Leave — How to 

pass the linaid ... 4S 

IX. — The Roail — Travelling Acquaint- 
ances — A Packet Adventure. . . . 50 

X, — Upset — Mind — and Body 52 

XL — Cheltenham — Matrimonal Adventure — 
Shov\ing how to make Love for a 

Friend 55 

XII. — Dublin — Tom O'Flaherty — \ Reminis- 

ence of the Peninsula 6l 

XIII. — Dublin — The Boarding House — Select 

Society 66 

XIV.— The Chase 71 

XV — Mems. of the North Cork 76 

XVI.— Theatricals 78 

XVII —The W.ager , 82 

XVIIL— The Elopement 87 

XIX — Detachment Duty— An Assize Town. . SS 
XX — The Assize Town .......... . . 93 

XXI. — A Day in Duldin 96 

XXII.— A Night at Plowth q3 



CHAPTER 
XXIII - 
XXIV.- 

XXV.- 
XXVI.- 
XXVIL- 
XXVIII. - 
XXIX.- 
XXX.- 
XXXI- 
XXXII. - 
XXXIII.- 
XXXIV.- 
XXXV - 
XXXVI.- 
XXXVII - 
XXXVIIL- 
XXXIX - 



XL.- 

XLL- 

XLII - 

XLIII. 

XLIV- 

XLV- 

XLVI - 

XLVII - 

XLVIIL- 

XLIX- 

L.- 

LL- 

LIL- 

LlII - 

LIV.- 

LV- 

LVL- 



The Journey , loi 

Calais. , , , . . 10 j 

•The Gendarme. . ... 

■The Inn at Chantraine 

■Mr. O'Leary , , .. . 

-Paris ^ 

■Paris. 



Captain Trevanion's Adventure 

■Diliiculties 

■Explanation 

-Mr. O'Leary 's First Love 

Mr. O'Leary s Second Love 

-The Duel 

-Early Recollections — A First Love. . . . 

■Wise Resolves 

■Tltc Proposal 

■Thoughts upon Matrimony in General, 
and in the Army in Particular — The 
Knight of Kerry and Billy M'Cabe. . 

-A Reminiscence 

The Two Letters. . ..... ; 

■Mr O'Lcary's Capture 

-The Journey 

■The Journey 

■A Reminiscence of the East. . . 

■A Day in the Phcenix 

An Adventure in Canada 

■The Courier's Passport 

A Night in Strasbourg 

■A Surprise 

Jack Waller's Story 

-Municli. . .. .. 

Inn at Munich 

■The Ball .. . 

■A Discovery , 

-Conclusion 



lot. 
Ilci 
115 

lU) 

124 
127 
130 
132 
131 
137 
I4(J 
144 
147 



151 

152 
icb 
15S 
l?9 
161 
162 
164 
165 
lC() 
171 
174 
177 
182 
184 
185 
iSS 
192 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



Preface 

CHAPTER 
L- 
II.- 
III.- 

IV.- 

V.- 

VI.- 

VII.- 

VIII.- 

IX.- 

X.- 

XI.- 

XII.- 

XIIL- 

XIV.- 

XV.- 

XVI.- 

XVIL- 

XVIII.- 



• • iQd 

PAGE 

Daly's Club House 197 

■The Escape 199 

■Mr. Blake 201 

■The Hunt 204 

-The Drawing-Room 207 

-The Dinner 208 

-The P'iight from Gurtna-Morra 212 

The Duel , . 21; 

-The Return 217 

The Election 219 

-An Adventure 222 

-Mickey Free 224 

-The Journey 228 

-Dublin .... 231 

Captain Power 234 

The Vice-Provost 239 

■Trir.itv College — A Lecture 240 

The Invitation — The W.iger 243 



CHAPTER PACK 

XIX.— The B.all 244 

XX. — The Last Night in Trinity 249 

XXL— The Phoenix Park 2S-5 

XXIL— The Road 256 

XXIII —Cork... 25S 

XXIV —The Adjutant's Dinner 2t(. 

XXV.— The Entanglement 262 

XXVI. — The Prepaiation 26-» 

XXVII.— The Supper 265 

XXVIII.— The Vny.age 269 

XXIX. — The Adjutant's Story — Life in Derry. . 271 
XXX. — Fred Power's Adventure in Philips- 
town 275 

XXXI— The Voyage , 278 

XXXIL— Mr Spai-ks's Story 23o 

XXXIIL— The Skipper 283 

XXXIV.— The Land 289 

XXXV. — Major Monsoon 2gt 

XXXVI.— The Landing, . 294 



C O N T E xN T S . 



CHAFIER PAGE 

XXXVIl.— Lisbon 29S 

XXXVIII. — The Kua Nuova 300 

XXXIX.— Tlie Villa 303 

XL. — 'I'lii; Dinner 304 

XLL — Tlie Route 305 

XLIL— The Farewell 306 

XLin.— The March 308 

XLIV.— The Bivouac , 311 

XLV.— The Douro 314 

XLVL — The Morning 318 

XLVIL— The Review 320 

XLVIII —The Quarrel 322 

XLL\. — The Rouie 324 

L. — 'Ihe Walch-Fire 325 

LL— The March 32S 

LIL — The Page 329 

LIU. — Alvas 331 

LI V. — The Supper 333 

LV. — The Legion 335 

LVI. — The DeparLure 336 

. LVII. — Cuesta 340 

LVIIL— The Letter 341 

LIX. — Major O'Shaughnessy 342 

LX. — Prelnninaries 343 

LXL— All Right 344 

LXII.— The Duel 345 

LXIII. — New.s from Galway 347 

LXIV. — An Adventure with Sir Arthur 349 

LXV. — Talavera 350 

LXVL — Night After Talavera 352 

LXVIL— The Outpost , 354 

LXVIII.— 'ihe Doctor's Tale 357 

LXIX.— The Skirmish 361 

LXX. — The Lines of Ciudacl Rodrigo 364 

LXXI.— The Doctor 367 

LXXIL— The Coa... 36S 

LXXIIL-The Night Marck 371 

LXXIV. — The Journey 373 

LXXV.— The Ghost..., 375 

LXXVL— Li>lmn 378 

LXXVIL— A Pleasant Predicament 381 

LXXVIIL— The Dinner 3S3 

LXXIX. — The Letter. 384 



CHAPTF.R PAGE 

LXXX.— The Villa 387 

LXXXI— The Visit 390 

LXXXII. — The Confession 393 

LXXXIII.— My Charger 394 

LXXXIV.— Maurice 396 

LXXXV. — 'Ihe Masquerade 398 

LXXXVL — The Lines 402 

LXXXVII. — The Retreat of the French 404 

LXXXVIII. — I'airicli's Day in the Peninsula 405 

LXXXIX.— Fuentes D'Onoro 412 

XC. — The B:itlle of Fuentes D'Onoro 413 

XCI. — A Rencontre 417 

XCII. — Almeida 419 1' 

XCIII. — A Night at the Azava 420 

XCIV.— Mike's Mistake 426\. 

XCV. — Monsoon in "I'rouble 428 \ 

XCVI.— The Confidence 432 

XCVII. — The Cantonment 434 

XCVI II. — Mickey F'ree's Adventure 436 

XCIX.— The San Petro 43S 

C. — The Count's Letter 442 

CI. — The Trenches .... 443 

CII. — The .Storming of Ciudad Rodrigo 44^ 

CIII. — The Rampart 447 

CIV. — The Despatch 449 

CV.^The Leave 451 

CVI. — London 454 

CVIL- The Bell at Bristol 456 

CVII I. — Ireland 460 

CIX. — The Return 464 

ex. — Home ... 465 

CXI. — An Old Acquaintance 469 

CXIl. — A .Surprise 472 

CXIIL— New Views 476 

CXI v. — A Recognition 478 

CXV.— A Mistake 481 

CXVL— Brussels 485 

CXVII —An Old Acquaintance 488 

CXVIII. — The Duchess of Richmond's Ball 492 

CXIX. — Quartre Bras 497 

CXX.— Waterloo 504 

CXXI. — Brussels 510 

CXXII — Conclusion.. 513 



PAUL GOSSLETT'S CONFESSIONS. 



My First Mission under F. O 517 

AS TO LOVE. 

CHAPTER PAGE 

L— "In Doubt," 525 



CHAPTER PACK 

II. — The Rev. Dan Dudgeon 528 

III. — The Runaway , 530 

AS TO LAW. 
As to Law 533 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



" We talked of pipe-clay — regulation caps — 

Long twenty-fours — short culverins and mortars — 
Condemned the ' Horse-Guards' for a set of raps, 

And cursed our fate at being in such quarters. 
Some smoked, some siglied, and some were heard to snore, 

Some wished themselves five fathoms 'neath the Sohvay; 
And some did pray — who never prayed before — 

That they might get the ' route' for Cork or Gahvay." 



PREFACE. 

That some thirty years after the sketches which form this 
volume were written I should be called on to revise and re- 
edit them is strange enougli to me ; well remembering, as I 
do, with what little hope of permanence they were penned, 
how lightly they were undertaken, and how carelessly 
thrown together. But there is something still stranger in 
the retrospect, and that is, that these same papers — for 
originally they were contributed as articles to the Dublin 
Univiisity AAi^vzhie — should mainly have directed the 
course of my future life, and decided my entire career. 

I may quote from a former preface, that I was living in a 
very secluded spot when I formed the idea of jotting down 
these stories, many of them heard in boyhood, others con- 
structed out of real incidents that had occurred to my friends 
in travel, and some again — as the adventures of Trevanion 
and the French duellist for instance — actual facts, well 
known to many who had formed part of the army of occu- 
pation in France. 

To give what consistency I might to a mass of incon- 
gruous .adventure, to such a variety of strange situations be- 
falling one individual, I was obliged to imagine acharacter, 
which probably my experiences — and they were not very 
mature at the time — assured me as being perfectly possible ; 
one of a strong will and a certain energy, rarely persistent 
in purpose, and perpetvially the sport of accident, with a 
hearty enjoyment of the pleasure of the hour, and a very 
reckless indifference as to the price to be paid for it. If I 
looked out on my acquaintances, I believed I saw many of 
the traits I was bent on depicting, and for others I am half 
afraid I had only to take a peep into myself. If it is an 
error, then, to believe that in these Confessions I have ever 
recorded any incidents of my own life, there is no mistake 
in supposing that — without being in the least aware of it — 
in sketching Harry Lorrequer, I was in a great measure 
depicting myself, and becoming, allegorically, an autobi- 
ographist. 

Here is a confession which, if thirty odd years had not 
rolled over, I might be indisposed to make, but time has 
enabled me to look back on iny work, and even on myself 
as I wrote it, with a certain degree of impartiality ; and to 
feel, as regards both, as the great Paley said a man feels 
after he has finished his dinner ; " That he might have done 
better." 

It is perfectly unnecessary that I should say when and 
where I wrote these sketches; no thought of future .author- 
ship of any kind occurred to me, far less did I dream of 
abandoning my profession as a physician for the precarious 
liveliirood of the pen. Indeed, their success, such as it was, 
only became known to me after I had left Ireland and gone 
to live abroad, and it w,a5 there — at Brussels — my publishers 
wrote to me to request a continuance of my Confessions, 
with the assurance they had found favor with the world, and 
flattering notice from the press. Though I have been what 
the sarcastic French moralist called "blessed with a bad 
memory" all my life, I can still recall the delight — I cannot 
call it less — with which I heard my attempt at authorship 
w.as successful. I did not awake, indeed, "to find myself 
famous," but I well remember the thrill of triumphant joy 



with which I read the letter that said " Go on," and the 
entrancing ecstasy I felt at the bare possibility of my one 
day becoming known as a writer. I have had, since then, 
some moments in which a partial success has made nie very 
happy and very grateful, but I do not believe that all these 
put together, or indeed any possible favor the world might 
mete to me, would impart a tithe of the enjoyment I felt- 
on hearing that Harry Lorrequer had been liked by the 
public, and that they had asked for more of him. 

If this sort of thing amuses them, thought I, I can go on 
forever ; and believing this to be true, I launched lorth 
with all that prodigal waste of material which, if it forms 
one of the reasons of the success, is, strictly speaking, one 
among the many demerits of this story. That I neither 
husbanded my resources, nor imagined that they ever could 
fail me, were not my only mistakes ; and I am tempted to 
show how little I understood of the responsibilities of au- 
thorship by repeating what I have told elsewhere, an inci- 
dent of the last number of Harry Lorrequer. The MSS. 
which contained the conclusion of the story had been sent 
through the Foreign Office bag from Brussels, and possibly 
had been mist.aken for a despatch. At all events, like King 
Theodore's letter, it had been thrown to one side and for- 
gotten. In this strait my publishers wrote to me in a strain 
that the trade alone knows how to employ towards an un- 
known author. 

Stung by the reproaches, and they were not mild, of my 
correspondent, I wrote back, enclosing another conclusion, 
and telling him to print either or both — as he pleased. Years 
after, I saw the first sent MSS., which came to hand at last, 
bound in my publishers' library, and lettered "Another 
ending to H. L. " 

When the great master of fiction condescended to inform 
the world on what small fragments of tradition or local 
anecdote the Waverley Novels were founded, he best exalted 
the marvellous skill of his own handiwork in .showing how 
genius could develop the veriest incident of a life into a 
story of surpassing power and interest. I have no such 
secrets to reveal, nor have I the faintest pretension to sup- 
pose the public would care to hear about the sources from 
which I drew either my characters or my incidents. I have 
seen, however, such references to supposed portraiture of 
individuals in this storj', that I am forced to declare that 
there is but one character in the book of which the origin.al 
had any existence, and to which I contributed nothing of 
exaggeration. This is F.athcr Malachi Brennan. The pleas- 
ant priest was alive when I wrote the tale, and saw himself 
in print, and — worse still — in picture, not, I believe, with- 
out a certain mock indignation, for he was too racy a humor- 
ist, and too genuine a lover of fun, to be really angry at 
this caricature of him. 

The amusing author of " The Wild Sports of the West" 
— Hamilton Maxwell — was my neighbor in the little water- 
ing-place where I was living, and our intimacy was not the 
less close from the graver character of the society around us. 
We often exchanged our experiences of Irish character and' 
life, and in our gossipings stories were told, added to, and 
amplified in such a way between us that I believe neither of 
us could have pronounced at last who gave the initiative of 
an incident, or on which side lay the authorship of any 
particular event. 



18 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



It would have been well had our intercourse stopped with 
these confidences, but unfortunately it did not. We often 
indulged in little practical jokes on our more well-conducted 
neighiiors, and I remember that the old soldier from whom 
I drew some of the features I have given to Colonel Kam- 
worth, was especially the mark of these harmless pleasant- 
ries. Our colonel was an excellent fellow, kind-hearted and 
hospitable, but so infatuated with a propensity to meddle 
with every one, and to be a partner to the joys, the afflic- 
tions, the failures, or the successes of all around him, that 
with the best possible intentions, and tlie most sincere de- 
sire to be useful to his neighbors, he became the cause of 
daily misconceptions and mistakes, sowed discord where he 
meant unity, and, in fact, originated more trouble and more 
distrust than the most malevolent mischief-maker of the 
whole country-side. 

I am forced to own that the small persecutions with which 
my friend Maxwell and myself followed the worthy colonel, 
the wrong intelligence with whicli we supplied him, par- 
ticularly as regarded the rank and station of the various 
visitors who came down during the bathing season ; the false 
scents on which we sent him. and the absurd enterprises on 
which we embarked him. even to the extent of a mock ad- 
dress which induced him to stand for the "borough" — the 
address to the constituency being our joint production — all 
these follies, I say, more or less disposed me, I feel sure, 
to th.at incessant flow of absurd incident which runs through 
this volume, and which, after all, has really little other than 
the reflex of our daily plottings and contrivings. 

I believe my old friend the colonel is still living ; if he be, 
and if he should read these lines, let him also read that I 
have other memories of him than those of mere jest and 
pleasantry — memories of his cordial hospitality and genial 
good nature — and that there are few things I would like 
better than to meet and talk with him over bygones, know- 
ing no one more likely to relish a pleasant reminiscence 
than himself, nor more certain to forgive along-past liberty 
taken with him. 

If there are many faults and blunders in this tale which I 
would willingly correct, if there be much that I would cur- 
tail or cut out altogether, and if there be also occasionally in- 
dents of which I could improve the telling, I am held back 
from any attempts of this kind by the thought that it was 
by these sketches, such as they are, I first won that hearing 
from the public which for more than thirty years has never 
deserted me, and that the favor which has given the chief 
pride and interest to my life dates from the day I was known 
.as Harry Lorrequer. Having given up the profession for 
which, I believe, I had some aptitude, to follow the pre- 
carious life of a writer, I suppose I am only admitting what 
many others under like circumstances might declare, that I 
have had my moments, and more than mere moments, of 
doubt and misgiving that I made the wiser choice, and 
bating the intense pleasure an occasional success has af- 
forded, I have been led to think that the career I had aban- 
doned would have been more rewarding, more safe from 
reverses, and less exposed to those variations of public taste 
which are the terrors of all who live on the world's favor. 

Strangely enough, it is my old doctorial instinct which 
should suggest the consolation to this passing regret. The 
life of the physician has nothing so thoroughly rewarding, 
nothing so cheering, so full of hearty encouragement, as in 
the occasional friendships to which it opens the way. The 
doctor attains to a degree of intimacy and stands on a foot- 
ing of confidence so totally exceptional, that if personal 
qualities lend aid to the position, his intercourse becomes 
friendship. Whether, therefore, my old career gave me any 
assistance in new roads, whether it imnarted to me any 
hal)its of investigation as applicable to the full in morals as 
to matter, it certainly imparted tome the happy accident of 
standing on good terms with — I was going to say — my 
patient, and perhaps no better word could be found for him 
who had heard me so long, trusted me so much, given me so 
large a share of his favor, and come to look on me with 
such friendliness. It would be the worst of ingratitude in 
me if I did not own that I owe to my books not only the 
pleasant intimacies of my life, but some ot my closest 
friendships. A chance expression, a fairly shadowed thought, 
a mere chord struck at random by a passing hand, as it 
were, has now and then placed me, as mesmerists call it, 
"t'« rapport" with some one who may have thought long 
and deeply on what I had but skimmed over ; and straight- 
way there was a bond between us. 



No small satisfaction has it been to me occasionally to 
hear that out of the over-abundance of my own buoyancy 
and lightheartedness — and I had a great deal of both long 
ago — I have been able to share with my neighbor and given 
him part of my sunshine, and only felt the warmer myself. 
A great writer — one of the most eloquent historians who 
ever illustrated the military achievements of his country — 
once told me that, as he lay sick and care-worn after a fever, 
it was in my reckless stories of soldier life he found the 
cheeriest moments of his solitude ; and now let me hasten 
to say that I tell this in no cpirit of boastfulness. but with 
the heartfelt gratitude of one who gained more by hearing 
that confession than Hany Lorrequer ever acquired by all 
his own. 

One word now as regards the task I am immediately en- 
gaged in, and I have done. 

My publishers propose to bring out in this edition a care- 
fully revised version of all my books in the order in which 
they were written ; each story to be accompanied by some 
brief notice explaining the circumstances under \^hich it 
was written, and to what extent fact or fiction had their 
share in the construction. 

If such notices may occasionally be but leaves of.an auto- 
biography, I must ask my reader to pardon me, and to be- 
lieve that I shall not impose my egotism upon him when it 
be possible to avoid it, while at the same time he shall know 
all that I myself know of the history of these volumes. 

If to go over again the pages I wrote so many years ago 
is in a measure to revisit in age the loved scenes of boyhood, 
and to ponder over passages the very spirit of whose dic- 
tation is dead and gone — if all this has its sadness, I am 
cheered by remembering that I am still addressing many 
old and dear friends, and have also for my audience the 
sons and grandsons, and, what I like better, the daughters 
and granddaughters, of those who once listened to Harry 
Lorrequer. 

CHARLES LEVER. 

Trieste, 1S72. 



CHAPTER I. 

ARRIVAL IN CORK — CIVIC FESTIVITIES — PRIVATE 
THEATRICALS. 

It was on a splendid morning in the autumn of 
the year 181 — ' that the ^i77C(7;v/ transport, with 
400 of his Majesty's 4 — th Regiment, dropped 
anchor in the picturesque harbor of Cove ; the sea 
shone under the purple light of the rising sun with 
a rich rosy hue, beautifully in contrast Avith the 
different tints of the foliage of the deep woods 
already tinged with the brown of autumn. Spike 
Island lay "sleeping upon its broad shadow," and 
the large ensign which crowns the battery was 
wrapped around the flagstaff, there not being even 
air enough to stir it. It was still so early that but 
few persons were abroad ; and as we leaned over 
the bulwarks, and looked now, for the first time 
for eight long years, upon British ground, many an 
eye filled, and many a heaving breast told how full 
of recollections that short moment was, and how 
different our feelings from the gay buoyancy with 
which we had sailed from that same harbor for the 
Peninsula ; many of our best and bravest had we 
left behind us, and more than one native to the 
land we were approaching had found his last rest 
in the soil of the stranger. It was, then, with a 
mingled sense of pain and pleasure we gazed upon 
that peaceful little village, whose white cottages 
lay dotted along the edge of the harbor. The 
moody silence our thoughts had shed over us was 
soon broken : the preparations for disembarking 
had begun, and I recollect well to this hour how. 



HARRY LORREQUER. 



10 



shaking off the load that oppressed my heart, I 
descended the gangway, humming poor Wolfe's 
well-known song : — 

"Why, soldiers, why 
Should we be melancholy, boys .'" 

And to this elasticity of spirits — whether the re- 
sult of my profession or the gift of God — as Dog- 
berry has it — I know not — I owe the greater por- 
tion of the happiness I have enjoyed in a life, 
whose changes and vicissitudes have ecjualled most 
men's. 

Drawn up in a line along the shore, I could 
scarce refrain from a smile at our appearance. 
Four weeks on board a transport will certainly not 
contribute much to ihe personnel of any unfortu- 
nate therein confined ; but when, in addition to 
this, you take into account that we had not re- 
ceived new clothes for three years — if I except 
caps for our grenadiers, originally intended for a 
Scotch regiment, but found to be all too small for 
the long-headed generation. Many a patch of 
brown and grey variegated the faded scarlet of 
our uniform, and scarcely a pair of knees in the 
entire regiment did not confess their obligations 
to a blanket. But with all this, we showed a stout, 
weather-beaten front, that, disposed as the passer- 
by might feel to laugh at our expense, verv little 
caution would teach him it were fully as safe to 
indulge it in his sleeve. 

The bells from every steeple and tower rang 
gaily out a peal of welcome as we marched into 
"that beautiful city called Cork," our band play- 
ing "Garryowen" — for we had been originally 
raised in Ireland, and still among our officers main- 
tained a strong majority for that land of punch, 
priests, and potatoes — the tattered flag of the regi- 
ment proudly waving over our heads, and not a 
man amongst us whose warm heart did not bound 
behind a Waterloo medal. Well, well ! I am now 
— alas! that I should say it — somewhat in the 
"sere and yellow;" and I confess after the ex- 
perience of some moments of high, triumphant 
feeling, that I never before felt within me the same 
animating, spirit-filling glow of delight as rose with- 
in my heart that day as I marched at the head of 
my company down George's-street. 

We were soon settled in barracks ; and then be- 
gan a series of entertainments on the side of the 
civic dignities of Cork, which led most of us to be- 
lieve that we had only escaped shot and shell to 
fall less gloriously beneath champagne and claret. 
I do not believe there is a coroner in the island 
who would have pronounced but the one verdict 
over the regiment — "Killed by the mayor and cor- 
poration," had we so fallen. 

First of all, we were dined by the citizens of 
Cork — and, to do them justice, a harder drinking 
set of gentlemen no city need boast ; then we were 
feasted by the corporation ; then by the sheriffs ; 
then came the mayor, solus ; then an address, with 
a cold collation, that left eight of us on the sick- 
list for a fortnight. But the climax of all was a 
grand entertainment given in the Mansion House, 
and to which upwards of two thousand were in- 
vited. It was a species of fancy ball, beginning 
by a d^jei^ner at three o'clock in the afternoon, and 
ending — I never yet met the man who could tell 
when it ended ! As for myself, my finale partook a 



little of the adventurous, and I may as well relate it. 

After waltzing for about an hour with one of 
the prettiest girls I ever set eyes upon, and 
getting a tender squeeze of the hand, as I restored 
her to a most affable-looking old lady in a blue 
turban and a red velvet gown, who smiled benignly 
at me, and called me " Meejor" I retired, to recruit 
for a new attack, to a small table, where three of 
ours were quaffing ponelie a la Romainc, with a 
crowd of Corkagians about them, eagerly inquir- 
ing after some heroes of their own city, whose 
deeds of arms they were surprised did not obtain 
special mention from "the Duke." I soon ingra- 
tiated myself into this well-occupied clique, and 
dosed them with glory to their heart's content. I 
resolved at once to enter into their humor ; and as 
the " ponche" mounted up to my brain I gradually 
found my acquaintanceship extend to every family 
and connection in the country. 

" Did )'e know Phil Beamish, of the 3 — th, sir ?" 
said a tall, red-faced, red-whiskered, well-looking 
gentleman, who bore no slight resemblance to 
Feargus O'Connor. 

'■ Phil Beamish !" said I. " Indeed I did, sir, 
and do still ; and there is not a man in the British 
army I am prouder of knowing." Here, by the 
way, I may mention that I never heard the name 
till that moment. 

" You don't say so, sir ?" said Feargus — for so I 
must call him, for shortness' sake. " Has he any 
chance of the company yet, sir ?" 

" Company !" said I, in astonishment. " He ob- 
tained his majority three months since. You can- 
not possibly have heard from him lately, or you 
would have known that ?" 

" That's true, sir. I never heard since he quitted 
the 3 — th to go to Versailles, I think they call it, 
for his health. But how did he get the step, sir ?" 

" Wh)', as to the company, that was remarkable 
enough !" said I, quaffing off a tumbler of cham- 
pagne to assist my invention. "You know it was 
about four o'clock in the afternoon of the i8th 
that Napoleon ordered Grouchy to advance with 
the first and second brigade of the Old Guard and 
two regiments of chasseurs, and attack the posi- 
tion occupied by Plcton and the regiments under 
his command. Well, sir, on they came, masked by 
the smoke of a terrific discharge of artillery, 
stationed on a small eminence to our left, and 
which did tremendous execution among our poor 
fellows — on they came, sir, and as the smoke 
cleared partially away we got a glimpse of them, 
and a more dangerous-looking set I should not 
desire to see : grizzly-bearded, hard-featured, 
bronzed fellows, about five-and-thirty or forty 
years of age ; their beauty not a whit improved by 
the red glare thrown upon their faces and along 
the whole line by each flash of the long twenty- 
fours that were playing away to the right. Just 
at this moment Picton rode down the line with his 
staff, and stopping within a few paces of me, said, 
'They're coming up : steady, boys ; steady now : 
we shall have something to do soon.' And then, 
turning sharply round, he looked in the direction 
of the French battery, that was thundering away 
again in full force. 'Ah, that must be silenced,' 
said he, ' Where's Beamish ? ' " 

" Says Picton !" interrupted Feargus, his eyes 



?0 



HARRY LORREQUER. 



starting from their sockets, and his mouth growing 
wider every moment, as he listened with the most 
intense interest. 

" Yes," said I, slowly. And then with all the 
provoking nonchalance of an Italian improvisa- 
tore, who always halts at the most e.xciting point of 
his narrative, I begged a listener near me to fill 
my glass froni thd-iced punch beside him. Not a 
sound was heard as I lifted the bumper to my lips ; 
all were breathless in their wound-up anxiety to 
hear of their countryman who had been selected 
by Picton — for what, too, they knew not yet, and, 
indeed, at that instant, I did not know myself, and 
nearly laughed outright, for the two of ours who 
had remained at the table had -so well employed 
their interval of ease as to become very pleasantly 
drank, and were listening to my confounded story 
with all the gravity and seriousness in the world — 
"'Where's Beamish?' said Picton. ' Here, sir,' 
said Phil, stepping out from the line, and touching 
his cap to the general, who, taking him apart for 
a few minutes, spoke to him with great animation. 
We did not know what he said; but before five min- 
utes were over, there was Phil with three compa- 
nies of light-bobs drawn up at our left ; their 
muskets at the charge, they set off at a round trot 
down the little steep which closed our flank. We 
had not much time to follow their movements, for 
our own amusement began soon ; but I well re- 
member, after repelling the French attack, and 
standing in square against two heavy charges of 
cuirassiers, the first thing I saw where the French 
battery had stood, was Phil Beamish and about a 
handful of brave fellows, all that remained from 
the skirmish. He captured two of the enemy's 
field-pieces, and was ' Captain Beamish' on the 
day after." 

"Long life to himl" said at least a dozen voices 
behind and about me, while a general clinking of 
decanters and smacking of lips betokened that 
Phil's health with ail the honors was being cele- 
brated. For myself, I was really so engrossed by 
my narrative, and so e.xcited by the " ponche," 
that I saw or heard very little of what was passing 
around, and have only a kind of dim recollection of 
being seized by the hand by "Feargus," who was 
Beamish's brother, and who, in the fulness of his 
heart, would have hugged me to his breast, if I had 
not opportunely been so overpowered as to fall 
senseless under the table. 

When I first returned to consciousness, I found 
myself lying e.xactly where I had fallen. Around 
me lay heaps of slain — the two of " ours" amongst 
the number. One of them — I remember he was 
the adjutant — held in his hand a wax candle (two 
to the pound). Whether he had himself seized it 
in the enthusiasm of my narrative of flood and 
field, or it had been put there by another, I know 
not, but he certainly cut a droll figure. The room 
we were in was a small one off the great saloon, 
and through the half-open folding door I could 
clearly perceive that the festivities were still con- 
tinued. The crash of fiddles and French horns, 
and the tramp of feet, which had lost much of their 
elasticity since the entertainment began, rang 
through my ears, mingled with the sounds " Down 
the middle," "Hands across," "Here's your 
partner, captain." What hour of the night or 



morning it then was, I could not guess; but cer- 
tainly the vigor of the party seemed little abated, 
if I might judge from the specimen before me, 
and the testimony of a short plethoric gentle- 
man, who stood wiping his bald head, after con- 
ducting his partner down twenty-eight couple, and 
who, turning to liis friend, said, " Oh, the distance 
is nothing, but it is the pace that kills." 

The first evidence I showed of any return to 
reason was a strong anxiety to be at my quarters; 
but how to get there I knew not. The faint glim- 
mering of sense I possessed told me that " to stand 
was to fall," and 1 was ashamed to go on all-fours, 
which prudence suggested. 

At this moment 1 remembered I had brought 
with memy cane,which, from a perhaps pardonable 
vanity, I was fond of parading. It was a present 
from the officers of my regiment— many of them, 
alas! since dead — and had a most splendid gold 
head, with a stag at the top— the arms of the regi- 
ment. This I would not have lost for any con- 
sideration I can mention; and this now was gone! I 
looked around me on every side; I groped beneath 
the table; I turned the sleeping sots who lay about 
me in no very gentle fashion; but, alas! it wasgonel 
I sprang to my feet, and only then remembered how 
unfit 1 was to follow up the search, as lablts, 
chairs, lights, and people seemed all rocking and 
waving before me. However, I succeeded in 
making my way through one room into another, 
sometim.es guiding my steps along tlie walls; and 
once, as I recollect, striking the diagonal of a 
room, I bisected a quadrille with such ill-directed 
speed, as to run fold of a Cork dandy and his 
partner who were just performing the " en avant;" 
but though I saw them lie tumbled in the dust by 
the shock of my encounter — for I had upset them 
— I still held on the even tenor of my way. In 
fact, I had feeling for but one loss; and, still in 
pursuit of my cane, I reached the hall-door. Now 
be it known that the architecture of the Cork Man- 
sion House has but one fault, but that fault is a 
grand one, and a strong evidence of how unsuited 
English architects are to provide buildings for a 
people whose tastes and habits they but imperfectly 
understand — be it known, then, that the descent 
from the hall-door to the street was by a flight of 
twelve stone steps. How I should ever get down 
these was now my difficulty. If Falstaff deplored 
"eight yards of uneven ground as being three 
score and ten miles a foot," with equal truth did 
I feel that those twelve awful steps were worse to 
me than would be M'Gillicuddy's Reeks in the 
daylight and with a head clear from champagne. 

While I yet hesitated, the problem resolved it- 
self; for, gazing down upon the bright gravel, 
brilliantly lighted by the surrounding lamps, I lost 
my balance, and came tumbling and rolling from 
top to bottom, where I fell upon a large mass of 
some soft substance, to which, in all probability, 
I owe my life. In a few seconds I recovered my 
senses, and what was my surprise to find that the 
downy cushion beneath snored most audibly! I 
moved a little to one side, and then discovered 
that in reality it was nothing less than an alder- 
man of Cork, who, from his position, I concluded 
had shared the same fate with myself: there he lay, 
" like a warrior taking his rest," but not with his 



HARRY LORREOUER 



21 



"martial cloak around him," but a much more 
comfortable and far more costly robe — a scarlet 
gown of office — with huge velvet cuffs and a great 
cape of the same material. True courage consists 
in presence of mind; and here mine came to my aid 
at once: recollecting the loss I had just sustained, 
and perceiving that all was still about me, with 
that right Peninsular maxim, that reprisals are fair 
in an enemy's camp, I proceeded to strip the slain; 
and with some little difficulty — partly, indeed, 
owing to my own unsteadiness on my legs — I 
succeeded in denuding the worthy alderman, who 
gave no other sign of life during the operation 
than an abortive effort to ''^ hip, hip, hurrah," in 
which I left him, having put on the spoil, and set 
out on my way to the barrack with as much dignity 
of manner as I could assume in honor of my cos- 
tume. And here I may mention (in a parenthesis) 
that a more comfortable morning-gown no man 
ever possessed, and in its wide luxuriant folds I 
revel while I write these lines. 

When I awoke on the following day I had con- 
siderable difficulty in tracing the events of the 
past evening. The great scarlet cloak, however, 
unravelled much of the mystery, and gradually 
the whole of my career became clear before 
me, with the single exception of the episode of 
Phil Beamish, about which my memory was 
subsequently refreshed. But I anticipate. Only 
five appeared that day at mess; and. Lord! what 
spectres they were! — yellow as guineas; they 
called for soda water without ceasing, and scarcely 
spoke a word to each other. It was plain 
that the corporation of Cork was committing more 
havoc among us than Corunna or Waterloo, and 
that if we did not change our quarters, there 
would be quick promotion in the corps for such 
as were "seasoned gentlemen." After a day or 
two we met again together, and then, what adven- 
tures were told! — each man had his own story to 
narrate; and from the occurrences detailed, one 
would have supposed years had been passing in- 
stead of the short hours of an evening party. 
Mine were, indeed, among the least remarkable; 
but I confess that the air of vraiscinhlance produced 
by my production of the aldermanic gown gave 
me the palm above all competitors. 

Such was our life in Cork — dining, drinking, 
dancing, riding, steeple-chasing, pigeon shooting, 
and tandem driving — filling up any little interval 
that was found to exist between a late breakfast 
and the time to dress for dinner; and here I'hope 
I shall not be accused of a tendency to boasting, 
while I add, that among all ranks and degrees of 
men, and women too, there never was a regiment 
more highly in estimation than the 4 — th. We 
felt the full value of all the attentions we were re- 
ceiving, and we endeavored, as best we might to 
repay them. We got up Garrison Balls and Garri- 
son Plays, and usually performed once or twice 
a week during the winter. Here I shone conspic- 
uously; in the morning I was employed painting 
scenery and arranging the properties; as it grew 
later, I regulated the lam],)S and looked after the 
foot-lights, mediating occasionally between angry 
litigants, whose jealousies abound to the full as 
much in private theatricals ns in the regular corps 
dramatiquc. Then, I was also leader in the or- 



chestra; and had scarcely given the last scrape in 
the overture before I was obliged to appear to 
speak the prologue. Such are the cares of great- 
ness; to do myself justice, I did not dislike them; 
though, to be sure, my taste for the drama did 
cost me a little dear, as will be seen in the sequel. 

We were then in the full career of popularity 
— our balls pronounced the very pleasantest, our 
plays far superior to any regular corps that had 
ever honored Cork with their talents — when an 
event occurred which threw a gloom over all our 
proceedings, and finally put a stop to every project 
for amusement we had so completely given our- 
selves up to. This was no less than the removal 
of our Lieutenant-Colonel. After thirty years of 
active service in the regiment he then commanded, 
his age and infirmities, increased by some severe 
wounds, demanded ease and repose; he retired 
from us bearing along with him the love and regard 
of every man in the regiment. To the old officers 
he was endeared by long companionship, andun- 
deviating friendship; to the young, he was in every 
respect as a father, assisting by his advice, and 
guiding by his counsel; while to the men, the best 
estimate of his worth appeared in the fact that 
corjioral punishment was unknown in the corps. 
Such was the man we lost; and it vnay well be sup- 
posed that his successor, who, of whatever he 
might be, came under circumstances of no common 
difficulty amongst us; but when I tell that our new 
Lieutenant-Colonel was in every respect his op- 
posite, it may be believed how little cordiality he 
met with. 

Lieutenant-Colonel Garden — for so I shall call 
him, although not his real name — had not been a 
month at quarters when he proved himself a regu- 
lar martinet ; everlasting drills, continual reports, 
fatigue parties, and ball practice, and Heaven 
knows what besides, superseded our former morn- 
ing's occupation ; and, at the end of the time I 
have mentioned, we, who had fought our way from 
Albuera to Waterloo, under some of the severest 
generals of division, were pronounced a most dis- 
orderly and ill-disciplined regiment, by a colonel 
who had never seen a shot fired but at a review at 
Hounslow, or a sham battle in the Fifteen Acres. 
The winter was now drawing to a close — already 
some little touch of spring was appearing — as our 
last play for the season was announced, and every 
eft'ort to close with some little additional eclat was 
made ; and each performer in the expected piece 
was nerving himself for an effort beyond his wont. 
The colonel had most unequivocally condemned 
these plays ; but that mattered not — they came 
not within his jurisdiction — and we took no notice 
of his displeasure further than sending him tickets, 
which were as immediately returned as received. 
From being the chief offender I had become par- 
ticularly obnoxious ; and he had upon more than 
one occasion expressed his desire for an oppor- 
tunity to visit me with his vengeance; but being 
aware of his kind intentions towards me I 
took particular care to let no such opportunity 
occur. 

On the morning in question, then, I had scarcely 
left my quarters when one of my brother officers 
informed me that the Colonel had made a great 
uproar, that one of the bills of the play had been 



22 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



put up on his door — which, with his avowed dis- 
like to such representations, he considered as in- 
tended to insuh him : he added, too, that tlie 
colonel attributed it to me. In this, however, he 
was wrong — and, to this hour, I never knew who 
did it. I had little time, and still less inclination, 
to meditate upon the colonel's wrath— the theatre 
had all ray thoughts ; and indeed it was a day of 
no common e.xertion, for our amusements were to 
conclude with a grand supper on the stage, to 
which all the elite of Cork were invited. Wher- 
ever I went through the city — and many were my 
peregrinations — -the great placard of the play stared 
me in the face ; and every gate and shuttered win- 
dow in Cork proclaimed "The part of Othello 
Bv Mr. Lorrequer." 

As evening drew near my cares and occupations 
were redoubled. My lago I had fears for — 'tis 
true, he was an admirable Lord Grizzle in Tom 
Thumb — but then — then I had to paint the whole 
company, and bear all their abuse besides, for not 
making some of the most ill-looking wretches per- 
fect ApoUos ; but, last of all, I was sent for, at a 
quarter to seven, to lace Desdemona's stays. 
Start not, gentle reader, my fair Desdemona — she 
'"who might lie by an emperor's side, and com- 
mand him tas.'^' — was no other than the senior 
lieutenant oi^.he regiment, and who was as great 
a votary ( '.ae jolly god as honest Cassio himself. 
But I must' hasten on ; I cannot delay to recount 
our successes in detail. Let it suffice to say, that, 
by universal consent, I was preferred to Kean ; 
and the only fault the most critical observer could 
find to the representative of Desdemona, was a 
rather unladylike fondness for snuff. But what- 
ever little demerits our acting might have dis- 
played, were speedily forgotten in a champagne 
supper. There I took the head of the table ; and 
in the costume of the noble Moor, toasted, made 
speeches, returned thanks, and sang songs, till 
I might have exclaimed with Othello himself 
"Chaos is come again ;" and I believe I owe my 
ever reaching the barrack that night to the kind 
offices of Desdemona, wiio carried me the greater 
part of the way on her back. 

The first waking thoughts of him who has in- 
dulged over-night are not among the most blissful 
of existence, and certainly the pleasure is not in- 
creased by the consciousness that he is called on 
to the discharge of duties to which a fevered pulse 
and throbbing temples are but ill-suited. My sleep 
was suddenly broken in upon the morning after 
the play by a " row-dow-dow" beat beneath my 
window. I jumped hastily from my bed and 
looked out, and there, to my horror, perceived the 
regiment under arms. It was one of our con- 
founded colonel's morning drills ; and there he 
stood himself, with the poor adjutant who had 
been up all night, shivering beside him. Some two 
or three of the officers liad descended ; and the 
drum was now summoning the others as it beat 
round the barrack-square. I saw there was not 
a moment to lose, and proceeded to dress with all 
despatch ; but, to my misery, I discovered every- 
where nothing but tlieatrical robes and decor- 
ations — there, lay a splendid turban, here, a pair 
of buskins — a spangled jacket glittered on one 
table, and a jewelled scimitar on the other. At last 



I detected my "regimental small-clothes," most 
ignominiously thrust into a corner in my ardor 
for my Moorish robes the preceding evening. 

I dressed myself wi:h the speed of lightning; but 
as I proceeded in my occupation, guess my annoy- 
ance to find that the toilet-table and glass, ay, and 
even the basin-stand, had been removed to the 
dressing-room of the theatre; and my servant, I 
suppose, following his master's example, was too 
tipsy to remember to bring them back, so that I 
was unable to procure the luxury of cold water — 
for now not a moment more remained, the drum 
had ceased, and the men had all fallen in. Hastily 
drawing on my coat, I put on my shako, and 
buckling on my belt as dandy-like as might be, 
hurried down the stairs to the barrack-yard. By 
the time I got down, the men were all drawn up in 
line along the square, while the adjutant was pro- 
ceeding to examine their accoutrements as he 
passed down. The colonel and the ofhcers were 
standing in a group but not conversing. The anger 
of the commanding officer appeared still to con- 
tinue, and there was a dead silence maintained on 
both sides. To reach the spot where they stood 
I had to pass along part of the line. In doing 
so, how shall I convey my amazement at the 
faces that met me — a general titter ran along the 
entire rank, which not even their fears for conse- 
quences seemed able to repress — for an effort, on 
the part of many, to stifle the laugh, only ended 
in a still louder burst of merriment. I looked to 
the far side of the yard for an explanation, but 
there was nothing there to account for it. I now 
crossed over to where the officers were standing, 
determining in my own mind to investigate the 
occurrence thoroughly, when free from the pres- 
ence of the colonel, to whom any representation of 
ill conduct always brought a punishment far ex- 
ceeding the merits of the case. 

Scarcely had I formed this resolve, when I 
reached the group of- officers, but the moment I 
came near, one general roar of laughter saluted 
me, the like of which I never before heard. I 
looked down at my costume, expecting to discover 
that, in my hurry to dress, I had put on some of 
the garments of Othello. No: all was perfectly 
correct. 1 waited for a moment, till, the first burst 
of their merriment over, I should obtain a clue to 
the jest. But there seemed no prospect of this, 
for, as I stood patiently before them, their mirth 

appeared to increase. Indeed, poor G , the 

senior major, one of the gravest men in Europe, 
laughed till the tears ran down his cheeks; and 
such was the effect upon me, that I was induced 
to laugh too — as men will sometimes, from the in- 
fectious nature of that strange emotion — but, no 
sooner did I do this, than their fun knew no bounds, 
and some almost screamed aloud in the excess of 
their merriment. Just at this instant the colonel, 
who had been examining some of the men, ap- 
proached our group, advancing with an air of 
evident displeasure, as the shouts of laughter con- 
tinued. As he came up, I turned hastily round, 
and touching my cap, wished him good-morning. 
Never shall I forget the look he gave me. If a 
glance could have annihilated any man, his would 
have finished me. For a moment his face became 
purple with rage, his eye was almost hid beneath 




''*. 



V, 



"c^e. 




Its"'* 



,a^^ 



^yyrf//><7 //^//r'// Jjr//<r</r: 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



23 



his bent brow, and he absohitely shook with 
passion. 

"Go, sir," said he at length, as soon as he was 
able to find utterance for his words — "go, sir, to 
your quarters; and before you leave them, a court- 
martial shall decide if sucji continued insult to 
your commanding officer warrants your name 
being m the Army List." 

" What the devil can all this mean.'" I said, in 
a half-whisper, turning to the others. But tiiere 
they stood, their handkerchiefs to their mouths, 
and evidently choking with suppressed laughter. 

" May I beg, Colonel Garden," said I 

" To your quarters, sir, " roared the little man, in 
the voice of a lion. And, with a haughty wave of 
his hand, prevented all further attempt on my part 
to seek explanation. 

"They're all mad, every man of them," I mut- 
tered, as I betook myself slowly back to my rooms, 
amid tlie same evidences of mirth my first appear- 
ance had excited — which even the colonel's pres- 
ence, feared as he was, could not entirely subdue. 

With the air of a martyr I trod heavily up the 
stairs, and entered my quarters, meditating within 
myself awful schemes for vengeance, on the now 
open tyranny of my colonel ; upon whom, I too, 
in my honest rectitude of lieart, vowed to have a 
" court-martial." I threw myself upon a chair, and 
endeavored to recollect what circumstances of the 
past evening could have possibly suggested all the 
mirth in which both officers and men seemed 
to participate equally ; but nothing could I re- 
member capable of solving the mystery: surely 
the cruel wrongs of the manly Othello were no 
laughter-moving subject. 

I rang the bell hastily for my servant. The door 
opened. 

"Stubbes," said I, "are you aware " 

I had only got so far in my question, when my 
servant, one of tlie most discreet of men, put on a 
broad grin, and turned away towards the door to 
hide his face. 

" What the devil does this mean ?" said I, stamp- 
ing with passion ; " he is as bad as the rest. 
Stubbes" — and this I spoke with the most grave 
and severe tone — " what is the meaning of this 
insolence ?" 

"Oh, sir," said the man — " oh, sir, surely you 
did not appear on parade with that face ?" And 
then he burst into a fit of the most uncontrollable 
laughter. 

Like lightning a horrid doubt shot across my 
mind. I sprang over to the dressing-glass, which 
had been replaced, and oh ! horror of horrors ! 
there I stood as black as the king of Ashantee. 
The cursed dye which I had put on for Othello, 
I had never washed off — and there, with a huge 
bearskin shako, and a pair of dark bushy whiskers, 
shone my huge, black, and polished visage, glower- 
ing at itself in the looking-glass. 

My first impulse, after amazement had a little 
subsided, was to laugh immoderately ; in this I was 
joined by Stubbes, who, feeling that his mirth was 
participated in, gave full vent to his risibility. And, 
indeed, as I stood before the glass, grinning from 
ear to ear, I felt very little surprise that my join- 
ing in the laughter of my brother officers, a short 
time before, had caused an increase of their merri- 



ment. I threw myself upon a sofa, and absolutely 
laughed till my sides ached, when, tlie door open- 
ing, the adjutant made his appearance. He looked 
for a moment at me, then at Stubbes, and then 
burst out himself, as loud as either of us. When 
he had at length recovered liimself, he wiped his 
face with his handkerchief, and said, with a tone 
of much gravity — 

"But, my dear Lorrequer, this will be a serious 
— a devilish serious affair. You know what kind 
of man Golonel Garden is ; and you are aware, 
too, you are not one of his prime favorites. He 
is firmly persuaded that you intended to insult 
liim, and nothing will convince him to the con- 
trary. We told him how it must have occurred, 
but he will listen to no explanation." 

I thought for one second before I replied. My 
mind, with the practised rapidity of an old cam- 
paigner, took in all the/zw and cons of the case ; 
I saw at a glance it were better to brave the anger 
ot the colonel, come in what shape it might, than 
be the laughing-stock of the mess for life, and with 
a face of the greatest gravity and self-possession, 
said — 

"Well, adjutant, the colonel is right. It was no 
mistake ! You know I sent him tickets yesterday 
for the theatre. Well, he returned them ; this did 
not annoy me, but on one account : I had made a 
wager with Alderman Gullable that the colonel 
should see me in Othello. What was to be done ? 
Don't you see, now, there was only one course, and 
I took it, old boy, and have won my bet !" 

" And lost your commission for a dozen of cham- 
pagne, I suppose," said the adjutant. 

"Never mind, my dear fellow," I replied; "I 
shall get out of tliis scrape, as I have done many 
others." 

"But what do you intend doing?" 
" Oh, as to that," said I, " I shall, of course, wait 
on the colonel immediately ; pretend to him that 
it was a mere blunder from the inattention of my 
servant — hand over Stubbes to the powers that 
punish" (here the poor fellow winced a little), "and 
make my peace as well as I can. But, adjutant, 
mind," said I, " and give the real version to all our 
fellows, and tell them to make it public as much 
as they please." 

"Never fear," said he, as he left the room still 
laughing, "they shall all know the true story; but 
I wish with all my heart you were well out of it." 
I now lost no time in making my toilet, and 
presented myself at the colonel's quarters.. It is 
no pleasure for me to recount these passages in 
my life, in which I have had to bear the "proud 
man's contumely." J shall therefore merely ob- 
serve, that after a very long interview, the colonel 
accepted my apologies, and we parted. 

Before a week elapsed, the story had gone far 
and near; every dinner-table in Gork had laughed 
at it. As for me, I attained immortal honor for 
my tact and courage. Poor Gullable readily agreed 
to favor the story, and gave us a dinner, as the 
lost wager, and the colonel was so unmercifully 
quizzed on the subject, and such broad allusions 
to his being humbugged were given in the Gork 
papers, that he was obliged to negotiate a change 
of quarters with another regiment, to get out of the 
continual jesting, and in less than a month we 



24 



HARRY LORREQUER, 



marched to Limerick, to relieve, as it was reported, 
the 9th, ordered for foreign service, but in reaUty, 
only to relieve Lieut.-Colonel Garden, quizzed be- 
yond endurance. 

However, if the colonel had seemed to forgive, 
he did not forget, for the very second week after 
our arrival in Limerick, I received one morning at 
my breakfast-table the following brief note from 
our adjutant : 

" My Dear Lorrequer, — The colonel has re- 
ceived orders todespatcli two companies to some 
remote part of the county Clare, and as you have 
'done the state some service,' you are selected for 
the beautiful town of Kilrush, where, to use the 
eulogistic language of the geography books, ' there 
is a good harbor, and a market plentifully sup- 
plied with fish.' I have just heard of the kind in- 
tention in store for you, and lose no time in let- 
ting you know. 

'' God give you a good deliverance from the 
'gar^ons Manes,' as the Monitcur calls the White- 
boys, and believe me ever yours, 

" Gharles Gurzon." 

I had scarcely twice read over the adjutant's 
epistle, when I received an official notification 
from the colonel, directing me to proceed to Kil- 
rush, then and there to afford all aid and assist- 
ance in suppressing illicit distillation, when 
called on for that purpose ; and other similar 
duties too agreeable to recapitulate. Alas ! alas ! 
" Othello's occupation" was indeed gone! The 
next morning at sunrise saw me on my march, 
with what appearance of gaiety I could muster, 
but in reality, very much chapfallen at my ban- 
ishment, and invoking sundry things upon the 
devoted head of the colonel, which he would 
by no means consider as "blessings." 

How short-sighted are we mortals, whether en- 
joying all the pomp and state of royalty, or 
marching like myself at the head of a detachment 
of his ]\Lajesty's 4 — th. 

Little, indeed, did I anticipate that the Siberia 
to which I fancied I was condemned should turn 
out the happiest quarters my fate ever threw me 
into. But this, including as it does one of the 
most important events of my life, I reserve for 
another chapter. 

" What is that place called. Sergeant ?" — " Bun- 
ratty Gastle, sir." 

"Where do we breakfast ?" — "At Glare Island, 
sir." 

"March away, boys !" 



CHAPTER IL 



DETACHMENT DUTY — THE " BURTON ARMS*' — 
CALLONBY. 

For a week after my arrival at Kilrush, my life 
was one of the most dreary monotony. The rain, 
\vhich had begun to fall as I left Limerick, con- 
tinued to descend in torrents, and I found myself 
a close prisoner in the sanded parlor of "mine 
inn." At no time would such " durance vile" 
have been agreeable ; but now, when I contrasted 



it with all I had left behind at headquarters, it was 
absolutely maddening. The pleasant lounge in 
the morning, tjie social mess, and the agreeable 
evening party, were all exchanged for a short 
promenade of fourteen feet in one direction, and 
twelve in the other, such being the accurate 
measurement of my " salle a manger ;" a chicken, 
with legs as blue as a Highlander's in winter, for 
my dinner ; and the hours that all Christian man- 
kind were devoting to pleasant intercourse and 
agreeable chit-chat, spent in beating that dead- 
march to time; "the Devil's Tattoo," upon my 
rickety table, and forming, between whiles, sun- 
dry valorous resolutions to reform my life, and 
"eschew sack and loose company." 

My front window looked out upon a long, 
straggling, ill-paved street, with its due propor- 
tion of mud-heaps and duck-pools ; the houses 
on either side were, for the most part, dingy-look- 
ing edifices, with half-doors, and such pretension 
to being shops, as a quart of meal, or salt, dis- 
played in the window, confers ; or sometimes two 
tobacco-pipes, placed " saltier-wise," would ap- 
pear the only vendible article in the establish- 
ment. A more wretched, gloomy-looking picture 
of woe-begone poverty I never beheld. 

If I turned for consolation to the back of the 
house, my eyes fell upon the dirty yard of a dirty 
inn ; the half-thatched cow-shed, where two fam- 
ished animals mourned their hard fate — " chewing 
the cud of sweet and bitter fancy ;" the chaise, the 
yellow post-chaise, once the pride and glory of the 
establishment, now stood reduced from its wheels, 
and ignominiously degraded to a hen-house ; on 
the grass-grown roof a cock had taken his stand, 
with an air of protective patronage to the feath- 
ered inhabitants beneath : 

" To what base uses must we come at last." 

That chaise, which once had conveyed the 
blooming bride, all blushes and tenderness, and 
the ha[)py groom, on their honey-moon visit to 
Ballybunion and its romantic caves, or to the gi- 
gantic cliffs, and sea-girt shores of Moher — or 
with more steady pace and becoming gravity had 
borne along the "going judge of assize," — was 
now become a lying-in hospital for fowls, and a 
nursery for chickens. Fallen as I was from my 
high estate, it afforded me a species of malicious 
satisfaction to contemplate these sad reverses of 
fortune; and I verily believe — for on such slight 
foundation our greatest resolves are built— that if 
the rain had continued a week longer, I should 
have become a misanthropist for life. I made 
many inquiries from my landlady as to the society 
of the place, but the answers I received only led 
to greater despondence. My predecessor here, it 
seemed, had been an officer of a veteran battalion, 
with a wife, and that amount of children which is 
algebraically expressed by an. r — meaning, an un- 
known quantity. He, good man, in his two years' 
sojourn here, had been much more solicitous about 
his own affairs than making acquaintance with his 
neighbors; and at last, the few persons who had 
been in the habit of calling on " the officer," gave 
up the practice ; and as there were no 'young 
ladies to refresh Pa's memory on the matter, they 
soon forgot completely that such a person existed 



HARRY LORREQUER. 



25 



— and to this happy oblivion I, Harry Lorrequer, 
succeeded, and was thus left without benefit of 
clergy to the tender mercies of Mrs. Healy of the 
" Burton Arms." 

As during the inundation which deluged the 
whole country around I was unable to stir from the 
house, I enjoyed abundant opportunity of culti- 
vating the acquaintance of my hostess, and it is 
but fair that my reader, who has journeyed so far 
with me. should have an introduction. 

Mrs. Healy, the sole proprietor of the "Burton 
Arms," was of some five-and-fifty — " or by'r lady," 
threescore years — of a rubicund and hale com- 
plexion ; and though her short neck and corpu- 
lent figure might have set her down as " doubly 
hazardous," she looked a good life for many years 
to come. In height and breadth she most nearly 
resembled a sugar-hogshead, whose rolling, pitch- 
ing motion, when trundled along on edge, she 
emulated in her gait. To the ungainliness of her 
figure her mode of dressing not a little contrib- 
uted. She usually wore a thick linsey-wolsey gown, 
with enormous pockets on either side, and, like 
Nora Creina's, it certainly inflicted no undue re- 
striction upon her charms, but left 

" Every beauty free, 
To sink or swell as Heaven pleases." 

Her feet — ye gods ! such feet — were apparelled in 
listing slippers, over which the upholstery of her 
ankles descended, and completely relieved the 
mind of the spectator as to the superincumbent 
weight being disproportioned to the support. I 
remember well my first impression on seeing those 
feet and ankles reposing upon a straw footstool, 
while she took her afternoon doze, and I wondered 
within myself if elephants were liable to the gout. 
There are few countenances in the world that, if 
wishing to convey an idea of, we cannot refer to 
some well-known standard; and thus nothing is 
more common than to hear comparisons with "Vul- 
can — Venus — Nicodemus," and the like; but in 
the present easel am totally at a loss for anything 
resembling the face of the worthy Mrs. Healy, ex- 
cept it be, perhaps, that most ancient and sour 
visage we used to see upon old circular iron rap- 
pers formerly — they make none of them now — the 
only difference being, that Mrs. Healy's nose had 
no ring through it; I am almost tempted to add, 
"more's the pity." 

Such was she in "the flesh;" would that I could 
say, she was more fascinating in the " spirit!" but, 
alas, truth, from which I never may depart in these 
"my confessions," constrains me to acknowledge 
the reverse. Most persons, in this miserable world 
of ours, have some prevailing, predominating char- 
acteristic, which usually gives the tone and color 
to all their thoughts and actions, forming what we 
denominate temperament; this we see actuating 
them, now more, now less; but rarely, however, is 
this great spring of action without its moments of 
repose. Not so with her of whom I have been 
speaking. She had but one passion — but like 
Aaron's rod, it had a most consuming tendency — 
and that was to scold and abuse all whom hard 
fate had brought within the unfortunate limits of 
her tyranny. The English language, comprehen- 
sive as it is, afforded no epithets strong enough 
for her wrath, and she sought among the more 



classic beauties of her native Irish such additional 
ones as served her need, and with this holy alli- 
ance of tongues she had been, for years long, the 
dread and terror of the entire village, 

' The dawning of morn, the daylight sinking," 

ay, and even the " night's dull hours," it was said, 
too, found her laboring in her congenial occupa- 
tion; and while thus she continued to "scold and 
grow fat," her inn, once a popular and frequented 
one, became gradually less and less frequented, 
and the dragon of the Rhine-fells did not more 
effectually lay waste the territory about him, than 
did the evil influence of her tongue spread desola- 
tion and ruin around her. Her inn, at the time of 
my visit, had not been troubled with even a pas- 
sing traveller for many months; and, indeed, had I 
had any, even the least, foreknowledge of the char- 
acter of my hostess, its privacy should have still 
remained uninvaded for some time longer. 

I had not been many hours installed, when I 
got a specimen of her powers; and before the first 
week was over, so constant and unremitting were 
her labors in this way that I have, upon the occa- 
sion of a slight lull in the storm, occasioned by 
her falling asleep, actually left my room to inquire 
if anything had gone wrong, in the same way as 
the miller is said to awake when the mill stops. 
I trust I have said enough to move the reader's 
pity and compassion for my situation — one more 
miserable it is difficult to conceive. It may be 
thought that much might be done by management, 
and that a slight exercise of the favorite Whig plan 
might avail. Nothing of the kind. She was proof 
against all such arts; and what was still worse, 
there was no subject, no possible circumstance, no 
matter, past, present, or to come, that she could 
not wind, by her diabolical ingenuity, into some 
cause of off^ence; and then came the quick transi- 
tion to instant punishment. Thus, my apparently 
harmless inquiry as to the society of the neighbor- 
hood suggested to her — a wish on my part to make 
acquaintance — therefore to dine out — therefore 
not to dine at home — consequently escape paying 
half-a-crown and devouring a chicken — therefore 
to defraud her, and behave, as she would herself 
observe, " like a beggarly scullion, with his four 
shillings a day, setting up for a gentleman," etc. 

By a quiet and Job-like endurance of all man- 
ner of taunting suspicions and unmerited sarcasms, 
to which I daily became more reconciled, I abso- 
lutely rose into something like favor ; and before 
the first month of my banishment ex])ired, had got 
the length of an invitation to tea in her own snug- 
gery — an honor never known to be bestowed on 
any before, with the exception of Father Malachi 
Brennan, her ghostly adviser ; and even he, it is 
said, never ventured on such an approximation to 
intimacy, until he was, in Kilrush phrase, "half 
screwed," thereby meaning more than half tipsy. 
From time to time, thus, I learned from my hostess 
such particulars of the country and its inhabitants 
as I was desirous of hearing ; and among other 
matters, she gave me an account of the great 
landed proprietor himself, Lord Callonby, who 
was daily expected at his seat within some miles of 
Kilrush, at the same time assuring me that I need 
not be looking so "pleased and curling out my 



26 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



whiskers;" "that they'd never take the trouble of 
asking even the name of me." This, though 
neither very courteous, nor altogether flattering to 
listen to, was no more than I had already learned 
from some brother officers who knew this quarter, 
and who informed me that the Earl of Callonby, 
though only visiting his Irish estates every three or 
four years, never took the slightest notice of any 
of the military in his neighborhood ; nor, indeed, 
did he mix with the country gentry, confining 
himself to his own family, or the guests, who 
usually accompanied him from England, and re- 
mained during his few weeks' stay. My impres- 
sion of his lordship was therefore not calculated to 
cheer my solitude by any prospect of his render- 
ing it lighter. 

The Earl's family consisted of her ladyship, an 
only son, nearly of age, and two daughters ; the 
eldest. Lady Jane, had the reputation of being ex- 
tremely beautiful ; and 1 remembered when she 
came out in London, only the year before, hearing 
nothing but praises of the grace and elegance of 
her manner united to the most classic beauty of 
her face and figure. The second daughter was 
some years younger, and said to be also very hand- 
some ; but as yet she had not been brought into 
society. Of the son. Lord Kilkee, I only heard 
that he had been a very gay fellow at Oxford, 
where he was much liked, and although not 
particularly studious, had given evidence of 
talent. 

Such were the few particulars I obtained of my 
neighbors, and thus little did I know of those who 
were so soon to exercise a most important influ- 
ence upon my future life. 

After some weeks' close confinement, which, 
judging from my feelings alone, I should have 
counted as many years, I eagerly seized the op- 
portunity of the first glimpse of sunshine to make 
a short excursion along the coast : I started early 
in the morning, and after a long stroll along the 
bold headlands of Kilkee, was returning late in the 
evening to my lodgings. My path lay across a 
wild, bleak moor, dotted with low clumps of furze, 
and not presenting on any side the least trace of 
habitation. In wading through the tangled 
bushes, my dog, "Mouche," started a hare; and 
after a run, "sharp, short and decisive," killed her 
at the bottom of a little glen some hundred yards 
oft". 

I was just patting my dog and examining the 
prize, when I heard a crackling among the low 
bushes near me ; and on looking up, perceived, 
about twenty paces distant, a short, thick-set man, 
whose fustian jacket and leathern gaiters at once 
pronounced him the gamekeeper; he stood leaning 
upon his gun, quietly waiting, as it seemed, for 
any movement on my part, before he interfered. 
With one glance I detected how matters stood, 
and immediately adopting my usual policy of 
"taking the bull by the horns," called out, in a 
tone of very sufficient authority, — 

" I say, my man, are you his lordship's game- 
keeper ?" 

Taking off his hat, the man approached me, and 
very respectfully informed me that he was. 

"Well, then," said I, "present this hare to his 
lordship with my respects ; here is my card, and 



say I shall be most happy to wait on him in the 
morning and explain the circumstance." 

The man took the card and seemed for some 
moments undecided how to act ; he seemed to 
think that probably he might be ill-treating a 
friend of his lordship's if he refused ; and on the 
other hand might be merely " jockeyed" by some 
bold-faced poacher. Meanwhile I whistled my 
dog close up, and humming an air, with great ap- 
pearance of indift'erence, stepped out homeward. 
By this piece of presence of mind 1 saved poor 
"Mouche ;" for I saw at a glance that, with true 
gamekeeper's law, he had been destined to death 
the moment he had committed the offence. 

The following morning, as I sat at breakfast, 
meditating upon the events of the preceding day, 
and not exactly determined how to act, whether to 
write to his lordship explaining how the matter oc- 
curred, or call personally, a loud rattling on the 
pavement drew me to the window. As the house 
stood at the end of a street, I could not see in the 
direction the noise came ; but as I listened a very 
handsome tandem turned the corner of the narrow 
street, and came along towards the hotel at a long 
sling trot ; the horses were dark chestnuts, well- 
matched, and showing a deal of blood. The car- 
riage was a dark drab, with black wheels ; the 
harness all of the same color. The whole turn-out 
— and I was an amateur of that sort of thing — was 
perfect ; the driver, for I come to him last, as he 
was the last I looked at, was a fashionable-looking 
young fellow, plainly, but knowingly, dressed, and 
evidently handling the "ribbons" like an experi- 
enced whip. 

After bringing his nags up to the inn door in 
very pretty style, he gave the reins to his servant, 
and got down. Before I was well aware of it, the 
door of my room opened, and the gentleman en- 
tered with a certain easy air of good breeding, and 
saying,— 

"Mr. Lorrequer, I presume," introduced him- 
self as Lord Kilkee. 

I immediately opened the conversation by an 
apology for my dog's misconduct on the day be- 
fore, and assured his lordship that I knew the value 
of a hare in a hunting country, and was really sorry 
for the circumstance. 

"Then I must say," replied his lordship, "Mr. 
Lorrequer is the only person who regrets the mat- 
ter ; for had it not been for this, it is more than 
probable we should never have known we were so 
near neighbors ; in fact, nothing could equal our 
amazement at hearing _)v« were playing the 'Soli- 
taire' down here. You must have found it dread- 
fully heavy, 'and have thought us downright sav- 
ages.' But then I must explain to you, that my 
father has made some 'rule absolute' about visit- 
ing when down here. And though I know you'll 
not consider it a compliment, yet I can assure you 
there is not another man I know of he would pay 
attention to, but yourself. He made two efforts to 
get here this morning, but the gout 'would not be 
denied,' and so he deputed a most inferior ' diplo^ 
mate ;' and now will you let me return with 
some character from my first mission, and inform 
my friends that you will dine with us to-day at 
seven — a mere family party ; but make your ar- 
rangements to stop all night and to-morrow: we 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



27 



shall find some work for my friend there on the 
hearth ; what do you call him, Mr. Lorrequer?" 

'■ ' Mouche' — come here, ' Mouche !' " 

"All, ' Mouche,' come here, my fine fellow — a 
splendid dog, indeed ; very tall for a thorough- 
bred ; and now you'll not forget, seven, 'temps 
militaire,' and so, sans adieu." 

And with these words his lordship shook me 
heartily by the hand ; and before two minutes had 
elapsed, had wrapped his box-coat once more 
across him, and was round the corner. 

I looked for a few moments on the again silent 
street, and was almost tempted to believe I was in 
a dream, so rapidly had the preceding moments 
passed over ; and so surprised was I to find that 
the proud Earl of Callonby, who never did the 
"civil thing" anywhere, should think proper to pay 
attention to a poor sub. in a marching regiment, 
whose only claim on his acquaintance was the sus- 
picion of poaching on his manor. I repeated over 
and over all his lordship's most polite speeches, 
trying to solve the mystery of them ; but in vain ; 
a thousand explanations occurred, but none of 
them I felt at all satisfactory ; that there was some 
mystery somewhere, I had no doubt ; for I re- 
marked all through that Lord Kilkee laid some 
stress upon my identity, and even seemed surprised 
at OT_)' being in such banishment. "Oh," thought 
I, at last, " his lordship is about to get up private 
theatricals, and has seen my Captain Absolute, or 
perhaps my Hamlet" — I could not say " Othello" 
even to myself — " and is anxious to get ' such un- 
rivalled talent' even 'for one night only.'" 

After many guesses this seemed the nearest I 
could think of; and by the time I had finished my 
dressing for dinner, it was quite clear to me I had 
solved all the secret of his lordship's attentions. 

The road to "Callonby" was beautiful beyond 
anything I had ever seen in Ireland. For upwards 
of two miles it led along the margin of some lofty 
cliffs, now jutting out into bold promontories, and 
again retreating, and forming small bays and 
mimic harbors, into which the heavy swell of the 
broad Atlantic was rolling its deep blue tide. The 
evening was perfectly calm, and at a little distance 
from the shore the surface of the sea was without 
a ripple. The only sqund breaking the solemn 
stillness of the hour was the heavy plash of the 
waves, as in minute peals they rolled in upon the 
pebbly beach, and brought back with them, at each 
retreat, some of the larger and smoother stones, 
whose noise, as they fell back into old Ocean's 
bed, mingled with the din of the breaking surf. In 
one of the many little bays I passed, lay three or 
four fishing smacks. The sails were drying, and 
flapped lazily against the mast. I could see the 
figures of the men as they passed backwards and 
forwards upon the decks, and although the height 
was nearly eight hundred feet, could hear their 
voices quite distinctly. Upon the golden strand, 
which was still marked with a deeper tint, where 
the tide had washed, stood a little white cottage of 
some fishermen — at least, so the net before the door 
bespoke it. Around it stood some children, whose 
merry voices and laughing tones sometimes 
reached me where I was standing. I could not 
but think, as I looked down from my lofty eyrie 
upon that little group of boats and that lone hut. 



how much of the " world," to the humble dwell- 
ers beneath, lay in that secluded and narrow 
bay. There, the deep sea, where tlieir days were 
passed in " storm or sunshine," — there, the hum- 
ble home, where at night they rested, and around 
whose hearth lay all their cares and all their joys. 
How far, how very far removed from the busy 
haunts of men, and all the struggles and con- 
tentions of the ambitious world ; and yet, how 
short-sighted to suppose that even they had not 
their griefs and sorrows, and that their humble 
lot was devoid of the inheritance of those woes 
which all are heirs to. 

I turned reluctantly from the sea-shore to 
enter the gate of the park, and my path in a 
few moments was as completely screened from 
all prospect of the sea, as though it had lain miles 
inland. An avenue of tall and ancient lime-trees, 
so dense in their shadows as nearly to conceal 
the road beneath, led for above a mile through 
a beautiful lawn, whose surface, gently undulat- 
ing and studded with young clumps, was dotted 
over with sheep. At length, descending by a 
very steep road, I reached a beautiful little 
stream, over which a rustic bridge was thrown. 
As I looked down upon the rippling stream be- 
neath, on the surface of which the dusky evening 
flies were dipping, I made a resolve, if I pros- 
,pered in his lordship's good graces, to devote a 
day to the "angle" there, before I left the coun- 
try. It was now growing late, and remembering 
Lord Kilkee's intimation of ''sharp seven," I 
threw my reins over my cob Sir Roger's neck 
(for I had hitherto been walking), and cantered 
up the steep hill before me. When I reached 
the top, I found myself upon a broad table-land, 
encircled by old and well-grown timber, and at a 
distance, most tastefully half-concealed by or- 
namental planting, I could catch some glimpse 
of Callonby. Before, however, I had time to 
look about me, I heard the tramp of horses' feet 
behind, and in another moment two ladies 
dashed up the steep behind, and came towards 
me, at a smart gallop, follovv:ed by a groom, who, 
neither himself nor his horse, seemed to relish the 
pace of his fair mistresses. I moved oft' the road 
into the grass to permit them to pass; but no 
sooner had they got abreast of me, than Sir 
Roger, anxious for a fair start, flung up both 
heels at once, pricked up his ears, and with a 
plunge that very nearly threw me from the saddle, 
set off at top speed. My first thought was for the 
ladies beside me, and to my utter horror, I now 
saw them coming along in full gallop; their 
horses had got off the road, and were, to my 
thinking, become quite unmanageable. I endeav- 
ored to pull up, but all in vain. Sir Roger had 
got the bit between his teeth, a favorite trick of 
his, and I was perfectly powerless to hold him. 
By this time, they being mounted on thorough- 
breds, got a full neck before me, and the pace was 
now tremendous: on we all came, each horse at 
his utmost stretch. They were evidently gaining 
from the better stride of their cattle, and, will it 
be believed, or shall I venture to acknowledge it 
in these my Confessions, that I, who a moment be- 
fore would have given my best chance of promo- 
tion to be able to pull in my horse, would now 



§8 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



have " pledged my dukedom" to be able to give 
Sir Roger one cut of the whip unobserved. I 
leave it to the wise to decipher the rationale, but 
such is the fact. It was complete steeple-chasing, 
and my blood was up. 

On we came, and I now perceived that about 
two hundred yards before me stood an iron-gate 
and piers, without any hedge or wall on either 
side; before I could conjecture the meaning of so 
strange a thing in the midst of a large lawn, I saw 
the foremost horse, now two or three lengths before 
the other, still in advance of me, take two or three 
short strides, and fly about eight feet over a sunk 
fence — the second followed in the same style, the 
riders sitting as steadily as in the gallop. It was 
now my turn, and I confess, as I neared the dyke, 
I heartily wished myself well over it, for the very 
possibility of a " mistake" was maddening. Sir 
Roger came on at a slapping pace, and when within 
two yards of the brink, rose to it, and cleared it 
like a deer. By the time I had accomplished this 
feat, not the less to my satisfaction that both 
ladies had turned in their saddles to -watch me, they 
were already far in advance; they held on still at 
the same pace, round a small copse which con- 
cealed them an instant from my view, and which, 
when I passed, I perceived that they had just 
reached the hall door, and were dismounted. 

On the steps stood a tail, elderly-looking, gen- 
tleman-like person, who, I rightly conjectured, was 
his lordship. I heard him laughing heartily as I 
came up. I at last succeeded in getting Sir Roger 
to a canter, and when a few yards from where the 
group were standing, sprang off, and hastened up 
to make my apologies as best I might for my un- 
fortunate runaway. I was luckily spared the awk- 
wardness of an explanation, for his lordship ap- 
proaching me with his hand e^ctended, said — 

" Mr. Lorrequer is most welcome at Callonby. 
I cannot be mistaken, I am sure — I have the pleas- 
ure of addressing the nephew of my old friend. Sir 
Guy Lorrequer of Elton. I am indeed most 
happy to see you, and not the less so, that you 
are safe and sound, *vhich, five minutes since, I 
assure you I had my fears for." 

Before I could assure his lordship that my 
fears were all for my competitors in the race — 
for such in reality they were — he introduced me 
to the two ladies, who were still standing beside 
him— " Lady Jane Callonby; Mr. Lorrequer; 
Lady Catherine." 

" Which of you, young ladies, may I ask, planned 
this ' escapade,' for I see by your looks it was 
no accident?" 

"I think, papa," said Lady Jane, "you must 
question Mr. Lorrequer on that head; he cer- 
tainly started first." 

" I confess, indeed," said I, " such was the 
case." 

"Well, you must confess, too, you were 
distanced," said Lady Jane. 

His lordship laughed heartily, and I joined 
in his mirth, feeling at the same time most ter- 
ribly provoked to be quizzed on such a matter; 
that I, a steeple-chase horseman of the first water, 
should be twitted by a couple of young ladies, 
on the score of a most manly exercise. " But 
come," said his lordship, " the first bell has rung 



long since, and I am longing to ask Mr. Lorre- 
quer all about my old college friend of forty 
years ago. So, ladies, hasten your toilet, I be- 
seech you." 

With these words, his lordship, taking my arm, 
led me into the drawing-room, where we had 
not been many minutes till we were joined by her 
ladyship, a tall, stately, handsome woman, of a 
certain age; resolutely bent upon being both 
young and beautiful, in spite of time and wrmkles; 
her reception of me, though not possessing 
the frankness of his lordship, was still very 
polite, and intended to be even gracious. I now 
found by the reiterated inquiries for my old 
uncle. Sir Guy, that he it was, and not Hamlet, 
to whom I owed my present notice, and I 
must include it among my confessions, that it 
was about the first advantage I ever derived 
from the relationship. After half an hour's 
agreeable chatting, the ladies entered, and then 
I had time to remark the extreme beauty of their 
appearance; they were both wonderfully alike, 
and except that Lady Jane was taller and more 
womanly, it would have been almost impossi- 
ble to discriminate between them. 

Lady Jane Callonby was then about twenty years 
of age, rather above the middle size, and slightly 
disposed towards ««/'(';//«'///,• her eye was of the 
deepest and most liquid blue, and rendered appar- 
ently darker by long lashes of the blackest jet — 
for such was the color of her hair; her nose slightly, 
but slightly, deviated from the straightness of the 
Greek, and her upper lip was faultless, as were 
her mouth and chin; the whole lower part of the 
face, from the perfect repose, and from the car- 
riage of her head, had certainly a great air of 
hauteur, but the extreme melting softness of her 
eyes took from this, and when she spoke, there 
was a quiet earnestness in her mild and musical 
voice, that disarmed you at once of connecting 
the idea of self with the speaker; the word "fas- 
cinating," more than any other I know of, conveys 
the effect of her appearance, and to produce it, 
she had. more than any other M-oman I ever met, 
that wonderful gift, ' I'art de p/airc." 

I was roused from my perhaps too earnest, be- 
cause unconscious gaze, at the lovely figure before 
me, by his lordship saying, "Mr. Lorrequer, hei 
ladyship is waiting for you." I accordingly bowed, 
and offering my arm, led her into the dinner- 
room. And here I draw rein for the present, 
reserving for my next chapter — My Adventures at 
Callonby. 

CHAPTER IIL 



life at callonby — love-making" 
o'dowd's adventure. 



-MISS 



]\Iy first evening at Callonby passed off as 
nearly all first evenings do everywhere. His 
lordship was most agreeable, talked much of my 
uncle, Sir (}uy, wliose fag he had been at Eton 
half a century before, promised me some capital 
shooting in his preserves, discussed the state of 
politics ; and, as the second decanter of port 
"waned apace," grew wondrous confidential, 



HARRY LORREOUER, 



29 



and told me of his intention to start his son for 
the county at the next general election, such being 
the object which had now conferred the honor of 
his presence on his Irish estates. 

Her ladyship was most condescendingly civil ; 
vouchsafed much tender commiseration for my 
" e.xile," as she termed my quarters in Kilrush ; 
wondered how I could possibly exist in a march- 
ing regiment (who had never been in the cavalry 
in my life !) ; spoke quite feelingly of my kiinfness 
in joining their stupid family party, for they were 
living, to use her own phrase, "like hermits;" 
and wound up all by a playful assurance that as 
she perceived, from all my answers, that I was 
bent on preserving a strict incognito, she would 
tell no tales about me on her return to "Town." 
Now, it may readily be believed that all this and 
many more of her ladyship's allusions were a 
" Chaldee manuscript" to me ; that she knew cer- 
tain facts of my family and relations was certain, 
but that she had interwoven in the humble web 
of my history a very pretty embroidery of fiction, 
was equally so ; and while she thus ran on, 
with innumerable allusions to Lady Marys and 
Lord Johns, who she pretended to su])pose were 
dying to hear from me, I could not help muttering 
to myself, with good Christopher Sly, "An all this 
be true — then. Lord be thanked for my good 
amends ; "for up to that moment I was an ungrate- 
ful man for all such high and noble solicitude. One 
dark doubt shot for an instant across my brain. 
Mayhap her ladyship had "registered a vow" never 
to syllable a name unchronicled by Debrett, or was 
actually only mystifying me for mere amusement. 
A minute's consideration dispelled this fear ; for I 
found myself treated en seigiu-iir by the whole 
family. As for the daughters of the house, nothing 
could possibly be more engaging than their man- 
ner. The eldest. Lady Jane, was pleased, from 
my near relationship to her father's oldest friend, 
to receive me," from the first," on the most friendly 
footing, while with the younger. Lady Catherine, 
from her being less reserved than her sister, my 
progress was even greater; and thus, before we 
separated for the night, I contrived to "take up 
my position" in such a fashion as to be already 
looked upon as one of the family party, to which 
object Lord, and indeed Lady, Callonby seemed 
most willing to contribute, and made me promise 
to spend the entire of the following day at Cal- 
lonby, and as many of the succeeding ones as my 
military duties would permit. 

As his lordship was wishing me " good-night" at 
the door of the drawing-room, he said, in a half- 
wiiisper — 

" We were ignorant yesterday, Mr. Lorrequer, 
how soon we should have the pleasure of seeing 
you here ; and you are therefore condemned to a 
small room off the library, it being the only one 
we can insure you as being well aired. I must 
therefore apprise you that you are not to be shocked ! 
at finding yourself surrounded by every member of j 
my family hung up in frames around you. But as 
the room is usually my own snuggery, I have re- 
signed it without any alteration whatever." 

The apartment for which his lordship had so 
strongly apologized, stood in very pleasing contrast 
to my late one in Kilrush. The soft Persian carpet, 



I on which one's feet sank to the very ankles ; the 
brightly polished dogs, upon which ablazing wood 
tire burned ; the well upholstered fauteuils which 
seemed to invite sleep without the trouble of lying 
down for it ; and last of all, the ample and luxu- 
rious bed, upon whose rich purple hangings the 
ruddy glare of the fire threw a most mellow light, 
were all a pleasing exchange for the garniture of 
the "Hotel Healy." 

" Certes, Harry Lorrequer," said I, as I threw 
myself upon a small ottoman before the fire, in all 
the slippered ease and abandon of a man who has 
changed a dress coat for a morning gow-n — " certes, 
thou art destined for great things ; even here, 
where fate had seemed ' to do its worst' to thee, a 
little paradise opens, and what, to ordinary mor- 
tals, had proved but a 'flat, stale, and most un- 
profitable' quarter, presents to thee all the accum- 
ulated delight of an hospitable mansion, a kind, al- 
most friendly, host, a condescending Madame 
Mere, and daughters, too ! ah, ye gods ! But what 
is this ?" And here for the first time lifting up my 
eyes, I perceived a beautiful water-color drawing 
in the style of " Chalon," which was placed above 
the chimney-piece. I rose at once, and taking a 
candle, proceeded to examine it more minutely. It 
was a portrait of Lady Jane, a full-length too, and 
wonderfully like ; there was more complexion, and 
perhaps more roundness of the figure than her 
present appearance would justify ; but if anything 
was gained in brilliancy, it was certainly lost in 
point of expression, and I infinitely preferred her 
pale, but beautifully fair countenance, to the rosy 
cheek of the picture. The figure was faultless ; the 
same easy grace, the result of perfect symmetry and 
refinement together, which only one in a thousand 
of handsome girls possess, was portrayed to the 
life. The more I looked, the more I felt charmed 
with it. Never had I seen anything so truly char- 
acteristic as this sketch, for it was scarcely more. 
It was after nearly an hour's quiet contemplation 
wlien I began to remember the lateness of the 
night, an hour in which my thoughts had rambled 
from the lovely object before me to wonder at the 
situation in which I found myself placed ; for 
there was so much of "attention" towards me, in 
the manner of every member of the famiIy,coupled 
with certain mistakes as to my habits and acquaint- 
ances, as left me perfectly unable to unravel the 
mystery which so evidently surrounded me. "Per- 
haps," thought I, "Sir Guy has written in my be- 
half to his lordship. Oh, he would never do any- 
thing half so civil. Well, to he sure, I shall as- 
tonish them at head-quarters ; they'll not believe 
this. I wonder if Lady Jane saw my ' Hamlet ;' for 
they landed in Cork from Bristol about that time. 
She is indeed a most beautiful girl. I wish I were a 
marquis, if it were only for her sake. Well, my 
Lord Callonby, you maybe a very wise man in the 
House of Lords ; but I would just ask, is it ex- 
actly prudent to introduce into your family, on 
terms of such perfect intimacy, a young, fascinat- 
ing, well-looking fellov.-, of four-and-twcnty, albeit 
only a subaltern, with two such daughters as you 
have ? Peut-cire ! One thing is certain — / have 
no cause of complaint : and so, good-night. Lady 
Jane." And with these words I fell asleep to dream 
of the deepest blue eyes, and the most melting 



30 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



tones that ever reduced a poor lieutenant in a 
marching regiment to curse his fate that he could 
not call the Commander of the Forces his father. 

When I descended to the breakfast-room, I 
found the whole family assembled in a group 
around Lord Kilkee, who had just returned from 
a distant part of the county, where he had been 
canvassing the electors, and spouting patriotism 
the day before. He was giving an account of his 
progress with much spirit and humor as I entered, 
but, on seeing me, immediately came forward and 
shook hands with me like an old acquaintance. 
By Lord Callonby and the ladies I was welcomed 
also with much courtesy and kindness, and 
some slight badinage passed upon my sleeping in 
what Lord Kilkee called the " Picture Gallery," 
which, for all I knew to the contrary, contained 
but one fair portrait. I am not a believer in Mes- 
mer; but certainly there must have been some in- 
fluence at work very like what we hear of in mag- 
netism — for before the breakfast was concluded, 
there seemed at once to spring up a perfect un- 
derstanding between the family and myself, which 
made me feel as much chcz moi as I had ever 
done in my life; and froin that hour I may date 
an intimacy which every succeeding day but 
served to increase. 

After breakfast. Lord Callonby consigned me 
to the guidance of his son, and we sallied forth 
to deal destruction among the pheasants, with 
which the preserves were stocked; and here I 
may observe, en passant, that with the single ex- 
ception of fox-hunting, which was ever a passion 
with me, I never could understand that inveterate 
pursuit of game to which some men devote them- 
selves — thus, grouse-shooting, and its attendant 
pleasures, of stumping over a boggy mountain 
from daylight till dark, never had much attraction 
for me; and as to the delights of widgeon and 
wild-duck shooting, when purchased by sitting up 
all night in a barrel, with your eye to the bung, I'll 
none of it — no, no! give me shooting or angling 
merely as a divertimento, a pleasant interlude 
between breakfast and luncheon-time, when, con- 
signing your Manton to a corner, and the game- 
keeper " to the dogs," you once more humanise 
your costume to take a canter with the daughters 
of the house; or, if the day look loweringly, a 
match of billiards with the men. 

I have ever found that the happiest portions of 
existence are the most difficult to chronicle. We 
may — nay, we must, impart our miseries and an- 
noyances to our many "dear friends," whose forte 
is sympathy or consolation — and all men are elo- 
quent on the subject of their woes ; not so with 
their joys : some have a miser-like pleasure in 
hoarding them up for their own private gratifica- 
tion : others — and they are prudent — feel that the 
narrative is scarcely agreeable even to their best 
friends ; and a few, of whom I confess myself one, 
are content to be happy without knowing why, and 
to have pleasant souvenirs without being able to 
explain them. 

Such must be my apology for not more minutely 
entering upon an account of my life at Callonby. 
A fortnight had now seen me cnfonce\ the daily 
companion of two beautiful girls in all their walks 
and rides, through a romantic, unfrequented coun- 



try, seeing but little of the other members of the 
family ; the gentlemen being entirely occupied 
with their election tactics, and Lady Callonby be- 
ing a late riser, seldom appeared before the dinner 
hour. There was not a cliff on the bold and rocky 
coast we did not climb, not a cave upon the peb- 
bly beach unvisited ; sometimes my fair compan- 
ions would bring a volume of Metastasio down to 
the little river where I used to angle ; and the 
" gentle craft " was often abandoned for the heart- 
thrilling verses of that delightful poet. Yes, 
many years have passed over, and these scenes are 
still as fresh in my memory as though they had 
been of yesterday. In my memory, I say, " as for 
thee," 

" Chi sase mai 
Ti sovverrai di me?" 

At the end of three weeks the house became 
full of company, from the garret to the cellar. 
Country gentlemen and their wives and daughters 
came pouring in, on every species of conveyance 
known since the Flood ; family coaches, which, 
but for their yellow panels, might have been mis- 
taken for hearses, and high barouches, the ascent 
to which was accomplished by a step-ladder, fol- 
lowed each other in what appeared a never-end- 
ing succession ; and here I may note an instance 
of the anomalous character of the conveyances, 
from an incident to which I was a witness at the 
time. 

Among the visitors on the second day came a 
maiden lady from the neighborhood of Ennisti- 
mon. jVIiss Elizabeth O'Dowd, the last of a vfry 
old and highly respectable family in the county, 
and whose extensive property, thickly studded 
with freeholders, was a strong reason for her be- 
ing paid every attention in Lord Callonby's 
power to bestow. Miss Betty O'Dowd — for so 
she was popularly styled — was the very personifi- 
cation of an old maid ; stiff as a ramrod, and so 
rigid in observance of the proprieties of female 
conduct, that, in the estimation of the-Clare gen- 
try, Diana was a hoyden compared to her. 

Miss Betty lived, as I have said, near Ennisti- 
mon, and the road from thence to Callonby at the 
time I speak of — it was before Mr. Nimmo — was 
as like the bed of a mountain torrent as a respect- 
able highway; there were holes that would have 
made a grave for any maiden lady within fifty 
miles; and rocks thickly scattered, enough to 
prove fatal to the strongest wheels that evei 
issued from " Mutton's." Miss O'Dowd knew 
this well — she had upon one occasion been upset 
in travelling it — and a slate-colored silk dress 
bore the dye of every species of mud and mire 
to be found there, for many a year after, to re- 
mind her of her misfortune, and keep open the 
wound of her sorrow. M'hen, therefore, the invita- 
tion to Callonby arrived, a great council of war was 
summoned, to deliberate upon the mode of transit, 
for the honor could not he declined, " coiite iju'il 
co/lte." The chariot was out of the question: Nich- 
olas declared it would never reach the "Moraan 
Beg," as the first precipice was called; the inside 
car was long since pronounced unfit for hazard- 
ous enterprise; and the only resource left, was 
what is called, in Hibernian parlance, a " low- 
backed car," that is, a car without any back 



^ 



1 



/ 




w/'' 



<^syi //y^r>/r/J a/^/uw//(7/ya<J^ :Jj<^ 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



31 



whatever, it being.neither more nor less than the 
common agricultural conveyance of the country, 
upon which a feather-bed being laid, the farmers' 
wives and daughters are generally conveyed to 
fairs, wakes, and stations, etc. Putting her dig- 
nit)-, if not in her pocket, at least wherever it 
could be most easily accommodated, Miss O'Dowd 
placed her fair self, in all the plenitude of her 
charms and the grandeur of a " bran-new green 
silk," a "little off the grass, and on the bottle" 
(I love to be particular), upon this humble con- 
veyance, and set out on her way, if not " rejoic- 
ing," at least consoled by Nicholas, that " It 'id 
be black dark when they reached the house, and 
the devil a one 'id be the wiser than if she came in 
a coach and four." Nicholas was right; it was 
perfectly dark on their arrival at Callonby, and 
Miss O'Dowd having dismounted, and shaken 
her plumage, a little crumpled by her half-recum- 
bent position for eight miles, appeared in the 
drawing-room, to receive the most corteous atten- 
tions from Lady Callonby, and from his lordship 
the most flattering speeches for her kindness in 
risking herself and bringing " her horses" on such 
a dreadful road, and assured her of his getting a 
presentment the very next assizes to repair it — 
"For we intend, Miss O'Dowd," said he, "to be 
most troublessrae neighbors to you in future." 

The evening passed off most happily. Miss 
O'Dowd was delighted with her hosts, whose char- 
acter she resolved to uphold in spite of their repu- 
tation for pride and haughtiness. Lady Jane sang 
an Irish melody for her, Lady Callonby gave her 
slips of a rose geranium she got from the Princess 
A-ugusta, and Lord Kilkee won her heart by the 
performance of that most graceful step, yclept 
"cover the buckle," in an Irish jig. But alas! 
how short-lived is human bliss, for while this es- 
timable lady revelled in the full enjoyment of the 
hour,the sword of Damocles hung suspended above 
her head ; in plain English, she had, on arriving at 
Callonby, to prevent any unnecessary scrutiny into 
the nature of her conveyance, ordered Nicholas to 
be at the door punctually at eleven ; and then, to 
take an opportunity of quietly slipping open the 
drawing-room door, and giving her an intimation 
of it, that She might take her leave at once. Nicho- 
las was up to time, and having disposed the con- 
veyance under the shadow of the porch, made his 
way to the door of the drawing-room unseen and 
unobserved. He opened it gently and noiselessly, 
merely sufficient to take a survey of the apartment, 
in which, from the glare of the lights, and the busy 
hum of voices, he was so bewildered that it was 
some minutes before he recognized his mistress. 
At last he perceived her ; she was seated at a card- 
table, playing whist with Lord Callonby for her 
partner. Who the other players were, he knew not. 
A proud man was Nicholas, as he saw his mistress 
thus placed, actually sitting, as he afterwards ex- 
pressed it, "forenint the Lord;" but his thoughts 
were bent on other matters, and it was no time to 
indulge his vauntings. 

He strove for some time patiently to catch her 
eye, for she was so situated as to permit of this, 
but without success. He then made a slight at- 
tempt to attract her attention by beckoning with 
his finger — all in vain. "Oh, murther," said he, 



"what is this for? I'll have to spake afther all." 

" Four by honors," said his lordship, " and the 
odd trick. Another double, I believe, Miss 
O'Dowd." 

Miss O'Dowd nodded a graceful assent, while a 
sharp-looking old dowager at the sideof the table 
called out, "A rubber of four only, my lord ;" and 
now began an explanation from the whole party at 
once. Nicholas saw this was his time, and thought 
that in the ///(V/if, his hint might reach his mistress 
unobserved by the remainder of the company. He 
accordingly protruded his head into the room, and 
placing his finger on the side of his nose, and shut- 
ting one eye knowingly,with an air of great secrecy, 
whispered out," Miss Betty — Miss Betty, alanah !" 
For some minutes the hum of the voices drowned 
his admonitions, but as, by degrees waxing warmer 
in the cause, he called out more loudly, every eye 
was turned to the spot from whence these extraor- 
dinary sounds proceeded ; and certainly the ap- 
pearance of Nicholas at the moment was well 
calculated to astonish the company of a drawing- 
room. With his one eye fixed eagerly in the di- 
rection of his mistress, his red scratch wig 
pushed back off his forehead, in the eagerness of 
his endeavor to be heard, there he stood, per- 
fectly unmindful of all around, save Miss O'Dowd 
herself. It may well be believed that such an 
apparition could not be witnessed with gravity, 
and, accordingly, a general titter ran through the 
room, the whist party, still contending about odd 
tricks and honors, being the only persons insen- 
sible to the mirth around them. "Miss Bett)', 
arrah, Miss Betty," said Nicholas, with a sigh, 
that converted the subdued laughter of the guests 
into a perfect burst of mirth. 

" Eh," said his lordship, turning round, "what 
is this? We are losing something excellent, I 
fear." 

At this moment, he caught a glimpse of 
Nicholas, and, throwing himself back in his chair 
laughed immoderately. It was now Miss Betty's 
turn ; she M'as about to rise from the table, when 
the well-known accents of Nicholas fell upon her 
ear. She fell back in her seat^there he was ; 
the messenger of the foul fiend himself would 
have been more welcome at that moment. Her 
blood rushed to her face and temples ; her hands 
tingled ; she closed her eyes, and when she 
opened them, there stood the accursed Nicholas 
glowering at her still. 

"Man — man!" said she, at length, "what cto 
you mean ? What do you want here ?" 

Poor Nicholas, little guessing that the question 
was intended to throw a doubt upon her acquaint- 
ance with him, and conceiving that the hour for 
the announcement had come, hesitated for an in- 
stant how he should designate the conveyance. 
He could not call it a coach ! it certainly was 
not a buggy — neither was it a jaunting car ; what 
should he say ! He looked earnestly, and even 
imploringly, at his mistress, as if to con\-ey some 
sense of his difficulty, and then, as it were catch- 
ing a sudden inspiration, winked once more, as 
he said — 

"Miss Betty— the— the— the "—and here 

he looked indescribably droll — "-the thing jou 
know is at the door." 



33 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



All his lordship's politeness was too little for 
the occasion, and Miss O'Dowd's tenantry were 
lost to the Callonby interest forever. 



CHAPTER IV. 

BOTANICAL STUDIES — THE NATURAL SYSTEM 
PREFERABLE TO THE LINN.EAN. 

' The carriage is at the door, my lord," said a 
servant, entering the luncheon-room where we 
were all assembled. 

" Now then, Mr. Lorrequer," said Lord 
Callonby, " allons, take another glass of wine, 
and let us away. I expect you to make a most 
brilliant speech, remember !" 

His lordship here alluded to our intention of 
visiting a remote barony, where a meeting of 
the freeholders was that day to be held, and at 
which I was pledged for a "neat and appropri- 
ate" oration in abuse of the Corn-laws an.d the 
Holy Alliance. 

■■ I beg pardon, my lord," said her ladyship, 
in a most languishing tone ; " but Mr. Lorrequer 
is pre-engaged ; he has for the last week been 
promising and deferring his visit to the new con- 
servatory with me, where he is to find out four 
or five of the Swiss shrubs that Collins cannot 
make out — and which I am dying to know all 
about." 

" Mr. Lorrequer is a false man, then," said 
Lady Catherine, "for he said at breakfast that 
we should devote this afternoon to the chalk 
caves, as the tide will be so far out that we can 
see them all perfectlj'." 

"And L" said Lord Kilkee, "must put in my 
plea, that the aforesaid Mr. Lorrequer is booked 
for a coursing match — ' Mouche versus Jessie,' — 
Guilty or not guilty?" 

Lady Jane alone of all said not a word. 

" Guilty on every count of the indictment." 
said I; "I throw myself on the mercy of the 
court." 

" Let his sentence then be banishment," said 
Lady Catherine, with affected anger, " and let 
him go with papa." 

"I rather think," said Lord Kilkee, "the 
better plan is to let him visit the conservatory, 
for I'd wager a fifty he finds it more difficult to 
invent botany than canvass freeholders — eh ?" 

"I am sure," said Lady Jane, for the first 
time breaking silence, "that mamma is infinitely 
flattered by the proposal that Mr. Lorrequer's 
company is to be conferred upon her for her 
sin?.'' 

" I am not to be affronted, nor quizzed out of 
my chaperone ; here, Mr. Lorrequer," said Lady 
Callonby, rising, "get Smith's book there, and 
let me have your arm ; and now, young ladies, 
come along, and learn something, if you can." 

"An admirable proviso," said Lord Kilkee, 
laughing, " if his botany be only as authentic as 
the autographs he gave Mrs. MacDermot, and all 
of which he wrote himself, in my dressing-room, 
in half an hour. Napoleon was the only difficult 
one in the number." 



Most fortunately this unfair disclosure did not 
reach her ladyship's ears, as she was busily en- 
gaged putting on her bonnet, and I was yet un- 
assailed in reputation to her. 

"Good-bye, then," said Lord Callonby; "we 
meet at seven." And in a few moments the little 
party were scattered to their several destinations. 

" How very hot you have this place, Collins," 
said Lady Callonby, as we entered the conserva- 
tory. 

" Only seventy-five, my lady, and the magno- 
lias require heat." 

I here dropped a little behind, as if to exam- 
ine a plant, and in a half-whisper said to Lady 
Jane,— 

" How came it that you alone. Lady Jane, 
should forget that I had made another appoint- 
ment ? I thought you wished to make a sketch 
of Craigmoran Abbey — did you forget that we 
were to ride there to-day?" 

Before she could reply. Lady Callonby called 
out — "Oh, here it is, Air. Lorrequer. Is this a 
heath ? that is the question." 

Here her ladyship pointed to a little scrubby 
thing, that looked very like a birch rod. I pro- 
ceeded to examine it most minutely, while Col- 
lins waited with all the intense anxiet)' of a man 
whose character depended on the sentence. 

" Collins will have it a jungermania," said she. 

" And Collins is right," said I, not trusting 
myself with the pronunciation of the awful word 
her ladyship uttered. 

Collins looked ridiculously happy. 

" Now that is so delightful," said Lady Cal- 
lonby, as she stopped to look at another puzzle. 

" What a wretch it is," said Lady Catharine, 
covering her face with a handkerchief. 

"What a beautiful little flower," said Lady 
Jane, lifting up the bell of a lobelia splendens. 

"You know, of course," said I, "what they 
call that flower in France — L'amour tendre." 

" Indeed !" 

" True, I assure you ; may I present you with 
this sprig of it ?" cutting off a small twig, and 
presenting it at the same instant unseen by the 
others. 

She hesitated for an instant, and then extend- 
ing her fair and taper hand, took it. I dared not 
look at her as she did so, but a proud swelling 
triumph at my heart nearly choked me. 

" Now, Collins," said Lady Callonby, " I can- 
not find the Alpen tree I brought from the 
Griindenwald." 

Collins hurried forward to her ladyship's side. 

Lady Catharine was also called to assist in the 
search. 

I was alone with Lady Jane. 

" Now or never," thought I ; I hesitated — I 
stammered — my voice faltered. She saw my agi- 
tation ; she participated in, and increased it. At 
last I summoned up courage to touch her hand ; 
she gently withdrew it — but so gently, it was not 
a repulse. 

" If, Lady Jane," said I at length—" if the de- 
voted " 

" Halloa, there," said a deep voice without, " is 
Mr. Lorrequer there ?" 

It was Lord Kilkee, returned'from his coursing 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



/ 

match. None but he who has felt such an inter- 
ruption can feel for me. 1 shame lo say that 
his brotherhood to her, for whom I would have 
perilled my life, restrained nie not from some- 
thing very like a hearty commendation of him 
to the powers that 

'' Down, dogs, there — down !" continued he, 
and in a moment after entered the conservatory, 
flushed and heated with the chase. 

" Mouche is the winner — two to one — and so, 
Master Shallow, I owe you a thousand pounds." 

Would to Heaven that I had lost the wager, 
had it only taken a little longer to decide it ! I 
of course appeared overjoyed at my dog's suc- 
cess, and listened with great pretence of interest 
to the narrative of the "run ;" the more so be- 
cause, that though perhaps more my friend than 
the older members of the family, Lord Kilkee 
evidently liked less than them my growing inti- 
macy with his sister ; and I was anxious to blind 
him on the present occasion, when, but for his re- 
cent excitement, very little penetration would 
have enabled him to detect that something un- 
usual had taken place. 

It was now so nearly dark, that her ladyship's 
further search for the alpine treasure became 
impossible, and so we turned our steps towards 
the garden, where we continued to walk till joined 
by Lord Callonby. And now began a most active 
discussion upon agriculture, rents, tithes, and 
Toryism, in which the ladies took but little part; 
and I had the mortification to perceive that Lady 
Jane was excessively bored, and seized the first 
opportunity to leave the party and return to the 
house; v/hile her sister gave me from time to time 
certain knowing glances, as if intimating that my 
knowledge of farming and political economy were 
pretty much on a par with my proficiency in 
botany. 

"One has discovered me at least," thought I: 
but the bell had rung to dress for dinner, and 1 
hastened to my room to think over future plans, 
and once more wonder at the singular position 
into which fate and the "rules of the service" 
had thrown me. 



CHAPTER V. 



PUZZLED — EXPLANATION MAKES BAD WORSE — A 
DUEL. 

"Any letters?" said her ladyship to a servant, 
as she crossed the hall. 

" Only one, my lady — for Mr. Lorrequer, I 
believe." 

"For me!" thought I; "how is this?" My 
letters had been hitherto always left in Kilrush. 
Why was this forwarded here? I hurried to the 
drawing-room, where I found a double letter 
awaiting me. The writing was Curzon's, and con- 
tained the words " To be forwarded with haste" 
on the direction. I opened and read as follows: 

"Dear Lorrequer, — Have you any recollec- 
tion, among your numerous 'escapades' at Cork, 
of having grievously insulted a certain Mr. Giles 
Beamish, in thought, word, or deed? If you 



have, I say, let me know, with all convenient de- 
sjjatch whether the ottence be one admitting of 
apology — for if not, the Lord have mercy on 
your soul — a more wrothy gentleman than the 
aforesaid it having rarely been my evil fortune to 
foregather with. He called here yesterday to 
inquire your address, and at my suggestion 
wrote a note which I now enclose. I write in 
great haste, and am ever yours faithfully, 

"C. CURZON. 

" N.B — I have not seen his note, so explain all 
and everything." 

The enclosed ran thus. 

" Sir, — It can scarcely have escaped your 
memory, though now nearly two months since, 
that at the Mayor's de'jeilner in Cork, you were 
pleased to make merry at my expense, and ex- 
pose me and my family for your amusement. This 
is to demand an immediate apology, or that satis- 
faction which, as an officer, you will not refuse 
your most obedient servant, 

<, „ . , . 7-r ., 7.. "Giles Beamish. 

Suniwiirne s Hotel. 

" Giles Beamish ! Giles Beamish !" said I, re- 
peating the narne in every variety of empliasis, 
hoping to obtain some clue to the writer. Had I 
been appointed the umpire between Dr. Wall and 
his reviewers, in the late controversy about 
" Phonetic signs," I could not have been more 
completely puzzled than by the contents of this- 
note. " Make merry at his expense !" a great of- 
fence truly — I suppose I have laughed at better 
men than ever he was ; and I can only say of such 
innocent amusement, as Falstaff did of sack and 
sugar, if such be a sin, " then Heaven help the 
wicked." But I wish I knew who he is, or what 
he alludes to, provided he is not mad, which I 
begin to think not improbable. "By the by, my 
Lord, do you know any such person in the south 
as a Mr. Beamish — Giles Beamish?" 

"To be sure," said Lord Callonby, looking up 
from his newspaper, "there are several of the 
name, of the highest respectability. One is an- 
alderman of Cork — a very rich man, too — but I 
don't remember his Christian name." 

" An alderman, did you say ?" 

"Yes, Alderman Beamish, is very well known. 
I have seen him frequently — a short, florid, little 
man." 

"Oh, it must be he," said I, musingly; "it- 
must have been this worthy alderman from whose 
worshipful person I tore the robe of office on the 
night of the fete. But what does he mean by 
'my exposing him and his family?' Why, zounds,, 
his wife and children were not with him on the 
pavement. Oh, I see it ; it is the Mansion 
House school of eloquence ; did not Sir William 
Curtis apologize for not appearing at court from 
having lost an eye, which he designated as an 
awful ' domestic calamity ?' " 

It being now settled to my satisfaction that 
Mr. Beamish and the great uncloaked were 
"convertible terms," I set about making the 
amende in the most handsome manner possible. 
I wrote to the alderman a most pacific epistle, re- 
gretting that my departure from Cork deprived 
me of making reparation before, and expressing 



34 



HARRY LORREQUER, 



a most anxious hope that "he caught no cold," 
and. a fervent wish that "he would live many 
years to grace and ornament the dignity of which 
his becoming costume was the emblem." This I 
enclosed in a note to Curzon, telling him how 
the matter occurred, and requesting that he 
would send it by his servant, together with the 
scarlet vestment which he would find in my 
dressing-room. Having folded and sealed this 
despatch, I turned to give Lord Callonby an ac- 
count of the business, and showed him Beamish's 
note, at which he was greatly amused : and, in- 
deed, it furnished food for niirth for the whole 
party during the evening. Next morning I set 
out with Lord Callonby on the long-threatened 
canvassing expedition — with the details of which 
I need not burden my "Confessions." Sufifice 
it to say, that when Lord Kilkee was advocating 
Toryism in the west, I, his accredited ambassa- 
dor, was devoting to the infernal gods the 
prelacy, the peerage, and the pension list — a mode 
of canvass well worthy of imitation in these 
troublesome times ; for, not to speak of the great 
prospect of success from having friends on both 
sides of the question, the principal can always di- 
vest himself of any unpleasant consequences as 
regards inconsistency, by throwing the blame on 
his friend, "who went too far," as the appropri- 
ate phrase is. 

Nothing could be more successful than our 
mission. Lord Callonby was delighted beyond 
bounds with the prospect, and so completely car- 
ried away by high spirits, and so perfectly as- 
sured that much of it was owing to my exertions, 
that on the second morning of our tour — for we 
proceeded through the county for three days — 
he came laughing into my dressing-room, with a 
newspaper in his hand. 

"Here, Lorrequer," said he, "here's news for 
you. You certainly must read this." And he 
handed me a copy of the Clare Herald, with an 
account of our meeting the evening before. 

After glancing my eye rapidly over the routine 
usual in such cases — Humph, ha — nearly two 
hundred people — most respectable farmers — room 
appropriately decorated — " Callonby Arms " — 
" after the usual loyal toasts, the chairman rose " 

Well, no matter. Ah ! here it is : " Mr. 

Lorrequer here addressed the meeting with a flow 
of eloquence it has rarely, if ever, been our privilege 
to hear equalled. He began by" — humph 

"Ah," said his lordship, impatiently, "you will 
never find it out — look here — 'Mr. Lorrequer, 
whom we have mentioned as having made the 
highly exciting speech, to be found in our first 
page, is, we understand, the Son of Sir Guy 
"Lorrequer, of Elton, in Shropshire — one of the 
wealthiest baronets in England. If rumor speaks 
truly, there is a very near prospect of an alliance 
between this talented and promising young gen- 
tleman, and the beautiful and accomplished daugh- 
ter of a certain noble earl, with whom he has 
been for some time domesticated.'" 

"Eh, what think you ? Son of Sir Guy Lorre- 
quer. I always thought my old friend a bachelor, 
but you see the C/rt;Y Z^tvjA/ knows better. Not 
to speak of the last piece of intelligence, it is 
very good, is it not?" 



"Capital, indeed," said I, trying to laugh, and 
at the same time blushing confoundedly, and 
looking as ridiculous as needs be. 

It now struck me forcibly that there was some- 
thing extremely odd in his lordship's mention of 
this paragraph, particularly when coupled with his 
and Lady Callonby's manner to me for the last 
two months. They knew enough of my family, 
evidently, to be aware of my station and pros- 
pects — or rather my want of both — and yet, in the i 
face of tills, they not only encouraged me to pro- 
long a most delightful visit, Viut by a thousand \ 
daily and dangerous opportunities, absolutely 
threw me in the way of one of the loveliest of 
her sex, seemingly without fear on their parts. 
"Well!" thought I, with my old philosophy, 
" Time, that ' pregnant old gentleman,' will dis- 
close all, and so, let us be patient!" 

My reveries on my good and evil fortune were 
suddenly interrupted by a letter which reached 
me that evening, having been forwarded from 
Callonby by a special messenger. "What! an- 
other epistle from Curzon," said I, as my eye 
caught the address; and wondering not a little 
what pressing emergency had called forth the 
words on the cover — "To be forwarded with 
haste" — I eagerly broke the seal and read the 
following: 

"My dear Harry, — I received yours on the 
nth, and immediately despatched your note and 
the raiment to Mr. Beamish. He was from home 
at the time, but at eight o'clock I was sent for 
from the mess to see two gentlemen on most 
pressing business. I hurried to my quarters, and 
there found the aforesaid Mr. B., accompanied by 
a friend whom he introduced as Dr. de Courcy 
Finucane, of the North Cork Militia — as warlike- 
looking a gentleman, of his inches, some five 
icet three, as you would wish to see. The mo- 
ment I appeared, both rose, and commenced a 
narrative, for such I judge it to be, but so ener- 
getically and so completely together, that I could 
only bow politely, and at last request that one, or 
the other, would inform me of the object of their 
visit. Here began the tug of war, the doctor 
saying, 'Arrah, now, Giles' — Mr. Beamish inter- 
rupting by 'Whisht, I tell ye — now, can't you let 
me? Ye see, Mr. Curzoin' — for so they both 
agreed to designate me. At last, completely worn 
out, I said, 'Perhaps you have not received my 
friend's note ?' At this Mr. Beamish reddened to 
the eyes, and with the greatest volubility poured 
forth a flood of indignant eloquence, that I 
thought it necessary to check; but in this I failed, 
for after informing me pretty clearly that he knew 
nothing of your story of the alderman, or his 
cloak, added, that he firmly believed your pre- 
tended reparation was only a renewed insult, and 
that — but, in a word, he used such language, that 
I was compelled to cut him short; and the finale 
is, that I agreed you should meet him, though still 
ignorant of what he calls the 'original offence.' 
But Heaven knows, his conduct here last night de- 
mands a reprimand, and I hope you may give it ; 
and if you shoot him, we may worm out the 
secret from his executors. Nothing could exceed 
the politeness of the parties on my consenting to 



HARRY LORREQUER. 



35 



this arrangement. Dr. Finucane proposed Car- 
rigaholt as the rendezvous, about twelve miles, I 
believe, from Kilrush, and Tuesday evening, at 
si.x, as the time, which will be the very earliest 
moment we can arrive there. So, pray be up to 
time, and believe me yours, 

,. „ , , J, . „ "C. CURZON. 

Saturday Evening. 

It was late on Monday evening when this letter 
reached me, and there was no time to be lost, as I 
was then about forty Irish miles from the place 
mentioned by Curzon; so, after briefly acquaint- 
ing Lord Callonby that I was called off by duty, 
I hurried to my room to pack my clothes, and 
again read over this extraordinary epistle. 

I confess it did appear something droll, how 
completely Curzon seemed to imbibe the passion 
for fighting from these " bloodthirsty Irishmen." 
For by his own showing, he was utterly ignorant 
of my ever having offended this Mr. Beamish, of 
whom I recollected nothing whatever. Yet, when 
that gentleman waxes wrothy, rather than incon- 
venience him, or perhaps anxious to get back to 
the mess, he coolly says, " Oh, my friend shall 
meet you," and then his pleasant jest, " find out 
the cause of the quarrel from his executors !" 

"Truly," thought I, "there is no eqiianimity 
like his who acts as your second in a duel. The 
gentlemanlike urbanity with wliich he waits on 
the opposite friend — the conciliating tone with 
which he proffers implacable enmity — the killing 
kindness with which he refuses all accommoda- 
tion — the Talleyrand air of his short notes, dated 
from the ' Travellers,' or ' Brookes,' with the words 
three o'clock or five o'clock on the cover, all in- 
dicative of the friendly j)recipitancy of the nego- 
tiation. Then, when all is settled, the social style 
with which he asks you to take a 'cutlet' with 
liim at the 'Clarendon,' 'not to go home,' are 
only to be equalled by the admirable tact on the 
ground — the studiously elegant salute to the ad- 
verse party, half a la Napoleon, and half Beau 
Brummell — the politely offered snuff-box — the 
coquetting raillery about ten paces or twelve — 
are certainly the beau ideal of the stoicism which 
preludes sending your friend out of the world 
like a gentleman." 

How very often is the face of external nature 
at variance with the thoughts and actions — " the 
sayings and doings" we may be most intent upon 
at the moment ! How many a gay and brilliant 
bridal party has wended its way to St. George's, 
Hanover Square, amid a downpour of rain, one 
would suppose sufficient to quench the torch of 
Hymen, though it burned as brightly as Captain 
Drummond's oxygen light ; and, on the other 
hand, how frequently are the bluest azure of 
heaven and the most balmy airs shed upon the 
heart bursting with affliction, or the head bowed 
with grief ; and without any desire to impugn, as a 
much higher authority has done, the moral char- 
acter of the moon, how many a scene of blood 
and rapine has its mild radiance illumined ! 
Such reflections as these came thronging to my 
mind, as on the afternoon of Tuesday I neared the 
little village of our rendezvous. The scene 
which in all its peaceful beauty lay before me, was 
truly a strong contrast to the occasion that led 



me thither. I stood upon a little peninsula which 
separates the Shannon from the wide Atlantic. 
On one side the placid river flowed on its course, 
between fields of waving corn, or rich pasturage — 
the beautiful island of Scattery, with its pictur- 
esque ruins reflected in the unrippled tide — the 
cheerful voices of the reapers, and the merry 
laugh of the children were mingled with the sea- 
man's cry of the sailors, who were "heaving 
short" on their anchor, to take the evening tide. 
The village, which consisted merely of a few small 
cabins, was still, from its situation, a pleasing ob- 
ject in the picture, and the blue smoke that rose 
in slender columns from the humble dwellings, 
took from the scene its character of loneliness, aad 
suggested feelings of home and homely enjoyments, 
which human habitations, however lowly, never 
fail to do. 

"At any other time," thought I, " how I could 
have enjoyed all this, but now — and, ha, I find it is 
already past five o'clock, and if I am rightly in- 
formed I am still above a mile from ' Carrigaholt,' 
where we were to meet." 

I had dismissed my conveyance when nearing 
the village, to avoid observation, and now took a 
footpath over the hills. Before I had proceeded half 
a mile, the scene changed completely. I found 
myself traversing a small glen grown over with a 
low oak scrub, and not presenting, on any side, 
the slightest trace of habitation. I saw that the 
ground had been selected by an adept. The glen, 
which grew narrow as I advanced, suddenly dis- 
closed to my view a glimpse of the Atlantic, upon 
which the declining sun was pouring a flood of 
purple glory. I had scarcely turned from the 
contemplation of this beautiful object, when a 
long low whistle attracted my attention. I looked 
in the direction from whence it proceeded, and 
discovered at some distance from me three figures 
standing beside the ruin of an old abbey, which I 
now for the first time perceived. 

If I had entertained any doubt as to who they 
were, it had been speedily resolved, for I now 
saw one of the party waving his hat to me, whom 
I soon recognized to be Curzon. He came forward 
to meet me, and in the few hundred yards that in- 
tervened before our reaching the others, told me as 
much as he knew of the opposite party ; which, 
after all, was but little. Mr. Beamish, my ad- 
versary, he described as a morose, fire-eating 
Southron, that evidently longed for an- "affair" 
with a military man, then considered a circum- 
stance of some eclat, in the South ; his second, the 
doctor, on the contrary, was by far "the best 
of the cut-throats," a most amusing little per- 
sonage, full of his own importance, and profuse in 
his legends of his own doings in love and war, and 
evidently disposed to take the pleasing side of every 
cecurrence in life ; they both agreed in but one 
point — a firm and fixed resolve to give no explan- 
tion of the quarrel with me. " So then," said I, 
as Curzon hurried over the preceding account, 
" you absolutely know nothing whatever of the 
reason for which I am about to give this man a 
meeting." 

" No more than you," said Curzon, with imper- 
turbable gravity ; "but one thing I am certain of 
— had I not at once promised him such, he would 



36 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



have posted you in Limerick the next morning; 
and, as you know our mess-rule in the 4 — th, I 
thought it best " 

" Oh, certainly, quite right ; but now, are you 
quite certain I am the man who offended hmi ? 
for I solemnly assure you I have not the most re- 
mote recollection of having ever heard of him." 

"That point," said Curzon, "there can be no 
doubt of, for he not only designated you as Mr. 
Harry Lorrequer, but the gentleman that made 
all Cork laugh so heartily by his representation of 
Othello." 

"Stop!" said I; "not a word more; I'm his 
man." 

By this time we had reached the ruins, and 
turning a corner came in full contact with the 
enemy. They had been resting themselves on a 
tombstone, and rose as we approached. 

"Allow me," said Curzon, stepping a little in 
advance of me — "allow me to introduce my friend 
Mr. Lorrequer, Dr. Finicane — Dr. Finicane, Mr. 
Lorrequer." 

"Finucane, if quite agreeable to you — Finu- 
cane," said the little gentleman, as he lifted his 
hat straight off his head, and replaced it most ac- 
curately, by way of salute. " Mr. Lorrequer, it is 
with sincere pleasure I make your acquaintance." 
Here Mr. Beamish bowed stiffly, in return to my 
salutation, and at the instant a kind of vague 
sensation crossed my mind that those red whiskers 
and that fiery face were not seen for the first time ; 
but the thumb-screws of the Holy Office would 
have been powerless to refresh my memory as to 
when. 

"Captain," said the doctor, "may I request the 
favor of your company this way, one minute?" 
They both walked aside ; the only words which 
reached me as I moved off, to permit their con- 
ference, being an assurance on the part of the 
doctor, "that it was a sweet spot he ])icked out, 
for, by having them placed north and south, neither 
need have a patch of sky behind him." Very few 
minutes sufficed for preliminaries, and they both 
advanced, smirking and smiling, as if they had 
just arranged a new plan for the amelioration of 
the poor, or the benefit of the manufacturing 
classes, instead of making preparations for send- 
ing a fellow-creature out of the world. 

"Then, if I understand you, captain," said the 
doctor, "you step the distance, and I give the 
word." 

" Exactly," said Curzon. 

After a joking allusion to my friend's length of 
limb, at which we all laughed heartily, we were 
placed, Curzon and the doctor standing and break- 
ing the line between us ; the pistols were then put 
into our hands, the doctor saying, — ;" Now, gentle- 
men, ril just retire six paces, and turn round, 
which will be quite time enough to prepare, and 
at the word ' Fire,' ye'll blaze away ; mind now." 
With a knowing wink, the doctor delivered this 
direction, and immediately moved off ; the word 
" Fire" followed, and both pistols went off together. 
My hat was struck near the top, and, as the smoke 
cleared away, I perceived that my ball had taken 
effect upon my adversary ; he was wounded a 
little below the knee, and appeared to steady him- 
self with the greatest difficulty. '"Your friend is 



hit," said Curzon to the doctor, who now came 

forward with another pistol. " Your friend is hit." 

"So I perceive," said he, placing his finger on 
the spot ; "but it is no harm in life ; so we pro- 
ceed, if you please." 

" You don't mean to demand another shot ?" 
said Curzon. 

"Faith do L" said the doctor, coolly. 

"Then," said Curzon, "I must tell you most 
unequivocally I refuse, and shall now withdraw 
my friend ; and had it not been for a regulation 
peculiar to our regiment, but ne^■er intended to 
include cases of this nature, we had not been here 
now ; for, up to this hour, my principal and my- 
self are in utter ignorance of any cause of offence 
ever having been offered by him to Mr. Beamish." 

"Giles, do you hear this?" said the doctor. 

But Giles did not hear it, for the rapid loss of 
blood from his wound had so weakened him, that 
he had fainted, and lay peaceably on the grass. 
Etiquette was now at an end, and we all ran for- 
ward to assist the wounded man. For some 
minutes he lay apparently quite senseless, and 
when he at last rallied and looked wildly about 
him, it appeared to be with difficulty that he re- 
called any recollection of the place, and the people 
around him ; for a few seconds he fixed his eyes 
steadily upon the doctor, and with a lip pale and 
bloodless, and a voice quivering from weakness, 
said, — 

" Fin ! didn't I tell ye that pistol always threw 
high ? Oh !" — and this he said with a sigh that 
nearly overpowered him — "oh. Fin, if you had 
only given me the saw-handled one. that/ (7;««.yfr/ 
to- — ^But it is no good talking now." 

In my inmost heart I was grateful to the little 
doctor for his mistake, for I plainly perceived 
what "the saw-handled one he was used to" 
might have done for me, and could not help mut- 
tering to myself with good Sir Andrew — "If I had 
known he was so cunning of fence, I'd have seen 
him damned before that I fought with him." 

Our first duty was now to remove the wounded 
man to the high road, about which both he him- 
self and his second seemed disposed to make some 
difficulty. They spoke together for a few mo- 
ments in a low tone of voice, and then the doctor 
addressed us — "We feel, gentlemen, this is not 
a time for any concealment ; but the truth is, we 
have need of great circumspection here, for I must 
inform you, we are both of us bound over in heavy 
recognizances to keep the peace." 

"Bound over to keep the peace !" said Curzon 
and myself together. 

"Nothing less; and although there is nobody 
hereabout would tell, yet if the affair got into the 
papers by any means, why there are some people 
in Cork would like to press my friend there, for 
he is a very neat shot when he has the saw-han- 
dle." And here the doctor winked. 

We had little time permitted us to think upon 
the oddity of meeting a man in such circum- 
stances, for we were now obliged to contribute 
our aid in conveying him to the road, where some 
means might be procured for his transfer to Kil- 
rush, or some other town in the neighborhood, 
for he was by this time totally unable to walk. 

After half an hour's toiling we at last did reach 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



37 



the highway, by which time I had ample opportun- 
ity, short as the space was, to see something of the 
character of our two opponents. It appeared that 
the doctor exercised the most absohite control 
over his large friend, dictating and commanding 
in a tone which the other never ventured to re- 
sist. For a moment or two Mr. Beamish ex- 
pressed a great desire to be conveyed by night to 
Kilrush, where he might find means to cross the 
Shannon into Kerry. This, however, the doctor 
opposed strenuously, from the risk of publicity ; 
and finally settled that we should all go in a body 
to his friend Father Malachi Brennan's house, 
only two miles off, where the sick man would have 
the most tender care, and, what the doctor con- 
sidered equally indispensable, we ourselves a 
most excellent supper, and a hearty welcome. 

"You know Father Malachi, of course, Mr. 
Lorrequer ?" 

" I am ashamed to say I do not." 

"Not know Malachi Brennan, and live in Clare! 
AVell, well, that is strange ! Sure he is the priest 
of this country for twelve miles in every direction 
of you, and a better man, and apleasanter, there 
does not live in the diocese ; though I'm his 
cousin that says it." 

After professing all the possible pleasure it 
would afford my friend and myself to make the 
acquaintance of Father Malachi, we proceeded to 
place Mr. Beamish in a car that was passing at 
the time, and started for the residence of the good 
priest. The whole of the way thither I was oc- 
cupied but by one thought, a burnmg anxiety to 
know the cause of our quarrel, and I longed for 
the moment when I might get the doctor apart 
from his friend to make the inquiry. 

"There — look down to your left, where you see 
the lights shining so brightly, that is Father 
Malachi's house : as sure as my name is De 
Courcy Finucane, there's fun going on there this 
night." 

" Why, there certainly does seem a great illu- 
mination in the valley there," said I. 

" May I never," said the doctor, "if it isn't a 
station " 

" A station ! — pray, may I ask " 

"You need not ask a word on the subject ; for, 
if I am a true prophet, you'll know what it means 
before morning." 

A little more chatting together brought us to a 
narrow road, flanked on either side by high hedges 
of hawthorn, and, in a few minutes more, we 
stood before the priest's residence, a long white- 
washed, thatched house, having great appearance 
of comfort and convenience. Arrived here, the 
doctor seemed at once to take on him the arrange- 
ment of the whole party ; for, after raising the 
latch and entering the house, he returned to us in 
a few minutes, and said, — 

" Wait awhile, now ; we'll not go in to Father 
Malachi till we've put Giles to bed." 

We accordingly lifted him from the car, and 
assisted him into the house, and, following Finu- 
cane down a narrow passage, at last reached a 
most comfortable little chamber, with a neat bed. 
Here we placed him, while the doctor gave some 
directions to a bare-headed, red-legged hussy, 
without shoes or stockings, and himself proceeded 



to examine the wound, which was a more serious 
one than it at first appeared. 

After half an hour thus occupied, during which 
time roars of merriment and hearty peals of 
laughter burst upon us every time the door opened, 
from a distant part of the house, where his rever- 
ence was entertaining his friends, and which, as 
often as they were heard by the doctor, seemed to 
produce in him sensations not unlike those that 
afflicted the "wedding guest" in the "Ancient 
Mariner," when he heard the "loud bassoon," 
and as certainly imparted an equally longing de- 
sire to be a partaker in the mirth. We arranged 
everything satisfactorily for Mr. Beamish's com- 
fort, and with a large basin of vinegar and water, 
to keep his knee cool, and a strong tumbler of 
hot ])unch, to keep his heart warm— homoeopathic 
medicine is not half so new as Dr. Hahnneman 
would make us believe — we left Mr. Beamish to 
his own meditations, and doubtless regrets, that 
he did not get "the saw-handled one he was used 
to," while we proceeded to make our bows to 
Father Malachi Brennan. 

But, as I have no intention to treat the good 
priest with ingratitude, I shall not present him to 
my readers at the tail of a chapter. 



CHAPTER VI. 



THE priest's supper — FATHER MALACHI AND THE 
COADJUTOR — MAJOR JONES AND THE ABEE. 

At the conclusion of our last chapter we left 
our quondam antagonist, Mr. Beamish, stretched 
at full length upon a bed practising homoeopathy, 
by administering hot punch to his fever, while we 
followed our chaperon. Doctor Finucane, into the 
presence of the Reverend Father Brennan. 

The company into which we now, without any 
ceremony on our parts, introduced ourselves, con- 
sisted of from five-and-twenty to thirty persons, 
seated around a large oak table, plentifully pro- 
vided with materials for drinking, and cups, gob- 
lets, and glasses of every shape and form. The 
moment we entered, the doctor stepped forward, 
and touching Father Malachi on the shoulder — 
for so I rightly guessed him to be — presented him- 
self to his relative, by whom he was welcomed 
with every demonstration of joy. While their rec- 
ognitions were exchanged, and while the doctor 
explained the reasons of our visit, I was enabled, 
undisturbed and unnoticed to take a brief survey 
of the party. 

Father Malachi Brennan, P.P. of Carrigaholt, 
was what I had often pictured to myself as the beau 
ideal of his caste. His figure was short, fleshy, 
and enormously muscular, and displayed propor- 
tions which wanted but height to constitute a per- 
fect Hercules; his legs so thick in the calf, so taper 
in the ankle, looked like nothing I know, except 
perhaps, the metal balustrades of Carlisle-bridge; 
his face was large and rosy, and the general expres- 
sion, a mixture of unbounded good humor and in- 
exhaustible drollery, to which the restless activity 
of his black and arched eyebrows greatly contrib- 
uted; and his mouth, were it not for a character 



JIARRY LORREQUER. 



of sensuality and voluptuousness about the nether 
lip, had been actually handsome; his head was 
bald, except a narrow circle close above the ears, 
which was marked by a ring of curly dark hair, 
sadly insufficient, however, to conceal a develop- 
ment behind, that, if there be truth in phrenology, 
boded but little happiness to the disciples of Miss 
Martineau. 

Add to these external signs a voice, rich, fluent, 
and racy, with the mellow "doric" of his country, 
and you jiave some faint resemblance of one 
"every inch a priest." The very antipodes to 
tiie bonhomie of this figure, confronted him as 
croupier at the foot of the table. This, as I af- 
terwards learned, was no less a person than Mis- 
ter Donovan, the coadjutor or "curate." He 
was a tall, spare, ungainly looking man of about 
five-and-thirty, with a pale, ascetic countenance, 
the only readable expression of which vibrated 
between low suspicion and intense vulgarity ; 
over his low, projecting forehead hung down a 
mass of straight red hair ; indeed — for nature is 
not a politician — it almost approached an 
orange hue. This was cut close to the head all 
round, and displayed in their full proportions a 
pair of enormous ears, which stood out in "re- 
lief," like turrets from a watch-tower, and with 
pretty much. the same object; his skin was of 
that peculiar color and texture, to which not 
all "the water in great Neptune's ocean" could 
impart a look of cleanliness, while his very 
A'oice, hard, harsh, and inflexible, was unpre- 
possessing and unpleasant. And yet, strange as 
it may seem, he, too, was a correct type of his 
order ; the only difference being, that Father 
Malachi was an older coinage, with the impress 
of Douai or St. Omer, whereas Mister Donovan 
was the shining metal, fresh stamped from the 
mint of Maynooth. 

While thus occupied in my surveillance of the 
scene before me, I was roused by the priest 
saying: 

"Ah, Fin, my darling, you needn't deny it; 
you're at the old game as sure as my name is 
Malachi, and ye'U never be easy nor quiet till 
ye're sent beyond the sea, or maybe have a record 
of your virtues on half a ton of marble in the 
church-yard, yonder." 

" Upon my honor — upon the sacred honor of a 
De Courcy " 

" Well, well, never mind it now ; ye see ye're 
just keeping your friends cooling themselves there 
in the corner — introduce me at once." 

" Mr. Lorrequer, I'm sure " 

" My name is Curzon," said the adjutant, 
bowing. 

" A mighty pretty name, though a little pro- 
fane. Well, Mr. Curseon," for so he pronounced 
it, " ye're as welcome as the flowers in May ; and 
it's mighty proud I am to see ye here." 

" Mr. Lorrequer, allow me to shake your hand 
— I've heard of ye before." 

There seemed nothing very strange in that ; 
for go where J would through this county, I 
seemed as generally known as ever was Brum- 
mell in Bond-street. 

" Fin tells me," continued Father Malachi, 
" that ye'd rather not be known down here, in re- 



gard of a reason ;" and here he winked. " Make 
yourselves quite easy ; the king's writ was never • 
but once in these parts ; and the ' original and 
true copy' went back to Limerick in the stomach 
of the server ; they made him eat it, Mr. Lorre- 
quer ! but it's as well to be cautious, for there 
are a good number here. A little dinner, a little 
quarterly dinner we have among us, Mr. Curseon, 
to be social together, and raise a ' thrifle' for the 
Irish college at Rome, where we have a proba- 
tioner or two, ourselves." 

" As good as a station, and more drink," whis- 
pered Fin into my ear. 

"And now," continued the priest, "ye must 
just permit me to re-christen ye both, and the 
contribution will not be the less for what I'm go- 
ing to do; and I'm certain you'll not be the 
worse for the change, Mr. Curseon — though 'tis 
only for a few hours, ye'll have a dacent name." 

As I could see no possible objection to this 
proposal, nor did Curzon, either, our only desire 
being to maintain the secrecy necessary for our 
antagonist's safety, we at once assented ; when 
Father Malachi took me by the hand, but with 
such a total change in his whole air and deport- 
ment, that I was completely puzzled by it. He 
led me forward to the company with a good deal 
of that ceremonious reverence I have often ad- 
mired in Sir Charles Vernon, when conducting 
some full-blown dowager through the mazes of a 
castle minuet. The desire to laugh outright was 
almost irresistible, as the Rev. Father stood at 
arm's length from me, still holding my hand, and 
bowing to the company pretty much in the style 
of a manager introducing a blushing debutante to 
an audience. A moment more, and I must have 
inevitably given way to a burst of laughter, when 
what was my horror to hear the priest present me 
to the company as their " excellent, worthy, gen- 
erous, and patriotic young landlord. Lord Kilkee. 
Cheer every mother's son of ye ; cheer, I say ;" 
and certainly precept was never more strenuously 
backed by example, for he huzzaed till I thought 
he would burst a blood-vessel ; may I add, I al- 
most wished it, such was the insufferable annoy- 
ance, the chagrin, this announcement gave me ; 
and I waited with eager impatience for the din 
and clamor to subside, to disclaim every syllable 
of the priest's announcement, and take the conse- 
quences of my baptismal epithet, cost what it 
might. To this I was impelled by many and im- 
portant reasons. Situated as I was with respect 
to the Callonby family, my assumption of their 
name at such a moment might get abroad, and 
the consequence to me be inevitable ruin ; and 
independent of my natural repugnance to such 
sailing under false colors, I saw Curzon laughing 
almost to suffocation at my wretched predicament, 
and (so strong within me was the dread of ridi- 
cule) I thought, "what a pretty narrative he is 
concocting for the mess this minute." I rose to 
reply ; and whether Father Malachi, with his in- 
tuitive quickness, guessed my purpose or not, I 
cannot say, but he certainly resolved to out-ma- 
noeuvre me, and he succeeded ; while with one 
hand he motioned to the party to keep silence, 
with the other he took hold of Curzon, but with 
no peculiar or very measured respect, and intro- 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



39 



duced him as Mr. M'Neesh, the new Scotch 
steward and improver — a character at that time 
whose popularity might compete with a tithe 
proctor or an exciseman. So completely did 
this tactic turn the tables upon the poor adjutant, 
who the moment before was exulting over me, 
that I utterly forgot my own woes, and sat down 
convulsed with mirth at his situation — an emotion 
certainly not lessened as I saw Curzon passed 
from one to the other at table, " like a pauper to 
his parish," till he found an asylum at the very 
foot, in juxta with the engaging Mr. Donovan, a 
propinquity, if I might judge from their counte- 
nances, uncoveted by either party. 

While this was performing. Doctor Finucane 
was making his recognitions with several of the 
company, to whom he had been long known dur- 
ing his visits to the neighborhood. I now resumed 
my place on the riglit of "the father," abandon- 
ing for the present all intention of disclaiming 
my rank, and the campaign was opened. The 
priest now exerted himself to the utmost to recall 
conversation into the original channels, and if 
possible to draw off attention from me, which he 
still feared might, perhaps, elicit some unlucky 
announcement on my part. Failing in his en- 
deavors to bring matters to their former footing, 
he turned the whole brunt of his attentions to 
the worthy doctor, who sat on his left. 

" How goes on the law," said he, "Fin ? — any 
new proofs, as they call them, forthcoming ?" 

What F.in replied I could not hear, but the al- 
lusion to the " suit " was explained by Father 
Malachi informing us that the only impediment 
between his cousin and the title of Kinsale lay in 
the unfortunate fact that his grandmother, "rest 
her sowl," was not a man. 

Dr. Finucane winced a little under the manner 
in wliich this was spoken, but returned the fire 
by asking if the bishop was down lately in that 
quarter? The evasive way in which "the father" 
replied having stimulated my curiosity as to the 
reason, little entreaty was necessary to persuade 
the doctor to relate the. following anecdote, which 
was not relished the less by his superior, that it 
told somewhat heavily on Mr. Donovan. 

" It is about four years ago," said the doctor, 
" since the bisliop. Dr. Plunkett, took it into his 
head that he'd make a general inspection, ' a 
reconnoissance.' as we'd call it, Mr. Lor — that is, 
my lord ! through the whole diocese, and leave 
no part, far or near, without poking his nose in it 
and seeing how matters were doing. He heard 
very queer stories about his reverence here, and 
so down he came one morning in the month of 
July, riding upon an old grey hack, looking just 
for all the world like any other elderly gentleman 
in very rustic black. When he got near the vil- 
lage he picked up a little boy to show him the 
short cut across the fields to the house here ; and 
as his lordship was a ' sharp man and a shrewd,' 
he kept his eye on everything as he went along, 
remarking this, and noting down that. 

"'Are you regular in your duties, my son?' 
said he to the child. 

" ' I never miss a Sunday,' said the gossoon ; 
'for it's always walking his reverence's horse I 
am Uie whole time av prayers.' 



" His lordship said no more for a little while, 
when he muttered between his teeth, 'Ah, it's just 
slander — nothing but slander and lying tongues.' 
This soliloquy was caused by his remarking that 
on every gate he passed, or from every cabin, two 
or three urchins would come out half naked, but 
all with the finest heads of red hair he ever saw in 
his life. 

" ' How is it, my son,' said he, at length ; ' they 
tell very strange stories about Father Malachi, 
and I see so many of these children with red 
hair. Eh — now Father Malachi's a dark man.' 

"'True for ye,' said the boy; 'true for ye. 
Father Malachi's dark ; but the coadjutor ! — the 
coadjutor's as red as a fox.' " 

When the laugh this story caused had a little 
subsided, Father Malachi called out, " Mickey 
Oulahan ! Mickey, I say, hand his lordship over 
' the groceries' " — thus he designated a square de- 
canter containing about two quarts of whiskey, 
and a bowl heaped high with sugar—" a dacent 
boy is Mickey, my lord, and Fm happy to be the 
means of making him known to you." I bowed 
with condescension, while Mr. Oulahan's eyes 
sparkled like diamonds at the recognition. 

" He has only two years of the lease to run, and 
a ' long charge' " [anglici, a large family), con- 
tinued the priest. 

"FU not forget him, you may depend upon it," 
said I. 

" Do you hear that," said Father Malachi, cast- 
ing a glance of triumph round the table, while a 
general buzz of commendation on priest and patron 
went round, with many such phrases as " Och, 
thin," "it's his riv'rance can do it," " na bock- 
lish," "and why not," etc., etc. As for me, I have 
already "confessed" to my crying sin — a fatal 
irresistible inclination to follow the humor of the 
moment wherever it led me ; and now I found 
myself as active a partisan in quizzing Mickey 
Oulahan, as though I was not myself a party in- 
cluded in the jest. I was thus fairly launched 
into my inveterate habit, and nothing could arrest 
my progress. 

One by one the different individuals round the 
table were presented to me and made known theit 
various wants, with an implicit confidence in my 
piower of relieving them, which I with equal readi- 
ness ministered to. I lowered the rent of every 
man at the table. I made a general gaol delivery, 
an act of grace (I blush to say) which seemed to 
be peculiarly interesting to the present company. 
I abolished all arrear.s — made a new line of road 
through an impassable bog and over an in- 
accessible mountain — and conducted water to a 
mill which (I learned in the morning) was always 
worked by wind. The decanter had scarcely 
completed its third circuit of the board, when I 
bid fair to be the most popular specimen of the 
peerage that ever visited the " far west." In the 
midst of my career of universal benevolence, I 
was interrupted by Father Malachi, whom I found 
on his legs, pronouncing a glowing eulogium on 
his cousin's late regiment, the famous North Cork. 

" That was the corps !" said he. * Bid them do 
a thing, and they'd never leave off ; and so, when 
they got orders to retire from Wexford, it's little 
they cared for the comforts of baggage, like many 



40 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



another regiment, for they threw away everything 
but their canteens, and never stopped till they ran 
to Ross, fifteen miles farther than the enemy fol- 
lowed them. And when they were all in bed the 
same night, fatigued and tired with their exer- 
tions, as ye may suppose, a drummer-boy called 
out in his sleep — ' Here they are — they're com- 
ing !' they all jumped up and set off in their 
shirts, and got two miles out of town before they 
discovered it was a false alarm." 

Peal after peal of laughter followed the priest's 
encomium on the doctor's regiment ; and, indeed, 
he himself joined most heartily in the mirth, as he 
might well afford to do, seeing that a braver or 
better corps than the North Cork, Ireland did not 
possess. 

" Well," said Fin, " it's easy to see ye never can 
forget what they did at Maynooth." 

Father Malachi disclaimed all personal feeling 
on the subject ; and I was at last gratified by the 
following narrative, which I regret deeply I am 
not enabled to give in the doctor's own words ; but 
■writing as I do from memory — in most instances 
— I can only convey the substance : 

It was towards the latter end of the year '98 — 
the year of the troubles — that the North Cork 
was ordered, " for their sins," I believe, to march 
from their snug quarters in Fermoy and take up 
a position in the town of Maynooth — a very con- 
siderable reverse of fortune to a set of gentlemen 
extremely addicted to dining out, and living at 
large upon a very pleasant neighborhood. Fermoy 
abounded in gentry ; Maynooth, at that time, had 
few, if any, excepting his Grace of Leinster, and 
he lived very privately, and saw no company. 
Maynooth was stupid and dull — there were neither 
belles nor balls ;, Fermoy (to use the doctor's well 
remembered words) had "great feeding," and 
"very genteel young ladies, that carried their 
hankerchiefs in bags, and danced with the officers." 

They had not been many weeks in their new 
quarters when they began to pine over their altered 
fortunes, and it was with a sense of delight, which 
a few months before would have been incompre- 
hensible to them, they discovered that one of their 
officers had a brother, a young priest in the col- 
lege ; he introduced him to some of his confreres, 
and the natural result followed. A visiting ac- 
quaintance began between the regiment and such 
of the members of the college as had liberty to 
leave the precincts : who, as time ripened the ac- 
quaintance into intimacy, very naturally preferred 
the mess of the North Cork to the meagre fare of 
" the refectory." At last, seldom a day went by 
without one or two of their reverences finding 
themselves guests at the mess. The North Cork- 
ians were of a most hospitable turn, and the 
fathers were determined the virtue should not rust 
for want of being exercised ; they would just drop 
in to say a word to " Captain O'Flaherty about 
leave to shoot in the demesne," as Carton was 
styled ; or, they had a " frank from the Duke for 
the Colonel," or some other equally pressing 
reason ; and they would contrive to be caught in 
the middle of a very droll story just as the "roast 
beef" was playing. Very little entreaty then suf- 
ficed — a short apology for the "derangements" 
of dress, and a few minutes more found them 



seated at table without further ceremony on eithei 
side. 

Among the favorite guests from the college, 
two were peculiarly in estimation — " the Professor 
of the Humanities," Father Luke Mooney ; and 
the Abbe d'Array, "the Lecturer on Moral Phil- 
osophy and Belles Lettres;" and certain it is, pleas- 
anter fellows, or more gifted with the " convivial 
bump," there never existed. He of the Humani- 
ties was a droll dog — a member of the Curran 
Club, the "monks of the screw," told an excellent 
story, and sang the " Cruiskeen Lawn" better than 
did any before or since him ; — the moral philoso- 
pher, though of a different genre, was also a most 
agreeable companion, an Irishman transplanted in 
his youth to St. Omer, and who had grafted upon 
his native humor a considerable share of French 
smartness and repartee — such were the two, who 
ruled supreme in all the festive arrangements of 
this jovial regiment, and were at last as regular at 
table as the adjutant and the paymaster, and so 
might they have continued, had not prosperity, 
that, in its blighting influence upon the heart, 
spares neither priests nor laymen, and is equally 
severe upon mice (see yEsop's fable) and moral 
philosophers, actually deprived them, for the 
"nonce," of reason, and tempted them to their 
ruin. You naturally ask, what did they do ? Did 
they venture upon allusions to the retreat upon 
Ross? Nothing of the kind. Did they, in that 
vanity which wine inspires, refer by word, act, or 
inuendo, to the well-known order of their colonel 
when reviewing his regiment in "the Phoenix," to 
" advance two steps backwards, and dress by the 
gutter ?" Far be it from them ; though indeed 
either of these had been esteemed light in the 
balance with their real crime. " Then, what was 
their failing — come, tell it, and burn ye ?" They 
actually, I dread to say it, quizzed the major 
eoram the whole mess ! — Now, Major John Jones 
had only lately exchanged into the North Cork 
from the " Darry Ragenient," as he called it. He 
was a red-hot Orangeman, a deputy-grand some- 
thing, and vice-chairman of the " 'Prentice Boys" 
besides. He broke his leg when a schoolboy, by 
a fall incurred in tying an orange handkerchief 
around King William's august neck in College- 
green on one 12th of July, and three several times 
had closed the gates of Derry with his own loyal 
hands, on the famed anniversary ; in a word, he 
was one that, if his Church had enjoined penance 
as an expiation for sin, would have looked upon 
a trip to Jerusalem on his bare knees as a very 
light punishment for the crime on his conscience, 
that he sat at table with two buck priests from 
Maynooth, and carved for them, like the rest of 
the company ! 

Poor Major Jones, however, had no such solace, 
and the cankerworm ate daily deeper and deeper 
into his pining heart. During the three or four 
weeks of their intimacy with his regiment, his 
martyrdom was awful. His figure wasted, and 
his color became a deeper tinge of orange, and all 
around averred that there would soon be a "move 
up" in the corps, for the major had evidently 
" got his notice to quit" this world and its pomps 
and vanities. He felt " that he was dying," to 
use Haynes Bayley's beautiful and apposite words, 



HARRY LORREQUER. 



41 



and meditated an exchange ; but that, from cir- 
cumstances, was out of the question. At last, 
subdued by grief, and probably his spirit having 
chafed itself smooth by such constant attrition, 
he became, to all seeming, calmer ; but it was only 
the calm of a broken and weary heart. Such was 
.Major Jones at the time when, " suadente diabolo," 
■it seemed meet to Fathers Mooney and D'Array 
to make him the butt of their raillery. At first, 
he could not believe it ; the thing was incredible 
— impossible ; but when he looked around the 
table, when he heard the roars of laughter, long, 
loud, and vociferous ; when he heard his name 
bandied from one to the other across the table, 
vi'ith some vile jest tacked to it "like a tin kettle 
to a dog's tail," he awoke to the full measure of 
his misery — the cup was full. Fate had done her 
worst, and he might have exclaimed with Lear, 
" Spit, fire — spout, rain," there was nothing in store 
for him of further misfortune. 

A drum-head court-martial — a hint "to sell 
out" — ay, a sentence of "dismissed the service," 
had been mortal calamities, and, like a man, he 
would have borne them : but that he. Major John 
Jones, D.G.S.C.P.B., etc., etc., who had drunk the 
"pious, glorious, and immortal," sitting astride of 
"the great gun of Athlone," should come to this ! 
Alas, and alas ! He retired that night to his 
chamber a " sadder if not a wiser man ;" he 
dreamed that the "statue" had given place to the 
unshapely figure of Leo X., and that " Lundy now- 
stood where Walker stood before." He jumped 
from his bed in a moment of enthusiasm, he vowed 
his revenge, and he kept his vow. 

That day the major was "acting field officer." 
The various patrols, sentries, pickets, and out- 
posts, were all under his especial control ; and it 
was remarked that he took peculiar pains in se- 
lecting the men for night duty, which, in the pre- 
vailing quietness and peace of that time, seemed 
scarcely warrantable. 

Evening drew near, and Major Jones, sum- 
moned by the " oft-heard beat," wended his way 
to the mess. The officers were dropping in, and 
true as "the needle to the pole," came Father 
Mooney and the Abbe. They were welcomed 
with the usual warmth, and, strange to say, by none 
more than the major himself, whose hilarity knew 
no bounds. 

How the evening passed, I shall not stop to re- 
late : suffice it to say, that a more brilliant feast of 
wit and jollification not even the North Cork ever 
enjoyed. Father Luke's drollest stories, his very 
quaintest humor, shone forth, and the Abbe sang 
a new " chanson d. boire," that Beranger might 
have envied. 

" What are you about, my dear Father D'Ar- 
ray ?" said the colonel : " you are surely not ris- 
ing yet ; here's a fresh cooper of port just come 
in ; sit down, I entreat." 

" I say it with grief, my dear colonel, we must 
away ; the half-hour has just chimed, and we must 
be within ' the gates' before twelve. The truth is, 
the superior has been making himself very trouble- 
some, about our ' carnal amusements,' as he calls 
our innocent mirth, and we must therefore be 
upon our guard." 

" Well, if it must be so, we shall not risk losing 



your society altogether for an hour or so now ; so, 
one bumper to our next meeting — to-morrow, 
mind, and now. Monsieur I'Abbe, au revoir." 

The worthy fathers finished their glasses, and 
taking a most affectionate leave of their kind en- 
tertainers, sallied forth under the guidance of 
^L1jor Jones, who insisted upon accompanying 
them part of the way, as, " from information he 
had received, the sentries were doubled in some 
places, and the usual precautions against surprise 
all taken." Much as this polite attention surprised 
the objects of it, his brother officers wondered 
still more, and no sooner did they perceive the 
major and his companions issue forth, than they 
set out in a body to watch where this most novel 
and unexpected complaisance would terminate. 

When the priests reached the door of the bar- 
rack-yard, they again turned to utter their thanks 
to the major, and entreat him once more " not to 
come a step farther. There now, major, we know 
the path well, so just give us the pass, and don't 
stay out in the night air." 

" Ah oui. Monsieur Jones," said the Abbe, " re- 
tournez, je vous prie. We are, I may say, chez 
nous. Ces braves gens, les North Cork, knov/ us 
by this time." 

The major smiled, while he still pressed his ser- 
vices to see them past the pickets, but they were 
resolved, and would not be denied. 

" With the word for the night we want nothing 
more," said Father Luke. 

" Well, then," said the major, in the gravest 
tone — and he was naturally grave — "you shall 
have your way ; but remember to call out loud, 
for the first sentry is a little deaf, and a very pas- 
sionate, ill-tempered fellow to boot." 

" Never fear," said Father Mooney, laughing ; 
" I'll go bail he'll hear me." 

" Well— the word for the night is — ' Bloody end 
to the Pope,' — don't forget, now, ' Bloody end to 
the Pope.' " And with these words he banged 
the door between him and the unfortunate priests; 
and, as bolt was fastened after bolt, they heard 
him laughing to himself like a fiend over his ven- 
geance. 

"And big bad luck to ye, Major Jones, for the 
same, every day ye see a paving-stone," was the 
faint sub-audible ejaculation of Father Luke, 
when he recovered enough to speak. 

" Sacristi! que nous sommes attrapee," said the 
Abbe, scarcely able to avoid laughing at the situ- 
ation in which they were placed. 

" Well, there's the quarter chiming now; we've 
no time to lose. — Major Jones! Major, darling! 
don't, now, ah, don't! sure you know we'll be 
ruined entirely — there now, just change it, like a 
dacent fellow — the devil's luck to him, he's gone. 
Well, we can't stay here in the rain all night, and 
be expelled in the morning afterwards — so come 
along." 

They jogged along for a few minutes in silence, 
till they came to that part of the " Duke's" de- 
mesne wall, where the first sentry was stationed. 
By this time the officers, headed by the major, had 
quietly slipped out of the gate, and were following 
their steps at a convenient distance. 

The fathers had stopped to consult together 
what they should do in this trying emergency — 



43 



-HARRY LORREOUER. 



when their whisper being overheard, the sentinel 
called out gruffly, in the genuine dialect of his 
country, " Who goes that?" 

" Father Luke Mooney, and the Abbe D'Array," 
said the former, in his most bland and insinuating 
tone of voice, a quality he most emiaently pos- 
sessed. 

"Stand and give the countersign." 

" We are coming from the mess, and going 
home to the college," said Father Mooney, evad- 
ing the question, and gradually advancing as 
he spoke. 

" Stand, or I'll shot ye," said the North Corkian. 

Father Luke halted, while a muttered " Blessed 
Virgin!" announced his state of fear and trepida- 
tion. 

'■ D'Array, I say, what are we to do?" 

"The countersign," said the sentry, whose 
figure tliey could perceive in the dim distance 
of about thirty yards. 

" Sure ye'll let us pass, my good Jad, and ye'll 
have a friend in Father Luke the longest day ye 
live, and ye might have a worse in time of need; 
ye understand." 

Whether he did understand or not, he certainly 
did not heed, for his only reply was the short 
click of a gun-lock, that bespeaks a preparation 
to fire. 

"There's no help now," said Father Luke; I 
see's he's a haythen; and bad luck to the major, 
I say again." And this, in the fulness of his 
heart, he uttered aloud. 

" That's not the countersign," said the inexor- 
able sentry, striking the butt end of his musket on 
the ground with such a crash that smote terror 
into tlie hearts of the priests. 

Mumble^mumble " to the Pope," said 

Father Luke, pronouncing the last words dis- 
tinctly, after the approved practice of a Dublin 
watchman, on being awoke from his dream of row 
and riot by the last toll of the Post-office, and 
not knowing whether it has struck " twelve" or 
" three," sings out the word "o'clock," in a long 
sonorous drawl, that wakes every sleeping citizen, 
and yet tells nothing how " Time speeds on his 
flight." 

" Louder," said the sentry, in a voice of impa- 
tience. 

" to the Pope." 

"I don't hear the first part." 

" Oh, then," said the priest, with a sigh that 
might have melted the heart of anything but a 
sentry, " Bloody end to the Pope; and may the 
saints in heaven forgive me for saying it." 

"Again," called out the soldier; "and no mut- 
tering." 

" Bloody end to the Pope,'.' cried Father Luke, 
in bitter desperation. 

" Bloody end to the Pope," echoed the Abbe. 

"Pass, Bloody end to the Pope, and good- 
night," said the sentry, resuming his rounds, while 
a loud and uproarious peal of laughter behind 
told the unlucky priests they were overheard by 
others, and that the story would be over the whole 
town in the morning. 

Whether it was that the penance for their heresy 
took long in accomplishing, or that they never 
could summon courage sufficient to face their 



persecutor, certain it is tlie North Cork saw them 
no more, nor were they ever observed to pass the 
precincts of the college while that regiment occu- 
pied Maynooth. 

Major Jones himself, and his confederates, 
could not have more heartily relished this story 
tiian did the party to whom the doctor related it. 
Much, if not all the amusement it afforded, how- 
ever, resulted from his inimitable mode of telling, 
and the power of mimicry with which he conveyed 
the dialogue with the sentry: and this, alas, must 
be lost to my readers — at least to that portion of 
them not fortunate enougii to possess Dr. Finu- 
cane's acquaintance. 

" Fin ! Fin ! your long story has nearly fam- 
ished me," said the padre, as the laugh subsided ; 
" and there you sit now, with the jug at your elbow 
this half-hour ; I never thought you would forget 
our old friend Martin Hanegan's aunt." 

"Here's to her health," said Fin; "and your 
reverence will give us the chant." 

" Agreed," said Father Malachi, finishing a 
bumper ; and after giving a few preparatory 
hems, he sang the following "singularly wild and 
beautiful poem," as some one calls Christabel : 

" Here's a health to Martin Hanegan's aunt, 
And I'll tell ye the reiison why! 
She eats bekase she is hungry 
And drinks bekase she is dry, 

"And if ever a man, 
.Stopped the course of a can, 
Martin Hanegan's aunt would cry — 
'Arrah. till up your glass, 
And let the jug pass ; 
How d'ye know but your neighbor's dhry ?' 

" Come, my lord and gentlemen, da capo, if ye 
please — -' Fill up your glass,' " etc.; and the chan- 
son was chorused with a strength and vigor that 
would have astonished the Philharmonic. 

The mirth and fun now grew " fast and furi- 
ous ;" and Father Malachi, rising with the occa- 
sion, flung his reckless drollery and fun on every 
side, sparing none, from his cousin to the coadju- 
tor. It was now that peculiar period in the even- 
ing's enjoyment, when an expert and practical 
chairman gives up all interference or management 
and leaves everything to take its course ; this, 
then, was the happy moment selected by Father 
Malachi to propose the little " conthribution." 
He brought a plate from a side-table, and plac- 
ing it before him, addressed the company in a 
very brief but sensible speech, detailing the ob- 
ject of the institution he was advocating, and 
concluding with . the following words : — "And 
now, ye'll just give whatever ye like, according to 
your means in life, and what ye can spare." 

The admonition, like the "morale" of an in- 
come tax, having the immediate effect of pitting 
each man against his neighbor, and suggesting to 
their already excited spirits all the ardor of 
gambling, without, however, the prospect of 
gain. The plate was first handed to me in honor 
of my " rank," and having deposited upon it a 
handful of small silver, the priest ran his fingers 
through the coin, and called out : 

" Five pounds ! at least; not a farthing less, as 
I am a sinner. Look, then — see, now; they tell 
ye, the gentlemen don't care for the like of ye! 



HARRY LORREQUER. 



43 



but see for yourselves. May I trouble y'r lord- 
ship to pass the plate to Mr. Mahony — he's im- 
patient, I see." 

Mr. Mahony, about whom I perceived very 
little of the impatience alluded to, was a grim- 
looking old Christian, in a rabbit-skin waistcoat, 
with long flaps, who fumbled in the recesses of 
his breeches-pocket for five minutes, and then 
drew forth three shillings, which he laid upon the 
plate, with what I fancied very much resembled 
a sigh. 

"Six and sixpence, is it? or five shillings? — 
all the same, Mr. Mahony, and I'll not forget the 
thrifle you were speaking about this morning, any 
way." And here he leaned over as interceding 
with me for him, but in reality to whisper into my 
ear, "The greatest miser from this to Castlebar." 

" Who's that put down the half guinea in 
goold. ?" — (and this time he spoke truth) — " who's 
that, I say ?" 

" Tim Kennedy, your reverence," said Tim, 
stroking his hair down with one hand, and look- 
ing proud and modest at the same moment. 

" Tim, ye're a credit to us any day, and I al- 
ways said so. It's a gauger he'd like to be, my 
lord," said he, turning to me in a kind of stage 
whisper. I nodded and muttered something, 
when he thanked me most profoundly, as if his 
suit had prospered. 

" Mickey Oulahan — the lord's looking at ye, 
Mickey." This was said pianissimo across the 
table, and had the effect of increasing Mr. 
Oulahan's donation from five shillings to seven — 
■the last two being pitched in very much in the 
style of a gambler making his final coup, and 
crying, " Fa banqiie !" " The Oulahans were al- 
ways daceut people — dacent people, my lord." 

"Begorra, the Oitlahans was niver dacenternor 
the Molowneys, any how," said a tall, athletic 
young fellow, as he threw down three crown 
pieces, with an energy that made every coin leap 
from the plate. 

"They'll do now," said Father Brennan; "I'll 
leave them to themselves." And truly the eager- 
ness to get the plate and put down the subscrip- 
tion fully equalled the rapacious anxiety I have 
witnessed in an old maid at loo to get possession 
of a thirty-shilling pool, be the same more or less, 
which lingered on its way to her, in the hands of 
many a fair competitor. 

" Mr. M'Neesh" — Curzon had hitherto escaped 
all notice — " Mr. M'Neesh, to your good health," 
cried Father Brennan. " It's many a secret they'll 
be getting out o' ye down there about the Scotch 
husbandry.''' 

Whatever poor Curzon knew of "drills," cer- 
tainly did not extend to them when occupied by 
turnips. This allusion of the priest's being caught 
up by the party at the foot of the table, they com- 
menced a series of inquiries into different Scotch 
plans of tillage — his brief and unsatisfactory an- 
swers to which, they felt sure, were given in order 
to evade imparting information. By degrees, as 
they continued to press him with questions, his 
replies grew more short, and a general feeling of ' 
dislike on both sides was not very long in fol- 
lowing. 

The father saw tl\is, and determining, with his 



usual tact to repress it, called on the adjutant for 
a song. Now, whether he had but one in the 
world, or whether he took this mode of retaliating 
for the annoyances he had suffered, I know not; 
but true it is, he finished his tumbler at a draught, 
and with a voice of no very peculiar sweetness, 
though abundantly loud, began, "The Boyrte 
Water." 

He had just reached the word, "battle," in the 
second line, upon which he was bestowing what he 
meant to be a shake, when, as if the word sug- 
gested it, it seemed the signal for a general en- 
gagement. Decanters, glasses, jugs, candlesticks, 
— ay, and the money-dish — flew right and left, all 
originally intended, it is true, for the head of the 
luckless adjutant, but as they now and then missed 
their aim, and came in contact with the "wrong 
man," invariably provoked retaliation, and in a 
very few minutes the battle became general. 

What may have been the doctor's political sen- 
timents on this occasion, I cannot even guess; 
but he seemed bent upon performing the part of a 
"convivial Lord Stanley," and maintaining a dig- 
nified neutrality. With this apparent object, he 
mounted upon the table, to raise himself, I sup- 
pose, above the din and ccmmoticn of party 
clamor, and brandishing a jug of scalding water, 
bestowed it with perfect impartiality on the com- 
batants on either side. This Whig plan of con- 
ciliation, however well-intended, seemed rot to 
prosper with either party ; and many were the 
missiles directed at the ill-starred doctor. 
Meanwhile Father Malachi, whether following 
the pacific instinct of his order, in seeking an 
asylum in troublesome times, or equally moved 
by old habit to gather coin in low places (much 
of the money having fallen), was industriously 
endeavoring to insert himself beneath the table. 
In this, with one vigorous push, he at last suc- 
ceeded, but in so doing lifted it from its legs, and 
thus destroying poor " Fin's" gravity, precipi- 
tated him, jug and all, into the thickest of the 
fray, where he met with that kind reception such 
a benefactor ever receives at the hands of a 
grateful public. I meanwhile hurried to rescue 
poor Curzon, who, having fallen to the ground, 
was getting a cast of his features taken in pew- 
ter, for such seemed the operation a stout farmer 
was performing on the adjutant's face with a 
quart. With considerable difficulty, notwith- 
standing my supposed "lordship,"! succeeded in 
freeing him from his present position ; and he 
concluding, probably, ihat enough had been 
done for one "sitting," most willingly permitted 
me to lead him from the room. I was soon 
joined by the doctor, who assisted me in getting 
my poor friend to bed ; which being done, he 
most eagerly entreated me to join the company. 
This, however, I firmly but mildly declined, very 
much to his surprise; for as he remarked, " They'll 
all be like lambs now, for they don't believe 
there's a whole bone in his body." 

Expressing my deep sense of the Christian- 
like forbearance of the i)arty, I pleaded fatigue, 
and bidding him good-night, adjourned to my 
bedroom ; and here, although the arrangements 
fell somewhat short of the luxurious ones apper- 
taining to my late apartment at Callonby, they 



44 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



were most grateful at the moment ; and having 
''addressed myself to slumber," fell fast asleep, 
and only awoke late on the following morning to 
wonder where I was : from any doubts as to 
which I was speedily relieved by the entrance of 
the priest's bare-footed "colleen," to deposit on 
my table a bottle of soda water, and announce 
breakfast, with his reverence's compliments. 

Having made a hasty toilet, I proceeded to the 
parlor, which, however late events might have 
impressed upon my memory, I could scarcely 
recognize. Instead of the long oak table and the 
wassail bowl, there stood near the fire, a small 
round table, covered with a snow-white cloth, 
upon which shone in unrivalled brightness a very 
handsome tea-equipage — the hissing kettle on one 
hob was balanced by a gridiron with three newly 
taken trout, frying under the reverential care of 
Father Malachi himself — a heap of eggs, ranged 
like shot in an ordnance yard, stood in the mid- 
dle of the table, while a formidable pile of but- 
tered toast browned before the grate — the morn- 
ing papers were airing upon the hearth ; every- 
thing bespoke that attention to comfort and en- 
joyment one likes to discover in the house where 
chance may have domesticated him for a day or 
two. 

''Good-morning, Mr. Lorrequer. I trust you 
have rested well ?" said Father Malachi, as I en- 
tered. 

" Never better ; but where are our friends ?" 

" I have been visiting and comforting them in 
their afflictions, and I may with truth assert it is 
not often my fortune to have three as sickly-look- 
ing guests. That was a most unlucky affair last 
night, and I must apologize — " 

"Don't say a word, I entreat ; I saw how it all 
occurred, and am quite sure if it had not been 
for poor Curzon's ill-timed melody — " 

"You are quite right," said the father, inter- 
rupting me. " Your friend's taste for music — bad 
luck to it ! — was the ^ tctcrrima causa belli.' " 

"And the subscription," said I; "how did it 
succeed ?" 

" Oh, the money went in the commotion ; and 
although I have got some seven pounds odd shil- 
lings of it, the war was a most expensive one to 
me. I caught old Mahony very busy under the 
table during the fray ; but let us say no more 
about it now — draw over your chair. Tea or 
coffee ? there's the rum, if you like it in French 
fashion." 

I immediately obeyed the injunction, and com- 
menced a vigorous assault upon the trout, caught, 
as he informed me, " within twenty perches of the 
house." 

"Your poor friend's nose is scarcely regi- 
mental," said he, " this morning ; and as for Fin, he 
was never remarkable for beauty, so, though they 
might cut and hack, they could scarcely disfigure 
hiui. As Juvenal says — isn't it Juvenal ? — 

" ' Cantabit vacuus coram latrone viator ;' 

or, in the vernacular : 

" ' The empty traveller may whistle 
Before the robber and his pistil' (pistol). 

There's the Chili vinegar — another morsel of the 
trout?" 



" I thank you ; what excellent coffee, Father 
Malachi!" 

" A secret I learned at St. Omer's some thirty 
years since. Any letters, Bridget ?" — to a damsel 
that entered with a packet in her hand. 

" A gossoon from Kilrush, y'r reverence, with 
a bit of a note for the gentleman there." 

" For me ! — ah, true enough. ' Harry Lorre- 
quer, Esq., Kilrush. — Try Carrigaholt.' " So ran 
the superscription — the first part being in a lady's 
handwriting ; the latter very like the " rustic pal- 
ing" of the worthy Mrs. Healy's style. The seal 
was a large one, bearing a coronet at top, and the 
motto, in old Norman-French, told me it came 
from Callonby. 

With what a trembling hand and beating heart 
I broke it open, and yet feared to read it — so 
much of my destiny might be in that simple page. 
For once in my life my sanguine spirit failed me ; 
my mind could take in but one casualty, that 
Lady Jane had divulged to her family the nature 
of my attentions, and that in the letter before me 
lay a cold mandate of dismissal from her presence 
forever. 

At last I summoned courage to read it ; but 
having scrupled to present to my readers the 
Reverend Father Brennan at the end of a chap- 
ter, let me not be less punctilious in the introduc- 
tion of her ladyship's billet. 



CHAPTER Vn. 



THE LADY S LETTER — PETER AND HIS ACQUAINT- 
AN'CES TOO LATE. 

Her ladyship's letter ran thus: 

"Callonby, Tuesday morning. 

"My dear Mr. Lorrequer, — My lord has 
deputed me to convey to you our adieux, and 
at the same time express our very great regret 
that we should not have seen you before our de- 
parture from Ireland. A sudden call of the 
House, and some unexpected ministerial changes, 
require Lord Callonby 's immediate presence in 
town ; and probably before this reaches you we 
shall be on the road. Lord Kilkee, who left us 
yesterday, was much distressed at not having 
seen you- — he desired me to say you shall hear 
from him from Leamington. Although writing 
amid all the haste and bustle of departure, I must 
not forget the principal part of my commission, 
nor, ladylike, defer it to a postscript : my lord 
entreats that you will, if possible, pass a month 
or two with us in London this season ; and if any 
difficulty should occur in obtaining leave of ab- 
sence, to make any use of his name you think fit 
at the Horse Guards, where he has some influence. 
Knowing as I do with what kindness you ever ac- 
cede to the wishes of your friends, I need not say 
how much gratification this will afford us all ; 
but sans rc'ponsc, we expect you. Believe me to 
remain, yours very sincerely, 

"Charlotte Callonbv. 

"P.S. — We are quite well, except Lady Jane, 
who has a slight cold, and has been feverish for 
I .ie last day or two." 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



45 



Words cannot convey any idea of the torrent 
of contending emotions under which I perused 
this letter. The suddenness of the departure, 
without an opportunity of even a moment's leave- 
taking, completely unmanned me. What would I 
not have given to be able to see her once more, 
even for an instant — to say "a good-bye" — to 
watch the feeling with which she parted from me, 
and augur from it either favorably to my heart's 
dearest hope, or darkest despair. As I continued 
to read on, the kindly tone of the remainder re- 
assured me ; and when I came to the invitation 
to London, which plainly argued a wish on their 
part to perpetuate the intimacy, I was obliged to 
read it again and again before I could convince 
myself of its reality. There it was, however, most 
distinctly and legibly impressed in her ladyship's 
fairest caligraphy ; and certainly, great as was its 
consequence to me at the time, it by no means 
formed the principal part of the communication. 
The two lines of postscript contained more, far 
more food for hopes and fears, than did all the 
rest of the epistle. 

Lady Jane was ill then ; slightly, however — a 
a mere cold ; true, but she was feverish. I could 
not help asking myself what share had I in 
causing that flushed cheek and anxious eye, and 
pictured to myself, perhaps with more vivid- 
ness than reality, a thousand little traits of man- 
ner, all proofs strong as holy writ to my sanguine 
mind, that my affection was returned, and that I 
loved not in vain. Again and again I read over 
the entire letter ; never truly did a 7iisi prius 
lawyer con over a new act of parliament witli 
more searching ingenuity, to detect its hidden 
meaning than I did to unravel through its plain 
phraseology the secret intention of the writer 
toward me. 

There is an old and not less true adage, that 
what we wish we really believe ; and so with me. 
I found myself an easy convert to my own hopes 
and desires, and actually ended by persuading 
myself — no very hard task — that my Lord Cal- 
lonby had not only witnessed but approved of my 
attachment to his beautiful daugliter, and for rea- 
sons probably known to him, but concealed from 
me, opined that I was a suitable ^^ parti," and gave 
all due encouragement to my suit. The hint 
about using his lordship's influence at the Horse 
Guards I resolved to benefit by ; not, however, in 
obtaining leave of absence, which I hoped to ac- 
complish more easily, but with his good sanction, 
in pushing my promotion, when I should claim 
him as my right honorable father-in-law — a point 
on the propriety of which I had now fully satis- 
fied myself. What visions of rising greatness burst 
upon my mind, as I thought on the prospect that 
opened before me ! but here let me do myself the 
justice to record, that amid all my pleasure and 
exultation, my proudest thought was in the antici- 
pation of possessing one in every way so much my 
superior — the very consciousness of which im- 
parted a thrill of fear to my heart, that such good 
fortune was too much even to hope for. 

How long I might have luxuriated in such Chdt- 
eaux en Espagne, Heaven knows ; thick and 
thronging fancies came abundantly to my mind, 
and it was with something of the feeling of the 



porter in the " Arabian Niglits," as he surveyed 
the fragments of his broken ware, hurled down in 
a moment of glorious dreaminess, that I turned to 
look at the squat and unaristocratic figure of 
Father Malachi, as he sat reading his newspaper 
before the fire. How came I in such company ? 
— methinks the Dean of Windsor, or the Bishop 
of Durham, had been a much more seemly asso- 
ciate for one destined as I was for the flood-tide 
of the world's favor. 

My eye at this instant rested upon the date of 
the letter, which was that of the preceding morn- 
ing, and immediately a thought struck me that, as 
the day was a lowering and gloomy one, perhaps 
they might have deferred their journey, and I at 
once determined to hasten to Callonby, and,' if 
possible, see them before their departure. 

" Father Brennan," said I, at length, " I have 
j'-tst received a letter which compels me to reach 
Kilrush as soon as possible. Is there any public 
conveyance in the village?" 

"You don't talk of leaving us, surely," said the 
priest, " and a haunch of mutton for dinner, and 
Fin says he'll be down, and your friend too, and 
we'll have poor Beamish in on a sofa." 

" I am sorry to say my business will not adiiiit 
of delay, but, if possible, I shall return to thank 
you for all your kindness, in a day or two — per- 
haps to-morrow." 

" Oh, then," said Father Brennan, " if it must 
be so, why you can have ' Pether,' my own pad, and 
a better you never laid leg over ; only give him 
his own time, and let him keep the 'canter,' and 
he'll never draw up from morning till night. And 
now I'll just go and have him in readiness for you." 

After professing my warm acknowledgements to 
the good father for his kindness, I hastened to take 
a hurried farewell of Curzon before going. I found 
him sitting up in bed taking his breakfast ; a large 
strip of black plaster, extending from the corner of 
one eye across the nose, and terminating near the 
mouti), denoting the locale of a goodly wound ; 
while the blue, purple, and yellow patches into 
which his face was partitioned out, left you in 
doubt whether he more resembled the knave of 
clubs or a new map of the Ordnance Survey ; one 
hand was wrapped up in a bandage, and altogether 
a more rueful and woebegone looking figure I have 
rarely looked upon ; and most certainly I am of 
opinion that the " glorious, pious, and immortal 
memory" would have brought pleasanter recollec- 
tions to Daniel O'Connell himself than it did on 
that morning to the adjutant of his Majesty's 
4 — th. 

" Ah, Harry," said he, as I entered, " what Pan- 
demonium is this we've got into ? Did you ever 
witness such a business as last night's ?" 

"Why, truly," said I, " I know of no one to 
blame but yourself ; surely you must have known 
what a row your infernal song would bring on." 

" I don't know now whether I knew it or not ; but 
certainly at the moment I should have preferred 
anything to the confounded cross-examination I 
was under, and was glad to end it by any coup d' 
e'tat. One wretch was persecuting me about green 
crops, and another about the feeding of bullocks; 
— about either of which I knew as much as a bear 
does of a ballet." 



46 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



" Well, truly, you caused a diversion at some 
expense to your countenance, for I never beheld 
anything " 

Stop there," said he ; " you surely have not seen 
the doctor — he beats me hollow — they have 
scarcely left so much hair on his head as would 
do for an Indian's scalp-lock ; and, of a verity, his 
aspect is awful this morning. He has just been 
here, and, by the by, has told me all about your af- 
fair with Beamish. It appears that somehow you 
met him at dinner, and gave a very flourishing ac- 
count of a relative of his, who, you informed him, 
was not only selected for some very dashing ser- 
vice, but actually the personal friend of Picton ; 
and, after the family having blazed the matter all 
over Cork, and given a great entertainment in honor 
of their kinsman, it turns out that, on the glorious 
iSth, he ran away to Brussels faster than even the 
French toCharleroi ; for which act, however, there 
was no aspersion ever cast upon his courage, that 
quality being defended at the expense of his hon- 
esty ; in a word, he was the paymaster of his com- 
pany, and had what Theodore Hook calls an ' af- 
fection of his chest,' that required change of air. 
Looking only to the running away part of the mat- 
ter, I unluckily expressed some regret that he did 
not belong to the North Cork, and I remarked the 
doctor did not seem to relish the allusion, and as I 
only now remember, it was his regiment, I suppose 
I'm in for more mischief." 

I had no time to enjoy Curzon's dilemma, and 
had barely informed him of my intended dejiart- 
ure, when a voice from without the room pro- 
claimed that " Pether" was ready, and, having 
commissioned the adjutant to say the "proper" to 
Mr. Beamish and the doctor, hurried away, and 
after a hearty shake of the hand from Father 
Brennan, and a faithful promise to return soon, I 
mounted and set off. 

Peter's pace was of all others the one least likely 
to disturb the lucubrations of a castle-builder like 
myself ; without any admonition from whip or 
spur he maintained a steady and constant canter, 
which, I am free to coiTfess, was more agreeable 
to sit than it was graceful to behold ; for his head 
being much lower than his tail, he every moment 
appeared in the attitude of a diver about to plunge 
into the water, and more than once I had misgiv- 
ings that I would consult my safety better if I sat 
with my face to the tail ; however, what will not 
hab.it accomplish ? before I had gone on a mile or 
two, I was so lost in my own reveries and reflec- 
tions, that I knew nothing of my mode of pro- 
gression, and had only thoughts and feelings for 
the destiny that awaited me. Sometimes I would 
fancy myself seated in the House of Commons (,on 
the ministerial benches, of course), while some 
leading oppositionist was pronouncing a glowing 
panegyric upon the eloquent and statesmanlike 
speech of the gallant colonel — myself ; then I 
thought I was making arrangements for setting 
out for my new appointment, and Sancho Panza 
never coveted the government of an island more 
than I did, though only a West Indian one ; and, 
lastly, I saw myself the chosen diplomate on a 
difficult mission, and was actually engaged in the 
easy and agreeable occupation of out-manceuvr- 
ing Talleyrand and Pozzo di Borgo, when Peter 



suddenly drew up at the door of a small cabin, 
and convinced me that I was still a mortal man, 
and a lieutenant in his Majesty's 4 — th. Before 
I had time afforded me even to guess at the reason 
of this sudden halt, an old man emerged from the 
cabin, which I saw now was a road-side ale-house, 
and presented Peter with a bucket of meal and 
water, a species, of "refresher" that he evidently / 
was accustomed to at this place, whether bestrode 
by a priest or an ambassador. Before me lay a 
long straggling street of cabins, irregularly thrown, 
as if riddled over the ground ; this I was informed ' 
was Kilkee. While my good steed, tnerefore, was 
enjoying his potation, I dismounted, to stretch 
my legs and look about me : and scarcely had I 
done so, when I found half the population of the 
village assembled round Peter, whose claims to 
notoriety, I now learned, depended neither upon 
his owner's fame, nor even my temporary pos- 
session of him. Peter, in fact, had been a racer, 
once — when, the Wandering Jew might perhaps 
have told, had he ever visited Clare — for not the 
oldest inhabitant knew the date of his triumphs on 
the turf ; though they were undisputed traditions, 
and never did any man appear bold enough to 
call them in question. Whether it was from his 
patriarchal character, or that he was the only race- 
horse ever known in this county, I cannot say, 
but, of a truth, the Grand Lama could scarcely 
be a greater object of reverence in Thibet than 
was Peter in Kilkee. 

" Musha, Peter, but it's well y'r looking," cried 
one. 

"Ah, thin, maybe ye an't fat on the ribs," cried 
another. 

"An' cockin' his tail like a coult," said a 
third. 

I am very certain, if I might venture to judge 
from the faces about, that, had the favorite for 
the St. Leger passed through Kilkee at that mo- 
ment, comparisons very little to his favor had 
been drawn from the assemblage around me. With 
some difficulty I was permitted to reach my much- 
admired steed, and with a cheer, which was 
sustained and caught up by every denizen of 
the village as I passed through, I rode on 
my way, not a little amused at my equivocal 
popularity. 

Being desirous to lose no time, I diverged from 
the straight road which leads to Kilrusb, and took 
a cross bridle-path to Callonby : this, I afterwards 
discovered, was a dt'totcr of a mile or two, and it 
was already sunset when I reached the entrance to 
the park. I entered the avenue, and now my im- 
patience became extreme, for although Peter con- 
tinued to move at the same uniform pace, I could 
not persuade myself that he was not foundering at 
every step, and was quite sure we were scarcely 
advancing ; at last I reached the wooden bridge, 
and ascended the steep slope, the spot where I 
had first met her, on whom my every thought now 
rested. I turned the angle of the clump of beech 
trees from whence the first view of the house is 
caught. I perceived, to my inexpressible delight, 
that gleams of light shot from many of the win- 
dows, and could trace their passing from one to 
the other. I now drew rein, and with a heart re- 
lieved from a load of anxiety, pulled up my good 



HARRY LORREQUER. 



47. 



steed, and began to think of the position in which 
a few brief seconds would place me. I reached 
the small flower-garden, sacred by a thousand 
endearing recollections. Oh ! of how very little 
account are the many words of passing kindness, 
and moments of light-hearted pleasure, when 
spoken or felt, compared to the memory of them 
when hallowed by time or distance ! 

" The place, the hour, the sunshine and the 
shade," all reminded me of the happy past, and 
all brought vividly before me every portion of 
that dream of happiness in which I was so ut- 
terly, so completely steeped — every thought of 
the hopelessness of my passion was lost in the 
intensity of it, and L did not, in the ardor of my 
loving, stop to think of its possible success. 

It was strange enough that the extreme im- 
patience, the hurried anxiet)', I had felt and suf- 
fered from, while riding up the avenue, had now 
fled entirely, and in its place I felt nothing but a 
diffident distrust of myself, and a vague sense of 
awkwardness about intruding thus unexpectedly 
upon the family, while engaged in all the cares 
and .preparations for a speedy departure. The 
hall-door lay as usual wide open, the hall itself 
was strewn and littered with trunks, imperials, 
and packing-cases, and the hundred et ceteras of 
travelling baggage. I hesitated a moment whether 
1 should not ring, but at last resolved to enter 
unannounced, and, presuming upon my intimacy, 
see what effect my sudden appearance would 
have on Lady Jane, whose feelings towards me 
would be thus most unequivocally tested. I passed 
along the wide corridor, entered the music-room 
— it was still. 1 walked then to the door of tl*e 
drawing-room — I paused — I drew a full breath — 
my hand trembled slightly as I turned the lock — 
I entered — the room ^vas empty, but the blazing 
fire upon the hearth, the large armchairs drawn 
round, the scattered books upon the small tables, 
all told that it had been inhabited a very short 
time before. "Ah!" thought I, looking at my 
watch, "they are at dinner;" and I began at 
once to devise a liundred different plans to ac- 
count for my late absence and present visit. I 
knew that a few minutes would probably bring 
them into the drawing-room, and I felt flurried 
and heated as the time drew near. At last I 
heard voices without. I started from the ex- 
amination of a pencil drawing, partly finished, 
but the artist of which I could not be deceived 
in. I listened — the sounds drew near — I could 
not distinguish who were the speakers — the door- 
lock turned, and I rose to make my well-conned, 
but half-forgotten speech ; and oh, confounded 
disappointment ! Mrs. Herbert, the housekeeper, 
entered. She started, not expecting to see me, 
and immediately said — 

" Oh ! Mr. Lorrequer ! then you've missed 
them ?" 

" Missed them!" said I; "how — when — where?" 

" Did you not get a note from my lord ?" 

" No ; when was it written ?" 

" Oh, dear me, that is so very unfortunate. Why, 
sir, my lord sent off a servant this morning to 
Kilrush, in Lord Kilkee's tilbury, to request you 
would meet them all in Ennis this evening, where 
they had intended to stop for to-night ; and they 



waited here till near four o'clock to-day, but when 
the servant came back with the intelligence that 
you were from home, and not expected to return 
soon, they were obliged to set out, and are not 
going to make any delay now, till they reach Lon- 
don. The last direction, however, my lord gave, 
was to forward her ladyship's letter to you as soon 
as possible." 

What I thought, said, or felt, might be a good 
subject of confession to Father Malachi, for I 
fear it may be recorded among my sins, as I 
doubt not that the agony I suffered vented it- 
self in no measured form of speech or conduct ; 
but I have nothing to confess here on the subject, 
being so totally overwhelmed as not to know what 
I did or said. My first gleam of reason elicited 
itself by asking — 

"Is there, then, no chance of their stopping in 
Ennis to-night ?" As I put the question, my mind 
reverted to Peter and liis eternal canter. 

"Oh, dear, no, sir; the horses are ordered to 
take them, since Tuesday ; and they only thought 
of staying in Ennis, if you came time enough to 
meet them — and they will be so sorry." 

" Do you think so, Mrs. Herbert ? Do you in- 
deed think so ?" said I, in a most insinuating 
tone. 

" I am perfectly sure of it, sir." 

"Oh, Mrs. Herbert, you are too kind to think 
so ; but perhaps — that is — maybe, Mrs. Herbert, 
she said something — " 

" Who, sir ?" 

" Lady Callonby, I mean; did her ladyship leave 
any message for me about her plants ? or did she 
remember " 

Mrs. Herbert kept looking at me all the time, 
with her great wide grey eyes, while I kept stam- 
mering and blushing like a schoolboy. 

" No, sir; her ladyship said nothing, sir; but 
Lady Jane " 

"Yes; well, what of Lady Jane, my dear Mrs. 
Herbert ?" 

"Oh, sir! but you look pale; would not 
you like to have a little wine and water — or 
perhaps " 

" No, thank you, nothing whatever; I am just 
a little fatigued — but you were mentioning " 

"Yes, sir, I was saying that Lady Jane was 
mighty particular about asmall plant; she ordered 
it to be left in her dressing-room. Though Collins 
told her to have some of the handsome ones of 
the greenhouse, she would have nothing but 
this; and if you were only to hear half the di- 
rections she gave about keeping it watered, and 
taking off dead leaves, you'd think her heart was 
set on it." 

Mrs. Herbert would have had no cause to pre- 
scribe for my paleness had she only looked at 
me this time; fortunately, however, she was 
engaged, housekeeper-like, in bustling among 
books, papers, etc., which she had come in for 
the purpose of arranging and packing up. She 
being left behind to bring up the rear and the 
heavy baggage. 

Very few moments' consideration were suffi- 
cient to show me that pursuit was hopeless. 
Whatever might have been Peter's performance in 
the reign of " Queen Anne," he had now become, 



^ 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



like the goose so pathetically described by my 
friend Lover, rather " stiff in his limbs," and the 
odds were fearfully against his overtaking four 
horses, starting fresh every ten miles, not to men- 
tion their being some hours in advance already. 
Having declined all Mrs. Herbert's many kind 
offers anent food and rest, I took a last lingering 
look at the beautiful picture, which still held its 
place in the room lately mine, and hurried from a 
place so full of recollections ; and, notwithstanding 
the many reasons I had for self-gratulation, every 
object around and about filled me with sorrow 
and regret for hours that had passed — never, 
never to return. 

It was very late when I reached my old quar- 
ters at Kilrush. Mrs. Healy, fortunately, was in 
bed asleep — fortunately, I say, for had she selected 
that occasion to vent her indignation for my long 
absence, I greatly fear tliat, in my then temper, I 
should have exhibited but little of that Job-like 
endurance for which I was once esteemed. I en- 
tered my little mean-looking parlor, with its 
three chairs and lame table, and, as I flung myself 
upon the wretched substitute for a sofa, and 
thought upon the varied events which a few weeks 
had brought about, it required the aid of her 
ladyship's letter, which I had open before me, to 
assure me I was not dreaming. 

The entire of that night I could not sleep; my 
destiny seemed upon its balance; and, whether 
the scale inclined to this side or that, good or 
evil fortune seemed to betide me. How many 
were my plans and resolutions, and how often 
abandoned; again to be pondered over, and once 
more given up ! The grey dawn of the morning 
was already breaking, and found me still doubt- 
ing and uncertain. At last the die was thrown; I 
determined at once to apply for leave to my com- 
manding officer (which he could, if he pleased, 
give me without any application to the Horse 
Guards), set out for Elton, tell Sir Guy my whole 
adventure, and endeavor, by a more moving love- 
story than ever graced even the Minerva Press, to 
induce him to make some settlement on me, and 
use his influence with Lord Callonby in my be- 
half; this done, set out for London, and then — 
and then — what then ? — then for the Aloriiiiig 
Post — "orange flowers" — "happy couple" — 
"LordCallonby's seat in Hampshire," etc., etc. 

"You wished to be called at five, sir," said 
Stubbes. 

" Yes; is it five o'clock?" 

" No, sir; but I heard you call out something 
about 'four horses,' and I thought you might be 
hurried, so I came in a little earlier." 

" Quite right, Stubbes. Let me have my break- 
fast as soon as possible, and see that chestnut 
horse I brought here last night, fed." 

" And now for it," said I. After writing a 
hurried note to Curzon, requesting him to take 
command of my party at Kilrush till he heard 
from me, and sending my kind remembrance to 
my three friends, I despatched the epistle by my 
servant on Peter, while I hastened to secure a 
place in the mail for Ennis, on the box-seat of 
which let my kind reader suppose me seated, as, 
wrapping my box-coat around me, I lit my cigar 
and turned my eyes towards Lrmerick. 



CHAPTER VIIL 

CONGRATUtATIONS — SICK LEAVE — HOW TO PASS 
THE BOARD. 

I HAD scarcely seated myself to breakfast at 
Swinburne's Hotel in Limerick, when the waiter 
presented me with a letter. As my first glance at 
the address showed it to be in Colonel Carden's 
handwriting, I felt not a little alarmed for the con- 
sequences of the rash step I had taken in leaving 
my detachment ; and, while quickly thronging 
fancies of arrest and court-martial flitted before 
me, I summoned resolution at last to break the 
seal, and read as follows : — 

" My dear Lorrequer," — " ' Dear Lorrequer!' 
dear me," thought I, " cool, certainly, from ■ one I 
have ever regarded as an open enemy" — " My dear 
Lorrequer, I have just accidentally heard of your 
arrival here, and hasten to inform you that, as it 
may not be impossible yo ar reasons for so abruptly 
leaving your detachment are known to me, I shall 
not visit your breach of discipline very heavily. 
My old and worthy friend. Lord Callonby, who 
passed through here yesterday has so warmly in- 
terested himself in your behalf, that I feel disposed 
to do all in my power to serve you ; independent 
of my desire to do soon your own account. Come 
over here, then, as soon as possible, and let us talk 
over your plans together. 

" Believe me, most truly yours, 

"Henry Garden. 

"Barracks, lo o'clock." 

• However mysterious and difficult to unravel 
have been some of the circumstances narrated in 
these " Confessions," I do not scruple to avow that 
the preceding letter was to ;«<> by far the most in- 
explicable piece of fortune I had hitherto met 
with. That Lord Callonby should have converted 
one whom I believed an implacable foe into a 
most obliging friend, was intelligible enough, see- 
ing that his lordship had through life been the 
patron of the colonel ; but why he had so done, 
and what communications he could possibly have 
made with regard to me, that Colonel Carden 
should speak of " my plans" and proffer assistance 
in them, was a perfect riddle ; and the only solu- 
tion, one so ridiculously flattering that I dared not 
think of it. I read and re-read the note ; mis- 
placed the stops ; canvassed every expression ; did 
all to detect a meaning different from the obvious 
one, fearful of a self-deception where so much was 
at stake. Yet there it stood forth, a plain, straight- 
forward proffer of services, for some object evi- 
dently known to the writer ; and my only conclu- 
sion, from all, was this, that " my Lord Callonby 
was the gem of his order, and had a most remark- 
able talent for selecting a son-in-law." 

I fell into a deep reverie upon my past life and 
the prospects which I now felt were opening be- 
fore me. Nothing seemed extravagant to hojies 
so well founded — to expectations so brilliant — 
and, in my mind's eye, I beheld myself one mo- 
ment leading my young and beautiful bride 
through the crowded salons of Devonshire House; 
and, at the next, I was contemplating the excel- 
lence and perfection of my stud arrangements at 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



49 



Melton, for I resolved not to give up hunting. 
■\Vhile in this pleasurable exercise of my fancy, I 
was removing from before me some of the break- 
fast equipage, or as I then believed it, breaking the 
trees into better groups upon my lawn, I was once 
more brought to the world and its dull reality by 
the foUowmg passage, which my eye fell upon in 
the news])aper before me : " We understand that 
the 4 — th are daily expecting the route for Cork, 
from whence they are to sail, early in the ensuing 
month, for Halifax, to relieve the 8Sth." While 
it did not take a moment's consideration to show 
r.ie that though the regiment there mentioned was 
the one I belonged to, I could have no possible 
interest in the announcement — it never coming 
into my calculation that 1 should submit to such 
expatriation — yet it gave me a salutary warning 
that there was no time to be lost in making my 
application for leave, which, once obtained, 1 
should have ample time to manage an exchange 
into another corps. The wonderful revolution a 
few davs had effected in all my tastes and desires 
did not escape me at this moment. But a week 
or two before, and I should have regarded an or- 
der for foreign service as anything rather than un- 
pleasant ; now, the thought was insupportable. 
Then, there would have been some charm to me 
in the very novelty of the locale, and the indul- 
gence of that vagrant spirit I have ever possessed 
— for, like Justice Woodcock, "I certainly should 
have been a vagabond if Providence had not made 
me a justice of the peace" — now, I could not even 
contemplate the thing as possible ; and would 
actually have refused the command of a regiment, 
if the condition of its acceptance were to sail for 
the colonies. 

Besides, I tried — and how ingenious is self-de- 
ception — I tried to find arguments in support 
of my determination totally different from the rea- 
sons which governed me. I affected to fear 
climate, and to dread the effect of the tropics upon 
my health. " It may do very well," thought I, 
" for men totally destitute of better prospects, with 
neither talent, influence, nor powerful connection, 
to roast their cheeks at Sierra Leone, or suck a 
sugar-cane at St. Lucia. But that you, Harry 
Lorrequer, should waste your sweetness upon 
planters' daughters — that have only to be known 
to have the world at your feet! The thing is 
absurd, and not to be thought of ! " Yes," said I 
half aloud, '' we read in the army list that Major A. 
is appointed to the 50th, and Captain B. to the 
1 2th; but how much more near the truth would 
it be to say, 'That his Majesty, in consideration 
of the distinguished services of the one, has been 
graciously ])leased to appoint him to — a case of 
blue and collapsed cholera, in India; and also 
for the bravery and gallant conduct of the other, 
in his late affair with the " How-dow-dallah 
Indians," has promoted him to the — vellow fever 
now devastating and desolating Jamaica ?' " How 
far my zeal for the service might have carried me 
on this point I know not, for I was speedily 
aroused from my musings bv the loud tramp of 
feet upon the stairs, and the sound of many well- 
known voices of my brother officers, who were 
coming to visit me. 

" So, Harry, my boy," said the fat major, as he 



entered, " is it true we are not to have the pleas- 
ure of your company to Jamaica this time?" 

" He prefers a pale face, it seems, to a black 
one; and certainly, with thirty thousand in the 
same scale, the taste is excusable." 

" But, Lorrequer," said a third, "we heard that 
you had canvassed the county on the Callonby 
interest. Why, man, where do you mean to pull 
up?" 

" As for me," lisped a large-eyed, white-;haired 
ensign of three months' standing, '"I think it 
devilish hard old Carden didn't send me down 
there, too, for I hear there are two girls in 
the family. Eh, Lorrequer?" 

Having, with all that peculiar bashfulness such 
occasions are sure to elicit, disclaimed the happi- 
ness my friends so clearly ascribed to me, I yet 
pretty plainly let it be understood that the more 
brilliant they supposed my present prospects tO' 
be, the more near were they to estimate them 
justly. One thing certainly gratified me through- 
out. All seemed rejoiced at my good fortune, 
and even the old Scotch paymaster made no more 
caustic remark than that he" wad na wonder if the 
chiel's black whiskers wad get him made governor 
of Stirling Castle before he'd dee." 

Should any of my most patient listeners to 
these mv humble "Confessions" wonder, either 
here or elsewhere, upon what very slight founda- 
tions I built these my Chateaux en £spagiie, 
I have only one answer — " that from my boyhood 
I have had a taste for florid architecture, and 
would rather have put up with any inconvenience 
of ground, than not build at all." 

As it was growing late, I hurriedly bade adieu 
to my friends, and hastened to Colonel Carden's 
quarters, where I found him waiting for me, in 
company with my old friend, Fitzgerald, our regi- 
mental surgeon. Our first greetings over, the 
colonel drew me aside into a window, and said 
that, from certain expressions Lord Callonby had 
made use of — certain hints he had dropped — he 
was perfectly aware of the delicate position in 
which I stood with respect to his lordship's 
family. " In fact, my dear Lorrequer," he con- 
tinued, "without wishing in the least to obtrude 
myself upon your confidence, I must yet be per- 
mitted to say, you are the luckiest fellow in 
Europe, and I most sincerely congratulate you on 
the prospect before you." 

" But, my dear colonel, I assure you — " 

"Well, well, there — not a word more; don't 
blush now. I know there is always a kind of 
secrecy thought necessary on these occasions, for 
the sake of other parties; so let us pass to your 
plans. From what I have collected, you have not 
proposed formally. But, of course, you desire a 
leave. You'll not quit the army, I trust; no ne- 
cessity for that; such influence as yours can always 
appoint you to an unattached commission." 

" Once more let me protest, sir, that though for 
certain reasons most desirous to obtain a leave of 
absence, I have not the most remote " 

" That's right — quite right ; I am sincerely 
gratified to hear you say so, and so will be Lord 
Callonby ; for he likes the service." 

And thus was my last effort at a disclaimer cut 
short by the loquacious little colonel, who re- 



60 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



garded my unfinished sentence as a concurrence 
with his own opinion. 

''Allah il Allah" thought I, "it is my Lord 
Callonby's own plot ; and his friend Colonel 
Garden aids and abets him." 

"Now, Lorrequer," resumed the colonel, 'let 
us proceed. You have, of course, heard that we 
are ordered abroad ; mere newspaper report for 
the present ; nevertheless, it is extremely difficult 
— almost impossible — without a sick certificate, 
to obtain a leave sufficiently long for your pur- 
pose." 

And here he smirked, and I blushed, selon Ics 
rifles. 

"A sick certificate," said I, in some surprise. 

"The only thing for you," said Fitzgerald, 
taking a long pinch of snuff, "and I grieve to 
say you have a most villanous look of good health 
about you." 

" I must acknowledge I have seldom felt better." 

"So much the worse — so much the worse, "said 
Fitzgerald, despondingly. " Is there no family com- 
plaint ; no respectable heirloom of infirmity you 
can lay claim to from your kindred ?" 

" None that I know of, unless a very active per- 
formance on the several occasions of breakfast, 
dinner, and supper, with a tendency towards port, 
and an inclination to sleep ten in every twenty- 
four hours, be a sign of sickness. These symp- 
toms I have known many of the family to suffer for 
years without the slightest alleviation, though, 
strange as it may appear, they occasionally had 
medical advice." 

Fitz took no notice of my sneer at the faculty, 
but proceeded to strike my chest several times 
with his finger-tips. "Try a short cough, now," 
said he. "Ah, that will never do ! Do you ever 
flush — before dinner, I mean ?" 

" Occasionally, when I meet with a luncheon." 

" I'm fairly puzzled," said poor Fitz, throwing 
himself into a chair. "Gout is a very good thing ; 
but then you see you are only a sub., and it is 
clearly against the articles of war to have it before 
being a field officer at least. Apoplexy is the 
best I can do for you ; and, to say the truth, any 
one who witnesses your performance at mess may 
put faith in the likelihood of it. Do you think 
you could get up a fit for the medical board?" 
said Fitz, gravely. 

" Why, if absolutely indispensable," said I, 
"and with good instruction — something this way. 
Eh, is it not .'" 

" Nothing of the kind — you are quite wrong." 

"Is there not always a little laughing and cry- 
ing?" said I. 

"Oh, no, no ; take the cue from the paymaster 
any evening after mess, and you'll make no mis- 
take — very florid about the cheeks ; rather a lazy 
look in one eye, the other closed up entirely ; 
snore a little from time to time, and don't be too 
much disposed to talk." 

" And you think I can pass muster in this way ?" 

"Indeed you may, if old Camie, the inspector, 
happen to be (what he is not often) in a good 
humor. But I confess I'd rather you were really 
ill, for we've passed a great number of counter- 
feits latterlv, and we may be all pulled up ere 
long." 



"Not the less grateful for your kindness," said 
I; "but still I'd rather matters stood as they 
do." 

Having at length obtained a very formidable 
statement of my " case" from the doctor, and a 
strong letter from the colonel, deploring the tem- 
porary loss of so promising a young officer, I 
committed myself and my portmanteau to the in- 
side of his Majesty's mail, and started for Dublin 
with as light a heart and high spirits as were 
consistent with so much delicacy of health and 
the directions of my doctor. 



CHAPTER IX. 

THE ROAD — TRAVELLING ACQUAINTANCES — A 
PACKET ADVENTURE. 

I SHALL not Stop now to narrate the particulars 
of my visit to the worthies of the medical board; 
the rather^s some of my " Confessions to come" 
have reference to Dublin, and many of those that 
dwell therein. I shall, therefore, content myself 
here with stating, that witliout any dithculty I 
obtained a six months' leave, and having received 
much advice and more sympathy from many 
members of that body, took a respectful leave of 
them, and adjourned to Bilton's, where I had or- 
dered dinner, and (^as I was advised to live low) 
a bottle of Sneyd's claret. My hours in Dublin 
were numbered; at eight o'clock on the evening 
of my arrival I hastened to the Pigeon House 
Pier, to take my berth in the packet for Liver- 
pool; and here, gentle reader, let me implore 
you, if you haveljowels of compassion, to com- 
miserate the condition of a sorry mortal like my- 
self. In the days of which I now speak, steam- 
packets were not — men knew not then of the 
pleasure of going to a comfortable bed in Kings- 
town harbor, and waking on the morning after in 
the Clarence dock at Liverpool, with only the addi- 
tion of a little sharper appetite for breakfast, be- 
fore they set out on an excursion of forty miles 
per hour through the air. 

In the time I have now to commemorate, the 
intercourse between the two countries was main- 
tained by tv.w sailing vessels of small tonnage and 
still scantier accommodation. Of the one now 
in question I well recollect the name — she was 
called the " Alert," and certainly a more unfor- 
tunate misnomer could scarcely be conceived. 
Well, there was no choice; so I took my place 
upon the crowded deck of the little craft, and, in 
a drizzling shower of chilly rain, and amid more 
noise, confusion, and bustle than would prelude 
the launch of a line-of-battle ship, we "sidled," 
goose-fashion, from the shore, and began our 
voyage towards England. 

It is not my intention, in the present stage of 
"my Confessions," to delay on the road towards 
an event which influenced so powerfully, and so 
permanently, my after-life; yet I cannot refrain 
from chronicling a slight incident which occurred 
on board the packet, and which, I have no doubt, 
may be remembered by some of those who throw 
their eyes on these pages. 



HARRY LORREOUER, 



61 



One of my fellow-passengers was a gentleman 
holding a high official appomtment in the vicere- 
gal court, either comptroller of the household, 
master of the horse, or something else equally 
magnificent; however, whatever the nature of the 
situation, one thing is certain — one possessed of 
more courtly manners and more polished address 
cannot be conceived, to which he added all the 
attractions of a very handsome person and a most 
prepossessing countenance. The only thing the 
most scrupulous critic could possibly detect as 
faulty in his whole air and bearing, was a certain 
ultra refinement and fastidiousness, which in a 
man of acknowledged family and connections 
was somewhat unaccountable, and certainly un- 
necessary. The fastidiousness I speak of extended 
to everything roind and about him; he never ate 
of the wrong dish nor spoke to the wrong man in 
his life, and that very consciousness gave him a 
kind of horror of chance acquaintances, which 
made him shrink within himself from persons in 
every respect his equals. Those who knew Sir 
Stewart Moore, will know I do not e.\aggerate in 
either my praise or censure, and to those who 
have not had that pleasure, I have only to say, 
theirs was the loss, and they must take my word 
for the facts. 

The very antithesis to the person just men- 
tioned was another passenger then on board. 
She — for even in sex they were different — she 
was a short, squat, red-faced, vulgar-looking 
woman, of about fifty, possessed of a most garru- 
lous tendency, and talking indiscriminately with 
every one about her, careless what reception her 
addresses met with, and quite indifferent to the 
many rebuffs she momentarily encountered. To 
me, by what impulse driven Heaven knows, this 
amorphous piece of womanhood seemed deter- 
mined to attach herself. Whether in the smoky 
and almost impenetrable recesses of the cabin, or 
braving the cold and penetrating rain upon deck, 
it mattered not, she was ever at my side, and not 
only martyring me by the insufferable annoyance 
of her vulgar loquacity, but actually, from the ap- 
pearance of acquaintanceship such constant asso- 
ciation gave rise to, frightening any one else 
from conversing with me, and rendering me, ere 
many hours, a perfect Pariah among the passen- 
gers. By no one were we — for, alas ! we had Ise- 
come Siamese — so thoroughly dreaded as by the 
refined baronet I have mentioned ; he appeared 
to shrink from our very approach, and avoided 
us as though we had the plagues of Egypt about 
us. I saw this — I felt it deeply, and as deeply 
and resolutely I vowed to be revenged, and the 
time was not long distant in affording me the op- 
portunity. 

The interesting Mrs. Mulrooney, for such was 
my fair companion called, was on the present oc- 
casion making her debilt on what she was pleased 
to call the " says ;" she was proceeding to the 
Liverpool market as proprietor and supercargo 
over some legion of swine that occupied the hold 
of the vessel, and whose mellifluous tones were 
occasionally heard in all parts of the ship. Hav- 
ing informed me on these, together with some 
circumstances of her birth and parentage, she 
proceeded to narrate some of the cautions given 



by her friends as to her safety when making such 
a long voyage, and also to detail some of the anti- 
septics to that dread scourge, sea-sickness, in the 
fear and terror of which she had come on board, 
and seemed every hour to be increasing in alarm 
about. 

" Do you think then, sir, that pork is no good 
agin the sickness ? Mickey, that's my husband, 
sir — savs it's the only thing in life for it, av it's 
toasted." 

"Not the least use, I assure you," 

"Nor sperits and wather?" 

"Worse and worse, ma'am." 

"Oh, thin, maybe oaten mail tay would do? 
It's a beautiful thing for the stomick, any how." 

" Rank poison on the present occasion, be- 
lieve me." 

" Oh, then, blessed Mary, what atn I to do — 
what is to become of me ?" 

" Go down at once to your berth, ma'am ; lie 
still and without speaking till we come in sight 
of land ; or," — and here a bright thought seized 
me — " if you really feel very ill, call for that man 
there, with the fur-collar on his coat: he can 
give you the only thing I ever knew of any effi- 
cacy ; he's the steward, ma'am, Stewart Moore ; 
but you must be on your guard, too, as you are a 
stranger, for he's a conceited fellow, and has 
saved a trifle, and sets up for a /W/- gentleman ; 
so don't be surprised at his manner ; though, 
after all, you may find him very different ; some 
people, I've heard, think him extremely civil." 

" And he has a cure, ye say ?" 

"The only one I ever heard of; it is a little 
cordial, of which you take, I don't know how 
much, every ten or fifteen minutes." 

" And the Naygur doesn't let the saycret out, 
bad manners to him?" 

" No, ma'am ; he has refused every offer on 
the subject." 

" May I be so bould as to ax his name again ?" 

" Stewart Moore, ma'am. Moore is the name, 
but people always call him Stewart Moore; just 
say that in a loud, clear voice, and you'll soon 
have him." 

With the most profuse protestations of gratitude 
and promises of pork a discretion, if ever I so- 
journed at Ballinasloe, my fair friend proceeded 
to follow my advice, and descended to the 
cabin. 

Some hours after, I also betook myself to my 
rest, from which however, towards midnight, I 
was awoke by the heavy working and pitching of 
the little vessel, as she labored in a rough sea. 
As I looked forth from my narrow crib, a more 
woebegone picture can scarcely be imagined than 
that before me. Here and there through the 
gloomy cabin lay the victims of the fell malady, 
in every stage of suffering, and in every attitude 
of misery. Their cries and lamentings mingled 
with the creaking of the bulkheads and the jar- 
ring twang of the dirty lamp, whose irregular 
swing told plainly how oscillatory was our present 
motion. I turned from the unpleasant sight, and 
was about again to address myself to slumber 
with what success I might, when I started at the 
sound of a voice in the very next berth to me, 
whose tones, once beard, there was no forgettmg. 



62 



HARRY LORREOUER, 



The words ran, as nearly as I can recollect, 
thus : — 

" O, then, bad luck to ye for pigs, that ever 
brought me into the like of this. O Lord, there 
it is again." And here a slight interruption to 
eloquence took place, during which I vvas enabled 
to reflect upon the author of the complaint, who, 
I need not say, was Mrs. Mulrooney. 

" I think a little tay would settle my stomick, 
if I only could get it ; but what's the use of talk- 
ing, in this horrid place? They never mind me 
no more than if I was a pig. Steward, steward I 
— oh, then, it's wishing you well I am for a 
steward. Steward, I say !" and this she really 
did say, with an energy of voice and manner that 
startled more than one sleeper. " Oh, you're 
coming at last, steward." 

'"Ma'am," said a little dapper and dirty per- 
sonage in a blue jacket, with a greasy napkin neg- 
ligently thrown over one arm ex officio, "ma'am, 
did you call ?" 

"Call! — is it call? No; but I'm roaring for 
you this half-hour. Come here. Have you any 
of the cordial dhrops agin the sickness ? — you 
know what I mean." 

" Is it brandy, ma'am ?" 

" No, it isn't brandy." 

"We have got gin, ma'am, and bottled porter — 
cider, ma'am, if you like." 

"Agh, no! sure I want the dhrops agin the 
sickness." 

" Don't know, indeed, ma'am." 

" Ah, you stupid creature ! Maybe you're not 
the real steward. What's your name ?" 

" Smith, ma'am." 

" Ah, I thought so. Go away, man, go away." 

This injunction, given in a diminuendo cadence, 
was quickly obeyed, and all was silence for a mo- 
ment or two. Once more was I dropping asleep, 
when the same voice as before burst out with — 

"Am I to die here like a haythen, and nobody 
to come near me ? Steward ! steward ! steward 
Moore, I say." 

"Who calls mcf said a deep sonorous voice 
from the opposite side of the cabin, while at the 
same instant a tall green silk nightcap, surmount- 
ing a very aristocratic-looking forehead, appeared 
between the curtains of the opposite berth. 

" Steward Moore !" said the lady again, with her 
eyes straining in the direction of the door by which 
she expected him to enter. 

"Tnis is most strange," muttered the baronet, 
half aloud. " Why, madam, you are calling 
vie !" 

"And if I am," said Mrs. Mulrooney, "and if 
ye heerd me, have ye no manners to answer your 
name, eh? Are ye Steward Moore?" 

" Upon my life, ma'am, I thought so last night 
when I came on board ! but you really have con- 
trived to make me doubt my own identity." 

"And is it there ye're lying on the broad of yer 
back, and me as sick as a dog foment ye?" 

"I concede, ma'am, the fact; the position is a 
most irksome one on every account." 

" Then why don't ye come over to me?" And 
this Mrs. Mulrooney said with a voice of some- 
thing like tenderness — wishing at all hazards to 
conciliate so important a functionary. 



" Why, really, you are the most incomprehensi- 
ble person I ever met." 

"I'm what?" said Mrs. Mulrooney, her blood 
rushing to her face and temples as she spoke — for 
the same reason as her fair townswoman is reported 
to have borne with stoical fortitude every harsh 
epithet of the language, until it occurred to her 
opponent to tell her that "the divil a bit better 
she was nor a pronoun ;" so Mrs. Mulrooney, , 
taking omne ignotum pro horribile, became per- I 
fectly beside herself at the unlucky phrase. "I'm ' 
what? Repate it av ye dare, and I'll tear yer 
eyes out ! Ye dirty bla — guard, to be lying there 
at yer ease under the blankets, grinning at me. 
What's your thrade — answer me that — av it isn't 
to wait on the'ladies, eh ?" 

" Oh, the woman must be mad," said Sir Stewart. 

"The divil a taste mad, my dear — I'm only 
sick. Now just come over to me like a decent 
creature, and give me the dhrop of comfort ye ' 
have. Come, avick." 

" Go over to you ?" 

"Ay, and why not? Or, if it's so lazy ye are, 
why then I'll thry and cross over Xo your side." 

These words being accompanied by a certain 
indication of change of residence on the part of 
Mrs. Mulrooney, Sir Stewart perceived there was 
no time to lose, and springing from his berth, he 
rushed half-dressed through the cabin and up the 
conijianion-ladder, just as Mrs. Mulrooney had 
protruded a pair of enormous legs from her couch, 
and hung for a moment pendulous before she 
dropped upon the floor and followed him to the 
deck. A tremendous shout of laughter from the 
sailors and deck passengers prevented my hearing 
the dialogue which ensued ; nor do I yet know 
how Mrs. Mulrooney learned her mistake. Cer- 
tain it is, she no more appeared amongst the pas- 
sengers in the cabin, and Sir Stewart's manner the 
following morning at breakfast amply satisfied me 
that I had had my revenge. 



CHAPTER X. 

UPSET — MIND — AND BODY. 

No sooner in Liverpool, than I hastened to take 
my place in the earliest conveyance for London. 
At that time the Umpire coach was the perfection of 
fast travelling; and, seated behind the box, en- 
veloped in a sufiiciency of broadcloth, I turned 
my face towards town with as much anxiety and 
as ardent expectations as most of those about me. 
All went on in the regular monotonous routine of 
such matters until we reached Northampton, pas- 
sing down the steep street of which town, the 
near wheel-horse stumbled and fell; the coach, 
after a tremendous roll to one side, toppled over 
on the other, and with a tremendous crash, and 
sudden shock, sent all the outsides, myself among 
the number, flying through the air like sea-gulls. 
As for me, after describing a very respectable pa- 
rabola, my angle of incidence landed me in a bon- 
net-maker's shop, having passed through a large 
plate-glass window, and destroyed more leghorns 
and dunstables than a year's pay would recom- 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



53 



pense. I have but slight recollection of the de- 
tails of that occasion, until I found myself lying 
in a very spacious bed at the George Inn, having 
been bled in both arms, and discovering by the 
multitude of bandages in which I was enveloped, 
that at least some of my bones were broken by 
the fall. That such fate had befallen my collar- 
bone and three of my ribs, I soon learned; 
and was horror -struck at hearing from the sur- 
geon who attended me that four or five weeks 
would be the very earliest period I could bear re- 
moval with safety. Here then at once there was 
a large deduction from my six months' leave, not 
to think of the misery that awaited me for such a 
time, confined to my bed in an inn, without books, 
friends, or acquaintances. However, even this 
could be remedied by patience, and summoning 
up all I could command, I "bided my time," but 
not before I had completed a term of two 
months' imprisonment, and had become, from 
actual starvation, something very like a living 
transparency. 

No sooner, how-ever, did I feel myself once 
more on the road, than my spirits rose, and I felt 
myself as full of high hope and buoyant e.xpect- 
ancy as ever. It was late at night when I arrived 
in London. I drove to a quiet hotel in the West- 
end; and the following morning proceeded to 
Portman square, bursting with impatience to see 
my friends the Callonbys, and recount all my ad- 
ventures — for as I was too ill to write from 
Northampton, and did not wish to entrust to a 
stranger the oftice of communicating with them, I 
judged that they must be exceedingly uneasy on 
my account, and pictured to myself the thousand 
emotions my appearance so indicative of illness 
would give rise to, and could scarcely avoid run- 
ning in my impatience to be once more among 
them. How Lady Jane would meet me, I thought 
of over again and again; whether the same cau- 
tious reserve awaited me, or whether her family's 
approval would have wrought a change in her re- 
ception of me, I burned to ascertain. As my 
thoughts ran on in this way, I found myself at the 
door; but was much alarmed to perceive that the 
closed window-shutters and dismantled look of the 
house proclaimed them from home. I rang the 
bell, and soon learned from a servant, whose face 
I had not seen before, that the family had gone to 
Paris about a month before, with the intention of 
spending the winter there. I need not say how 
grievously this piece of intelligence disappointed 
me, and for a minute or two I could not collect 
my thoughts. At last the servant said, — 

" If you have anything very particular, sir, that 
my lord's lavvyer can do, I can give you his 
address." 

"No, thank you — nothing;" at the same time I 
muttered to myself, "I'll have some occupation 
for him though, ere long. The family were all 
quite well, didn't you say ?" 

" Yes, sir, perfectly well. My lord had only a 
slight cold." 

"Ah — yes — and their address is 'Meurice;' 
very well." 

So saying, I turned from the door, and, with 
slower steps than I had come, returned to my 
hotel 



My immediate resolve was to set out for Paris; 
my second was to visit my uncle. Sir Guy Lorre- 
quer, first, and, having explained to him the nature 
of my position and the advantageous prospects 
before me, endeavor to induce him to make some 
settlement. on Lady Jane, in the event of my ob- 
taining her family's consent to our marriage. 
This, from his liking great people much, and lay- 
ing great stress upon the advantages of connec- 
tion, I looked upon as a matter of no great diffi- 
culty; so that, although my hopes of happiness 
were delayed in their fulfilment, I believed they 
were only to be tlie more securely realized. The 
same day I set out for Elton, and by ten o'clock at 
night reached my uncle's house. I found the old 
gentleman just as I liad left him three years be- 
fore, complaining a little of gout in the left foot 
— praising his old specific, port wine — abusing his 
servants for robbing him — and drinking the Duke 
of ^Vellington's health every night after supper ; 
which meal I had much pleasure in surprising 
hun at on my arrival — not having eaten since my 
departure from London. 

"Well, Harry," said my uncle, when the ser- 
vants had left the room, and we drew over the 
spider table to the fire to discuss our wine with 
comfort, "what good wind has blown you down 
to me, my boy? for it's odd enough, five minutes 
before I heard the wheels on the gravel I was just 
wishing some good fellow would join me at the 
grouse — and you see I have had my wish ! The 
old story, I suppose, 'out of cash.' Would not 
come down here for nothing — eh ? Come, lad, 
tell truth ; is it not so ?" 

" Why, not exactly, sir ; but I really had rather 
at present talk about you than about my own 
matters, which we can chat over to-morrow. How 
do you get on, sir, with the Scotch steward ?" 

" He's a rogue, sir— a cheat — a scoundrel ; but 
it is the same with them all ; and your cousin, 
Harry — your cousin, that I have reared from his 
infancy to be my heir (pleasant topic for me !) — 
he cares no more for me than the rest of them, 
and would never come near me, if it were not 
that, like yourself, he was hard run for money, 
and wanted to wheedle me out of a hundred oi 
two." 

"But you forget, sir; I told you I have not 
come with such an object." 

" We'll see that, we'll see that in the morning," 
replied he, with an incredulous shake of the head. 

" But Guy, sir — what lias Guy done ?" 

"What has he not done? No sooner did he 
join that popinjay set of fellows, the — th hussars, 
than he turned out what he calls a four-in-hand 
drag, which dragged nine hundred pounds out of 
my pocket. Then he has got a yacht at Cowes 
— a grouse mountain in Scotland — and has ac- 
tually given Tattersitll an unlimited order to pur- 
chase the Wreckington pack of harriers, which he 
intends to keep for the use of the corps. In a 
word, there is not an amusement of that villan- 
ous regiment, not a flask of champagne drunk at 
their mess, I don't bear my share in the cost of ; 
all through the kind offices of your worthy cousin 
Guy Lorrequer. 

This was an exceedingly pleasant expos^ for 
me, to hear of my cousin indulged in every ex- 



54 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



cess of foolish extravagance by his rich uncle, 1 
while I, the son of an elder brother, who unfor- 
tunately called me by his own name, Harry, re- 
mained a sub. in a marching regmient, with not 
three hundred pounds a year above my pay, and 
whom any extravagance, if such had been proved 
against me, would have deprived of even that 
small allowance. My uncle, however, did not 
notice the chagrin with which I heard his narra- 
tive, but continued to detail various instances of 
wild and reckless expense the future possessor 
of his ample property had already launched 
into. 

Anxious to say something, without well know- 
ing what, I hinted that probably my good cousin 
would reform some of these days, and marry. 

"Marry !" said my uncle ; "yes, that I believe 
is the best thing we can do with him ; and I hope 
now the matter is in good train — so the latest ac- 
counts say, at least." 

" Ah, indeed !" said I, endeavoring to take an 
interest where I really felt none, for my cousin 
and I had never been very intimate friends, and 
the difference in our fortunes had not, at least to 
my thinking, been compensated by any advances 
which he, under the circumstances, might have 
made to me. 

"Why, Harry, did you not hear of it?" said 
my uncle. 

" No ; not a word, sir." 

"Very strange, indeed — a great match, Harry 
— a very great match, indeed." 

" Some rich banker's daughter," thought I. 
" What will he say when he hears of mv fortune ?" 

"A very fine young woman, too, I understand 
— quite the M/e of London — and a splendid prop- 
erty left by an aunt." 

1 was bursting to tell him of my affair, and that 
he had another nephew, to whom, if common jus- 
tice were rendered, his fortune was as certainly 
made for life. 

"Guy's business happened this way," continued 
my uncle, who was quite engrossed by the thought 
of his favorite's success. " The father of the 
young lady met him in Ireland, or Scotland, or 
some such place, where he was with his regiment 
— was greatly struck with his manner and address 
— found him out to be my nephew — asked him to 
his house — and, in fact, almost threw this lovely 
girl at his head before they were two months 
acquainted." 

"As nearly as possible my own adventure," 
thought I, laughing to myself. 

"But you have not told me who they are, sir," 
said I, dying to have /lis story finished, and to 
begin mine. 

" I'm coming to that — I'm coming to that. Guy 
came down here, but did not tell me one word of 
his having ever met the family, but begged of me 
to give him an introduction to them, as they 
were in Paris, where he was going on a short 
leave ; and the first thing I heard of the matter 
was by a letter from the papa, demanding from 
me if Guy was to be my heir, and asking 'how 
far his attentions in /lis family met with my 
approval.' " 

' " Then how did you know, sir, that they were 
previously known to each other ?" 



" The family lawyer told me, who heard it all 
talked over." 

"And why, then, did Guy get the letter of in- 
troduction from you, when he was already ac- 
quainted with them ?" 

" I am sure I cannot tell, except that you know 
he always does everything unlike every one else, 
and to be sure the letter seems to have excited 
some amusement. I must show you his answer to 
my first note to know how all was going on — for I , 
felt very anxious about matters — when I heard from 
some person who had met them, that Guy was ever- 
lastingly in the house, and that Lord Callonby 
could not live ^vithout him." 

"Lord who, sir?" said I, in a voice that made 
the old man upset his glass, and spring from his 
chair in horror. 

" What the devil is the matter with the boy ? 
What makes you so pale?" 

" Whose name did you say at that moment, 
sir ?" said I, with a slowness of speech that cost 
me agony. 

" Lord Callonby, my old schoolfellow and fag 
at Eton." 

"And the lady's name, sir ?" said I, in scarcely 
an audible whisper. 

" I'm sure I forget her name ; but here's the 
letter from Guy, and I think he mentions her 
name in the postscript." 

I snatched rudely the half-opened letter from 
the old man, as he was vainly endeavoring 
to detect the place he wanted, and read as 
follows : — 

" My adored Jane is all your fondest wishes for 
my hai)piness could picture, and longs to see her 
dear uncle, as she already calls you on every oc- 
casion." I read no more — my eyes swam — the 
paper — the candles, everything before me was 
misty and confused ; and although I heard my 
uncle's voice still going on, I knew nothing of what 
he said. 

For some time my mind could not take in the 
full extent of the base treachery I had met with, 
and I sat speechless and stupefied. By degrees 
my faculties became clearer, and with one glance 
I read the whole business, from my first meeting 
with them at Kilrush to the present moment. I 
saw that in their attentions to me, they thought 
they were winning the heir of Elton, the future 
proprietor of fifteeen thousand per annum. From 
this tangled web of heartless intrigue I turned my 
thoughts to Lady Jane herself. How had she be- 
trayed me ? for certainly she had not only re- 
ceived but encouraged my addresses — and so soon 
too ! To think that, at the very moment when my 
own precipitate haste to see her had involved me 
in a nearly fatal accident, she was actually receiv- 
ing the attentions of another ! Oh, it was too, too 
bad. . 

But enough — even now I can scarcely dwell 
upon the memory of that moment, when the hopes 
and dreams of many, a long day and night were 
destined to be thus rudely blighted. I seized the 
first opportunity of bidding my uncle good night ; 
and having promised him to reveal all my plans 
on the morrow, hurried to my room. 

" My plans ? alas, I had none ! — that one fatal 
paragraph had scattered them to the winds ; and 



HARRY LORREQUER, 



55 



I threw myself upon my bed, wretched and ahnost 
heart-broken. 

I have once before in these " Confessions" 
claimed to myself the privilege, not inconsistent 
with a full disclosure of the memorabilia of my 
life, to pass slightly over those passages the bur- 
den of which was unhappy, and whose memory is 
still painful. I must now, therefore, claim the 
" benefit of this act," and beg of the reader to let 
me pass from this sad portion of my history, and 
for the full expression of my mingled rage, con- 
tempt, disappointment, and sorrow, let me beg of 
him to receive instead, what a learned pope once 
gave as his apology for not reading a rather poly- 
syllabic word in a Latin letter — " As for this," said 
he, looking at the phrase in question, " suppose it 
said." So say I. And now, en route. 



CHAPTER XL 



CHELTENHAM MATRIMONIAL ADVENTURE 

SHOWING HOW TO MAKE LOVE FOR A FRIEND. 

It was a cold raw evening in February, as I sat 
in the coffee-room of the Old Plough in Ciielten- 
ham, Liictilliis c. Lucullo — no companion save my 
half-finished decanter of port. I had drawn my 
chair to the corner of the ample lireplace, and in 
a half-dreamy state was reviewing the incidents of 
my early life, and like most men wiio, however 
young, have still to lament talents misapplied, op- 
portunities neglected, profitless labor, and disas- 
trous idleness. The dreary aspect of the large 
and ill-lighted room — the close-curtained bo.xes — 
the unsocial look of everything and body about, 
suited tiie iiabitof my soul, and I was on the verge 
of becoming excessively sentimental ; the unbroken 
silence, where several people were present, had 
also its effect upon me, and I felt oppressed and de- 
jected. So sat I for an hour ; the clock over the 
mantel ticked sharply on — the old man in the brown 
surtout had turned in his chair, and now snored 
louder— the gentleman who read the Times had 
got the Chronicle, and I thought I saw him nod- 
ding over the advertisements. Tlie father who, 
with a raw son of about nineteen, had dined at six, 
sat still and motionless opposite his offspring, and 
only breaking the silence around by the grating of 
the decanter as he posted it across the table. The 
only thing denoting active existence was a little, 
shrivelled man, who, with spectacles on his fore- 
head and hotel slippers on his feet, rapidly walked 
up and down, occasionally stopping at his table to 
sip a little weak-looking negus, which was his mod- 
erate potation for two hours. I have been par- 
ticular in chronicling these few and apparently 
trivial circumstances, for by what mere trifles are 
our greatest and most important movements in- 
duced ! Had the nearwheeler of the Umpire been 
only safe on his forelegs and but let me con- 
tinue. The gloom atid melancholy which beset 
me momentarily increased. But three months be- 
fore, and my prospects presented everything that 
was fairest and brightest — now all the future was 
dark and dismal. Then, my best friends could 
scarcely avoid envy at my fortune — now, my re- 



verses might almost excite compassion even in an 
enemy. It was singular enough — and 1 should 
not like to acknowledge it, were not these "Con- 
fessions" in their very nature intended to disclose 
the very penetralia of my heart — but singular it 
certainly was — and so I have always felt it since, 
when reflecting on it — that although much and 
warmly attached to Lady Jane Callonby, and 
feeling most acutely what I must call her aban- 
donment of me, yet, the most constantly recur- 
ring ideaof my mind on the subject was, what will 
the mess say ? — what will they think at head-quar- 
ters ? — the raillery, the jesting, the half-concealed 
allusion, the tone of assumed compassion, which 
all awaited me, as each of my comrades took up 
his line of behaving towards me, was, after all, the 
most difficult thing to be borne, and I absolutely 
dreaded to join my regiment more thoroughly 
than did ever schoolboy to return to his labor on 
the expiration of his holidays. I had framed to 
myself all manner of ways of avoiding this dread 
event ; sometimes I meditated an exchange into 
an African corps — sometimes to leave the army al- 
together. However I turned the affair over in my 
mind, innumerable difficulties presented them- 
selves ; and I was at last reduced to that stand- 
still point, in which, after continual vacillation, one 
only waits for the slightest impulse of persuasion 
from another, to adopt any, no matter what, sug- 
gestion. In this enviable frame of mind I sat 
sipping my wine, and watching the clock for that 
hour at which, with a safe conscience, I might re- 
tire to my bed, when the waiter roused me by de- 
manding if my name was Mr. Lorrequer, for that 
a gentleman having seen my card in the bar, had 
been making inquiry for the owner of it all 
through the hotel. 

"Yes," said I, "such is my name; but I am 
not acquainted with any one here, that I can re- 
member." 

" The gentleman has only arrived an hour 
since by the London mail, sir ; and here he is." 

At this moment, a tall, dasiiing-looking, half- 
swaggering fellow, in a very sufficient envelope 
of box-coats, entered the coffee-room, and un- 
winding a shawl from his throat, showed me the 
honest and manly countenance of my friend Jack 
Waller, of the — th dragoons, with whom I had 
served in the Peninsula. 

Five minutes sufficed for Jack to tell me that 
he was come down on a bold speculation at this 
unseasonable time for Cheltenham ; that he was 
quite sure his fortune was about to be made in a few 
weeks at furthest ; and what seemed nearly as en- 
grossing a topic — that he was perfectly famished, i 
and desired a hot supper, de suite. \ 

Jack having despatched this agreeable meal 
with a traveller's appetite, proceeded to unfold 
his plans to me as follows : 

There resided somewhere near Cheltenham, in 
what direction he did not absolutely know, an 
old East India colonel, who had returned from a 
long career of successful staff duties and govern- 
ment contracts, with the moderate fortune of two 
hundred thousand. He possessed, in addition, a 
son and a daughter ; the former, being a rake and 
a gambler, he "had long since consigned to his 
own devices, and to the latter he had avowed his 



56 



HARRY LORREOUER, 



intention of leaving all his wealth. That she 
was beautiful as an angel — highly accomplished — 
gifted — agreeable — and all that, Jack, who had 
never seen her, was firmly convinced ; that she 
was also bent resolutely on marrying him, or any 
other gentleman whose claims were principally the 
want of money, he was quite ready to swear to ; 
and in fact, so assured did he feel that " the 
whole affair was feasible" (I use his own expres- 
sion), that he had managed a two months' leave, 
and was come down express, to see, make love 
to, and carry her off at once. 

" But," said I, with difficulty interrupting him, 
"how long have you known her father?" 

" Known him ? I never saw him." 

" Well, that certainly is cool. And how do 
you propose making his acquaintance? Do you 
intend to make him a particeps criminis in the 
elopement of his own daughter, for a considera- 
tion to be hereafter paid out of his own money ?" 

" Now, Harry, you've touched upon the point 
in which, you must confess, my genius always 
stood unrivalled. Acknowledge, if you are not 
dead to gratitude — acknowledge how often should 
you have gone supperless to bed in our bivouacs 
in the Peninsula, had it not been for the ingenu- 
ity of your humble servant — avow, that if mutton 
was to be had, and beef to be purloined within a 
circuit of twenty miles round, our mess certainly 
kept no fast days. I need not remind you of the 
cold morning on the retreat from Burgos, when 
the inexorable Lake brought five men to the hal- 
berds for stealing turkeys, that at the same mo- 
ment 1 was engaged in devising an ox-tail soup 
from a heifer brought to our tent in Jack-boots, 
the evening before, to escape detection by her 
foot tracks." 

" True, Jack, I never questioned your Spartan 
talent ; but this affair, time considered, does ap- 
pear rather difficult." 

" And if it were not, should I have ever en- 
gaged in it ? No, no, Harry. I put all proper 
value upon the pretty girl, with her two hundred 
thousand pounds pin-money. But I honestly own 
to you, the intrigue, the scheme, has as great 
charm for me as any part of the transaction." 

" Well, Jack, now for the plan, then !" 

" The plan ! oh, the plan ! Why, I have sev- 
eral ; but since I have seen you, and talked the 
matter over with you, I have begun to think of a 
new mode of opening the trenches." 

" Why, I don't see how I can possibly have ad- 
mitted a single new ray of light upon the affair." 

" There you are quite wrong. Just hear me 
out without interrujnion, and I'll explain. I'll 
first discover the locale of this worthy colonel — 
' Hydrabad Cottage' he calls it ; good, eh ? — 
then I shall proceed to make a tour of the imme- 
diate vicinity, and either be taken dangerously ill 
in his grounds, within ten yards of the hall-door, 
or be thrown from my gig at the gate of his 
avenue and fracture my skull ; I don't much care 
which. Well, then, as I learn the old gentleman 
is the most kind, hospitable fellow in the world, 
he'll admit me at once ; his daughter will tend 
my sick couch — nurse — read tome ; glorious fun, 
Harry ! I'll make fijrce love to her. And now, 
the only point to be decided is whether, having 



partaken of the colonel's hospitality so freely, I 
ought to carry her off, or marry her with papa's 
consent. You see there is much to be said for 
either line of proceeding." 

"I certainly agree with you there; but since 
you seem to see your way so clearly up to that 
point, why, I should advise you leaving that an 
' open question,' as the ministers say when they are 
hard pressed for an opinion." 

"Well. Harry, I consent; it shall remain so. 
Now lox your part, for I have now come to that." 

''Mine.'" said I, in amazement; "why, how can 
I possibly have any character assigned mc in the 
drama ?" 

" I'll tell you, Harry; you shall come with me 
in the gig in the capacity of my valet." 

"Your what?" said I, horror-struck at his im- 
pudence. 

" Come,, no nonsense, Harry; you'll have a 
glorious time of it — shall choose as becoming a 
livery as you like — and you'll have the whole 
female world below-stairs dying for you; and all I 
ask for such an opportunity vouchsafed to you is 
to puff me, your master, in every possible shape 
and form, and represent nie as the finest and most 
liberal fellow in the world, rolling in wealth, and 
only striving to get rid of it." 

The unparalleled effrontery of Master Jack, in 
assigning to me such an office, absolutely left me 
unable to reply to him; while he continued to ex- 
patiate upon the great field for exertion thus open 
to us both. At last, it occurred to me to benefit 
by an anecdote of a something similar arrange- 
ment, of capturing, not a young lady, but a forti- 
fied town, by retorting Jack's proposition. 

"Come," said I, "I agree, with one only differ- 
ence — I be the master and you the man on this 
occasion." 

To my utter confusion, and without a second's 
consideration. Waller grasped my hand, and cried, 
" Done!" Of course I laughed heartily at the 
utter absurdity of the whole scheme, and rallied 
Tny friend on his prospects of Botany Bay for 
such an exploit, never contemplating in the most 
remote degree the commission of such extrava- 
gance. 

Upon this. Jack, to use the expressive French 
phrase pn( la parole, touching, with a mas- 
ter-like delicacy, on my late defeat among the 
Callonbys (which up to this instant I believed 
him in ignorance of), he expatiated upon the pros- 
pect of my repairing that misfortune, and obtain- 
ing a fortune considerably larger; he cautiously 
abstained from mentioning the personal charms 
of the young lady, supposing from my lachrymose 
look, that my heart had not yet recovered the 
shock of Lady Jane's perfidy, and rather pre- 
ferred to dwell upon the escape such a marriage 
would open to me from the mockery of the mess- 
table, the jesting of my brother officers, and the 
life-long raillery of the service, wherever the 
story reached. 

The fatal facility of my disposition, so often 
and so frankly chronicled in these "Confessions" 
— the openness to be led whither any one might 
take the trouble to conduct me — the easy indif- 
ference to assume any character which might be 
pressed upon me, by chance, accident or design, 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



57 



assisted by my share of three flasks of champagne, 
induced me first to listen — then to attend to — 
soon after to suggest — and finally, absolutely to 
concur in and agree to a proposal which, at any 
other moment, I must have regarded as down- 
right insanity. As the clock struck two, I had 
just affixed my name to an agreement; for Jack 
Waller had so much of method in his madness, 
tliat, fearful of my retracting in the morning, he 
had committed the whole to writing, which as a 
specimen of Jack's legal talents, I copy from the 
original document, now in my possession. 

"The Plough, Cheltenham, Tuesday night or 
morning, two o'clock — be th; same more or less. 
I, Harry Lorrequer, sub. in his Majesty's — th 
Regiment of Foot, on the one part; and I, John 
Waller, commonly called Jack Waller, of the — th 
Light Dragoons, on the other, hereby promise 
and agree, each for himself, and not one for tlie 
other, to the following conditions, which are here- 
after subjoined, to wit, the aforesaid Jack Waller 
is to serve, obey, and humbly fellow the afore- 
mentioned Harry Lorrequer, for the space of one 
month of four weeks; conducting himself in all 
respects, modes, ways, manners, as his, the afore- 
said Lorrequer's, own man, skip, valet, or flunkey 
— duly praising, puffing, and lauding the afore- 
said Lorrequer, and in every way facilitating his 
success to the hand and fortune of " 

" Shall we put in her name, Harry, here ?" said 
Jack. 

"I think not; we'll fill it up in pencil; that 
looks very knowing." 

'" at the end of which period, if success- 
ful in his suit, the aforesaid Harry Lorrequer is 
to render to the aforesaid Waller the sum of ten 
thousand pounds three and a half per cent, with 
a faithful discharge in writing for his services, as 
may be. If on the other hand, and which 
Heaven forbid! the aforesaid Lorrequer fail in 

obtaining the hand of , that he will evacuate 

the territory within twelve hours, and repair- 
ing to a convenient spot selected by the afore- 
said Waller, then and there duly invest himself 
with a livery chosen by the aforesaid Waller " 

" You know, each man uses his choice in this 
particular," said Jack. 

" and, for the space of four calendar weeks, 

be unto the aforesaid Waller, as his skip, or valet, 
receiving, in the event of success, the like com- 
pensation as aforesaid, each promising strictly to 
maintain the terms of this agreement, and bind- 
ing, by a solemn pledge, to divest himself of every 
right appertaining to his former condition, for the 
space of time there mentioned." 

We signed and sealed it formally, and finished 
another flask to its perfect ratification. This done, 
and after a hearty shake hands, we parted and 
retired for the night. 

The first thing I saw on waking the following 
morning was Jack Waller standing beside my bed, 
evidently in excellent spirits with himself and all 
the world. 

" Harry, my boy, I have done it gloriously," 
said he. " I only remembered on parting with you 
last night, that one of the most marked features 
in our old colonel's character is a certain vague 
idea he has somewhere picked up that he has been 



at some very remote period of his history a most 
distinguished officer. This notion, it appears, 
haunts his mind, and he absolutely believes he has 
been in every engagement from the Seven Years' 
War down to the battle of Waterloo. You can- 
not mention a siege he did not lay down the first 
parallel for, nor a storming party where he did not 
lead the forlorn hope ; and there is not a regiment 
in the service, from those that formed the fighting 
brigade of Picton, down to the London train- 
bands, with which, to use his own phrase, he has 
not fought and bled. This mania of heroism is 
droll enough, when one considers that the sphere 
of his action was necessarily so limited ; but yet 
7C'e have every reason to be thankful for the pecul- 
iarity, as you'll say, when I inform you that this 
morning I despatched a hasty messenger to his 
villa, with a most polite note, setting forth that 
' as Mr. Lorrequer' — ay, Harry, all above-board — 
there is nothing like it — 'as Mr. Lorrequer, of the 
— th, was collecting for publication such materials 
as might serve to commemorate the distinguished 
achievements of British officers, who have, at any 
time, been in command, he most respectfully re- 
quests an interview with Colonel Kamworth, whose 
distinguished services, on many gallant occasions, 
have called forth the unqualified approval of his 
Majesty's government. Mr. Lorrequer's stay is 
necessarily limited to a few days, as he proceeds 
from this to visit Lord Anglesey, and, therefore, 
would humbly suggest as early a meeting as may 
suit Colonel K.'s convenience.' What think you 
now ? Is this a master-stroke, or not .'" 

"Why, certainly, we are in for it now," said I, 
drawing a deep sigh. " But, Jack, what is all this ? 
Why, you're in livery already !" 

I now, for the first time, perceived that Waller 
was arrayed in a very decorous suit of dark grey, 
with cord shorts and boots, and looked a very 
knowing style of servant for the side of a tilbury. 

" You like it, do you ? Well, I should have per- 
ferred something a little more showy myself ; I ut 
as you chose this last night, I of course gave 
way ; and, after all, I believe you're right — it cer- 
tainly is neat." 

" Did I choose it last night ? I have not the 
slightest recollection of it." 

" Yes, you were most particular about the length 
of the waistcoat and the height of the cockade, 
and you see I have followed your orders tolerably 
close ; and now, adieu to sweet equality for the 
season, and I am your most obedient servant for 
four weeks — see that you make the most of it." 

While we were talking, the waiter entered with 
a note addressed to me, which I rightly conjectured 
could only come from Colonel Kamworth. It ran 
thus : — 

"Colonel Kamworth feels highly flattered by 
the polite attention of Mr. Lorrequer, and will es- 
teem it a particular favor if Mr. L. can afford him 
the few days his stay in this part of the country 
will permit, by spending them at Hydrabad Cot- 
tage. Any information as to Colonel Kamworth's 
services in the four quarters of the globe, he need 
not say, is entirely at Mr. L.'s disposal. 

"Colonel K. dines at six precisely." 

When Waller had read the note through, he 



58 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



tossed his hat up in the air, and, with something 
little short of an Indian whoop, shouted out, — 

"The game is won already! Harry, my man, 
give me the cheque for the ten thousand: she is 
your own this minute." 

Without participating entirely in Waller's ex- 
ceeding delight, I could not help feeling a grow- 
ing interest in the part I was advertised to perform, 
and began my rehearsal with more spirit than I 
thought I should have been able to command. 

The same evening, at the same hour as that in 
which on the preceding night I sat lone and 
comfortless by the coffee-room fire, I was seated 
opposite a, very pompous, respectable-looking old 
man, with a large, stiff queue of white hair, who 
pressed me repeatedly to fill my glass and pass the 
decanter. The room was a small library, with 
handsomely-fitted shelves; there were but four 
chairs, but each would have made at least three 
of any modern one; the curtains, of deep crimson 
cloth, effectually secured the room from draught, 
and the cheerful wood fire blazing on the hearth, 
whicji was the only light in the apartment, gave a 
most inviting look of comfort and snugness to 
everything. "This," thought I, "is all excellent, 
and however the adventure ends, this is certainly 
pleasant, and I never tasted better Madeira." 

" And so, Mr. Lorrequer, you heard of my 
affair at Cantantrabad, when I took the Rajah 
prisoner?" 

"Yes," said I; "the Governor-General men- 
tioned the gallant business the very last time I 
dined at Government House." 

" Ah, did he ? kind of him, though. Well, sir, 
I received two lacs of rupees on the morning 
after, and a promise of ten more if I would 
permit him to escape; but no — I refused flatly." 

"Is it possible! And what did you do with the 
two lacs? — sent them back, of course — " 

" No, that I didn't; the wretches know nothing 
of the use of money. No, no; I have them tliis 
moment in good Government security. I believe 
I never mentioned to you the storming of Java. 
Fill yourself another glass, and I'll describe it all 
to you, for it will be of infinite consequence that 
a true narrative of this meets the public eye — they 
really are quite ignorant of it. Here, now, is 
Fort Cornelius, and there is the moat; the sugar- 
basin is the citadel, and the tongs is the first 
trench; the decanter will represent the tall tower 
towards the south-west angle, and here, the wine- 
glass — this is me. Well, it was a little after ten 
at night that I got the order from the general in 
command to march upon this plate of figs, which 
was an open space before Fort Cornelius, and to 
take up my position in front of the fort, and with 
four pieces of field artillery — these walnuts here 
— to be ready to open my fire at a moment's 
warning upon the sou'-west tower; but, my dear 
sir, you have moved the tower; I thought you were 
drinking Madeira. As I said before, to open my 
fire upon the sou'-west tower, or, if necessary, 
to protect the sugar-tongs, which I explained to 
you was the trench. Just at the same time, the 
besieged were making preparations for a sortie to 
occupy this dish of almonds and raisins — the high 
ground to the left of my position — put another log 
On the fire, if you please, sir, for I cannot see my- 



self — I thought I was up near the figs, and I find 
myself down near the half-moon- " 

" It is past nine," said a servant, entering the 
room; " shall I take the carriage for Miss Kam- 
worth, sir?" 

This being the first time the name of the young 
lady was mentioned since my arrival, I felt some- 
what anxious to hear more of her, in which laud- 
able desire I was not, however, to be gratified, 
for the colonel, feeling considerably annoyed by , 
the interruption, dismissed the servant, by saying — ! 

"What do you mean, sirrah, by coming in at this ', 
moment? Don't you see I am preparing for the \ 
attack on the half-moon? Mr. Lorrequer, I beg 
your pardon for one moment; this fellow has com- 
pletely put me out; and besides I perceive you 
have eaten the flying artillery, and, in fact, my 
dear sir, I shall be obliged to lay down the position 
again." 

With this praiseworthy interest the colonel pro- 
ceeded to arrange the maU'ricl of our dessert in 
battle array, when the door was suddenly thrown 
open, and a very handsome girl, in a most be- 
coming dcmi-toileiU, sprang into the room, and 
either not noticing, or not caring, that a stranger 
was present, threw herself into the old gentle- 
man's arms, with a degree of einpressmcnt exceed- 
ingly vexatious for any third and unoccupied 
party to witness. 

" Mary, my dear," said the colonel, completely 
forgetting Java and Fort Cornelius at once, "you 
don't perceive I have a gentleman to introduce 
to you — Mr. Lorrequer, my daughter. Miss Kam- 
worth." Here the young lady curtseyed some- 
what stiffly, and I bowed reverently; and we all 
resumed places. I now found out that Miss Kam- 
worth had been spending the preceding four or 
five days at a friend's in the neighborhood, and 
had preferred coming home somewhat unexpect- 
edly to waiting for her own carriage. 

My " Confessions," if recorded vcrhaihn from 
the notes of that four weeks' sojourn, would only 
increase the already too prolix and uninteresting 
details of this chapter of my life ; I need only 
say, that without falling in love with Mary Kam- 
worth, I felt prodigiously disposed theieto. She 
was extremely pretty, had a foot and ankle to 
swear by, the most silvery-toned voice I almost 
ever heard, and a certain witchery and archness 
of manner that by its very tantalizing uncertainty 
continually provoked attention, and by suggest- 
ing a difficulty in the road to success, imparted 
a more than common zest in the pursuit. She 
was a little, a very little blue — rather a dabbler 
in the "ologies" than a real disciple. Yet she 
made collections of minerals, and brown beetles, 
and cryptogamias,and various other homoeopathic 
doses of the creation, infinitesimally small in 
their subdivision ; in none of which I felt any 
interest, save in the excuse they gave for accom- 
panying her in her pony-phaeton. This was, 
however, a rare ])leasure, since every morning for 
at least three or four hours, I was obliged to sit 
opposite the colonel, engaged in tlie compilation 
of the narrative of his deeds, which was to eclipse 
the career of Napoleon, and leave Wellington's 
laurels but a very faded lustre in comparison. 
In this agreeable occupation did I pass the greater 



HARRY LORREQUER. 



59 



part of my day, listening to the insufferable pro- 
lixity of the most prolix of colonels, and at times, 
notwithstanding the propinquity of relationship 
which awaited us, almost regretting that he was 
not blown up in any of the numerous explosions 
his memoir abounded with. I may here mention, 
that while my literary labor was thus progressing, 
the young lady continued her avocations as be- 
fore — not, indeed, with me for her companion, 
but Waller — for Colonel Kamworth, " having re- 
marked the steadiness and propriety of my man, 
felt no scruple in sending him out to drive Miss 
Kamworth," particularly as I gave him a most 
excellent character for every virtue under heaven. 

I must hasten on. The last evening of my 
four weeks was drawing to a close. Colonel 
Kamworth had pressed me to prolong my visit, 
and I only waited for Waller's return from Chel- 
tenham, whither I had sent him for my letters, to 
make arrangements with him to absolve me from 
my ridiculous bond, and accept the invitation. 
We were sitting around the library fire, the col- 
onel, as usual, narrating his early deeds and hair- 
breadth 'scapes ; Mary, embroidering an inde- 
scribable something, which every evening made 
its appearance, but seemed never to advance, was 
rather in better spirits than usual ; at tlie same 
time her manner was nervous and uncertain ; and 
I could perceive, by her frefjuent absence of 
mind that her thoughts were not as much occu- 
pied by the siege of Java as her worthy father 
believed them. Without laying any stress upon 
the circumstance, I must yet avow that Waller's 
not having returned from Cheltenham gave me 
some uneasiness, and I more than once had re- 
course to the bell to demand if "my servant had 
come back yet ?" At each of these times I well 
remember the peculiar expression of Mary's look, 
the half-embarrassment, half-drollery, with which 
she listened to the question, and heard the an- 
swer in the negative. Supper at length made its 
appearance ; and I asked the servant who waited 
"if my man had brought me any letters," vary- 
ing my inquiry to conceal my anxiety ; and again 
I heard he had not returned. Resolving now to 
propose in all form for Miss Kamworth the next 
morning, and by referring the colonel to my uncle 
Sir Guy, smooth, as far as Icould, all difficulties, 
I wished them good-night, and retired ; not, how- 
ever, before the colonel had warned me that they 
were to have an excursion to some place in the 
neighborhood the next day, and begging that I 
might be in the breakfast-room at nine, as they 
were to assemble there from all parts, and start 
early on the expedition. I was in a sound sleep 
the following morning, when a gentle tap at the 
door awoke me ; at the same time I recognized 
the voice of the colonel's servant, saying " Mr. 
Lorrequer, breakfast is waiting, sir." 

I sprang up at once, and replying, " Very well, 
I shall come down," proceeded to dress in all 
haste, but to my horror I could not discern a 
vestige of my clothes ; nothing remained of the 
habiliments I possessed only the day before — 
even my portmanteau had disappeared. After a 
most diligent search, I discovered on a chair in 
a corner of the room a small bundle tied up in a 
handkerchief, on opening which I perceived a 



new suit of livery of the most gaudy and showy 
description ; the vest and breeches of yellow 
plush, with light blue binding and lace, of which 
color was also the coat, which had a standing 
collar and huge cuffs, deeply ornamented with 
worked button-holes and large buttons. As I 
turned the things over, without even a guess of 
what they could mean, for I was scarcely well 
awake, I perceived a small slip of paper fastened 
to the coat-sleeve, upon which, in Waller's hand- 
writing, the following few words were written : — 

" The livery I hope will fit you, as I am rather 
particular about how you'll look. Get quietly 
down to the stable-yard, and drive the tilbury 
into Cheltenham, where wait for further orders 
from your kind master, 

"John Waller." 

The horrible villany of this wild scamp actually 
paralyzed me. That I should put on such ridicu- 
lous trumpery was out of the question : yet 
what was to be done ? I rang the bell violently. 
"Where are my clothes, Thomas?" 

" Don't know, sir ; I was out all the morning, 
sir, and never seed them." 

" There, Thomas, be smart now, and send them 
up, will you ?" Thomas disappeared, and 
speedily returned to say, "that my clothes could 
not be found anywhere : no one knew anything 
of them, and begged me to come down, as Miss 
Kamworth desired him to say that they were still 
waiting, and she begged Mr. Lorrequer would 
not make an elaborate toilette, as they were 
going on a country excursion." An elaborate 
toilette. I wish to Heaven she saw my costume ; 
no, I'll never do it. "Thomas, you must tell the 
ladies, and the colonel, too, that I feel very ill ; I 
am not able to leave my bed ; I am subject to at- 
tacks — very violent attacks in my head, and 
must always be left quiet and alone — perfectly 
alone — mind me, Thomas — for a day at least." 
Thomas departed ; and as I lay distracted in 
my bed, I heard from the breakfast-room, the 
loud laughter of many persons, evidently enjoy- 
ing some excellent joke. 

Could it be me they were laughing at ? The 
thought was horrible ! 

"Colonel Kamworth wishes to know if you'd 
like the doctor, sir ?" said Thomas, evidently 
suppressing a most inveterate fit of laughing, as 
he again appeared at the door. 

" No, certainly not," said I, in a voice of 
thunder. " What the devil are you grinning at ?" 

" You may as well come, my man ; you're 
found out ; they all know it now," said the fellow, 
with an odious grin. 

I jumped out of the bed, and hurled the boot- 
jack at him with all my strength : but had only 
the satisfaction to hear him go down-stairs chuck- 
ling at his escape; and as he reached the parlor, 
the increase of mirth and the loudness of the 
laughter told me that he was not the only one who 
was merry at my expense. Anything was prefera- 
ble to this. Down-stairs I resolved to go at once 
— but how ? — a blanket, I thought, would not be a 
bad thing, and particularly as I had said I was ill ; 
I could at least get as far as Colonel Kamworth's 



60 



HARRY LORREOUER, 



dressing-room, and explain to him the whole af- 
fair ; but then, if I was detected en fotite ! which I 
was almost sure to be, with so many people parad- 
ing about the house. No, that would never do ; 
there was but one alternative, and dreadful, shock- 
ing as it was, I could not avoid it, and with a 
heavy heart, and as much indignation at Waller, 
for what I could not but consider a most scurvy 
trick, I donned the yellow inexpressibles ; next 
came the vest, and last the coat, with its broad 
flaps and lace excrescences, fifty times more ab- 
curd and merry-andrew than any stage servant 
who makes off with his table and two chairs amid 
the hisses and gibes of an upper gallery. 

If my costume leaned towards the ridiculous, I 
resolved that my air and bearing should be more 
than usually austere and haughty ; and with some- 
thing of the stride of John Kemble in Coriolanus, 
I was leaving my bedroom, when I accidentally 
caught a view of myself in the glass ; and so mor- 
tified, so shocked was I, that 1 sank into a chair, 
and almost abandoned my resolution to go on ; 
the very gesture I had assumed for my vindica- 
tion only increased the ridicule of my appearance ; 
and the strange quaintness of the costume totally 
obliterated every trace of any characteristic of 
the wearer, so infernally cunning was its con- 
trivance. I don't think that the most saturnine 
martyr of gout and dyspepsia could survey me 
without laughing. With a bold effort I flung 
open my door, hurried down the stairs, and 
reached the hall. The first person I met was a 
kind of pantry-boy, a beast only lately emanci- 
pated from the plough, and destined, after a 
dozen years' training as a servant, again to be 
turned back to his old employ for incapacity ; 
he grinned horribly for a minute as I passed, and 
then, in a half-whisper, said — 

" Maester, I advise ye run for it ; they're 
a-waiting for ye with the constables in the jus- 
tice's room." I gave him a look of contemptuous 
superiority, at which he grinned the more, and 
passed on. 

Without stopping to consider where I was go- 
ing, I opened the door of the breakfast-parlor, 
and found myself at one plunge in a room full of 
people. My first impulse was to retreat again ; 
but so shocked was I at the very first thing that 
met my sight that I was perfectly powerless to 
do anything. Among a considerable number 
of people who stood in small groups round 
the breakfast table, I discerned Jack Waller, 
habited in a very accurate black frock and 
dark trousers, supporting upon his arm — shall 
I confess — no less a person than Mary Kam- 
worth, who leaned on him with the familiarity 
of an old acquaintance, and chatted gaily with 
him. The buzz of conversation which filled 
the apartment when I entered ceased for a second 
of deep silence ; and then followed a peal of 
laughter so long and so vociferous, that in my 
momentary anger I prayed some one might burst 
a blood-vessel, and frighten the rest. I put on a 
look of indescribable indignation, and cast a glance 
of what I intended should be most withering 
scorn on the assembly ; but, alas ! my infernal 
harlequin costume ruined the effect ; and con- 
found me, if they did not laugh the louder. I 



turned from one to the other with the air of a man 
who marks out victims for his future wrath ; but 
with no better success; at last, amid the continued 
mirth of the party, I made my way towards 
where Waller stood absolutely suffocated with 
laughter, and scarcely able to stand without sup- 
port. 

" Waller," said I, in a voice half iremulous 
with rage and shame together — " Waller, if this 
rascally trick be yours, rest assured no former 
term of intimacy between us shall " 

Before 1 could conclude the sentence, a bustle 
at the door of the room called every attention in 
that direction ; I turned and beheld Colonel 
Kam worth, followed by a strong posse comitatus of 
constables, tipstaffs, etc., armed to the teeth, and 
evidently prepared for vigorous battle. Before I 
was able to point out my woes to my kind host, 
he burst out, — - 

" So, you scoundrel, you impostor, you infernal 
young villain, pretending to be a gentleman, you 
get admission into a man's house and dine at his 
table, when your proper place had been behind 
his chair ! How far he might have gone, Heaven 
can tell, if that excellent young gentleman, his 
master, had not traced him here this morning ; 
but you'll pay dearly for it, you young rascal, that 
you shall." 

"Colonel Kamworth," said I, drawing myself 
proudly up (and, I confess, exciting new bursts 
of laughter) — " Colonel Kamworth, for the ex- 
pressions you have just applied to me, a heavy 
reckoning awaits you ; not, however, before an- 
other individual now present shall atone for the 
insult he has dared to pass upon me." Colonel 
Kamworth's passion at this declaration knew no 
bounds ; he cursed and swore absolutely like a 
madman, and vowed that transportation for life 
would be a mild sentence for such an iniquity. 

Waller at length, wiping the tears of laughter 
from his eyes, interposed between the colonel and 
his victim, and begged that I might be forgiven ; 
" For indeed, my dear sir," said he, " the poor fel- 
low is of rather respectable parentage, and such is 
his taste for good society, that he'd run any risk 
to be among his betters, although, as in the pres- 
ent case, the exposure brings a rather heavy retri- 
bution ; — however, let me deal with him. Come, 
Henry," said he, with an air of insufferable supe- 
riority, " take my tilbury into town, and wait for 
me at the George ; I shall endeavor to make your 
peace with my excellent friend. Colonel Kam- 
worth, and the best mode you can contribute to 
that object, is to let us have no more of your 
society." 

I cannot attempt to picture my rage at these 
words ; however, escape from this diabolical pre- 
dicament was my only present object, and I rushed 
from the room, and springing into the tilbury at 
the door, drove down the avenue at the rate of 
fifteen miles per hour, amid the united cheers, 
groans, and yells of the whole servants'-hall, who 
seemed to enjoy my " detection," more even than 
their betters. Meditating vengeance, sharp, short, 
and decisive, on Waller, the colonel, and every 
one else in the infernal conspiracy against me — 
for I utterly forgot every vestige of our agreement 
in the surprise by which I was taken — 1 reached 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



61 



Cheltenham. Unfortunately, T had no friend 
there to whose management I could commit the 
bearing of a message, and was obliged, as soon as 
I could procure suitable costume, to hasten up to 
Coventry, where the — th dragoons were then 
quartered. I lost no time in selecting an adviser, 
and taking the necessary steps to bring Master 
Waller to a reckoning ; and on the third morning 
we again reached Cheltenham, f thirsting for 
vengeance, and bursting still with anger ; not so, 
my friend, however, who never could discuss the 
affair with common gravity, and even ventured 
every now and then on a slv allusion to m\' yellow 
shorts. As we passed the last toll-bar, a travel- 
ling carriage came whirlmg by with four horses 
at a tremendous pace ; and as the morning was 
frosty, and the sun scarcely risen, the whole team 
were smoking and steaming, so as to be half in- 
visible. We both remarked on the precipitancy 
of the party ; for as our own pace was considera- 
ble, the two vehicles passed like lightning. We 
had scarcely dressed, and ordered breakfast, 
when a more than usual bustle in the yard called 
us to the window ; the waiter, who came in at the 
srme instant, tolJ us that four horses were or- 
dered out to pursue a young lady who had 
eloped that morning with an officer. 

" Ah, our friend in the green travelling-chariot, 
I'll be bound," said my companion ; but as neither 
of us knew that part of the country, and I wa' , 
too engrossed by my own thoughts, I never in- 
quired further. As the chaise in chase drove 
round to the door, I looked to see what the pur- 
suer was like ; and as he issued from the inn, rec- 
ognized my ci-devant host, Colonel Kamworth. I 
need not say my vengeance was sated at once ; he 
had lost his daughter, and Waller was on the road 
to be married. Apologies and explanations came 
in due time for all my injuries and sufferings ; and 
I confess the part which pleased me most was, 
that I saw no more of Jack for a considerable 
period after : he started for the Continent, where 
he has lived ever since on a small allowance 
granted by his father-in-law, and never paying 
me the stipulated sum, as I had clearly broken the 
compact. 

So much for my second attempt at matrimony. 
One would suppose that such experience should 
be dv^emed sufficient to show that my talent did 
not lie in that way. And here I must rest for the 
present, with the additional confession, that .so 
strong was the memory of that vile adventure, 
that I refused a lucrative appointment under 
Lord Anglesey's government, when I discovered 
that his livery included '' yellow plush breeches;" 
to have such souvenirs flitting around and about 
me, at dinner and elsewhere, would have left me 
without a pleasure in existence. 



CHAPTER XII. 



DUBLIN — TOM O FLAHERTY — A REMINISCENCE OF 
THE PENINSULA. 

Dear, dirty Dublin ! — lo ie saliito — how many 
excellent things might be said of thee, if, unfor- 



tunately, it did not happen that the theme is an 
old one, and has been much better sinig than it 
can ever now be x<7/V/. With thus much of apol- 
ogy for no more lengthened panegyric, let me beg 
of my reader, if he be conversant with that most 
moving me'iod)' — the Groves of Blarney — to hum 
the following lines, which I heard shortly after my 
landing, and which well express my own feelings 
for " the loved spot." 

"Oh ! Dublin sure, there is no doubtin'. 

Beats every city upon the say ; 
'Tis there you'll see O'Connell spoutin', 

And Lady Morgan making 'toy,' 
For 'tis the capital of the greatest nation. 

With finest peasantry on a fruitful sod, 
Fighting like devils for conciliation, 

And hating each other for the love of Cod." 

Once more, then, I found myself in the " most 
car-drivingest city," en route to join on the expi- 
ration of my leave. Since my departure, my 
regiment had been ordered to Kilkenny, that 
sweet city, so famed in song for its " fire without 
smoke ;" but which, were its character in any 
way to be derived from its past or present repre- 
sentative, might certainly, with more propriety, 
reverse the epithet, and read " smoke without 
fire." My last communication from head-quar- 
ters was full of nothing but gay doings. Balls, 
dinners, dejefniers,, and more than all, private tlie- 
atricals, seemed to occupy the entire attention of 
every man of the gallant — th. I was earnestly en- 
treated to come, without waiting for the end of 
my leave; that several of my old "parts were 
kept open for me ;" and that, in fact, the "boys 
of Kilkenny" were on tiptoe in expectation of my 
arrival, as though his Majesty's mail were to con- 
vey a Kean or a Kemble. I shuddered a little as 
I read this, and recollected "my last appearance 
on any stage," little anticipating, at the moment, 
that my next was to be nearly as productive of 
the ludicrous, as time and my " Confessions" will 
show. One circumstance, however, gave mecon- 
siderable_ pleasure. It was this : I took it for 
granted that, in the varied and agreeable occupa- 
tions which so pleasurable a career o])ened, my 
adventures in love would escape notice, and that 
I should avoid the merciless raillery my two fail- 
ures, in six months, might reasonably be supposed 
to call forth. I therefore wrote a hurried note to 
Curzon, setting forth the great interest all their 
proceedings had for me, and assuring him that 
m'y stay in town should be as short as ^^ossible, 
for that I longed once more to "strut the mon- 
arch of the boards," and concluded with a sly 
paragraph, artfully intended to act as ^ paraton- 
iiierre to the gibes and jests which I dreaded, by 
endeavoring to make light of my matrimonial 
speculations. The postscript ran somewhat thus — 
" Glorious fun have I had since we met ; but 
were it not that my good angel stood by me, I 
should write these hurried lines with a wife at my 
elbow ; but luck, that never yet deserted, is still 
faithful to your old friend, H. Lorrequer." 

My reader may suppose — for he is sufficiently 
behind the scenes with me — with what feeling J 
penned these words; yet anything was better than 
the attack I looked forward to: and I should rather 
have changed into the Cape Rifle Corps, or any 



62 



HARRY LORRECUER. 



other army of martyrs, than meet my mess with all 
the ridicule my late proceedings exposed me to. 
Having disburdened my conscience of this dread, 
I finished my breakfast, and set out on a stroll 
through the town. 

I believe it is Coleridge who somewhere says, 
that to transmit the first bright and early impres- 
sions of our youth, fresh and uninjured, to a re- 
mote period of life, constitutes one of the 
loftiest prerogatives of genius. If this be true 
— and I am not disposed to dispute it — what a 
gifted people must be the worthy inhabitants of 
Dublin; for I scruple not to affirm, that of all 
cities of which we have any record in history, 
sacred or profane, there is no one so little likely 
to disturb the tranquil current of such remi- 
niscences. " As it was of old, so it is now," enjoying 
a delightful permanency in all its habits and cus- 
toms which no changes elsewhere disturb or affect; 
and in this respect I defy O'Connell and all the 
tail to refuse it the epithet of " Conservative." 

Had the excellent Rip Van Winkle, instead of 
seeking his repose upon the cold and barren ac- 
clivities of the Kaatskills — as we are veritably in- 
formed by Irving — but betaken himself to a com- 
fortable bed at Morrison's or the Bilton, not only 
would he have enjoyed a more agreeable siesta, 
but, what the event showed of more consequence, 
the pleasing satisfaction of not being disconcerted 
by novelty on his awakening. It is possible that 
the waiter who brought him the water to shave — 
for Rip's beard, we are told, had grown uncom- 
monly long — might exhibit a little of that wear 
and tear to which humanity is liable from time ; 
but had he questioned him as to the ruling topics 
— the popular amusements of the day — he would 
have heard, as he might have done twenty years 
before, that there was a meeting to convert Jews 
at the Rotunda ; another to rob parsons at the 
Corn Exchange ; that the Viceroy was dining 
with the Corporation, and congratulating them on 
the prosperity of Ireland, while the inhabitants were 
regaled with a procession of the " broad ribbon 
weavers," who had not weaved. Heaven knows 
when ! This, with an occasional letter from Mr. 
O'Connell, and now and then a duel in the 
" Phaynix," constituted the current pastimes of 
the city. Such, at least, were they in my day ; 
and, though far from the dear locale, an odd flit- 
ting glance at the newspapers induces me to be- 
lieve that matters are not much changed since. 

I rambled through the streets for some hours, 
revolving such thoughts as pressed upon me in- 
voluntarily by all I saw. The same little grey 
homunculus that filled my " Prince's mixture" 
years before, stood behind the counter at Lundy 
Foot's, weighing out rappee and high toast, just as 
I last saw him. The fat college porter, that I 
used to mistake in my schoolboy days for the Pro- 
vost, God forgive me ! was there as fat and as 
ruddy as heretofore, and wore his Roman costume 
of helmet and plush breeches, with an air as clas- 
sic. The State trumpeter at the castle, another 
object of my youthful veneration, poor " old God 
save the King," as we used to call him, walked the 
streets as of old ; his cheeks, indeed, a little more 
lanky and tendinous ; but then there had been 
many viceregal changes, and the " one sole melody 



his heart delighted in" had been more frequently 
called into requisition, as he marched in solemn 
state with the other antique gentlemen in tabards. 
As I walked along, each moment some familiar 
and early association being suggested by the ob- 
jects around, I felt my arm suddenly seized. I 
turned hastily round, and beheld a very old com- 
panion in many a hard-fought field and merry 
bivouac, Toni' O'Flaherty ot the 8th. Toor Tom 
was sadly changed since we last met, which was 
at a ball in Madrid. He was then one of the best- 
looking fellows of his stamp I ever met, tall and 
athletic, with the easy bearing of a man of the 
world, and a certain jauntiness that I have never 
seen but in Irishmen who have mixed much in 
society. 

There was also a certain peculiar devil-may- 
care recklessness about the self-satisfied swagger 
of his gait, and the iree-and-easy glance of his 
sharp black eye, united with a temper that nothing 
could ruffle, and a courage nothing could daunt. 
With such qualities as these, he had been the 
prime favorite of his mess, to which he never 
came without some droll story to relate, or some 
choice expedient for future amusement. Such 
had Tom once been : now he was much altered, 
and though the quiet twinkle of his dark eye 
showed that the spirit of fun within was not 
'"dead, but only sleeping," to myself, who knew 
something of his history, it seemed almost cruel 
to awaken him to anything which might bring him 
back to the memory of bygone days. A momentary 
glance showed me that he was no longer what he 
had been, and that the unfortunate change in Iiis 
condition, the loss of all his earliest and oldest as- 
sociates, and blighted prospects, had nearly broken 
a heart that never deserted a friend nor quailed 
before an enemy. Poor O'Flaherty was no longer 
the delight of the circle he once adorned ; the 
wit that " set the table in a roar" was all but de- 
])arted. He had been dismissed the service ! ! 
The story is a brief one : 

In the retreat from Burgos, the — th Light Dra- 
groons, after a fatiguing day's march, halted at 
the wretched village of Cabenas. It had been de- 
serted by the inhabitants the day before, who, on 
leaving had set it on fire, and the blackened walls 
and fallen roof-trees were nearly all that now re- 
mained to show where the little hamlet had once 
stood. 

Amid a downpour of rain, that had fallen for 
several hours, drenched to the skin, cold, weary, 
and nearly starving, the gallant 8th reached this 
melancholy spot at nightfall, with little better pros- 
pect of protection from the storm than the 
barren heath through which their road led might 
afford them. Among the many who muttered 
curses, not loud but deep, on the wretched termi- 
nation to their day's suffering, there was one who 
kept up his usual good spirits, and not only seemed 
himself nearly regardless of the privations and 
miseries about him, but actually succeeded in 
making the others who rode alongside as perfectly 
forgetful of their annoyances and troubles as was 
possible under such circumstances. Good stories, 
joking allusions to the more discontented ones of 
the party, ridiculous plans for the night's encamp- 
ment, followed each other so rapidly, that the 



HARRY LORREQUER. 



63 



weariness of the way was forgotten; and while 
some were cursing their hard fate that ever 
betrayed them into such misfortunes, the Httle 
group around O'Flaherty were almost convulsed 
with laughter at the wit and drollery of one over 
whom, if the circumstances had any influence, they 
seemed only to heighten his passion for amuse- 
ment. In the early part of the morning he had 
captured a turkey, which hung gracefully from his 
holster on one side, while a small goat-skin of 
Valencia wine balanced it on the other. These 
good things were destined to form a feast that 
evening, to which he had invited four others — 
that being, according to his most liberal calcula- 
tion, the greatest number to whom he could afford 
a reasonable supply of wine. 

When the halt was made, it took some time to 
arrange the dispositions for the night, and it was 
nearly midnight before all the regiment had got 
their billets and were housed, e\en with such 
scanty accommodation as the place afforded. 
Tom's guests had not yet arrived, and he himself 
was busily engaged in roasting the turkey before 
a large fire, on which stood a capacious vessel of 
spiced wine, when the party appeared. A very 
cursory "reconnaissance" through the house — one 
of the only ones untouched in the village— showed 
that from the late rain it would be impossible to 
think of sleeping in the lower story, which already 
showed signs of being flooded; they therefore pro- 
ceeded in a body up-stairs, and what was their de- 
light to find a most comfortable room, neatly fur- 
nished with chairs and a table; but, above all, a 
large old-fashioned bed, an object of such luxury 
as only an old campaigner can duly appreciate. 
The curtains were closely tucked in all around, 
and, in their fleeting and hurried glance, they felt 
no inclination to disturb them, and rather pro- 
ceeded to draw up the table before the hearth, to 
which they speedily removed the fire from below, 
and, ere many minutes, with that activity which a 
bivouac life invariably teaches, their supper 
smoked before them, and five happier fellows did 
not sit down that night within a large circuit 
around. Tom was unusually great; stores of 
drollery, unlocked before, poured from him un- 
ceasingly, and, what with his high spirits to excite 
them, and the reaction inevitable after a hard 
day's severe march, the party soon lost the little 
reason that usually sufficed to guide them, and be- 
came as pleasantly tipsy as cai> well be conceived. 
However, all good things must have an end, and 
so had the wine skin. Tom had placed it affection- 
ately under his arm like a bagpipe, and failed, 
with even a most energetic squeeze, to extract a 
drop. There was now nothing for it but to go to 
rest, and, indeed it seemed the most prudent 
thing for the party. 

The bed became accordingly a subject of grave 
deliberation: for as it could only hold two, and 
the party were five, there seemed some difficulty 
in submitting their chances to lot, which all 
agreed was the fairest way. While this was un- 
der discussion, one of the party had approached 
the contested prize, and, drawing aside the cur- 
tains, proceeded to jump in, when, what was his 
astonishment to discover that it was already oc- 
cupied! The exclamation of surprise he gave 



forth soon brought the others to his side, and to 
their horror, drunk as they were, they found that 
the body before them was that of a dead man, 
arrayed in all the ghastly pomp of a corpse. A 
little nearer inspection showed that he had been 
a priest, probably the padre of the village; on his 
head he had a small velvet skull-cap, embroidered 
with a cross, and his body was swathed in a vest- 
ment, such as priests usually wear at the mass; 
in his hand he held a large wax taper, which ap- 
peared to have burnt only half down and prob- 
ably been extinguished by the current of air on 
opening the door. After the first brief shock which 
this sudden apparition had caused, the party re- 
covered as much of their senses as the wine had 
left them, and proceeded to discuss- what was to 
be done under the circumstances; for not one of 
them ever contemplated giving up a bed to a 
dead priest, while five living men slept on the 
ground. After much altercation, O'Flaherty, who 
had hitherto listened without speaking, inter- 
rupted the contending parties, saying, "Stop, 
lads, I have it." 

"Come," said one of them, "let us hear Tom's 
proposal." 

"Oh," said he, with difficulty steadying him- 
self while he spoke, "we'll put him to bed with 
old Ridgeway, the quartermaster!" 

The roar of loud laughter that followed Tom's 
device was renewed again and again, till not a 
man could speak from absolute fatigue. There 
was not a dissentient voice. Old Ridgeway was 
hated in the corps, and a better way of disposing 
of the priest, and paying off the quartermaster, 
could not be thought of. 

Very little time sufficed for their preparations; 
and if they had been brought up under a certain 
well-known duke, they could not have exhibited 
a greater taste for a "black job." The door of the 
room was quickly taken from its hinges, and the 
priest placed upon it at full length; a moment 
more sufficed to lift the door upon their shoul- 
ders, and, preceded by Tom, who lit a candle in 
honor of being, as he said, " chief mourner," they 
took their way through the camp towards Ridge- 
way's quarters. When they reached the hut where 
their victim lay, Tom ordered a halt, and pro- 
ceeded stealthily into the house to " reconnoitre." 
The old quartermaster he found stretched on his 
sheepskin before a large fire, the remnants of an 
ample supper strewn about him, and two empty 
bottles standing on the hearth: his deep snoring 
showed that all was safe, and that no fears of his 
awaking need disturb them. His shako and 
sword lay near him, but his sabretasche was under 
his head. Tom carefully withdrew the two 
former, and, hastening to his friends T.'ithout, 
proceeded to decorate the priest with them, ex- 
pressing, at the same time, considerable regret 
that he feared it might wake Ridgeway if he were 
to put the velvet skull-cap on him for a night- 
cap. 

Noiselessly and stealthily they now entered, and 
proceeded to put down their burden, which, after 
a moment's discussion, they agreed to place be- 
tween the quartermaster and the fire, of Avhich 
hitherto he had reaped ample benefit. This 
done, they quietly retreated, and hurried back to 



64 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



their quarters, unable to speak with laughter at 
the success of their plot, and their anticipation of 
Ridgeway's rage on awakening in the morning. 

It was in the dim twilight of a hazy morning, 
that the bugler of the 8th aroused the sleeping 
soldiers from their miserable couches, which, 
wretched as they were, they nevertheless rose 
from reluctantly, so wearied and fatigued had 
they been by the preceding day's march. Not 
one among the number felt so indisposed to stir 
as the worthy quartermaster ; his peculiar avo- 
cations had demanded a more than usual exer- 
tion on his part, and in the posture he had lain 
down at nigiit he rested till morning, without 
stirring a limb. Twice the reveille had rung 
through the- little encampment, and twice the 
quartermaster had essayed to open his eyes, but 
in vain ; at last he made a tremendous effort, and 
sat bolt upright on the floor, hoping that the sud- 
den effort might sufficiently arouse him ; slowly 
his eyes opened, and the first thing they beheld 
was the figure of the dead priest, with a light 
cavalry hemlet on his head, seated before him. 
Ridgeway, who was a good Catholic, trembled in 
every joint — it might be a ghost, it might be a 
warning, he knew not what to think ; he imagined 
the lips moved, and so overcome with terror was 
he at last, that he absolutely shouted like a 
maniac, and never ceased till the hut was filled 
with officers and men, who, hearing the uproar, 
ran to his aid. The surprise of the poor quarter- 
master at the apparition was scarcely greater than 
that of the beholders. No one was able to afford 
any explanation of the circumstance, though all 
were assured that it must have been done in jest. 
The door upon which the priest had been con- 
veyed afforded the clue — they had forgotten to 
restore it to its place. Accordingly the different 
billets were examined, and at last O'Flaherty was 
discovered in a most commodious bed, in a large 
room without a door, still fast asleep, and alone : 
how and when he had parted from his compan- 
ions he never could precisely explain, tnough he 
has since confessed it was part of his scheme to 
lead them astray in the village, and then retire 
to the bed, which he had determined to appro- 
priate to his sole use. 

Old Ridgeway's rage knew no bounds ; he ab- 
solutely foamed with ]-iassion, and in proportion 
as he was laughed at his choler rose higher. Had 
this been the only result, it had been well for 
poor Tom, but unfortunately the affair got to be 
rumored through the country — the inhabitants 
of the village learned the indignity with which 
the padre had been treated ; they addressed a 
memorial to Lord Wellington — inquiry was im- 
mediately instituted — O'Flaherty was tried by 
court-martial, and found guilty ; nothing short 
of the heaviest punishment that could be inflicted 
under the circumstances would satisfy the Span- 
iards, and at that precise period it was part of 
our policy to conciliate their esteem by every 
means in our power. The commander-in-chief 
resolved to make what he called an "example," 
and poor O'Flaherty — the life and soul of his 
regiment — the darling of his mess — was broke, 
and pronounced mcapable of ever serving his 
Majesty again. Such was the event upon which 



my poor friend's fortune in life seemed to hinge. 
He returned to Ireland, if not entirely broken- 
hearted, so altered that his best friends scarcely 
knew him — his " occupation was gone ;" the mess 
had been his home ; his brother officers were to 
him in place of relatives, and he had lost all. His 
after-life was spent in rambling from one water- 
ing-place to another, more with the air of one 
who seeks to consume than enjoy his time; and 
with such a change in apjjearance as the altera- 
tion in his fortune had effected, he now stood 
before me, but altogether so different a man, that 
but for the well-known tones of a voice that had 
often convulsed me with laughter, I should 
scarcely have recognized him. 

'"Lorrequer, my old friend, I never thought of 
seeing'you here — this is indeed a piece of good 
luck." 

" Why, Tom ? You surely knew that the 4 — th 
were in Ireland, didn't you ?" 

" To be sure. I dined with them only a few 
days ago, but they told me you were off to Paris, 
to marry something superlatively beautiful, and 
most enormously rich — the daughter of a duke, 
if I remember right ; but certes, they said your 
fortune was made, and I need not tell you there 
was not a man among them better pleased than 
I was to hear it." 

" Oh ! they said so, did they ? Droll dogs — 
always quizzing — I wonder you did hot perceive 
the hoa.x — eh — very good, was it not ?" This I 
poured out in short broken sentences, blushing 
like scarlet, and fidgetting like a schoolgirl with 
downright nervousness. 

"A hoax ! Devilish well done, too," said Tom, 
"for old Garden believed the whole story, and 
told me that he had obtained a six months' leave 
for you to make your cour, and, morco\er, said 
that he had got a letter from the nobleman. Lord 
— Confound his name !" 

'' Lord Grey, is it ?" said I, with a sly look at 
Tom. 

"No, my dear friend," said he, drily, "it was 
not Lord Grey. But to continue : he had got a 
letter from him, dated from Paris, stating his sur- 
prise that you had never joined them there, ac- 
cording to promise, and that they knew your 
cousin Guy, and a great deal of other matter I 
can't remember — so what does all this mean ? 
Did you hoax the noble lord as well as the Horse 
Guards, Harry ?" 

This was indeed a piece of news for me ; I 
stammered out some ridiculous explanation, and 
promised a fuller detail. Could it be that I had 
done the Callonbys injustice, ano that they never 
intended to break off my attentions to Lady Jane 
— that she was still faithful, and that of all con- 
cerned 4 alone had been to blame .' Oh ! how I 
hoped this might be the case; heavily as my con- 
science might accuse, I longed ardently to forgive 
and deal mercifully with myself. Tom continued 
to talk about indifferent matters, as these thoughts 
flitted through my mind; perceiving at last that 
I did not attend, he stopped suddenly, and said, — 

" Harry, I see clearly that something has gone 
wrong, and perhaps I can guess at the mode, too: 
but, however, you can do nothing about it now; 
come and dine with me to-day, and we'll discuss 



HARRY LORREQUER. 



6S 



the affair together after dinner; or, if you prefer a 
' distraction,' as we used to say in Dunkerque, why 
then I'll arrange something fashionable for your 
evening's amusement. Come, what say you to 
hearing Father Keogh preach ? or would you like 
a supper at the Carlingford ? or perhaps you pre- 
fer a soiree c/icz Miladii—iox all of these Dublin 
affords — all three good in their way, and very in- 
tellectual." 

" Well, Tom, I'm yours; but I should prefer 
your dining with me ; I am at Hilton's; we'll have 
our cutlet quite alone, and — " 

" And be heartily sick of each other, you were 
going to add. No, no, Harry, you must dine with 
me ; I have some remarkably nice people to present 
you to — six is the hour— sharp six — number — , 
Molesworth Street, Mrs. Clanfrizzle's — easily find 
it — large fanlight over the door — huge lamp in the 
hall, and a strong odor of mutton broth for thirty 
yards on each side of the premises — and, as good 
luck will have it, I see old Daly, the counsellor, as 
they call him; he's the very man to get to meet 
you — you always liked a character, eh ?" 

"Saying this, O'Flaherty disengaged himself 
from my arm, and hurried across the street towards 
a portly, middle-aged looking gentleman, with the 
reddest face I ever beheld. After a brief but very 
animated colloquy, Tom returned and informed 
me that all was right ; he had secured Daly. 

"And who is Daly?" said I, inquiringly, for I 
was rather interested in hearing what peculiar 
qualification as a diner-out the counsellor might 
lay claim to, many of Tom's friends being as re- 
markable for being the quizzed as the quizzers. 

"Daly," said he, "is the brother of a most dis- 
tinguished member of the Irish bar, of which lie 
himself is also a follower, bearing, however, no 
other resemblance to the clever man than the 
name, for, as assuredly as the reputation of the one 
is inseparably linked with success, so unerringly 
is the other's coupled with failure; and strange 
to say, the stupid man is fairly convinced that his 
brother owes all his advancement to him, and 
that to his disinterested kindness the other is in- 
debted for his present exalted station. Thus it is 
through life; there seems ever to accompany dul- 
ness a sustaining power of vanity, that like a life- 
bouy, keeps a mass afloat whose weight unassisted 
would sink into obscurity. Do you know that my 
friend Denis, there, imagines himself the first man 
that ever enlightened Sir Robert Peel as to Irish 
affairs; and upon my word, his reputation on this 
head stands incontestably higher than on most 
others." 

"You surely cannot mean that Sir Robert Peel 
ever consulted with, much less relied upon, the 
statements of such a person as you describe your 
friend Denis to be?" 

" He did both — and if he was a little puzzled 
by the information, the only disgrace attaches to 
a government that sends men to rule over us un- 
acquainted with our habits of thinking, and utterly 
ignorant of the language — ay, I repeat it. But 
come, you shall judge for yourself; the story is a 
short one, and fortunately so, for I must hasten 
home to give timely notice of your coming to dine 
with me. When Sir Robert Peel, then Mr. Peel, 
came over here, as Secretary to Ireland, a very 



distinguished political leader of the day invited a 
party to meet him at dinner, consisting of men 
of different political leanings, among whom were, 
as may be supposed, many members of the Irish 
bar. The elder Daly was too remarkable a per- 
son to be omitted, but as the two brothers resided 
together, there was a difficulty about getting him; 
however, he must be had, and the only alternative 
that presented itself was adopted — both were in- 
vited. When the party descended to the dining- 
room, by one of those unfortunate accidents which, 
as the proverb informs us, occasionally take place 
in the best regulated establishments, the wrong 
Mr. Daly got placed beside Mr. Peel, which post 
of honor had been destined by the host for the 
more agreeable and talented brother. There was 
now no help for it; and with a heart somewhat 
nervous for the consequences of the proximity, the 
worthy entertainer sat down to do the honors as 
best he might; he was consoled during dinner by 
observing that the devotion bestowed by honest 
Denis on the viands before hun effectually ab- 
sorbed his faculties, and thereby threw the entire 
of Mr. Peel's conversation towards the gentleman 
on his other flank. This happiness was, like most 
others, destined to be a brief one. As the dessert 
made its appearance, Mr. Peel began to listen' 
with some attention to the conversation of the 
persons opposite, with one of whom he was struck 
most forcibly — so happy a power of illustration,, 
so vivid a fancy, such logical precision in argument 
as he evinced, perfectly charmed and surprised^ 
him. Anxious to learn the name of so gifted an 
individual, he turned towards his hitherto silent 
neighbor and demanded who he was. 

"'Who is he, is it?' said Denis, hesitatingly, as 
if he half doubted such extent of ignorance as 
not to know the person alluded to. 

" Mr. Peel bowed in acquiescence. 

" ' That's Bushe !' said Denis, giving at the 
same time the same sound to the vowel it as it ob- 
tains when occurring in the word ' rush.' 

" ' I beg pardon,' said Mr. Peel, ' I did not hear.' 

"'Bushe!' replied Denis, with considerable 
energy of tone. 

"'Oh, yes! I know,' said the secretary; 'Mr. 
Bushe, a very distinguished member of your bar, 
I have heard.' 

" ' Faith, you may say that !' said Denis, tossing 
off his wine at what he esteemed a very trite 
observation. 

" 'Pray,' said Mr. Peel, again returning to the 
charge, though certainly feeling not a little sur- 
prised at the singular laconicism of his informant,, 
no less than the mellifluous tones of an accent then 
perfectly new to him — ' pray, may I ask, what iS' 
the peculiar character of Mr. Bushe's eloquence — 
I mean, of course, in his professional capacity ?' 

" ' Eh !' said Denis, ' I don't comprehend you^ 
exactly.' 

" ' I mean,' said Mr. Peel, ' in one word, what's^ 
his forte ?' 

" 'His forte!' 

" ' I mean what his peculiar gift consists in ' 

" ' Oh, I perceave — I have ye now — in the 



juries : 



Ah ! addressing a jury.' 
' Ay, the juries.' 



m 



HARRY LORREQUER. 



" ' Can you oblige me by giving me an idea of 
the manner in which he obtains such signal suc- 
cess in this difficult branch of eloquence?' 

" ' I'll tell ye,' said Denis, leisurely finishing his 
glass, and smacking his lips, with the air of a man 
girding on his loins for a mighty effort — ' I'll tell 
ye. Well, ye see, the way he has is this,' — here Mr. 
Peel's expectation rose to the highest degree of 
interest — ' the way he has is this — /le first but- 
ihers them up, and then slithers them dcnvn! — that's 
all, devil a more of a secret there is in it.' " 

How much reason Denis had to boast of im- 
parting early information to the new secretary I 
leave my English readers to guess; my Irish ones 
I may trust to do him ample justice. 

My friend now left me to my own devices to 
while away the hours till time to dress for dinner. 
Heaven help the gentleman so left in Dublin, say 
I. It is, perhaps, the only city of its size in the 
world where there is no lounge — no promenade. 
Very little experience of it will convince you that 
it abounds in pretty women, and has its fair share 
of agreeable men : but where are they in the 
morning? I wish Sir Dick Lauder, instead of 
speculating where salmon pass the Christmas holi- 
days, would apply his most inquiring mind to such 
a question as this. True it is, however, they are 
not to be found. The squares are deserted — the 
streets are very nearly so — and all that is left to 
the luckless wanderer in search of the beautiful is 
to ogle the beauties of Dame Street, who are 
shopkeepers in Grafton Street, or the beauties of 
Grafton Street, who are shopkeepers in Dame 
Street. But, confound it, how cranky I am get- 
ting — I must be tremendously hungry. True, 
it's past six. So now for my suit of sable, and 
then to dinner. 



CHAPTER XIII. 



DUBLIN — THE BOARDING HOUSE — SELECT 
SOCIETY. 

Punctual to my appointment with O'Flaherty, 
I found myself, a very few minutes after six 
o'clock, at Mrs. Clanfrizzle's door. My very au- 
thoritative summons at the bell was answered by 
the appearance of a young, pale-faced invalid, in 
a suit of livery, the taste of which bore a very un- 
pleasant resemblance to the one I so lately figured 
in. It was with considerable difficulty I persuaded 
this functionary to permit my carrying my hat 
with me to the drawing-room, a species of 
caution on my part, as he esteemed it, savorirtg 
much of distrust. This point, however, I carried, 
and followed him up a very ill-lighted stair to the 
drawing-room. Here I was announced by some 
faint resemblance to my real name, but sufficiently 
near to bring my friend Tom at once to meet me, 
who immediately congratulated me on my fortune 
in coming off so well, for that the person who pre- 
ceded me, Mr. Jones Blennerhasset, had been just 
announced as Mr. Blatherhashit — a change the 
gentleman himself was not disposed to adopt. 
"But come along, Harry: while we are waiting 
for Daly, let me make you known to some of our 



party. This, you must know, is a boarding-house, 
and always has some capital fun — queerest people 
you ever met — I have only one hint — cut every 
man, woman, and child of them, if you meet them 
hereafter ; I do it myself, though I have lived 
here these six months." Pleasant people, thought 
I, these must be, with whom such a line is advisa- 
ble, much less practicable. 

"Mrs. Clanfrizzle, my friend, Mr. Lorrequer ; 
thinks he'll stay the summer in town. Mrs. Clan, 
should like him to be one of us." The latter was 
said sotto voce, and was a practice he continued 
to adopt in presenting me to his several friends 
through the room. 

" Miss Riley," — a horrid old fright, in a bird of 
paradise plume, and corked eyebrows, gibbeted 
in gilt chains and pearl ornaments, and looking, 
as the grisettes say, superle en chrysolite — " Miss 
Riley, Captain Lorrequer, a friend 1 have long 
desired to present to you — fifteen thousand a 
year and a baronetcy — if he has sixpence," — sotto 
again. "Surgeon M'CuUoch — he likes the title," 
said Tom, in a whisper — "Surgeon, Captain Lor- 
requer. By the by, lest I forget it, he wishes to 
speak to you in the morning about his health ; 
he is stopping at Sandy mount for the baths ; you 
could go out there, eh?" The tall thing in green 
spectacles bowed, and acknowledged Tom's kind- 
ness by a knowing touch of the elbow. In this 
way he made the tour of the room for about ten 
minutes, during which brief space I was, accord- 
ing to the kind arrangements of O'Flaherty, 
booked as a resident in the boarding-house — a 
lover, to at least five elderly, and three young 
ladies — a patient — a client — a second in a duel to 
a clerk in the Post-office — and had also volun- 
teered (through him always) to convey, by all of 
his Majesty's mails, as many parcels, packets, 
band-boxes, and bird-cages, as would have com- 
fortably filled one of Pickford's vans. All this 
he told me was requisite to my being well re- 
ceived, though no one thought much of any breach 
of compact subsequently, except Mrs. Clan her- 
self. The ladies had, alas ! been often treated 
vilely before ; the doctor had never had a patient, 
and as for the belligerent knight of the dead office, 
he'd rather have died than fought any day. 

The last person to whom my friend deemed it 
necessary to introduce me, was a Mr. Garret Cud- 
more, from the Reeks on Kerry, lately matricu- 
lated to all the honors of freshmanship in the 
Dublin University. This latter was a low-sized, 
dark-browed man, with round shoulders, and 
particularly long arms, the disposal of which 
seemed sadly to distress him. He possessed the 
most perfect brogue I ever listened to ; but it 
was difficult to get him to speak, for, on coming 
up to town some weeks before, he had been 
placed by some intelligent friend at Mrs. Clan- 
frizzle's establishment, with the express direction 
to mark and thoroughly digest as mucli as he 
could of the habits and customs of the circle 
about him, which he was rightly informed was 
the very focus of good breeding and haut ton ; 
but on no account, unless driven thereto by the 
pressure of sickness, or the wants of nature, to 
trust himself with speech, which, in his then un- 
informed state, he was assured would inevitabW 



HARRY LORREQUER. 



67 



ruin him among his fastidiously cultivated asso- 
ciates. 

To the letter and the spirit of the despatch he 
had received, the worthy Garret acted rigidly, 
and his voice was scarcely ever known to trans- 
gress the narrow limits prescribed by his friends. 
In more respects than one was this a good re- 
solve ; for so completely had he identified himself 
with college habits, things, and phrases, that 
whenever he conversed, he became little short of 
unintelligible to the vulgar — a difficulty not less- 
ened by his peculiar pronunciation. 

My round of presentation was just completed, 
■when the pale figure in light blue livery announced 
Counsellor Daly and dinner, for both came for- 
tunately together. Taking the post of honor, 
Miss Riley's arm, I followed Tom, who I soon 
perceived ruled the whole concern, as he led the 
way with another ancient vestal in black satin and 
bugles. The long procession wound its snake-like 
length down the narrow stair, and into the dining- 
room, where at last we all got seated. And here 
let me briefly vindicate the motives of my friend. 
Should any unkind person be found to impute to 
his selection of a residence any base and grovel- 
ling passion for gourmaiidise, that day's expe- 
rience should be an eternal vindication of him. 
The soup — alas ! that I should so far prostitute 
the word, for the black broth of Sparta was mock- 
turtle in comparison — retired to make way for a 
mass of beef, whose tenderness I did not ques- 
tion : for it sank beneath the knife of the carver 
like a feather bed — the skill of Saladin himself 
would have failed to divide it. The fish was a 
most rebellious pike, and nearly killed every loyal 
subject at table ; and then down the sides were 
various dishes of chickens with azure bosoms, and 
hams with hides like a rhinoceros ; covered " de- 
coys" of decomposed vegetable matter called 
spinach and cabbage ; potatoes arrayed in small 
masses, and browned, resembling those ingenious 
architectural structures of mud, children raise in 
the high-ways and call dirt-pies. Such were the 
chief constituents of the "feed ;" and such, I am 
bound to confess, waxed beautifully less under 
the vigorous onslaught of the party. 

The conversation soon became both loud and 
general. That happy familiarity — which I had 
long believed to be the exclusive prerogative of a 
military mess, where constant daily association 
sustains the interest of the veriest trifles — I here 
found in a perfection I had not anticipated, with 
this striking difference, that there was no absurd 
deference to any existing code of etiquette in the 
conduct of the party generally, each person quiz- 
zing his neighbor in the most free-and-easy style 
imaginable, and all, evidently from long habit and 
conventional usage, seeming to enjoy the practice 
exceedingly. Thus, droll allusions, good stories, 
and smart repartees fell thick as hail, and twice 
as harmless, which, anywhere else that I had ever 
heard of, would assuredly have called for more 
explanations, and perhaps gunjjowder, in the morn- 
ing, than usually are deemed agreeable. Here, 
however, they knew better ; and though the lawyer 
quizzed the doctor for never having another 

Eatient than the house-dog, all of whose arteries 
e had tied in the course of the v.iater for prac- 



tice, and the doctor retorted as heavily by show- 
ing that the lawyer's practice had been other than 
beneficial to those for whom he was concerned, 
his one client being found guilty, mainly through 
his ingenious defence of him, yet they never 
showed any, the slightest irritation ; on the con- 
trary, such little playful badinage ever led to 
some friendly passages of taking wine together, or 
in arrangements for a party to the " Dargle," or 
" Dunleary ;" and thus went on the entire party, 
the young ladies darting an occasional slight at 
their elders, who certainly returned the fire often 
with advantage ; all uniting now and then, how- 
ever, in one common cause, an attack of the whole 
line upon Mrs. Clanfrizzle herself, for the beef, or 
the mutton, or the fish, or the poultry — each of 
which was sure to find some sturdy defamer, ready 
and willing to give evidence in dispraise. Yet 
even these — and I thought them rather dangerous 
sallies — led to no more violent results than digni- 
fied replies from the viJorthy hostess upon the 
goodness of her fare, and the evident satisfaction 
it afforded while being eaten, if the appetites of 
of the party were a test. While this was at its 
height, Tom stooped behind my chair, and whis- 
pered gently, — 

"This is good — isn't it, eh? — life in a board- 
ing-house — quite new to you, but they are civil- 
ized now compared to what you will find them 
in the drawing-room. When short whist for five- 
penny points sets in — then Greek meets Greek, 
and we'll have it." 

During all this viclde tournament, I perceived 
that the worthy jib, as he would be called in the 
parlance of Trinity, Mr. Cudmore, remained per- 
fectly silent and apparently terrified. This noise, 
the din of voices, and the laughing, so completely 
addled him, that he was like one in a very horrid 
dream. The attention with which I had observed 
him having been remarked by my friend O'Fla- 
herty, he informed me that the scholar, as he was 
called there, was then under a kind of cloud — an 
adventure which occurred only two nights before 
being too fresh in his memory to permit him en- 
joying himself even to the limited extent it had 
been his wont to do. As illustrative, not only of 
Mr. Cudmore, but the life I have been speaking 
of, I may as well relate it. 

Soon after Mr. Cudmore's enlistment under the 
banners of Clanfrizzle, he had sought and found 
an asylum in the drawing-room of the establish- 
ment, which promised from its geographical rela- 
tions, to expose him less to the molestations of 
conversation than most other parts of the room. 
This was a small recess beside the fireplace, not 
uncommon in old-fashioned houses, and which, 
from its incapacity to hold more than one, secured 
to the worthy recluse the privacy he longed for ; 
and here, among superannuated hearth-brushes, an 
old hand-screen, an asthmatic bellows, and a 
kettle-holder, sat the timid youth, "alone, but in a 
crowd." Not all the seductions of loo, limited to 
threepence, nor even that most appropriately 
designated game, beggar-my-neighbor, could with- 
draw him from his blest retreat. Like his country- 
man, St. Kevin — my friend Petrie has ascertained 
that the saint was a native of Tralee — he fled from 
the temptations of the world, and the blandish- 



HARRY LORREQUER. 



ments of the fair ; but, alas ! like the saint himself, 
the 

" Poor 'jib' little knew 
All that wily sex can do;" 

for while he hugged himself in the security of his 
fortress, the web of his destiny was weaving. So 
true is it, as he himself used, no less pathetically 
than poetically to express it, " misfortune will find 
you out, if ye were hid in a tay-chest." 

It happened that in Mrs. Clanfrizzle's establish- 
ment, the enfant bleu already mentioned was the 
only individual of his sex retained ; and without 
lor a moment disparaging the ability or attentions 
of this gifted person, yet it may reasonably be 
credited that, in waiting on a party of twenty- 
five or thirty persons at dinner, all of whom he 
had admitted as porter and announced as mattre 
(Thotel, with the subsequent detail of his duties in 
the drawing-room, Peter — Blue Peter— his board- 
ing-house sobriquet — not enjoying the bird-like 
privilege of "being in two places at once," gave 
one rather the impression of a person of hasty and 
fidgety habits, for which nervous tendency the 
treatment he underwent was certainly injudicious, 
it being the invariable custom for each guest to 
put his services in requisition, perfectly irrespec- 
tive of all other claims upon him, from whatso- 
ever quarter coming ; and then at the precise 
moment that the luckless valet was snuffing the 
candles he was abused by one for not bringing 
coal ; by another for having carried off his teacup, 
sent on an expedition for sugar ; by a third for 
having left the door open, wliich he had never 
been near ; and so on to the end of the chapter. 

It chanced that a few evenings previous to ray 
appearance at the house, this indefatigable Caleb 
was ministering as usual to the various and discre- 
pant wants of the large party assembled in the 
drawing-room. With his wonted alacrity he had 
withdrawn from their obscure retreat against the 
wall, sundry little tables, destined for the players 
at whist, or " spoil five" — the popular game of the 
establishment. With a dexterity that savored 
much of a stage education, he had arranged the 
candles, the cards, the counters ; he had poked 
the fire, settled the stool for Miss Riley's august 
feet, and was busily engaged in changing five shil- 
lings into small silver for a desperate victim of ioo, 
when Mrs. Canfrizzle's third, and as it appeared, 
last time of asking for the kettle smote upon his 
ear. His loyalty would have induced liim at once 
to desert everything on such an occasion ; but the 
Other party engaged held him fast, saying, — 

" Never mind her, Peter — you have sixpence 
more to give me." 

Poor Peter rummaged one pocket, then another 
— discovering at last threepence in copper, and 
some farthings, with which he seemed endeavor- 
ing to make a composition with his creditor for 
twelve shillings in the pound ; when Mrs. Clan's 
patience finally becoming exhausted, she turned 
towards Mr. Cudmore, the only unemployed person 
she could perceive, and with her blandest sinile 
said, — 

" Mr. Cudmore. may I take the liberty of re- 
questing you would hand me the kettle beside 
you ?" 



Now, though the kettle aforesaid was, as the 
hostess very properly observed, beside him, yet 
the fact that in complying with the demand it 
was necessary for the bashful youth to leave the 
recess he occupied, and, with the kettle, proceed 
to walk half across the room, there to perform 
certain manual operations requiring skill and 
presence of mind before a large and crowded as- 
sembly, was horror to the mind of the poor jib, 
and he would nearly as soon have acceded to a 
desire to dance a hornpipe, if such had been 
suggested as the wish of the company. However, 
there was nothing for it, and summoning up all 
his nerve, knitting his brows, clenching his teeth, 
like one prepared to "do or die," he seized the 
hissing cauldron and strode through the room 
like the personified genius of steam, very much 
to the alarm of all the old ladies in the vicinity, 
whose tasteful drapery benefited but little from 
his progress. Yet he felt but little of all this : he 
had brought up his courage to the sticking place, 
and he was absolutely half unconscious of the 
whole scene before him ; nor was it till some 
kind mediator had seized his arm, while another 
drew him back by the skirts of the coat, that he 
desisted from the deluge of hot water with -w hich, 
having filled the tea-pot, he proceeded to swamp 
everything else upon the tray, in his unfortunate 
abstraction. Mrs. Clanfrizzle screamed — the old 
ladies accompanied her — the young ones tittered 
— the men laughed — and, in a word, poor Cud- 
more, perfectly unconscious of anything extra- 
ordinary, felt himself the admired of all admirers 
— very little, it is true, to his own satisfaction. 
After some few minutes' exposure to these signs 
of mirth, he succeeded in depositing the source 
of his griefs within the fender, and once more 
retired to his sanctuary, having registered a vow, 
which, should I speak it, would forfeit his every 
claim to gallantry forever. 

Whether, in the vow aforesaid, Mr. Cudmore 
had only been engaged in that species of tessela- 
tion which furnishes the pavement so celebrated in 
the lower regions, I know not ; but true it is, that 
he retired that night to his chamber very much 
discomfited at his debut in the great world, and 
half-disposed to believe that nature had neither 
intended him for a Brummel or a D'Orsay. While 
he was ruminating on such matters, he was joined 
by O'Flaherty, with whom he had been always 
more intimate than any other inmate in the house, 
Tom's tact having entirely concealed what the 
manners of the others too plainly evinced — a 
perfect appreciation of the student's oddity and 
singularity. After some few observations on gen- 
eral matters, O'Flaherty began with a tone of 
some seriousness to express towards Cudmore 
the warm interest he had ever taken in him, since 
his first coming among them ; his great anxiety 
for his welfare, and his firm resolve that no 
chance or casual inattention to mere ceremonial 
observances on his part should ever be seized 
on by the other guests as a ground for detraction 
or an excuse for ridicule of him. 

"Rely upon it, my dear boy," said he, "I have 
watched over you like a parent ; and having 
partly foreseen that something like this affair of 
to night would take place sooner or later " 



HARRY LORREQUER. 



69 



" What affair ?" said Cudmore, his eyes staring 
half out of his head. 

" The business of the kettle." 

"Kelt— el. The kettle! What of that?" said 
Cudmore. 

" What of it.' Why, if you don't feel it, I am 
sure it is not my duty to remind you ; only- " 

" Feel it — oh, yes. I saw them laughing be- 
cause I spilled the water over old Mrs. Jones, or 
something of that sort." 

" No, no, my dear young friend, they were not 
laughing at that — their mirth had another object." 

" What the devil was it at, then?" 

" You don't know, don't you?" 

"No ; I really do not." 

"Nor can't guess — eh?" 

"Confound me if I can." 

" Well, I see, Mr. Cudmore, you are really too 
innocent for these people. But come — it shall 
never be said that youth and inexperience ever 
suffered from the unworthy ridicule and cold sar- 
casm of the base world, while Tom O'Flaherty 
stood by a spectator. Sir," said Tom, striking his 
hand with energy on the table, and darting a look 
of fiery indignation from his eye — "sir, you were 
this night trepanned — yes, sir, vilely, shamefully 
trepanned — I repeat the expression — into the 
performance of a menial office — an office so 
degrading, . so offensive, so unbecoming the 
rank, the station, and the habits of gentlemen, 
my very blood recoils when I only think of the 
indignity." 

The expression of increasing wonder and sur- 
prise depicted in Mr. Cudmore's face at these 
words, my friend Phiz might convey — I cannot 
venture to describe it ; suffice it to say, that even 
O'Flaherty himself found it difficult to avoid a 
burst of laughter as he looked at him, and re- 
sumed: — - 

" Witnessing, as I did, the entire occurrence ; 
feeling deeply for the inexi>erience which the 
heartless worldlings had dared to trample upon, I 
resolved to stand by you, and here I am come for 
that purpose." 

" Well, but what in the devil's name have I done 
all this time ?" 

" What ! are you still ignorant ? — is it possible? 
Did you not hand the kettle from the fireplace, and 
fill the teapot ? — answer me that." 

" I did," said Cudmore, with a voice already 
becoming tremulous. 

" Is that the duty of a gentleman ? — answer me 
that." 

A dead pause stood in place of a reply, while 
Tom proceeded, — 

" Did you ever hear any one ask me, or Coun- 
sellor Daly, or Mr. Fogarty, or any other person 
to do so ? — answer me that." 

" No, never," muttered Cudmore with a sink- 
ing spirit. 

" Well, then, why, may I ask, were ;'"« selected 
for that office, that, by your own confession, no 
one else would stoop to perforin ? I'll tell you, 
because from your youth and inexperience, your 
innocence was deemed a fit victim to the heartless 
sneers of a cold and unfeeling world." And here 
Tom broke forth into a very beautiful apostrophe 
beginning " Oh, virtue !"— this I am unfortunately 



unable to present to my readers, and must only as- 
sure them that it was a very faithful imitation of 
the well-known one delivered by Burke in the case 
of Warren Hastings — and concluding with an ex- 
hortation to Cudmore to wipe out the stain of his 
wounded honor, by repelling \vith indignation the 
slightest future attempt at such an insult. 

This done, O'Flaherty retired, leaving Cudmore 
to dig among Greek roots, and chew over the cud 
of his misfortune. Punctual to the time and place, 
that same evening beheld the injured Cudmore re- 
sume his wonted corner, pretty much with the 
feeling with which a forlorn hope stands, match 
in hand, to ignite the train destined to explode 
with ruin to thousands — himself, perhaps, among 
the number. There he sat, with a brain as burn- 
ing and a heart as excited as though, instead of 
sipping his bohea beside a sea-coal fire, he was 
that instant trembling beneath the frown of Dr. 
Erlington for the blunders in his Latin theme — 
and what terror, to the mind of a jib, can equal 
that one ? 

As luck would have it, this was a company 
night in the boarding-house. Various young 
ladies in long blue sashes, and very broad ribbon 
sandals, paraded the rooms, chatting gaily with 
very distinguished-looking young gentlemen, with 
gold brooches and parti-colored inside waistcoats; 
sundry elderly ladies sat at card-tables, discussing 
the " lost honor by an odd <rick they played," 
with heads as large as those of Jack or Jill in the 
pantomime ; spruce clerks in public offices (whose 
vocation the expansive tendency of the right ear, 
from long pen-carrying, betokened) discussed 
fashion "and the musical .glasses" to some very 
over-dressed married ladies, who preferred flirting 
to five-and-ten. The tea-table, o^■er which the 
amiable hostess presided, had also its standing vo- 
taries ; mostly grave parliamentary-looking gen- 
tlemen, with powdered heads and very long- 
waisted- black coats, among whom the Sir Oracle 
was a functionary of his Majesty's High Court of 
Chancery, though, I have reason to believe, not 
Lord Manners . meanwhile, in all parts of the 
room might be seen Blue Pettr, distributing tea, 
coffee, and biscuit, and occasionally interchang- 
ing a joke with the dwellers in the house. While 
all these pleasing occupations proceeded, the hour 
of Cudmore's trial was approaching. The teapot, 
which had stood the attack of fourteen cups with- 
out flinching, at last began to fail, and discovered 
to the prying eyes of Mrs. Clanfrizzle nothing but 
an olive-colored deposit of soft matter, closely 
analogous in appearance and chemical property to 
the residuary precipitate in a drained fish-pond ; 
she put down the lid with a gentle sigh, and turn- 
ing towards the fire, bestowed one of her very 
blandest and most captivating looks on Mr. Cud- 
more, saying — as plainly as looks could say — 
"Cudmore, you're wanting." Whether the youth 
did, or did not understand, I am unable to re- 
cord ; I can only say, the appeal was made with- 
out acknowledgment. Mrs. Clanfrizzle again es- 
sayed, and by a littk masonic movement of her 
hand to the teapot, and a sly glance at the hob, 
intimated her wish — still hopelessly ; at last, there 
was nothing for it but speaking, and she donned 
her very softest voice and most persuasive tone, 



i& 



HARRY LORREQUER. 



saying, " Mr. Cudmore, I am really very trouble- 
some ; will you permit me to ask you " 

"Is it for the kettle, ma'am?" said Cudmore, 
with a voice that stas-tled the whole room, discon- 
certing three whist parties, and so absorbing the 
attention of the people at loo, that the pool dis- 
appeared without any one being able to account for 
the circumstance — " is it for the kettle, ma'am ?" 

" If you will be so very kind," lisped the 
hostess. 

" Well, then, upon my conscience, you are im- 
pudent," said Cudmore, with his face crimsoned to 
the ears, and his eyes flashing fire. 

"Why, Mr. Cudmore," began the lady — "why, 
really, this is so strange ! Why, sir, what can you 
mean ?" 

" Just ^/laf," said the imperturbable jib, who, 
now his courage was up, dared everything. 

"But, sir, you must surely have misunderstood 
me. I only asked for the kettle, Mr. Cudmore." 

" The devil a more," said Cud, with a sneer. 

" Well, then, of course " 

" Well, then, I'll tell you, of coorse," said he, 
repeating her words; "the sorrow taste of the 
kettle I'll give you. Call your own skip — Blue 
Pether there — damn me if I'll be your skip any 
longer !" 

For the uninitiated, I have only to add, that 
"siij>" is the Trinity College appellation for ser- 
vant, which was therefore employed by Mr. Cud- 
more on this occasion as expressing more con- 
temptuously his sense of the degradation of the 
ofiSce attempted to be put upon him. Having al- 
ready informed my reader on some particulars of 
the company, I leave him to suppose how Mr. 
Cudmore's speech was received. Whist itself was 
at an end for that^ evening, and nothing but 
laughter, long, loud, and reiterated, burst from 
every corner of the room for hours after. 

As I have so far travelled out of the record of 
my own peculiar "Confessions" as to give a leaf 
from what might one day form the matter of Mr. 
Cudmore's, I must now make the only amende in 
my power, by hor^estly narrating, that short as 
my visit was to the classic precincts of this 
agreeable establishment, I did not escape without 
exciting my share of ridicule, though I certainly 
had not the worst of the joke, and may, there- 
fore, with better grace tell the story, which, hap- 
pily for my readers, is a short one. A custom 
prevailed in Mrs. Clanfrizzle's household, which, 
from my unhappy ignorance of boarding-houses, 
I am unable to predicate if it belong to the genera 
at large or this one specimen in particular ; how- 
ever, it is a sufficiently curious fact, even though 
thereby hang no tale for my stating it here. The 
decanters on the dinner-table were never labelled 
with their more appropriate designation of con- 
tents, whether claret, sherry, or port, but with the 
name of their respective owners, it being a mat- 
ter of much less consequence that any individual 
at table should mix his wine by pouring "port 
upon madeira," than commit the truly legal of- 
fence of appropriating to his own use and bene- 
fit, even by mistake, his neighbor's bottle. How- 
ever well the system may work among the regu- 
lar members of the "domestic circle"- — and I am 
assured that it does succeed extremely — to the 



newly arrived guest, or uninitiated visitor, the af- 
fair is perplexing, and leads occasionally to awk- 
ward results. 

It so chanced, from my friend O'Flaherty's 
habitual position at the foot of the table, and my- 
post of honor near the head, that on the first day 
of my appearing there, the distance between us 
not only precluded close intercourse, but any of 
those ;;entle hints as to habits and customs a new 
arrival looks for at the hands of his better informed 
friend. The only mode of recognition, to prove 
that we belonged to each other, being by that ex- 
cellent and truly English custom of drinking wine 
together, Tom seized the first idle moment from 
his avocation as carver to say, — 

" Lorrequer, a glass of wine with you." 

Having, of course, acceded, he again asked, — 

"What wine do you drin-k ?" intending tliereby, 
as I afterwards learned, to send me from his end 
of the table what wine I selected. Not conceiv- 
ing the object of the inquiry, and havmg hitherto, 
without hesitation, helped myself from the decan- 
ter which bore some faint resemblance to sherry, 
I immediately turned for correct information to 
the bottle itself, upon whose slender neck was 
ticketed the usual slip of paper. My endeavors 
to decipher the writing occupied time sufficient 
again to make O'Flaherty ask,— 

" Well, Harry, I'm waiting for you. Will you 
have claret ?" 

"No, I thank you," I replied,havingby this re- 
vealed the inscription, — " no, I thank you; I'll 
just stick to my old friend here. Bob M'Grotty ;" 
for thus I rendered familiarly the name of Rt. 
M'Grotty on the decanter, and which I, in my igno- 
rance, believed to be the boarding-house sobriquet 
for bad sherry. That Mr. M'Grotty himself 
little relished my familiarity with either his name 
or property I had a very decisive proof, for, 
turning round upon his chair, and surveying my 
person from head to foot, v^ith a look of fiery 
wrath, he thundered out in very broad Scotch, — 

" And by my saul, my freend, ye may just as 
weel finish it noo, for deil a glass o' his ain wine 
did Boo M'Grotty, as ye ca' him, swallow this day." 

The convulsion of laughter into which my 
blunder and the Scotchman's passion threw the 
whole board, lasted till the cloth was withdrawn 
and the ladies had retired to the drawing-room, 
the only individual at table not relishing the mis- 
take being the injured proprietor of the bottle who 
was too proud to accept reparation from my friend's 
decanter, and would scarcely condescend to open 
his lips during the evening; notwithstanding which 
display of honest indignation, we contrived to be- 
come exceedingly merry and jocose, most of the 
party communicating little episodes of their life in 
which, it is true, they frequently figured in situa- 
tions that nothing but their native and natural 
candor would venture to avow. One story I was 
considerably amused at; it was told by the coun- 
sellor, Mr. Daly, in illustration of the difficulty of 
rising at the bar, and which, as showing his own 
mode of obviating the delay that young pro- 
fessional men submit to from hard necessity, as 
well as in evidence of his strictly legal turn, I shall 
certainly recount one of these days for the edifi- 
cation of the junior bar. 



HARRY LORREQUER. 



71 



CHAPTER XIV. 



THE CHASE. 



On the morning after my visit to ihe boarding 
house, I received a few hurried lines from 
Curzon, informing me that no time was to be lost 
in joining the regiment; that a grand fancy ball 
was about to given by the officers of the Dicarf 
frigate, then stationed off Dunmore; who, when 
inviting the 4 — th, specially put in a demand for 
my well-known services, to make it go off, and 
concluding with an extract from the Kilkenny 
Afadt-rator, which ran thus: "An intimation has 
just reached us, from a quarter on which we can 
place the fullest reliance, that the celebrated 
amateur performer, Mr. Lorrequer, may shortly 
be expected among us. From the many accounts 
we have received of this highly gifted gentleman's 
powers, we anticipate a great treat to the lovers of 
the drama," etc., etc. " So you see, my dear Hal," 
continued Curzon, " thy vocation calls thee : 
therefore come, and come quickly; provide thy- 
self with a black satin costume, slashed with light 
blue, point-lace collar and ruffles, a Spanish hat 
looped in front, and, if possible, along rapier with 
a flat hilt. Garden is not here; so you may show 
your face under any color with perfect impunity. 

Yours from the side scenes, « r- r- .. 

' C. Curzon. 

This clever epistle sufficed to show that the gal- 
lant 4 — th had gone clean theatrical mad: and al- 
though from my "last appearance on any stage," 
it might be supposed I should feel no peculiar de- 
sire to repeat the experiment, yet the opportunity 
of joining during Colonel Garden's absence was 
too tempting to resist, and I at once made up my 
mind to set out, and without a moment's delay, 
hurried across the street to the coach-office to 
book myself an inside in the mail of that night. 
Fortunately, no difficulty existed in my procuring 
the seat, for the way-bill was a perfect blank, and 
I found myself the only person who had as yet 
announced himself a passenger. On returning to 
my hotel I found O'Flaherty waiting for me. He 
was greatly distressed on hearing my determina- 
tion to leave town — explained how he had been 
catering for my amusement for the week to come 
— that a picnic to the Dargle was arranged in a 
committee of the whole house, and a boating 
party, with a dinner at the Pigeon House, was 
then under consideration. Resisting, however, 
such extreme temptations, I mentioned the neces- 
•sity of my at once proceeding to headepiarters, 
and all other reasons for my precipitancy failing, 
concluded with that really knock-down argument, 
"I have taken my place." This, I need scarcely 
add. finished the matter ; at least / have never 
known it fail in such cases. Tell your friends 
that your wife is hourly expecting to be confined ; 
your favorite child is in the measles ; your best 
friend waiting your aid in an awkward scrape ; 
your one vote only wanting to turn the scale in 
an election ; — tell them, I say, each or all of 
these, or a hundred more like them, and to any 
one you so speak, the answer is, " Pooh, pooh, 
my dear fellow, never fear — don't fuss yourself — 
take it easy — to-morrow will do just as well." If 



on the other hand, however, you reject such 
flimsy excuses, and simply say, " I'm booked in 
the mail," the opposition at once falls to the 
ground, and your quondam antagonist, who was 
ready to quarrel with you, is at once prepared to 
assist in packing your portmanteati. 

Having soon satisfied my friend Tom that re- 
sistance was in vam, I promised to eat an early 
dinner with him at Morrisson's, and spent the 
better part of the morning in putting down a few 
notes of my " Confessions" as well as the partic- 
ulars of Mr. Daly's story, which, I believe, I half 
or wholly promised my readers at the conclusion 
of my last chapter ; but which I must defer to a 
more suitable opportunity, when mentioning the 
next occasion of my meeting him on the southern 
circuit. 

My dispositions were speedily made. I was 
fortunate in securing the exact dress my friend's 
letter alluded to among the stray costumes of 
Fishamble Street ; and, rich in the possession of 
the only "properties" it had been my lot to ac- 
quire, I des]3atched my treasure to the coach- 
office, and hastened to Morrisson's, it being by 
this time nearly five o'clock. There, true to time, 
I found O'Flaherty deep in the perusal of the 
bill, along which figured the novel expedients for 
dining I had been in the habit of reading in every 
Dublin hotel since my boyhood. "Mock-turtle, 
mutton, gravy, roast beef and potatoes — shoulder 
of mutton and 'potatoes ! — ducks and peas, pota- 
toes !! — ham and chicken, cutlet, steak, and pota- 
toes!!! — apple tart and cheese:" with a slight 
cadenza of a sigh over the distant glories of Very, 
or still better the Frcres, we sat down to a very 
patriarchal repast, and what may always be had 
par excellence in Dublin, a bottle of Sneyd's 
claret. 

Poor Tom's spirits were rather below their usual 
pitch ; and although he made many efforts to 
rally and appear gay, he could not accomplish it. 
However, he chatted away over old times and old 
friends, and forgetting all else but the topics we 
talked of, the timepiece over the chimney first 
apprised me that two whole hours had gone by, 
and that it was now seven o'clock, the very hour 
the coach was to start. I started up at once, and, 
notwithstanding all Tom's representations of the 
impossibility of my being in time, had despatched 
waiters in different directions for a jarvey, more 
than ever determined upon going ; so often is it 
that when real reasons for our conduct are want- 
ing, any casual or chance opposition confirms us 
in a'h intention which before was but wavering. 
Seeing me so resolved, Tom at length gave way, 
and advised my pursuing the mail, which must 
be now gone at least ten minutes, and which, 
with smart driving, I should probably overtake 
before getting free of the city, as they have usu- 
ally many delays in so doing. I at once ordered 
out the "yellow post-chaise," and before many 
minutes had elapsed, what with imprecation and 
bribery, I started in pursuit of his Majesty's 
Cork and Kilkenny mail-coach, then patiently 
waiting in the court-yard of the post-office. 

"Which way now, your honor?" said a shrill 
voice trom the dark — for such the night had al- 
ready become, and threatened with a few heavy 



n 



HARRY LORREQUER.. 



drops of straight rain, the fall of a tremendous 
shower. 

"The Naas road," said I ; "and, harkye, my 
fine fellow, if you overtake the coach in half an 
hour, I'll double your fare." 

'"Be gorra, I'll do my endayvour," said the 
youth ; at the same instant dashing in both spurs, 
•we rattled down Nassau street at a very respecta- 
ble pace for harriers. Street after street we 
passed, and at last I perceived we had got clear 
of the city, and were leaving the long line of 
lamp-lights behind us. The night was now pitch 
dark. I could not see anything whatever. The 
quick clattering of the wheels, the sharp crack 
of the postilion's whip, or the still sharper tone 
of his " gee hup," showed me that we were going 
at a tremendous pace, had I not even had the ex- 
perience afforded by the frequent visits my head 
paid to the roof of the chaise, so often as we 
bounded over a stone, or splashed through a hol- 
low. Dark and gloomy as it was, I constantly let 
down the window, and with half my body pro- 
truded, endeavored to catch a glimpse of the 
"chase;" but nothing could I see. The rain now 
fell in actual torrents ; and a more miserable 
night it is impossible to conceive. 

After about an hour so spent, we at last came 
to a check, so sudden and unexpected on my 
part, that I was nearly precipitated, harlequin 
fashion, through the front window. Perceiving 
that we no longer moved, and suspecting that 
some part of our tackle had given way, I let down 
the sash, and cried out, " Well now, my lad, any- 
thing wrong ?" My question was, however, unheard, 
and although, amid the steam arising from the 
wet and smoking horses, I could perceive several 
figures indistinctly moving about, I could not dis- 
tinguish what they were doing, nor what they said. 
A laugh I certainly did hear, and heartily cursed 
the unfeeling wretch, as I supposed him to be, 
who was enjoying himself at my disappointment. 
I again endeavored to find out what had happened, 
and called out still louder than before. 

" We are at Ra'coole, your honor," said the boy, 
approaching the door of the chaise, "and she's 
only beat us by hafe a mile." 

"Who the devil is she?" said I. 

" The mail, your honor, is always a female in 
Ireland." 

"Then why do you stop now? You're not 
going to feed, I suppose ?" 

"Of coorse not, your honor; it's little feeding 
troubles these bastes, anyhow, but they tell me 
the road is so heavy we'll never tak» the chaise 
over the next stage without leaders." 

"Without leaders !" said I. "Pooh! my good 
fellow, no humbugging ; four horses for a light 
post-chaise and no luggage ; come, get up, and no 
nonsense." At this moment a man approached 
the window with a lantern in his hand, and so 
strongly represented the dreadful stat; of the 
roads from the late rains— the length of the stage, 
the frequency of accidents latterly from under- 
horsing, etc., etc., that I yielded a reluctant as- 
sent, and ordered out the leaders, comfoihng my- 
self the while, that considering the inside fare of 
the coach I made such efforts to overtake was 
under a pound, and that time was no object fo. 



me, I was certainly paying somewhat dearly for 
my character for resolution. 

At last we got under way once more, and set 
off, cheered by a tremendous shout from at least 
a dozen persons, doubtless denizens of that inter- 
esting locality, amid which I once again heard the 
laugh that had so much annoyed me already. 
The rain was falling, if possible, more heavily 
than before, and had evidently set in for the en- 
tire night. Throwing myself back into a corner 
of the " leathern convenience," I gave myself up 
to the full enjoyment of the Rochefoucauld maxim, 
that there is always a pleasure felt in the misfor- 
tunes of even our best friends, and certainly ex- 
perienced no small comfort in my distress, by 
contrasting my present position with that of my 
two friends in the saddle, as they sweltered on 
through mud and mire, rain and storm. On we 
went, splashing, bumping, rocking, and jolting, 
till I began at last to have serious thoughts of 
abdicating the seat and betaking myself to the 
bottom of the chaise, for safety and protection. 
Mile after mile succeeded ; and as after many a 
short and fitful slumber, which my dreams gave 
an apparent length to, I awoke only to find myself 
still in pursuit, tlie time seemed so enormously 
protracted that I began to fancy my whole life 
was to be passed in the dark, in chase of the 
Kilkenny mail, as we read in the true history of 
the Flying Dutchman, who, for his sins of impa- 
tience — like mine — spent centuries vainly endeav- 
oring to double the Cape, or the Indian mariner 
in Moore's beautiful ballad, of whom we are told, 

as — 

" Many a day to night gave way. 
And many a morn succeeded. 
Yet still fiis flight by day and night. 
That restless mariner speeded." 

This might have been all very well in the trop- 
ics, with a smart craft and doubtless plenty of 
sea store, but in a chaise, at night, and on the 
Naas road, I humbly suggest I had all the worst 
of the parallel. 

At last the altered sound of the wheels gave 
notice of our approach to a town, and after about 
twenty minutes' rattling over the pavement, we en- 
tered what I supposed, correctly, to be Naas. 
Here I had long since determined my pursuit 
should cease. I had done enough, and more than 
enough, to vindicate my fame against any charge 
of irresolution as to leaving Dublin, and was be- 
thinking me of the various modes of prosecuting 
my journey on the morrow, when we drew up 
suddenly at the door cf the Swan. The arrival 
of a chaise and four at a small country town inn 
suggests to the various officials therein anything 
rather than the traveller in jnirsuit of the mail, 
and so the moment I arrived I was assailed with 
innumerable proffers of horses, supper, bed, and 
so on. My anxious queiy was thrice repeated in 
vain, "When did the coach pass?" 

"The mail," replied the landlord at length. 
"Is it the down mail ?" 

Not understanding the technical, I answered, 
"Of course not the Down — the Kilkenny and 
Cork mail." 

" From Dublin, sir ?" 

" Yej. from Dublin " : 



HARRY LORREQUER. 



73 



" Not arrived yet, sir, nor will it for three- 
quarters of an hour; they never leave Dublin til! 
a quarter-past seven; that is in fact halt-past, and 
their time here is twenty minutes to eleven." 

"Why, you stupid son of a boot-top, we have 
been posting on all night like the devil, and 
all this time the coach has been ten miles be- 
hind us." 

"Well, we've cotch them any how," said the 
urchin, as he disengaged himself from his wet 
saddle, and stood upon the ground. " And it is 
not my fault that the coach is not before us." 

With a satisfactory anathema upon all innkeep- 
ers, waiters, ostlers, and post-boys, with a codicil, 
including coach proprietors, I followed the smirk- 
ing landlord into a well-lighted room, with a blaz- 
ing fire, when, having ordered supper, I soon re- 
gained my equanimity. 

My rasher and poached eggs, all Naas could 
afford me, were speedily despatched, and as my 
last glass from my one pint of sherry was poured 
out, the long expected coach drew up. A minute 
after, the coachman entered to take his dram, 
followed by the guard. A more lamentable spec- 
tacle of condensed moisture cannot be conceived; 
the rain fell from the entire circumference of his 
broad-brimmed hat, like the everflowing drop 
from the edge of an antique fountain; his drab 
coat had become of a deep orange hue, while his 
huge figure loomed still larger, as he stood amid 
a nebula of damp that would have made an at- 
mosphere for the Georgium Sidus. 

"Going on to-night, sir?" said he, addressing 
me; "severe weather, and no chance of its clear- 
ing; but of course you're inside." 

■' Why, there is very little doubt of that," said I. 
"Are you nearly full inside." 

" Only one, sir; but he seems a real queer chap; 
made fifty inquiries at the office if he could not 
have the whole inside to himself, and when he 
heard that one place had been taken — yours, I 
believe, sir — he seemed like a scalded bear." 

"You don't know his name, then ?" 

" No, sir, he never gave a name at the office, 
and his only luggage is two brown paper parcels, 
without any ticket, and he has them inside; in- 
deed, he never lets them from him, even for a 
second." 

Here the guard's horn, announcing all ready, 
interrupted our colloquy, and prevented my learn- 
ing anything further of my fellow-traveller, whom, 
however, I at once set down in my own mind for 
some confounded old churl that made himself 
comfortable everywhere, without ever thinking of 
any one else's convenience. 

As I passed from the inn door to the coach, I 
once more congratulated myself that I was about 
to be housed from the terrific storm of wind and 
rain that railed without. 

" Here's the step, sir," said the guard; "get in, 
sir; two minutes late already." 

"I beg your pardon, sir," said I, as I half fell 
over the legs of my unseen companion. " May I 
request leave to pass you ?" While he made way 
for this purpose, I perceived that he stooped 
down towards the guard, and said something, 
who, from his answer, had evidently been ques- 
tioned as to who I was. " And how did he get 



here, if he took his place in Dublin ?" asked the 
unknown. 

" Came half an hour since, sir, in a chaise and 
four," said the guard, as he banged the door be- 
hind him, and closed the interview. 

Whatever might have been the reason for my 
fellow-traveller's an.xiety about my name and oc- 
cupation, 1 knew not, yet could not help feeling 
gratified at thinking that, as I had not given my 
name at the coach office, I was as great a puzzle 
to him as he to me. 

"A severe night, sir," said I, endeavoring to 
break ground in conversation. 

" Mighty severe," briefly and half crustily re- 
plied the unknown, with a richness of brogue that 
might have stood for a certificate of baptism in 
Cork or its vicinity. 

" And a bad road too, sir," said I, remembering 
my lately accomplished stage. 

"That's the reason I always go armed," said 
the unknown, clinking at the same moment some- 
thing like the barrel of a pistol. 

Wondering somewhat at his readiness to mis- 
take my meaning, I felt disposed to drop any fur- 
ther effort to draw him out, and was about to ad- 
dress myself to sleep, as comfortably as I could. 

"I'll just trouble ye to lean off that little par- 
cel there, sir," said he, as he displaced from its 
position beneath my elbow one of the paper pack- 
ages the guard had already alluded to. 

In complying with this rather gruff demand, one 
of my pocket-pistols, which I carried in my breast 
pocket, fell out upon his knee, upon which he im- 
mediately started, and asked hurriedly, "And are 
you armed, too ?" 

"Why, yes," said I laughingly; "men of my 
trade seldom go without something of this kind." 

" Be gorra, I was just thinking that same," said 
the traveller, with a half sigh to himself. 

Why he should or should not have thought so, 
I never troubled myself to canvass, and was once 
more settling myself in my corner, when I was 
startled by a very melancholy groan, which 
seemed to come from the bottom of my compan- 
ion's heart. 

" Are you ill, sir ?" said I, in a voice of some 
anxiety. 

"You may say that," replied be, "if you knew 
who you were talking to, although maybe you've 
heard enough of me, though you never saw me 
till now." 

"Without having that pleasure even yet," said 
I, " it would grieve me to think you should be ill 
in the coach." 

" Maybe it might," briefly replied the unknown, 
with a species of meaning in his words I could 
not then understand. " Did you never hear tell of 
Barney Doyle?"- said he. 

"Not to my recollection." 

"Then I'm Barney," said he, "that's in all the 
newspapers in the metropolis. I'm seventeen 
weeks in Jervis Street Hospital, and four in the 
Lunatic, and the devil a better after all. You 
must be a stranger, I'm thinking, or you'd know 
me now." 

"Why, I do confess I've only been a few hours 
in Ireland for the last six months." 

" Ay, that's the reason ; I knew you would not 



u 



HARRY LORREQUER, 



ae fond of travelling with me, if you knew who it 
vvas." 

"Why, really," said I, beginning at the mo- 
ment to fathom some of the hints of my compan- 
ion, "I did not anticipate the pleasure of meeting 
you." 

" It's pleasure ye call it ; then there's no ac- 
countin' for tastes, as Dr. Colles said, when he 
saw me bite Cusack Rooney's thumb off." 

" Bite a man's thumb off !" said I, in horror. 

" Ay," said he, with a kind of fiendish anima- 
tion, "in one chop. I wish you'd seen how I 
scattered the consultation ; begad, they didn't 
■wait to ax for a fee." 

"Upon my soul, a very pleasant vicinity," 
thought I. "And may I ask, sir," said I, in a 
very mild and soothing tone of voice — "may I 
ask the reason for this singular propensity of 
yours ?" 

" There it is now, my dear," said he, laying his 
hand upon my knee familiarly, " that's just the 
very thing they can't make out. Colles says, it's 
all the cerebellum, ye see, that's inflamed and 
combusted, and some of the others think it's the 
spine ; and more, the muscles ; but my real im- 
pression is, the devil a bit they know about it at 
all." 

" And have they no name for the malady .'" 
said I. 

"Oh, sure enough they have a name for it." 

" And, may I ask — - — " 

" Why, I think you'd better not, because, ye 
see, maybe I might be troublesome to ye in the 
night, though I'll not if I can help it ; and it 
might be uncomfortable to you to be here if I was 
to get one of the fits." 

" One of the fits ! Why, it's not possible, sir," 
said I, "you would travel in a public conveyance 
in the state you mention ; your friends surely 
would not permit it ?" 

" Why, if they inai', perhaps,'' slyly responded 
the interesting invalid — " if they /!//ai>, they 
might not exactly like it, but, ye see, I escaped 
only last night, and there'll be a fine hubbub in 
the morning, when tliey find I'm off; though I'm 
thinking Rooney's barking away by this time." 

" Rooney barking! — why, what does that mean." 

"They always bark for a day or two after 
they're bit, if the infection comes first from the 
dog." 

"You are surely not speaking of hydrophobia," 
said I, my hair actually bristling with horror and 
consternation. 

" Ain't I ?" replied he ; " maybe you've guessed 
it, though." 

"And have you the malady on you at present?" 
said I, trembling for the answer. 

" This is the ninth day since l took to biting," 
said he, gravely, perfectly unconscious, as it ap- 
peared, of the terror such information was calcu- 
lated to convey. 

" And with such a propensity, sir, do you think 
yourself warranted in travelling in a public coach, 
exposing others " 

" You'd better not raise your v'oice that way," 
quietly responded he. " If I'm roused, it'll be 
worse for ye, that's all." 

" Well, but," said I, moderating my zeal," is it 



exactly prudent, in your present delicate state, to 
undertake a journey ?" 

"Ah," said he, with a sigh," I've been longing 
to see the fox-hounds throw off near Kilkenny ; 
these three weeks I've been thinking of nothing 
else ; but Tn"! not sure how my nerves will stand 
the cry ; I might be troublesome." 

" Upon my soul," thought I," I shall not select 
that morning for my i/e'l'uf in the field." 

" I hope, sir, there's no river or watercourse on 
this road — anything else, I can, I hope, control 
myself against ; but water — Vunning water par- 
ticularly — makes me troublesome." 

Well knowing what he meant by the latter phrase, 
I felt the cold perspiration settling on my fore- 
head as I remembered that we must be within 
about ten or twelve miles of Leighlin Bridge, 
where we should have to pass a very wide river. 
I strictly concealed this fact from him, however, 
and gave him to understand that there was not a 
well, brook, or rivulet for forty miles on either side 
of us. He now sank into a kind of moody silence, 
broken occasionally by a low muttering noise, as 
if speaking to himself — what this might portend, 
I knew not — but thought it better, under all cir- 
cumstances, not to disturb him. How comfort- 
able my present condition was, I need scarcely 
remark, sitting 7u's-d-vis to a lunatic, with a pair of 
pistols in his possession, who had already avowed 
his consciousness of his tendency to do mischief, 
and his irtability to master it, all this in the dark, 
and in the narrow limits of a mail-coach, where 
there was scarcely room for defence, and no pos- 
sibility of escape. How heartily I wished myself 
back in the coffee-room at Morrisson's, with my 
poor friend Tom. The infernal chaise, that I 
cursed a hundred times, would have been an " ex- 
change," better than into the Life Guards — ay, 
even the outside of the coach, if I could only 
reach it, would, under present circumstances, be 
a glorious alternative to my existing misfortune. 
What were rain and storm, thunder and lightning, 
compared with the chances that awaited me here? — 
wet through I should inevitably be, but then I had 
not yet contracted the horror of moisture my 
friend opposite labored under. " Ha ! what is 
that ? — is it possible he can be asleep ; — is it really 
a snore ? — Heaven grant that little snort be not 
what the medical people call a premonitory symp- 
tom — if so, he'll be in upon me now, in no time. 
Ah, there it is again. He must be asleep, surely ; 
now then is my time, or never." With these 
words, muttered to myself, and a heart throbbing 
almost audibly at the risk of his awakening, I 
slowly let down the window of the coach, and 
stretching forth my hand, turned the handle cau- 
tiously and slowly ; I next disengaged my legs, 
and by a long continuous effort of creeping — which 
I had learned perfectly once,when practising to go 
as a boa-constrictor to a fancy ball — I withdrew 
myself from tiie seat and reached the stej), when 
I muttered something very like a thanksgiving to 
Providence for my rescue. With little difficulty 
I now climbed up beside the guard, whose aston- 
ishment at my appearance was indeed consider- 
able ; that any man should prefer the out, to the 
inside of a coach, in such a night, was rather re- 
markable ; but that the person so doing should be 



HAR.RY LORREOUER. 



75 



totally unprovided with a box-coat, or other 
similar jirotection, argued something so strange, 
that I doubt not, if he were to decide upon the 
applicability of the statute of lunacy to a traveller 
in the mail, the palm would certainly have been 
awarded to me, and not to my late companion. 
Well, on we rolled, and heavily as the rain poured 
down, so relieved did I feel at my change of posi- 
tion, that I soon fell fast asleep, and never woke 
till the coach was driving up Patrick Street. 
Whatever solace to my feelings reaching the out- 
side of the coach might have been attended with 
at night, the pleasure I experienced on awaking 
was really not unalloyed. More dead than alive, 
I sat a mass of wet clothes, like nothing under 
heaven except it be that morsel of black and 
spongy wet cotton at the bottom of a schoolboy's 
ink bottle, saturated with rain, and the black dye 
of my coat. My hat, too, had contributed its 
share of coloring matter, and several long black 
streaks coursed down my " wrinkled front," giv- 
ing me very much the air of an Indian warrior, 
who had got the first priming of his war paint. I 
certainly must have been a rueful object, were I 
only to judge from the faces of the waiters as 
they gazed on me when the coach drew up at 
Rice and Walsh's Hotel. Cold, wet, and weary 
as I was, my curiosity to learn more of my late 
agreeable companion was strong as ever within 
me — perhaps stronger, from the sacrifices his ac- 
quaintance had exacted from me. Before, how- 
ever, I had disengaged myself from the pile of 
trunks and carpet bags I had surrounded myself 
with, he had got out of the coach, and all I could 
catch a glimpse of was the back of a little short 
man in a kind of grey upper coat, and long galli- 
gaskins on his legs. He carried his two bundles 
under his arm, and stepped nimbly up the steps 
of the hotel, without ever turning his head to 
either side. 

" Don't fancy you shall escape me now, my good 
friend," I cried out, as I sprang from the loof 
to the ground, with one jump, and hurried after 
the great unknown into the coffee-room. By the 
time I reached it he had approached the fire, 
on the table near which, having deposited the 
mysterious paper parcels, he was now busily en- 
gaged in divesting himself of his great-coat ; his 
face was still turned from me, so that I had time 
to appear employed in divesiing myself of my 
wet drapery before he perceived me ; at last the 
coat was unbuttoned, the gaiters followed, and 
throwing them carelessly on a chair, he tucked 
up the skirts of his coat, and spreading himself 
comfortably, a l' Anglais, before the fire, displayed 
to my wondering and stupefied gaze the pleasant 
features of Doctor Finucane. 

"Why, Doctor — Doctor Finucane," cried I, 
" is this possible ? Were you then really the in- 
side in the mail last night ?" 

" Devil a doubt of it, Mr. Lorrequer ; and may 
I make bould to ask, were you the outside ?" 

" Then what, may I beg to know, did you mean 
by your damned story about Barney Doyle, 
and the hydrophobia, and Cusack Rooney's 
thumb — eh ?" 

" Oh, by the Lord :" said Finucane, " this will 
be the death of me. And it was jw< that I drove 



outside in all the rain last night ! Oh, it will 
kill Father Malachi outright with laughing when 
I tell him." And he burst out into a fit of merri- 
ment that nearly induced me to break his head 
with the poker. 

"Am I to understand, then, Mr. Finucane, that 
this practical joke of yours was contrived for my 
benefit, and for the purpose of holding me up to 
the ridicule of your confounded acquaintances?" 

" Nothing of the kind, upon my conscience," 
said Fin, drying his eyes, and endeavoring to 
look sorry and sentimental. "If I had only the 
least suspicion in life that it was you, upon my 
oath I'd not have had the hydrophobia at all, and 
to tell you the truth, you were not the only one 
frightened — you alarmed me devilishly, too." 

" I alarmed you ! Why, how can that be " 

" Why, the real affair is this : I was bringing 
these two packages of notes down to my cousin 
Callaghan's bank in Cork — fifteen thousand 
pounds, devil a less — and when you came into 
the coach at Naas, after driving there with your 
four horses, I thought it was all up with me. The 
guard just whispered in my ear that he saw you 
look at the priming of your pistols before getting 
in ; and faith I said four Paters and a Hail Mary, 
before you'd count five. Well, when you got 
seated, the thought came into my mind that 
maybe, highwayman as you were, you would not 
like dying a natural death, more particularly if 
you were an Irishman ; and so I trumped up that 
long story about the hydrophobia, and the gen- 
tleman's thumb, and devil knows what besides ; 
and while I was was telling it, the cold perspira- 
tion was running down my head and face, for every 
time you stirred, I said to myself, now he'll do it. 
Two or three times, do you know, I was going to 
offer you ten shillings in the pound, and spare my 
life ; and once, God forgive me, I thought it would 
not be a bad plan to shoot you by 'mistake,' do 
you perceive ?" 

" Why, upon my soul, I'm very much obliged 
to you for your excessively kind intentions; but 
really I feel you have done quite enough for me on 
the present occasion. But, come, now, doctor, I 
must get to bed, and before I go, promise me two 
things — to dine with us to-day at the mess, and 
not to mention a syllable of what occurred last 
night — it tells, believe me, very badly for both; 
so, keep the secret, for if these confounded fellows 
of ours ever get hold of it I may sell out and quit 
the army; I'll never hear the end of it !" 

" Never fear, my boy; trust me. I'll dine with 
you, and you're as safe as a church-mouse for 
anything I'll tell them; so, now, you'd better 
change your clothes, for I'm thinking it rained 
last night." 

Muttering some very dubious blessings upon the 
learned Fin, I left the room, infinitely more 
chagrined and chapfallen at the discovery I had 
made, than all the misery and exposure the trick 
had consigned me to. " However," thought I, " if 
the doctor keep his word, all goes well: the whole 
affair is between us both solely; but, should it 
not be .so, I may shoot half the mess before the 
other half would give up quizzing me." Revolv- 
ing such pleasant thoughts, I betook myself to 
bed, and, what with mulled port, and a blazing 



76 



HARRY LORREQUER. 



fire, became once more conscious of being a 
warm-blooded animal, and fell sound asleep, to 
dream of doctors, strait-waistcoats, shaved heads, 
and all the pleasing associations my late compan- 
ion's narrative so readily suggested. 



CHAPTER XV. 

MEMS. OF THE NORTH CORK. 

At six o'clock I had the pleasure of presenting 
the worthy Doctor Finucane to our mess, taking 
at the same time an opportunity, unobserved by 
him, to inform three or four of my brother officers 
that my friend was really a character, abounding 
in native drollery, and richer in good stories than 
even the generality of his countrymen. 

Nothing could possibly go on better than the 
early part of the evening. Fin, true to his prom- 
ise, never once alluded to what I could plainly per- 
ceive was ever uppermost in his mind, and what 
with his fund of humor, quaintness of expression, 
and quickness at reply, garnished throughout by 
his most mellifluous brogue, the true " Bocca 
Corkana," kept us from one roar of laughter to 
another. It was just at the moment in which his 
spirits seemed at their highest, that I had the mis- 
fortune to call upon him for a story which his 
cousin. Father Malachi, had alluded to on the 
ever-memorable evening at his house, and which 
I had a great desire to hear from Fin's own lips. 
He seemed disposed to escape telling it, and upon 
my continuing to press my request, drily 
remarked, — 

" You forget, surely, my dear Mr. Lorrequer, the 
weak condition I'm in; and these gentlemen here, 
they don't know what a severe illness I've been 
laboring under lately, or they would not pass the 
decanter so freely down this quarter." 

I had barely time to throw a mingled look of 
entreaty and menace across the table when half a 
dozen others, judging from the doctor's tone and 
serio-comic expression, that his malady had many 
more symptoms of fun than suffering about it, 
called out together, — 

" Oh, doctor, by all means, tell us the nature of 
your late attack — pray relate it." 

" With Mr. Lorrei|uer's permission Fm your 
slave, gentlemen," said Fin, finishing off his 
glass. 

"Oh, as for me," I cried, " Dr. Finucane has 
my full permission to detail whatever he pleases 
to think a fit subject for your amusement." 

"Come, then, doctor, Harry has no objection, 
you see ; so out with it, and we are all prepared 
to sympathize with your woes and misfortunes, 
whatever they be." 

" Well, I am sure, I never could think of men- 
tioning it without his leave ; but now that he sees 
no objection — Eh, do you, though ? If so, then, 
don't be winking and making faces at me ; but 
say the word, and devil a syllable of it I'll tell to 
man or mortal." 

The latter part of this delectable speech was 
addressed to me across the table, in a species of 
stage whisper, in reply to some telegraphic sig- 



nals, I had been throwing him, to induce him to 
turn the conversation into another channel. 

" Then, that's enough," continued he, soi/c voce — 
"I see you'd rather I'd not tell it." 

"Tell it and be d d," said I, wearied by the 

incorrigible pertinacity with which the villain as- 
sailed me. My most unexpected energy threw the 
whole table into a roar, at the conclusion of 
which Fin began his narrative of the mail-coach 
adventure. 

I need not tell my reader, who has followed me 
throughout in these my "Confessions," that such 
a story lost nothing of its absurdity when en- 
trusted to tbe doctor's powers of narration ; he 
dwelt with a poet's feeling upon the description of 
his own sufferings, and my sincere condolence 
and commiseration ; he touched with the utmost 
delicacy upon the distant hints by which he broke 
the news to me ; but when he caine to describe 
my open and undisguised terror, and my secret 
and precipitate retreat to the roof of the coach, 
there was not a man at the table that was not con- 
vulsed with laughter — and, shall 1 acknowledge it, 
even I myself was unable to withstand the effect, 
and joined in the general chorus against myself. 

"Well," said the remorseless wretch, as he fin- 
ished his story, "if ye haven't the hard hearts to 
laugh at such a melancholy subject ! Maybe, 
however, you're not so cruel after all — here's a 
toast for you : 'A speedy recovery to Cusack 
Rooney.' " This was drunk amid renewed peals, 
with all the honors ; and I had abundant time be- 
fore the uproar was over to wish every man of 
ihem hanged. It was to no purpose that 1 en- 
deavored to turn the tables by describing Fin's 
terror at my supposed resemblance to a highway- 
man — his story had the precedence, and I met 
nothing during my recital but sly allusions to mad 
dogs, muzzles, and doctors ; and contemptible 
puns were let off on every side at my expense. 

" It's a little shame I take to myself for the mis- 
take, anyhow," said Fin ; " for putting the dark- 
ness of the night out of the question, I'm not so 
sure I would not have ugly suspicions of you by 
daylight." 

" And besides, doctor," added I, " it would not 
be your first blunder in the dark." 

"True for you, Mr. Eorrequer," said he, good- 
humoredly ; "and now that I have told them 
your story, I don't care if they hearmine, though, 
maybe, some of ye have heard it already ; it's 
pretty well known in the Noith Cork." 

We all gave our disclaimers on this point, and 
having ordered in a fresh cooper of port, disposed 
ourselves in our most easy attitudes, while the 
doctor proceeded as follows : — 

" It was in the hard winter of the year '99 that 
we were quartered in Maynooth, as many said, 
for our sins— for a more stupid place, the Lord 
be merciful to it, never were men condemned to. 
The people at the college were much better off 
than us ; they had whatever was to be got in the 
country, and never were disturbed by mounting 
guard, or night patrols. Many of the professors 
were good fellows, that liked grog, fully as well 
as Greek, and understood short whist and five^ 
and-ten quite as intimately as they knew the Vul- 
gate, or the confessions of St. Augustine. Tbey 



HARRY LORREQUER. 



made no ostentatious display of their pious xeal, 
but wlicnever they were not fasting or praying, or 
something of that kind, they were always pleasant 
and agreeable ; and, to do them justice, never re- 
fused, by any chance, an invitation to dinner — no 
matter at what inconvenience. Well, even this 
solace to our affliction was soon lost by an unfor- 
tunate mistake of that Orange rogue of the world, 
Major Jones, that gave a wrong pass one night- — 
Mr. Lorrequer knows the story" — (here he al- 
luded to an adventure detailed in an early chap- 
ter of my "Confessions") — "and from that day 
forward we never saw the pleasant faces of the 
Abbe D'Array, or the Professor of the Humani- 
ties, at the mess. Well, the only thing I could do, 
was just to take an opportunity to drop in at the 
college in the evening, where we had a quiet rub- 
ber of whist, and a little social and intellectual 
conversation, with maybe an oyster and a glass of 
punch, just to season the thing, before we sepa- 
rated, all done discreetly and quietly — no shouting, 
or even singing, for the ' superior' had a prejudice 
about profane songs. Well, one of those nights, 
it was about the first week in February — I was de- 
tained by stress of weather from eleven o'clock, 
when we usually bade good-night, to past twelve, 
and then to one o'clock, waiting for a dry moment 
to get home to the barracks — a good mile and a 
half off. Every time old P'ather Mahony went to 
look at the weatiier, he came back, saying. ' It's 
worse it's getting — such a night of rain, glory be 
to God, never was seen.' So there was no good 
in going out to be drenched to the skin, and I sat 
quietly waiting, taking between times a littte 
punch, just not to seem impatient, nor distress 
their rev'rences. At last it struck two, and I 
thought, ' Well, the decanter is empty now, and I 
think, if I mean to walk, I've taken enough for the 
present ;' so wishing them all manner of happi- 
ness and pleasant dreams, I stumbled my way 
down-stairs, and set out on my journey. I was 
always in the' habit of taking a short cut on my 
way home across the ' Gurt nabrocha,' the priest's 
meadows, as they call them, it saved nearly a half 
a mile, although on the present occasion, it ex- 
posed one wof uUy to the rain, for there was noth- 
ing to shelter under the entire way, not even a 
tree. Well, out I set in a half trot, for I stayed so 
late I was pressed for time ; besides, I felt it easier 
to run than to walk, I'm sure I can't tell why ; 
maybe the drop of drink I took got into my head. 
Well, I was just jogging on across the common, 
the rain beating hard in my face, and my clothes 
pasted to me with the wet ; notwithstanding, I 
was singing to myself a verse of an old song to 
lighten the road, when I heard suddenly a noise 
near me like a man sneezing. I stopped and lis- 
tened — in fact, it was impossible to see your hand, 
the night was so dark^but I could hear nothing; 
the thought then came over me, maybe it's some- 
thing ' not good,' for there were very ugly stories 
going about what the priests used to do formerly 
in these meadows ; and bones were often found 
in different parts of them. Just as I was think- 
ing this, another voice came nearer than the last. 
it might be only a sneeze, after all, but in real' 
earnest it was mighty like a groan. ' The Lord 
be about us,' I said to myself, ' what's this ? have- 



ye the pass ?' I cried out, ' Have ye the pass ? or 
what brings ye walking here, /'// nomine patii f for 
I was so confused whether it was a ' sperit' or not, 
I was going to address him in Latin — there's noth- 
ing equal to the dead languages to lay a ghost, 
everybody knows. Faiih, the moment I said these 
words, he gave another groan, deeper and more 
melancholy like than before. ' If it's uneasy ye 
are,' says I, 'for any neglect of your friends,' for 
I thought he might be in purgatory longer than he 
thought convenient, ' tell nie what you. wish, and 
go home peaceably out of the rain, for this Vi-eather 
can do no good to living or dead ; go. home,' said 
I, ' and if it's masses ye'd like, I'll give you a day's 
pay myself, rather than you should fret yourself 
this way.' The words were not well out of my 
mouth, when he came so near me that the sigh 
he gave went right through both my ears. ' The 
Lord be merciful to me,' said I, trembling. 
' Amen,' says he, in a husky voice. The moment 
he said that, my mind was relieved, for I knew it 
was not a sperit, and I began to laugh heartily at 
my mistake. ' And who are ye at all,' said I, 
' that's roving about at this hour of the night ? Ye 
can't be Father Luke, for I left him asleep on the 
carpet before I quitted the college, and faith, my 
friend, if you hadn't the taste for divarsion, ye 
would not be out now.' He coughed then so 
hard, that I could not makeout well what he said, 
but just perceived that he had lost his way on the 
common, and was a little disguised in liquor. ' It's 
a good man's case,' said I, 'to take a little too 
much, though it's what I don't ever do myself; 
so, take a hold of my hand, and I'll see you safe.' 
I stretched out my hand, and got him, not by the 
arm, as I hoped, but by the hair of the head, for 
he w-as all dripping with wet, and had. lost his hat. 
■ Well, you'll not be better of this night's e.xcur- 
sion,' thought I, ' if ye are liable to the rheuma- 
tism ; and now, whereabouts do you live, my 
friend ? for I'll see you safe before I leave you.' 
What he said then I never could clearly make 
out, for the wind and rain were both beating so 
hard against my face, that I could not hear a 
word ; however, I was able just to perceive that 
he was very much disguised in drink, and spoke 
rather thick. ' Well, nevermind,' said I, 'it's not 
a time of day for much conversation ; so, come 
along, and I'll see you safe to the guard-house, if 
you can't remember your own place of abode in 
the meanwhile. It was just at the moment I 
said this that I first discovered he was not a gen- 
tleman. Well, now, you'd never guess ho\v I did 
it ; and faith, I always thought it a very cute thing 
of me, and both of us in the dark." 

" Well, I really confess it must have been a very 
difficult thing, under the circumstances; pray how 
did you contrive ?" said the major. 

" Just guess how." 

" By the tone of his voice, perhaps, and his 
accent," said Curzon. 

" Devil a bit; for he spoke remarkably well, con- 
sidering how far gone he was in liquor." 

" Well, probably by the touch of his hand, no 
bad test." 

"No; you're wrong again, for it was by the 
hair I had a hold of him, for fear o^ falling, 
for. he was always stooping down. Well, you'd 



HARRY LORREQUER. 



never guess it; it was just by the touch of his 
foot." 

" His foot! Why, how did that give you any in- 
formation ?" 

" There it is now; that's just what only an Irish- 
man would ever have made anything out of; for 
while he was stumbling about he happened to 
tread upon my toes, and never since I was born 
did I feel anything like the weight of him. ' Well,' 
said I, 'the loss of your hat may give you a cold, 
my friend; but upon my conscience you are in 
no danger of wet feet with such a pair of strong 
brogues as you have on you.' Well, he laughed 
at that till I thought he'd split his sides, and, in 
good truth, I could not help joining in the fun, 
although my foot was smarting like mad, and so 
we jogged along through the rain, enjoying the 
joke just as if we were sitting by a good fire, with 
a jorum of punch between us. I am sure I can't 
tell you how often we fell that night, but my 
clothes the next morning were absolutely covered 
with mud, and my hat crushed in two; for he was 
so confoundedly drunk it was impossible to keep 
him up, and he always kept boring along with his 
head down, so that my heart was almost broke in 
keeping him upon his legs. I'm sure I never had 
a more fatiguing march in the whole Peninsula 
than that mile and a half; but every misfortune 
has an end at last, and it was four o'clock, striking 
by the college clock, as we reached the barracks. 
After knocking a couple of times, and giving the 
countersign, the sentry opened the small wicket, 
and my heart actually leaped with joy that I had 
done with my friend; so I just called out to the 
sergeant of the guard, and said, 'Will you put that 
poor fellow on the guard-bed till morning, for I 
found him on the common, and he could neither 
find his way home nor tell me where he lived. ' 
'And where is he ?' said the sergeant. 'He's 
outside the gate there,' said I, 'wet to the skin, 
and shaking as if he had the ague.' 'And is this 
him ?' said the sergeant, as we went outside. ' It 
is,' said I; 'maybe you know him ?' ' Maybe I've 
a guess,' said he, bursting into a fit of laughing, 
that I thought he'd choke with. ' Well, sergeant,' 
said I, 'I always took you for a humane man; but 
if that's the way you treat a fellow-creature in dis- 
tress — ' 'A fellow-creature,' said he, laughing 
louder than before. 'Ay, a fellow-creature,' 
said I — for the sergeant was an orangeman — 
' and if he differs from you in matters of re- 
ligion, sure he's your fellow-creature still.' 
think there's another trifling 
us,' said he. ' Damn your 
'never let them interfere 



Wasn't I right, major ? 



' Troth, doctor, I 

difference betune 

politics,' said I; 

with true humanity.' 

'Take good care of him, and here's half- 

a-crown for ye.' So, saying these words, I 

steered along by the barrack wall, and, after a 

little groping about, got up-stairs to my quarters, 

when, thanks to a naturally good constitution and 

regular habits of life, I soon fell fast asleep." 

When the doctor had said thus much, he pushed 
his chair slightly from the table, and taking off 
his wine, looked about him with the composure 
of a man who has brought his tale to a termina- 
tion. 

" Well, but, doctor," said the major, " you 



are surely not done. You have not yet told us 
who your interesting friend turned out to be." 

"1'hat's the very thing, then, I'm not able to 
do." 

" But, of course," said another, "your story does 
not end there." 

" And where the devil would you have it end ?" 
replied he. " Didn't I bring my hero home, and 
go asleep afterwards myself, and then, with virtue 
rewarded, how could I finish it better?" I 

" Oh, of course; but still you have not ac-| 
counted for a principal character in the narrative," \ 
said I. 

" Exactly so," said Curzon. "We were all ex- 
pecting some splendid catastrophe in the morn- 
ing; that your companion turned out to be the 
Duke of Leinster, at least — or perhaps a rebel 
general, with an immense price upon his head." 

" Neither the one nor the other," said Fin, 
drily. 

" And do you mean to say there never was any 
clue to the discovery of him ?" 

" The entire affair is wrapt in mystery to this 
hour," said he. 

" There was a joke about it, to be sure, among 
the officers ; but the North Cork never wanted 
something to laugh at." 

" And what was the joke ?" said several voices 
together. 

"Just a complaint from old Mickey Oulahan, 
the postmaster, to the colonel in the morning, 
that some of the officers took away his blind mare 
off the cominon, and that the letters were late in 
consequence." 

" And so, doctor," called out seven or eight, 
"your friend turned out to be " 

" Upon my conscience they said so, and that 
rascal, the sergeant, would take his oath of it ; 
but my own impression I'll never disclose to the 
hour of my death." 



CHAPTER XVI. 



THEATRICALS. 



Our stance at the mess that night was a late 
one, for after we had discussed some coopers of 
claret, there was a very general public feeling in 
favor of a broiled bone and some devilled kid- 
neys, followed by a very ample bowl of bishop, 
over which simple condiments we talked "green- 
room" till near the break of day. 

From having been so long away from the corps 
I had much to learn of their doings and inten- 
tions to do, and heard with nmch pleasure that 
they possessed an exceedingly handsome theatre, 
well stocked with scenery, dresses, and decora- 
tions ; that they were at the pinnacle of jjublic 
estimation, from what they had already accom- 
plished, and calculated on the result of my ap- 
]3earance to crown them with honor. I had, in- 
deed, very little choice left me in the matter ; for 
not only had they booked me for a particular 
part, but bills were already in circulation, and 
sundry little three-cornered notes enveloping 
them, were sent to the elite of the surrounding 







''•*„,, 



--o^^^i^ 



'"'eve 



■rvfu 



C.f»^9" 



.>•'••* 



,«^^ 



I* (jt'////ym///' ^/y/^/ 



/^^ 



3^/^/|^ 



^ '3<lS?^r 



HARRY LORREQUER. 



79 



country, setting forth that "on Friday evening the 
committee of the garrison theatricals, intending 
to perform a dress rehearsal of The Family Party, 

request the pleasure of Mr. and Mrs. 's 

company on the occasion. Mr. Lorrequer will 
undertake the part of Captain Beaugarde. Sup- 
per at twelve. An answer will oblige." 

The sight of one of these pleasant little epistles, 
of which the foregoing is a true copy, was pre- 
sented to me as a great favor that evenmg, it hav- 
ing been agreed upon that I was to know nothing 
of their high and mighty resolves till the following 
morning. It was to little purpose that I assured 
them all, collectively and individually, that of 
Captain Beaugarde I absolutely knew nothing — 
had never read the piece — nor even seen it per- 
formed. I felt, too, that my last appearance in 
character in a " Family Party" was anything but 
successful ; and I trembled lest, in the discussion 
of the subject, some confounded allusion to my 
adventure at Cheltenham might come out. 
Happily they seemed all ignorant of this ; and 
fearing to bring conversation in any way to the 
matter of my late travels, I fell in with their hu- 
mor, and agreed that if it were possible in the 
limited time allowed me to manage it — I had but 
four days — I should undertake the character. 
My concurrence failed to give the full satisfac- 
tion I expected, and they so habitually did what 
they pleased with me, that, like all men so dis- 
posed, I never got the credit for concession which 
a man more niggardly of his services may always 
command. 

" To be sure you will do it, Harry," said the 
major ; "why not? I could learn the thing my- 
self in a couple of hours, as for that." 

Now, be it known that the aforesaid major was 
so incorrigibly slow of study, and dull of compre- 
hension, that he had been successively degraded 
at our theatrical board from the delivering of a 
stage message to the office of check-taker. 

" He's so devilish good in the love scene," said 
the junior ensign, with the white eyebrows. "I 
say, Curzon, you'll be confoundedly jealous 
though, for he is to play with Fanny." 

" I rather think not," said Curzon, who was a 
little tipsy. 

"Oh, yes," said Frazer, " Hepton is right. 
Lorrequer has Fanny for his premiere; and, upon 
my soul, I should feel tempted to take the part 
myself upon the same terms ; though I verily 
believe I should forget I was acting, and make 
fierce love to her on the stage." 

" And who may la channante Fanny be ?" said 
I, with something of the air of the " Dey of A1-, 
giers" in my tone. 

" Let Curzon tell him," said several voices to- 
gether ; " he is the only man to do justice to such 
perfection." 

"Quiz away, my merry men," said Curzon; 
"all I know is, that you are a confoundedly en- 
vious set of fellows ; and if so lovely a girl had 
thrown her eyes on one amongst you " 

" Hip ! hip ! hurrah !" said old Fitzgerald, 
"Curzon is a gone man. He'll be off to the 
palace for a license some fine morning, or I know 
nothing of such matters." 

"Well, but," said I, "if matters are really as 



you all say, why does not Curzon take the part 
you destine for me ?" 

"We dare not trust him," said the major; 
" Lord bless you, when the call-boy would sing 
out for Captain Beaugarde in the second act, 
we'd find that he had levanted with our best 
slashed trousers, and a bird-of-paradise feather 
in his cap." 

" Well," thought I, " this is better at least than 
I anticipated, for if nothing else oflers, I shall 
have rare fun teasing my friend Charley," — for it 
was evident that he had been caught by the lady 
in question. 

" And so you'll stay with us ; give me your 
hand — you are a real trump." These words, 
which proceeded from a voice at the lower end of 
the table, were addressed to my friend Finucane. 

" ril stay with ye, upon my conscience," said 
Fin ; " ye have a most seductive way about ye, 
and a very superior taste in milk punch." 

"But, doctor," said I, "you must not be a 
drone in the hive ; what will ye do for us ? You 
should be a capital Sir Lucius O'Trigger, if we 
could get up The Rivals." 

" My forte is the drum — the big drum ; put 
me among what the Greeks call the 'mousikoi,' 
and ril astonish ye." 

It was at once agreed that Fin should follow 
the bent of his genius ; and after some arrange- 
ments for the rest of the party, we separated for 
the night, having previously toasted the " Fanny,'' 
to which Curzon attempted to reply, but sank, 
overpowered by punch and feelings, and looked 
unutterable things, without the power to frame a 
sentence. 

During the time which intervened between the 
dinner and the night appointed for our rehearsal, 
I had more business upon my hands than a Chan- 
cellor of the Exchequer the week of the budget 
being produced. The whole management of 
every department fell, as usual, to my share, and 
all those who, previously to my arrival, had con- 
tributed their quota of labor, did nothing what- 
ever now but lounge about the stage, or sit half 
the day in the orchestra, listening to some con- 
founded story of Finucane's, who contrived to 
have an everlasting mob of actors, scene-painters, 
fiddlers, and call-boys always about him, who, from 
their uproarious mirth, and repeated shouts of 
merriment, nearly drove me distracted, as I stood 
almost alone and unassisted in the whole manage- 
ment. Of la belle Fanny, all I learned was, that 
she was a professional actress of very considera- 
ble talent, and extremely pretty ; that Curzon had 
fallen desperately in love with her the only night 
she had appeared on the boards there ; and that, 
to avoid his absurd persecution of her, she had 
determined not to come into town until the morn- 
ing of the rehearsal, she being at that time on a 
visit to the house of a country gentleman in the 
neighborhood. Here was a new difficulty I had 
to contend with — to go through my part alone 
was out of the question to making it effective ; 
and I felt so worried and harassed, that I often 
fairly resolved on taking the wings of the mail, 
and flying away to the uttermost parts of the 
south of Ireland, till all was still and tranquil 
again. By degrees, however, I got matters into 



80 



HARRY LORREQUER. 



better train, and by getting over our rehearsal 
early before Fin appeared, as he usually slept 
somewhat later after his night at mess, I managed 
to have things in something like order ; he and 
his confounded drum, which, whenever he was 
not story-telling, he was sure to be practising on, 
being, in fact, the greatest difficulties opposed to 
my managerial functions. One property he pos- 
sessed, so totally at variance with all habits of 
order, that it completely baffled me. So numer- 
ous were his narratives, that no occasion could 
possibly arise, no chance expression be let fall 
on the stage, but Fin had something he deemed 
a prcpos, and which, sans fa^on, he at once re- 
lated for the benefit of all whom it might concern; 
that was usually the entire corps draniatiqiic, who 
eagerly turned from stage directions and group- 
ings, to laugh at his ridiculous jests. I shall give 
an instance of this habit of interruption, and let 
the unhappy wight who has filled such an office 
as mine pity my woes. 

I was standing one morning on the stage, drill- 
ing my corps as usual. One most refractory spirit, 
to whom but a few words were entrusted, and who 
bungled even those, I was endeavoring to train 
into something like his part. 

" Come, now, Elsmore, try it again — just so. 
Yes, come forward in this manner — take her hand 
tenderly — press it to your lips; retreat towards 
the flat, and then bowing deferentially — thus, say 
'Good-night, good-night;' that's very simple, eh ? 
Well, now, that's all you have to do, and that 
brings you over here; so you make your exit at 
once." 

"Exactly so, Mr. Elsmore; always contrive to 
be near the door under such circumstances. That 
was the way with my poor friend Curran. Poor 
Philpot, when he dined with the Guild of Mer- 
chant Tailors, they gave him a gold box, with 
their arms upon it — a goose proper, with needles 
saltier-wise, or something of that kind; and 
they made him free of their ' ancient and loyal 
corporation,' and gave him a very grand dinner. 
Well, Curran was mighty pleasant and agreeable, 
and kept them laughing all night, till the moment 
he rose go away, and then he told them that he 
never spent so happy an evening, and all that. 'But, 
gentlemen,' said he, ' business has its calls; I 
must tear myself away; so wishing you now' — 
there were just eighteen of them — 'wishing you 
now, every happiness and prosperity, permit me 
to take my leave'— and here he stole near the 
door — ' to take my leave, and bid you both good- 
night.' " With a running fire of such stories, it 
may be supposed how difficult was my task in 
getting anything done upon the stage. 

Well, at last the long-expected Friday arrived, 
iand I rose in the morning with all that peculiar 
tourbillon of spirits that a man feels when he is 
half pleased and whole frightened with the labor 
before him. I had scarcely accomplished dress- 
ing when a servant tapped at my door, and begged 
to know if I could spare a few moments to speak 
to Miss Ersler, who was in the drawing-room. I 
replied, of course, in the affirmative, and, rightly 
conjecturing that my fair friend must be the 
lovely Fanny already alluded to, followed the 
servant down-stairs. 



"Mr. Lorrequer," said the servant, and, closing 
the door behind me, left me in the sole possession 
of the lady. 

" Will you do me the favor to sit here, Mr. 
Lorrequer ?" said one of the sweetest voices in 
the world, as she made room for 'me on the sofa 
beside her. "I am particularly short-sighted; so 
pray sit near me, as I really cannot talk to any 
one I don't see." 

I blundered out some little platitude of a com- 
pliment to her eyes — the fullest and most lovely 
blue that ever man gazed into — at which she 
smiled as if pleased, and continued, "Now, Mr. 
Lorrequer, I have really been longing for your 
coming; for your friends of the 4 — th are doubt- 
less very dashing, spirited young gehtlemen, per- 
fectly versed in war's alarms; but pardon me if I 
say that a more wretched company of strolling 
wretches never graced a barn. "Now, come, don't 
be angry, but let me proceed. Like all amateur 
people, they have the happy knack, in distributing 
the characters, to put every man in his most un- 
suitable position; and then that poor dear thing, 
Curzon — I hope he's not a friend of yours-^by 
some dire fatality always plays the lovers' parts, 
ha! ha! ha! True, I assure you, so that if you 
had not been announced as coming this week, I 
should have left them and gone off to Bath." 

Here she rose and adjusted her brown ringlets 
at the glass, giving me ample time to admire one 
of the most perfect figures I ever beheld. She 
was most becomingly dressed, and betrayed afoot 
and ankle which for symmetry and " smallness" 
might have challenged the Rue Rivoli itself to 
match it. 

My first thought was poor Curzon; my second, 
happy and thrice fortunate Harry Lorrequer. 
'I'here was no time, however,- for indulgence in 
such very pardonable gratulation; so 1 at once 
\')roceeAeA pour /aire raiiiiable, to profess my utter 
inability to do justice to her undoubted talents, 
but slily added " that in the love-making part of 
the matter she should never be able to discover 
that I was not in earnest." We chatted then gaily 
for upwards an hour, until the arrival of 'her 
friend's carriage was announced, when tendering 
me most graciously her hand, she smiled benignly, 
and saying, ''^Aii rcvoir, t/onc," droxe off. 

As I stood upon the steps of the hotel, viewing 
her " out of the visible horizon," I was joined by 
Curzon, who evidently, from his self-satisfied air 
and jaunty gait, little knew how he stood in the 
fair Fanny's estimation. 

" Very pretty, very pretty, indeed, deeper, and 
deeper still," cried he, alluding to my most cour- 
teous salutation as the carriage rounded the cor- 
ner, and its lovely occupant kissed her hand once 
more. " I say, Harry, my friend, you don't think 
tliat was meant for you, 1 should hope ?" 

" What! the kiss of the hand.' Yes, faith, but 
I do." 

"Well, certainly that is good! why, man, she 
just saw me coming up that instant. She and I 
— we understand each other — never mind, don't 
be cross — no fault of yours, you know." 

" Ah, so she is taken with you,'" said I. " Eh, 
Charley ?" 

"Why, I believe that. I may cor.fess to yoi/ the 



HARRY LORREQUER, 



81 



real state of matters. She was devilishly struck 
with me the first time we rehearsed togetiier. We 
soon got up a little flirtation; but the other night, 
when I played Mirabel to her, it finished the 
affair. She was quite nervous, and could scarcely 
go through with her part. I saw it, and upon my 
soul I am sorry for it; she's a prodigiously fine 
girl — such lips and such teeth! Egad, I was de- 
lighted wlien you came ; for, you see, I was in a 
manner obliged to take one line of character, and 
I saw pretty plainly where it must end; and you 
know with you it's quite different; she'll laugh and 
chat, and all that sort of thing, but she'll not be 
carried away by her feelings; you understand me." 

"Oh, perfectly; it's quite different, as you ob- 
served." 

If 1 had not been supported internally during 
this short dialogue by the recently expressed 
opinion of the dear Fanny herself upon xw-j friend 
Curzon's merits, I think I should have been 
tempted to take the liberty of wringing his neck 
off. However, the affair was much better as it 
stood, as I had only to wait a little with proper 
patience, and I had no fears but that my friend 
Charley would become the hero of a very pretty 
episode for the mess. 

"So I suppose you must feel considerably bored 
by this kind of thing," I said, endeavoring to 
draw him out. 

" Why, I do," replied he, "and I do not. The 
girl is very pretty. The place is dull in the 
morning: and altogether it helps to fill up time." 

"Well," said I, "you are always fortunate, 
Curzon. You have ever your share of what 
floating luck the world affords." 

" It is not exactly all luck, my dear friend; for, 
as I shall explain to you — " 

"Not now," replied I, "for I have not yet 
breakfasted." So saying, I turned into the coffee- 
room, leaving the worthy adjutant to revel in his 
fancied conquests, and pity such unfortunates as 
myself. 

After an early dinner at the club liouse, I hastened 
down to the theatre, where numerous prepara- 
tions for the night were going forward. The 
green-room was devoted to the office of a supper- 
room, to which the audience had been invited. 
The dressing-rooms were many of them filled with 
the viands destined for the entertainment, where, 
among the wooden fowls and "impracticable" 
flagons, were to be seen very imposing pasties 
and flasks of champagne, littered together in most 
admirable disorder. The confusion naturally in- 
cidental to all private theatricals was tenfold in- 
creased by the circumstances of our projected 
supper. Cooks and scene shifters, fiddlers and 
waiters, were most inextricably mingled; and, as 
in all similar cases, the least important function- 
aries took the greatest airs upon them, and ap])ro- 
priated without hesitation whatever came to their 
hands — thus, the cook would not have scrupled to 
light a fire with the violoncella of the orches- 
tra; and I actually caught one of the "marmitons" 
making a " souffle" in a brass helmet I had once 
worn when astonishing the world as Coriolanus. 

Six o'clock struck. "In another short hour 
and we begin," thought I, with a sinking heart, as 
I looked upon the littered stage crowded with 



hosts of fellows that had nothing to do there. 
Figaro himself never wished for ubiquity more 
than I did, as I hastened from place to place, en- 
treating, cursing, begging, scolding, execrating, 
and imploring by turns. To mend the matter, 
the devils in the orchestra had begun to tune 
their instruments, and I had to bawl like a boat- 
swain of a man-of-war to be heard by the person 
beside me. 

As seven o'clock struck, I peeped through the 
small aperture in the curtain, and saw, to my sat- 
isfaction — mingled, I confess, with fear — that the 
house was nearly filled, the lower tier of boxes en- 
tirely so. There were a great many ladies hand- 
somely dressed, chatting gaily with their chaper- 
ons, and I recognized some of my acquaintances 
on every sidt-; in fact, there was scarcely a family 
of rank in the county that had not at least some 
member of it present. As the orchestra struck 
up the overture to Don Giovanni, I retired from 
my place to inspect the arrangements behind. 

Before the performance of The Family Fariy 
we were to have a little one-act piece, called A 
Day in Madrid, written by myself — the principal 
characters being expressly composed for " Miss 
Ersler and Mr. Lorrequer." 

The story of this trifle it is not necessary to al- 
lude to ; indeed, if it were, I should scarcely 
have patience to do so, so connected is my recol- 
lection of it with the distressing incident which 
followed. 

In the first scene of the piece, the curtain rising 
displays /a belle Fanny sitting at her embroidery 
in the midst of a beautiful garden, surrounded 
with statues, fountains, etc. ; at the back is seen 
a pavilion in the ancient Moorish style of arch- 
itecture, over which hang the branches of some 
large and shady trees — she comes forward, ex- 
pressing her impatience at the delay of her lover, 
whose absence she tortures herself to account for 
by a hundred different suppositions, and after a 
very sufficient expose of her feelings, and some 
little explanatory details of her private history, 
conveying a very clear intimation of her own 
amiability and her guardian's cruelty, she proceeds, 
after the fashion of other young ladies similarly 
situated, to give utterance to her feelings by a 
song ; after, therefore, a suitable prelude from 
the orchestra, for which, considering the impas- 
sioned state of her mind, she waits patiently, she 
comes forward and begins a melody, — 

" Oh, why is he far from the heart that adores him?" 

in which, for two verses, she proceeds with sun- 
dry sol feggi to account for the circumstances, 
and show her own disbelief of the explanation in 
a very satisfactory manner — meanwhile, for I 
must not expose my reader to an anxiety on my ac- 
count, similar to what the dear Fanny here labored 
under, I was making the necessary preparations 
for flying to her presence, and clasping her to my 
heart — that is to say, I had already gummed on a 
pair of mustachios, had corked and arched a 
ferocious pair of eyebrows, which, with my rouged 
cheeks, gave me a look half Whiskerando, half 
Grimaldi ; these operations were performed, from 
the stress of circumstances, sufficiently near the 



HARRY LORREQUER. 



object of my affections to afford me the pleasing 
satisfaction of hearing from her own sweet lips 
her solicitude about me — in a word, all the dress- 
ing-rooms but two being filled with hampers of pro- 
visions, glass, china, and crockery, and from abso- 
lute necessity, I had no other spot where I could 
attire myself unseen, except in the identical pa- 
vilion already alluded to. Here, however, I was 
quite secure, and had abundant time also, for I 
was not to appear till scene the second, when I 
was to come forward in full Spanish costume, 
" every inch a hidalgo." Meantime, Fanny had 
been singing — 

" Oh, why is he far," etc, etc. 

At the conclusion of the last verse, just as she 
repeats the words, " Why, why, why," in a very 
distracted and melting cadence, a voice behind 
startles her — she turns and beholds her guardian 
— so at least runs the course of events in the real 
drama — that it should follow thus now, however, 
Diis alitcr visum — for just as she came to the 
very moving apostrophe alluded to, and called 
out," Why comes he not ?"— a gruff voice from 
behind answered in a strong Cork brogue," Ah ! 
would ye have him come in a state of nature ?" 
At the instant a loud whistle ran through the 
house, and the pavilion scene slowly drew up, 
discovering me, Harry Lorrequer, seated on a 
small stool before a cracked looking-glass, my 
only habiliments, as I am an honest man, being 
a pair of long white silk stockings, and a very 
richly embroidered shirt with point-lace collar. 
The shouts of laughter are yet in my ears, the 
loud roar of inextinguishable mirth, which, after 
the first brief pause of astonishinent gave way, 
shook the entire building— my recollection may 
well have been confused at such a moment of 
unutterable shame and misery ; yet, I clearly re- 
member seeing Fanny, the sweet Fanny herself, 
fall into an armchair nearly suffocated with con- 
vulsions of laughter. I cannot go on ; what I 
did I know not. I suppose my exit was addition- 
ally ludicrous, for a x\&^ ^clat de rire followed me 
out. I rushed out of the theatre, and wrapping 
only my cloak round me, ran without stopping to 
the barracks. But I must cease ; these are woes 
too sacred for even " Confessions" like mine, so 
let me close the curtain of my room and my 
chapter together, and say adieu for a season. 



CHAPTER XVII. 



THE WAGER. 



It might have been about six weeks after the 
events detailed in my last chapter had occurred, 
that Curzon broke suddenly into my room one 
morning before I had risen, and throwing a pre- 
cautionary glance around, as if to assure himself 
that we were alone, seized my hand with a most 
unusual earnestness, and, steadfastly looking at 
me, said, — 

" Harry Lorrequer, will you stand by me ?" 
So sudden and unexpected was his appearance 
at the moment, that I really felt but half awake, 



and kept puzzling myself for an explanation of 
the soene, rather than thinking of a reply to his 
question ; perceiving which, and auguring but 
badly from my silence, he continued, — 

" Am I, then, really deceived in what I believe 
to be an old and tried friend ?" 

"Why, what the devil's tlie matter?" I cried 
out. " If you are in a scrape, why of course you 
know I'm your man ; but, still, it's only fair to 
let one know something of the matter in tiie mean- 
while." 

" In a scrape !" said he, with a long-drawn sigh, 
intended to beat the whole Minerva press in its 
romantic cadence. 

" Well, but get on a bit," said I, rather impati- 
ently ; "who is t'he fellow you've got the row 
with t Not one of ours, I trust ?" 

"Ah, my dear Hal," said he, in the same melt- 
ing tone as before, " how your imagination does 
run upon rows, and broils, and duelling ren- 
contres" (he, the speaker, be it known to the reader, 
was the fire-eater of the regiment), "as if life had 
nothing better to offer than the excitement of a 
challenge, or the mock heroism of a meeting." 

As he made a dead pause here, after which he 
showed no disposition to continue, I merely 
added, — 

" Well, at this rate of proceeding, we shall get 
at the matter in hand on our way out to Corfu, 
for I hear we are the next regiment for the Medi- 
terranean." 

The observation seemed to have some effect in 
rousing him from his lethargy, and he added, ^ — 

" If you only knew the nature of the attach- 
ment, and how completely all my future hopes 
are concerned upon the issue " 

"Ho!" said I, "so it's a money affair, is it? 
and is it old Watson has issued the writ ? I'll bet 
a hundred on it." 

" Well, upon my soul, Lorrequer," said he, 
jumping from his chair, and speaking with more 
energy than he had before evinced, " you are, 
without exception, the most worldly-minded, cold- 
blooded fellow I ever met. What have I said 
that could have led you to suppose I had either 
a duel or a law-suit upon my hands this morning ? 
Learn, once and for all, man, that I am in love — 
desperately and over head and ears in love." 

"£poi?" said I, coolly. 

" And intend to marry immediately." 

" Oh, very well," said I ; " the fighting and debt 
will come later, that's all. But to return — now for 
the lady." 

" Come, you must mal:e a guess." 

" Why, then, I must really confess my utter 
inability ; for your attentions have been so gener- 
ally and impartially distributed since our arrival 
here, that it may be any fair one, from your ven- 
erable partner at whist last evening, to Mrs. Hen- 
derson, the pastrycook, inclusive, for whose ma- 
caroni and cherry-brandy your feelings have been 
as warm as they are constant."' 

"Come, no more quizzing, Hal. You surely 
must have remarked that lovely girl I waltzed 
with at Power's ball on Tuesday last." 

" Lovely girl ! Why, in all seriousness, you 
don't mean the small woman with the tow wig?" 

" No, 1 do not mean any such thing — but a 



HARRY LORREQUER. 



83 



beautiful creature, with the brightest locks in 
Christendom — the very light-brown waving ring- 
lets Domenichmo loved to paint, and a foot — did 
you see her foot ?" 

" No ; that was rather difficult, for she kept 
continually bobbing up and down, like a boy's 
cork-float in a fishpond." 

" Stop there. I shall not permit this any longer 
— I came not here to listen to " 

"But, Curzon, my boy, you're not angry?" 

"Yes, sir, I am angry." 

"Why, surely, you have not been serious all 
this time ?" 

"And why not, pray?" 

"Oh ! I don't exactly know — that is. faith, I 
scarcely thought you were in earnest, for if I did 
of course I should honestly have confessed to you 
that the lady in question struck me as one of the 
handsomest persons I ever met." 

" You think so really, Hal ?" 

" Certainly I do, and the opinion is not mine 
alone ; she is, in fact, universally admired." 

" Come, Harry, excuse my bad temper. I 
ought to have known you better — give me your 
hand, old boy, and wish me joy, for with your 
aiding and abetting she is mine to-morrow 
morning." 

I wrung his hand heartily — congratulating my- 
self, meanwhile, how happily I had got out of my 
scrape ; as I now, for the first time, perceived that 
Curzon was actually in earnest. 

"So you will stand by me, Hal?" said he. 

" Of course. Only show me how, and I'm per- 
fectly at your service. Anything from riding 
postilion on the leaders, to officiatmg as brides- 
maid, and I am your man. And if you are in 
want of such a functionary, I shall stand /// loco 
parentis to the lady, and give her away with as 
much onction and tenderness as though I had as 
many marriageable daughters as King Priam him- 
self. It is with me, in marriage as in duelling — I'll be 
anything rather than a principal ; and I have long 
since disapproved of either method as a means 
of 'obtaining satisfaction.'" 

"Ah, Harry, I shall not be discouraged by 
your sneers. You've been rather unlucky, I'm 
aware ; but now to return. Your office, on this 
occasion, is an exceedingly simple one, and yet 
that which I could onlv confide to one as much 
my friend as yourself. You must carry my dearest 
Louisa off." 

" Carry her off ! Where ? — when ? — how ?" 

" All that I have already arranged, as you shall 
hear." 

"Yes. But first of all please to explain why, 
if going to run away with the lady, you don't 
accompany her yourself." 

"Ah! I knew you would say that: I could 
have laid a wager you'd ask that question, for it 
is just that very explanation will show all the 
native delicacy and feminine propriety of my 
darling Loo ; and first, I must tell you, that old 
Sir Alfred Jonson, her father, has some con- 
founded prejudice against the army, and never 
would consent to her marriage with a red-coat ; so 
that, his consent being out of the question, our 
only resource is an elopement. Louisa consents to 
this, but only upon one condition, and this she 



insists upon so firmly — I had almost said ob- 
stinately — that, notwithstanding all my arguments 
and representations, and even entreaties against 
it, she remains inflexible ; so that I have at 
length yielded, and she is to have her own way." 

"Well, and what is the condition she lays such 
stress upon ?" 

"Simply this, that we are never to travel a 
mile together until I obtain my right to do so by 
making her my viiife. She has got some trumpery 
notions in her head that any slight transgression 
over the bounds of delicacy made by women before 
marriage is ever after remtnibered by the hus- 
band to their disadvantage, and she is therefore 
resolved not to sacrifice her principle even at such 
a crisis as the present." 

"All very proper, I have no doubt ; but still, 
pray explain what I confess appears somewhat 
strange to me at present. How does so very 
delicately-minded a person reconcile herself to 
travelling with a perfect stranger under such 
circumstances?" 

" That I can explain perfectly to you. You 
must know that when my darling Loo consented 
to take this step, which I induced her to do with 
the greatest difficulty, she made the proviso I 
have just mentioned ; I at once showed her that 
I had no maiden aunt or married sister to confide 
her to at such a moment, and what was to be 
done? She immediately replied, 'Have you no 
elderly brother officer, whose years and discretion 
will put the transaction in such in a light as to 
silence the slanderous tongues of the world, for 
with such a man I am quite ready and willing to 
trust myself. ' You see I was hard pushed there. 
What could I do ? — whom could I select? Old 
Hayes, the paymaster, is always tipsy : Jones is 
five-and-forty — but still, if he found out there 
was thirty thousand pounds in the case, egad ! 
I'm not so sure I'd have found my betrothed at the 
end of the stage. You were my only hope ; I 
knew I could rely upon you. You would carry 
on the whole affair vv'ith tact and discretion ; and 
as to age, your stage expeiience would enable 
you, with a little assistance from costume, to pass 
muster ; besides that, I have always represented 
you as the very Methusalah of the corps ; and in 
the grey dawn of an autumnal morning- — with 
maiden bashfulness assisting — the scrutiny is not 
likely to be a close one. So now, your consent is 
alone wanting to complete the arrangements 
which, before this time to-morrow, shall have 
made me the happiest of mortals." 

Having expressed, in fitting terms, my full 
sense of obligation for the delicate flattery with 
which he pictured me as "Old Lorrequer" to the 
lady, I begged a more detailed account of his 
plan, which I shall shorten for my reader's sake, 
by the following brief expos^. 

A post-chaise and four was to be in waiting at 
five o'clock in the morning to convey me to Sir 
Alfred's Jonson's residence, about twelve miles 
distant. There I was to be met by a lady at the 
gate-lodge, who was subsequently to accompany 
me to a small village on the Nore, where an old 
college friend of Curzon's happened to reside 
as parson, and by whom the treaty was to be 
concluded. 



84 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



This was all simple and clear enough — the 
only condition necessary to secure success being 
punctuality^ particularly on the lady's part. As to 
mine, I readily promised my best aid and warmest 
efforts in my friend's behalf. 

"There is only one thing more," said Curzon. 
" Louisa's younger brother is a devilisji hot- 
headed, wild sort of a fellow ; and it would be as 
well, just for precaution's sake, to have your pis- 
tols along with you, if, by any chance, he should 
make out what was going forward — not but that vou 
know if anything serious was to take place, I should 
be the person to take all that upon my hands." 

" Oh ! of course — I understand," said I. Mean- 
while I could not help running over in my mind the 
pleasant possibilities such an adventure presented, 
heartily wishing that Curzon had been content to 
marry by banns, or any other of the legitimate 
modes in use without risking his friend's bones. 
'I'he other pros and cons of the matter, with full 
and accurate directions as to tlie road to be taken 
on obtaining possession of the lady, being all ar- 
ranged, we parted, I to settle my costume and ap- 
pearance for my first performance in an old man's 
part, and Curzon to obtain a short leave for a few 
days from the commanding officer of the regiment. 

When we again met, which was at the mess- 
table, it was not without evidence on either side 
of that peculiar consciousness which persons feel 
who have, or think they have, some secret in 
common, which the world wots not of. Curzon's 
unusually quick and excited manner would at 
once have struck any close observer as indicating 
the eve of some important steji, no less than con- 
tinual allusions to whatever was going on, by sly 
and equivocal jokes and ambiguous jests. Happily, 
however, on the present occasion, the party were 
otherwise occupied than watching him — being 
most profoundly and learnedly engaged in dis- 
cussing medicine and matters medical with all 
the acute and accurate knowledge which char- 
acterizes such discussions among the nonmedical 
public. 

The present conversation originated from some 
mention our senior surgeon, Fitzgerald, had just 
made of a consultation which he was invited to 
attend on the next morning, at the distance of 
twenty miles, and which necessitated him to start 
at a most uncomfortably early hour. While he 
continued to deplore the hard fate of such men 
as himself, so eagerly sought after by the world, 
that their own hours were eternally broken in upon 
by external claims, the juniors were not sparing 
of their mirth on the occasion, at the expense of 
the worthy doctor, who, in plain truth, had never 
been disturbed by a request like the present 
within any one's memory. Some asserted that 
the whole thing was a puff, got up by Fitz him- 
self, who was only going to have a day's par- 
tridge-shooting; others hinting that it was a blind 
to escape the vigilance of Mrs. Fitzgerald — a 
well-known virago in the regiment — while Fitz 
enjoyed himself; and a third party, pretend- 
ing to sympathize with the doctor, suggested that 
a hundred pounds would be the least he could pos- 
sibly be offered for such services as his on so 
great an occasion. 

" No, no, only fifty," said Fitz, gravely. 



"Fifty? Why, you tremendous old humbug, 
you don't mean to say you'll make fifty pounds 
before we are out of our beds in the morning?" 
cried one. 

" ril take your bet on it," said the doctor, who 
had in this instance reason to suppose his fee 
would be a large one. 

During this discussion, the claret had been 
pushed round rather freely; and fully bent as I 
was upon the adventure before me, I had taken my 
share of it as a preparation. I thought of the amaz- 
ing prize I was about to be instrumental in securing 
for my friend — for the lady had really thirty 
thousand pounds — and I could not conceal my 
triumph at such a prospect of success in com- 
parison with the meaner object of ambition. 
They all seemed to envy poor Fitzgerald. I 
struggled with my secret for some time, but my 
pride and the claret together got the better of 
me, and I called out, "Fifty pounds on it, then, 
that before ten to-morrow morning, I'll make a 
better hit of it than you, and the mess shall de- 
cide between us afterwards as to the winner." 

"And if you will," said I, seeing some re- 
luctance on Fitz's part to take the wager, and get- 
ting emboldened in consequence, " let the judg- 
ment be pronounced over a couple of dozen of 
champagne, paid by the loser." 

This was a coup d' e'tat on my part, for I knew 
at once there were so many parties to benefit by 
the bet, terminate which wa.y it might, there could 
be no possibility of evading it. My device suc- 
ceeded, and poor Fitzgerald, fairly badgered' into 
a wager, the terms of which he could not in the 
least comprehend, was obliged to sign the condi- 
tions inserted in the adjutant's note-book, his 
greatest hope in so doing being in the quantity of 
wine he had seen me drink during the evening. 
As for myself, the bet was no sooner made than I 
began to think upon the very little chance I had 
of winning it ; for even supposing my success 
perfect in the department allotted to me, it might 
with great reason be doubted what peculiar bene- 
fit I myself derived as a counterbalance to the fee 
of the doctor. For this, my only trust lay in the 
justice of a decision which I conjectured would 
lean more towards the goodness of a practical 
joke than the equity of the transaction. The 
party at mess soon after separated, and I wished 
my friend good-night for the last time before meet- 
ing him as a bridegroom. 

I arranged everything in order for my start. 
My pistol-case I placed conspicuously before me, 
to avoid being forgotten in the haste of departure ; 
and, having ordered my servant to sit up all night 
iu the guard-room until he heard the carriage at 
the barrack-gate, threw myself on my bed, but 
not to sleep. The adventure I was about to en- 
gage in suggested to my mind a thousand associa- 
tions, into which many of the scenes I have already 
narrated entered. I thought how frequently I had 
myself been on the verge of that state which 
Curzon was about to try, and how it always hap- 
])ened that when nearest to success failure had 
intervened. From my very schoolboy days, my 
love adventures had the same unfortunate abrupt- 
ness in their issue ; and there seemed to be some- 
thing very like fatality in the invariable unsuccess 



HARRY LORREQUER. 



85 



of my efforts at marriage. I feared, too, that my 
friend Curzon had placed himself in very unfor- 
tunate hands, if augury were to be relied upon. 
" Something will surely hap[)en," thought I, " from 
my confounded ill luck, and all will be blown up." 
Wearied at last with thinking, I fell into a sound 
sleep for about three-quarters of an hour, at the 
end of which I was awoke by my servant inform- 
ing me that a chaise and four was drawn up at 
the end of the barrack lane. 

"Why, surely, they are too early, Stubbes ? It's 
only four o'clock." 

" Yes, sir ; but they say that the road for eight 
miles is very bad, and they must go it almost at 
a walk." 

" That is certainly pleasant," thought I, " but 
I'm in for it now, so can't help it." 

In a few minutes I was up and dressed, and so 
perfectly transformed by the addition of a brown 
scratch-wig and large green spectacles, and adee|3- 
flapped waist-coat, that my servant, on re-enter- 
ing my room, could not recognize me. I followed 
him now across the barrack-yard, as with my pis- 
tol-case under one arm, and a lantern in his hand, 
he proceeded to the barrack-gate. 

As I passed beneath the adjutant's window, I 
saw a light — the sash was quickly thrown open, 
and Curzon appeared. 

"Is that you, Harry?" 

" Yes ; when do you start ?" 

"In about two hours. I've only eight miles to 
go ; you have upwards of twelve, and no time to 
lose. Success attend you, my boy ! we'll meet 
soon. 

" Here's the carriage, sir ; this way." 

" Well, my lads, you know the road, I sup- 
pose ?" 

"Every inch of it, your honor's glory ; we're 
always coming in for doctors and 'pothecaries ; 
they're never a week without them." 

I was soon seated, the door clapped to, and the 
words " all right" given, and avvay we went. 

Little as I had slept during the night, my mind 
was too much occupied with the adventure I was 
engaged in to permit any thoughts of sleep now, 
so that I had abundant opportunity afforded me 
of pondering over all the bearings of the case 
with much more of deliberation and caution tlian 
I had yet bestowed upon it. One thing was cer- 
tain, whether success did or did not attend our un- 
dertaking, the risk was mine and mine only ; and 
if by any accident the affair should be already 
known to the family, I stood a very fair chance 
of being shot by one of the sons, or stoned to 
death by the tenantry; while my e.\i:ellent friend 
Curzon sliould be eating his breakfast with his 
reverend friend, and only interrupting himself in 
his fourth muffin to wonder "what could keep 
them ;" and besides, for minor miseries will, like 
the blue devils in Don Giovcinni, thrust u]) their 
heads among their better-grown brethren, my fifty- 
pound bet looked rather blue ; for even under the 
most favorable light considered, however Curzon 
might be esteemed a gainer, it might well be 
doubted how far I had succeeded better than the 
doctor, when producing his fee in evidence. 
Well, well, I'm in for it now ; but it certainly 
is strange all these very awkward circumstances 



never struck me so forcibly before ; and after 
all, it was not quite fair of Curzon to put 
any man forward in such a transaction ; the 
more so, as such a representation might be made 
of it at the House Guards as to stop a man's 
promotion, or seriously affect his prospects for 
life ; and I at last began to convince myself that 
many a man so placed would carry the lady off 
himself, and leave the adjutant to settle the affair 
with the family. For two mortal hours did I con- 
jure up every possible disagreeable contingency 
that might arise. My being mulct of my fifty, 
and laughed at by the mess, seemed inevit; b'e, 
even were I fortunate enough to escape a auel 
with the fire-eating brother. Meanwhile a thick, 
misty rain continued to fall, adding so much to 
the darkness of the early hour, that I could see 
little of the country about me, and knew nothing 
of where I was. 

Troubles are like laudanum, a small dose only 
e.\cites, a strong one sets you to sleep — not a very 
comfortable sleep, mayhap — but still it is sleep, 
and often very sound sleep ; so it now happened 
with me. I had pondered over, weighed, and con- 
sidered all the pros, cons, turnings, and windings 
of this awkward predicament, till I had fairly con- 
vinced myself that I was on the high road to a 
confounded scrape ; and then, having established 
that fact to my entire satisfaction, I fell comfort- 
ably back in the chaise, and sank into a most pro- 
found slumber. 

If to any of my readers I may appear here to 
have taken a very despondent view of this whole 
affair, let him only call to mind my invariable ill 
luck in such matters, and how always it had been 
my lot to see myself on the fair road to success 
only up to that point at which it is certain ; be- 
sides But why explain ? These are my "Con- 
fessions." I may not alter what are matters of 
fact, and my reader must only take me with all 
the imperfections of wrong motives and headlong 
impulses upon my head, or abandon me at once. 

Meanwhile the chaise rolled along, and the 
road being better and the pace faster, my sleej) 
became more easy ; thus, about an hour and a 
half after I had fallen asleep passed rajudly over, 
when the sharp turning of an angle disturbed me 
from my leaning position, and I awoke. I started 
up and rubbed my eyes ; several seconds elapsed 
before I could think where I was or whither 
going. Consciousness at last came, and I per- 
ceived that we were driving up a thickly-planted 
avenue. Why, confound it, they can't have mis- 
taken it, thought I, or are we really going up to 
the house, instead of waiting at the lodge? I at 
once lowered the sash, and stretching out my head 
cried out, " Do you know what ye are about, lads; 
is this all right ?" but unfortunately, amid tlie 
rattling of the gravel and the clatter of the horses, 
my words were unheard; and thinking I was ad- 
dressing a request to go faster, the villains cracked 
their whips, and breaking into a full gallop, before 
five minutes flew over, they drew \\\i with a jerk 
at the foot of a long portico to a large and spa- 
cious cut stone mansion. When I rallied from the 
sudden check, which had nearly thrown me 
through the window, I gave myself up for lost ; 
here I was, vis-ci-vis the very hall-door of the 



86 



HARRY LORREQUER. 



man whose daughter I was about to elope with ; 
whether so phaced by the awkwardness and 
blundering of the wretches who drove me, or 
delivered up by their treachery, it mattered not, 
my fate seemed certain ; before I had time to de- 
termine upon any line of acting in this confounded 
dilemma, the door was jerked open by a servant 
in sombre livery, who, protruding his head and 
shoulders into the chaise, looked at me steadily 
for a moment, and said, "Ah ! then, doctor, 
darlin', but ye're welcome." With the speed with 
which sometimes the bar of an air long since 
heard, or the passing glance of an old familiar 
face can call up the memory of our very earliest 
childhood, bright and vivid before us, did that 
one single phrase explain the entire mystery of 
my present position, and I saw in one rapid glance 
that I had got into the chaise intended for Dr. 
Fitzgerald, and was absolutely, at that moment, 
before the hall-door of the patient. My first im- 
pulse was an honest one to avow the mistake and 
retrace my steps, taking my chance to settle with 
Curzon, whose matrimonial scheme I foresaw was 
doomed to the untimely fate of all those I had 
ever been concerned in. My next thought— how 
seldom is tlie adage true which says " that second 
thoughts are best" — was upon my luckless wager : 
for even supposing that P'itzgerald should follow 
me in the other cliaise, yet, as I had the start of 
him, if I could only pass muster for half an hour, 1 
might secure the fee, and evacuate the territory ; 
besides that, there was a great chance of Fitz's 
having gone on ;«v errand, while I was journeying 
on //«, in which case I should be safe from inter- 
ruption. Meanwhile only heaven could tell what his 
interference in poor Curzon's business might not 
involve. These serious reflections took about ten 
seconds to pass through my mind, as the grave- 
looking old servant proceeded to encumber him- 
self with my cloak and pistol case, remarking as he 
lifted the latter, " And may the Lord grant ye 
won't want the instruments this time, doctor, for 
they say he is better this morning." Heartily 
M'ishing amen to the benevolent prayer of the 
honest domestic, for more reasons than one, I de- 
scended leisurely, as I conjectured a doctor ought 
to do, from the chaise, and with a solemn pace 
and grave demeanor followed him into the house. 

In the small parlor to which I was ushered sat 
two gentlemen somewhat advanced in years, who 
I rightly supposed were my medical confrlres. 
One of these was a tall, pale, ascetic-looking man, 
with grey hair and retreating forehead, slow in 
speech, and lugubrious in demeanor. The other, his 
antithesis, was a short, rosy-cheeked, apoplectic- 
looking subject, with a laugh like a suffocating 
wheeze, and a paunch like an alderman ; his quick 
restless eye and full nether lip denoting more of 
the hon vivant than the abstemious discinle of 
yEsculapius. A moment's glance satisfied me, 
that if 1 had only these to deal with, I was safe, for 
I saw that they were of that stamp of country 
practitioner, half-physician, half-apothecary, who 
rarely come in contact with the higher orders of 
their art, and then only to be dictated to, obey, and 
grumble. 

" Doctor, may I beg to intrude myself, Mr. 
Phipps, on your notice ? Dr. Phipps or Mr., it's 



all one ; but I have only a license in pharmacy, 
though they call me doctor. Surgeon Riley, sir, 
a very respectable practitioner," said he, waving 
his hand towards his rubicund confrere. 

I at once expressed the great happiness it af- 
forded me to meet such highly informed and justly 
celebrated gentlemen ; and fearing every moment 
the arrival of the real Simon Pure should cover 
me with shame and disgrace, begged they would 
afford me, as soon as possible, some history of the 
case we were convened for. They accordingly 
proceeded to expound, in a species of duet, some 
curious particulars of an old gentleman who had 
the evil fortune to have them for his doctors, and 
who labored under some swelling of the neck, 
which they differed as to the treatment of, and in 
consequence of which the aid of a third party 
(myself. Heaven bless the mark !j was requested. 

As I could by no means divest myself of the 
fear of Fitz's arrival, I pleaded the multiplicity of 
my professional engagements as a reason for at 
once seeing the patient ; upon which I was con- 
ducted upstairs by my two brethren, and intro- 
duced to a half lighted chamber. In a large easy- 
chair sat a florid-looking old man, with a face in 
which pain and habitual ill-temper had combined 
to absorb every expression. 

" This is the doctor of the regiment, sir, that 
you desired to see," said my tall coadjutor. 

"Oh! then, very well; good-morning, sir. I 
suppose you will find out something new the mat- 
ter, for them two there have been doing so every 
day this two months." 

" I trust, sir," I replied stiffly, " that with the as- 
sistance of my learned friends much may be done 
for you. Ha ! hem ! so this is the malady. Turn 
your head a little to that side." Here an awful 
groan escaped the sick man, for I, it appears, had 
made considerable impression upon rather a deli- 
cate part, not unintentionally, I must confess ; for 
as I remembered Hoyle's maxim at whist, "when 
in doubt play a trump," so I thought it might be 
true in physic, when posed by a difficulty, to do 
a bold thing also. "Does that hurt you, sir?" 
said I, in a soothing and affectionate tone of 
voice. 

" Like the devil," growled the patient. 

"And here?" said I. 

"Oh ! oh ! I can't bear it any longer." 

" Oh ! I perceive," said I, " the thing is just as 
I expected." Here I raised my eyebrows, and 
looked indescribably wise at my cptifreres. 

" No aneurism, doctor?" said the tall one. 

" Certamly not." 

"Maybe," said the short man — "maybe it's a 
stay-at-liome-with-us tumor after all," — so at least 
he appeared to pronounce a confounded techni- 
cal, which I afterwards learned was " steatomat- 
ous." Conceiving that my rosy friend was dis- 
posed to jeer at me, I gave him a terrific frown 
and resumed, " This must not be touched." 

"So you won't operate upon it," said the pa- 
tient. 

" I would not take a thousand pounds to do 
so," I replied. " Now, if you please, gentlemen," 
said I, making a step toward the door, as if to 
withdraw for consultation ; upon which they 
accompanied me down-stairs to the breakfast- 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



87 



room. As it was the only time in my life I had 
performed in this character, I had some doubts as 
to the propriety of indulging a very hearty break- 
fast appetite, not knowing if it were unprofes- 
sional to eat ; but from this doubt my learned 
friends speedily relieved me, by the entire devo- 
tion which they bestowed for about twenty min- 
utes upon ham, rolls, eggs, and cutlets, barely in- 
terrupting these important occupations by sly 
allusions to the old gentleman's malady, and his 
chance of recovery. 

"Well, doctor," said the pale one, as at length 
he rested from his labors, " what are we to do ?" 

"Ay," said the other, "there's the question." 

"Go on," said I, " go on as before ; I can't ad- 
vise you better." Now, this was a deep stroke of 
mine ; for up to the present moment I did not 
know what treatment they were practising ; but 
it looked a shrewd thing to guess it, and it cer- 
tainly was civil to approve of it. 

"So you think that will be best?" 

" I am certain that I know nothing better," I 
answered. 

" Well, I'm sure, sir, we have every reason to 
be gratified for the very candid manner in which 
you have treated us. Sir, I'm your most obedi- 
ent servant," said the fat one. 

"Gentlemen, both your good healths and pro- 
fessional success also." Here I swallowed a glass 
of brandy, thinking all the while there were worse 
things than the practice of physic. 

" I hope you are not goiug ?" said one, as my 
chaise drew up at the door. 

" Business calls me," said I, " and I can't help 
it." 

" Could not you manage to see our friend here 
again, in a day or two ?" said the rosy one. 

"I fear it will be impossible," replied I ; " be- 
sides, 1 have a notion he may not desire it." 

" I have been commissioned to hand you this," 
said the tall doctor, with a half sigh, as he put 
a cheque into my hand. 

I bowed slightly, and stuffed the crumpled 
paper with a half careless air into my waistcoat 
pocket, and wishing them both every species of 
happiness and success, shook hands four times 
with eacli, and drove off, never believing myself 
safe till I saw the gate-lodge behind me, and felt 
myself flying on the road to Kilkenny at about 
twelve miles Irish an hour. 



CHAPTER XVIII. 



THE ELOPEMENT. 



It was past two o'clock when I reached the 
town. On entering the barrack-yard, I perceived 
a large group of officers chatting together, and 
every moment breaking into immoderate fits of 
laughter. I went over and immediately learned 
the source of their mirth, which was this. No 
sooner had it been known that Fitzgerald was 
about to go a distance, on a professional call, 
than a couple of young officers laid their heads 
together, and wrote an anonymous note to Mrs. 
Fitz, who was the very dragon of jealousy, inform- 



ing her that her husband had feigned the whole 
history of the patient and consultation as an ex- 
cuse for absenting himself on an excursion of gal- 
lantry; and that if she wished to satisfy herself of 
the truth of the statement she had only to follow 
him in the morning, and detect his entire scheme; 
the object of these amiable friends being to give 
poor Mrs. Fitz a twenty miles' jaunt, and confront 
her with her injured husband at the end of it. 

Having a mind actively alive to suspicions 
of this nature, the worthy woman made all her 
arrangements for a start, and scarcely was the 
chaise and four, with her husband, out of the 
town, than she was on the track of it, with a 
heart bursting with jealousy, and vowing ven- 
geance to the knife against all concerned in this 
scheme to wrong her. 

So far the plan of her persecutors had perfectly 
succeeded; they saw her depart, on a trip of, as they 
supposed twenty miles, and their whole notions of 
the practical joke were limited to the eclaircisse- 
mcnt that must ensue at the end. Little, how- 
ever, were they aware how mnch more near the 
suspected crime was the position of the poor doctor 
to turn out; for as, by one blunder, I had takere 
his chaise, so he, without any inquiry whatever,, 
had got into the one intended for me; and never 
awoke from a most refreshing slumber till shaken 
by the shoulder by the postilion, who whispered 
in his ear, " Here we are, sir; this is the gate." 

" But why stop at the gate.' Drive up the avenue^ 
my boy." 

" His honor told me, sir, not for the world toga- 
farther than the lodge; nor to make as much noise 
as a mouse." 

" Ah ! very true. He may be very irritable, poor 
man! Well, stop here, and I'll get out." 

Just as the doctor had reached the ground, a 
very smart-looking soubrette tripped up, and said 
to him, — 

" Beg pardon, sir; but you are the gentleman 
from the barrack, sir?" 

" Yes, my dear," said Fitz, with a knowing look 
at the pretty face of the damsel, " what can I do< 
for you ?" 

"Why, sir, my mistress is here in the shrubbery r 
but she is so nervous, and so frightened, I don't 
know how she'll go through it !" 

"Ah! she's frightened, poor thing, is she? Oh! 
she must keep up her spirits; while there's life 
there's hope." 

"Sir?" 

" I say, my darling, she must not give way. I'll' 
speak to her a little. Is not he rather advanced, 
in life ?" 

" Oh, Lord ! no, sir. Only two-and-thirty, my 
mistress tells me." 

" Two-and-thirty ! Why, I thought he was- 
above sixty." 

"Above sixty ! Law! sir. You have a bright 
fancy. This is the gentleman, ma'am. Now, sir, 
I'll just slip aside for a moment, and let you talk 
to her." 

" I am grieved, ma'am, that I have not the hap- 
piness to make your acquaintance under happier 
circumstances." 

" I must confess, sir — though I am ashamed — " 

" Never be ^shamed, ma'am; your grief, al- 



88 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



though 1 trust causeless, does you infinite honor. 
Upon my soul, she is rather pretty," said the doctor 
to himself here. 

" Well, sir ! as I have the most perfect confidence 
in you, from all I have heard of you, I trust you 
will not think me abrupt in saying that any longer 
delay here is dangerous." 

" Dangerous ! Is he in so critical a state as 
that, then ?" 

" Critical a state, sir! Why, what do you mean ?" 

" I mean, ma'am, do you think that it must be 
done to-day ?" 

" Of course I do, sir, and I shall never leave 
the spot without your assuring me of it." 

"Oh! in that case make your mind easy. I 
have the instruments in the chaise." 

"The instruments in the chaise! Really, sir, if 
you are not jesting — I trust you don't think this 
is a fitting time for such — I entreat you to speak 
more plainly and intelligibly." 

"Jesting, ma'am! I'm incapable of jesting at 
such a moment." 

"Ma'am, ma'am! I see one of the rangers, 
ma'am, at a distance; so don't lose a moment, but 
get into the chaise at once." 

"Well, sir, let us away; for I have now gone too 
far to retract." 

" Help my mistress into the chaise, sir. Lord! 
■what a man it is." 

A moment more saw the poor doctor seated be- 
side the young lady, wliile the postilions plied 
whip and spur with their best energy; and the 
road flew beneath them. Meanwhile the delay 
caused by this short dialogue enabled Mrs. Fitz's 
slower conveyance to come up with the pursuit, 
and her chaise had just turned the angle of the 
road as she caught^a glimpse of a muslin dress 
stepping into the carriage with her husband. 

"There are no words capable of conveying the 
faintest idea of the feelings that agitated Mrs. Fitz 
at this moment. The fullest confirmation to her 
worst fears was before her eyes — just at the very 
instant when a doubt was beginning to cross over 
her mind that it might have been merely a hoax 
that was practised on her, and that the worthy 
doctor was innocent and blameless. As for the 
poor doctor himself, there seemed little chance of 
his being enlightened as to the real state of matters; 
for from the moment the young lady had taken her 
place in the chaise, she had buried her face in her 
hands, and sobbed continually. Meanwhile he 
concluded that they were approaching the house 
by some back entrance to avoid noise and con- 
fusion, and waited with due patience for the 
journey's end. 

As, however, her grief continued unabated, Fitz 
at length began to think of the many little consola- 
tory acts he had successfully practised in his pro- 
fessional career, and was just insinuating some very 
tender speech on the score of resignation, with his 
head inclined towards the weeping lady beside him, 
when the chaise of Mrs. Fitz came up alongside, 
and the postilions having yielded to the call to 
halt, drew suddenly up, displaying to the enraged 
wife the tableau we have mentioned. 

" So, wretch !" she screamed rather than spoke, 
" I have detected you at last." 

" Lord bless me ! Why, it is my wife." 



"Yes, villain ! your injured, much-wronged 
wife ! And you, madam, may I ask what have 
you to say for thus eloping with a married man?" 

"Shame! My dear Jemima," said F'itz, " how 
can you possibly permit your foolish jealousy so 
far to blind your reason? Don't you see I am 
going upon a professional call?" 

"Oh! you are, are you? Quite professional, 
I'll be bound." 

"Oh, sir! Oh, madam! I beseech you, save 
me from the anger of my relatives, and the dis- 
grace of exposure. Pray take me back at once?" 

" Why, heavens! ma'am, what do you mean? 
You are not gone mad, as well as my wife." 

"Really, Mr. Fitz," said Mrs. Y ., "this is 
carrying the joke too far. Take your unfortun- 
ate victim — as I suppose she is such — home to 
her parents, and prepare to accompany me to the 
barrack: and if there be law and justice ir. " 

" Well ! may the Lord in his mercy preserve my 
senses, or you will both drive me clean mad." 

"Oh, dear! oh, dear !" sobbed the young lady, 
while Mrs. Fitzgerald continued to upbraid at the 
top of her voice, heedless of the disclaimers and 
protestations of innocence poured out with (he elo- 
quence of despair by the poor doctor. Matters 
were in this stale, when a man dressed in a fustian 
jacket, like a groom, drove up to the side of the 
road in a tax-cart; he immediately got down, and 
tearing open the door of the doctor's chaise, 
lifted out the young lady, and deposited her safely 
in his own conveyance, merely adding, — 

" I say, master, you're in luck this morning, that 
Mr. William took the lower road, for if he had 
come up with you instead of me, he'd blow the 
roof off your skull, that's all." 

While these highly satisfactory words were 
being addressed to poor Fitz, Mrs. Fitzgerald had 
removed from her carriage to that of her husband, 
perhaps preferring four horses to two, or perhaps 
she had still more unexplained views of the trans- 
action, which might as well be told on the road 
homeward. 

Whatever might have been the nature of Mrs. 
F.'s dissertation, nothing is known. The chaise 
containing these turtle-doves arrived late at night 
at Kilkenny, and Fitz was installed safely in his 
quarters before any one knew of his having come 
back. The following morning he was reported 
ill ; and for three weeks he was but once seen, and 
at that time only at his window, with a flannel 
nightcap on his head, looking particularly pale, 
and rather dark under one eye. 

As for Curzon, the last thing known of him that 
luckless morning was his hiring a post-chaise for 
the Royal Oak, from whence he posted to Dublin, 
and hastened on to England. In a few days we 
learned that the adjutant had exchanged into a 
regiment in Canada ; and to this hour there are 
not three men in the 4 — th who know the real 
secret of that morning's misadventures. 



CHAPTER XIX. 

DETACHMENT DUTY AN ASSIZE TOWN. 

As there appeared to be but little prospect of 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



89 



poor Fitzgerald ever requiring any explanation 
from me as to the events of that morning, for he 
feared to venture from his room, lest he might be 
recognized and prosecuted for abduction, I 
thought it better to keep my own secret also ; and 
it was therefore with a feeling of anything but re- 
gret that I received an order which, under other 
circumstances, would have rendered me misera- 
ble — to march on detachment duty. To any one 
at all conversant with the life we lead in the 
army, I need not say how unpleasant such a 
change usually is. To surrender your capital 
mess, with all its well-appointed equipments — 
your jovial brother officers — your West India 
Madeira — your cool Lafitte — your daily, hourly, 
and half-hourly flirtations with the whole female 
population — never a deficient one in a garrison 
town — not to speak of your matches at trotting, 
coursing, and pigeon-shooting, and a hundred 
other delectable modes of getting over the ground 
through life, till it pleases your ungrateful country 
and the Horse Guards to make you a major- 
general — to surrender all these, I say, for the 
noise, dust, and damp disagreeables of a country 
inn, with bacon to eat, whiskey to drink, and the 
priest, or the constabulary chief, to get drunk 
witli — I speak of Ireland here — and your only af- 
fair, par amours, being the occasional ogling of 
the apothecary's daughter opposite, as often as 
she visits the shop, in the exciting occupation of 
measuring out garden seeds and senna. These 
are, indeed, the exchanges, with a difference, for 
which there is no compensation ; and, for my 
own part, I never went upon such duty that I did 
not exclaim with the honest Irishman, when the 
mail went over him, " Oh, Lord ! what is this 
for?" — firmly believing that in the earthly purga- 
tory of such duties I was reaping the heavy retri- 
bution attendant on past offences. 

Besides, from being rather a crack man in my 
corps, I thought it somewhat hard that my turn 
for such duty should coirie round about twice as 
often as that of my brother officers ; but so it is. 
I never knew a fellow a little smarter than his 
neighbors that was not pounced upon by his 
colonel for a victim. Now, however, I looked at 
these matters in a very different light. To leave 
headquarters was to escape being questioned ; 
while there was scarcely any post to which I could 
be sent where something strange or adventurous 
might not turn up, and serve me to erase the 
memory of the past, and turn the attention of my 
companions in any quarter rather than towards 
myself. 

My orders on the present occasion were to 
march to Clonmel, f roin whence I was to proceed 
a short distance to the house of a magistrate, upon 
whose information, transmitted to the chief sec- 
retary, the iiresent assistance of a military party 
had been obtained ; and not without every ap- 
pearance of reason. The assizes of the town were 
about to be held, and many capital offences stood 
for trial in the calendar ; and as it was strongly 
rumored that, in the event of certain convictions 
being obtained, a rescue would be attempted, a 
general attack upon the town seemed a too nat- 
ural consequence ; and if so, the house of so ob- 
noxious a person as him I have alluded to would 



be equally certain of being assailed. Such, at 
least, is too frequently the history of such scenes ; 
beginning with no one definite object — sometimes 
a slight one — more ample views and wider concep- 
tions of mischief follow, and what has begun in a 
drunken riot — a casual rencontre — may terminate 
in the slaughter of a family, or the burning of a 
village. The finest peasantry — God bless them ! 
— are a quick people, and readier at taking a hint 
than most others, and have, withal, a natural taste 
for fighting, that no acquired habits of other na- 
tions can pretend to vie with. 

As the worthy person to whose house I was now 
about to proceed was, and, if I am rightly informed, 
is, rather a remarkable character in the local his- 
tory of Irish politics, I may as well say a few words 
concerning him. Mr. Joseph Larkins, Esq. — (for 
so he signed himself) — had only been lately ele- 
vated to the bench of magistrates. He was origi- 
nally one of that large but intelligent class called 
in Ireland " small farmers," remarkable chiefly for 
a considerable tact in driving hard bargains — a 
great skill in wethers — a rather national dislike to 
pay all species of imposts, whether partaking of 
the nature of tax, tithe, grand jury cess, or any- 
thing of that nature whatsoever. So very account- 
able — 1 had almost said (for I have been long 
quartered in Ireland) so very laudable — a propen- 
sity excited but little of surprise or astonishment 
in his neighbors, the majority of whom enter- 
tained very similar views — none, however, pos- 
sessing anything like the able and lawyer-like 
ability of the worthy Larkins, for the successful 
evasion of these inroads upon the liberty of the 
subject. Such, in fact, was his talent, and so great 
his success in this respect, that he had established 
what, if it did not actually amount to a statute of 
exemption in law, served equally well in reality ; 
and for several years he enjoyed a perfect immunity 
on the subject of money-paying in general. His 
"little houldin', " as he unostentatiously called 
some five hundred acres of bog, mountain, and 
sheep-walk, lay in a remote part of the county, the 
roads were nearly impassable for several miles in 
that direction, land was of little value ; the agent 
was a timid man, with a large fainily ; of three 
tithe-proctors who had penetrated into the forbid- 
den territory, two labored under a dyspepsia for 
life, not being able to digest parchment and seal- 
ing-wax, for they usually dined on their own writs; 
and the third gave five pounds out of his pocket 
to a large, fresh-lookingman, with brown whiskers 
and beard, that concealed him two nights in a hay- 
loft, to escape the vengeance of the people, which 
act of philanthropy should never be forgotten, if 
some ill-natured people were not bold enough to 
say that the kind individual in question was no 
other man than Larkins himself. 

However this may be, true it is that this was the 
last attempt made to bring within the responsi- 
bilities of the law so refractory a subject : and so 
powerful is habit, that, although he was to be met 
with at every market and cattle-fair in the coun- 
ty, an arrest of his person was no more contem- 
plated than if he enjoyed the privilege of parlia- 
ment to go at large without danger. 

When the country became disturbed, and 
nightly meetings of the peasantry were con- 



90 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



stantly held, followed by outrages against life and 
property to the most frightful extent, the usual re- 
sources of the law were employed unavailingly. 
It was in vain to offer high rewards. Approvers 
could not be found ; and so perfectly organized 
were the secret associations, that few beyond the 
very ringleaders knew anything of consequence to 
communicate. Special commissions were sent 
down from Dublin ; additional police force, de- 
tachments of military ; long correspondences took 
place between the magistracy and the govern- 
ment — but all in vain. The disturbances contin- 
ued ; and at last to such a height had they risen, 
that the country was put under martial law ; and 
even this was ultimately found perfectly insuffi- 
cient to repel what now daily threatened to be- 
come an open rebellion rather than mere agrarian 
disturbance. It was at this precise moment, when 
all resources seemed to be fast e.xhausting them- 
selves, that certain information reached the 
Castle, of the most important nature. The indi- 
vidual who obtained and transmitted it had per- 
illed his life in so doing — but the result was a 
great one — no less than the capital conviction and 
execution of seven of the most influential amongst 
the disaffected peasantry. Confidence was at once 
snaken in the secrecy of their associates ; distrust 
and suspicion followed. Many of the boldest sank 
beneatli the fear of betrayal, and themselves be- 
came evidence for the Crown ; and in five months, 
a county abounding in midnight meetings, and 
blazing with insurrectionary fires, became almost 
the most trancpiil in its province. It may well be 
believed that he who rendered this important ser- 
vice on this trying emergency could not be passed 
over, and the name of J. Larkins soon after ap- 
peared in the Gazette as one of His Majesty's jus- 
tices of the peace for the county ; pretty much in 
the same spirit in which a country gentleman con- 
verts the greatest poacher in his neighborhood by 
making him his gamekeeper. 

In person he was a large and powerfully-built 
man, considerably above six feet in height, and 
250ssessing great activitv, combined with powers 
of enduring fatigue almost incredible. With an 
eye like a hawk, and a heart that never knew fear, 
he was the person, of all others, calculated to 
strike terror into the minds of the country people. 
The reckless daring with which he threw himself 
into danger — the almost impetuous quickness with 
which he followed up a scent, whenever informa- 
tion reached him of an important character — had 
their full effect upon a people who, long accus- 
tomed to the slowness and the uncertainty of the 
law, were almost paralyzed at beholding detection 
and punishment follow on crime as certainly as 
the thunder-crash follows the lightning. 

His great instrument for this purpose was the 
obtaining information from sworn members of the 
secret societies, and whose names never appeared 
in the course of a trial or a prosecution^ until the 
measure of their iniquity was completed, when 
they usually received a couple of hundred pounds, 
blood-money, as it was called, with which they 
took themselves away to America or Australia — 
their lives being only secured while they remained 
by the shelter afforded them in the magistrate's 
own house. And so it happened that constantly 



there numbered from ten to twelve of these 
wretches, inmates of his family, each of whom had 
the burden of participation in one murder at least, 
^'aiting for an opportunity to leave the country, 
unnoticed and unwatched. 

Such a frightful and unnatural state of things 
can hardly be conceived ; and yet, shocking as it 
was, it was a relief to that which led to it. I have 
dwelt, perhaps, too long upon this painful sub- 
ject ; but let my reader now accompany me a little 
farther, and the scene shall be changed. Does he 
see that long, low, white house, with a tall, steep 
roof, perforated with innumerable narrow win- 
dows ? There are a few straggling beech-trees 
upon a low, bleak-looking field before the house, 
which is called by courtesy the lawn ; a pig oi 
two, some geese, and a tethered goat, are here 
and there musing over the state of Ireland ; while 
some rosy, curly-headed, noisy, and bare-legged 
urchins are gambolling before the door. This is 
the dwelling of the worshipful justice, to which 
myself and my party were now approaching with 
that degree of activity which attends on most 
marches of twenty miles, under the oppressive 
closeness of a day in autumn. Fatigued and tired 
as I was, yet I could not enter the little enclosure 
before the house without sto]iping for a moment 
to admire the view before me. It was a large 
tract of rich country, undulating on every side, 
and teeming with corn-fields, in all the yellow 
gold of ripeness ; here and there, almost hid by 
small clumps of ash and alder, were scattered 
some cottages, from which the blue smoke rose in 
a curling column into the calm evening sky. All 
was graceful and beautifully tranquil; and you 
might have selected the picture as emblematic 
of that happiness and repose we so constantly 
associate with our ideas of the country ; and yet, 
before that sun had even set, which now gilded 
the landscape, its glories would be replaced by 

the lurid glare of nightly incendiarism, and- 

But here, fortunately for my reader, and, jierhaps, 
myself, I am interrupted in my meditations by a 
rich, mellifluous accent, saying, in the true Doric? 
of the south, — 

" Mr. Lorrequer ! you're welcome to Curry- 
glass, sir. You've had a hot day for your march. 
Maybe you'd take a taste of sherry before dinner? 
Well, then, we'll not wait for Molowny, but ordet 
it up at once." 

So saying, I was ushered into a long, low draw- 
ing-room, in which were collected together about 
a dozen men, to whom I was specially and sever- 
ally ]>resented, and among whom I was happy to 
find my boarding-house acquaintance, Mr. Daly, 
who, with the others, had arrived that same day 
for the assizes, and who were all members of 
the legal profession, either barristers, attorneys, or 
clerks of the peace. 

The hungry aspect of the guests, no less than 
the speed with which dinner made its appearance 
after my arrival, showed me that my coming was 
only waited for to complete the party — the Mr. 
Molowny before alluded to being unanimously 
voted present. The meal itself had but slight pre- 
tensions to elegance ; there were no delicacies of 
Parisian taste ; no triumphs of French cookery ; 
but in their place stood a lordly fish of some five- 



HARRY LORREQUER. 



91 



and-twenty pounds' weight, a massive sirloin, with 
all the usual armament of fowls, ham, pigeon-pie, 
beefsteak, etc., lying in rather a promiscuous 
order along either side of the table. The party 
were evidently disposed to be satisfied, and I ac- 
knowledge I did not prove an exception to the 
learned individuals about me, either in my relish 
for the good things, or my appetite to enjoy them. 
Duhe est liesipere in loco, says some one, by which 
I suppose is meant, that a rather slang com])any 
is occasionally good fun. Whether from my taste 
for the " humanities" or not, I am unable to say, 
but certainly, in my then humor, I should not 
have exchanged my position for one of much 
greater pretensions to elegance and ton. There 
was first a general onslaught upon the viands, 
crashing of plates, jingling of knives, mingling 
with recpiests for " more beef," " the hard side of 
the salmon," or "another slice of ham." Then 
came a dropping fire of drinking wine, which 
quickly increased, the decanters of sherry for 
about ten minutes resting upon the table about 
as long as Taglioni touches this mortal earth in 
one of her flying movements. Acquaintances 
were quickly formed between the members of 
the bar and myself, and I found that my momen- 
tary popularity was likely to terminate in my 
downfall ; for, as each introduction was followed 
by a bumper of strong sherry, I did not expect to 
last till the end of the feast. The cloth at length 
disappeared, and I was just thanking Providence 
for the respite from hob-nobbing which I im- 
agined was to follow, when a huge, square decanter 
of whiskey appeared, flanked by an enormous jug 
of boiling water, and renewed preparations for 
drinking upon a large scale seriously commenced. 
It was just at this moment that I, for the first 
time, perceived the remarkable figure who had 
waited upon us at dinner, and who, while I 
chronicle so many things of little import, deserves 
a slight mention. He was a little old man of 
about fifty-five or sixty years, wearing upon his 
head a barrister's wig, and habited in clothes 
which originally had been the costume of a very 
large and bulky person, and which, consequently, 
added much to the drollery of his appearance. 
He had been, for forty years, the servant of Judge 
Vandeleur, and had entered his present service 
rather in the light of a preceptor than a menial, 
invariably dictating to the worthy justice upon 
every occasion of etiquette or propriety, by a re- 
ference to what "the judge himself" did, which 
always sufficed to carry the day in Nicholas's 
favor, opposition to so correct a standard never 
being thought of by the justice. 

"That's Billy Crow's own whiskey, the 'small 
still,' " said Nicholas, placing the decanter upon 
the table ; " make much of it, for there isn't such 
dew in the country." 

With this commendation upon the liquor, Nich- 
olas departed, and we proceeded to fill our glasses. 

I cannot venture — perhaps it is so much the 
better that I cannot — to give any idea of the con- 
versation which at once broke eut, as if the bar- 
riers that restrained it had at length given way. 
But law-talk, in all its plenitude, followed ; and 
for two hours I heard of nothing but writs, de- 
tainers, declarations, traverses in prox, and alibis, 



with sundry hints ior qui fam processes, interspersed, 
occasionally, with sly jokes about packing juries 
and confounding witnesses, among which figured 
the usual number of good things attributed to 
the Chief Baron O'Grady and the other sayers of 
smart sayings at the bar. 

" Ah !" said Mr. Daly, drawing a deep sigh at 
the same instant — "the bar is sadly fallen off 
since I was called in the year '76. There was 
not a leader in one of the circuits at that time 
that couldn't puzzle any jury that ever sat in a 
box ; and as for driving through an act of parlia- 
ment, it was, as Sancho Panza says, cakes and 
gingerbread to them. And then, there is one es- 
pecial talent lost forever to the present genera- 
tion — just like stained glass and illuminated manu- 
scripts, and slow poisons and the like — that were 
all known years age — I mean the beautiful art of 
addressing the judge before the jury, and not let- 
ting them know you were quizzing them, if ye 
like to do that same. Poor Peter Purcell for that 
— rest his ashes^he could cheat the devil himself 
if he had need — and maybe he has had, before 
now. Peter is sixteen years dead last November." 

"And what was Peter's peculiar tact in that 
respect, Mr. Daly ?" said I. 

"Oh, then, I might try for hours to explain it 
to you in vain ; but I'll just give you an instance 
that'll show you better than all my dissertations 
on the subject, and I was present myfelf when it 
happened, more by token, it was the first time 1 
ever met him on circuit. 

"I suppose there is scarcely any one here now, 
except myself, that remembers the great cause of 
Mills versus Mulcahy, a widow, and others, that 
was tried in Ennis, in the year '82. It's no mat- 
ter if there is not. Perhaps it may be more 
agreeable for me, for I can tell my story in my 
own way, and not be interrupted. Well, that was 
called 'The old record,' for they tried it seven- 
teen times. I believe, on my conscience, it killed 
old Jones, who was in the Common Pleas ; he 
used to say, if he put it for trial on the day of 
judgment, one of the parties would be sure to 
lodge an appeal. Be that as it may, the Millses 
engaged Peter special, and brought him down 
with a great retainer, in a chaise and four, flags 
flying, ard favors in the postilions' hats, and a 
fiddler on the roof, playing the ' Hare in the 
Corn.' The inn was illluminated the same even- 
ing, and Peter made a speech from the windows 
upon the liberty of the press and religious free- 
dom all over the globe, and there wasn't a man in 
the mob didn't cheer him, which was the more 
civil, because few of them knew a word of Eng- 
lish, and the others thought he was a play-actor. 
But it all went off well, nevertheless, for Peter 
was a clever fellow, and although he liked 
money well, he liked popularity more, and he 
never went anywhere ' special' that he hadn't a 
public meeting of some kind or other, either to 
abolish rents, or suppress parsons, or some such 
popular and beneficial scheme, which always made 
him a great favorite with the people, and got him 
plenty of clients. But I am wandering from the 
record. Purcell came down, as I said before, 
special for Mills ; and when he looked over his 
brief, and thought of the case, he determined to 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



have it tried by a gentlemen jury, for although he 
was a great man with the mob, he hked the 
country gentlemen better in the jury-box, for he 
was always coming out with quotations from the 
classics, which, whether the grand jury under- 
stood or not, they always applauded very much. 
Well, when he came into court that morning, you 
may guess his surprise and mortification to find 
the same jury that had tried a common ejectment 
were still in the box, and waiting, by the Chief 
Justice's direction, to try Mills versus Mulcahy, 
the great case of the assizes. 

" I hear they were a set of common clod-hop- 
ping wretches, with frieze coats and brogues, that 
no man could get round at all, for thev were as 
cunning as foxes, and could tell blarney Irom good 
sense, rather better than people with better coats 
on them. 

" Now, the moment that Mr. Purcell came into 
the court, after bowing politely to the judge, he 
looked up to the box, and when he saw the dirty 
faces of the dealers in pork and potatoes, and the 
unshaven chins of the small farmers, his heart fell 
within him, and he knew in a minute how little 
they'd care for the classics — if he quoted ' Caesar's 
Commentaries' itself for them — ignorant creatures 
as they were ! 

"Well, the cause was called, and up gets Peter, 
and he began to ' express' (as he always called it 
himself) 'the great distress his client and himself 
would labor under, if the patient and most intelli- 
gent jury then on the panel should come to the 
consideration of so very tedious a case as this 
promised to be, after their already most fatiguing 
exertions ;' he commented upon their absence 
from their wives and families, their farms neg- 
lected, their crops hazarded, and in about fifteen 
minutes he showed them they were, if not speedily 
released and sent home, worse treated and harder 
used than many of the prisoners condemned to 
three months' imprisonment ; and actually so far 
worked upon the feelings of the chief himself, 
that he turned to the foreman of the jury, and 
said, ' that although it was a great deviation from 
his habitual practice, if at this pressing season 
their prospects were involved to the extent the 
learned counsel had pictured, why then, he would 
so far bend his practice on this occasion, and 
they should be dismissed.' Now Peter, I must 
confess, here showed the most culpable ignorance 
in not knowing that a set of country fellows, put 
up in a jury box, would rather let every blade of 
corn rot in the ground than give up what they 
always supposed so very respectable an appoint- 
ment ; for they invariably imagine in these cases 
that they are something very like my lord the 
judge', ' barrin' the ermine ;' besides that, on the 
present occasion, Peter's argument in their favor 
de.'ided them upon staying, for they now felt like 
martyrs, and firmly believed that they were put- 
ting the chief justice under an obligation to them 
for life. 

"When, therefore, they heard the question of 
the court, it did not take a moment's time for the 
whole body to rise e/i masse, and bowing to the 
judge, call out, ' We'll stay, my lord, and try 
every mother's son of them for you; ay, if it 
lasted till Christmas.' 



"'I am sure, my lord,' said Peter, collecting 
himself for an eft'ort, 'I cannot sufficiently ex- 
press my gratitude for the great sacrifice these 
gifted and highly intelligent gentlemen are mak- 
ing in my client's behalf; for being persons who 
have great interests in the country at stake, their 
conduct on the present occasion is the more 
praiseworthy; and I am certain they fully appre- 
ciate, as does your lordship, the difficulty of the 
case before us, when documents will be sub- 
mitted, requiring a certain degree of acquaintance 
with such testimonials sufficiently to com- 
prehend. Many of the title-deeds, as your loid- 
ship is aware, being obtained under old abbey 
charters, are in the learned languages; and we all 
know how home to our hearts and bosoms comes 
the beautiful line of the Greek poet, "Vacuus 
viator cantabit ante latronem." ' The sound of the 
quotation roused the chief-justice, who had been 
in some measure inattentive to the preceding 
part of the learned counsel's address, and he 
called out rather sharply, 'Greek! Mr. Purcell — 
why, I must have mistaken- — will you repeat the 
passage ?' 

" ' With pleasure, my lord. I was just observ- 
ing to your lordship and the jury, with the elo- 
quent poet, Hergesius, "Vacuus viator cantabit 
ante latronem.' " 

" ' Greek, did you call it ?' 

" 'Yes, my lord, of eourse I did.' 

Why, Mr. Purcell, you are quoting Latin to 
me — and what do you mean by talking of the 
learned Hergesius and Greek all this time ? — the 
line is Juvenal's.' 

" ' My lord, with much submission to your lord- 
ship, and every deference to ) our great attain- 
ments and very superior talents, let me still assure 
you that I am quoting Greek, and that ) our lord- 
ship is in error.' 

"'Mr. Purcell, I have only to remark that if 
you are desirous to make a jest of the court, you 
had better be cautious, I say, sir;' and here the 
judge waxed exceeding wroth. 'I say the line is 
Latin — Latin, sir — Juvenal's Latin, sir — every 
schoolboy knows it.' 

" ' Of course, my lord,' said Peter, with great 
humility, ' I bow myself to the decision of your 
lordship; the line is, therefore, Latin. Yet 1 may 
be permitted to hint that were your lordship dis- 
posed to submit this question, as you are shortly 
about to do another and a similar one, to those 
clear-sighted and intelligent gentlemen there, I 
am satisfied, my lord, it would be Greek to every 
man of them.' 

"The look, the voice, and the peculiar empha- 
sis with which Peter gave these words were per- 
fectly successful. The acute judge anticipated 
the wish of the counsel — the jury were dismissed, 
and Peter proceeded to his case before those 
he knew better how to deal with, and with 
whom the result was more certain to be as he 
wished it." 

To this anecdote of the counsellor succeeded 
many others, of which, as the whiskey was potent 
and the hour late, my memory is not over reten- 
tive : the party did not break up till near four 
o'clock, and even then, our seance only concluded 
because some one gravely remarked, " that as we 



HARRY LORREOUER, 



93 



should be all actively engaged on the morrow, 
early hours were advisable." 



CHAPTER XX. 



THE ASSIZE TOWN. 



etc., 
last. 



I HAD not been above a week in my quarters 
when my servant presented me, among my letters 
one morning, with a packet, which, with con- 
siderable pains, I at length recognized to be di- 
rected to me. The entire envelope was covered 
with writing in various hands, among which I de- 
tected something which bore a faint resemblance 
to my name ; but the address which followed was 
perfectly unreadable, not only to me, as it ap- 
peared, but also to the " experts" of the dilterent 
post-offices, for it had been followed by sundry 
directions to try various places beginning with 
T, which seemed to be the letter commencing the 
"great unknown locality ;" thus I read, " Try 
Tralee," " Try Tyrone," " Try Tandergee, 
etc. I wonder that they didn't add, 
Teheran," and I suppose they would at 
rather than abandon the pursuit. 

"But, Stubbes," said I, as I conned over the 
various addresses on this incomprehensible cover, 
"are you sure this is for me?" 

" The postmaster, sir, desired me to ask if you'd 
have it, for he has offered it to every one down in 
these parts lately ; the waterguard officers will 
take it at 8d,, sir, if you won't, but I begged you 
might have the refusal." 

"Oh ! very well ; I am happy to find matters 
are managed so impartially in the post-office 
here. Nothing like a public auction for making 
matters find their true level. Tell the postmas- 
ter, then, I'll keep the letter, and the rather, as it 
happens, by good luck, to be intended for me." 

"And now for the interior," said I, as 1 broke 
the seal, and read,: 

" Paris, Rue Castiglione. 

"My dear Mr. Lorrequf.r, — As her ladyship 
and my son have in vain essayed to get anything 
from you in the shape of reply to their letters, it 
has devolved upon me to try my fortune, which, 
were I to augur from the -legibility of my writing, 
may not, I should fear, prove more successful 

than the" (what can the word be ?) •" the — 

the" — (why, it can't be damnable, surely ? — no, it 
is amiable, I see) — " than the amiable epistle of 
my lady. I cannot, however, permit myself to 
leave this without apprising you that we are about 
to start for Baden, where we purpose remaining a 
month or two. Your cousin Guy, who has been 
staying for some time with us, has been obliged 
to set out for Geneva, but hopes to join in some 
weeks hence. He is a great favorite with us all, 
but has not effaced the memory of our older 
friend, yourself. Could you not find means to 
come over and see us, if only a flying visit ? Rot- 
terdam is the route, and a few days would bring 
you to our quarters. Hoping that you may feel 
so disposed, I have enclosed herewith a letter to 
the Horse Guards, which I trust may facilitate 



your obtaining leave of absence. I know of no 
other mode of making your peace with the ladies, 
who are too highly incensed at your desertion to 
send one civil postscript to this letter, and Kiikee 
and myself are absolutely exhausted in our de- 
fence of you. 

" Believe me, yours truly. 

"Callonbv." 

Had I received an official notification of my 
being appointed paymaster to the forces, or chap- 
lain to Chelsea Hospital, I believe I sliould have 
received the information with less surprise than I 
perused this letter. That, after the long interval 
which had elapsed, during which 1 had considered 
myself totally forgotten by this family, I should 
now receive a letter — and such a letter, too — 
quite in the vein of our former intimacy and good 
feeling, inviting me to their house, and again pro- 
fessing their willingness that I should be on the 
terms of our old familiarity, was little short of 
wonderful to me. I read, too — with what pleas- 
ure ! — that slight mention of my cousin, whom I 
had so long regarded as my successful rival, but 
who 1 began now to hope had not been preferred 
to me. Perhaps it was not yet too late to think 
that all was not hopeless. It appeared too, that 
several letters had been written which b.ad never 
reached me ; so, while I accused them of neglect 
and forgetfulness, I was really more amenable to 
the charge myself : for, from the moment I had 
heard of my cousin Guy's having been domesti- 
cated amongst them, and the rumors of his 
marriage had reached me, I suffered my absurd 
jealousy to blind my reason, and never wrote 
another line after. I ought to have knovi-n how 
'^ bavard" Gvty always was; that he never met 
with the most commonplace attentions anywhere, 
that he did not immediately write home about 
settlements and pin-money, and portions for 
younger children, and all that sort of nonsense. 
Now I saw it all jjlainly, and ten thousand times 
quicker than my hopes were extinguished before 
they were again kindled, and I could not refrain 
from regarding Lady Jane as a mirror of con- 
stancy, and myself the most fortunate man in 
Europe. My old castle-building propensities 
came back upon me in an instant, and I pic- 
tured myself, with Lady Jane as my companion, 
wandering among the beautiful scenery of the 
Neckar, beneath the lofty ruins of Heildelberg, or 
skimming the placid surface of the Rhine, while, 
" mellowed by distance," came the rich chorus of 
a student's melody, filling the air with its flood of 
song. How deliglitful, I thought, to be reading 
the lyrics of LHiland, or Biirgtr, with one so capa- 
ble of appreciating them, with all the hallowed 
associations of the " Vaterland" about us ! "Yes," 
said I, aloud, repeating the well-known line of a 
German " Lied" — 

"Bekranzt mit Laub, den lieben vollen Becher." 

"Upon my conscience," said Mr. Daly, who 
had for some time past been in silent admiration 
of my stage-struck appearance — "upon my con- 
science, Mr. Lorrequer, I had no conception you 
knew Irish." 

The mighty talisman of the counsellor's voice 



94 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



brought me back in a moment to a consciousness 
of where I was then standing, and the still more 
unfortunate fact that I was only a subaltern in 
his Majesty's 4— th. 

" Why, my dear counsellor, that was German 
I was quoting, not Irish." 

"With all my heart," said Mr. Daly — breaking 
the top off his third egg — " with all my heart ; 
I'd rather you'd talk it than me. Much conver- 
sation in that tongue, I'm thinking, would be 
mighty apt to loosen one's teeth." 

"Not at all ; it is the most beautiful language 
in Europe, and the most musical, too. Why, even 
for your own peculiar taste in such matters, where 
can you find any language so rich in Bacchana- 
lian songs as German ?" 

"I'd rather hear the 'Cruiskeen Lawn,' or the 
'Jug of Punch,' as my old friend Pat Samson 
could sing them, than a score of your high Dutch 
jawbreakers." 

" Shame upon ye, Mr. Daly ; and for pathos, 
for true feeling, where is there anything equal to 
Schiller's ballads ?" 

"I don't think I've ever heard any of his ; but 
if you will talk of ballads," said the counsellor, 
" give me old Mosey M'Garry's : what's finer 
than" — (and here he began, with a most nasal 
twang and dolorous emphasis, to sing) — 

' And I stepped up unto her, 

An' I made a congee — 
And I ax'd her her pardon 

For the making so free. ' 

"And then the next verse she says — 

" 'Are you goin' to undo me, 
In this desert alone?' 

There's a shake there." 

"For Heaven's sake," I cried, "stop ; when I 
spoke of ballads, I njiver meant such infernal 
stuff as that." 

"I'll not give up ray knowledge of ballads to 
any man breathing," said Mr. Daly ; " and with 
God's blessing, I'll sing you one this evening, 
after dinner, that will give you a cramp in the 
stomach." 

An animated discussion upon lyrical poetry 
was here interrupted by a summons from our host 
to set out for the town. My party were, by the 
desire of the magistracy, to be in readiness near 
the court-house, in the event of any serious dis- 
turbance, which there existed but too much reason 
to apprehend from the highly excited state of 
feeling on the subject of the approaching trials. 
The soldiers were, under the guidance of Mr. 
Larkins, safely ensconced in a tan-yard ; and I 
myself, having consigned them for the present to 
a noncommissioned officer, was left at perfect lib- 
erty to dispose of my time and person as it might 
please me. 

While these arrangements were taking place, 
I had entirely lost sight of Mr. Daly, under whose 
guidance and protection I trusted to obtain a 
place within the bar to hear the trials ; so that I 
was now perfectly alone, for my host's numerous 
avocations entirely precluded any thought of my 
putting myself under his care. 

My first object was to reach the court-house, and 
there could be little difficulty in finding it, for the 



throng of persons in the street were all eagerly 
bending their way thither. I accordingly fol- 
lowed with the stream, and soon found myself 
among an enormous multitude of frieze-coated and 
red-cloaked people, of both sexes, in a large open 
square, which formed the market-place, one side 
of which was flanked by the court-house — for as 
such I immediately recognized a massive-looking 
grey stone building — in which the numerous win- 
dows, all open and filled with people, exhaled a 
continued steam from the crowded atmosphere 
within. To approach it was perfectly impossible: 
for the square was packed so closely, that as the 
people approached by the various streets, they 
were obliged to stand in the a\enue3 leading to 
it, and regard what was going on from a distance. 
Of this large multitude I soon became one, hop- 
ing that at length some fortunate op])ortunity might 
enable me to obtain admission through some of 
my legal acquaintances. 

That the fate of those who were then upon 
their trial for their lives absorbed the entire feel- 
ings of those without, a momentary glance at the 
hundreds of anxious and careworn faces in the 
crowd would completely satisfy. Motionless and 
silent they stood: they felt no fatigue — no want 
of food or refreshment — their interest was one 
and undivided — all their hopes and fears were 
centred in the events then passing at a short dis- 
tance from them, but to which their ignorance im- 
parted an additional and more painful excitement 
— the only information of how matters were going 
on being by an occasional word, sometimes a 
mere gesture, from some one stationed in the 
windows to a friend in the crowd. 

When the contemplation of this singularly im- 
pressive scene was beginning to weary from the 
irksomeness of my position, I thought of retiring, 
but soon discovered how impossible was such a 
step. The crowd- had blocked up so completely 
all the avenues of approach, that even had I suc- 
ceeded in getting from the market-place, it would 
be only to remam firmly impacted among the mob 
in the street. 

It now also occured to me, that although I had 
been assured by Larkins no call could possibly be 
made upon my services or those of my party till 
after the trial, yet were that to conclude at any 
moment, I should be perfectly unable to gain the 
place where I had stationed them, and the most 
serious consequences might ensue from the ab- 
sence of their officer if the men were required to 
act. 

From the time this thought took possession of 
me, I became excessively uncomfortable. Every 
expression of the people that denoted the pro- 
gress of the trial only alarmed me for the conclu- 
sion, which I supposed miglit not be distant, and 
I began, with all my ingenuity, to attetnpt my re- 
treat, which, after half an hour's severe struggle, 
I completely abandoned, finding myself scarcely 
ten yards from where I started. 

At length the counsel for the Crown, who had 
been speaking to evidence, ceased; and an indis- 
tinct murmur was heard through the court-house, 
which was soon repressed by the voice of the crier 
calling " Silence!" All now seemed still and si- 
lent as the grave — yet, on listening attentively, for 



HARRY LORREQUER. 



95 



some time, you could catch the low tones of a 
voice speaking, as it appeared, with great deliber- 
ation and slowness. This was the judge address- 
ing the jury. In a short time this also ceased; 
and, for about half an hour, the silence was per- 
fectly unbroken, and both within and without there 
reigned one intense and aching sense of anxiety that 
absorbed every feeling, and imparted to every face 
an expression of almost agonizing uncertainty. It 
■was indeed a moment well calculated to excite such 
emotions. The jury had retired to deliberate upon 
their verdict. At length a door was heard to open, 
and the footsteps of the jury, as they resumed 
their places, sounded through the court, and were 
heard by those without. How heavily upon many 
a stout heart those footsteps fell! They had 
taken their seats — then came another pause — after 
which the monotonous tones of the clerk of the 
court were heard, addressing the jury for their ver- 
dict. As the foreman rises every ear is bent — 
every eye strained — every heartstring vibrates: his 
lips move, but he is not heard; he is desired by 
the judge to speak louder; there is another pause 
' — he appears to labor for a few seconds with a 
mighty effort, and at last pronounces the words, 
" Guilty, my lord — all guilty !" 

I have heard the wild war-whoop of the Red 
Indian, as, in his own pine forest, he has unex- 
pectedly come upon the track of his foe, and the 
almost extinguished hope of vengeance had been 
kindled again in his cruel heart — I have listened 
to the scarcely less savage hurra of a storming 
party, as they have surmounted the crumbling 
ruins of a breach, and devoted to fire and sword, 
with that one yell, all who await them — and once 
in my life it has been my fortune to have heard 
the last yell of defiance from a pirate crew, as 
they sank beneath the raking fire of a frigate, 
rather than surrender, and went down with a 
cheer of defiance that rose even above the red 
artillery that destroyed but could not subdue 
them ; — but never, in any or all of these awful 
moments, did my heart vibrate to such sounds as 
rent the air when the fatal " Guilty" was heard 
by those within, and repeated to those without. 
It was not grief — it was not despair — neither was 
it the cry of sharp and irrepressible anguish, 
from a suddenly bliglited hope — but it was the 
long pent-up and carefully-concealed burst of 
feeling which called aloud for vengeance — red 
and reeking revenge upon all who had been in- 
strumental in the sentence then delivered. It 
ceased, and I looked toward the court-house, 
expecting that an immediate and desperate attack 
upon the building and those whom it contained 
would at once take place. But nothing of the 
kind ensued ; the mob were already beginning to 
disperse, and before I recovered perfectly from 
the excitement of these few and terrible moments, 
the square was nearly empty, and I almost felt 
as if the wild and frantic denunciation that still 
rang through my ears had been conjured up by a 
heated and fevered imagination. 

When I again met our party at the dinner-table, 
I could not help feeling surprised on perceiving 
how little they sympathized in my feeling for the 
events of the day ; which, indeed, they only al- 
luded to in a professional point of view — criti- 



cizing the speeches of the counsel on both sides, 
and the character of the different witnesses who 
were examined. 

"Well," said Mr. Daly, addressing our host, 
"you never could have had a conviction to-day 
if it wasn't for Mike. He's the best evidence I 
ever heard. I'd like to know very much how you 
ever got so clever a fellow completely in your 
clutches .'" 

" By a mere accident, and very simply," replied 
the justice. " It was upon one of our most 
crowded fair-days — half the country was in town, 
when the information arrived that the Walshes 
were murdered the night before at the cross-roads 
above Telenamuck mills. The news reached me 
as I Vas signing some tithe warrants, one of which 
was against Mickey. I sent for him into the 
office ; knowing that, as he was in the secret of 
all the evil doings, I might as well pretend to do 
him a service, and offer to stop the warrant out 
of kindness, as it were. Well, one way or another, 
he was kept waiting several hours while I was en- 
gaged in writing, and all tlie country people, as 
they passed the window, could look in and see 
Mickey Sheehan standing before me, while I was 
employed busily writing letters. It was just at 
this time that a mounted policeman rode in with 
the account of the murder; upon which I imme- 
diately issued a warrant to arrest the two Mac- 
Neills and Owen Shirley upon suspicion. I 
thought I saw Mike turn pale as I said the names 
over to the sergeant of police, and I at once de- 
termined to turn it to account ; so I immediately 
began talking to Mickey about his own affairs, 
breaking off, every now and then, to give some 
directions about the men to be captured. The 
crowd outside was increasing every instant, and 
you need not have looked at their faces twice to 
perceive that they had regarded Mickey as an 
approver ; and the same night that saw the Mac- 
Neills in custody, witnessed the burning of 
Sheehan's house and haggart, and he only escaped 
by a miracle over to Curryglass, where, once 
under my protection, with the imputation upon his 
character of having turned king's evidence, I had 
little trouble in persuading him that he might as 
well benefit by the report as enjoy the name 
without the gain. He soon complied, and the 
convictions of this day are partly the result." 

When the applause which greeted this clever 
stroke of our host had subsided, I inquired 
what results might, in all likelihood, follow the 
proceedmgs of which I had that day been a 
witness. 

" Nothing will be done immediately," replied 
the justice, " because we have a large force of 
police and military about us ; but let either, or 
unhappily both, be withdrawn, and the cry you 
heard given in the market-place to-day will be the 
death-wail for more than one of those who are 
well and hearty at this moment." 

The train of thought inevitably forced upon me 
by all I had been a spectator of during the day 
but little disposed me to be a partaker in the 
mirth and conviviality which, as usual, formed 
the staple of the assize dinners of Mr. Larkins ; 
and I accordingly took an early opportunity to 
quit the company and retire for the night. 



96 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



CHAPTER XXI. 



A DAY IN DUBLIN. 



On the third day of my residence at Curry- 
glass, arrived my friend Mortimer to replace me, 
bringing my leave from the colonel, and a most 
handsome letter, in which he again glanced at the 
prospect before me in the Callonby family, and 
hinted at my destination, which I had not alluded 
to, adding, that if I made the pretence of study in 
Germany the reason for my application at the 
Horse Guards, I should be almost certain to ob- 
tain a six months' leave. With what spirits I 
ordered Stubbes to pack up my portmanteau, and 
secure our places in the Dublin mail for that tiight, 
while I myself hurried to take leave of my kind 
entertainer and his guests, as well as to recom- 
mend to their favor and attention my excellent 
friend Mortimer. He, being a jovial fellow, not 
at all in love, was a happy exchange forme, since, 
despite Daly's capital stories, I had spent the last 
two days in watching the high road for my suc- 
cessor's arrival. 

Once more, then, I bade adieu to Curryglass 
and its hospitable owner, whose labors for "jus- 
tice to Ireland" I shall long remember, and de- 
positing myself in the bowels of his Majesty's 
mail, gave way to the full current of my hopes 
and imaginings, which at last ended in a sound 
and refreshing sleep, from which I only awoke, as 
we drew up at the door of the Hibernian, in 
Dawson Street. 

Even at that early hour there was considerable 
bustle and activity of preparation, which I was at 
some loss to account for, till informed by the 
waiter that there were upwards of three hun- 
dred strangers in the house, it being the day of 
his Majesty's expected arrival on his visit to 
Ireland, and a very considerable section of the 
county of Gahvay being at that moment, with 
their wives and families, installed, for the occa- 
sion, in this, their favorite hotel. 

Although I had been reading of this approach- 
ing event every day for the last three months, 
I could not help feeling surprised at the in- 
tense appearance of excitement it occasioned, 
and in the few minutes' conversation I held 
with the waiter, learned the total impossibility 
of procuring a lodging anywhere, and that 
I could not have a bed, even were I to 
offer five guineas for it. Having, therefore, no 
inclination to sleep, even upon easier terms, I or- 
dered my breakfast to be ready at ten, and set 
out upon a stroll through the town. I could not 
help, in my short ramble through the streets, per- 
ceiving how admirably adapted were the worthy 
Dublinites for all the honors that awaited them; 
garlands of flowers, transparencies, flags, and the 
other insignia of rejoicing, were every where in prep- 
aration, and at the end of Sackville Street, a consid- 
erable erection, very much resembling an im- 
promptu gallows, was being built, for the purpose, 
as I afterwards learnt, of giving the worshipful the 
lord mayor the opportunity of opening the city 
gates to royalty; creating the obstacle where none 
existed being a very ingenious conceit, and consid- 
erably Irish into the bargain. I could not help 



feeling some desire to witness how all should go 
off, to use the theatrical phrase; but in my anxiety 
to get on to the Continent, I at once abandoned 
every thought of delay. When I returned to the 
coffee-room of my hotel, I found it crowded to 
excess; every little table, originally destined for 
the accommodation of one, having at least two, 
and sometimes three occupants. In my hurried 
glance round the room to decide where I should 
place myself, I was considerably struck with the 
a]jpearance of a stout, elderly gentltman with red 
whiskers, and a high, bald forehead; he had, al- 
though tlie day was an oppressively hot one, three 
waistcoats on, and by the brown York tan of his 
long-topped boots, evinced a very considerable 
contempt either for weather or fashion; in the 
quick glance of his sharp grey eye I read that 
he listened half doubtingly to the narrative of his 
companion, whose back was turned towards me, 
but who appeared, from the occasional words 
which reached me, to be giving a rather marvel- 
lous and melo-dramatic version of the expected 
pleasures of the capital. There was scmethiiig 
in the tone of the speaker's voice that I thought 
I recognized; I accordingly drew near, and what 
was my surprise to discover my friend Tom 
O'Flaherty. After our first salutation was over, 
Tom presented me to his friend, Mr. Burke, of 
soms-where, who, he continued to inform me, 
in a stage whisper, was a "regular quiz," and 
never in Dublin in his life before. 

" And so, you say, sir, that his Majesty cannot 
enter without the permission of the lord mayor?" 

" And the aldermen, too," replied 'I'cm. " It 
is an old feudal ceremony ; when his Majesty 
comes up to the gate, he dtmandsadmission, and 
the lord mayor refuses, because he would be thus 
surrendering his great prerogative of head of the 
city ; then the aldermen get about him, and cajole 
him, and by degrees he's won over by the promise 
of being knighted, and the king gains the day, and 
enters." 

" Upon my conscience, a mighty ridiculous 
ceremony it is, after all," said Mr. Burke, "and 
very like a bargain for sheep in Ballinasloe fair, 
when the buyer and seller appear to be going to 
fight, till a mutual friend settles the bargain be- 
tween them." 

At this moment, Mr. Burke suddenly sprang 
from his chair, which was nearest the window, to 
look out; I accordingly followed his example, and 
beheld a rather ludicrous procession, if such it 
could be called, consisting of so few persons. The 
principal individual in the group was a florid, fat, 
happy-looking gentleman of about fifty, with a 
profusion of nearly while whiskers, which met at 
his chin, mounted upon a sleek charger, whose 
half ambling, half prancing pace, had evidently 
been acquired by long habit of going in proces- 
sion ; this august figure was habited in a scarlet 
coat and cocked-hat, having " tags," and all the 
other appanage of a general officer ; he also wore 
tight buckskin breeches, and high jack-boots, like 
those of the Horse Guards ; as he looked from 
side to side, with a self-satisfied, contented air he 
appeared quite insensible of the ccrtcgi- which fol- 
lowed and preceded him: the latter consisting of 
ionie score of half ragged boys, yelling and shout- 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



97 



ing with all their might, and the former being a 
kind of instalment in hand of the Dublin Militia 
Band, and who, in numbers and equipment, 
closely resembled the " army" which accompanies 
the first appearance of Bombastes, the only differ- 
ence, that these I speak of did not play the 
" Rogue's March," which might have perhaps ap- 
peared personal. 

As this goodly procession advanced, Mr. 
Burke's eyes became riveted upon it ; it was the 
first wonder he had yet beheld, and he devoured it. 

" May I ask, sir," said he, at length, "who that 
is?" 

" Who that is !" said Tom, surveying him leis- 
urely as he spoke ; "why surely, sir, you must be 
jesting, or you would not ask such a question ; I 
trust, indeed, every one knows who he is. Eh, 
Harry ?" said he, looking at me for a confirma- 
tion of what" he said, and to which, of course, I 
assented by a look. 

"Well, but my dear Mr. O'Flaherty, you forget 
how ignorant I am of everything here — ■ — " 

" Ah, true," said Tom, interrupting ; " I for- 
got you never saw him before." 

" And who is he, sir?" 

"Why, that's the Duke of Wellington, sir !" 

" Lord have mercy upon me, is it ?" said Mr. 
Burke, as he upset the table, and all its breakfast 
equipage, and rushed through the coffee-room like 
one possessed. Before I could half recover from 
the fit of laughing this event threw me into, I 
heard him as he ran full speed down Dawson 
Street, waving his hat, and shouting at the top of 
his lungs, "God bless your Grace ! — Long life to 
your Grace ! — Hurra for the hero of Waterloo! — 
the great captain of the age !" etc., etc. , which I 
grieve to say, for the ingratitude of the individual 
lauded, seemed not to afford him half the pleas- 
ure, and none of the amusement, it did the mob, 
who re-echoed the shouts and cheering till he was 
hid within tlie precincts of the Mansion House. 

"And now," said Tom, to me, "finish your 
breakfast as fast as possible ; for, when Burke 
comes back, he will be boring me to dine with 
him, or some such thing, as a kind of acknowl- 
edgement of his gratitude for showing him the 
Duke. Do you know, he has seen more wonders 
through my poor instrumentality within the last 
three days in Dublin, than a six months' trip to 
the Continent would show most men. I have 
made him believe that Burke Bethel is Lord 
Brougham, and I am about to bring him to a 
soiree at Miladi's, whom he supposes to be the 
Marchioness of Conyngham. A propos to the 
dear ' Blew,' let me tell you of a ' good hit' I was 
witness to a few nights since. You know, pet- 
haps, old Sir Charles Giesecke, eh ?" 

" I have seen him once, I think — the professor 
of mineralogy." 

" Well, poor old Sir Charles, one of the most 
modest and retiring men in existence, was stand- 
ing the other night among the mob, in one of the 
drawing-rooms, while a waltzing-party were fig- 
uring away, at which, with that fondness for la 
dame that characterizes every German of any age, 
he was looking with much interest, when my lady 
came tripping up, and the following short dia- 
logue ensued within my ear-shot : — 



" ' Ah, mon cher Sir Charles, ravi, de vous 
voir. But why are you not dancing .''' 

"'Ah, miladi, je ne puis pas, c'est-i-dire, ich 
kann es nicht; I am too old; icli bin ' 

"'Oh, you horrid man! I understand you per- 
fectly. You hate ladies, that is the real reason. 
You do — you know you do." 

" ' Ah, miladi, gnadige Frau; glauben sie mich; 
I do loave de ladies; I do adore de sex. Do 
you know, miladi, when I was in Gieenland I did 
keep four womans.' 

"'Oh, shocking, horrid vile Sir Charles! how 
could you tell 7ite such a story? I shall die of it!' 

"'Ah, mine Gott, miladi, sie irren sich; vous 
vous trompez. You are quite in mistake; it was 
only to row my boat !' 

" I leave you to guess how my lady's taste for 
the broad side of the story, and poor Sir Charles'' 
vindication of himself, in regard to his estimation 
of le beaux sexe, amused all who heard it: as for 
me, I had to leave the room, half-choked with 
suppressed laughter. And now, let us bolt, for I 
see Burke coming, and, upon my soul, I am tired 
of telling him lies, and must rest on my oars for. 
a few hours at least." 

" But where is the necessity for so doing ?"' 
said I; " surely, where there is .so much of novelty 
as a large city presents to a visitor for the first time- 
there is little occasion to draw upon imaginationj 
for your facts." 

"Ah, my dear Harry, how little do you know 
of life! 'rhere is a kind of man whose appetite- 
for the marvellous is such, that he must be- 
crammed with miracles or he dies of inanition, and 
you might as well attempt to feed a tiger upon pate 
de foie gras, as satisfy him by mere naked, unvarn- 
ished truth, ni just give you an easy illustration; 
you saw his delight this morning when the ' Duke' 
rode past; well, Lll tell you the converse of that 
proposition now. The night before last, having 
nothing better to do, we went to the theatre; the 
piece was La Pe'roiise, which they have been play-- 
ing here for the last two months to crowded 
houses, to exhibit some North American Indians 
whom some theatrical speculator brought over 
' special,' in all the horrors of fur, wampum, and 
yellow ochre. Finding the 'spectacle' rather 
uninteresting, I leaned back in my box, and' 
fell into a doze. Meanwhile, my inquiring 
friend, Mr. Burke, who felt naturally anxious,, 
as he always does, to get au fond of matters, 
left his place to obtain information about the 
piece, the audience, and, above all, the authenticity 
of the Indians, who certainly astonished himi 
considerably. 

" Now it so happened that about a fortnight: 
previously some violent passion to return home 
to their own country had seized these interesting 
individuals, and they felt the most irresistible 
longing to abandon the savage and unnatural con- 
diments of roast beef and Guinness's porter, and. 
resume their ancient and more civilized habitS' 
of life. In fact, like the old African lady men- 
tioned by the missionary at the Cape, they felf 
they could die happy if they ' could only once 
more have a roast child for supper,' and, as such' 
luxuries are dear in this country, stay another 
week they would not, whatever the consequences 



98 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



might be; the manager reasoned, begged, implored 
and threatened, by turns; all would not do, 
go they were determined, and all that the unfor- 
tunate proprietor could accomplish was to make 
a purchase of their properties in fur, belts, bows, 
arrows, and feathers and get them away quietly, 
without the public being the wiser. The piece was 
too profitable a one to abandon, so he looked about 
anxiously, to supply the deficiency in his corps 
dramatiqtie. For several days nothing presented 
itself to his thoughts, and the public were becom- 
ing more clamorous for the repetition of a drama 
which had greatly delighted them. What was to be 
done? In a mood of doubt and uncertainty, the 
wretched manager was taking his accustomed walk 
upon the lighthouse pier, while a number of unfor- 
tunate country fellows, bare-legged and lanky, with 
hay ropes fastening their old grey coats around 
them, were standing beside a packet, about to take 
their departure for England for the harvest. Their 
imcouth appearance, their wild looks, their violent 
gestures, and, above all, their strange and 
guttural language — for they were all speaking Irish 
— attracted the attention of the manager; the ef- 
fect, to his professional eye, was good; the thought 
struck him at once. Here were the very fellows he 
wanted; it was scarcely necessary to alter anything 
about them; they were ready made to his hand, and 
in many respects better savages than their proto- 
types. Through the mediation of some whiskey, 
the appropriate liquor in all treaties of this nature, 
a bargain was readily struck, and in two hours 
more these ' forty thieves' were rehearsing upon 
the classic boards of our theatre, and once more 
La P/rouse, in all the glory of red capital letters, 
shone forth in the morning advertisments. The 
run of the piece continued unabated; the Indians 
were the rage; nothingelse was thought or spoken 
of in Dublin, and already the benefit of Ashewa- 
ballagh Ho was announced, who, by the bye, was 
a little fellow from Martin's estate in Connemara, 
and one of the drollest dogs I ever heard of. Well, it 
so happened that it was upon one of their nights 
of performing that I found myself, with Mr. 
Burke, a spectator of their proceedings; I had 
fallen into an easy slumber, when a dreadful row 
in the bo.x lobby roused me from my dream, and 
the loud cry of 'Turn him out!' ' Pitch him over!' 
■' Beat his brains out!' and other humane proposals 
of the like nature, effectually restored me to con- 
sciousness. I rushed out of the box into the 
lobby, and there, to my astonishment, in the midst 
of a considerable crowd, beheld my friend, Mr. 
Burke, belaboring the box-keeper with all his might 
with a cotton umbrella of rather unpleasant pro- 
portions, accompanying each blow with an excla- 
mation of ' Well, are they Connaughtmen, now, 
you rascal — eh? — are they all west of Athlone, tell 
me that, now? I wonder what's preventing me 
beating the soul out of ye.' After obtaining a 
short cessation of hostilities, and restoring poor 
Sharkey to his legs, much more dead than alive 
from pure fright, I learned, at last, the tcterrinia 
causa belli. Mr. Burke, it seems, had entered 
into conversation with Sharkey, the box-keeper, 
as to all the particulars of the theatre, and the 
present piece, but especially as to the real and au- 
thentic history of the Indians, whose language he 



remarked, in many respects, to resemble Irish. 
Poor Sharkey, whose benefit night was approach- 
ing, thought he might secure a friend for life by 
imparting to him an important state secret; and 
when, therefore, pressed rather closely as to the 
' savages' whereabout,' resolved to try a bold 
stroke, and trust his unknown interrogator. 'And 
so you don't really know where they come from, 
nor can't guess!' ' Mdybe, Peru,' said Mr. Burke, 
innocently. 'Try, again, sir,' said Sharkey, with 
a knowing grin. ' Is it Behring's Straits ?' said 
Mr. Burke. ' What do you think of Gal way, sir?' 
said Sharkey with a leer intended to cement a 
friendship for life. The words were no sooner 
out of his lips, than Burke, who immediately took 
them as a piece of direct insolence to himself and 
his country, felled him to the earth, and was in 
the act of continuing the discipline when I arrived 
on the field of battle." 



CHAPTER XXII. 



A NIGHT AT HOWTH. 



"And you must really leave us so soon," said 
Tom, as we issued forth into the street; "why, I 
was just planning a whole week's adventure for 
you. Town is so full of all kinds of idle people, I 
think I could manage to make your time pasS 
pleasantly enough." 

"Of that," I replied, "I have little doubt; but, 
for the reasons I have just mentioned, it is abso- 
lutely necessary that I should not lose a moment; 
and after arranging a few things here, I shall 
start to-morrow by the earliest packet, andhastei) 
up to London at once." 

" By Jupiter," said Tom, "how lucky. I just 
remember something which comes admirably it 
propos. You are going to Paris — is it not so?" 

"Yes, direct to Paris." 

" Nothing could be better. There is a particu- 
larly nice person, a great friend of mine — Mrs. 
Bingham — wailing for several days in hopes of a 
chaperon to take care of herself and daughter — a 
lovely girl, only nineteen, you wretch — to London, 
en route to the Continent ; the mamma is a delight- 
ful wcman, and a widow, with a very satisfactory 
jointure — you understand ; but the daughter, a 
regular, downright beauiy, and a ward in Chan- 
cery, with how many thousand pounds I am afraid 
to trust myself to say. You must know, then, they 
are the Binghams of , upon my soul, I for- 
get where, but highly respectable." 

" I regret I have not the pleasure of their ac- 
quaintance, and the more because I shall nor be 
able to make it now." 

"As why?" said Tom, gravely. 

" Because, in the first place, I am so confound- 
edly pressed for time, that I could not possibly 
delay under any contingency that might arise; 
and your fair friends are, doubtless, not so eagerly 
determined upon travelling night and day till they 
reach Paris. Secondly, to speak candidly, with 
my present hopes and fears weighing upon my 
mind, I should not be the most agreeable travel- 



HARRY LORREQUER. 



39 



ling companion to two ladies with such pretensions 
as you speak of ; and, thirdly " 

"Confound your thirdly. I suppose we shall 
have sixteenthly, like a Presbyterian minister's 
sermon, if I let you go on. VVhy, they'll not de- 
lay you one hour. Mrs. Bingham, man, cares as 
little for the road as yourself ; and as for your 
petits soins, I suppose if you get the fair ladies 
through the Custom House, and see them safe in a 
London hotel, it is all that will be required at 
your hands." 

" Notwithstanding all you say, I see the down- 
right impossibility of my taking such a charge at 
this moment, when my own affairs require all the 
little attention I can bestow ; and when, were I 
once involved with your fair friends, it might be 
completely out of my power to prosecute my own 
plans." 

As I said this, we reached the door of a hn'^r'- 
some-looking house in Kildare Street, upon which 
Tom left my arm, and informing me that he de- 
sired to drop a card, knocked loudly. 

" Is Mrs. Bingham at home ?" said he, as the 
servant opened the door. 

" No, sir, she's out in the carriage." 

"Well, you see, Harry, your ill luck befriends 
you ; for I was resolved on presenting you to my 
friends, and leaving the rest to its merits." 

"I can safely assure you that I should not have 
gone up-stairs," said I. "Little as I know of my- 
self, there is one point of my character I have 
never been deceived in, the fatal facility by which 
every new incident or adventure can turn me from 
following up my best matured and longest di- 
gested plans ; and as I feel this weakness and 
cannot correct it, the next best thing I can do is 
to fly the causes." 

"Upon my soul," said Tom, "you have be- 
come quite a philosopher since we met. There 
is an old adage which says, ' No king is ever 
thoroughly gracious if he has not passed a year 
or two in dethronement :' so I believe your regu- 
lar lady-killer — yourself, for instance — becomes a 
very quiet animal for bemg occasionally jilted. 
But now, as you have some commissions to do, 
pray get done with them as fast as possible, and 
let us meet at dinner. Where do you dine 
to-day ?" 

"Why, upon that point, I am at your service 
completely." 

"Well, then, I have got a plan wliich I think 
■will suit you. You said you wished to go by 
Holyhead, for fear of delay ; so we'll drive down 
at six o'clock to Skinner's, and dine with him on 
board the packet at Howth. Bring your luggage 
with you, and it will save you a vast deal of fuss 
and trouble in the morning." 

Nothing conld be better management for me 
than this, so I accordingly promised acquiescence ; 
and having appointed a rendezvous for six o'clock, 
bade O'Flaherty good-bye, inwardly rejoicing that 
my plans were so far forwarded, and fhat I was 
not to be embarrassed with either Mrs. Bingham 
or her daughter, for whose acquaintance or 
society I had no peculiar ambition. 

My commissions, though not very numerous, 
occupied the few hours which remained, and it 
was already a few minutes past six o'clock when 



I took my stand under the piazza of the Post- 
office to wait for O'Flaherty. I had not long to 
do so, for immediately after I had reached the 
spot, he arrived in an open barouche and four 
posters, with three other young men, to whom he 
severally introduced me, but whose names I have 
totally forgotten ; I only remember that two of 
the party were military men, then quartered in 
town. 

When I had taken my seat, I could not help 
whispering to Tom, that although his friend 
Skinner might be " bon' for a visitation for two at 
his dinner, yet, as we were now so strong a party, 
it might be as well to dine at the hotel. 

"Oh," said he, "I have arranged all that; I 
have sent him a special messenger two hours since, 
and so make your mind easy — we shall not be dis- 
appointed, nor he short-taken." 

Our drive, although a long one, passed quickly 
over, and before we had reached our destination, 
I had become tolerably intimate with all the 
party, who were evidently picked men, selected 
by O'Flaherty for a pleasant evening. 

We drove along the pier to the wharf, where 
the steamer lay, and were received at once by 
Tom 's friend with all the warm welcome and 
hospitality of a sailor, united with the address 
and polish of a very finished gentleman. As we 
descended the companion-ladder to the cabin, 
my mind became speedily divested of any fears 
I might have indulged in as to the want of prep- 
aration of our entertainer. The table was cov- 
ered with handsome plate and cut-glass, while 
the side-tables glittered with a magnificent des- 
sert, and two large wine-coolers presenting an 
array of champagne necks shining with their 
leaden cravats that would have tempted an an- 
chorite. 

I remember very little else of that evening 
than the coup d'a'il I have mentioned ; besides, 
were my memory more retentive, I might scruple 
to trespass further on my reader's patience, by 
the detail of those pleasures which, like love- 
letters, however agreeable to the parties immedi- 
ately concerned, are very unedifying to all others. 
I do remember, certainly, that good stories and 
capital songs succeeded each other with a rapidity 
only to be equalled by the popping of corks ; and 
have also a very vague and indistinct recollection 
of a dance round the table, evidently to finish a 
chorus, but which, it appears, finished me too, for 
I saw no more that night. 

How many have commemorated the waking 
sensations of their fellow-men, after a night's, 
debauch ! yet, at the same time, I am not aware 
of any one having perfectly conveyed even a pas- 
sing likeness to the mingled throng of sensations 
which crowd one's brain on such an occasion. 
The doubf of what has passed, by degrees yield- 
ing to the half consciousness of the truth, the 
feeling of shame, inseparable, except to the hab- 
itually hard-goer, from the events thus dimly pic- 
tured, the racking headache and intense thirst, 
with th*; horror of the potation recently indulged 
in ; the recurring sense of the fun or drollery of 
a story or an incident which provokes us again 
to laugh despite the jarring of our brain from the 
shaking — all this, and more, most men have felt, 



100 



•HARRY LORREQUER. 



and happy are they when their waking thoughts 
are limited to such, at times like these. The 
matter becomes considerably worse, when the fol- 
lowing morning calls for some considerable exer- 
tion, for which, even in your best and calmest 
moments, you barely find yourself equal. 

It is truly unpleasant, on rubbing your eyes and 
opening your ears, to discover that the great bell 
is ringing the half-hour before your quarterly ex- 
amination at college, while Locke, I.loyd, and 
Lucian are dancing a reel through your brain, 
little short of madness ; scarcely less agreeable 
is it to learn that your friend Captain Wildfire is 
at the door in his cab. to accompany you to the 
Phoenix, to stand within twelve paces of a cool 
gentleman who has been sitting with his arm in 
cold water for the last half hour, that he may 
pick you out "artist-like." There are, besides 
these, innumerable situations in which our prep- 
arations of the night would appear as none of 
the wisest ; but I prefer going at once to my 
own, which, although considerably inferior in 
difficulty, was not without its own dc'sagre'mens. 

When I awoke, therefore, on board tlie Firefly, 
the morning after our dinner-party, I was per- 
fectly unable, by any mental process within my 
reach, to discover where I was. On shipboard 
I felt I must be— the narrow berth, the gilded 
and panelled cabin which met my eye through 
my half open curtains, and tliat peculiar swelling 
motion inseparable from a vessel in the water, all 
satisfied me of this fact. I looked about me, but 
could see no one to give me the least idea of my 
position. Could it be that we were on our way 
out to Corfu, and that I had been ill for some 
time past ? 

But this cabin had little resemblance to a 
transport ; perhaps it might be a frigate, I knew 
not. Then again, were we sailing, or at anchor ? 
for the ship was nearly motionless ; at this instant 
a tremendous noise like thunder crashed through 
my head, and for a moment I expected we had 
exploded, and would be all blown up ; but an 
instant after I discovered it must be the escape 
of the steam, and that I was on board a packet- 
ship. Here, then, was some clue to my situation, 
and one which would probably have elicited all 
in due season ; but just at this moment a voice 
on deck saved me from any further calculations. 
Two persons were conversing, whose voices were 
not altogether unknown to me, but why I knew 
not. 

" Then, captain, I suppose you consider this as 
an excellent passage ?" 

"Yes, of course I do," replied the captain, 
" it's only five hours since we left Howth, and 
now, you see, we are nearly in ; if we have this 
run of the tide we shall reach the Head before 
twelve o'clock." 

" Ha, ha !"said I to myself," now I begin to learn 
something. So we have crossed the channel 
while I was sleeping, not the least agreeable thing 
for a man to hear who suffers martyrdom from 
sea-sickness. But let me listen again." 

"And that large mountain there, is that 
Snowdon ?" 

" No ; you cannot see Snowdon ; there is too 
much mist about it ; that mountain is Capel Car- 



rig ! and there, that bold bluff to the eastward, 
that is Penmen Mawr." 

" Come, there is no time to be lost," thought I ; 
so springing out of my berth, accoutred as I was 
in merely trousers and slippers, with a red hand- 
kerchief, fastened nightcap fashion round my 
head, I took my way through the cabin. 

My first thought on getting upon my legs was 
how tremendously the vessel pitched, which I had 
not remarked while in my berth, but now I could 
scarce keep myself from falling at every step. I 
was just about to call the steward, when I again 
heard the voices on deck. 

"You have but few passengers this trip?" 

" I think only yourself and a Captain Lorrequer," 
replied the captain," who, by the bye, is losing 
all this fine coast, which is certainly a great 
pity." 

" He shall not do so much longer," thought I ; 
" for as I find that are no other passengers, I'll 
make my toilet on deck, and enjoy the view be- 
sides." With this determination I ascended 
slowly and cautiously the companion-ladder, and 
stepped out upon the deck ; but scarcely had I 
done so, when a roar of the loudest laughter made 
me turn my head towards the poop, and there, to 
my horror of horrors, I beheld Tom O'Flaherty 
seated between two ladies, whose most vociferous 
mirth I soon perceived was elicited at my expense. 

All the party of the preceding night were also 
there, and as I turned from their grinning faces 
to the land, I saw, to my shame and confusion; 
that we were still lying beside the pier at Howth, 
while the bandboxes, trunks and imperials of new 
arrivals were incessantly pouring in as trsvelling 
carriages kept driving up to the place of embark- 
ation. I stood perfectly astounded and bewildered 
— shame for my ridiculous costume would have 
made me fly at any other time — but there I re- 
mained to be laughed at, patiently, while that 
villain O'Flaherty, leading me passively forward, 
introduced me to his friends — " Mrs. Bingham, 
Mr. Lorrequer ; Mr. Lorrequer, Miss Bingham. 
Don't be prepossessed against him, ladies, for when 
not in love, and properly dressed, he is a mar- 
vellously well-looking young gentleman ; and 
as " 

What the remainder of the sentence might be, 
I knew not, for I rushed down into the cabin, and 
locking the door, never opened it till I could per- 
ceive from the stern windows that we were really 
off on our way to England, and recognized once 
more the laughing face of O'Flaherty, who, as he 
waved his hat to his friends from the pier, re- 
minded them that " they were under the care and 
protection of his friend Lorrequer, who, he trusted, 
would condescend to increase his wearing ap- 
parrel under the circumstances." 



CHAPTER XXHL 

THE JOURNEY. 



When I did at last venture upon deck, it was 
with a costume studiously accurate, and as much 
of manner as I could possibly muster, to en- 



HARRY LORREOUER, 



.101 



deavor at once to erase the unfortunate impression 
of my first appearance ; this, however, was not des- 
tined to be a perfectly successful manceuvre, and 
I was obliged, after a few minutes, to join the 
laugh, which I found could not be repressed, at 
my expense. One good result certainly followed 
from ail this. I became almost immediately on 
intimate terms with Mrs. Bingham and lier daugh- 
ter, and much of the awkwardness in my position 
as their chaperon, wliich, ban gre, tnal gte, I was 
destined to be, was at once got over. Mrs. 
Bingham herself was of that style of widow which 
comes under the " fat, fair, and forty" category, 
with a never ceasing flow of high, almost boister- 
ous spirits — -an excellent temper, good health — 
and a well-stocked purse. Life to her was like a 
game of her favorite " speculation." When she 
believed the " company honest," and knew her cards 
trumps, she was tolerably easy for the result. 
She liked Kingstown — she liked whist — she liked 
the military — she liked "the junior bar," of which 
she knew a good number — she had a well-fur- 
nished house in Kildare Street — -and a well-cush- 
ioned pew in St, Anne's — she was a favorite at 
the Castle — and Dr. Labatt " knew her constitu- 
tion." Why, with all these advantages, she should 
ever have thought of leaving the " happy valley" 
of her native city, it was somewhat hard to guess. 
Was it that thoughts of matrimony, whicfi the 
Continent held out more prospect for, had in- 
vaded the fair widow's heart ? was it that the al- 
tered conditions to which politics had greatly re- 
duced Dublin had effected this change of opin- 
ion .' or was it like that indescribable longing 
for the unknown something, which we read of 
in the pathetic history of the fair lady celebrated, 
I believe, by Petrarch ? But I quote from 
memory : — 

"Mrs. Gill is very ill. 

Nothing can improve her, 
But to see the Tiiileries, 

And waddle through the Louvre." 

None of these, I believe, however good and 
valid reasons in themselves, were the moving 
powers upon the present occasion ; the all-suf- 
ficient one being that Mrs. Bingham had a daugh- 
ter. Now Miss Bingham was Dublin, too — but 
Dublin of a later edition — and a finer, more hot- 
pressed copy than her mamma. She had been 
educated at Mrs. Somebody's seminary in Mount- 
joy Square — had been taught to dance by Mon- 
tague — and had learned French from a Swiss 
governess — with a number of siinilar advan- 
tages — a very pretty figure — dark eyes — long eye- 
lashes and a dimple — and last, but of course 
least, the deserved reputation of a large fortune. 
She had made a most successful di'lttit in the 
Dublin world, where she was much admired and 
flattered, and which soon suggested to her quick 
mind, as it has often done in similar cases to a 
young provincial debuntante, not to waste her at- 
tractions upon the minor theatres, but at once to 
appear upon the " great boards ;" so far evidencing 
a higher flight of imagination and enterprise than 
is usually found among the class of her early 
associates, who may be characterized as that 
school of young ladies, who admire "The Cor- 
sair" and Kingstown, and say, "Ah, don't !" 



She possessed much more common sense than 
her mamma, and promised, under proper advan- 
tages, to become speedily quite sufficiently 
acquainted with the world and its habitudes. In 
the meanwhile, I perceived that she ran a very 
considerable risk of being carried off by fome 
mustachioed Pole, with a name like a sneeze, who 
might pretend to enjoy access to the fashionable 
circles of the Continent. 

Very little study of my two friends enabled me 
to see thus much; and very little ''usage" suf- 
ficed to render me speedily intimate with both ; 
the easy good-nature of the mamma, who had a 
very niethodistical appreciation of what the " con- 
nection" call "creature comforts," amused me 
much, and opened one ready path to her good 
graces by the opportunity afforded of getting up 
a luncheon of veal cutlets and London porter, of 
which I partook, not a little to the evident loss of 
the fair daughter's esteem. 

While, therefore, I made the tour of the 
steward's cell in search of Harvey's sauce, I 
brushed up my memory of "The Corsair" and 
"Childe Harold," and alternately discussed 
Stilton and Southey, Shelley and lobsters, Haynes 
Bayley and ham. 

The day happened to be particularly calm and 
delightful, so that we never left the deck ; and 
the six hours which brought us from land to land 
quickly passed over in this manner ; and ere we 
reached "the Head," I had become the warm friend 
and legal adviser of the mother ; and with the 
daughter I was installed as chief confidant of all 
her griefs and sorrows, both of which appoint- 
ments cost me a solemn promise to take care of 
them till their arrival in Paris, where they had 
many friends and acquaintances awaiting thtm. 
Here, then, as usual, was the fatal facility with 
which I gave myself up to any one who took the 
trouble to influence me ! One thing, neverthe- 
less, I was determined on, to let no circimstance 
defer my arrival at Paris a day later than was 
possible ; therefore, though my office as chaperon 
might engage me on the road, it should not inter- 
fere with the object before me. Had my mind 
not been so completely engaged with my own im- 
mediate prospects, when hope, suddenly and unex- 
pectedly revived, had become so tinged with fears 
and doubts as to be almost torture, 1 must have 
been much amused with my present jjosition, as 
I found myself seated with my two fair friends, 
rolling along through Wales in their comfortable 
travelling carriage — giving all the orders at the 
different hotels — seeing after the luggage and 
acting en maid e in every respect. 

The good widow enjoyed particularly the diffi- 
cult.y which my precise position with regard to 
her and her daughter threw the different inn- 
keepers on the road into, sometimes supposing 
me to be her husband, sometimes her son, and 
once her son-in-law; which very alarming con- 
jecture brought a crimson tinge to the fair 
daughter's cheek, an expression which, in my igno- 
rance, I thought looked very like an inclination 
to faint in my arms. 

At length we reached London, and having 
been there safely installed at Mivart's, I salhed 
forth to present my letter to the Horse Guards, 



102 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



and obtain our passport for the Continent. 

" Number nine, Poland Street, sir," said the 
waiter, as I inquired the address of the French 
Consul. Having discovered that my interview 
with the commander-in-chief was appointed for 
four o'clock, 1 determined to lose no time, but 
make every possible arrangement for leaving Lon- 
don in the morning. 

A cab quietly conveyed me to the door of the 
Consul, around which stood several other vehi- 
cles of every shape and fashion, while in the door- 
way were to be seen numbers of people, throng- 
ing and pressing, like the opera pit on a full 
night. Into the midst of this assemblage I soon 
thrust myself, and, borne upon the current, at 
length reached a small back parlor, filled also 
with people; a door opening into another small 
room in the front showed a similar mob there, 
with the addition of a small elderly man, in a 
bag-wig and spectacles, very much begrimed with 
snuff, and speaking in a very choleric tone to the 
various applicants for passports, who, totally ig- 
norant of French, insisted upon interlarding 
their demands with an occasional stray phrase, 
making a kind of tesselated pavement of tongues, 
which would have shamed Babel. Nearest to the 
table at which the functionary sat stood a mus- 
tachioed gentleman, in a blue frock and white 
trousers, a white hat Jauntily set upon one side 
of his head, and primrose gloves. He cast a mo- 
mentary glance of a very undervaluing import 
upon the crowd around him, and then, turning to 
the Consul, said in a very soprano tone: — 

" Passport, monsieur!" 

"Que voulez-vous que je fasse," replied the 
old Frenchman, gruffly. 

"Je suis — j'ai — that is, donnez-moi passport." 

" Where do you go ?" replied the Consul. 
■^."Calai." 

"Comment, diable, speak Inglis, an I under- 
stan you as besser. Your name?" 

" Lorraine Snaggs, gentilhomme." 

" What age have you ? — how old .'" 

"Twenty-two." 

"C'est ga," said the old Consul, flinging the 
passport across the table with the air of a man 
who thoroughly comprehended the applicant's 
pretension to the designation of gentilhomme 
Anglais. 

As I followed the worthy representative of 
Seven Dials with my eye, another person had 
neared the table. She was a rather pretty 
yonng woman, with blue eyes, and brovirn hair 
braided quietly on her forehead, and wearing 
a plain close bonnet of a very coquettish ap- 
pearance. 

"Will you be seated, mam'selle?" said the po- 
lite old Frenchman, who had hitherto been more 
like a bear than a human being. "Oil allez-vous 
done? where to, ma chere?" 

"To Paris, sir." 

" By Calais?" 

"No, sir; by Boulogne." 

"C'est bon; quel age avez-vous. What old, 
nia belle?" 

"Nineteen, sir, in June." 

" And are you alone, quite, eh?" 

" No, sir, my little girl." 



"Ah! your leetel girl — c'est fort bien — je 
m'aperfois; and your name?" 

"Fanny Linwood, sir." 

" C'est fini, ma chere, — Mademoiselle Fanny 
Linwood," said the old man, as he wrote down 
the name. 

" Oh, sir, I beg your pardon, but you have put 
me down Mademoiselle, and — and — you see, sir, 
I have my little girl." 

"Ah! c'est egal, mam'selle, they don't mind 
these things in France. Au plaisir de vous voir 
— adieu." 

"They don't mind these things in France," said 
I to myself, repeating the old Consul's phrase, 
which I could not help feeling as a whole chapter 
on his nation. 

My business was soon settled, for I spoke 
nothing but English — very'little knowledge of the 
world teaching me that when we have any 
favor, however slight, to ask, it is always good 
policy to make the demand by propitiating the 
self-esteem of the granter, if, happily, there be an 
opportunity for so doing. 

When I returned to Mivart's, I found a written 
answer to my letter of the morning, stating that 
his lordship of the Horse Guards was leaving 
town that afternoon, but would not delay my de- 
parture for the Continent, to visit which a four 
months' leave was granted me, with a recom- 
mendation to study at Weimar. 

The next day brought us to Dover, in time to 
stroll about the cliffs during the evening, when I 
again talked sentiment with the daugliter till very 
late. The mamma herself was too tired to come 
out, so that we had our walk quite alone. It is 
strange enough how quickly this travelling to- 
gether has shaken us into intimacy. Isabella 
says she feels as if I were her brother ; and I be- 
gin to think myself she is ^10/ exactly like a sister. 
She has a marvellously pretty foot and ankle. 

The climbing of cliffs is a very dangerous 
pastime. How true the French adage — "C'est 
plus facile de glisser sur le gazon que surla glace." 
But still nothing can come of it; for if Lady Jane be 
not false, I must consider myself an engaged man. 

" Well, but I hope," said I, rousing myself 
from a reverie of some minutes, and inadvertently 
pressing the arm which leaned upon me, "your 
mamma will not be alarmed at our long absence ?" 

"Oh! not in the least ; for she knows I'm with 
yo!/." 

And here I felt a return of the pressure — per- 
haps also inadvertently given, but which, whether 
or not, effectually set all my reasonings and cal- 
culations astray ; and we returned to the hotel, 
silent on both sides. 

The appearance of " mamma" beside the hissing 
tea-urn brought us both back to ourselves ; and, 
after an hour's chatting, we said "Good night," 
to start on the morrow for the Continent. 



CHAPTER XXIV. 

CALAIS. 



It was upon a lovely evening in autumn, as the 
Dover steamboat rounded the wooden pier at 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



103 



Calais, amid a fleet of small boats filled with eager 
and anxious faces, soliciting, in every species of 
bad English and /<c!ii?is French, the attention and 
patronage of the passengers. 

" Hotel des Bains, milor." 

" Hotel d'Angleterre," said another, in a voice 
of the most imposing superiority. " C'est superbe 
— pretty well." 

" Hotel du Nord, votre Excellence — remise de 
poste and ' delays' (query, relays ?) at all hours." 

" Commissionnaire, miladi," sang out a smalt 
shrill treble from the midst of a crowded cock-boat, 
nearly swamped beneath our paddle-wheel. 

What a scene of bustle, confusion, and excite- 
ment does the deck of a steamer present upon such 
an occasion. Every one is running hither or 
thitlier. Sautfe que pent \% now the watchword; 
and friendships that promised a life-long endur- 
ance only half an hour ago, find here a speedy 
dissolution. The lady who slept all night upon 
deck, enveloped in the folds of your Astrakhan 
cloak, scarcely deigns an acknowledgment of you, 
as she adjusts her ringlets befi^re the looking- 
glass over the stove in the cabin. The polite 
gentleman, that would have flown for a recticule 
or a smelling-bottle upon the high seas, won't 
leave his luggage in the harbor; and the gallantry 
and devotion that stood the test of half a gale of 
■wind and a wet jacket is not proof when the 
safety of a carpet-bag or the security of a "Mack- 
intosh" is concerned. 

And thus, here, as elsewhere, is prosperity the 
touchstone of good feeling. All the various dis- 
guises which have been assumed, per viagi^io, are 
here immediately abandoned, and stripped of the 
travelling costume of urbanity and courtesy, 
which they put on for the voyage, they stand 
forth in all the unblushing front of selfishness and 
self-interest. 

Some tender scenes yet find their place amid 
the ruins of this chaotic state. Here may be seen 
a careful mother adjusting innumerable shavvls 
and handkerchiefs round the throat of a sea-green 
young lady with a cough ; her maid, at the same 
instant, taking a tender farewell of the steward 
in the after-cabin. 

Here, is a very red-faced and hot individual, 
with punch-colored breeches and gaiters, disput- 
ing "one brandy too much" in his bill, and vow- 
ing that the company shall hear of it when he re- 
turns to England. "J'here, a tall, elderly woman, 
with a Scotch-grey eye, and a sharp cheek-bone, 
is depositing within her muff various seizable 
articles, that, until now, had been lying quietly in 
her trunk. Yonder, that raw-looking young gen- 
tleman, with the crumpled frock-coat, and loose 
cravat, and sea-sick visage, is asking every one 
"if they think he may land without a passport." 
You scarcely recognize him for the cigar-smoking 
dandy of yesterday, that talked as if he had lived 
half his life on the Continent. While there, a 
rather pretty girl is looking intently at some ob- 
ject in the blue water, beside the rudder 
post. You are surprised you cannot make it 
out! but then, she has the advantage of you, 
for tlie tali, well-looking man, with the knowing 
whiskers, is evidently whispering something in 
her ear. 



"Steward, this is not my trunk; mine was a 
leather " 

" All the ' leathers' are gone in the first boat, 
sir." 

" Most scandalous way of doing business." 

"Trouble you for two-and-sixpence, sir." 

" There's Matilda coughing again," says a thin, 
shrewish woman, with a kind of triumphant scowl 
at her better half ; " but you wouldhsM^ her wear 
that thin shawl !" 

"Whatever may be the fault of the shawl, I 
fancy no one will reproach her ankles for thin- 
ness," murmurs a young Guardsman, as he peeps 
up the companion-ladder. 

Amid all the Babel of tongues and uproar of 
voices, the thorough bass of the escape steam 
keeps up its infernal thunders, till the very brain 
reels, and, sick as you have been of the voyage, 
you half wish yourself once more at sea, if only 
to have a moment of peace and tranquillity. 

Numbers now throng the deck who have never 
made their appearance before. Pale, jaundiced, 
and crumpled, they have all the sea-sick look and 
haggard cheek of the real martyr — all except one, 
a stout, swarthy, brown-visaged man, of about 
forty, with a frame of iron, and a voice like the 
fourth string of a violoncello. You wonder why he 
should have taken to his bed ; learn, then, that he 
is his Majesty's courier from the Foreign Office, 
with despatches to Constantinople, and that, as he 
is not destined to lie down in a bed for the next 
fourteen days, he is glad even of the narrow re- 
semblance to one he finds in the berth of a steam- 
boat. At length you are on shore, and marched 
off in a long string, like a gang of convicts, to the 
Bureau de I'Octroi ; and here is begun an exami- 
nation of the luggage, which promises, from its 
minuteness, to last for the three months you des- 
tined to spend in Switzerland. At the end of an 
hour you discover that the svi-disant commission- 
naire will transact ail this affair for a few francs ; 
and, after a tiresome wait in a filthy room, jostled, 
elbowed, and trampled upon by boors with sabots, 
you adjourn to your inn, and begin to feel that 
you are not in England. 

Our little party had but few of the miseries 
here recounted to contend with. My savoire /aire, 
with all modesty be it spoken, had been long 
schooled in tiie art and practice of travelling; 
and while our less experienced fellow-travellers 
were deep in the novel mysteries of cotton stock- 
ings and petticoats, most ostentatiously displayed 
upon every table of the Bureau, we were comfor- 
tably seated in the handsome saloon of the Hotel 
du Nord, looking out upon a pretty grass-plot, 
surrounded with orange-trees, and displaying in 
the middle a fountain about the size of a walking- 
stick. 

" Now, Mr. Lorrequer," said Mrs. Bingham, as 
she seated herself by the open window, "never 
forget how totally dependent we are upon your 
kind offices. Isabella has discovered already th:t 
the French of Mountjoy Square, however intelli- 
gible in that neighborhood, and even as far i.s 
Mount Street, is Coptic and Sanscrit here ; and, 
as for myself, I intend to affect deaf and dumb- 
ness till I reach Paris, where I hear every one 
can speak English a little." 



104 



HARRY LORREQUER. 



" Now, then, to begin my functions," said I, as 
I rang for the waiter, and ran over in my mind 
rapidly how many invaluable hints for my new 
position my present trip might afford me, " always 
provided" (as the lawyers say), that Lady Jane 
Callonby might feel herself tempted to become 

my travelling companion, in wliich case But, 

confound it, how I am castle-building again! 
Meanwhile, Mrs. Bingham is looking as hungry 
and famished as though she would eat the waiter. 
"Ha! this is the carte." 

"Now, then, to order supper." 

" Cotelettes d'agneau." 

"Mayonnaise de homard." 

" Perdreaux rouges aux truffes^-mark that, aux 
trufifes." 

" Gel^e an maraschino." 

"And the wine, sir," said the waiter, with a 
look of approval at my selection. " Champagne 
— no other wine, sir.'" 

" No," said I, " champagne only. Frappe, of 
course," I added. And the waiter departed, with 
a bow that would have graced St. James's. 

As long as our immaterial and better part shall 
be doomed to keep company with its fleshy tab- 
ernacle, with all its attendant miseries of gout 
and indigestion, how much of our enjoyment in 
this world is dependent upon the mere accessory 
circumstances by which the business of life is 
carried on and maintained, and to despise which 
is neither good policy nor sound philosophy. In 
this conclusion, a somewhat long experience of 
the life of a traveller has fully established me. 
And nowhere does it press more forcibly upon the 
mind than when first arrived in a continental inn, 
after leaving the best hotels of England still fresh 
in your memory. I do not for a moment dispute 
the very great superiority in comfort of the latter, 
by which I would be understood to mean all those 
resemblances to one's own home which an English 
hotel so eminently possesses, and every other one 
so markedly wants ; but I mean that in contriv- 
ances to elevate the spirit, cheer the jaded and 
tired wayfarer by objects which, however they 
may appeal to the mere senses, seem, at least, 
but little sensual, give me a foreign inn ; let me 
have a large, spacious saloon, with its lofty walls, 
and its airy, large-paned windows (I shall not ob- 
ject if the cornices and mouldings be gilded, be- 
cause such is usually the case) — let the sun and 
heat of a summer's day come tempered through 
the deep lattices of a well-fitting jalousie bear- 
ing upon them the rich incense of a fragrant 
orange-tree in blossom — and the sparkling drops 
of a neighboring fountain, the gentle plash of 
which is faintly audible amid the hum of the 
drone-bee — let such be the agre'iiiens without — 
while within, let the more substantial joys of the 
table await, in such guise as only a French aiisine 
can present them — give me these, I say, and I 
shall never sigh for the far-famed and long-de- 
plored comforts of a box in a coffee-room, like a 
pew in a parish church, though certainly not so 
well cushioned, and fully as dull, with a hot 
waiter and a cold beefsteak — the only thing higher 
than your game being your bill, and the only 
thing less drinkable than your port being the 
porter. 



With such exotic notions, imagine, my dear 
reader, whether or not I felt happy as I found 
myself seated between my two fair friends, doing 
the honors of a little supper, and assisting the ex- 
hilaration of our champagne by such efforts of wit 
as, under favorable circumstances like these, are 
ever successful— and which, being like the foam- 
ing liquid which washes them down, to be swal- 
lowed without waiting, are ever esteemed good, 
from the excitement that results, and never seri- 
ously canvassed for any more sterling merit. 
Nothing ever makes a man so agreeable as the 
belief that he is so ; and certainly my fair com- 
panions appeared to have the most excellent idea 
of my powers in that respect ; ar.d 1 fancy that 
I made more bans mots, hit off more epigrams, 
and invented more choice incidents on that happy 
evening, than, if now remembered, would suffice 
to pay my tailor's bill, when collated for Bently i 
Miscellany, and illustrated by Cruikshank. Alas! 
that, like the good liquor that seasoned them, 
both are gone by, and I am left but to chionicle 
the memory of the fun in dulness, and counter- 
feit the effervescence of the grape-juice by soda- 
water. One thing, however, is certain — we fornitd 
a most agreeable party ; and if a feeling of gloom 
ever momentarily shot through my mind, it was, 
that evenings like these came so rarely in this 
work-a-day world, that each such should be looked 
on as our last. 

If I had not already shown myself up to my 
reader as a weathercock of the first water, per- 
haps I should now hesitate about confessing that 
I half regretted the short space during which it 
should be my privilege to act as the guide and 
mentor of my two friends. The impetuous haste 
which I before felt necessary to exercise in reach- 
ing Paris iinmediately vas now tempered by pru- 
dent thoughts about travelling at night, and re- 
flections about sun-stroke by day ; and even mo- 
ments most devoted to the object of my heart's 
aspirations were fettered by the very philosophic 
idea that it could never detract frcm the pleasure 
of the happiness that awaited nie, if I travelled 
on the primrose path to its attainment. I argued 
thus : if Lady Jane be true — if — if, in a word, I 
am destined to have any success in the Callonby 
family, then will a day or two more not risk it. 
My present friends I shall, of course, take leave 
of at Paris, where their own acquaintances await 
them ; and, on the other hand, should I be 
doomed once more to disappointment, 1 am 
equally certain I should feel no disposition to 
form a new attachment. Thus did I reason, and 
thus I believed ; and though I was a kind of 
"consultation opinion" among my friends in 
"suits of love," I was really then unaware that 
at no time is a man so prone to fall in love as 
immediately after his being jilted. If common 
sense will teach us not to dance a bolero upon a 
sprained ankle, so might it also convey the equally 
important lesson, not to expose our more vital 
and inflammatory organ to the fire the day after 
its being singed. 

Reflections like these did not occur to me at 
this moment; besides that I was "going thejjace" 
with a forty-horse power of agreeability that left 
me little time for thought — least of all, of serious 



HARRY LORREQUER. 



105 



thought. So stood matters. I had just filled our 
tall, slender glasses with the creaming and " spark- 
ling" source of wit and inspiration, when the loud 
crack, crack, crack, of a postilion's whip, accom- 
panied by the shaking trot of a heavy team, and 
the roll of wheels, announced a new arrival. 

" Here they come," said I; " only look at them — 
four horses and one postilion, all apparently strag- 
gling and straying after their own fancy, but yet 
going surprisingly straight, notwithstanding. See 
how they come through that narrow archway — it 
might puzzle the best four-in-hand in England to 
do it better." 

" What a handsome young man, if he had not 
those odious mustachios. Why, Mr. Lorrequer, 
he knows n>u : see, he is bowing to you." 

"Aft-/ bh! no. Why surely, it must be — the 
devil — it is Kilkee, Lady Jane's brother! I know 
his temper well. One five minutes' observation of 
my present intimacy with my fair friends, and adieu 
to all hopes for me of calling Lord Callonby my 
father-in-law. There is not, therefore, a moment to 
lose." 

As these thoughts revolved 'through my mind, 
the confusion I felt had covered my face with 
scarlet, and with a species of blundering apology 
for abruptly leaving them for a moment, I ran 
down-stairs only in time sufficient to anticipate 
Kilkee's questions as to the number of my apart- 
ment, to which he was desirous of proceeding at 
once. Our first greetings over, Kilkee questioned 
me as to my route, adding, that his now was neces- 
sarily an undecided one, for, if his family hap- 
pened not to be at Paris, he should be obliged to 
seek after them among the German watering- 
places. "In any case, Lorrequer," said he, "we 
shall hunt them in couples. I must insist upon 
you coming along with me." 

"Oh! that," said I, "you must not think of. 
Your carriage is a cot///, and I cannot think of 
crowding you." 

" Why, you don't seriously wish to affront me, 
I hope; for I flattter myself that a more perfect 
carriage cannot be built. Hobson made it on a plan 
of my own, and I am excessively proud of it, I 
assure you. Come, that matter is decided — now 
for supper. Are there many English here just 
now? By-the-bye, the ladies I think I saw you 
standing with on the balcony — who are they ?" 

"Oh! the ladies— oh! yes, people I came over 
with " 

" One was pretty, I fancied. Have you supped? 
Just order something, will you; meanwhile, I shall 
write a few lines before the post leaves." Saying 
which, he dashed up-stairs after the waiter, and left 
me to my meditations. 

" This begins to be pleasant," thought I, as the 
door closed, leaving me alone in the salon. In 
circumstances of such moment I had never felt so 
nonplussed as now, how to decline Kilkee's invita- 
tion, without discovering my intimacy with the 
Binghams — and yet I could not, by any possibili- 
ty, desert them tlius abruptly. Such was the di- 
lemma. " I see but one thing for it," said I, 
gloomily, as I strode through the eoffee-room, 
with my head sunk, and my hands behind my 
back — " I see but one thing left— I must be taken 
ill to-night, and not be able to leave my bed in 



the morning — a fever — a contagious fever — blue 
and red spots all over me — and be raving wildly be- 
fore breakfast time ; and if ever any discovery takes 
place of my intimacy above stairs, I must only es- 
tablish it as a premonitory symptom of insanity, 
which seized me in the packet. And now for a 
doctor that will understand my case, and listen to 
reason, as they would call it in Ireland." With 
this idea uppermost, I walked out into the court- 
yard to look for a commissionnaire to guide me in 
my search. Around on every side of me stood the 
various carriages and vehicles of the hotel and its 
inmates, to the full as distinctive and ]5eculiar in 
character as their owners. "Ah! there is Kilkee's," 
said I, as my eye lighted upon the well-balanced 
and elegant little carriage which he had been only 
with justice encomiumizing. " It is certainly per- 
fect, and yet I'd give a handful of louis d'or if it 
was like that venerable cabriolet yonder, with the 
one wheel and no shafts. But, alas! those springs 
give little hope of a break-down, and that con- 
founded axle will outlive the patentee. But still, 
can nothing be done — eh ! Come, the thought is 
a good one. I is.^, garden, who greases the wheels 
of the carriages here ?" 

"C'est moi, monsieur," said a great oaf, in 
wooden shoes and a blouse. 

"Well, then, do you understand these?" said I, 
touching the patent axle-boxes with my cane. 

He shook his head. 

" Then who does here ?" 

"Ah ! Michel understands them perfectly." 

" Then bring him here," said 1. 

In a few minutes a little, shrewd old fellow, with 
a smith's apron, made his appearance, and intro- 
duced himself as M. Michel. I had not much dif- 
ficulty in making him master of my plan, which 
was, to detach one of the wheels, as if for the 
purpose of oiling the axle, and afterwards render 
it incapable of being replaced — at least for twen- 
ty-four hours. 

"This is my idea," said I ; "nevertheless, do 
not be influenced by me. All I ask is, disable the 
carriage from proceeding to-morrow, and here are 
three louis d'or at your service " 

"Soyez bien tranquille, monsieur; milor shall 
spend to-morrow in Calais if I know anything of 
my art." Saying v^hich, he set out in search of 
his tools, while I returned to the salon with my 
mind relieved, and fully prepared to press the ur- 
gency of my reaching Paris without any delay. 

" Well, Lorrequer." said Kilkee as I entered, 
" here is supper waiting, and I am as hungry as a 
wolf." 

"Oh! I beg pardon — I've been getting every- 
thing in readiness for our start to-morrow morn- 
ing, for I have not told you how anxious I am to 
get to Paris before the 8th — some family busi- 
ness, which requires my looking after, compeOing 
me to do so." 

" As to that, let your mind be at rest, for I shall 
travel to-morrow night if you prefer it. Now for 
the Volnay. Why, you are not drinking your wine. 
What do you say to our paying our respects to 
the fair ladies above stairs ? I am sure the atten- 
tions you have practised coming over would per- 
mit the liberty." 

" Oh, hang it, no ! There's neither of them 



106 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



prettv, and I should rather avoid the risk of 
making a regular acquaintance with them." said I. 

" As you like, then — only, as you'll not take 
■any wine, let us have a stroll through the town." 
, After a short ramble through the town, in which 
Kilkee talked the entire time, but of what I know 
not, my thoughts being upon my own immediate 
concerns, we returned to the hotel. As we en- 
tered the porte-ri/c/ierc; my friend Michel passed 
me, and as he took off his hat in salutation, gave me 
one rapid glance of his knowing eye, that completely 
satisfied me that Hobson's pride in my friend's 
carriage had by that time received quite sufficient 
provocation to throw him into an apoplexy. 

" By-the-bye," said I, " let us see your carriage. 
I am curious to look at it," — (and so I was). 

" Well, then, come along this way ; they have 
placed it under some of these sheds, which they 
think coach-houses." 

I followed my friend through the court till we 
arrived near the fatal spot ; but before reaching he 
had caught a glimpse of the mischief, and shouted 
out a most awful imprecation upon the author of 
the deed which met his eye. The forewheel of 
the ci>t//>e' had been taken from the a.vie, and in 
the difficulty of so doing, from the excellence of 
the workmanship, two of the spokes were broken, 
the patent box was a mass of rent metal, and the 
end of the axle turned downwards like a hoe. 

I cannot convey any idea of poor Kilkee's dis- 
traction ; and, in reality, my own was little short 
of it ; for the wretch had so far outstripped my 
orders that I became horrified at the cruel de- 
-struction before me. We both, therefore, stormed 
in the most imposing English and Frencli, first 
separately, and then together. We offered a re- 
ward for the apprehension of the culprit, whom 
no one appeared to know, although, as it hap- 
pened every one in a large household was aware 
of the transaction but the proprietor himself. We 
abused all — innkeeper, waiters, ostlers, and cham- 
bermaids, collectively and individually ; con- 
demned Calais as a den of iniquity, and branded 
all Frenchmen as rogues and vagabonds. This 
seemed to alleviate considerably my friend's grief, 
and excite my thirst — fortunately, perhaps, for 
US, for if our eloquence had held out much longer 
I am afraid o.ir auditory might have lost their pa- 
tience ; and, indeed, I am quite certain if our 
■French had not been in nearly as disjointed a con- 
dition as the spokes of the caliche, such must have 
been the case. 

" Well, Lorrequer, I suppose, then, we are not 
destined to be fellow-travellers — for if you must 
gp to-morrow " 

" Alas! it is imperative," said I. 

" Then, in any case, let us arrange where we 
shall meet, for I hope to be in Paris the day after 
you." 

"I'll stop at Meurice's." 

"Meurice's be it," said he; "so now 
night, till me meet in Paris." 



good- 



CHAPTER XXV. 

THE GENDARME. 

I HAD fortunately sufficient influence upon niy 



fair friends to persuade them to leave Calais early 
on the morning following ; and two hours before 
Kilkee had opened his eyes upon this mortal life 
we were far upon the road to Paris. 

Having thus far perfectly succeeded in my plot, 
my spirits rose rapidly, and I made every exertion 
to make the road appear short to my fellow-trav- 
ellers. This part of France is unfortiniately de- 
ficient in any interest from scenery ; large undi- 
vided tracts of waving corn-fields, with a back- 
ground of apparently interminable forests, and oc- 
casionally, but rarely, the glimpse of seme old 
time-worn chateau, \vith its pointed gable and ter- 
raced walk, are nearly all that the eye can detect 
in the intervals between the small towns and vil- 
lages. Nothing, however, is " flat or uninofitable" 
to those who desire to make it otherwise ; good 
health, good spirits, and fine weather are wonder- 
ful travelling companions, and render one toler- 
ably independent of the charms of scenery. Every 
mile that separated me from Calais, and took 
away the chance of being overtaken, added to my 
gaiety, and I flatter myself that a hajpier parly 
have rarely travelled that well-frequented road. 

We reached Abbeville to dinner, and ad- 
journed to the beautiful little garden of the inn 
for our coffee ; the evening was so delightful that 
I proposed to walk on the Paris road, until the 
coming up of the carriage, which required a 
screw, or a vasher, orscrne such trifle, as always 
occurs in French posting. To this "nirnima" ob- 
jected, she being tiled, but added, that Isabella 
and I might go on, and that she would take us up 
in half an hour. This was an arrangement so very 
agreeable and unlooked-for by me, that 1 pressed 
Miss Bingham as far as I well could, and at last 
succeeded in overcoming her scruples, and per- 
mitting me to shawl her. One has always a tre- 
mendous power of persuasion with the unitiated 
abroad, by a reference to a standard of manners 
and habits totally different from our own. Thus 
the talismanic words : "Oh! don't be shocked; 
rem tmber you are in France," did more to satisfy 
my young friend's mind than all I could have said 
for an hour. Little did she know that in England 
only has an unmarried young lady any liberty, 
and that the standard of foreign propriety on this 
head is far, very far, more rigid than our own. 

*' La premiere rue a gauche," said an old man 
of whom I inquired the road. "Et puis ?" added I. 

"And then quite straight; it is z. chaussce all 
the way, and you cannot mistake it." 

" Now for it, mademoiselle," said I. "let us 
try if we cannot see a good deal of the ccuntry 
before the carriage comes up." 

We had soon left the town behind, and reached 
a beautifully shaded high-road, with blossoming 
fruit-trees, and honeysuckle covered cottages ; 
there had been several light showers during the 
day, and the air had all the fresh, fragrant feeling 
of an autumn evening, so tranquillizing and calm- 
ing that few there are who have not felt, at some 
time or other of their lives, its influence upon their 
minds. I fancied my fair companion did so. for, 
as she walked beside me, her silence, and the 
gentle pressure of her arm, were lar raore elo- 
quent than words. 

If that extraordinary flutter and flurry of Sen- 



HARRY LORREQUER. 



107 



sations which will now and then seize you, when 
walking upon a lonely country road with a pretty 
girl for your companion, whose arm is linked in 
yours, and whose thoughts, as far as you can 
guess, at least, are traveUing the same path with 
your own — if this be animal magnetism, or one of 
its phenomena, then do I swear by Mesmer ! 
whatever it be, delusion or otherwise, it has given 
me the brightest mouients of my life — these are 
tiie real " winged dreams" of pleasures which out- 
live others of more absorbing and actual interest 
at the time. After ail, for how many of our hap- 
piest feelings are we indebted to the weakness of 
our nature. The man that is wise at nineteen, y'l? 
lui en fais mon compliment, but I assuredly do not 
envy him ; and now, even now, when I number 
more years than I should like to " confess," rather 
than suffer the suspicious watchfulness of age to 
creep on me, I prefer to "go on believing," even 
though every hour of the day should show me duped 
and deceived. While I plead guilty to this impeach- 
ment, let me show, in mitigation, that it has its 
enjoyments — first, although I am the most con- 
stant and devoted man breathing, as a very cur- 
sory glance at these " Confessions" may prove, 
yet I have never been able to restrain myself from 
a propensity to make love merely as a pastime. 
The gambler that sits down to play cards, or dice, 
against himself, may perhaps be the only person 
that can comprehend this tendency of mine. We 
both of us are playing for nothing (or love, which 
I suppose is synonymous); we neither of us put 
forth our strengtn, for that very reason — and in 
fact, like the waiter at Vauxhall, who was compli- 
mented upon the dexterity with which he poured 
out the lemonade, and confessed that he spent his 
mornings "practvsing with vatcr," — we pass a con- 
siderable portion of our lives in a mimic warfare, 
which, if it seem unprofitablj, is, nevertheless, 
pleasant. 

After all this long tirade, need I say how our 
walk proceeded ? We had fallen into a kind of 
discussion upon the singular intimacy which had 
so rapidly grown up between us, and which years 
long might have failed to engender. We at- 
tempted also to analyze the reasons for, and the 
nature of, the friendship thus so suddenly estab- 
lished — a rather dangerous and difficult topic, ivhen 
the parties were both young — one eminently hand- 
some, and the other disposed to be most agree- 
able. Oh, my dear young friends of either sex, 
whatever your feelings be for one another, keep 
them to yourselves ; I know of nothing half so 
hazardous as that " comparing of notes" which 
sometimes happens. Analysis is a beautiful thing 
in mathematics or chemistry ; but it makes sad 
havoc when applied to the " functions of the 
heart." 

" Mamma appears to have forgotten us," said 
Isabella, as she spoke, after walking for sometime 
in silence beside me. 

" Oh, depend upon it, the carriage has taken all 
this time to repair; but are you tired?" 

" Oh, by no means ; the evening is delightful, 
but " 

" Then, perhaps you are ennuye'e," said I, half 
pettishly, to provoke a disclaimer if possible. To 
this insidiously put query I received, as I de- 



served, no answer, and again we sauntered on with- 
out speaking. 

" To whom does that chateau belong, my old 
friend?" said I, addressing a man on the roadside. 

''To Monsieur le marquis, sir," replied he. 

" But what's his name, though?" 

" Ah, that I can't tell you," replied the man, 
again. 

There you may perceive how, even yet, in pro- 
vincial France, the old respect for the aristocracy 
still survives ; it is sufficient that the possessor of 
that fine place is " Monsieur le marquis;" but 
any other knowledge of who he is, and what, is 
superfluous. " How far are we from the next 
village, do you know? 

" About a league." 

" Indeed. Why, I thought La Scarpe was quite 
near us." 

" Ah, you are thinking of the Amiens road." 

" Yes, of course ; and is not this the Amiens 
road?" 

" Oh, no ; the Amiens road lies beyond those 
low hills to the right. You pass the turn at the 
first harricre." 

" Is it possible we could have come wrong?" 

" Oh, Mr. Lorrequer, don't say so, I entreat of 
you." 

" And what road is this, then, my friend?" 

" This is the road to Albert and Peronne." 

" Unfortunately, I believe he is quite right. Is ' 
there any cross-road from the village before us 
now to the Amiens road?" 

" Yes ; you can reach it about two leagues 
hence." 

" And we can get a carriage at the inn, prob- 
ably?" 

"Ah, that I am not sure of. Perhaps at the 
Lion D'or you may." 

" But why not go back to Abbeville?" 

" Oh, Mrs. Bingham nnist have left long since, 
and besides, you forget the distance; we have 
been walking two hours." 

" Now for the village," said I, as I drew my 
friend's arm closer within mine, and we set out in 
a fast walk. 

Isabella seemed terribly frightened at the whole 
affair; what her mamma might think, and what 
might be her fears at not finding us on the road, 
and a hundred other encouraging reflections of 
this nature, she poured forth unceasingly. As 
for myself, I did not know well what to think of 
it; my old fondness ever for adventure being 
sufficiently strong in me to give a relish to any- 
thing which bore the least resemblance to one. 
This I now concealed, and sympathized with my 
fair friend upon our mishap, assuring her, at the 
same time, that there could be no doubt of our 
overtaking Mrs. Bingham before her arrival at 
Amiens. 

" Ah, there is the village in the valley; how 
beautifully situated." 

"Oh, I can't admire anything now, Mr. Lorre- 
quer, I am so frightened." 

" But surely without cause," said I, looking 
tenderly beneath her bonnet. 

"Is this," she answered, "nothing?" And we 
walked on in silence again. 

On reaching the Lion D'Or we discovered that 



108 



HARRY LORREQUER. 



the only conveyance to be had was a species of 
open market-cart drawn by two horses, and in 
which it was necessary that my fair friend and 
myself should seat ourselves side by side upon 
straw; tliere was no choice, and as for Miss Bing- 
ham, I believe, if an ass with panniers had pre- 
sented itself, she would have preferred it to re- 
maining where she was. We therefore took our 
places, and she could not refrain from laughing as 
we set out upon our journey in this absurd equip- 
age, every jolt of which threw us from side to side, 
and rendered every attention on my part requisite 
to prevent her being upset. 

After about two hours' travelling we arrived at 
the Amiens road, and stopped at the barric're. I 
immediately inquired if a carriage had passed, re- 
sembling Mrs. Bingham's, and learned that it 
had, about an hour before, and that the lady in it 
had been informed that two persons, like those 
she asked after, had been seen in a calc'che^ driv- 
ing rapidly to Amiens, upon which she set out as 
fast as possible in pursuit. 

" Certainly," said I, " the plot is thickening ; 
but for that unlucky mistake, she might, in all 
probability, have waited here for us. Amiens is 
only two leagues now, so our drive will not be 
long, and before six o'clock we shall all be laugh- 
ing over the m.itter as a very good joke." 

On we rattled, and as the road became less fre- 
quented, and the shadows lengthened, I could not 
but wonder at the strange situations which the ad- 
venturous character of my life had so often in- 
volved me in. Meanwliile, my fair friend's spirits 
became more and more depressed, and it was not 
without the greatest difficulty I was enabled to 
support her courage. I assured her, and not al- 
together without reason, that though so often in 
my eventful career accidents were occurring 
which rendered it dubious and difficult to reach 
the goal I aimed at, yet the results had so often 
been more pleasant than I could have antici- 
pated, that I always felt a kind of involuntary satis- 
faction at some apparent obstacle to my path, 
setting it down as some especial means of for- 
tune, to heighten the pleasure awaiting me; " and 
now," added I, " even here, perhaps, in this very 
mistake of our road — the sentiments I have heard 
— the feelings I have given utterance to — " What 
I was about to say, Heaven knows — perhaps 
nothingless than a downright proposal was coming; 
at that critical moment a gendarme rode up to the 
side of our wagon, and surveyed us with the pe- 
culiarly significant scowl his order is gifted with. 
After trotting alongside for a few seconds, he or- 
dered the driver to halt, and, turning abruptly to 
us, demanded our passports. Now our passports 
were, at that precise moment, peaceably reposing 
in the side-pocket of Mrs. Bingham's carriage ; I 
therefore explained to the gendarme how we were 
circumstanced, and added, that on arriving at 
Amiens the passports should be produced. To 
this he replied that all might be perfectly true, but 
he did not believe a word of it — that he had re- 
ceived an order for the apprehension of two Eng- 
lish persons travelling that road — and that he 
should accordingly request our company back to 
Chantraine, the commissaire of which place was 
his officer. 



" But why not take us to Amiens," said I, " par- 
ticularly when I tell you that we can thun show 
our passports?" 

"I belong to the Chantraine district," was the 
laconic answer; and like the gentleman who 
could not weep at the sermon because he be- 
longed to another parish, this specimen of a 
French Dogberry would not hear reason except 
in his own district. 

No arguments which I could think of had any 
effect upon him, and amid a volley of entreaty 
and imprecation, both equally vain, we saw our- 
selves turn back upon the road to Amiens, and 
set out at a round trot to Chantraine, on the road 
to Calais. 

Poor Isabella, I really pitied her ; hitherto 
her courage had been principally sustained by 
the prospect of soon reaching Amiens : now there 
was no seeing where our adventure was to end. 
Besides that, actual fatigue from the wretched 
conveyance began to distress her, and she was 
scarcely able to support herself, though assisted 
by my arm. What a perilous position mine, 
whispering consolation and comfort to a pretty 
girl on a lonely road, the only person near being 
one who comprehended nothing of the language 
we spoke in. Ah, how little do we know of fate, 
and how often do we dtspise circumstances that 
determine all our fortunes in the world! 'i'o 
think that a gendarme sliould have anything to 
do with my luture lot in life, and that the real 
want of a passport to travel should involve the 
probable want of a license to marry. " Yes, it 
is quite in keeping," thought I, "with every step I 
have taken through life. I may be brought 
before the niaire as a culprit, and leave him as a 
Benedict." 

On reaching the town, we were permitted to 
drive to the inn, but at once conveyed to the 
house of the commissaire, who was also the 
maire of the district. The worthy function- 
ary was long since in bed, and it was only after 
ringing violently for half an hour that a head sur- 
mounted with a dirty cotton nightcap, peeped 
from an upper window, and seemed to survey the 
assemblage beneath with patient attention. By 
this time a considerable crowd had collected from 
the neigboring ale-houses and cabarets, who 
deemed it a most fitting occasion to honor us with 
the most infernal yells and shouts, as indicating 
their love of justice and delight in detecting 
knavery ; and that we were both involved in such 
suspicion we had not long to learn. Meanwhile, 
the poor old maire who had been an«y///(y/in the 
stormy days of the Revolution, and also under Na- 
poleon, and who fully concurred with Swift that 
" a crowd is a mob, if composed even of bishops," 
firmly believed that the uproar beneath in the 
street was the announcement of a new change of 
affairs at Paris, determined to be early in the field, 
and shouted, therefore, with all his lungs — "Vive 
la nation! — Vive la chaitc ! — A has les autres !" 
A tremendous shout of laughter saluted this ex- 
hibition of unexpected republicanism, and the 
poor maire retired from the window, having 
learned his mistake, covered with shame and 
confusion. 

Before the mirth caused by this blunder had 



HARRY LORREQUER. 



109 



■ subsided, the door had opened, and we were ush- 
ered into the bureau, accompanied by the anx- 
ious crowd, all curious to know the particulars of 
our crime. 

The maire soon appeared, his nightcap being 
replaced by a small black velvet skull-cap, and 
his lanky figure enveloped in a tarnished silk 
dressing-gown ; he isermitted us to be seated, 
while the gendarme recounted the suspicious cir- 
cumstances of our travelling, and produced the 
order to arrest an Englishman and his wife who 
had arrived in one of the late Boulogne packets, 
and who had carried off from some banking-house 
money and bills to a large amount. 

" I have no doubt these are the people," said 
the gendarme: "and here is the 'carte descrip- 
tive.' Let us compare it ; ' Forty-two or forty- 
three years of age.' " 

" I trust, Monsieur le maire," said I, overhear- 
ing this, " that ladies do not recognize me as so 
much." 

" ' Of a pale and cadaverous aspect,' " contin- 
ued the gendarme. 

"Civil and complimentary, certainly," added I. 

"'Squints much with the left eye.' Look at 
Monsieur le maire, if you please, sir," said the 
gendarme. 

Upon this the old functionary, wiping his spec- 
tacles with a snuffy handkerchief, as if preparing 
them to examine an eclipse of the sun, regarded 
me fixedly for several minutes, and said. " Oh, 
yes, I perceive it plainly ; continue the descrip- 
tion." 

" ' Five feet three inches,' " said the gendarme. 

"Six feet one in England, whatever this cli- 
mate may have done since." 

" ' Speaks broken and bad French.' " 

" Like a native," said I ; "at least, so said my 
friends in the Chaussee d'Antin, in the year fif- 
teen." 

Here the catalogue ended, and a short confer- 
ence between the maire and the gendarme ensued, 
which ended in our being committed for exam- 
ination on the morrow ; meanwhile we were to re- 
main at the inn, under the surveillance of the 
gendarme. 

On reaching the inn, my poor friend was so 
completely exhausted, that she at once retired 
to her room, and I proceeded to fulfil a promise 
I had made her to despatch a note to Mrs. Bing- 
ham at Amiens by a special messenger, acquaint- 
ing her with all our mishaps, and requesting her 
to come or send to our assistance. This done, 
and a good supper smoking before me, of which 
with difficulty I persuaded Isabella to partake in 
her own room, I again regained my equanimity, 
and felt once more at ease. 

The gendarme in whose guardianship I had 
been left was a fine specimen of his caste ; a 
large and powerfully built man of about fifty, with 
an enormous beard of grizzly brown and grey 
hair, meeting above and beneath his nether lip ; 
his eyebrows were heavy and beetling, and nearly 
concealed his sharp grey eyes, while a deep sabre- 
wound had left upon his cheek a long white scar, 
giving a most warlike and ferocious look to his 
features. 

As he sat apart from me for some time, silent 



and motionless, I could not help imagining in 
how many a hard-fought day he had borne a part, 
for he evidently, from his age and bearing, had 
been one of the soldiers of the Empire. I invited 
him to partake of my bottle of Medoc, by which 
he seemed flattered. When the flask became low, 
and was replaced by another, he appeared to have 
lost much of his constrained air, and seemed for- 
getting rapidly the suspicious circumstances which 
he supposed attached to me, waxed wondrous 
confidential and communicative, condescending 
to impart some traits of a life which was not 
without its vicissitudes, for he had been, as I 
suspected, one of the " Garde" — the old Garde — 
was wounded at Marengo, and received his dec- 
oration in the field of Wagram from the hands 
of the Emperor himself. The headlong enthusi- 
asm of attachment to Napoleon which his brief 
and stormy career elicited, even from those who 
suffered long and deeply in his behalf, is not one 
of the least singular circumstances which this 
portion of history displays. While the rigors 
of the conscription had invaded every family in 
France, from Normandy to La Vendee — while 
the untilled fields, the ruined granaries, the half 
deserted villages, all attested the depopulation of 
the land, those talismanic -woxd^, I' Empereur el la 
Gloire, by some magic mechanism seemed all- 
sufficient not only to repress regret and suffering, 
but even stimulate pride and nourish valor; and 
even yet, when it might be sup])ostd that like the 
brilliant spectacle of a magic lantern, the gaudy 
pageant had passed away, leaving only the daik- 
ness and desolation behind it, the memory of 
those days under the Empire survives untarnished 
and unimpaired, and every sacrifice of friends or 
fortune is accounted but little in the balance w hen 
the honor of la belle France and the triumphs of 
the grande arme'e are weighed against them. The 
infatuated and enthusiastic followers of this great 
man would seem, in seme respects, to resemble 
the drunkard in the vaudcrille, \\ho alleged as his 
excuse for drinking, that whenever he was sober, 
his poverty disgusted him. "My cabin," said 
he, "is a cell, my wife a mass of old rags, my 
child a -wretched object of misery and malady. 
But give me brandy, let me only have that, and 
then my hut is a palace, my wife is a princess, 
and my child the very picture of health and hap- 
piness ;" so with these people— intoxicated with 
the triumphs of their nation, iHe 7iio7ite'e with vic- 
tory — they cannot exist in the horror of .'cbiiety 
which peace necessarily enforces ; and whenever 
the subject turns in conversation upon the dis- 
tresses of the time or the evil prospects of the 
country, they call out, not like the drunkard for 
brandy, but in the same spirit they say, "Ah, if 
you would again see France flourishing and happy, 
let us once more have our croix d'lwmicvr, our 
epaulets, our voluntary contributions, our Muril- 
los, our Velasquez, our spoils frcm Venice, and 
our increased territories to rule over." This is 
the language of the Bonapartist everywhere and 
at all seasons ; and the mass of the nation is won- 
derfully disposed to participate in the sentiment. 
The Empire was the "^neid" of the nation, and 
Napoleon the only hero they could believe in. 
You may satisfy yourself of this easily. Every 



110 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



cafe will give evidence of it, every society bears 
testimony to it, and even the most wretched 
vauJcc'ille, however trivial the interest, however 
meagre the story and poor the diction, let the 
Emperor but have his rv/e, let him be as laconic 
as possible, carry his hands behind his back, 
wear the well-known low cocked hat and the 
rediiigote giise, the success is certain, every sen- 
tence he utters is applauded, and not a single 
allusion to the Pyramids, the sun of Austerlitz, 
la Gloire^ et la VieilU Garde, but is sure to bring 
down thunders of acclamation. But I am for- 
getting myself, and perhaps my reader, too ; the 
conversation of the old gendarme accidentally 
led me into reflections lik; these, and he was well 
calculated in many ways to call them forth. His 
devoted attachment, his personal love of the Em- 
peror, of which he gave me some touching in- 
stances, was admirably illustrated by an incident, 
which I am inclined to tell, and hope it may 
amuse the reader as much as it did myself on 
liearing it. 

When Napoleon had taken possession of the 
papal dominions, as he virtually did, and carried 
off the Pope Pius VI. to Paris, this old soldier, 
then a musketeer in the "Garde," formed part of 
the company that mounted guard over the holy 
father. During the earlier months of the holy 
father's confinement he was at liberty to leave 
his apartments at any hour he pleased, and cross 
the court-yard of the palace to the chapel where 
he performed mass. At such moments the portion 
of the Imperial Guard then on duty stood under 
arms, and received from the august hand of the 
Pope his benediction as he passed. But one 
morning a hasty express arrived from the Tuileries, 
and the officer on duty communicated his instruc- 
tions to his party, that the apostolic vicar was not 
to be permitted to pass, as heretofore, to the 
chapel, and that a most rigid superintendence was 
to be exercised over his movements. My poor 
companion had his turn for duty on that ill-starred 
day ; he had not been long at his post when the 
sound of footsteps was heard approaching, and 
he soon saw the procession, which always at- 
tended the holy father to his devotions, advancing 
towards him; he immediately placed himself across 
the passage, and, with his musket in rest, barred 
the exit, declaring, at the same time, that sucli 
were his orders. In vain the priests who formed 
the cortege addressed themselves to his heart, and 
spoke to his feelings, and, at last, finding little 
success by these methods, explained to him the 
mortal sin and crime, fqrwhich eternal damnation 
itself might not be a too heavy retribution, if he 
persisted in preventing his holiness to pass, and 
thus be the means of opposing an obstacle to the 
head of the whole Catholic Church from cele- 
brating the mass. The soldier remained firm and 
unmoved, the only answer he returned being, 
" that he had his orders, and dared not disobey 
them." The Pope, however, persisted in his reso- 
lution, and endeavored to get by, when the hardy 
veteran retreated a step, and placing his musket 
and bayonet at the charge, called out, "Au twin 
r Emfiereur," when the pious party at last 
yielded, and slowly retired within the palace. 

Not many days after, this severe restriction was 



recalled, and once more the father was permitted 
to go to and from the chapel of the palace at such 
times as he pleased, and again, as before, in pass- 
ing the corridor, the guards presented arms, and 
received the holy benediction, all except one; 
upon him the head of the Church frowned se- 
verely, and turned his back wliile extending his 
pious hands towards the others. "And yet," 
said the poor fellow, in concluding his story — 
"and yet 1 could not have done otherwise; I had 
my orders, and must have followed them, ai^ had 
the Emperor commanded it, I should have run my 
bayonet through the body of the holy father him- 
self. 

"Thus, you see, my dear sir, how I have loved 
the Emperor, for I have many a day stood under 
fire for him in this world, et il fetit que j'aiine en- 
core ail feu pour lui aprcs t/ia mart. " 

He received in good part the consolations I of- 
fered him on tliis head, but I plainly saw they did 
not, could not, relie\e his mind from the horri- 
ble conviction he lay under, that his soul's safety 
forever had been bartered for his attachment to 
the Emperor. 

This story had brought us to the end of the 
third bottle of Medoc ; and, as I was neither the 
Pope, nor had any very decided intentions of 
saying mass, he offered no obstacle to* my retiring 
for the night, and betaking myself to my bed. 



CHAPTER XXVI. 

THE INN AT CHANTRAINE. 

When contrasted with the comforts of an Eng- 
lish bedroom in a good hotel, how miserably 
short does the appearance of a French one fail 
in the estimation of a tired traveller. In ex- 
change for the carpeted floor, the well-curtained 
windows, the richly-tapestried bed, the well- 
cushioned armchair, and the innumerable luxu- 
ries which await him, he has nought but a narrow, 
uncurtained bed, a bare floor — occasionally a 
flagged one — three hard, cane-bottomed chairs, 
and a looking-glass which may convey an idea of 
how you would look under the combined influ- 
ence of the cholera and a stroke of apoplexy, one- 
half of your face being twice the length of the 
other, and the entire of it, of a bluish-green tint 
— pretty enough in one of Turner's landscapes, 
but not at all becoming when applied to the 
"human face divine." Let no late arrival from 
the Continent contradict me here by his late ex- 
periences, which a stray twenty pounds and the 
railroads — (confound them for the same) — have 
enabled him to acquire. I speak of matters be- 
fore it occurred to all Charing Cross and Cheap- 
side to " take the water" between Dover and 
Calais, and inundate the world with the wit of 
the C'ider Cellars and the Hole in the Wall. No! 
In the days I write of, the travelled were of an- 
other genus, and you might dine at Very's or 
have your box at £cs Italiens, without being 
dunned by your tailor at the one, or confronted 
with your washerwoman at the other. Perhaps 
I have written all this in the spite and malice of 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



Ill 



a man who feels that his sovereign only goes half 
as far now as heretofore, and attributes all his 
diminished enjoyments and restricted luxuries to 
the unceasing current of his countrymen, whom 
fate, and the law of imprisonment for debt, impel 
liither. Whether I am so far guilty or not is not 
now the question; suffice it to say, that Harry 
Lorrequer, for reasons best known to himself, 
lives abroad, where he will be most happy to see 
any of his old and formei" friends who take his 
quarters en route; and in the words of a bellicose 
brother of the pen, but in a far different spirit, he 
would add, "that any person who feels himself 
here alluded to may learn the author's address 
at his publisher's." " Now let us go back to our 
muttons," as Barney Coyle used to say in the 
Dublin Library formerly — for Barney was fond 
of French allusions, which, occasionally, too, he 
gave in their own tongue, as once describing an 
interview with Lord Cloncurry, in which he 
broke off suddenly the conference, adding " I 
told him I never could consent to such a propo- 
sition, and putting my chdteau ickapeaii) on my 
head, I left the house at once." 

It was nearly three o'clock in the morning as, 
accompanied by the waiter, who, like others of 
his tribe, had become a kind of somnambulist 
ex-officio, I wended my way up one flight of 
stairs, and down another, along a narrow corridor, 
down two steps, through an ante-chamber, and 
into another corridor, to No. 82, my habitation 
for the night. Why I should have been so far 
conducted from the habitable portion of the house 
I had spent my evening in, I leave the learned in 
such matters to explain; as for me, I have ever 
remarked it, while asking for a chamber in a large, 
roomy hotel, the singular pride with which you 
are ushered up grand staircases, down passages, 
through corridors, and up narrow back flights, 
till the blue sky is seen through the skyliglit, to 
No. 199, "the only spare bed-room in the house," 
while the silence and desolation of the whole es- 
tablishment would seem to imply far otherwise — 
th» only evidence of occupation being a pair of 
dirty Wellingtons at the door of No. 7. 

" Well, we have arrived at last," said I, 
drawing a deep sigh, as I threw myself upon a 
rickety chair, and surveyed rapidly my meagre- 
looking apartment. 

"Yes, this is Monsieur's chamber," said the 
waiter, with a very peculiar look, half servile, 
half droll. " Madame couche. No. 28." 

" Very well, good-night," said I, closing the 
door hastily, and not liking the further scrutiny 
of the fellow's eye, as he fastened it on me, as if to 
search what precise degree of relationship existed 
between myself and my fair friend, whom he had 
called "Madame" purposely to elicit an observa- 
tion from me. "Ten to one, though," said I, as 
I undressed myself, "but they think she is my 
wife — how good — but again — ay, it is very possi- 
ble, considering we are in France. Niancro 
vingt-huif, quite far enough from this part of the 
house, I should suppose from my number — that old 
gendarme was a fine fellow — what strong attach- 
ment to Napoleon; and the story of the Pope; I 
hope I may remember that. Isabella, poor girl — 
this adventure must really distress her — hope she 



is not crying over it — what a devil of a hard bed 
— and it is not five feet long, too — and, bless my 
soul, is this all by way of covering? why, I shall 
be perished here. Oh! I must certainly put all 
my clothes over me in addition; unfortunately 
there is no hearth-rug — well, there is no help for 
it now, so let me try to sleep — mttncro zingt-ht/it. 

How long I remained in a kind of uneasy, fit- 
ful slumber, I cannot tell, but I awoke shivering 
with cold, puzzled to tell where I was, and my 
brain addled with the broken fragments of half a 
dozen dreams, all mingling and mi.xing them- 
selves with the unpleasant realities of my situa- 
tion. " What an infernal contrivance for a bed," 
thought I, as my head came thump against the 
top, while my legs projected far beyond the foot- 
rail, the miserable portion of clothing over me at 
the same time being only sufficient to temper the 
night air, which in autumn is occasionally severe 
and cutting. " This will never do. I must ring 
the bell, and rouse the house, if only to get afire, 
if they don't possess such a thing as blankets." 
I immediately rose, and, groping my way along 
the wall, endeavored to discover the bell, but in 
vain; and for the same satisfactory reason, th.it 
Von Troil did not devote one chapter of his 
work on " Iceland" to "snakes," because there 
were none such there. What was now to be 
done! About the geography of my present abode 
I knew, perhaps, as much as the public at large 
knows about the Coppermine River and Eehring's 
Straits. The world, it was true, was before me, 
"where to choose," admirable things for an epic, 
but decidedly an unfortunate circumstance for a 
very cold gentleman in search of a blanket. 
Thus thinking, I opened the door of my chamber, 
and, not in any way resolved how I should pro- 
ceed, I stepped forth into the long corridor, 
which was dark as midnight itself. 

Tracing my path along the wall, I soon reached 
a door, which I in vain attempted to open; in 
another moment I found another and another, 
each of which were locked. 1 hus alcng the en- 
tire corridor I felt my way, making every eficrt 
to discover where any of the people of the house 
might have concealed themselves, but without 
success. What was to be done now? It was cf 
no use to go back to my late abode, and find it 
comfortless as I left it; so I resolved to proceed 
in my search; by this time I had arrived at the 
top of a small flight of stairs, which I remem- 
bered having come up, and which led to another 
long passage, similar to the one I had explored, 
but running in a transverse direction; down this I 
now crept, and reached the landing, along the 
wall of which I was guided by my hand, as well 
for safety as to discover the architrave of some 
friendly door, where the inhabitant might be 
sufficiently Samaritan to lend some portion of 
his bedclothes. Door after door followed in 
succession along this confounded pafsage, which 
I began to think as long as the gallery of the 
lower one; at last, however, just as my heart was 
sinking within me from disappointment, the 
handle of a lock turned, and I; found myself in- 
side a chamber. How was I now to proceed; 
for if this apartment did not contain any of the 
people of the hotel, I had but a sorry excuse 



112 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



for disturbing the repose of any traveller who 
might have been more fortunate than myself 
in the article of blankets. To go back, however, 
would be absurd, having already taken so much 
trouble to find out a room that was inhabited — for 
that such was the case, a short, thick snore 
assured me — so that my resolve was at once 
made, to waken the sleeper, and endeavor to in- 
terest him in my destitute situation. I accord- 
ingly approached the place where the nasal sounds 
seemed to issue from, and soon reached the post 
of a bed. I waited for an instant, and then 
began, — 

" Monsieur, voulez-vous bien me permettre — " 

"As to short whist, I never could make it out, 
so there is an end of it," said my unknown 
friend, in a low, husky voice, which, strangely 
enough, was not totally unfamiliar to me; but 
when or how I had heard it before I could not 
then think. 

"Well," thought I, "he is an Englishman, at all 
events, so I hope his patriotism may forgive my 
intrusion, so here goes once more to rouse him, 
though he seems a confoundedly heavy sleeper. 
I beg your pardon, sir, but unfortunately in a 
point like the present, perhaps " 

"Well, do you mark the points, and I'll score 
the rubber," said he. 

" The devil take the gambling fellow's dream- 
ing," thought I, raising my voice at the same time. 

" Perhaps a cold night, sir, may suffice as my 
apology." 

"Cold, oh, ay! put a hot poker in it," muttered 
he; "a hot poker, a little sugar, and a spice of 
nutmeg — nothing else — tiien it's delicious." 

" Upon my soul, tliis is too bad," said I to my- 
self. " Let us see what shaking will do. Sir, sir, 
I shall feel obliged by " 

" Well, then, don't shake me, and I'll tell you 
where I hid the cigars — they are under my straw 
hat in the window." 

" Well, really," thought I, " if this gentleman's 
confessions were of an interesting nature, this 
might be good fun ; but as the night is cold, I 
must shorten the seance, so here goes for one ef- 
fort more." 

" If, sir, you could kindly spare me even a 
small portion of your bed-clothes " 

" No, thank you, no more wine ; but I'll sing 
with pleasure ;" and here the wretch, in something 
like the voice of a frog with the quinsy, began, 
" ' I'd mourn the hopes that leave me.' " " You 
shall mourn something else for the same reason," 
said I, as, losing all patience, [ seized quilt and 
blankets by the corner, and with one vigorous 
pull wrenched them from the bed, and darted 
from the room ; in a second I was in the corri- 
dor, trailing my spoil behind, which in my haste, 
I had not time to collect in a bundle. I flew 
rather than ran along the passage, reached the 
stairs, and in another minute had gained the sec- 
ond gallery, but not before I heard the slam of a 
door behind me, and the same instant the foot- 
steps of a person running along the corridor, who 
could be no other than my pursuer, effectually 
aroused by my last appeal to his charity. I darted 
along the dark and narrow passage, but soon to 
my horror discovered that I must have passed the 



door of my chamber, for I had reached the foot 
of a narrow back stair, which led to the grenier 
and the servants' rooms, beneath the roof. To 
turn now would only have led me plump in the 
face of my injured countryman, of whose thew 
and sinew I was perfectly ignorant, and did not 
much like to venture upon. There was little 
time for reflection, for he had just reached the 
top of the stair, and was evidently listening for 
some clue to guide him on ; stealthily and silently, 
and scarcely drawing breath, I mounted th» nar- 
row stairs, step by step, but before I had arrived 
at the landing, he heard the rustle of the bed- 
clothes, and again gave chase. There was some- 
thing in the unrelenting ardor cf his pursuit which 
suggested to my mind the idea of a most un- 
compromising foe; and as fear added speed to 
my steps, I dashed along beneath the low-roofed 
passage, wondering what chance of escape might 
yet present itself. Just at this instant, the hand 
by which I had guided myself along the wall 
touched the handle of a door — I turned it — it 
opened — I drew in my precious bundle, and clos- 
ing the door noiselessly, sat down, breathless and 
still, upon the floor. 

Scarcely was this, the work of a second, ac- 
complished, when the heavy tread of my pursuer 
resounded on the floor. 

" Upon rriy conscience it's strange if I haven't 
you now, my friend," said he, "you're in a ail de 
sac here, as they say, if I know anything of the 
house; and faith I'll make a salnd of you, when 
I get you, that's all. Devil a dirtier trick ever I 
heard tell of." 

Need 1 say these words had the true smack of 
an Irish accent, which circumstance, from what- 
ever cause, did not by any means tend to assuage 
my fears in the event of discovery. 

However, from such a misfortune my good 
genius now delivered me; for after traversing the 
passage to the end, he at last discovered another, 
which led by a long flight to the second story, 
down which he proceeded, venting at every step 
his determination for vengeance, and his resolution 
not to desist from the pursuit, if it took the en- 
tire night for it. 

"Well, now," thought I, "as he will scarcely 
venture up here again, and as I may, by leaving 
this, be only incurring the risk of encountering 
him, my best plan is to stay where I am, if it be 
possible." With this intent, I proceeded to ex- 
plore the apartment, which, from its perfect still- 
ness, I concluded to be unoccupied. After some 
few minutes' groping, I reached a low bed, fortu- 
nately empty, and although the touch of the bed- 
clothes led to no very favorable augury of its neat- 
ness or elegance, there was little choice at this 
moment, so I rolled myself up in my recent 
booty, and resolved to wait patiently for day- 
break to regain my apartment. 

As always happens in such circumstances, sleep 
came on unawares; so at least everyone's experi- 
ence, I am sure, can testify, that if you are forced 
to awake early to start by some morning coach, 
and that unfortunately you have not got to bed 
till late at night, the chances are ten to one that 
you get no sleep whatever, simply because you are 
desirous of it; but make up your mind ever so 



HARRY LORREQUER. 



113 



resolutely that you'll not slumber, and whether 
your determination be built on motives of pro- 
priety, duty, convenience, or health, the chances 
are just as strong that you are sound and snoring 
before ten minutes. 

H )w many a man has found it impossible, with 
every effort of his heart and brain aiding his good 
wishes, to sit with unclosed eyes and ears through 
a dull sermon in the dog-days ; how many an ex- 
pectant, longing heir has yielded to the drowsy 
influence when endeavoring to look contrite under 
the severe correction of a lecture on extravagance 
from his uncle. Who has not felt the irresistible 
tendency to " drop off" in the half hour before 
dinner at a stupid country-house ? I need not 
catalogue the thousand other situations in life in- 
finitely more "sleep-compelling" than morphine; 
for myself, my pleasantest and soundest moments 
of perfect forgetfulness of this dreary world and all 
its cares, have been taken on an oaken bench, 
seated bolt upright, and vis-a-vis a lecturer on 
botany, whose calming accents, united with the 
softened light of an autumnal day, piercing its 
difficult rays through the narrow and cobwebbed 
windows, the odor of the recent plants and flow- 
ers aiding and abetting, all combined to steep the 
soul in sleep, and you sank by imperceptible and 
gradual steps into that state of easy slumber, in 
which " come no dreams," and the last sounds of 
the lecturer's "hypogenous and perigenous" died 
away, becoming beautifully less, till your senses 
sank into rest, the syllable " rigging us — rigging, 
us," seemed to melt away in the distance and 
fade from your memory— — Peace be with you. 
Dr. A ! If I owe gratitude anywhere, I have my 
debt with you. The very memory I bear of you 
has saved me no inconsiderable sum in hop and 
henbane. Without any assistance from the 
sciences on the present occasion, I was soon 
asleep, and woke not till the cracking of wliips, 
and trampling of horses' feet on the pavement of 
the coach-yard apprized me that the world had 
risen to its daily labor, and that so ought I. From 
the short survey of my present chamber which I 
took on waking, I conjectured it must have been 
the den of some of the servants of the house upon 
occasion ; two low truckle-beds of the meanest 
description lay along the wall opposite to mine; 
one of them appeared to have been slept in dur- 
ing the past night, but by what species of animal 
the Fates alone can tell. An old demi-peak 
saddle, capped and tipped with brass, some rusty 
bits, and stray stirrup-irons, lay here and there 
upon the floor ; while upon a species of clothes- 
rack, attached to a rafter, hung a tarnished suit 
of postilion's livery, cap, jacket, leathers, and 
jack-boots, all ready for use ; and evidently from 
their arrangement, supposed by the owner to be 
a rather creditable '"turn out." 

I turned over these singular habiliments with 
much of the curiosity with which an antiquary 
would survey a suit of chain armor ; the long 
epaulets of yellow cotton cord, the heavy belt 
with its brass buckle, the cumbrous boots, plaited 
and bound with iron like churns, were in rather a 
ludicrous contrast to the equipment of our light 
and jockey-like boys in nankeen jackets and neat 
tops, that spin along over our level " Macadam." 



" But," thought I, " it is full time I should get 
back to No. 82, and make my appearance btlow 
stairs ;" though in what part of the building my 
room lay, and how I was to reach it without my 
clothes, I had not the slightest idea. A blanket 
is an excessively comfortable article of wearing 
apparel when in bed, but as a walking costume is 
by no means convenient or appropriate; while, as 
as to making a sortie en saiivcige, however appro- 
priate during the night, there were many serious 
objections if done in broad day, and with the 
whole establishment awake and active; the noise 
of mopping, scrubbing, and polishing, which is 
eternally going forward in a foreign inn, amply 
testified there was notliing which I could adopt in 
my present naked and forlorn condition, save the 
uncouth and ridiculous dress of the postilion, and 
I need not say the thought of so doing presented 
nothing agreeable. I looked from the narrow 
window out upon the tiled roof, but without 
any prospect of being heard if I called ever so 
loudly. 

The infernal noise of floor-cleansing, assisted 
by a Norman peasant's chanson du pays, the 
" time" being well marked by her heavy sabots, 
gave even less chance to me within; so that after 
more than half an hour passed in weighing diffi- 
culties and canvassing plans, I deteiniincd upon 
donning "the blue and yellow," and setting out 
for my own room without delay, hoping sincerely 
that, with proper precaution, 1 should be able to 
reach it unseen and unobserved. 

As I laid but little stress upon the figure I 
should make in my new habiliments, it did not 
cause me much mortification to find that the 
clothes were considerably too small, the jacket 
scarcely coming beneath my arms, and the sleeves 
being so short that my hands and wrists projected 
beyond the cuffs like two enormous claws ; the 
leathers were also limited in their length, and 
when drawn up to a proper height, permitted my 
knees to be seen beneath, like the short costume 
of a Spanish torreador, but scarcely as graceful ; 
not wishing to encumber myself in the heavy 
and noisy masses of wood, iron, and leather they 
call les tottes fortes, I slipped my feet into my 
slippers, and stole gently from the room. How I 
must have looked at the moment, I leave my 
reader to guess, as with anxious and stealthy pace 
I crept along the low gallery that led to the 
narrow st^.ircase, down which I proceeded, step 
by step ; but just as I reached the bottom, per- 
ceived, a little distance from me, with her back 
turned towards me, a short, squat peasant on her 
knees, belaboring with a brush the well-waxed 
floor ; to pass, therefore, unobserved was impossi- 
ble, so that I did not hesitate to address her, and 
endeavor to interest her in my behalf, and enlist 
her as my guide. 

" Bon jour, ma chere," said I, in a soft, insinu- 
ating tone. She did not hear me, so I repeated, 
" Bon jour, ma chere, bon jour." 

Upon this she turned round, and looking 
fixedly at me for a second, called out in a thick 
patois, "Ah, bon Dieu, qu'il est drole comme ga, 
Franipois ! Mais ce n'est pas Francois I" Saying 
which, she sprang from her kneeling position to 
her feet, and with a speed that her shape and 



114 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



sabots seemed little to promise, rushed down the 
stairs as if she had seen the devil himself. 

"Why, what is the matter with the woman?" 
said I ; " surely, if I am not Fran(;ois — which, God 
be thanked, is true — yet I cannot look so fright- 
ful as all this would imply." I had not much 
time given me for consideration now, for before I 
had well deciphered the number over a door be- 
fore me, the loud noise of several voices on the 
floor beneath attracted my attention, and the mo- 
ment after the heavy tramp of feet followed, and 
in an instant, the gallery was thronged by the men 
and women of the house — waiters, ostlers, cooks, 
sc\.i\\\on=,,fil/i'sdecha>nbre, mingled with gendarmes, 
peasants, and towns-people — all eagerly forcing 
their way up-stairs ; yet all, on arriving at 
the landing-place, seemed disposed to keep at a 
respectful distance, and bundled themselves at 
one end of the corridor, while I, feelingly alive to 
the ridiculous appearance I made, occupied the 
other The gravity with which they seemed at 
first disposed to regard ma soon gave way, and 
peal after peal of laughter broke out, and young 
and old, men and women, even to the most se- 
vere gendarme, all appeared incapable of con- 
trolling the desire for merriment my most singular 
figure inspired; and unfortunately tliis emotion 
seemed to promise no very speedy conclusion , 
for the jokes and witticisms made upon my ap- 
pearance threatened to renew the festivities, ad 
libitum. 

" Regardez done ses epaules," said one. 

"Ah ! mon Dieu ! II me fait I'idee d'une 
grenouille avec ses jambes jaunes," cried another. 

" II vaut son pesant de fromage pour un vaude- 
ville," said the director of the strolling theatre of 
the place. " I'll give seventy francs a week 
' d'appointements,' and Scribe shall write a piece 
expressly for himself, if he'll take it." 

" May the devil fly away with your grin- 
ning baboon faces," said I, as I rushed up the 
stairs again, pursued by the mob at full cry. 
Scarcely, however, had I reached the top step, 
when the rough hand of the gendarme seized me 
by the shoulder, while he said in a low, husky 
voice, "C'est inutile, monsieur, you cannot escape 
— the thing was well contrived, it is true ; but 
the gendarmes of France are not easily outwitted, 
and you could not have long avoided detection, 
even in that dress." It was my turn to laugh 
now ; which to their very great amazement, I did, 
loud and long ; that I should have thought my 
present costume could ever have been the means 
of screening me from observation, however it 
might have been calculated to attract it, was 
rather too absurd a supposition even for the 
mayor of a village to entertain; besides, it, only 
now occurred to me that I was figuring in the 
character of a prisoner. The continued peals of 
laughing which this mistake on tlieir part elicited 
from me seemed to afford but slight pleasure to 
my captor, who gruffly said, — 

" When you have done amusing yourself 711011 
ami, perhaps you will do us the favor to come be- 
fore the mayor." 

"Certainly," I replied ; "but you will first per- 
mit me to resume my own clothes ; I am quite 
SJck of masquerading en postilion." 



" Not so fast, my friend," said the suspicious 
old follower of Fouche — " not so fast ; it is but " 
right the maire should see you in the disguise 
you attempted your escape in. It must be es- 
pecially mentioned in \\-\z proc'cs verbal." 

"Well, this is becoming too ludicrous," said I. 
" It need not take five minutes to satisfy you 
why, how, and where, I put on these confounded 
rags- " 

"Then tell it to the maire, at the bureau." 

" But for that purpose it is not necessary I 
should be conducted through the streets in broad 
day, to be laughed at. No, positively, I'll not 
go. In my own dress I'll accompany you with 
pleasure." 

" Victor, Henri, Guillaume," said the gendarme, 
addressing his companions, who immediately 
closed around me. "You see," added he, "there 
is no use in resisting." 

Need I recount my own shame and ineffable 
disgrace? Alas ! it is too, too true. Harry Lor- 
requer — whom Stultz entreated to wear his coats, 
the ornament of Hyde Park, the last a]jpeal in 
dress, fashion, and equipage — was obliged to 
parade through the mob of a market-town in 
France, with four gendarmes for his comj)anions, 
and he himself habited in a mongrel character, 
half postilion, half Delaware Indian. The inces- 
sant yells of laughter — the screams of the children, 
and the outpouring of every species of sarcasm 
and ridicule, at my expense, were not all — for, as 
I emerged from the inn door, I saw Isabella in 
the window , her eyes were red with weeping ; 
but no sooner had she beheld me, than she broke 
out into a fit of laughter that was audible even in 
the street. 

Rage had now taken such a hold upon me, that 
I forgot my ridiculous appearance in my thirst 
for vengeance. I marched on through the grin- 
ning crowd with the step of a martyr. I su]5pose 
my heroic bearing and warlike deportment must 
have heightened the drollery of the scene ; for 
the devils only laughed the more. The bureau 
of the maire could not contain one-tenth of the 
anxious and curious individuals who thronged 
the entrance, and for about twenty minutes the 
whole efforts of the gendarmes were little enough 
to keep order and maintain silence. At length 
the maire made his appearance, and accustomed 
as he had been for a long life to scenes of an ab- 
surd and extraordinary nature, yet the ridicule 
of my look and costume was too much, and he 
laughed outiight. This was of course the signal 
for renewed mirth from the crowd, while those 
without doors, infected by the example, took up 
the jest, and I had the pleasure of a short calcu- 
lation, a la Babbas:c, of how many maxillary jaws 
were at that same moment wagging at my expense. 

However, the examination commenced; and I 
at length obtained an opportunity of explaining 
under what circumstances I had left my room, 
and how and why I had been induced to don 
this confounded cause of all my misery. 

"This may be very true," said the mayor, "as 
it is very plausible, if you have evidence to prove 
what you have stated " 

" If it's evidence only is wanting, Mr. Maire, I'll 
confirm one part of the story," said a voice in the 



1 









"Vf/? 



CP<^' 



=.^^^^^<y<^^,.<^^ C>r^'J/////{'/i>y. 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



115 



crowd, in an accent and tone that assured me the 
speaker was the injured proprietor of the stolen 
blankets. I turned round hastily to look at my 
victim, and what was my surprise to recognize 
a very old Dublin acquaintance, Mr. Arthur 
O'Leary. 

" Good-morning, Mr. Lorrequer," said he ; 
" this is mighty like our old practices in College 
Green; but iqson my conscience the maire has 
the advantage of Gabbet. It's lucky for you I 
know his worship, as we'd call him at home, or 
this might be a serious business. Nothing would 
persuade them that you were not Lucien Bona- 
parte, or the Iron Mask, or something of that 
sort, if they took it into their heads." 

Mr. O'Leary was as good as his word. In a 
species of French, that I'd venture to say would 
be perfectly intelligible in MuUingar, he contrived 
to explain to the maire that I was neither a run- 
away nor a swindler, but a very old friend of his, 
and consequently most respectable. The official 
was now as profuse of his civilities as he had be- 
fore been of his suspicions, and most hospitably 
pressed us to stay for breakfast. This, for many 
reasons, I was obliged to decline — not the least 
of which was, my impatience to get out of my 
present costume. We accordingly procured a 
carriage, and I returned to the hotel, screened 
from the gaze but still accompanied by the shouts 
of the mob, who evidently took a most lively in- 
terest in the entire proceeding. 

I lost no time in changing my costume, and 
was about to descend to the saloon, when the 
master of the house came to inform me that Mrs. 
Bingham's courier had arrived with the carriage, 
and that she e.xpected us at Amiens as soon as 
possible. 

"That is all right. Now, Mr. O'Leary, I must 
pray you to forgive the liberty I have taken with 
you, and also permit me to defer the explanation 
of many circumstances which seem at present 
strange, till " 

"Till sine die, if the story be a long one, my 
dear sir. There's nothing I hate so much, except 
cold punch." 

"You are going to Paris," said I; "is it not 
so.'" 

"Yes, I'm thinking of it. I was up at Trol- 
hatten, in Norway, three weeks ago, and I was 
obliged to leave it hastily, for I've an appointment 
witli a friend in Geneva." 

"Then how do you travel?" 

"On foot, just as you see, except that I have a 
tobacco-bag upstairs, and an umbrella." 

"Light equipment, certainly; but you must 
allow me to give you a set down as far as Amiens, 
and also to present you to my friends there." 

To this Mr. O'Leary made no objection; and 
as Miss Bingham could not bear any delay, in her 
anxiety to join her mother, we set out at once — 
the only thing to mar my full enjoyment at the 
moment being the sight of the identical vestments 
I had so lately figured in, bobbing up and down 
before my eyes for the whole length of the stage, 
and leading to innumerable mischevious allusions 
from my friend Mr. O'Leary, which were far too 
much relished by my fair companion. 

At twelve we arrived at Amiens, when I pre- 



sented my friend Mr. O'Leary to Mrs. Bingham. 



CHAPTER XXVII. 



MR. O LEARY. 



At the conclusion of my last chapter I was 
about to introduce to my reader's acquaintance 
my friend Mr. O'Leary; and as he is destined to 
occupy some place in the history of these Con- 
fessions, I may, perhaps, be jiermitted to do so at 
more length than his intrinsic merit at first sight 
might appear to warrant. 

Mr. O'Leary was, and I am induced to believe 
is, a particularly short, fat, greasy-looking gentle- 
man, with a head as free from phrenological de- 
velopnient as a billiard-ball, and a countenance 
which, in feature and color, nearly resembled the 
face of a cherub, carved in oak, as we see them 
in old pulpits. 

Short as is his stature, his limbs compose the 
least part of it. His hands and feet, forming 
some compensation by their ample proportions, 
give to his entire air and ajpearance somewhat 
the look of a small fish, with short, thick fins, 
vulgarly called a ccbler's thumb. His voice, 
varying in cadence frcm a detj> barytone to a 
high falsetto, maintains throughout the distinctive 
characteristic of a LHiblin accent and pronuncia- 
tion, and he talks of the "Veel of Ovoca, and a 
hit^l-stcek," with seme pride of intonation. What 
part of the Island he came originally from, or 
what may be his age, are questions I have the 
most profound ignorance of; I have heard many 
anecdotes which would imply his being what the 
French call d'un dgcmfii — but his own obser- 
vations are generally limited to events occurring 
since the peace of " fifteen." To his personal at- 
tractions, such as they are, he has never been so- 
licitous of contributing by the meretricious aids 
of dress. His coat, calculating frcm its length 
of waist and ample skirt, would fit Bumbo Green, 
while his trousers being made of seme cheap and 
shrinking material, have gradually contracted 
their limits, and Icok now exactly like knee- 
breeches, without the usual buttons at the bottom. 

These, with the addition of a pair of green 
spectacles, the glass of one being absent, and 
permitting the lockout of a sharp grey eye, 
twinkling with drollery and good humor, form 
the most palpable of his externals. In point of 
character, they who best knew him represented 
him as the best-tempered, best-hearted fellow 
breathing ; ever ready to assist a friend, and al- 
ways postponing his own plans and his own views, 
when he had any, to the wishes and intentions of 
others. Among the many odd things about him 
was a constant preference to travelling on foot, 
and a great passion for living abroad, both of 
which tastes he gratified, although his size might 
seem to offer obstacles to the one, and his total 
ignorance of every continental language would 
appear to preclude the other ; with a great liking 
for tobacco, which he smoked all day — a fond- 
ness for whist and malt liquors — his antipathies 



116 



HARRY LORREOUER, 



were few; so that, except when called upon to 
shave more than once in the week, or wash his 
hands twice on the same day, it was difficult to 
disconcert him. His fortune was very ample; 
but although his mode of living was neither very 
ostentatious nor costly, he contrived always to 
spend his income. Such was the gentleman I 
now presented to my friends, who, I must con- 
fess, appeared strangely puzzled by his manner 
and appearance. This feeling, however, soon 
wore off; and before he had spent the morning 
in their company, he had made more way in their 
good graces, and gone farther to establish inti- 
macy, than many a more accomplished person, 
with an unexceptionable coat and accurate whis- 
ker, might have effected in a fortnight. What 
were his gifts in this way, I am, alas! most de- 
])lorably ignorant of; it was not. Heaven knows, 
that he possessed any conversational talent — of 
successful flattery lie knew as much as a negro 
does of the national debt — and yet the bonhomie 
of his character seemed to tell at once; and I 
never knew him fail in any one instance to estab- 
lish an interest for himself before he had com- 
pleted the ordinary period of a visit. 

I think it is Washington Irving who has so ad- 
mirably depicted the mortification of a dandy 
angler, who, with his beaver garnished with 
brown hackles, his well-poised rod, polished gaff, 
and handsome landing net, with everything befit- 
ting, spends his long summer day whipping a 
trout stream without a rise or even a ripple to 
reward him, while a ragged urchin, with a willow 
wand and a bent pin, not ten yards distant, is 
covering the greensward with myriads of speckled 
and scaly backs, from one pound weight to four; 
so it is in everything — " the race is not to 
the swift;" the elements of success in life, what- 
ever be the object of pursuit, are very, very dif- 
ferent from what we think of them at first sight, 
and so it was with Mr. O'Leary, and I have more 
than once witnessed the triumph of his homely 
manner and blunt humor over the more polished 
and well-bred taste of his competitors for favor; 
and what might have been tlie limit to such suc- 
cess Heaven can only tell, if it were not that 
he labored under a counterbalancing infirmity, 
sufficient to have swamped a line-of-battle ship 
itself. It was simply this — a most unfortunate 
propensity to talk of the wrong place, person, or 
time, in any society he found himself; and this 
taste for the mal ^ propos ^\\.e.nAe.A so far that no 
one ever ventured into company with him as his 
friend without trembling for the result; but even 
this, I believe his only fault, resulted from the 
natural goodness of his character and intentions; 
for, beUeving, as he did, in his honest simplicity, 
that the arbitrary distinctions of class and rank 
were held as cheaply by others as himself, he felt 
small scruple at recounting to a duchess a scene 
in a cabaret, and with as little hesitation would 
he, if asked, have sung the " Cruiskeen Lawn," 
or the "Jug of Punch," after Lablache had fin- 
ished the " K\ Idea," from Figaro. Mauvaise 
/lonte, he had none: indeed I am not sure that he 
had any kind of shame whatever, except possi- 
bly, when detected with a coat that bore any ap- 
pearance of newness, or if over-persuaded to 



wear gloves, which he ever considered as a special 
effeminacy. 

Such was he, and how far he insinuated him- 
self into their good graces, let the fact tell, that 
on my return to the breakfast-room, after about 
an hour's absence, I heard him detailing the par- 
ticulars of a route they were to take by his 
advice, and also learned that he had been of- 
fered, and had accepted, a seat in their carriage 
to Paris. 

"Then I'll do myself the pleasure of joining 
your party, Mrs. Bingham," said he. "Bingham, 
I think, madam, is your name?" 

"Yes, sir." 

"Any relation, may I ask, of a most dear 
friend of mine, of the same name, from Curry- 
naslattery, in the county of Wexford?" 

" I am really not aware," said Mrs. Bingham. 
" My husband's family are, I believe, many of 
them, from that county." 

"Ah, what a pleasant fellow was Tom!" said 
Mr. O'Leary, musingly, and with that peculiar 
tone which made me tremble, for I knew well 
that a reminiscence was coming. "A pleasant 
fellow, indeed." 

" Is he alive, sir, now?" 

"I believe so, ma'am; but I hear the climate 
does not agree with him." 

" Ah, then, he's abroad. In Italy, probably?" 

" No, ma'am, in Botany Bay. His brother, 
they say, might have saved him, but he left poor 
Tom to his fate; for he was just then paying his 
court to Miss Crow, I think, with a large for- 
tune. Oh, Lord! what have I said! — it's always 
the luck of me!" The latter exclamation was the 
result of a heavy thump upon the floor, Mrs. 
Bingham having fallen in a faint — she being the 
identical lady alluded to, and her husband the 
brother of pleasant Tom Bingham. 

To hurl Mr. O'Leary out of the room by one 
hand, and ring the bell with the other, was the 
work of a moment; and, with proper care, and in 
due time, Mrs. Bingham was brought to herself, 
when, most fortunately, she entirely forgot the 
cause of her sudden indisposition, and, of course, 
neither her daughter nor myself suffered any clue 
to escape us which might lead to its discovery. 

When we were once more upon the road, to 
efface, if it might be necessary, any unpleasant 
recurrence to the late scene, I proceeded to give 
Mrs. Bingham an account of my adventure at 
Chantraine, in which, of course, I endeavored to 
render my friend O'Leary all the honors of being 
laughed at in preference to myself, laying little 
stress upon my masquerading in the jack-boots. 

"You are quite right," said O'Leary, joining in 
the hearty laugh against him, "quite right, I was 
always a very heavy sleeper — indeed, if I wasn't I 
wouldn't be here now, travelling about en gar (on, 
free as air;" and here he heaved a sigh, which, 
from its incongruity with his jovial look and 
happy expression, threw us all into renewed 
laughter. 

"But why, Mr. O'Leary — what can your sleep- 
iness have to do with such tender recollections, 
for such, I am sure, that sigh bespeaks them?" 

"Ah! ma'am, it may seem strange, but it is, 
nevertheless true, if it were not for that unfortu- 



HARRY LORREQUER, 



117 



nate tendency, I should now be the happy pos- 
sessor of a most accomplished and amiable lady, 
and eight hundred per annum three-and-a-half 
per cent, stock." 

" You overslept yourself on the wedding-day, I 
suppose .'" 

"You shall hear, ma'am; the story is but a 
short one. It is now about eight years ago, I 
was rambling through the south of France, and 
had just reached Lyons, where the confounded 
pavement, that sticks up like pears with the points 
upwards, had compelled me to rest some days 
and recruit; for this purpose I installed myself in 
the pension of Madame Gourgeaud, Rue des Petits 
Carmes — a quiet house, where we dined at twelve, 
ten in number, upon about two pounds ol stewed 
beef, with garlic and carrots, a light soup — being 
the water which accompanied the same to render 
it tender in stewing — some preserved cherries, 
and an omelette, with a pint bottle of Beaune — 
6me qualite, I believe — a species of pyroligneous 
wine, made from the vine-stalks, but pleasant in 
summer with your salad; then, we played domi- 
noes in the evening, or whist for sou points, lead- 
ing altogether a very quiet and virtuous existence, 
or, as Madame herself expressed it, ' unevie toiit- 
a-fait patiiarchale ;' of this I cannot myself affirm 
how far she was right in supposing the patriarchs 
did exactly like us. But to proceed: in the same 
establishment there lived a widow, an English- 
woman, whose late husband had been a wine mer- 
chant at Dijon; he had also, I suppose from re- 
siding in that country, been imitating the patri- 
archs, for he died one day. Well, the lady was 
delayed at Lyons for some law business, and thus 
it came about that her husband's testament and 
the sharp paving-stones in the streets determined 
that we should be acquainted. I cannot express 
to you the delight of my fair countrywoman at 
finding that a person who spoke English had ar- 
rived at \\\e pension, a feeling I myself somewhat 
participated in; for, to say the truth, I was not 
at that time a very great proficient in French. 
We soon became intimate, in less time, probably, 
than it could otherwise have happened; for, from 
the ignorance of all the others of one word of 
English, I was enabled, during dinner, to say 
many soft and tender things, which one does not 
usually venture in company. 

" I recounted my travels, and told various ad- 
ventures of my wanderings, till at last, from being 
merely amused. I found that my fair friend be- 
gan to be interested in my narratives; and fre- 
quently, when passing the bouillon to her, I have 
seen a tear in the corner of her eye; in a word, 
'she loved me for the dangers I had passed,' as 
Othello says. Well, laugh away if you like, but 
it's truth I am telling you." At this part of Mr. 
O'Leary's story we all found it impossible to with- 
stand the ludicrous mock-heroic of his face and 
tone, and laughed loud and long. When we at 
length became silent he resumed: "Before three 
weeks had passed over, I had proposed and was 
accepted, just your own way, Mr. Lorrequer, 
taking the ball at the hop, the very same way you 
did at Cheltenham, the time the lady jilted you, and 
ran off with your friend Mr. Waller; I read it all 
in the news, though I was then in Norway, fish- 



ing." Here there was another interruption by a 
laugh, not, however, at Mr. O'Leary's expense. 
I gave him a most menacing look, while he con- 
tinued: " The settlements were soon drawn up. and 
consisted, like all great diplomatic documents, of 
a series of ' gains and compensations;' thus, she 
was not to taste anything stronger than kirsch- 
wasse, or Nantze brandy: and I limited myself to 
a pound of short-cut weekly, and so on. But to 
proceed: the lady being a good Catholic, insisted 
upon being married by a priest of her own per- 
suasion, before the performance of the ceremony 
at the British embassy in Paris; to this I could 
offer no objection, and we were accordingly united 
in the holy bonds the same morning, after sign- 
ing the law papers." 

" Then Mr. O'Leary, you are really a married 
man." 

"That's the very point Fm coming to, ma'am; 
for Fve consulted all the jurists upon the subject, 
and they never can agree. But you shall hear. 
I despa'tclied a polite note to Bishop Luscombe, 
and made every arrangement for the approaching 
ceiemony, took a quarter in the Rue du Helder, 
near the Estaminet, and looked forward with 
anxiety for the day which was to make me happy, 
for our marriage in Lyons was only a kind of be- 
trothal. Now, my fair friend had but one diffi- 
culty remaining, poor dear soul — I refrain frcm 
mentioning her name for delicacy sake^ — but poor 
dear Mrs. Ram could not bear the notion of our 
going up to Paris in the same conveyance, for 
long as she had lived abroad, she had avoided 
everything French, even the language; so she 
proposed that I should go in the early diligence, 
which starts at four o'clock in the morning, while 
she took her departure at nine; thus I should be 
some hours sooner in Paris, and ready to receive 
her on her arriving; besides sparing her bashful- 
ness all reproach of our travelling together. It 
was no use my telling her that I always travelled 
on foot, and hated a diligence; she coolly leplied 
that at our time of life, we could not sivire the 
time necessary for a pilgrimage to Jerusalem, for 
so she supposed the journey from Lyons to Paris 
to be; so fearing lest any doubt might be thro^\n 
upon the ardor of my attachment, I yielded at 
once, remembering at the moment what my poor 
friend, Tom Bing Oh, Lord, I'm at it again!" 

" Sir, I did not hear." 

" Nothing, ma'am; I was just going to observe, 
that ladies of a certain time of life, and widows es- 
pecially, like a lover that seems a little ardent or so, 
all the better." Here Mrs. Bingham blushed, her 
daughter bridled, and I nearly suffocated with 
shame and suppressed laughter. 

" After a most tender farewell of my bride, or 
wife, I don't know which, I retired for the night 
with a mind vacillating between my hopes of hap- 
piness and my fears for the result of a journey so 
foreign to all my habits of travelling, and in whkh 
I could not but tremble at the many casualities 
my habitual laziness and dislike to any hours but 
ray own choosing might involve me in. 

" I had scarcely lain down in bed, ere these 
thoughts took such possession of me, that sleep for 
once inmylife was out of the question; and then the 
misery of getting up at four in the morning, put- 



118 



HARRY LORREQUER. 



ting on your clothes by the flickering light of the 
porter's candle, getting your boots on the wrong 
feet, and all that kind of annoyance, I am sure I 
fretted myself into the feeling of a downright 
martyr before an hour was over. ' Well, at least,' 
thought I, 'one thing is well done: I have been 
quite right in coming to sleep at the Messageries 
Hotel, where the diligence starts from, or the 
chances are ten to one that I never should wake 
till the time was past. Now, however, they are 
sure to call me; so I may sleep tranquilly till 
then. Meanwhile I had forgotten to pack my 
trunk; and my papers, etc., lying all about the 
room in a state of considerable confusion. I rose 
at once with all the despatch I could muster; this 
took a long time to effect, and it was nearly two 
o'clock ere I finished, and sat down to smoke a 
solitary pipe, the last, as I supposed, it might be 
my lot to enjoy for heaven knows how long, 
Mrs. R. having e.xpressed, rather late in our inti- 
macy, I confess, strong opinions against tobacco 
within doors. 

" When I had finished my little sac of the 
' weed,' the clock struck three, and I started to 
think how little time I was destined to have in 
bed. In bed! 'Why,' said I, 'there is no use 
thinking of it now, for I shall scarcely have lain 
down ere I shall be obliged to get up again.' So 
thinking, I set about dressing myself for the road, 
and as the season was winter, and the weather 
dreadfully severe, took care to array myself in all 
the covering I could lay hands upon; and by the 
time I had enveloped myself in a pair of long, 
Hungarian gaiters, and a kurtcha of sheep's- wool, 
witli a brown bearskin outside, with a Welsh wig, 
and a pair of large dark glass goggles to defend 
the eyes from the snow, I was not only perfectly 
impervious to all effects of the weather, but so 
thoroughly defended from any influence of sight 
or sound, that a volcano might be hissing and 
thundering within ten yards of me, without at- 
tracting my slightest attention. Now, I thought, 
instead of remaining here I'll just step down to 
the coach, and get snugly into the diligence, and 
having secured tiie corner of the coitpt', resign my- 
self to sleep with the certainty of not being left 
behind, and probably, too, be some miles on my 
journey before awaking. 

" I accordingly went down-stairs, and to my 
surprise found even at that early hour, that many 
of the v-arfons of the house were stirring and 
bustling about, getting all the luggage up in the 
huge, wooden leviathan, that was to convey us 
on our road. There they stood, like bees around 
a hive, clustering and buzzing, and all so engaged, 
that with difficulty could I get an answer to my 
question of what diligence it was. ' La diligence 
pour Paris, Monsieur.' 

'"Ah, all right then,' said I; so, watching an 
opportunity to do so unobserved, for I supposed 
they might have laughed at me, I stepped quietly 
into the coupe, and amid the creaking of cordage 
and the thumping of feet on the roof, fell as sound 
asleep as ever I did in my life, these sounds com- 
ing to my muffled ears soft as the echoes on the 
Rhine. When it was that I awoke I cannot say; 
but as I rubbed my eyes and yawned after a most 
refreshing sleep, I perceived that it was still quite 



dark all around, and that the diligence was 
standing before the door of some inn, and not 
moving. 'Ah,' thought I, 'this is the first stage; 
how naturally one always wakes at ihe change of 
horses, a kind of instinct implanted by Providence, 
I suppose, to direct us to a little refreshment on 
the road.' With these pious feelings I let down 
the glass, and called out to the garden for a glass 
of brandy and a cigar. While he was bringing 
them, I had time to look about, and perceived, to 
my great delight, that I had the whole ca p^ to 
myself., 'Are there any passengers ccming in 
here?' said I, as the waiter c;me forward with my 
liquor. ' I should think not, sir,' said the fellow 
with a leer. 'Then I thall have the whole f<'///f'to 
myself?' said I. 'Monsieur need have no fear of 
being disturbed; 1 can safely assure him that he 
will have no one there for the next Iwenty-fcur 
hours.' This was really pleasant intelligence; so 
I chucked him a ttn-scu piece, arfd closirg up 
the window as the morning was cold, once more 
lay back to sleep with a success that has never 
failed me. It was to a bright blue cloudless sky, 
and the sharp clear air of a fine day in winter, 
that I at length opened my eyes. 1 pulled out 
my watch, and discovered it was exactly two 
o'clock; I next lowered the glass rnd locked 
about me, and very much to my surprise discov- 
ered that the diligence v as not n oving, but stand- 
ing very peaceably in a very cicvdtd congrega- 
tion of other similar and dissimilar ccn\e) ances, 
all of which sttmed, I thcutht, to labor under 
some physical ailment, seme wanting a Lox, others 
a body, etc., etc., and, in fact, suggesting the 
idea of an infiimary for old and disabled car- 
riages of either sex, mails and others. 'Oh, I 
have it,' critd I, 'we are arrived at Mcnt-Geran, 
and they are all at dinner, and frcm my being 
alone in the coupe, they have forgotten to call me.' 
I imm ediately opened the door and stepped out 
into the inn-yard, crowded with conductciirs, 
grooms, and ostlers, who, I thought, looked rather 
su rprised at seeing me emerge f re m the diligence. 

'"You did not know I was there?' said I, with 
a knowing wink at one of them as I passed. 

" ' Assvrc'ment tiov,' said the ftllcw with a laugh, 
that was the signal for all the others to join in it. 
' Is the taltle d'hote over?' said I, regardless of the 
mirth around me. 'Monsieur is just in time," said 
the waiter, who happened to pass with a soup- 
tureen in his hand. 'Have the goodness to step 
this way.' I had barely time to remark the close 
resemblance of the waiter to tlie fellow who pre- 
sented me with my brandy and cigaV in the morn- 
ing, when he ushered me into a large room, with 
about forty persons sitting at a long table, evi- 
dently waiting with impatience for the potage to 
begin their dinner. Whether it was they enjoyed 
the joke of having neglected to call me, or that 
they were laughing at my travelling costume, I 
cannot say, but the moment I came in, I could 
perceive a general titter run through the assembly. 
' Not too late, after all, gentlemen,' said I, march- 
ing gravely up to the table. 

" ' Monsieur is in excellent time,' said the host, 
making room for ine beside his chair. Notwith- 
standing the incumbrance of my weighty habili- 
nrents, I proceeded to do ample justice to the vi- 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



119 



ands before me, apologizing laughingly to the 
host, by pleading a traveller's appetite. 

" ' Then you have, perhaps, come far this morn- 
ing ?' said a gentleman opposite. 

'■ ' Yes,' said I, ' I have been on the road since 
four o'clock.' 

'"And how are the roads?' said another. 
'Very bad,' said I,' the first few stages from Lyons, 
afterwards much better.' This was said at a 
venture, as I began to be ashamed of being always 
asleep before my fellow-travellers. They did not 
seem, however, to understand me perfectly ; and 
one old fellow, putting down his spectacles from 
his forehead, leaned over and said : ' And where, 
may I ask, has Monsieur come from this morn- 
ing?' 

" ' From Lyons,' said I, with the proud air of a 
man who has done a stout feat, and is not ashamed 
of the exploit. 

"'From Lyons!' said one. 'From Lyons!' 
cried another. 'From Lyons!' repeated a third. 

" ' Yes,' said I ; ' what the devil is so strange 
in it? Travelling is so quick now-a-days, one 
thinks nothing of twenty leagues before dinner.' 

"Tlie infernal shout of laughing that followed 
my explanation is still in my ears. From one end 
of the table to the other there was one continued 
ha, ha, ha ! — from the greasy host to the little 
hunch-backed waiter, they were all grinning away. 

"' And how did Monsieur travel ?' said the old 
gentleman, who seemed to carry on the prosecu- 
tion against me. 

" ' In the coiipt' of the Ai':;le noir,' said I, giving 
the name with some pride that I was not alto- 
gether ignorant of the conveyance. 

" 'Then you should certainly not complain of 
the roads,' said the host, chuckling ; ' for the 
only journey that diligence has made this day has 
b -en from the street-door to the inn-yard ; for as 
mey found when the luggage was nearly packed 
that the axle was almost broken through, they 
wheeled it round to the cour, and prepared an- 
other for the travellers.' 

" ' And where am I now ?' said L 

" ' In Lyons,' said twenty voices, half choked 
with laughter at my question. 

" I was thunderstruck at the news at first ; but 
as I proceeded with my dinner I joined in the 
mirth of the party, which certainly was not dimin- 
ished on my telling them the object of my in- 
tended journey. 

" ' I think, young man,' said the old fellow with 
the spectacles, ' that you should take the occur- 
rence as a warning of Providence that marriage 
will not suit you.' I began to be of the same opin- 
ion ; — but then there was the jointure. To be 
sure, I was to give up tobacco ; and, perhaps, I 
should not be as free to ramble about as when a 
garcon. So taking all things into consideration, I 
ordered in another bottle of Burgundy, to drink 
Mrs. Ram's health — got my passport vised for 
Bareges — and set out for the Pyrenees the same 
evening." 

"And have you never heard anything more 
of the lady?" said Mrs. Bingham. 

" Oh, yes. She was faithful to the last ; for I 
found out when at Rome last winter that she had 
offered a reward for me in the newspapers, and 



indeed had commenced a regular pursuit of me 
through the whole Continent. And to tell the real 
fact, I should not now fancy turning my steps 
towards Paris, if I had not very tolerable infor- 
mation that she is in full cry after me through 
the Wengen Alps, I having contrived a paragraph 
in Galignani, to seduce her thither, and where, 
with the blessing of Providence, if the snow set 
in early, she must pass the winter." 



CHAPTER XXVIIL 



PARIS. 



Nothing more worthy of recording occurred 
before our arrival at Meurice's on the third day 
of our journey. My friend O'Leary had, with 
his usual good fortune, become indispensable to 
his new acquaintance, and it was not altogether 
without some little lurking discontent that I per- 
ceived how much less often my services were 
called in request since his having joined our 
party; his information, notwithstanding its very 
scanty extent, was continually relied upon, and- 
his very imperfect French everlastingly called^ 
into requisition to interpret a question for the 
ladies. "Y'es," thought I, "'Othello's occupa- 
tion's gone'; one of two things has certainly hap-- 
pened, either Mrs. Bingham and her daughter' 
have noticed my continued abstraction of mind,, 
and have attributed it to the real cause, the pre-- 
occupation of my affections; or thinking, on the^ 
other hand, that I am desperately in love with 
one or other of them, have thought that a little 
show of preference to Mr. O'Leary may stimulate- 
me to a proposal at once." In either case I re- 
solved to lose no time in taking my leave, which 
there could be no difficulty in doing now, as the 
ladies had reached their intended destination, and- 
had numerous friends in Paris to advise and as- 
sist them; besides that I had too long neglected; 
the real object of my trip, and should lose no- 
time in finding out the Callcnbys, and at once- 
learn what prospect of success awaited me in. 
that quarter. Leaving my fair friends, then, 
to refresh themselves after the journey, and con- 
signing Mr. O'Leary to the enjoyment of his- 
meerschaum, through the aid of which he had 
rendered his apartment like a Dutch swamp in. 
autumn, the only portion of his own figure visi- 
ble through the mist being his short legs and. 
heavy shoes, I set forth at last. 

On reaching the house in the Rue de la Paix,. 
where the Callonbys had resided, I learned that 
they were still at Baden, and -were not expected- 
in Paris for some weeks; that Lord Kilkee had. 
arrived that morning, and was tlien dining at the- 
Embassy, having left an invitation for nie to dine 
with him on the following day, if I happened to 
call. As I turned from the door, uncertain: 
whither to direct my steps, I walked on uncon- 
sciously towards the Boulevard, and, occupied as- 
I was, thinking over all the chances before me,, 
did not perceive where I stood till the bright 
glare of a large gas-lamp over my head apprised 
me that I was at the door of the well-known Salon 



130 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



dei Etrangers, at the corner of the Rue Richelieu; 
carriages, citadincs, and vigilantes were crowding, 
crashing, and clattering on all sides, as the host 
of fashion and the gaming-table were hastening 
to their champ de bataille. Not being a member 
of the Salon, and having little disposition to en- 
ter, if I had been, I stood for some minutes look- 
ing at the crowd as it continued to press on to- 
wards the splendid and brilliantly lighted stairs 
which led from the very street to the rooms of 
this palace, for such, in the magnificence and 
luxury of its decorations, it really was. As I was 
on the very eve of turning away, a large and very 
handsome cab-horse turned the corner from the 
Boulevard, with the most perfect appointment of 
harness and carriage I had seen for a long time. 

While I continued to admire the taste and pro- 
priety of the equipage, a young man in deep 
mourning sprang from the inside and stood upon 
the pavement before me. ''A deux heures, Charles," 
said he to his servant, as the cab turned slowly 
round. The voice struck me as well-known. I 
waited till he approached the lamp, to catch a 
glimpse of the face; and what was my surprise 
to recognize my cousin, Guy Lorrequer, of the 
loth, whom I had not met with for six years be- 
fore. My first impulse was not to make myself 
known to him. Our mutual position with regard 
to Lady Jane was so much a mystery, as regarded 
myself, that I feared the result of any meeting, 
until I was sufficiently aware of how matters stood, 
and whether we were to meet as friends and re- 
lations, or rivals, and consequently enemies. 

Before I had time to take my resolution, Guy 
had recognized me, and seizing me by the hand 
with both liis, called, " Harry, my old friend, how 
are you? How long have you been here? And 
never to call on me! Why, man, what is the 
meaning of this?" Before I had time to say that 
I was only a few hours in Paris, he again inter- 
rupted me by saying: " And how comes it that 
you are not in mourning? You must surely have 
heard it." " Heard what?" I cried, nearly hoarse 
from agitation. " Our poor old friend. Sir Guy, 
didn't you know, is dead." Only those who have 
felt how strong the ties of kindred are, as they 
decrease in number, can tell how this news fell 
upon my heart. All my poor uncle's kindnesses 
came full upon my memory; his affectionate let- 
ters of advice; his well-meant chidings, too, even 
dearer to me than his praise and approval, com- 
pletely unmanned me; and I stood speechless and 
powerless before my cousin as he continued to 
detail to me the rapid progress of Sir Guy's 
malady, an attack of gout in the head, which car- 
ried him off in three days. Letters had been sent 
to me in different places, but none reached; and 
at the very moment the clerk of my uncle's law- 
yer was in pursuit of me through the Highlands, 
where some mistaken information had induced 
him to follow me. 

"You are, therefore," continued Guy, "una- 
ware that our uncle has dealt so fairly by you, 
and, indeed, by both of us; I have got the Som- 
ersetshire estates, which go with the baronetcy; 
but the Cumberland property is all yours; and I 
heartily wish you joy of having nearly eight thou- 
sand per annum, and one of the sweetest villas 



that ever man fancied on Derwentwater. But 
come along here," continued he, and he led me 
through the crowded corridor and up the wide 
stair, " I have much to tell you, and we can be 
perfectly alone here; no one will trouble them- 
selves with us." Unconscious of all around me, 
1 followed Guy along the gilded and glittering 
lobby, which led to the salon, and it was only as 
the servant in rich livery came forward to take 
my hat and cane that I remembered where I was. 
'I'iien the full sense of all I had been listening to 
rushed upon me, and the unfitness, and indeed 
the indecency of the place for such communica- 
tions as we were engaged in, came most forcibly 
before me. Sir Guy, it is true, had always pre- 
ferred my cousin to me; he it was who was 
always destined to succeed both to his title and 
his estates, and his wildness and extravagance 
had ever met with a milder rebuke and weaker 
chastisement than my follies and my misfortunes. 
Yet still he was my last remaining relative; the 
only one I possessed in all the world to whom in 
any difficulty or trial 1 had to look up; and I 
felt, in the very midst of my newly acquired 
wealth and riches, poorer and more alone than 
ever I had done in my lifetime. I followed Guy 
to a small and dimly-lighted cabinet off the great 
salon, where, having seated ourselves, he pro- 
ceeded to detail to me the various events which 
a few short weeks had accomplished. Of himself 
he spoke but little, and never once alluded to the 
Callonbys at all; indeed, all I could learn was 
that he had left the army, and purposed remain- 
ing for the winter at Paris, where he appeared to 
have entered into all its gayety and dissipation at 
once. 

"Of course," said he, "you will give up 'sod- 
gering' now; at the best it is but poor sport after 
fiveand-twenty, and is perfectly unendurable 
when a mar has the means of pushing himself in 
the gay world; and now, Harry, let us mix a lit- 
tle among the nob here; for Alessieurs les Ban- 
quicrs don't hold people in estimation who come 
liere only for the chapons an > is, and the cham- 
pagne fiappe, as we should seem to do were we 
to stay here much longer." 

Such was the whirl of my thoughts, and so 
great the confusion in my ideas from all 1 had 
just heard, that I felt myself implicitly following 
every direction of my cousin with a child-like 
obedience, of the full extent of which I became 
only conscious when I found myself seated at the 
table of the salon, between my cousin Guy and 
an old, hard-visaged, pale-countenanced man, 
who he told me in a whisper was Polignac, the 
Minister. 

What a study for the man who would watch 
the passions and emotions of his fellow-men, 
would the table of a rouge et noir gambling- 
house present — the skill and dexterity which 
games of other kinds require being here wanting, 
leave the player free to the full abandonnunt of 
the passion. The interest is not a gradually in- 
creasing or vacillating one, as fortune and knowl- 
edge of the game favor; the result is uninfluenced 
by anything of his doing; with the last turned 
card of the croupier is he rich or ruined; and 
thus in the very abstraction of the anxiety is this 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



121 



the most painfully exciting of all gambling what- 
ever; the very rattle of the dice-box to the haz- 
ard-player is a relief; and the thought that he is 
in some way instrumental to his good or bad 
fortune gives a turn to his thoughts. There is 
something so like the inevitable character of fate 
associated with the result of a chance, which 
you can in no way affect or avert, that I have, 
notwithstanding a strong bias for play, ever 
dreaded and avoided the nuigt: et noir table. Hith- 
erto prudential motives had their share in the 
resolve; a small loss at play becomes a matter of 
importance to a sub. in a marching regiment; 
and, therefore, I was firm in my determination 
to avoid the gambling-table. Now, my fortunes 
were altered; and as I looked at the heap of 
shining louis d'or, which Guy pushed before me 
in exchange for a bil/ct tie banque of large amount, 
I felt the full importance of my altered position, 
mingling with the old and long-practised preju- 
dices which years had been accumulating to fix. 
There is, besides, some wonderful fascination to 
most men in the very aspect of high play; to pit 
your fortune against that of another — -to see 
whether or not your luck shall not exceed some 
other's — are feelings that have a place in most 
bosoms, and are certainly, if not naturally ex- 
isting, most easily generated in the bustle and 
excitement of the gambling-house. The splen- 
dor of the decorations — the rich profusion of 
gilded ornaments — -the large and gorgeously- 
framed mirrors — -the sparkling lustres, mingling 
their effect with the perfumed air of the apart- 
ment, filled with orange trees and other aromatic 
shrubs — the dress of the company, among whom 
were many ladies in costumes not inferior to 
those of a court — the glitter of diamonds — the 
sparkle of stars and decorations, rendered more 
magical by knowing that the wearers were names 
in history. There, with his round but ample 
shoulder, and large, massive head, covered with 
long, snow-white hair, stands one, the maker and 
unmaker of kings, watching with a look of ill- 
concealed anxiety the progress of his game. 
Here is Soult.with his dogged look and beetle brow; 
there stands Balzac, the author; his gains are here 
less derived from the betting than the bettors; 
he is evidently " making his own" of some 
of them, while in the seeming bonhomie of his 
careless manner and easy abandon, they scru- 
ple not to trust him with anecdotes and traits, 
that from the crucible of his fiery imagination 
come forth like the purified gold from the fur- 
nace. And there, look at tliat old and weather- 
beaten man, with gray eye-brows and mustachios, 
who throws from the breast pocket of his frock, 
ever and anon, a handful of gold pieces upon 
the table; he evidently neither knows nor cares 
for the amount, for the banker himself is obliged 
to count over the stake for him — that is Blucher, 
the never-wanting attendant at the salon; he has 
been an immense loser, but plays on, and, with 
the same stern perseverance with which he would 
pour his bold cavalry through a ravine torn by 
artillery, he stands by the still waning chance 
with a courage that never falters. 

One strong feature of the levelling character 
of a taste for play has never ceased to impress 



me most forcibly — not only do the individual pe- 
culiarities of the man give way before the all- 
absorbing passion, but, stranger still, the very 
boldest traits of nationality even fade and disap- 
pear before it; and man seems, under the high- 
pressure power of this greatest of all stimulants, 
resolved into a most abstract state. 

Among all the traits which distinguish French- 
men from natives of every country, none is more 
prominent than a kind of never-failing elasticity 
of temperament, which seems almost to defy all 
the power of misfortune to depress. Let what 
will happen, the Frenchman seems to possess 
some strong resource within himself, in his ardent 
temperament, upon which he can draw at will; 
and whether on the day after a defeat — the mo- 
ment of being deceived in his strongest hopes of 
returned affection — the overthrow of some long- 
cherished wish — it matters not — he never gives 
way entirely: but see him at the gaming-table — 
watch the intense, the aching anxiety with which 
his eye follows every card as it falls from the 
hand of the croupier — behold the look of cold 
despair that tracks his stake as the banker rakes 
it in among his gains — and you will at once per- 
ceive that here, at least, his wonted powers fail 
him. No jest escapes the lips of one that would 
joke upon the steps of the guillotine. The 
mocker who would jeer at the torments of the 
revolution stands like a coward quailing before 
the impassive eye and pale cheek of a croupier. 
While I continued to occupy myself by observing 
the different groups about me, I had been almost 
mechanically following the game, placing at each 
deal some gold upon the table; the result, how- 
ever, had interested me so slightly, that it was 
only by remarking the attention my game had 
excited in others, that my own was drawn towards 
it. I then perceived that I had permitted my 
winnings to accumulate upon the board, and that 
in the very deal then commencing, I had a stake 
of nearly five hundred pounds. 

" Faites votre jeu, le jeu est fait," said the 
croupier, " trente-deux." 

"You have lost, by Jove!" said Guy, in a low 
whisper, in which I could detect some trait of 
agitation. 

" Trente-et-un," added the croupier. " Rouge 
perd, et couleur." 

There was a regular buzz of wonder through 
the room at my extraordinary luck, for thus, with 
every chance against me, I had won again. 

As the croupier placed the billets de banque 
upon the table, I overheard the muttered com- 
mendations of an old veteran behind me, upon 
the coolness and judgment of my play. " So 
much for fortune," thought I. " My judgment 
consists in a perfect ignorance of the chances, 
and my coolness is merely a thorough indiffer- 
ence to success." Whether it was now that the 
flattery had its effect upon me, or that the passion 
for play, so long dormant, had suddenly seized 
hold upon me, I know not, but my attention be- 
came from that moment riveted upon the game, 
and I played every deal. Guy, who had been 
from the first betting with the indifferent success 
which I have so often observed to attend upon 
the calculations of old and experienced gamblers, 



122 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



now gave up, and employed himself merely in 
watching my game." 

" Harry," said he, at last, "I am completely 
puzzled as to whether you are merely throwing 
down your loitis at hazard, or are not the deepest 
player I have ever met with." 

" You shall see," said I, as I stooped over 
towards the banker, and whispered, ''How far is 
the betting permitted ?" 

" Fifteen thousand francs," said the croupier, 
with a look of surjirise. 

" Here goes then!" said I, " quinze mille francs, 
rouge." 

In a moment the rouge won, and the second 
deal I repeated the bet, and so continuing on 
with the like success. When I was preparing my 
rouleau for the fifth, the banker rose, and say- 
ing, " Messieurs, la banque est ferme pour se 
soir," proceeded to lock his cassette, and close 
the table. 

" You are satisfied now," said Guy, rising ; 
" you see you have broken the bank, and a very 
pretty incident to commence with, on your first 
introduction to a campaign in Paris." 

Having changed my gold for notes, I stuffed 
them, with an air of well-affected carelessness, 
into my pocket, and strolled through the salon, 
where I had now become an object of considerably 
more interest than all the marshals and ministers 
about me. 

" Now, Hal," said Guy, " I'll just order our 
supper in the cabinet, and join you in a mo- 
ment." 

As I remained for some minutes awaiting Guy's 
return, my attention was drawn towards a crowd, 
in a smaller salon, among whom the usual silent 
decorum of the play-table seemed held in but 
small respect, for every instant some burst of 
hearty laughter, or some open expression of joy 
or anger burst forth, by which I immediately per- 
ceived that they were the votaries of the roulette 
table, a game at which the strict propriety and 
etiquette ever maintained at rogue ct noir are 
never exacted. As I pressed nearer, to discover 
the cause of the mirth, which every moment 
seemed to augment, guess my surprise to perceive 
among the foremost rank of the players my ac- 
quaintance, Mr. O'Leary, whom I at that mo- 
ment believed to be solacing himself with his 
meerschaum at Meurice's. My astonishment at 
how he obtained admission to the salon was even 
less than my fear of his recognizing me. At no 
time is it agreeable to find that the man who is 
regarded as the buffo of a party turns out to be 
your friend; but still less is this so, when the in- 
dividual claiming acquaintance with you presents 
any striking absurdity in his dress or manner, 
strongly at contrast with the persons and things 
about him. And thus it now happened. Mr. 
O'Leary 's external man, as we met him on the 
Calais road, with its various accompaniments of 
blouse, cap, spectacles, and tobacco pipe, were 
nothing very remarkable, but when the same fig- 
ure presented itself among the t'legans of the Pa- 
risian world, redolent of cau de Portugal, and 
superb in the glories of brocade waistcoats and 
velvet coats, the thing was too absurd, and I 
longed to steal away before any chance should 



present itself of a recognition. This, however, 
was impossible, as the crowd from the other table 
were all gathered around us, and I was obliged, 
to stand fast, and trust that the excitemeirt of the 
game, in which he appeared to be thoroughly oc- 
cupied, might keep his eye fixed on another quar- 
ter. I now observed that the same scene in which 
1 had so lately been occupied at the ro^^ue ei noir 
table was enacting here, under difl'erent circum- 
stances. Mr. O'Leary was the only player, as I 
had just been — not, however, because his success 
absorbed all the interest of the bystanders, but 
that, unfortunately, his constant want of it elicited 
some strong expressions of discontent and mis- 
trust from him, which excited the loud laughter 
of the others, but of which, from his great anx- 
iety in the game, he seemed totally unconscious. 

" Faites votre jeu, messieurs," said the crou- 
pier. 

"Wait a bit till I change this," said Mr. 
O'Leary, producing an English sovereign ; the 
action interpreted his wishes and the money was 
converted into coupons dejeu. 

I now discovered one great cause of the mirth 
of the by-standers, at least the English portion of 
them. Mr. O'Leary, when placing his money upon 
the table, observed the singular practice of an- 
nouncing aloud the amount of his bet, which, for 
his own information, he reduced to Irish cur- 
rency ; thus the stillness of the room was every 
instant broken by a strong Irish accent jjronounc- 
ing something of this sort — "five francs," "four 
and a penny" — "ten francs, " "eight and three 
ha'pence." ■ The amusement thus caused was in- 
creased by the excitement his losses threw him 
into. He now ceased to play for several times, 
when at last, he made an offering of his usual 
stake. 

" Perd," said the croupier, raking in the piece 
with a contemptuous air at the smallness of the 
bet, and in no way pleased that the interest Mr. 
O'Leary excited should prevent the other players 
from betting. 

" Perd," said O'Leary, again. " Devil another 
song you sing than 'perd,' and I'm not quite clear 
you're not cheating all the while — only, God help 
you if you are!" 

As he so said, the head of a huge blackthorn 
stick was half protruded across the table, causing 
renewed mirth ; for, among other regulations, 
every cane, however trifling, is always demanded 
at the door ; and thus a new subject of astonish- 
ment arose as to how he had succeeded in carry- 
ing it with him into the salon. 

" Here's at you again," said O'Leary, regardless 
of the laughter, and covering three or four num- 
bers with \\\'~< jetons. 

Round went the ball once more, and once more 
he lost. 

" Look now, devil a lie in it, he makes them go 
wherever he pleases. I'll take a turn now at the 
tables ; fair play's a jewel — and we'll see how 
you'll get on." 

So saying, he proceeded to insinuate himself 
into the chair of the croupier, whom he proposed 
to supersede, by no very gentle me«ns. This was 
of course resisted, and as the loud mirth of the 
bystanders grew more and more boisterous, the 




C«P<"' 



-^^///^ ^/^^^//^//^^/<^//////^/^// /^^^^ 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



123 



cries oi"A laporte! ^ A/ /or/f /" from the friends 
of the bank, rang through the crowd. 

"Go it, Pat — go it, Pat," said Guy, over my 
shoulder, who seemed to take a prodigious inter- 
est in the proceedings. 

At this unexpected recognition of his nativity 
— for Mr. O'Leary never suspected he could be 
discovered by his accent— he looked across the 
table, and caught my eye at once. 

" Oh, I'm safe now ! stand by nie, Mr. Lorre- 
quer, and we'll clear the room." 

So saying, and without any further provocation, 
he upset the croupier, chair and all, with one sud- 
den jerk upon the floor, and giving a tremendous 
kick to the cassette, sent all the five-franc pieces 
flying over him ; he then jumped upon the table, 
and brandishing his blackthorn through the ormolu 
lustre, scattered the wax-lights on all sides, ac- 
companying the exploit by a yell that would 
have called up all Connemara at midnight, if it 
had only been heard there ; in an instant, the 
gendarmes, always sufficiently near to be called in 
if required, came pouring into the room, and sup- 
posing the whole affair had been a preconcerted 
thing to obtain possession of the money in the 
bank, commenced capturing different members of 
the company who appeared by enjoying the con- 
fusion to be favoring and assisting it. My cousin 
Guy was one of the first so treated — a proceeding 
to which he responded by an appeal rather in 
favor with most Englishmen, and at once knocked 
down the gendarme ; this was the signal for a 
general engagement, and accordingly, before an 
explanation could possibly be attempted, a most 
terrific combat ensued. The Frenchmen in the 
room siding with the gendarmerie, and making 
common cause against the English ; who, al- 
though greatly inferior in number, possessed con- 
siderable advantage, from long habit in street- 
rows and boxing encounters. As for myself, I had 
the good fortune to be pitted against a very pursy 
and unwieldy Frenchman, who sacrc'ii to admi- 
ration, but never put in a single blow at me ; 
while, therefore, I amused myself practising what 
old t'ribb called " the one, two," upon his fat 
carcass, I had abundant time and opportunity to 
watch all that was doing about me, and truly a 
more ludicrous affair I never beheld. Imagine 
aljout fifteen or sixteen young Englishmen, most 
of them powerful, athletic fellows, driving an in- 
discriminate mob of about five times their num- 
ber before them, who, with courage enough to re- 
sist, were yet so totally ignorant of tlie boxing 
art, that they retreated pell-mell before the bat- 
tering phalanx of their sturdy opponents — the 
most ludicrous figure of all being Mr. O'Leary 
himself, who, standing upon the table, laid about 
him with a brass lustre that he had unstrung, and 
did considerable mischief with this novel instru- 
ment of warfare, crying out the entire time, 
"Murder every mother's son of them!" "Give 
them another taste of Waterloo!" Just as he 
had uttered the last patriotic sentiment, he re- 
ceived a slight admonition from behind, by the 
point of a gendarme's sword, which made him 
leap from the table with the alacrity of a harle- 
quin, and come plump down among the thickest 
of the fray. My attention was now directed else- 



where, for above all the din and icifage of the en- 
counter I could plainly hear the row-dow-dow of 
the drums and the measured tread of troops ap- 
proaching, and at once guessed that a reinforce- 
ment of the gendarmerie were coming up. Be- 
hind me there was a large window with a heavy 
scarlet curtain before it ; my icsolution was at 
once taken ; I floored my antagonist, whom I had 
till now treated with the most merciful forbear- 
ance, and immediately sprang behind the curtain. 
A second's consideration showed that in the search 
that must ensue this would afi'ord no refuge, so I 
at once opened the sash, and endeavored to as- 
certain at what height I was above the ground 
beneath me ; the night was so dark that I could 
see nothing, but judging from the leaves and twigs 
that reached to the window that it was a garden 
beneath, and auguring from the perfumed smell of 
the shrubs, that they could not be tall trees, I re- 
solved to leap, a resolve I had little time to come 
to, for the step of the soldiers was already heard 
upon the stair. Fixing my hat, then, down upon 
my eyebrows, and buttoning my coat tightly, I let 
myself down from the window-stool by my hands, 
and fell upon my legs in the soft earth of the gar- 
den, safe and unhurt. From the increased clamor 
and din overhead, I could learn the affray was at 
its height, and had little difficulty in detecting the 
sonorous accent and wild threats of my friend Mr. 
O'Leary high above all the other sounds around 
him. I did not wait long, however, to enjoy 
them, but at once set about securing my escape 
from my present bondage. In this I had little 
difficulty, for I was directed by a light to a small 
door, which, as I approached, found that it led 
into the den of the concierge, and also communi- 
cated by another door with the street. I opened 
it, therefore, at once, and was in the act of opening 
the second, when I felt myself seized by the 
collar by a strong hand; and on turning round, 
saw the sturdy figure of the concierge himself 
with a drawn bayonet within a few inches of my 
throat. " Tenez, mon ami," said I, quietly; and 
placing a half a dozen lotiis, some of my recent 
spoils, in his hand, at once satisfied him tnat, even 
if I were a robber, I was at least one that under- 
stood and respected the conveniences of society. 
He at once relinquished his hold and dropped his 
weapon, and pulling off his cap with one hand, to 
draw tne cord which opened \\\t porie cochere with 
the other, bowed me politely to the street. I 
had scarcely had time to insinuate myself into 
the dense mass of the people whom the noise and 
confusion within had assembled around the house, 
when the double door of the building opened, and a 
file of gendarmerie came forth, leading between 
them my friend Mr. O'Leary and some others of 
the rioters — among whom I rejoiced to find my 
cousin did not figure. If I were to judge 
from his disordered habiliments ~ind scarred 
visage, Mr. O'Leary's resistance to the constituted 
authorities must have been a vigorous one, and 
the drollery of his appearance was certainly not 
decreased by his having lost the entire brim of 
his hat — the covering of his head bearing, under 
these distressing circumstances, a strong resem- 
blance to a saucepan. 

As I could not at that moment contribute in 



124 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



any way to his rescue, I determined on the follow- 
ing day to be present at his examination, and ren- 
der him all the assistance in my power. Mean- 
while I returned to Meurice's, thinking of every 
adventure of the evening much more than of my 
own changed condition and altered fortunes. 



CHAPTER XXIX. 



PARIS. 

The first thing which met my eye, when waking 
in the morning, after the affair at the salon, was the 
rouleau of billets de baiique which I had won at 
play; and it took several minutes before I could 
persuade myself that the entire recollection of the 
evening had any more solid foundation than a 
heated brain and fevered imagination. The sud- 
den spring from being a subaltern in the 4 — th, 
with a few hundreds per annum — pour tout potage, 
to becoming the veritable proprietor of several 
thousands, with a handsome house in Cumberland, 
was a consideration which I could scarcely admit 
into my mind — so fearful was I that the very first 
occurrence of the day should dispel the illusion, 
and throw me back into the dull reality which I 
was hoping to escape from. 

There is no adage more true than the old 
Roman one— "that what we wish, we readily be- 
lieve;" so I had little difficulty in convincing my- 
self that all was as I desired — although, certainly, 
my confused memory of the past evening con- 
tributed little to that conviction. It was, then, 
amid a very whirl of anticipated pleasures, and new 
schemes for enjoying life, that I sat down to a 
breakfast, at which, that I might lose no time in 
commencing my race, I had ordered the most ex- 
quisite viands which even French cookery could 
accomplish for the occasion. 

My plans were soon decided upon. I resolved 
to remain only long enough in Paris to provide 
myself with a comfortable travelling carriage, se- 
cure a good courier, and start for Baden; when 
I trusted that my pretensions, whatever favor 
they might have been once received with, would 
certainly now, at least, be listened to with more 
prospect of being successful. 

I opened the Galignani's paper of the 'day to 
direct me in my search, and had scarcely read a 
few lines before a paragraph caught my eye, which 
not a little amused me; it was headed — Serious 
Riot at the Salon des Etrangers, and atteiitp't to Rob 
the Bank: 

■' Last evening, among the persons who pre- 
sented themselves at the table of this fashionable 
resort, were certain individuals who, by their 
manners and dress, bespoke anything rather than 
the rank and condition of those who usually re- 
sort there, and whose admission is still unex- 
plained, notwithstanding the efforts of the police 
to unravel the mystery. The proprietors of the 
bank did not fail to remark these persons, but 
scrupled, from fear of disturbing the propriety of 
the salon, to take the necessary steps for their ex- 
clusion, reserving their intention to the adoption 
of precautions against such intrusion in future — 



unfortunately, as it turned out, eventually — for, 
towards eleven o'clock, one of these individuals, 
having lost a considerable sum at play, proceeded 
in a very violent and outrageous manner to de- 
nounce the bank, and went so far as to accuse the 
croupier of cheating. This language, having 
failed to excite the disturbance it was evidently 
intended to promote, was soon followed up by a 
most dreadful personal attack upon the banker, 
in which he was thrown from his seat, and the 
cassette, containing several thousand francs in 
gold and notes, immediately laid hold of. The 
confusion now became considerable, and it was 
apparent that the whole had been a preconcerted 
scheme. Several persons, leaping upon the table, 
attempted to extinguish the great lustre of the 
salon, in which bold attempt they were most spirit- 
edly resisted by some of the other plajers and 
the gendarmes, who had by this time arrived in 
force. The riot was quelled after a prolonged 
and desperate resistsnce, and the rioters, with the 
exception of two, were captured, and conveyed to 
prison, where they await the result of a judicial 
investigation, of which we shall not fail to lay the 
particulars before our readers. 

" Since our going to press, we have learned that 
one of the ringleaders in this vile scheme is a 
noted English escroc — a swindler, who was already 
arrested at C for travelling with a false pass- 
port, but who contrives, by some collusion with 
another of the gang, to evade the local authorities. 
If this be the case, we trust he will speedily be 
detected and brought to punishment." 

Whatever amusement I had found in reading 
the commencing portion of this ridiculous mis- 
statement, the allusion in the latter part by no 
means afforded me equal pleasure; and I saw in 
one rapid glance how much annoyance, and how 
many delays and impediments a charge even of 
this ridiculous nature might give rise to in my 
present circumstances. " My passport, however, 
will settle all," thought I, as I thrust my hand to- 
wards my pocket, in which I had placed it along 
with some letters. 

Guess my misery to discover that the whole of 
the pocket had been cut away, probably in the 
hope of obtaining the billets Je banque I had won 
at play, but which I had changed from that 
pocket to a breast one on leaving the table. This 
at once led me to suspect that there might be 
some truth in the suspicion of the newspaper 
writer of a preconcerted scheme, and at once ex- 
plained to me what had much puzzled me before 
— the extreme rapidity with which the elements 
of discord were propagated, for the whole affair 
was the work of a few seconds. While I con- 
tinued to meditate on these matters, the waiter 
entered with a small note in an envelope, which 
a commissionaire had just left at the hotel for 
me, and went away, saying there was no answer. 
I opened it hastily, and read: — 

" Dear H., — The confounded affair of last 
night has induced me to leave this for a few 
days; besides that, I have obtained a most excel- 
lent reason for absenting myself in the jiresence 
of a black eye, which will prevent my appearance 
in public for a week to come. As you are a 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



125 



stranger here, you need not fear being detected. 
With all its de'sagre'mcns, I can't help laughing at 
the adventure, and I am heartily glad to have 
had the opportunity of displaying old Jackson's 
science upon those wretched gendarmes. 
" Yours truly, 

"G. L." 

" This certainly," thought I, " improves my 
position. Here is my cousin Guy — the only one 
to whom, in any doubt or difficulty here, I could 
refer — here he is — flown, without letting me know 
where to address him or find him out." J. rang 
my bell hastily, and having written a line on my 
card, requesting Lord Kilkee to come to me as 
soon as he could, despatched it to the Rue de la 
Paix. The messenger soon relumed with an an- 
swer that Kord Kilkee had been obliged to leave 
Paris late the evening before, having received 
some important letters from Baden. My anxiety 
now became greater. I did not know but that 
the moment I ventured to leave the hotel I should 
be recognized by some of the witnesses of the 
evening's fray; and all thoughts of succoring 
poor O'Leary were completely forgotten in my 
fear for the annoyances the whole of this ridicu- 
lous affair might involve me in. Without any 
decision as to my future steps, 1 dressed myself, 
and proceeded to pay my respects to Mrs. Bing- 
ham and her daughter, who were in the same 
hotel, and whom I had not seen since our arrival. 

As I entered the drawing-room, I was surprised 
to find Miss Bingham alone. She appeared to 
have been weeping — at least the efforts she made 
to appear easy and in good spirits contrasted a 
good deal with the expression of her features as 
1 came in. To my inquiries for Mrs. Bingham, 
I received for answer that the friends Mrs. Bing- 
ham had expected having left a few days before 
for Baden, she had resolved on following them, 
and had now merely driven out to make a few 
purchases before her departure, which was to 
take place in the morning. 

There is something so sad in the thought of 
being deserted and left by one's friends under 
any circumstances, that I cannot express how 
much this intelligence affected me. It seemed, 
too, like the last drop of bad news filling up the 
measure, that I was to be suddenly deprived of 
the society of the very few friends about me, just 
as I stood most in need of them. 

Whether or not Miss Bingham noticed my em- 
barrassment, I cannot say; but certainly she 
seemed not displeased, and there was in the half 
encouraging tone of her manner something which 
led me to suspect that she was not dissatisfied 
with the impression her news seemed to produce 
upon me. 

Without at all alluding to my own improved 
fortune, or to the events of the preceding night, 
I began to talk over the coming journey, and ex- 
pressed my sincere regret that, having lost my 
passport under circumstances which might create 
some delay, I could not join their party as I 
should otherwise have done. 

Miss Bingham heard this speech with rather 
more emotion than so simple a declaration was 
calculated to produce; and, while she threw down 



her eyes beneath their long dark lashes, and col- 
ored slightly, asked, — 

" And did you really wish to come with us?" 

" Undoubtedly," said I. 

" And is there no other objection than the 
passport?" 

" None whatever," said. I, warming as I spoke, 
for the interest she appeared to take in me com- 
pletely upset all my calculations; besides that, I 
had never seen her looking so handsome, and 
thai, as the French wisely remark, vaut toiijours 
quelqiie chose. 

"Oh, then, pray come with us, which you can 
do, for mamma has just got a passport for her 
nephew along with her own; and as we really don't 
want hiin, nor he us, we shall both be better 
pleased to be free of each other, and you can 
easily afterwards have your own forwarded to 
Baden by post." 

" Ah, but," said I, " how shall I be certain, if I 
take so flattering an offer, that you will forgive 
me for filling up the place of the dear cousin, 
for, if I conjecture aright, it is le cher Edouard 
that purposes to be your companion." 

"Yes, you have guessed quite correctly; but 
you must not tax me with inconsistency, but 
really I have grown quite tired of my poor cousin, 
since I saw him last night." 

" And you used to admire him most prodigi- 
ously." 

" Well, well, that is all true, but I do so no 
longer." 

" Eh! perche?" said I, looking cunningly in her 
eye. 

"For reasons that Mr. Lorrequer shall never 
know, if he has to ask them," said the poor girl, 
covering her eyes with her hands, and sobbing 
bitterly. 

What I thought, said, or did upon this occasion, 
with all my most sincere desire to make a "clean 
breast of it in these Confessions," I know not; 
but this I do know, that two hours after I found 
myself still sitting upon the sofa beside Miss 
Bingham, whom I had been calling Emily all the 
while, and talking more of personal matters and 
my own circumstances than is ever safe or pru- 
dent for a young man to do with any lady under 
the age of his mother. 

All that I can now remember of this interview 
is the fact of having arranged my departure in 
the manner proposed by Miss Bingham — a pro- 
position to which I acceded with an affectation of 
satisfaction that I fear went very far to deceive 
my fair friend. Not that the pleasure I felt in 
the prospect was altogether feigned; but certainly 
the habit of being led away by the whim and 
temper of the moment had so much become part 
of my nature, that I had long since despaired of 
ever guarding myself against the propensity I had 
acquired of following every lead which any one 
might throw out for me. And thus, as poor 
Harry Lorrequer was ever the first man to get 
into a row at the suggestion of a friend, so he 
only waited the least possible pressing on any oc- 
casion to involve himself in any scrape or misfor- 
tune that presented itself, provided there was 
only some one good enough to advise him to do so. 

As I entered my room, to make preparations for 



126 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



my departure, I could not help thinking over all 
the events thus crowded into the space of a few 
hours. My sudden possession of wealth — my 
prospects at Callonby still undecided — my scrape 
at the salon — my late interview with Miss Bingham 
in ivhich I had only stopped short of a proposal 
to marry, were almost, sufficient to occupy any 
reasonable mind; and so I was beginning to sus- 
pect, when the waiter informed me that the com- 
missaire of police was in waiting below and wished 
to speak to me. Affecting some surprise at the 
request, which I at once perceived the object of, 
I desired him to be introduced. I was quite cor- 
rect in my guess. The information of my being 
concerned in the affair at the salon had been com- 
municated to the authorities, and the commissaire 
had orders to obtain bail for my appearance at 
the Tribunal de Justice, on that day week, or 
commit me at once to prison. The commissaire 
politely gave till evening to procure the required 
bail, satisfying himself that he could adopt meas- 
ures to prevent my escape, and took his leave. 
He had scarcely gone when Mr. Edward Bingham 
was announced — the reason for this visit I could 
not so easily divine: but I had little time allowed 
for my conjectures, as the same instant a very 
smart, dapper little gentleman presented himself, 
dressed in all the extravagance of French mode. 
His hair, which was permitted to curl upon his 
shoulders, was divided along the middle of the 
head; his mustachios were slightly upturned and 
carefully waxed, and his small chin tuft or Henri 
Quatre most gracefully pointed; he wore three 
most happily contrasting colored waistcoats, and 
spurs of glittering brass. His visit was of 
scarcely five minutes' duration; but was evidently 
the opening of a breaching battery by tiie Bingliam 
family in all form — the object of which I could 
at least guess at. 

My embarrassments were not destined to end 
here; for scarcely had I returned Mr. Bingham's 
eighth salutation at the end of the staircase, when 
another individual presented himself before me. 
This figure was in every respect the opposite of 
my last visitor. Although framed perfectly upon 
the late Parisian school of dandyism, his, how- 
ever, was the Ecole militaire. Le Capitaine Eu- 
gene de Joncourt, for so he introduced himself, 
was a portly personage of about five-and-thirty or 
forty years of age, with that mixture of bonhomie 
and ferocity in his features which the soldiers of 
Napoleon's army either affected or possessed 
naturally. His features, which were handsome, 
and the expression of which was pleasing, were, 
as it seemed, perverted, by the warlike turn of a 
most terrific pair of whiskers and mustachios, from 
their naturally good-humored bent ; and the prac- 
tised frown and quick turn of his dark eye were 
evidently only the acquired advantages of his 
military career ; a handsome mouth, with singu- 
larly regular and good teeth, took much away 
from the stern look of the upper part of his face, 
and contributed, with the aid of a most pleasing 
voice, to impress you in his favor ; his dress was 
a blue braided frock, decorated with the cordon 
of the Legion ; but neither these, nor the clink of 
his long cavalry spurs, were necessary to convince 
you that the man was a soldier ; besides that, 



there was that mixture of urbanity and aplomb in 
his manner, which showed him to be perfectly ac- 
customed to the usages of the best society. 

"May I beg to know," said he, as he seated 
himself slowly, " if this card contains your name 
and address?" handing me at the same moment 
one of my visitmg cards. 1 immediately replied 
in the affirmative. 

"You are in the English service?" 

"Yes." 

"Then, may I entreat your pardon for the 
trouble of these questions, and explain the reason 
of my visit? I am the friend of Le Baion d'Haul- 
penne, with whom you had the altercation last 
night at the salon, and in whose name I have come 
to request the address of a friend on your part." 

"Ho, ho," thought I, "the baron is then the 
stout gentleman that I pummelled so unmercifully 
near the window ; but how came he by my card? 
and besides, in a row of that kind, I am not aware 
how far the matter can be conceived to go farther 
than what happens at the moment." These were 
the thoughts of a second of time, and before I 
could reply, the captain resumed, — 

"You seem to have forgotten the circumstance, 
and so, indeed, should I like to do ; but unfortu- 
nately, d'Haulpenne says that you struck him 
with your walking-cane, so you know, under such 
a state of things, there is but one course." 

"But gently," added I, "I had no cane what- 
ever last evening." 

"Oh! I beg pardon," interrupted he ; "but my 
friend is most positive in his account, and de- 
scribes the altercation as having continued from 
the salon to the street, when you struck him, and 
at the same time threw him your card. Two of 
your officers were also present ; and although, as 
it appears from your present forgetfulness, that 
the thing took place in the heat and excitement 
of the moment, still " 

"But still," said I, catching up his last words, 
" I never did strike the gentleman as you describe, 
never had any altercation in the street — and " 

"Is that your address?" said the Frenchman, 
with a slight bow. 

" Yes, certainly it is." 

"Why, then," said he, with a mild curl of his 
upper lip, half smile, half derision — 

"Why, then, make yourself perfectly easy," I 
replied. " If any one has by an accident made 
use of my name, it shall not suffer by such a mis- 
take. I shall be quite at your service the moment 
I can find out a friend to refer you to." 

I had much difficulty to utter these few words 
with a suitable degree of temper, so stung was I 
by the insolent demeanor of the Frenchman, 
whose coolness and urbanity seemed only to in- 
crease every moment. 

" Then I have the honor to salute you," said 
he, rising with great mildness in his voice; "and 
shall take the liberty to leave my card for the in- 
formation of your friend." 

So saying, he placed his card upon the table, 
" La Capitaine Eugene de Joncourt, Cuirassiers 
de la Garde." 

" I need not press upon Monsieur the value of 
despatch." 

" 1 shall not lose a inoment," said I, as he clat- 



HARRY LORREQUER. 



127 



'ered down the stairs of the hotel, with that per- 
tect swaggering nonchalance which your foreigner 
is ahva\'s an adept in ; and I returned to my room 
to meditate upon my numerous embarrassments, 
and tliink over the ditificulties which every moment 
was contributing to increase the number of. 

"The indictment has certainly many counts," 
thought I. 

Imprimis: a half-implied, but fully compre- 
hended promise to marry a young lady, with whom, 
I confess, I only intend to journey this life — as 
far as Baden. 

Secondly: a charge of swindling — for such the 
imputation amounts to— at the salon. 

Thirdly: another unaccountable delay in join- 
ing the Callonbys, with whom I am every hour in 
the risk of being compromis; and, lastly, a duel in 
perspective with some confounded Frenchman, 
who is at this very moment practising at a pistol 
gallery. 

Such were the heads of my reflections, and 
such the agreeable impressions my visit to Paris 
was destined to open with; how they were to be 
followed up remains to be told. 



CHAPTER XXX. 

CAPTAIN TREVANION's ADVENTURE. 

As the day was now waning apace, and I was 
still unprovided with any one who could act as my 
second, I set out upon a search through the va- 
rious large hotels in the neighborhood, trusting 
that amid my numerous acquaintance I should 
be fortunate enough to find some of them in Paris. 
With a most anxious eye I scanned the lists of 
arrivals at the usual haunts of my countrymen, in 
the Rue Rivoli and the Place Vendome, but 
without success; there were long catalogues of 
" Milors," with their "couriers," etc., but not one 
name known to me in the number. 

I repaired to Galignani's Library, which, 
though crowded as ever with English, did not 
present to me one familiar face. From thence I 
turned into the Palais Royal, and at last, com- 
pletely jaded by walking, and sick from disap- 
pointment, I sat down upon a bench in the Tuil- 
eries (iardens. 

I had scarcely been there many minutes when 
a gentleman accosted me in English, saying, " May 
I ask if this be your property?" showing, at the 
same time, a pocket-book which I had inadvert- 
ently dropped in pulling out my handkerchief. 
As I thanked him for his attention, and was about 
to turn away, I perceived that he continued to 
look very steadily at me. At length he said, — 

"I think I am not mistaken; I have the pleas- 
ure to see Mr. Lorrequer, who may, perhaps, 
recollect my name, Trevanion, of the 43d. The 
last time we met was at Malta." 

" Oh, I remember perfectly. Indeed, I should 
be very ungrateful if I did not; for to your kind 
offices there I am indebted for my life. You 
must surely recollect the street row near the 
battery?" 

"Yes; that was rather a brisk affair while it 



lasted; but, pray, how long have you been here?" 

" Merely a few days; and most anxious am I 
to leave as soon as possible; for, independently 
of pressing reasons to wish myself elsewhere, I 
have had nothing but trouble and worry since my 
arrival, and at this instant am involved in a duel, 
without the slightest cause that I can discover, 
and, what is still worse, without the aid of a sin- 
gle friend to undertake the requisite negotiation 
for me." 

" If my services can in any way assist " 

"Oh, my dear captain, this is really so great a 
favor that I cannot say how much I thank you." 

" Say nothing whatever, but rest quite assured 
that I am completely at your disposal; for although 
we are not very old friends, yet I have heard so 
much of you from some of ours, that I feel as if 
we had been long acquainted." 

This was an immense piece of good fortune to 
me; for, of all the persons I knew, he was the 
most suited to aid me at this nitment. In ad- 
dition to a thorough knowledge of the Continent 
and its habits, he spoke French fluently, and had 
been the most distinguished authority in the 
duello to a large military acquaintance; joining 
to a consummate tact and cleverness in his di- 
plomacy a temper that never permitted itself to be 
ruffled, and a most unexceptionable reputation 
for courage. In a word, to have had Trevanion 
for your second was not only to have secured 
odds in your favor, but, still better, to have ob- 
tained the certainty that, let the affair take what 
turn it might, you were sure of coming out of it 
with credit. 

He was the only man I have ever met who had 
much mixed himself in transactions of this na- 
ture, and yet never, by any chance, had degen- 
erated into the fire-eater ; more quiet, unassum- 
ing manners it was impossible to meet with, and, 
in the various anecdotes I had heard of him, I 
had always traced a degree of forbearance that 
men of less known bravery might not liave ven- 
tured to practise. At the same time, when once 
roused by anything like premeditated insult — or 
predetermined affront — he became almost ungov- 
ernable, and it would be safer to beard the lion 
in his den than cross his path. Among the many 
stories, and there were a great many current in 
his regiment concerning him, there was one so 
singularly characteristic of the man, that, as I have 
passingly mentioned his name here, I may as 
well relate it ; at the same time premising that, 
as it is well known, I may only be repeating an 
often-heard tale to many of my readers. 

When the regiment to which Trevanion be- 
longed became part of the army of occupation in 
Paris, he was left at Versailles, seriously ill from 
the effects of a sabre-wound he received at 
Waterloo, and from which his recovery at first 
was exceedingly doubtful. At the end of several 
weeks, however, he became out of danger, and 
was able to receive the visits of his brother offi- 
cers, whenever they were fortunate enough to ob- 
tain a day's leave of absence to run down and see 
him. From them he learnt that one of his oldest 
friends in the regiment had fallen in a duel, dur- 
ing the time of his illness, and that two other of- 
ficers were dangerously wounded— one of whom 



138 



HARRY LORREQUER. 



was not expected to survive. When he inquired 
as to the reasons of these many disasters, he was 
informed that since the entrance of the aUies into 
Paris, the French officers, boiling with rage and 
indignation at tiieir recent defeat, and smarting 
under the' hourly disgrace which the presence of 
their conquerors suggested, sought out, by every 
means in their power, opportunities of insult ; but 
always so artfully contrived as to render the op- 
posite party the challenger, thus reserving to 
themselves the choice of the weapons. When, 
therefore, it is borne in mind that the French are 
the most expert swordsmen in Europe, little 
doubt can exist as to the issue of these combats ; 
and, in fact, scarcely a morning' passed without 
three or four English or Prussian officers being 
carried through the Barriere de I'Etoile, if not 
dead, at least seriously wounded, and condemned 
to carry with them through life the inflictions of 
a sanguinary and savage spirit of vengeance. 

While Trevanion listened to this sad recital — 
and scarcely did a day come without adding to 
the long catalogue of disasters — he at once per- 
ceived that the quiet deportment and unassuming 
demeanor which so strongly characterize the 
English officer were construed by their French 
opponents into evidences of want of courage, and 
saw that to so systematic a plan for slaughter no 
common remedy could be applied, and that some 
coup d'e'ttt was absolutely necessary to put it 
down once and forever. 

In the history of these sanguinary rencontres 
one name was continually recurring, generallv as 
the principal, sometimes the instigator of the 
quarrel. This was an officer of a chasseur regi- 
ment, who had the reputation of being the best 
swordsman in the whole French army, and was 
no less distinguished for his "skill at fence" than 
his uncompromising hatred of the British, with 
whom alone, of all the allied forces, he was ever 
known to come in contact. So celebrated was 
the "Capitaine Auguste Gendemar" for his pur- 
suits, that it was well known at that time in Paris 
that he was the president of a duelling club, as- 
sociated for the express and avowed object of 
provoking to insult, and as certainly dooming to 
death, every English officer upon whom they 
could fasten a quarrel. 

The Cafe Phillidor, at that period in the Rue 
Vivienne, was the rendezvous of this reputable 
faction, and here le Capitaine reigned supreme, 
receiving accounts of the various " affairs" which 
'were transacting — counselling and plotting for 
the future. His ascendancy among his country- 
men was perfectly undisputed, and being pos- 
sessed of great muscular strength, with that pecul- 
iar farouche exterior, without which courage is 
nothing in France, he was in every way calculated 
for the infamous leadership he assumed. 

It was, unfortunately, to the same cafe, being 
situated in what was called the English quarter, 
that the officers of the 43rd regiment were in the 
habit of resorting, totally unaware of the plots by 
'which they were surrounded, and quite unsus- 
pecting the tangled web of deliberate and cold- 
blooded assassination in which they were in- 
volved, and here took place the quarrel, the re- 
sult of which was the death of Trevanion's 



friend, a young officer of great promise, and uni- 
versally beloved in his regiment. 

As Trevanion listened to these accounts, his 
impatience became daily greater that his weak 
state should prevent his being among his brother 
officers, when his advice and assistance were so 
imperatively required, and where, amid all the 
solicitude for his perfect recovery, he could not 
but perceive they ardently wished for his presence. 

The day at last arrived, and, restored to some- 
thing like his former self, Trevanion once more 
appeared in the mess-room of his regiment. 
Amid the many sincere and hearty congratulations 
on his recovered looks were not a few half ex- 
pressed hints that he should not go much out into 
the world, for some little time to come. To these 
friendly admonitions Trevanion replied by a good- 
humored laugh, and a ready assurance that he 
understood the intended kindness, and felt in no 
wise disposed to be invalided again. "In fact," 
said he, " I have come up here to enjoy life a lit- 
tle, not to risk it; but among the sights of your gay 
capital, I must certainly have a peep at your 
famed captain, of whom I have heard too much 
not to feel an interest in him." 

Notwithstanding the many objections to tliis, 
made with a view to delay his visit to the Phillidor 
to a later period, ir was at length agreed that they 
should all repair to the cafe that evening, but upon 
the express understanding that every cause of quar- 
rel should be strictly avoided, and that their stay 
should be merely sufficient to satisfy Trevanion's 
curiosity as to the appearance of the renowned 
captain. 

It was rather before the usual hour of the cafe's 
filling, that a number of English officers, among 
whom was Trevanion, entered the salon of the 
Phillidor: having determined not to attract any un- 
usual attention, they broke into little knots and 
parties of threes and fours, and dispersed through 
the room, where they either sipped their coffee 
or played at dominoes, then, as now, the staple 
resource of a French cafe. 

The clock over the comptoir struck eight, and, 
at the same instant, a waiter made his appear- 
ance, carrying a small table, ^^hich he placed be- 
side the fire, and, having trimmed a lamp, and 
placed a large armchair before it, was about to 
withdraw, when Trevanion, whose curiosity was 
roused by the singularity of these arrangements, 
determined upon asking for whose comfort they 
were intended. The waiter stared for a moment 
at the question, with an air as if doubting the 
seriousness of him who put it, and at last replied. 
Pour Monsieur le Capitaine, je crois,\i'\\\i a cer- 
tain tone of significance upon the latter words. 

" Le Capitaine! but what captain?" said he, 
carelessly; "for I am a captain, and that gentle- 
man there — and there, too, is another," at the 
same instant throwing himself listlessly into the 
well-cushioned chair, and stretching out his iegs 
at full length upon the hearth. 

The look of horror which this quiet proceeding 
on his part elicited from the poor waiter, so as- 
tonished Trevanion, that he could not help say- 
ing, — "Is there anything the matter with you, my 
friend? Are you ill?" 

" No, monsieur, not ill; nothing the matter 



HARRY LORREQUER, 



!l39 



with mej but you, sir, oh, you, sir, pray come 
away." 

" J/r.'" said Trevanion — "me! why, my good 
man, I was never better in my life; so now just 
bring me my coffee and the Moniteur, if you 
have it; there, don't stare that way, but do as I 
bid you." 

Tliere was something in the assured tone of 
these few words that either overawed or repressed 
every rising feeling of the waiter for his inter- 
rogator; for silently handing his coffee and the 
newspaper, he left the room; not, however, with- 
out bestowing a parting glance so full of terror 
and dismay that our friend was obliged to smile 
at it. All this was the work of a few minutes, 
and not until the noise of new arrivals had at- 
tracted the attention of his brother officers, did 
they perceive where he had installed himself, and 
to what danger he was thus, as they supposed, 
unwittingly exposed. 

In perfect misery at what they conceived their 
own fault, in not apprising him of the sacred 
character of that place, they stood silently look- 
ing at him as he continued to sip his coffee, ap- 
parently unconscious of everything and person 
about him. 

It was now, however, too late for remonstrance; 
for already several French officers had noticed 
the circimistance and, by their interchange of 
looks and signs, openly evinced their satisfaction 
at it, and their delight at the catastrophe which 
seemed inevitable to the luckless Englishman. 

There was now a more than ordinary silence 
in the cafe, which at all times was remarkable for 
the quiet and noiseless demeanor of its frequent- 
ers, when the door was flung open by the ready 
waiter, and the Capitaine Auguste Gendemar en- 
tered. He was a large, squarely-built man, with 
a most savage expression of countenance, which 
a bushy beard and shaggy overhanging moustache 
served successfully to assist; his eyes were shaded 
by deep, projecting brows, and long eyebrows 
slanting over them, and increasing their look of 
piercing sharpness; there was in his whole air 
and demeanor that certain French air of swag- 
gering buUyism which ever remained in those 
who, having risen from the ranks, maintained the 
look of ruffianly defiance which gave their early 
character for courage its peculiar merit. 

To the friendly salutations of his countrymen 
he returned the slightest and coldest acknowledg- 
ments, throwing a glance of disdain around him 
as he wended his way to his accustomed place 
beside the fire; this he did with as much of noise 
and swagger as he could well contrive; his sabre 
and sabretasche clanking behind, his spurs jang- 
ling, and his heavy step, made purposely heavier 
to draw upon him the notice and attention he 
sought for. Trevanion alone testified no con- 
sciousness of his entrance, and appeared totally 
engrossed by the columns of his newspaper, from 
which he never lifted his eyes for an instant. La 
Capitaine at length reached the fireplace, when, 
no sooner did he behold his accustomed seat in 
the possession of another, than he absolutely 
started back with surprise and anger. 

What might have been his first impulse it is 
hard to say, for, as the blood rushed to his face 



and forehead, he clenched his hands firmly, and 
seemed for an instant, as he eyed the stranger, 
like a tiger about to spring upon its victim; this 
was but for a second, for turning rapidly round 
towards his friends, he gave them a look of pecul- 
iar meaning, showing two rows of white teeth, 
with a grin which seemed to say, " I have taken 
my line;" and he had done so. He now ordered 
the waiter, in a voice of thunder, to bring him a 
chair. This he took roughly from him and placed, 
with a crash, upon the floor, exactly opposite that 
of Trevanion, and still so near as scarcely to per- 
mit of his sitting down upon it. The noisy ve- 
hemence of this action at last appeared to have 
roused Trevanion's attention, for he now, for the 
first time, looked up from his paper, and quietly 
regarded his vis-a-vis. There could not in the 
world be a stronger contrast to the bland look and 
courteous expression of Trevanion's handsome 
features, than the savage scowl of the enraged 
Frenchman, in whose face the strong and ill-re- 
pressed workings of passion were twitching and 
distorting every lineament and line; indeed no 
words could ever convey half so forcibly as did that 
look, insult — open, palable, deep, determined in- 
sult! 

Trevanion, whose eyes had been merely for a 
moment lifted from his paper, again fell, and he 
appeared to take no notice whatever of the extra- 
ordinary proximity of the Frenchman, still less of 
the savage and insulting character of his looks. 

La Capitaine, having thus failed to bring on the- 
explanation he sought for, proceeded to accom- 
plish it by other means; for, taking the lamp, by 
the light of which Trevanion was still reading,, 
he placed it at his side of the table, and at th& 
same instant stretching across his arm, he plucked 
the newspaper from his hand, giving at the same 
moment a glance of triumph towards the bystand- 
ers, as thou-gh he would say, "You see what he 
must submit to." Words cannot describe the as- 
tonishment of the British officers, as they beheld 
Trevanion, under this gross and open insult, con- 
tent himself by a slight smile and half bow, as if 
returning a courtesy, and then throw his eyes^ 
downward, as if engaged in deep thought, while 
the triumphant sneer of the French, at this unac- 
countable conduct, was absolutely maddening to 
them to endure. 

But their patience was destined to submit to- 
stronger proof, for at this instant La Capitaine 
stretched forth one enormous leg, cased in his 
massive jack-boot, and with a crash deposited the 
heel upon the foot of their friend Trevanion. At 
length he is roused, thought they, for a slight 
flush of crimson flitted across his cheek, and his^ 
upper lip trembled with a quick sjjasmodic twitch- 
ing; but both these signs were over in a second, 
and his features were as calm and unmoved as 
before, and his only appearance of consciousness' 
of the affront was given by his drawing back his 
chair and placing his legs beneath it, as if for 
protection. 

This last insult, and the tame forbearance with 
which it was submitted to, produced all their 
opposite effects upon the bystanders, and looks, 
of ungovernable rage and derisive contempt were 
every moment interchanging; indeed, were it not 



130 



HARRY LORREQUER. 



for the all-absorbing interest which the two great 
actors in the scene had concentrated upon them- 
selves, the two parties must have come at once 
into open conflict. 

The clock of the cafe struck nine, the hour at 
which Gendemar always retired, so calling to the 
waiter for his glass of brandy, he placed his 
newspaper upon the table, and putting both his 
elbows upon it, and his chin upon his hands, he 
stared full in Trevanion's face, with a look of the 
most derisive triumph, meant to crown the 
achievement of the evening. To this, as to all 
his former insults, Trevanion appeared still insen- 
sible, and merely regarded him with his never- 
changing half smile; the brandy arrived; Le 
Capitaine took it in his hand, and with a nod of 
most insulting familiarity, saluted Trevanion, 
adding with a loud voice, so as to be heard on 
every side — "A votre courage. Anglais." He 
had scarcely swallowed the liquor, when Tre- 
vanion rose slowly from his chair, displaying to 
the astonisiitd gaze of the Frenchman the im- 
mense proportions and gigantic frame of a man 
well-known as the largest officer in the British 
army; with one stride he was beside the chair of 
the Frenchman, and with the speed of lightning 
he seized his nose by one hand, while with the 
other he grasped his lower jaw, and wrenching 
open his mouth with the strength of an ogre, he 
spat down his throat. 

So sudden was the movement, that before ten 
seconds had elapsed, all was over, and the 
Frenchman rushed from the room, holding the 
fragments of his jaw-bone (for it was fractured!) 
and followed by his countrymen, who, from that 
hour, deserted the Cafe Phillidor; nor was there 
•ever any mention of the famous captain during 
the stay of the regiment in Paris. 



CHAPTER XXXI. 



DIFFICULTIES. 



While we walked together towards Meurice's, I 
explained to Trevanion the position in which I 
stood; and having detailed, at full length, the row 
at the salon, and the imprisonment of O'Leary, 
entreated his assistance in behalf of him, as well 
as to free me from some of my many embarrass- 
ments. 

It was strange enough — though at first so pre- 
occupied was I with other thoughts, that I paid 
but little attention to it— that no part of my 
eventful evening seemed to make so strong an 
impression on him as my mention of having 
seen my cousin Guy, and heard from him of the 
death of my uncle. At this portion of my story 
he smiled, with so much significance of meaning, 
that I could not help asking his reason. 

"It is always an unpleasant task, Mr. T.orre- 
quer, to speak in any way, however delicately, in 
a tone of disparagement of a man's relative; 
and therefore, as we are not long enough ac- 
quainted " 

" But pray," said I, " waive that consideration, 
and only remember the position in which I now 



am. If you know anything of this business, I 
entreat you to tell me — I promise to take what- 
ever you may be disposed to communicate, in the 
same good part it is intended." 

"Well, then, I believe you are right; but first, 
let me ask you, how do you know of your uncle's 
death? for I have reason to doubt it!" 

" From Guy: he told me himself." 

" When did you see him, and where?" 

"Why, I have just told you; I saw him last 
night at the sa/on." 

"And you could not be mistaken?" 

" Impossible! Besides, he wrote to me a note 
which I received this morning — here it is." 

" Hem — ha. Well, are you satisfied that it is 
his handwriting?" said Trevanion, as he perused 
the note slowly twice over. 

"Why, of course— but stop — you are right; it 
is not his hand, nor do I know the writing, now 
that you direct my attention to it. But what can 
that mean? You, surely, do not supjjose that I 
have mistaken any one for him; for, independent 
of all else, his knowledge of my family, and my 
uncle's affairs, would quite disprove that." 

" This is really a complex affair," said Trevan- 
ion, musingly. " How long may it be since you 
saw your cousin — before last night, 1 mean?" 

"Several years; above six, certainly." 

"Oh, it is quite possible, then," said Trevan- 
ion, musingly; "do you know, Mr. Lorrequer, 
this affair seems more puzzling to me than to 
you, and for this plain reason — I am disposed to 
think you never saw your cousin last night." 

"Why, confound it, there is one circumstance 
that I think may satisfy you on that head. You 
will not deny that I saw some one, who very 
much resembled him; and, certainly, as he lent 
me above three thousand francs to play with at 
the table, it looks rather more like his act than 
that of a perfect stranger." 

" Have you got the money?" asked Trevanion, 
dryly. 

" Yes," said I; " but certainly you are the most 
unbelieving of mortals, and I am quite happy 
that I have yet in my possession two of the bil- 
lets lie banque, for, I suppose, without them, you 
would scarcely credit me." I here opened my 
pocket-book, and produced the notes. 

He took them, examined them attentively for 
an instant, held them between him and the light, 
refolded them, and having placed them in my 
pocket-book, said, " I thought as much — they are 
forgeries." 

"Hold!" said I; "my cousin Guy, whatever 
wildness he may have committed, is yet totally 
incapable of " 

" I never said the contrary," replied Trevan- 
ion, in the same dry tone as before. 

"Then what can you mean, for I see no alter- 
native between that, and totally discrediting the 
evidence of my senses?" 

"Perhaps I can suggest a middle course," said 
Trevanion; "lend me, therefore, a patient hear- 
ing for a few moments, and 1 may be able to 
throw some light upon this difficult matter. You 
may never have heard that there is, in this 
same city of Paris, a person so extremely like 
your cousin Guy, that his most intimate friends 



HARRY LORREQUER. 



131 



have daily mistaken one for the other, and this 
mistake has the more often been made from the 
circumstances of their both being in the habit of 
frequenting the same class in society, where, 
knowing and walking with the same people, the 
difficulty of discriminating has been greatly in- 
creased. This individual, who has too many 
aliases for one to know which to particularize 
him by, is one of that numerous order of beings 
which a high state of civilization is always en- 
gendering and throwing up on the surface of 
society; he is a man of low birth and mean con- 
nections, but gifted with most taking manners 
and an unexceptional address and appearance. 
These advantages, and the possession of appa- 
rently independent means, have opened to him 
the access to a certain set of people, who are 
well known and well received in society, and ob- 
tained for him, what he prizes much more, the 
admission into several clubs where high play is 
carried on. In this mixed assemblage, which 
sporting habits and gambling (that grand leveller 
of all distinctions) have brought together, this 
man and your cousin Guy met frequently, and, 
from the constant allusion to the wonderful re- 
semblance between them, your eccentric cousin, 
who, I must say, was never too select in his ac- 
quaintances, frequently amused himself by prac- 
tical jokes upon his friends, which served still 
more to nurture the intimacy between them; and, 
from this habit, Mr. Dudley Morewood, for such 
is his latest patronymic, must have enjoyed fre- 
quent opportunities of hearing much of your 
family and relations, a species of information he 
never neglected, though at the moment it might 
appear not so immediately applicable to his pur- 
poses. Now, this man, who knows of every new 
English arrival in Paris, with as much certainty 
as the police itself, would at once be aware of 
your being here, and having learned from Guy 
how little intercourse there had been of late years 
between you, would not let slip an opportunity 
of availing himself of the likeness if anything 
could thereby turn to his profit." 

"Stop!" cried I; "you have opened my eyes 
completely, for now I remember that, as I con- 
tinued to win last night, this man, who was play- 
ing hazard at another table, constantly borrowed 
from me, but always in gold, invariably refusing 
the bank-notes as too high for his game." 

"There his object was clear enough; for, be- 
sides obtaining j'(?ar gold, he made you the means 
of disseminating his false billets dc banque." 

" So that I have been actually playing and 
winning upon this fellow's forgeries," said I; 
and am, perhaps, at this very instant, inscribed in 
the Livre tioiroi the police as a most accomplished 
swindler; but what could be the intention of his 
note this morning.'" 

"As to that," said Trevanion," it is hard to 
■ say; one thing you may assuredly rely upon — it is 
not an unnecessary epistle, whatever be its object; 
he never wastes his powder when the game flies 
too high; so we must only wait patiently for the 
unravelment of his plans, satisfied that we, at 
least, know something. What most surprises me 
is, his venturing, at present, to appear in public; 
for it is not above two months since an escapade 



of his attracted so much attention in the play 
world here, that he was obliged to leave, and it 
was supposed that he would never return to 
Paris." 

" One piece of good fortune there is at least," 
said I, " which, I can safely say, repays me for 
any and all the annoyance this unhappy affair 
may cause me; it is, that my poor old uncle is 
still alive and well. Not all my anticipated pleas- 
ures, in newly acquired wealth, could have af- 
forded me the same gratification that this fact 
does, for, although never so much his favorite as 
my cousin, yet the sense of protection — the feel- 
ing of confidence, which is inseparable from the 
degree of relationship between us— standing, as 
he has ever done, in the light of a father to me, 
is infinitely more pleasurable than the possession 
of riches, which must ever suggest to me the rec- 
ollection of a kind friend lost to me forever. 
But so many thoughts press on me — so many 
effects of this affair are staring me in the fact — I 
really know not which way to turn, nor can I even 
collect my ideas sufficiently to determine what is 
first to be done." 

" Leave all that to me," said Trevanion; " it is 
a tangled web, but I think I can unravel it; rrecin- 
while, where does the captain reside? for, among 
all your pressing engagements, this affair with the 
Frenchman must come off first; and for this rea- 
son, although you are not really obliged to give 
him satisfaction, by his merely producing your 
card, and insisting that you are to be responsible 
for the misdeeds of any one who might show it as 
his own address, yet I look upon it as a most fortu- 
nate thing, while charges so heavy may be at 
this moment hanging over your head, as the pro- 
ceedings of last night involve, that you have a 
public opportunity of meeting an antagonist in the 
field — thereby evincing no fear of publicity, nor 
any intention of absconding; for be assured that 
the police are at this moment in possession of 
what has occurred, and from the fracas which 
fo'.lowed, are well disposed to regard the whole 
as a concerted scheme to seize upon the property 
of the banque, a not uncommon wind-up here 
when luck fails. My advice is, therefore, meet 
the man at once; I shall take care that the Pre- 
fect is informed that you have been imposed upon 
by a person passing himself off as your relative, 
and enter bail for your appearance, whenever 
you are called upon; that being done, we shall 
have time for a moment's respite to look around 
us, and consider the other bearings of this diffi- 
cult business." 

" Here, then, is the card of address," said I; 
" Eugene de Joncourt, Capitaine de Cavalerie, 
No. 8, Chaussee d'Antin." 

" De Joncourt! why, confound it, this is not so 
pleasant; he is about the best shot in Paris, and a 
very steady swordsman besides. I don't like 
this." 

" But you forget he is the friend, not the prin- 
cipal here." 

" The more good fortune yours," said Trevan- 
ion, drily; "fori acknowledge I should not give 
much for your chance at twenty paces opposite 
his pistol ; then, who is the other?" 

" Le Baron d'Haulpenne," said I," and his name 



132 



HARRY LORREQUER. 



is all that I know of him; his very appearance is 
unknown to me." 

" I believe I am acquainted with him," said 
Trevanion; "but here we are at Meurice's. Now 
I shall just write a few lines to a legal friend, who 
will manage to liberate Mr. O'Leary, whose ser- 
vices we shall need — two persons are usual on 
each side in this country — and then,' to business.' " 

The note written and despatched, Trevanion 
jumped into a cab, and set out for the Chaussee 
d'Antin; leaving me to think over, as well as I 
could, the mass of trouble and confusion in which 
twenty-four hours of life in Paris had involved 
nie. 



CHAPTER XXXII. 



EXPLANATION. 



It was past seven o'clock when Trevanion made 
his appearance, accompanied by O'Leary ; and 
having in a few words informed me that a meet- 
ing was fixed for the following morning near St. 
Cloud, proposed that we sliould at once go to 
dinner at Very's, after which we should have 
plenty of time to discuss the various steps to be 
taken. As we were leaving the hotel for this pur- 
pose, a waiter requested of me to permit Mr. 
Meurice to speak a few words to me ; which, 
having agreed to, I entered the little bureau where 
this Czar of Hotels sits enthroned, and what was 
my surprise to learn the request he had to prefer 
was nothing less than that I would so far oblige 
him as to vacate the apartment I possessed in the 
hotel, adding that my compliance would confer 
upon hmi the power to accommodate a " Milord," 
who had written for apartments, and was coming 
with a large suite of servants. Suspecting that 
some rumor of the late affair at Frascati's might 
have influenced my friend Meurice in this unusual 
demand, I abruptly refused, and was about to 
turn away, when he, perliaps guessing that I had 
not believed his statements, handed me an'®pen 
letter, saying, "You see, sir, this is the letter; 
and, as I am so pressed for spare room, I must 
now refuse the writer." 

As my eye glanced at the writing, I started 
back with amazement to perceive it was in my 
cousin Guy's hand, requestmg that apartments 
might be retained for Sir Guy Lorrequer, my 
imcle, who was to arrive in Paris by the end of the 
week. If any doubt had remained on my mind as 
to the deception I had been duped by, this would 
completely have difpelled it, but I liad long be- 
fore been convinced of the trick, and only won- 
dered how the false Guy — Mr. Dudley Morewood 
— had contrived to present himself to me so oppor- 
tunely, and by what means, in so short a space of 
time, he had become acquainted with my personal 
appearance. 

As I mentioned this circumstance of the letter 
to Trevanion, he could not conceal his satisfaction 
at his sagacity in unravelling the mystery, while 
this new intelligence confirmed the justness and 
accuracy of all his explanations. 

As we walked along towards the Palais Royal, 
Trevanion endeavored, not very successfully, to 



explain to my friend O'Leary the nature of the 
trick which had been practised, promising at 
another time, some revelations concerning the ac- 
complished individual who had planned it, which 
in boldness and daring eclipsed even this. 

Any one who in waking has had the confused 
memory of a dream in which events have been so 
mingled and mixed as to present no uniform nar- 
rative, but only a mass of strange and incon- 
gruous occurrences, without object or connection, 
may form some notion of the state of restless ex- 
citement my brain suffered from, as the many and 
conflicting ideas my late adventures suggested, 
presented themselves to my mind in rapid 
succession. 

The glare, the noise, and the clatter of a French 
(T^t/c' are certainly not the agents most in request 
for restoring a man to the enjoyment of his erring 
faculties ; and, if I felt addled and confused be- 
fore, I had scarcely passed the threshold of 
Very's when I became absolutely like one in a 
trance. The large salon was more than usually 
crowded, and it was with difficulty that we ob- 
tained a place at a table where some other Eng- 
lish were seated, among whom I recognized my 
lately made acquaintance, Mr. Edward Bingham. 

Excepting a cup of coffee, I had taken nothing 
the entire day, and so completely did my anxieties 
of different kinds subdue all appetite, that the 
most exquisite viands of this well-known restau- 
rant did not in the least tempt me. The cham- 
pagne alone had any attraction for me ; and, se- 
duced by the icy coldness of the wine, I drank 
copiously. This was all that was wanting to com- 
plete the maddening confusion of my brain, and 
the effect was instantaneous ; the lights danced 
before my eyes ; the lustres whirled round; and, 
as the scattered fragments of conversations on 
either side met my ear, I was able to form some 
not very inaccurate conception of what insanity 
might be. Politics and literature, Mexican bonds 
and Noblet's legs, PcUcs d( pcidrcaiix and the 
quarantine laws, and extreme gauche and the 
roulette, Victor Hugo and rouge et iwir, had 
formed a species of grand ballet d' action in my 
fevered brain, and I was perfectly beside myself, 
occasionally, too, I would revert to my own con- 
cerns, although I was scarcely able to follow up 
any train of thought for more than a few seconds 
together, and totally inadequate to distinguish the 
false from the true. I continued to confound the 
counterfeit with my cousin, and wonder how my 
poor uncle, for whom I was about to put on the 
deepest mourning, could possibly think of driving 
me out of my lodgings. Of my duel for the morn- 
ing I had the most shadowy recollection, and could 
not perfectly comprehend whether it was O'Leary 
or myself was the principal, and, indeed, cared 
but little. In this happy state of indejiendent 
existence I must have passed a considerable time, 
and as my total silence when spoken to, or my 
irrelevant answers, appeared to have tired out my 
companions, they left me to the uninterrupted en- 
joyment of my own pleasant imaginings. 

" Do you hear, Lorrequer?" at last said Tre- 
vanion; "are you asleep, my dear friend? This 
gentleman has been good enough to invite us to 
breakfast to-morrow at St. Cloud." 



HARRY LORREOUER, 



133, 



I looked up, and was just able to recognize the 
well-trimmed mustachio of Mr. Edward Hiiigham, 
as he stood mumbling something before me. " St. 
Cloud — what of St. Cloud.'" said I. 

" We have something in that quarter to- 
morrow." 

" What is it, O'Leary? Can we go?" 

"Oh! certainly. Our engagement is an early 
one." 

"We shall accept your polite invitation with 
pleasure " 

Here he stooped over, and whispered something 
in ray ear; what, I cannot say; but I know that 
my reply, now equally lost to me, produced a 
hearty fit of laugliing to my two friends. 

My next recollection is, finding myself in a 
crowded box at the theatre. It seems that O'Leary 
had acceded to a proposal from some of the other 
party to accompany them to the Porte St. Martin, 
where Mrs. Bingham and her daughter had en- 
gaged a box. Amid all the confusion which 
troubled thoughts and wine produced in me, I could 
not help perceiving a studied politeness and at- 
tention on the part of Mr. Edward Bingham 
towards me; and my first sobering reflections came, 
on finding that a place was reserved for me beside 
Miss Bingham, into which, by some contrivance 
I can in no wise explain, I found myself almost 
immediately installed. To all the excitement of 
champagne and punch, let the attractions of a 
French ballet be added, and with a singularly pretty 
companion at your side, to whom you have already 
made sufficient advances to be aware that you are 
no longer indifferent to her, and I venture to pre- 
dict that it is much more likely your conversation 
will incline to flirting than political economy; and, 
moreover, that you will make more progress dur- 
ing the performance of one single ;^(7J de dcuxw^ow 
the stage, than you have hitherto done in ten 
morning calls, with an unexceptionable whisker, 
and the best fitting gloves in Paris. Alas! alas! 
it is only the rich man that ever wins at rouge et 
noir. The well-insured Indiaman, with'her cargo 
of millions, comes safe into port; while the whole 
venture of some hardy veteran of the wave foun- 
ders within sight of his native shore. So is it 
ever; where success would be all and everything, 
it never comes; but only be indifferent or regard- 
less, and fortune is at your feet, suing and im- 
ploring your acceptance of her favors. What 
would I not have given for one-half of that soli- 
citude now so kindly expressed in my favor by 
Miss Bingham, if syllabled by the lips of Lady 
Jane Callonby! How would my heart have, 
throbbed for one light smile from one, while I 
ungratefully basked in the openly avowed prefer- 
ence of the other! these were my first thoughts — 
what were the succeeding ones? 

" EUe est tres bien!" said a Frenchwoman, turn- 
ing round in the box next to us, and directing at 
the same moment the eyes of a mustachioed hero 
upon my fair companion. 

What a turn to my thoughts did this unexpected 
ejaculation give rise to! I now began to consider 
hermore attentively, andcertainly concurred fully 
in the Frenchwoman's verdict. I had never seen 
her look half so well before. The great fault in 
her features, which were most classically regular, 



lay in the monotony and uniform character of 
their expression. Now this was quite changed. 
Her cheek was slightly flushed, and her eyes more 
brilliant than ever; while her slightly parted lips 
gave a degree of speaking earnestness to her ex- 
pression, that made her perfectly beautiful. 

Whether it was from this cause I cannot saj', 
but I certainly never felt so suddenly decided in 
my life from one course to its very opposite, as I 
now did to pay attention to my lovely companion. 
And here, I fear, I must acknowledge, in the 
honesty of these confessional details, that vanity 
had also its share in the decision. To be the 
admitted and preferred suitor of the prettiest 
woman in company, is generally a strong induce- 
ment to fall desperately in love with her, inde- 
pendently of other temptations for so doing. 

How far my successes tallied with my good in- 
tentions in this respect, I cannot now say.. I 
only remember, that more that once O'Leary 
whispered to me something like a caution of 
some sort or other; but Emily's encouraging 
smiles and still more encouraging speeches, had 
far more effect upon me than all the elocjuence 
of the united service, had it been engaged in my 
behalf, would have effected. Mrs. Bingham, too 
— who, to do her justice, seemed but little cogni- 
zant of our proceedings — from time to time 
evinced that species of motherly satisfaction 
which very young men rejoice much in, and 
older ones are considerably alarmed at. 

The play over, O'Leary charged himself with 
the protection of madam, while I enveloped 
Emily in her shawl, and drew her arm within my 
own. What my hand had to do with hers I knew 
not; it remains one of the unexplained difficulties 
of that eventful evening. I have, it is true, a 
hazy recollection of pressing some very taper and 
delicately-formed finger; and remember, too, the 
pain I felt next morning on awaking, by the pres- 
sure of a too tight, ring, which had, by some 
strange accident, found its way to my finger, for 
which its size was but ill adapted. 

" You will join us at su])per, I hope?" said Mis. 
Bingham, as Trevanion handed her to the carriage. 
"Mr. Lorrequer, Mr. O'Leary, we shall expect 
you." 

I was about to promise to do so, when Trevanion 
suddenly interrupted me, saying that he had 
already accepted an invitation, which would, un- 
fortunately, prevent us; and having hastily wished 
the ladies good-night, hurried me away so abruptly, 
that I had not a moment given for even one part- 
ing look at the fair Emily. 

'"Why, Trevanion," said I, " what invitation 
are you dreaming of? I, for one, should have 
been delighted to have gone home with the 
Binghams." 

"So I perceived," said Trevanion, gravely; 
"and it was for that precise reason I so firmly re- 
fused what, individually, 1 might have been most 
happy to accept." 

" Then pray have the goodness to explain — " 

" It is easily done. You have already, in re- 
counting your manifold embarrassments, told me 
enough of these people, to let me see that they 
intend you should marry among them; and in- 
deed, you have gone quite far enough to encour- 



134 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



age such an expectation. Your present excited 
state has led you sufficiently far this evening, and 
I could not answer for your not proposing in all 
form before the supper was over; therefore, I had 
no other course open to me than positively to re- 
fuse Mrs. Bingham's invitation. But here we are 
now at the ' Cadran Rouge;' we- shall have our 
lobster and a glass of Moselle, and then to bed, 
for we must not forget that we are to be at St. 
Cloud by seven." 

"Ah! that is a good thought of yours about 
the lobster," said O'Leary; "and now, as you 
understand these matters, just order supper, and 
let us enjoy ourselves." 

With all the accustomed despatch of a restaur- 
ant, a most appetizing little supper made its 
speedy appearance; and although now perfectly 
divested of the high excitement which had 
hitherto possessed me, my spirits were excellent, 
and I never more relished our good fare and good 
fellowship. 

After a full bumper to the health of the fair 
Emily had been proposed and drained by all 
three, Trevanion again explained how much 
more serious difficulty would result from any 
false step in that quarter, than from all other 
scrapes collectively. 

This he represented so strongly, that for the 
first time I began to perceive the train of ill 
consequences that must inevitably result, and 
promised most faithfully to be guided by any 
counsel he might feel disposed to give me. 

" Ah! what a pity," said O'Leary, " it is not my 
case. It's very little trouble it would cost any 
one to break off a match for me. I had always a 
most peculiar talent for those things." 

" Indeed!" said Trevanion. " Pray, may we 
know your secret? for, perhaps, ere long we may 
have occasion for its employment." 

" Tell it, by all means," said I. 

"If I do," said O'Leary, " it will cost you a 
patient hearing; for my experiences are connected 
with two episodes in my early life, which, although 
not very amusing, are certainly instructive." 

"Oh! by all means let us hear them," said 
Trevanion; "for we have yet two bottles of 
Chambertin left, and must finish them ere we 
part." 

"Well, agreed," said O'Leary; "only, once for 
all, as what I am about to confide is strictly con- 
fidential, you must promise never even to allude 
to it hereafter in even the most remote manner, 
much less indulge in any unseemly mirth at what 
I shall relate." 

Having pledged ourselves to secrecy and a 
becoming seriousness, O'Leary began his story as 
follows: 



CHAPTER XXXIII. 

MR. o'learv's first love. 

" It was during the viceroyalty of the Duke of 
Richmond that tlie incidents I am about to men- 
tion took place. That was a few years since, and 
I was rather younger, and a little more particular 



about my dress than at present." Here the little 
man threw a calm glance of satisfaction upon his 
uncouth habiliments, and nearly made us forget 
our compact, and laugh outright. "Well, in 
those wild and headstrong days of youthful ardor, 
I fell in love — desperately in love — and as always 
is, I believe, the case with our early experiments 
in that unfortunate passion, the object of my 
affection was in every way unsuited to me. She 
was a tall, dark-haired, dark-eyed maiden, with a 
romantic imagination, and a kind of half-crazed 
poetic fervor, that often made me fear for her 
intellect. I'm a short, rather fat — I was always 
given this way" — here he patted a waistcoat that 
would fit Daniel Lambert — "happy-minded little 
fellow, that liked my supper of oysters at the 
Pigeon-house, and my other creature comforts, 
and hated everything that excited or put me out 
of my way, just as 1 would have hated a blister. 
Then, the devil would have it — for as certainly as 
marriages are made in heaven, flirtations have 
something to say to the other place — that I should 
fall most irretrievably in love with Lady Agnes 
Moreton. Bless my soul, it absolutely puts me 
in a perspiration this hot day, just to think over 
all I went through on her account; for, strange 
to say, the more I appeared to prosper in her good 
graces, the more did she exact on my part; the 
pursuit was like Jacob's ladder — if it did lead 
to Heaven it was certainly an awfully long 
journey, and very hard on one's legs. There 
was not an amusement she could think of, no 
matter how unsuited to my tastes or my abilities, 
that she did not immediately take a violent fancy 
to; and then there was no escaping, and I was 
at once obliged to go with the tide, and Heaven 
knows if it would not have carried me to my 
grave if it were not for the fortunate (I now called 
it) accident that broke off the affair forever! 
One time she took a fancy for yachting, and all 
the danglers about her — and she always had a 
cordon of them — young aides-de-camp of her 
father, the general, and idle hussars, in clanking 
sabretasches and most absurd mustachios — all 
ajiproved of the taste, and so kept filling her mind 
with anecdotes of corsairs and smugglers, that at 
last nothing would satisfy her till I — /, who al- 
ways would rather have waited for low water, and 
waded the Liffey in all its black mud, than cross 
over in the ferry-boat, for fear of sickness — /was 
obliged to put an advertisement in the newspaper 
for a pleasure boat, and, before three weeks, 
saw myself owner of a clinker-built schooner, of 
forty-eight tons, that by some mockery of fortune 
was called The Delight. I wish you saw me, as 
you might have done every morning for about a 
month, as I stood upon the Custom-house quay, 
giving orders for the outfit of the little craft. At 
first, as she bobbed and pitched with the flood- 
tide, I used to be a little giddy and rather qualm- 
ish, but at last I learned to look on without my 
head reeling. I began to fancy myself very much 
of a sailor, a delusion considerably encouraged 
by a huge blue jacket and a sou'-wester, both 
of which, though it was in the dog-days, Agnes 
insisted upon my wearing, saying I looked more 
like Dirk Hatteraick, who, I understood, was one 
of her favorite heroes in Walter Scott. In fact, 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



135 



after she suggested this, she and all her friends 
called me nothing but 'Dirk.' 

" Well, at last, after Heaven knows how many 
excuses on my part, and entreaties for delay, a 
day was appointed for our first excursion. I shall 
never forget that day — the entire night before it 
I did not close my eyes ; the skipper had told 
me, in his confounded sea-jargon, that if the wind 
was in one quarter we should have a short toss- 
ing sea ; and if in another, a long rolling swell ; 
and if in a third, a happy union of both — in fact, 
he made it out that it could not possibly blow 
right, an opinion I most heartily coincided in, and 
most devoutly did 1 pray for a calm, that would 
not permit of our stirring from our moorings, and 
thus mar our projected party of pleasure. My 
prayer was unheard, but my hopes rose on the 
other hand, for it blew tremendously during the 
entire night, and although there was a lull towards 
morning, the sea, even in the river, was consider- 
able. 

" I had just come to the conclusion that I was 
.safe for this time when the mate poked his head 
into the room and said, — 

" ' Mr. Brail wishes to know, sir, if he'll bend 
the new mainsail to-day, as it's blowing rather 
fresh, and he thinks the spars light.' 

"' Why, the devil take him, he would not have 
us go out in a hurricane ; surely, Pipes, we could 
not take out ladies to-day.'' 

" ' Oh, bless your heart, yes, sir ; it blows a bit 
to be sure, but she's a good sea-boat, and we can 
run for Arklow or the Hook, if it comes fresher.' 

"'Oh, nonsense, there's no pleasure in that; 
besides, I'm sure they won't like it — the ladies 
won't venture, you'll see.' 

" ' Ay, sir, but they're all on board a'ready : 
there's eight ladies in the cabin, and six on deck, 
and as many hampers of victuals and as much 
crockery as if we were goin' to Madeira. Captain 
Grantham, sir, the soldier officer, with the big 
beard, is a-mixing punch in tiie grog-tub.' 

" ' From the consequences of this day I pro- 
claim myself innocent,' said I, with a solemn voice, 
as I drew on my duck trousers, and prepared to 
set out. 

" ' And the mainsail, sir," said the mate, not un- 
derstanding what I said. 

"' I care not which,' said I, doggedly ; 'act or 
part in this wilful proceeding I'll not take.' 

"'Ay, ay, sir,' said the stupid wretch; 'then 
I'll say you're a-coming, and he may stretch the 
large canvas ; for the skipper says he likes a wet 
jacket when he has gentlemen out.' 

" Never did a victim put on a flame-colored 
garment, the emblem of fate, and set out on the 
march of death, with a heavier heart than did I 
put on my pilot-coat that morning to join my 
friends. 

" My last hope deserted me as I saw the little 
vessel lying beside the quay ; for I continued to 
trust that in getting out from the dock some ac- 
cident or mischance might occur to spoil our 
sport. But, no ; there she lay, rolling and pitch- 
ing in such a way that, even at anchor, they could 
not stand on the deck without holding. Amid 
the torrent of compliments for the perfection of 
all my arrangements, and innumerable sweet things 



on my taste in the decoration and fitting up of 
my cabin, I scarcely felt myself afloat for some 
minutes, and we got under weigh amid a noise 
and uproar that absolutely prevented the possi- 
bility of reflection. 

" Hitherto our destination had not been men- 
tioned, and as all the party appealed to Lady 
Agnes, I could not be less gallant, and joined 
them in their request. 

"'Well, then, what do you think of Lambay?' 
said she, looking at the same moment towards the 
skipper. 

"'We can make it, my lady,' said the man; 
' but we'll have a roughish sea of it, for there's 
a strong point of westward in the wind." 

"'Then don't think of it,' said I. 'We have 
come out for pleasure, not to make our friends 
sick, or terrify them. It does very well for us men.' 

" ' There you are. Dirk, with your insolent sneers 
about women's nerves and female cowardice. 
Now, nothing but Lambay will content me — what 
say you, ladies?' 

" A general reply of approval met this speech, 
and it was carried by acclamation. 

" ' Lambay then be it,' said I, with the voice of 
a man who, entreating to be shot, is informed that 
that he cannot be afforded that pleasure, as his 
sentence is to be hanged. But I must hasten over 
these painful recollections. We dropped down 
the river, and soon left the lighthouse and its long 
pier behind us, the mast bending like a whip, and 
the sea boiling like barm over the lee gunwale. 
Still the spirit of our party only rose the lighter, 
and nothing but eulogies upon the trim and sail- 
ing of the craft resounded on all sides ; the din 
and buzz of the conversation went on, only more 
loudly and less restrictedly than if the party had 
been on shore, and all, even myself, seemed happy, 
for up to this moment I iiad not been sea-sick, 
yet certain treacherous sensations, that alternately 
evinced themselves in my stomach and my head, 
warned me of what was in store for me. The 
word was now given to tack ; I was in the act of 
essaying a soft speech to Lady Agnes, when the 
confounded cry of ' Ready about, starboard there, 
let go sheets and tacks, stand by, haul.' The 
vessel plunged head-foremost into the boiling sea, 
which hissed on either bow ; the heavy boom 
swung over, carrying my hat along with it — and 
almost my head, too. The rest of the party, possi- 
bly better informed than myself, speedily changed 
their places to the opposite side of the boat, while 
I remained holding on, fast, by the gunwale, till 
the sea rushing over what was now become the 
lee side, carried me head over heels into the shingle 
ballast in the waist. Lord, how they did laugh! 
Agnes, too, who never before could get beyond 
a very faint smile, grew almost hysterical at my 
performance. As for me, I only wanted this to 
complete my long-threatened misfortune ; sea- 
sickness, in all its most miserable forms, set in 
upon me, and, ere half an hour, I lay upon th..t 
heap of small stones, as indifferent to all around 
and about me as though I were dead. Oh, the 
long, dreary hours of that melancholy day ; it 
seemed like a year. They tacked and tacked, 
they wore — beat — and tacked again, the sea wash- 
ing over me, and the ruffianly sailors trampling 



136 



HARRY LORREOUER, 



upon mc without the slightest remorse, whenever 
they had any occasion to pass back or forward. 
From my long trance of suffering I was partly 
roused by the steward shaking my shoulder, 
saying, — 

■' ' The gentlemen wish to know, sir, if you'd 
like sum'at to eat, as they're agoin' to have a mor- 
sel; we are getting into slack water now.' 

'"Where are we?' I replied, in a sepulchral 
voice. 

'"Off the Hook, sir; we have had a most splen- 
did run, but I fear we'll catch it soon; there's 
some dirty weather to the westward.' 

'"God grant it!' said I, piously, and in a low 
tone. 

'" Did you say you'd have a bit to eat, sir?' 

"'No! — eat! — am I a cannibal? — eat — go 
away — mark me, my good fellow, I'll pay you 
your wages, if ever we get ashore; you'll never 
set another foot aboard with me.' 

" The man looked perfectly astounded as he 
moved away, and my thoughts were soon en- 
grossed by the proceedings near me. The rattle 
of knives and the jingling of plates and glasses, 
went on very briskly for some time, accompanied 
by various pleasant observations of my guests, for 
such I judged them, from the mirth which ever fol- 
lowed them. At last I thought I heard my name, 
or at least what they pleased to use as its substitute, 
mentioned ; I strained my ears to listen, and learnt 
that they were pretending to plan a run over to 
Cowes and see the regatta. This they discussed 
then, for about twenty minutes, in a very loud 
voice, purposely to see its effects upon me; but, 
as I was now aware of the trick, I gave no sign 
of anv intelligence. 

'"Poor Dirk,' said Grantham; 'I believe by 
this time he cares very little which way her head 
lies; but here comes sometiiing better than all our 
discussions. Lady Agnes, sit here — Miss Pelham, 
here's a dry cushion for you — did you say a wing. 
Lady Mary ?' 

" Now began the crash and clatter of dinner; 
cham])agne corks popping, glasses ringing, and all 
that peculiar admixture of fracas and fun which 
accompanies a scrambled meal. How they did 
laugh, and eat, aye, and drink, too. G.'s punch 
seemed to have its success, for, sick as I was, 1 could 
perceive the voices of the men grow gradually 
louder, and discovered that two gentlemen, who 
had been remarkably timid in the morning, and 
scarcely opened their lips, were now rather 
uproariously given, and one even proposed to 
sing. 

" ' If any man,' thought I, ' were to look for an 
instant at the little scene now enacting here, what 
a moral would he reap from it; talk of the base 
ingratitude of the world, you cannot say too much 
of it. Who would suppose that it was tnv boat 
these people were assembled in; that it was r/?y 
champagne these people were drinking: that mv 
venison and my pheasants were feeding those lips, 
which rarely spoke, except to raise a joke at my 
expense ?' My chagrin increased my sickness, 
and my sickness redoubled my chagrin. 

"'Mr. Brail,' said I, in a low whisper— 'Mr. 
Brail.' 
. "'Did you speak, sir?' said he, with about as 



much surprise in his manner as though he had 
been addressed by a corpse. 

" ' Mr. Brail,' said 1, ' is there any danger 
here?' 

" ' Lord love you, no, sir, she's walking Span- 
ish, and the sea going down; we shall have lovely 
weather, and they're all enjoying it, sir — the 
ladies.' 

'"So I perceive,' said I, with a groan — 'so I 
perceive; but, Mr. Brail, could you do nothing 
-^just to — to — startle them a little, I mean for 
fun only? Just ship a heavy sea or two, I don't' 
care for a little dainage, Mr. Brail, and if it were 
to wash over the dinner service, and all the wine, 
I should not like it worse.' 

"'Why, sir, you are getting quite funny; the 
sickness is going.' 

'" No, Mr. Brail, worse than ever; my head is 
in two pieces, and my stomach in the back of my 
mouth; but 1 should like you to do this — so just 
manage it, will you; and there's twenty pounds 
in my pocket-book; you can have it; there now, 
won't you oblige me? And hark ye, Mr. Brail — •. 
if Captain Grantham were to be washed over by. 
mere accident it cannot be helped ; accidents are 
always occurring in boating parties. Go now; 
you know what 1 mean.' 

" ' But, sir — ' began he. 

"'Well, then, Mr. Brail, you won't — very well ; 
now all I have to say is this: that the moment I 
can find strength to do it, I'll stave out a plank; 
I'll scuttle the vessel, that's all ; I have made up 
my mind, and look to yourselves now.' 

" Saying these words, I again threw myself upon 
the ballast, and, as the gay chorus of a drinking 
song was wafted across me, prayed devoutly that 
we might all go down to the bottom. The song 
over, I heard a harsh, gruff voice mixing with 
the more civilized tones of the party, and soon 
perceived that Mr. Brail was recounting my pro- 
posal amid the most uproarious shouts of laugh- 
ter I. ever listened to. Then followed a number 
of pleasant suggestions for my future manage- 
ment; one proposing to have me tried for mutiny, 
and sentenced to a good ducking over the side; 
another, that I should be tarred on my back, to 
which latter most humane notion the fair Agnes 
subscribed, averring that she was resolved upon 
my deserving my sobriquet of Dirk Hatteraick. 
My wrath was now the master even of deadly 
sickness. I got upon my knees, and having in 
vain tried to reach my legs, I struggled aft. 
In this posture did I reach the quarter-deck. 
What my intention precisely was in this excur- 
sion, I have no notion of now, but I have some 
very vague idea, that I meant to react the curse 
of Kehama upon the whole party. At last I mus- 
tered strength to rise; but, alas! I had scarcely 
reached the standing position, when a tremend- 
ous keel of the boat to one side threw me in the 
gunwale, and before I was able to recover my 
balance, a second lurch pitched me headlong into 
the sea. I have, thank God, no further recollec- 
tion of my misfortunes. When 1 again became 
conscious, I found myself wrapped up in a pilot- 
coat, while my clothes were drying. The 
vessel was at anchor in Wexford, my attached 
friends had started for town with post-horses, 



HARRY LORREQUER. 



137 



leaving me no less cured of love than aquatics. 

"'The Ddii;ht passed over in a few days to some 
more favored son of Neptune, and I hid my 
shame and my misfortunes by a year's tour on 
the Continent." 

" AUhciugh I acknowledge," said Trevanion, 
"that hitherto 1 have reaped no aid from Mr. 
O'Leary's narrative, yet I think it is not without 
a moral." 

"Well, but," said I, "he has got another ad- 
venture to tell us; we have quite time for it, so 
pray pass the wine and let us have it." 

" I have just finished the Burgundy," said 
O'Leary, "and if you will ring for another flask, 
I have no objection to let you hear the story of 
my second love." 



CHAPTER XXXIV. 

MR. o'learv's second love. 

" You may easily suppose," began Mr. O'Leary, 
" that the unhappy termination of my first pas- 
sion served as a shield for me for a long time 
against my unfortunate tendencies towards the 
fair; and such was really the case. I never spoke 
to a young lady for three years after without a 
reeling in my head, so associated in my mind was 
love and sea-sickness. However, at last, what will 
not time do.? It was about four years from tire 
date of this adventure, when I became so oblivi- 
ous of my former failure as again to tempt my 
fortune! My present choice, in every way unlike 
the last, was a gay, lively^ girl, of great animal 
spirits, and a considerable turn for raillery, tliat 
spared no one; the members of her own family 
were not even sacred in her eyes; and her father, 
a reverend dean, as frequently figured among the 
ludicrous as his neighbors. 

" The Evershams had been very old friends of 
a rich aunt of mnie, who never, by-the-bye, had 
condescended to notice me till I made their ac- 
quaintance ; but no sooner had I done so, than she 
sent for me, and gave me to understand that, in 
the event of my succeeding to the hand of Fanny 
Eversham, I should be her heir, and the possessor 
of about sixty thousand pounds. She did not 
stop here; but by canvassing the dean in my favor 
speedily put the matter on a most favorable foot- 
ing, and in less than two months I was received as 
the accepted suitor of the fair Fanny, then one 
of the reigning belles of Dublin. 

" They lived at this time about three miles from 
town, in a very pretty country, where I used to 
pass all my mornings, and many of my evenings 
too, in a state of happiness that I should have 
considered perfect, if it were not for two unhappy 
blots — one, the taste of my betrothed for laugh- 
ing at her friends; another, the diabolical pro- 
pensity to talk politics of my intended father-in- 
law. To the former I could submit; but with 
the latter, submission only made bad worse ; for 
he invariably drew up as I receded, dryly observ- 
ing that with men who had no avowed opinions, 
it was ill agreeing ; or that, with persons who kept 



their politics as a schoolboy does his pocket- 
money, never to spend, and always ready to 
change, it was unpleasant to dispute. Such taunts 
as these I submitted to as well as I might; se- 
cretly resolving, that as I never knew the mean- 
ing of Whig and Tory, I'd contrive to spend my 
life, after marriage, out of the worthy dean's 
diocese. 

"Time wore on, and at length to my most 
pressing solicitations, it was conceded that a day 
for our marriage should be appointed. Not even 
the unlucky termination of this my second love 
affair can deprive me of the happy souvenir of 
the few weeks which were to intervene before our 
destined union. 

"The mornings were passed in ransacking all 
the shops where wedding finery could be procured 
— laces, blondes, velvets, and satins littered every 
corner of the deanery — and there was scarcely a 
carriage in a coachmaker's yard in the city that I 
had not sat and jumped in, to try the springs, by 
the special directions of Mrs. Eversham, who 
never ceased to impress me with the awful re- 
sponsibility I was about to take upon me in 
marrying so great a prize as her daughter — a 
feeling I found very general among many of my 
friends at the Kildare Street Club. 

"Among the many indispensable purchases 
which I was to make, and about which Fanny 
e.xpressed herself more than commonly anxious, 
was a saddle-horse for me. She was a great horse- 
woman, and hated riding with only a servant, and 
had given me to understand as much about half 
a dozen times each day for the last five weeks. 
How shall I acknowledge it — equestrianism was 
never my /(?;-/£•. I had all my life considerable 
respect for the horse as an animal, pretty much as 
I regarded a lion or a tiger ; but as to any inten- 
tion of mounting upon the back of one, and 
taking a ride, I should as soon have dreamed of 
taking an airing upon a giraffe ; and as to the 
thought of buying, feeding, and maintaining such 
a beast at my own proper cost, I should just as 
soon have determined to purchase a pillory or a 
ducking-stool, by way of amusing my leisure 
hours. 

" However, Fanny was obstinate — whether she 
suspected anything or not I cannot say — but 
nothing seemed to turn her from her purpose , 
and although I pleaded a thousand things in de- 
lay, yet she each day grew more impatient, and 
at last I saw that there was nothing for it but to 
submit. 

" When I arrived at this last and bold resolve, 
I could not help feeling that to possess a horse 
and not be able to mount him, was only deferring 
the ridicule; and as I had so often expressed the 
difficulty I felt in suiting myself as a cause of my 
delay, I could not possibly come forward with 
anything very objectionable, or I should be only 
the more laughed at. There was then but one 
course to take; a fortnight still intervened 
before the day which was to make me happy, and 
I resolved to take lessons in riding during the 
interval, and by every endeavor in my power be- 
come, if possible, able to pass muster on the sad- 
dle before my bride. 

"Poor old Lalouette understood but little of 



138 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



the urgency of the case when I requested his 
leave to take my lessons each morning at six 
o'clocii, for I dared not absent myself during the 
day without exciting suspicion; and never, I will 
venture to assert, did knight-errant of old strive 
harder for the hand of his lady-love than did I 
during that weary fortnight. If a hippogriff had 
been the animal I bestrode, instead of being, as 
it was, an old wall-eyed grey, I could not have 
felt more misgivings at my temerity, or more 
proud of my achievement. In the first three days, 
the unaccustomed exercise proved so severe, that 
when I reached the deanery I could hardly move, 
and crossed the floor pretty much as a pair of 
compasses might be supposed to do if perform- 
ing that exploit. Nothing, however, could equal 
the kindness of my poor dear mother-in-law in 
embryo, and even the dean, too. Fanny, indeed, 
said nothing; but I rather think she was disposed 
to giggle a little; but my rheumatism, as it was 
called, was daily inquired after, and I was com- 
pelled to take some infernal stuff in my port 
wine at dinner that nearly made me sick at table. 

"'I am sure you walk too much,' said Fanny, 
with one of her knowing looks. ' Papa, don't you 
think he ouglit to ride? It would be much bet- 
ter for him.' 

"'I do, my dear,' said the dean. 'But, then, 
you see, he is so hard to be pleased in a horse. 
Your old hunting days have spoiled you; but you 
must forget Melton and Grantham, and conde- 
scend to keep a hack.' 

"I must have looked confoundedly foolish 
here, for Fanny never took her eyes off me, and 
continued to laugh in her own wicked way. 

" It was now about tlie ninth or tenth day of my 
purgatorial performances; and certainly if there 
be any merit in fleshly mortifications, these re- 
ligious exercises of mine should stand my part 
hereafter. A review had been announced in the 
Phoenix Park, which Fanny had expressed her- 
self most desirous to witness; and as the dean 
would not permit her to go without a chaperon, 
I had no means of escape, and promised to escort 
her. No sooner had I made tiiis rash pledge, 
than I hastened to my confidential friend, La- 
louette, and having imparted to him my entire 
secret, asked him in a solemn and imjjosing man- 
ner, 'Can I do it?" The old man shook his head 
dubiously, looked grave, and muttered at length, 
' Mosch depend on de horse.' ' I know it — I 
know it — I feel it,' said I, eagerly; 'then, where 
are we to find an animal that will carry me peace- 
ably through this awful day— I care not for its 
price?' 

" ' Votre affaire ne sera pas trop chere,' said he. 

" ' Why, how do you mean?' said I. 

"He then proceeded to inform me that, by a 
singularly fortunate chance, there took place that 
day an auction of ' cast horses,' as they are termed, 
which had been used in the horse police force; 
and that, from long riding, and training to stand 
fire, nothing could be more suitable than one of 
these, being both easy to ride, and not given to 
start at noise. 

" I could have almost hugged the old fellow for 
his happy suggestion, and waited with impatience 
for three o'clock to come, when we repaired to- 



gether to Essex Bridge, at that time the place 
selected for these sales. 

" I was at first a little shocked at the look of 
the animals drawn up; they were mostly miser- 
ably thin, most of them swelled in the legs, few 
without sore backs, and not one eye, on an aver- 
age, in every three; but still they were all high 
steppers, and carried a great tail. ' There's your 
" affaire," ' said the old Frenchman, as a long- 
legged, fiddle-headed beast was led out; turning 
out his fore-legs so as to endanger the man who 
walked beside him. 

"'Yes, there's blood for you,' said Charley 
Dycer, seeing my eye fixed on the wretched beast; 
'equal to fifteen stone with any fox-hounds; safe 
in all his paces, and warranted sound; except,' 
added he, in a whisper, 'a slight spavin in both 
hind legs, ring-bone, and a little touched in the 
wind.' Here the animal gave an approving cough. 
' Will any gentleman say fifty pounds to begin?' 
But no gentleman did. A hackney coachman, 
however, said five, and the sale was opened; the 
beast trotting up and down nearly over the bid- 
ders at every moment, and plunging on so, that 
it was impossible to know what was doing. 

" ' Five ten — fifteen— six pounds — thank you, 
sir, — guineas.' ' Seven pounds,' said I, bidding 
against myself, not perceiving that I had spoken 
last. ' Thank you, Mr. Moriarty,' said Dycer, 
turning towards an invisible purchaser supposed 
to be in the crowd — ' thank you, sir, you'll not 
let a good one go in that way.' Every one here 
turned to find out the very knowing gentleman; 
but he could nowhere be seen. 

" Dycer resumed, ' Seven ten for Mr. Moriarty. 
Going for seven ten — a cruel sacrifice — there's 
action for you— playful beast.' Here the devil had 
stumbled, and nearly killed a basket-woman with 
two children. 

"' Eight,' said I, with a loud voice. 

"'Eight pounds, quite absurd,' said Dycer, 
almost rudely, 'a charger like that for eight 
pounds — going for eight pound.s — going — nothing 
above eight pounds — no reserve, gentlemen, you 
are aware of that. They are all, as it were, his 
Majesty's stud — no reserve whatever — last time — 
eight pounds — gone.' 

" Amid a very hearty cheer from the mob — God 
knows why — but a Dublin mob always cheers — I 
returned, accompanied by a ragged fellow, lead- 
ing my new purchase after me with a hay halter. 
'What is the meaning of those letters?' said I, 
pointing to a very conspicuous G. R., with sun- 
dry other enigmatical signs, burnt upon the ani- 
mal's hind-quarter. 

" 'That's to show he was a po-lis,' said the fel- 
low, with a grin; ' and whin ye ride with ladies, ye 
must turn the decoy side.' 

"The auspicious morning at last arrived; and 
strange to say, that the first waking thought was 
of the unlucky day that ushered in my yachting 
excursion four years before. Why this was so, I 
cannot pretend to guess; there was but little an- 
alogy in the circumstances, at least so far as any- 
thing had then gone. 'How is Marius?' said I to 
my servant, as he opened my shutters. Here let 
me mention that a friend of the Kildare Street 
Club had suggested this name, from the remark- 



HARRY LORREQUER. 



139 



ably classic character of my steed's countenance; 
his nose, he assured me, was perfectly Roman. 

" ' Marius is doing finely, sir, barring his cough, 
and the thriHe that irils his hind legs.' 

" ' He'll carry me quietly, Simon, eh?' 

" ' Quietly? I'll warrant he'll carry you quietly, 
if that's all' 

"Here was comfort; for Simon had lived forty 
years as pantry-boy with my mother, and knew a 
great deal about horses. I dressed myself, there- 
fore, in high spirits; and if my pilot jacket and 
oil-skin cap in former days had half persuaded 
me that I was born for marine achievements, cer- 
tainly my cords and tops, that morning, went far 
to convince me that I must have once been a 
very keen sportsman somewhere without knowing 
it. It was a delightful July day that I set out to 
join my friends, who having recruited a large 
party, were to rendezvous at the corner of Steph- 
en's Green; thither I proceeded in a certain amb- 
ling trot, which I have often observed is a very 
favorite pace with timid horsemen, and gentlemen 
of the medical profession. I was hailed with a 
most hearty welcome by a large party as I turned 
out of Grafton street, among whom I perceived 
several friends of Miss Eversham, and some 
young dragoon officers, not of my acquaintance, 
but who appeared to know Fanny intimately, and 
were laughing heartily with her as I rode up. 

"I don't know if other men have experienced 
what I am about to mention or not; but certainly 
to me there is no more painful sensation than to 
find yourself among a number of well-mounted, 
well-equipped people, while the animal you your- 
self bestride seems only fit for the kennel. Every 
look that is cast at yotir unlucky steed — every 
whispered observation about you, are so. many 
thorns in your flesh, till at last you begin to feel 
that your appearance is for very little else than the 
amusement and mirth of the assembly; and every 
time you rise in your stirrups you excite a laugh. 

"'Where, for mercy's sake, did you find that 
creature?' said Fanny, surveying Marius through 
a glass. 

" 'Oh, him, eh? Why, he is a handsome horse, 
if in condition — a charger, you know — that's his 
style.' 

"'Indeed,' lisped a young lancer, 'I should be 
devilish sorry to charge or be charged with him.' 
And here they all chuckled at this puppy's silly 
joke, and I drew up to repress further liberties. 

" ' Is he anything of a fencer?' said a young 
country gentleman. 

" ' To judge from his near eye, I should say 
much more of a boxer;' said another. 

" Here commenced a running fire of pleasant- 
ry at the expense of my poor steed; which, not 
content with attacking his physical, extended to 
his moral qualities. An old gentleman near me 
observing, ' that I ought not to have mounted 
him at all, seeing that he was so deuced groggy!' 
to which I replied, by insinuating, that if others 
present were as free from the influence of ardent 
spirits, society would not be a sufferer; an obser- 
vation that I flatter myself turned the mirth 
against the old fellow, for they all laughed for a 
quarter of an hour after. 

" Well, at last we set out in a brisk trot, and, { 



placed near Fanny, I speedily forgot all my an- 
noyances in the prospect of figuring to advan- 
tage before her. When we reached College 
Green the leaders of the party suddenly drew 
up, and we soon found that the entire street op- 
posite the Bank was filled with a dense mob of 
people who appeared to be swayed hither and 
thither, like some mighty beast, as the individuals 
composing it were engaged in close conflict. It 
was nothmg more nor less than one of those 
almost weekly rows, which then took place be- 
tween the students of the University and the 
townspeople, and which rarely ended without 
serious consequences. The numbers of people 
pressing on to the scene of action soon blocked 
up our retreat, and we found ourselves most un- 
willing spectators of the conflict. Political 
watchwords were loudly shouted by each party; 
and at last the students, who appeared to be 
yielding to superior numbers, called out for the 
intervention of the police. The aid was nearer 
than they expected; for at the same instant a 
body of mounted policemen, whose high helmets 
rendered them sufficiently conspicuous, were 
seen trotting at a sharp pace down Dame street. 
On they came, with drawn sabres, led by a well- 
looking, gentleman-like personage in plain 
clothes, who dashed at once into the midst of 
the fray, issuing his orders, and pointing out to 
his followers to secure the ringleaders. Up to 
this moment I had been a most patient, and 
rather amused spectator, of what was doing. 
Now, however, my part was to commence, for at 
the word ' charge,' given in a harsh, deep voice by 
the sergeant of the party, Marius, remembering 
his ancient instinct, pricked up his ears, cocked 
his tail, flung up both his hind legs till they 
nearly broke the provost's windows, and plunged 
into the thickest of the fray like a devil incar- 
nate. 

"Self-preservation must be a strong instinct, 
for I well remember how little pain it cost me to 
see the people tumbling and rolling before and 
beneath me, while I continued to keep my seat. 
It was only the moment before, and tiiat im- 
mense mass were in man to man encounter; now, 
all the indignation of both parties seemed turned 
upon me; brick-bats were loudly implored, and 
paving-stones begged to throw at my devoted 
head; the wild huntsman of the German romance 
never created half the terror, nor one-tenth of 
the mischief that "I did in less than fifteen minutes, 
for the ill-starred beast continued twining and 
twisting like a serpent, plunging and kicking the 
entire time, and occasionally biting too; all which 
accomplishmeiits I afterwards learned, however 
liule in request in civil life, are highly prized in 
the horse police. 

" Every new order of the sergeant was followed 
in his own fashion by Marius; who very soon 
contrived to concentrate in my unhappy person 
all the interest of about fifteen hundred people. 

" ' Secure that scoundrel,' said the magistrate, 
pointing with his finger towards me, as I rode 
over a respectable-looking old lady, with a grey 
muff. ' Secure him. Cut him down.' 

"'Ah, devil's luck to him, if he do,' said a 
newsmonger with a broken shin. 



140 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



"On I went, however; and now, as the Fates 
would have it, instead of bearing me out of 
further danger, the confounded brute dashed on- 
wards to where the magistrate was standing, sur- 
rounded by policemen. I thought I saw him 
change color as I came on. I suppose my own 
looks were none of the pleasantest, lor the worthy 
man evidently liked them not. Into the midst of 
them we plunged, upsetting a corporal, horse and 
all, and appearing as if bent upon reaching the 
alderman. 

" 'Cut' him down, for Heaven's sake. Will no- 
body shoot him?' said he, with a voice trembling 
with fear and anger. 

"At these words a wretch lifted up his sabre, 
and made a cut at my head. I stooped suddenly, 
and throwing myself from the saddle, seized the 
poor alderman round the neck, and we both came 
rolling to the ground together. So completely 
was he possessed with the notion that I meant to 
assassinate him, that while I was endeavoring 
to extricate myself from his grasp, he continued 
to beg his life in the most heart-rending manner. 

"My story is now soon told. So effectually 
did they rescue the alderman from his danger 
that they left me insensible; and I only came to 
myself some days after by finding myself in the 
dock in Green street, charged with an indictment 
of nineteen counts; the only word of truth of 
which lay in the preamble, for the ' devil inciting' 
me. only, would ever have made me the owner of 
that infernal beast, the cause of all my misfor- 
tunes. I was so stupefied with my beating, that 
I know little of the course of the proceedings. 
My friends told me afterwards that I had a narrow 
escape from transportation; but for the greatest 
influence exerted in my behalf, I should certainly 
have passed the autumn in the agreeable recrea- 
tion of pounding oyster shells or carding wool: 
and it certainly must have gone hard with me, 
for, stupefied as I was, I remember the sen- 
sation in court when the alderman made his ap- 
pearance with a patch over his eye. The affecting 
admonition of the little judge — who, when pass- 
ing sentence upon me, adverted to the former 
respectability of my life, and the rank of my rel- 
atives — actually made the galleries weep. 

" Four months to Newgate, and a fine to the 
king, then rewarded my taste for horse-exercise; 
and it's no wonder if I prefei going on foot. 

"As to Miss Eversham, the following short 
note from the dean concluded my hopes in that 
quarter: 

"'De,\nerv, Wednesday morning. 

" 'Sir, — After the very distressing publicity to 
which your late conduct has exposed you — the 
so open avowal of political opinions, at variance 
with those (I will say) of every gentleman — and 
the recorded sentence of a judge on tiie verdict 
of twelve of your countrymen — I should hope 
that you will not feel my present admonition 
necessary to inform you that your visits at my 
house shall cease. 

' I'he presents you made my daughter, when 
under our unfortunate ignorance of your real 
character, have been addressed to your hotel, 
and I am your most obedient, humble servant, 
"'Oliver Eversham.' 



" Here ended my second affair />ar amours; 
and I freely confess to you that if I can only ob- 
tain a wife in a sea voyage, or a steejjle chase, I 
am likely to fulfil one great condition in modern 
advertising — 'as having no incumbrance, nor any 
objection to travel.' " 



CHAPTER XXXV. 



THE DUEL. 



Mr. O'Leary had scarcely concluded the nar- 
rative of his second adventure, when the grey 
light of the breaking day was seen faintly strug- 
gling through the half-closed curtains, and ap- 
prising us of the lateness of the hour. 

" I think we shall just have time for one finish- 
ing flask of Chambertiu," said O'Leary, as he 
emptied the bottle into his glass. 

" I forbid the banns, for one," cried Trevan- 
ion. '■ We have all had wine enough, considering 
what we have before us this morning; and be- 
sides, you are not aware it is now past four 
o'clock. So, garfof! — gar con, there! — how soundly 
the poor fellow sleeps — let us have some coffee, 
and then inquire if a carriage is in waiting at the 
corner of the Rue Vivienne." 

The coffee made its appearance, very much, as 
it seemed, to Mr. O'Leary 's chagrin, who, how- 
ever, solaced himself by sundry "'small glasses" 
to correct the coldness of the wine he had drunk, 
and at length recovered his good humor. 

" Do you know, now," said he, after a short 
pause, in which we all kept silence, " I think what 
we are about to do is the very ugliest way of fin- 
ishing a pleasant evening. For my own part, I 
like the wind-up we used to have in ' Old Trin- 
ity' formerly; when, after wringing off half a 
dozen knockers, breaking the lamps at the post- 
office, and getting out the fire engines of VVer- 
burgh's parish, we beat a few watchmen, and 
went peaceably to bed." 

" Well, not being an Irishman," said Trevan- 
ion, " I'm half disposed to think that even our 
present purpose is nearly as favorable to life and 
limb; but here comes my servant. A\'ell, John, 
is all arranged, and the carriage ready?" 

Having ascertained that the carriage was in 
waiting, and that the small box — brass-bound and 
Bramah-locked — reposed within, we paid our bill 
and departed. A cold, raw, misty-looking morn- 
ing, with masses of dark, lowering clouds over- 
head, and channels of dark and murky water 
beneath, were the pleasant prospects which met 
us as we issued forth from the cafe. The lamps, 
which hung suspended midway across the street 
— we speak of some years since — creaked, with 
a low and plaintive sound, as they swung back- 
wards and forwards in the wind. Not a footstep 
was heard in the street — nothing but the heavy 
patter of the rain, as it fell ceaselessly upon the 
broad pavement. It was, indeed, a most de- 
pressing and dispiriting accompaniment to our 
intended excursion; and even O'Leary, who 
seemed to have but slight sympathy with external 
influences, felt it, for he spoke but little, and was 



HARRY LORREQUER. 



141 



scarcely ten minutes in tlie carriage till he was 
sound asleep. This was, I confess, a great relief 
to me; for, however impressed I was, and to this 
hour am, with the many sterling qualities of my 
poor friend, yet, I acknowledge, that this was not 
])recisely the time I should fiave cared for their 
exercise; and would have much preferred the 
companionship of a different order of person, 
even though less long acquainted with him. Tre- 
vanlon was, of all others, the most suitable for 
this purpose; and I felt no embarrassment in 
opening my mind freely to him upon subjects 
which, but twenty-four hours previous, I could 
not have imparted to a brother. 

There is no such unlocker of the secrets of the 
heart as the possibly near approach of death. 
Indeed, I question if a great deal of the bitter- 
ness the thought of it inspires does not depend 
upon that very circumstance. The reflection 
that the long-treasured mystery of our lives (and 
wiio is there without some such?J is about to be- 
come known, and the secret of our inmost heart 
laid bare, is in itself depressing. Not one kind 
word, nor one embracing adieu, to those we are 
about to leave forever, can be spoken or written, 
without calling up its own story of half-forgotten 
griefs, or, still worse, at such a moment, of hap- 
piness never again to be partaken of. 

" I cannot explain why," said I to Trevanion, 
"but although it has unfortunately been pretty 
often my lot to have gone out on occasions like 
this, both as principal and friend, yet never be- 
fore did I feel so completely de])ressed and low- 
spirited — and never, in fact, did so many thoughts 
of regret arise before rae for much of the past, 
and sorrow for the chance of abandoning the 
future " 

" I can understand," said Trevanion, interrupt- 
ing — " I have heard of your prospect in tlie Cal- 
lonby family, and certainly, with such hopes, I 
can well conceive how little one would be dis- 
posed to brook the slightest incident which could 
interfere with their accomplishment; but, now 
that your cousin Guy's pretensions in that quar- 
ter are at an end, I suppose, from all I have 
heard, that there can be no great obstacle to 
yours." 

" Guy's pretensions at an end! For heaven's 
sake tell me all you know of this affair — for up 
to- this moment I am in utter ignorance of every- 
thing regarding his position in the Callonby 
family." 

" Unfortunately," replied Trevanion, " I know 
but little, but still that little is authentic — Guy 
himself having imparted the secret to a very in- 
timate friend of mine. It appears, then, that 
your cousin, having heard that the Callonbys had 
been very civil to you in Ireland, and made a' 
manner of advances to you — had done so unde 
the impression that you were the o/Zier nephew of 
Sir Guy, and consequently the heir of a large 
fortune — that is, Guy himself — and that they 
had never discovered the mistake during the time 
they resided in Ireland, when they not only per- 
mitted but even encouraged the closest intimacy 
between you and Lady Jane. Is so far true?" 

"I have long suspected it. Indeed, in no 
other way I can account for the reception I met 



with from the Callonbys. But is it possible that 
Lady Jane could have lent herself to anything so 
unworthy " 

" Pray hear me out," said Trevanion, who was 
evidently struck by the despondency of my voice 
and manner. " Guy having heard of their mis- 
take, and auguring well to himself from this evi- 
dence of their disposition, no sooner heard of 
their arrival in Paris, than he came over here and 
got introduced to them. From that time he 
scarcely ever left their house, except to accom- 
pany them into society, or to the theatres. It is 
said that with Lady Jane he made no progress. 
Her manner, at the beginning cold and formal, 
became daily more so; until, at last, he was half 
disposed to abandon the pursuit — in which, by- 
the-by, he has since confessed, ambitious views 
entered more than any affection for the lady — 
when the thought struck him to benefit by what 
he supposed at first to be the great bar to his 
success. He suddenly pretended to be only de- 
sirous of intimacy with Lady Jane, from having 
heard so much of her from you — affected to be 
greatly in your confidence — and, in fact, assumed 
the character of a friend cognizant of all your 
feelings and hopes, and ardently desiring, by 
every means in his power, to advance your in- 
terests " 

"And was it thus he succeeded ?" I broke in. 

" 'Twas thus he endeavored to succeed, ' said 
Trevanion. 

"Ah, with what success I but too well know," 
said I. " My uncle himself showed me a letter from 
Guy, in which he absolutely speaks of the affair 
as settled, and talks of Lady Jane as about to be 
his wife." 

"That may be all quite true; but a little con- 
sideration of Guy's tactics w ill show what he in- 
tended; for I find that he induced your uncle, 
by some representations of his, to make the most 
handsome proposals, with regard to the marriage, 
to the Callonbys; and that, to make the story 
short, nothing but the decided refusal of Lady 
Jane — who at length saw through his entire game 
— prevented the match." 

" And then she did refuse him?" said I, with 
ill-repressed exultation. 

" Of that there can be no doubt; for, independ- 
ently of all the gossip and quizzing upon the sub- 
ject, to which Guy was exposed in the coteries, 
he made little secret of it himself — openly avowing 
that he did not consider a repulse a defeat, and 
that he resolved to sustain the siege as vigorously 
as ever." 

However interested I felt in all Trevanion was 
telling me, I could not help falling into a train of 
thinking over my first acquaintance with the Cal- 
lonbys. There are, perhaps, but few things more 
- umiliating than the knowledge that any atten- 
tion or consideration we have met with has been 
paid us in mistake for another; and in the very 
proportion that they were prized before, are they 
detested when the truth is known to us. 

To all the depressing influences these thoughts 
suggested, came the healing balm that Lady Jane 
wastrue to me — that she, at least, however others 
might be biassed by worldly considerations — that 
she cared for me — for myself alone. My reader 



142 



HARRY LORREQUER. 



(alas! for my character for judgment) knows upon 
how little 1 founded the conviction; but I have 
often, in these " Confessions," avowed my especial 
failing to be a great taste for self-deception; and 
here was a capital occasion for its indulgence. 

" We shall have abundant time to discuss this 
later on," said Trevanion, laying his hand upon 
my shoulder to rouse my wandering attention — 
"for now, I perceive, we have only eight minutes 
to spare." 

As he spoke, a dragoon officer, in an undress, 
rode up to the window of the carriage, and look- 
ing steadily at our party for a few seconds, asked 
if we were Alcssieurs les Anglais; and, almost 
without waiting for reply, added, " You had bet- 
ter not go any farther in your carriage, for the 
next turn of the road will bring you in sight of 
the village." 

We accordingly stopped the driver, and having 
with some difficulty aroused O'Leary, got out 
upon the road. The stranger here gave his horse 
to a groom, and proceeded to guide us through 
a corn-field by a narrow path, with whose wind- 
ings and crossings he appeared quite conversant. 
We at length reached the brow of a little hill, 
from which an extended view of the country lay 
before us, showing the Seine winding its tranquil 
course between the richly tilled fields, dotted 
with many a pretty cottage. Turning abruptly 
from this point, our guide led us, by a narrow and 
steep path, into a little glen, planted with poplars 
and willows. A small stream ran through this, 
and by the noise we soon detected that a mill 
was not far distant, which another turning brought 
us at once in front of. 

And here I cannot help dwelling upon the 
scene which met our view. In the porch of the 
little rural mill sat two gentlemen, one of whom 
I immediately recognized as the person who had 
waited upon me, and the other I rightly con- 
jectured to be my adversary. Before them stood a 
small table, covered with a spotless napkin, upon 
which a breakfast equipage was spread — a most 
inviting melon and a long, slender-necked bottle, 
reposing in a little ice-pail, forming part of the 
picture. My opponent was coolly enjoying his 
cigar — a half finished cup of coffee lay beside 
him — his friend was occupied in examining the 
caps of the duelling pistols, which were placed 
upon a chair. No sooner had we turned the 
angle which brought us in view, than they both 
rose, and taking off their hats with much courtesy, 
bade us good-morning. 

" May I offer you a cup of coffee?" said Mon- 
sieur de Joncourt to me, as I came up, at the same 
time filling it out, and pushing over a little flask 
of Cognac towards me. 

A look from Trevanion decided my acceptance 
of the proffered civility, and I seated myself in the 
chair beside the baron. Trevanion meanwhile 
had engaged my adversary in conversation along 
with the stranger, who had been our guide, leav- 
ing OT>eary alone unoccupied, which, however, 
he did not long remain; for although uninvited 
by the others, he seized a knife and fork, and com- 
menced a vigorous attack upon a partridge pie 
near him; and, with equal absence of ceremony, 
uncorked the champagne and filled out a foaming 



goblet, nearly one-third of the whole bottle, 
adding,— 

'"1 think, Mr. Lorrequer, there's nothing like 
showing them that we are just as cool and uncon- 
cerned as themselves." 

If I might judge from the looks of the party, a 
happier mode of convincing them of our" free and 
easy" feelings could not possibly have been 
discovered. From any mortification this proceed- 
ing might have caused me, I was speedily relieved 
by Trevanion calling O'Leary to one side, while 
he explained to him that he must nominally act 
as second on the ground, as Trevanion, being a 
resident in Paris, might become liable to a pros- 
ecution, should anything serious arise, while 
O'Leary, as a mere passer through, could cross 
the country into Cermany, and a\oid all trouble. 

O'Leary at once acceded — perhaps the more 
readily because he expected to be allowed to re- 
turn to his breakfast — but in this he soon found 
himself mistaken, for the whole party now rose, 
and, preceded by the baron, followed the course 
of the little stream. 

After about five minutes' walking, we found 
ourselves at the outlet of the glen, which was 
formed by a large stone quarry, making a species 
of amphitheatre, with lofty walls of rugged granite, 
rising thi'-ty or forty feet on either side of us. 
The ground was smooth and level as a boarded 
floor, and certainly to amateurs in these sort of 
matters, jiresented a most perfect spot for a 
"meeting." 

The stranger who had just joined us could not 
help remarking our looks of satisfaction at the 
choice of the ground, and observed to me, — 

"This is not the first affair that this little spot 
has witnessed; and the 'Mill of St. Cloud' is, I 
think, the very best ' meet' about Paris." 

Trevanion, who, during these few minutes, had 
been engaged with de Joncourt, now drew me 
aside. 

" Well, Lorrequer, have you any recollection 
now of having seen your opponent before? or can 
you make a guess at the source of all this?" 

" Never till this instant," said I, " have I be- 
held him," as I looked towards the tall, stoutly- 
built figure of my adversary, who was very 
leisurely detaching a cordon from his tightly fit- 
ting frock, doubtless to prevent its attracting my 
aim. 

" Well, never mind, I shall manage everything 
properly. What can you do with the small-sword, 
for they have rapiers at the mill?" 

"Nothing whatever; I have not fenced since I 
was a boy." 

"No matter then, we'll fight at a barriire. I 
know they're not prepared for that from English- 
men; so just step on one side now, and leave nie 
to talk it over." 

As the limited nature of the ground did not 
permit me to retire to a distance, I became 
involuntarily aware of a dialogue, which even the 
seriousness of the moment could scarcely keep 
me from laughing at, outright. 

It was necessarv, for the sake of avoiding any 
possible legal difficulty in the result, thnt O'Leary 
should give his assent to every step of the arrange- 
ment; and being almost totally ignorant of French, 



HARRY LORREQUER. 



143 



Trevanion had not only to translate for him, but 
also to render in reply O'Leary's own comments 
or objections to the propositions of the others, 

"Then it is agreed — we fight at a barriire." 
said Captain de Joncourt. 

"What's that, Trevanion?" 

" We have agreed to place them at a barriire" 
replied Trevanion. 

"That's strange," muttered O'Leary to himself, 
who, knowing that the word meant a '' turnpike," 
never supposed it had any other signification. 

" Vingt-quatre pas, n'est ce pas?" said de 
Joncourt. 

"Too far," interposed Trevanion. 

" What does he say now?" asked O'Leary. 

" Twenty-four paces for the distance." 

"Twenty-four of my teeth he means," said 
O'Leary, snapping his fingers. " What does he 
think of the length of Sackville street? Ask 
him that, will ye?" 

" What says Monsieur?" said the Frenchman. 

" He thinks the distance much too great." 

"He m-ay be mistaken," said the captain, half 
sneeringly. " My friend is de la premihe force." 

" That must be something impudent, from 
your looks, Mr. Trevanion. Isn't it a thousand 
pities I can't speak French?" 

" What say you, then, to twelve paces? Fire 
together, and two shots each, if the first fire be 
inconclusive," said Trevanion. 

"And if necessary," added the Frenchman, 
carelessly, "conclude with these" — touching the 
swords with his foot as he spoke. 

" The choice of the weapon lies with us, I 
opine," replied Trevanion. " We have already 
named pistols, and by them we shall decide this 
matter." 

It was at length, after innumerable objections, 
agreed upon that we should be placed back to 
back, and, at a word given, each walk forward to 
a certain distance marked out by a stone, where 
we were to halt, and at the signal, f/w, deux, turn 
round and fire. 

This, which is essentially a French invention in 
duelling, was perfectly new to me, but by no 
means so to Trevanion, who was fully aware of 
tlie immense consequence of not giving even a 
momentary opportunity for aim to my antagonist; 
and in this mode of firing, the most practised 
and deadly shot is liable to err — particularly if 
the signal be given quickly. 

While Trevanion and the captain were measur- 
ing out the ground, a little circumstance which 
was enacted near me was certainly not over- 
calculated to strengthen my nerve. The stranger 
who had led us to the ground had now begun to ex- 
amine the pistols, and finding that one of them 
was loaded, turned towards my adversary, saying, 
"d'Haulpenne, you have forgotten to draw the 
charge. Come, let us see what vein you are in." 
At the same time, drawing off his large cavalry 
glove, he handed the pistol to his friend. 

" A double Napoleon you don't hit the thumb." 

" Done," said the other, adjusting the weapon 
in his hand. 

The action was scarcely performed, when the 
better flung the glove into the air with all his 
force. My opponent raised his pistol, waited for 



an instant, till the glove, having attained its 
greatest height, turned to fall again. Then click 
went the trigger — the glove turned round and 
round half a dozen times, and fell about twenty 
yards off, and the thumb was found cut clearly 
off at the juncture with the hand. 

This— which did not occupy half as long as I 
have spent in recounting it — was certainly a 
pleasant introduction to standing at fifteen yards 
from the principal actor; and I should doubtless 
have felt it in all its force, had not my attention 
been drawn off by the ludicrous expression of 
grief in O'Leary's countenance, who evidently 
regarded me as already defunct. 

" Now, Lorrequer, we are ready," said Tre- 
vanion, coming forward; and then, lowering his 
voice, added, "All is in your favor-, I have won 
the 'word,' which I shall give the moment you 
halt. So turn and fire at once; be sure not to 
go too far round in the turn — that is the invari- 
able error in this mode of firing; only, no 
hurry! — be calm." 

" Now, messieurs," said de Joncourt, as he ap- 
proached with his friend leaning upon his arm, 
and placed him in the spot allotted to him. Tre- 
vanion then took my arm, and placed me back to 
back to my antagonist. As I took up my ground, 
it so chanced that my adversary's spur slightly 
grazed me, upon which he immediately turned 
round, and with the most engaging smile, begged 
a "thousand pardons," and hoped I was not 
hurt. 

O'Leary, who saw the incident, and guessed 
the action aright, called out, — 

"Oh, the cold-blooded villain! the devil a 
chance for you, Mr. Lorrequer." 

"Messieurs, your pistols," said de Joncourt, 
who, as he handed the weapons, and repeated 
once more the conditions of the combat, gave 
the word to march. 

I now walked slowly forward to the place 
marked out by the stone; but it seemed that I 
must have been in advance of my opponent, for 
I remember some seconds elapsed before Trevan- 
ion coughed slightly, and then with a clear, full 
voice called out, "^7«," "Deux!" I had scarcely 
turned myself half round, when my right arm was 
suddenly lifted up, as if by a galvanic shock. My 
pistol jerked upwards, and exploded the same 
moment, and then dropped powerlessly from my 
hand, which I now felt was covered with warm 
blood from a wound near the elbow. From the 
acute but momentary pang this gave me, my at- 
tention was soon called off; for scarcely had my 
arm been struck, when a loud clattering noise to 
the left induoed me to turn, and then, to my as- 
tonishment, I saw my friend O'Leary about 
twelve feet frorfi the ground, hanging on by some 
as"h twigs that grew from the clefts of the granite. 
Fragments of broken rock were falling around 
him, and his own position momentarily threatened 
a downfall. He was screaming with all his might; 
but what he said was entirely lost in the shouts 
of laughter of Trevanion and the Frenchmen, 
who could scarcely stand with the immoderate 
exuberance of their mirth. 

I had no time to run to his aid — which, al- 
though wounded, I should have done — when the 



144 



HARRY LORREQUER. 



branch he clung to, slowly yielded with his weight, 
and the round, plump figure of my poor friend 
rolled over the little cleft of rock, and, after a 
few faint struggles, came tumbling heavily down, 
and at last lay peaceably in the deep heather at 
the bottom — his cries the whole time being loud 
enough to rise even above the vociferous laughter 
of the others. 

I now ran forward, as did Trevanion, when 
O'Leary, turning his eyes towards me, said, in 
the most piteous manner, — 

" Mr. Lorrequer, I forgive you — here is my 
hstnd — bad luck to their French way of fighting, 
that's all — it's only good for killing one's friend. 
I thought I was safe up there, come what miglit." 

" My dear O'Leary," said I, in an agony, which 
prevented my minding the laughing faces around 
me, " surely you don't mean to say that I have 
wounded I'Ci'/ ?" 

" No, dear, not wounded, only killed me out- 
right — through the brain it must be, from the 
torture I'm suffering." 

The shout with which this speech was received 
sufficiently aroused me; while Trevanion, with a 
voice nearly choked with laughter, said, — 

" Why, Lorrequer, did you not see that your 
pistol, on being struck, threw your ball high up 
on the quarry; fortunately, however, about a foot 
and a half above Mr. O'Leary's head, whose most 
serious wounds are his scratched hands, and 
bruised bones from his tumble." 

This explanation, which was perfectly satis- 
factory to me, was by no means so consoling to 
poor O'Leary, who lay quite unconscious to all 
around, moaning in the most melancholy man- 
ner. Some of the blood, which continued to 
flow fast from my wound, having dropped upon 
his face, roused him a little — but only to increase 
his lamentation for his own destiny, which he be- 
lieved was fast accomplishing. 

" Through the skull — clean through the skull — 
and preserved my senses to the last! Mr. Lor- 
requer, stoop down — it is a dying man asks you — 
don't refuse me a last request. There's neither 
luck nor grace, honor nor glory, in such a way of 
fighting — so just promise me you'll shoot that 
grinning baboon there, when he's going off the 
ground, since it's the fashion to fire at a man 
with his back to you. Bring him down, and I'll 
die easy." 

And with these words he closed his eyes, and 
straightened out his legs — stretched his arms on 
either side, and arranged himself as much corpse- 
fashion as the circumstances of the ground would 
permit — while I now freely participated in the 
mirth of the others, which, loud and boisterotis 
as it was, never reached the ears of O'Leary. 

My arm had now become so painful, that I 
was obliged to ask Trevanion to assist me in get- 
ting off my coat. The surprise of the French- 
men on learning that I was wounded was very 
considerable — O'Leary's catastrophe having ex- 
clusively engaged all attention. My arm was now 
examined, when it was discovered that the ball 
had passed through from one side to the other, 
without apparently touching the bone; the bullet 
and the portion of my coat carried in by it both 
lay in my sleeve. The only serious consequence 



to be apprehended was the wound of the blood- 
vessel, which continued to pour forth blood un- 
ceasingly, and I was just surgeon enough to 
guess tiiat an artery had been cut. 

Trevanion bound his handkerchief tightly 
across the wound and assisted me to the high- 
road, which, so sudden was the loss of blood, I 
reached with difficulty. During all these pro- 
ceedings, nothing could be possibly more kind 
and considerate than the conduct of our oppo- 
nents. All the bold and swaggering air wliich 
they had deemed the esscntiel before, at once fled, 
and in its place we found the most gentleman-like 
attention and true politeness. 

As soon as I was enabled to speak upon the 
matter, I begged Trevanion to look to poor 
O'Leary, who still lay upon the ground in a 
state of perfect unconsciousness. Ca])tain de 
Joncourt, on hearing my wish, at once returned 
to the quarry, and, with the greatest difficulty, 
persuaded my friend to rise and endeavor to 
walk, which at last he did attempt, calling him to 
bear witness that it perhaps was the or^ly case on 
record where a man with a bullet in his brain 
had made such an exertion. 

With a view to my comfort and quiet, they got 
him into d'Haulpenne's cab; and having under- 
taken to send Dupuytren to me immediately on 
my reaching Paris, took their leave, and Trevan- 
ion and I set out homeward. 

Not all my exhaustion and debility — nor even 
the acute pain I was suffering, could prevent my 
laughing at O'Leary's adventure ; and it required 
all Trevanion's prudence to prevent my indulging 
too far in my recollection of it. 

When we reached Meurice's, I found Dupuy- 
tren in waiting, who immediately pronounced tlie 
main artery of the limb as wounded ; and almost 
as instantaneously proceeded to pass a ligature 
round it. This painful business being concluded, 
I was placed upon a sofa, and being plentifully 
supplied with lemonade, and enjoined to keep 
quiet, left to my own meditations, such as they 
were, till evening — Trevanion having taken upon 
him to apologize for our absence at Mrs. Bing- 
ham's dejctiner, and O'Leary being fast asleep in 
his own apartment. 



CHAPTER XXXVL 

EARLY RECOLLECTIONS — A FIRST LOVE. 

I KNOW of no sensations so very nearly alike, 
as those felt on awaking after very sudden and 
profuse loss of blood, and tliose resulting from a 
large dose of opium. The dizziness, the confu- 
sion, and the abstraction at first, gradually yield- 
ing, as the senses become clearer, to a vague and 
indistinct consciousness ; then, the strange misti- 
ness, in which fact and fiction are wrapped up — 
the confounding of persons, and places, and 
times, not so as to embarrass and annoy — for the 
very debility you feel subdues all irritation — but 
rather to present a panoramic picture of odd and 
incongruous events more pleasing than otherwise. 

Of the circumstances by which I was thus 



HARRY LORREQUER, 



145 



brought to a sick couch, I had not even the most 
vague recollection — the faces and the dress of all 
those I had lately seen were vividly before me ; 
but how, and for what purpose, I knew not. 
Something in their kindness and attention had 
left an agreeable impression upon my mind, and 
without being able, or even attempting to trace it, I 
felt happy in the thought. While thus the " hour 
before" was dim and indistinct, the events of 
years past were vividly and brightly pictured be- 
fore me ; and strange, too, the more remote the 
period, the more did it seem palpable and i)resent 
to my imagination. For so it is, there is in mem- 
ory a species of mental long-sightedness, which, 
though blind to the object close beside you, can 
reach the blue mountains and the starry skies, 
which lie full many a league away. Is this a 
maladv? or is it rather a providential gift to alle- 
viate the tedious liours of the sick-bed, and cheer 
the lonely sufferer, whose thoughts are his only 
realm? 

My school-boy days, in all their holiday ex- 
citement; the bank where I had culled the earliest 
cowslips of the year; the clear but rapid stream, 
vvfhere days long I have watched the speckled 
trout, as they swam peacefully beneath, or shook 
their bright fins in the gay sunshine; the gorge- 
ous dragon-fly that played above the water, and 
dipped his bright wings in its ripple — they were 
all before me. And then came the thought of 
school itself, with its little world of boyish cares 
and emulations ; the early imbibed passion for 
success; the ardent longing for superiority; the 
high and swelling feeling of the heart, as home 
drew near, to think that I had gained the wished- 
for prize — the object of many an hour's toil — the 
thought of many a long night's dream; my father's 
smile; my mother's kiss! Oh! what a very 
world of tender memory that one thought sug- 
gests; for what are all our later successes in life 
— how bright soever our fortune be— compared 
with the early triumphs of our infancy? Where, 
among the jealous rivalry of some, the cold and 
half-wrung praise of others, the selfish and un- 
sympathizing regard of all, shall we find anything 
to repay us for the swelling ecstasy of our young 
hearts, as those who have cradled and loved us 
grow proud in our successes? For myself, a life 
that has failed in every prestige of those that 
])rophesied favorably, years that have followed on 
each other only to blight the promise that kiiid 
and well-wishing friends foretold, leave but little 
to dwell upon, that can be reckoned as success. 
And yet, some moments I have had, which half 
seemed to realize my early dream of ambition, 
and rouse my spirit within me ; but what were 
they all compared to my boyish glories? what 
the passing excitement one's own heart inspires 
in its lonely and selfish solitude, when compared 
with that little world of sympathy and love our 
early home teemed with, as, proud in some 
trifling distinction, we fell into a mother's arms, 
and heard our father's "God bless you, boy!" 
No, no; the world has no requital for this. It is 
like the bright day-spring, which, as its glories 
gild the east, displays before us a whole world of 
beauty and promise — blighted hopes have not 
withered, false friendships have not scathed, 



cold, selfish interest has not yet hardened our 
hearts, or dried up our affections, and we are in- 
deed happy ; but equally like the burst of morn- 
ing is it fleeting and short-lived ; and equally so, 
too, does it pass away, never, never to return. 

From thoughts like these my mind wandered 
on to more advanced years, when, emerging from 
very boyhood, I half believed myself a man, and 
was fully convinced I was in love. 

Perhaps, after 'all, for the time it lasted — ten 
days, I think — it was the most sincere passion I 
ever felt. I had been spending some weeks at a 
small watering-place in Wales with some relatives 
of my mother. There were, as might be supposed, 
but few ''^distractions" in such a place, save the scen- 
ery, and an occasional day's fishing in the little river 
of Dolgelly, which ran near. In all these little 
rambles which the younger portion of the family 
made together, frequent mention was ever being 
made of a visit from a very dear cousin, and to 
which all looked forward with the greatest eager- 
ness — the elder ones of the party with a certain 
air of quiet pleasure, as though they knew more 
than they said, and the younger with all the child- 
ish exuberance of youthful delight. Clara Mour- 
tray seemed to be, from all I was hourly hearing, 
the very paragon and pattern of everything. If 
any one was praised for beauty, Clara was imme- 
diately pronounced much prettier — did any one 
sing, Clara's voice and taste were far superior. 
In our homeward walk, should the shadows of the 
dark hills fall with a picturesque effect upon the 
blue lake, some one was sure to say, "Oh! how 
Clara would like to sketch that." In short there 
was no charm nor accomplishment ever the gift 
of woman, that Clara did not possess; or, what 
amounted pretty much to the same thing, that my 
relatives did not implicitly give her credit for. 
The constantly recurring praises of the same per- 
son affect us always differently as we go on in life. 
In youth the prevailing sentiment is an ardent 
desire to see the prodigy of whom we have heard so 
much— in after years, heartily to detest what hourly 
hurts our self-love by comparisons. We would 
take any steps to avoid meeting what we have in- 
wardly decreed to be a " bore." The former was 
my course; and though my curiosity was certainly 
very great, I had made up my mind to as great a 
disappointment, and half wished for the long ex- 
pected arrival as a means of criticizing what they 
could see no fault in. 

The wished-for evening at length came, and we 
all set out upon a walk to meet the carriage which 
was to bring the long wished-for Clara among 
us. We had not walked above a mile when 
the eager eye of the foremost detected a cloud of 
dust upon the road at some distance; and, after a 
few minutes more, four posters were seen coming 
along at a tremendous rate. The next moment 
she was making the tour of about a dozen uncles, 
aunts, cousins, and cousines, none of whom, it ap- 
peared to me, felt any peculiar desire to surren- 
der the hearty embrace to the next of kin in suc- 
cession. At last she came to me, when, perhaps, 
in the confusion of the moment, not exactly ■- 
membering whether or not she had seen m 
fore, she stood for a moment silent — a de^ 
mantling her lovely cheek — masses 



146 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



brown hair disordered and floating upon her shoul- 
ders — her large and liquid blue eyes beaming upon 
me. One look was enough. I was deeply — irre- 
trievably in love. 

" Our cousin Harry — Harry Lorrequer — wild 
Harry, as we used to call him, Clara," said one of 
the girls, introducing me. 

She held out her hand, and said something, with 
a smile. What, I know not — nor can I tell how 
I replied; but something absurd it must have 
been, for they all laughed heartily, and the 
worthy papa himself tapped my shoulder jestingly, 
adding, — 

" Never mind, Harry — you will do better one 
day, or I am much mistaken in you." 

VVliether I was conscious that I had behaved 
foolishly or not, I cannot well say; but the whole 
of that night I thought over plans innumerable 
how I should succeed in putting myself forward 
before "Cousin Clara," and vindicating myself 
against any imputation of schoolboy mannerism 
that my first appearance might have caused. 

The next day we remained at home. Clara 
was too much fatigued to walk out, and none of 
us would leave her. What a day of happiness 
that was! 1 knew something of music, and 
could sing a second. Clara was delighted at this, 
for the others had not cultivated singing much. 
We therefore spent part of the morning in this 
way. Then, she produced her sketch-book, and 
I brought out mine, and we had a mutual inter- 
change of prisoners. What cutting out of leaves, 
and detaching of rice-paper landscapes! Then, 
she came out upon the lawn to see my pony 
leap, and promised to ride him the following 
day. She patted the greyhounds, and said Gipsy, 
which was mine, was the prettiest. In a word, 
before night fell, Clara had won my heart in its 
every fibre, and I went to my room the very 
happiest of mortals. 

I need not chronicle my ne.xt three days — to 
me the most glorious trois jours of my life. 
Clara had evidently singled me out, and preferred 
me to all the rest. It was beside ine she rode — 
upon my arm she leaned in walking — and, to fill 
me with delight unutterable, I overheard her say 
to my uncle, "Oh! I doat upon dear Harry! And 
it is so pleasant, for I'm sure Mortimer will be 
so jealous." 

"And who is Mortimer?" thought I; "he is a 
new character in the piece, of whom we have 
seen nothing." 

I was not long in doubt upon this head, for 
that very day, at dinner, the identical Mortimer 
presented himself. He was a fine, dashing-look- 
ing, soldier-like fellow, of about thirty-five, with 
a heavy moustache, and a bronzed cheek — rather 
grave in his manner, but still perfectly good- 
natured, and when he smiled showing a handsome 
set of regular teeth. Clara seemed less pleased 
(I thought) at his coming than the others, and 
took pleasure in tormenting him by a thousand 
pettish and frivolous ways, which I was sorry for, 
as I thought he did not like it; and used to look 
half chidingly at her from time to time, but with- 
out any effect, for she just went on as before, and 
generally ended by taking my arm and saying, 
" Come away, Harry; you always are kind, and 



never look sulky. I can agree with iw/." These 
were delightful words for me to listen to, but I could 
not hear them without feeling for liim,who evidently 
was pained by Clara's avowed preference for me; 
and whose years — for I thought thirty-five at that 
time a little verging upon the patriarchal — en- 
titled him to more respect. 

" Well," thought I, one evening, as this game 
liad been carried rather farther than usual, 
"I hope she is content now, for certainly 
Mortimer is jealous;" and the result proved it, 
for the whole of the following day he absented 
himself, and never came back till late in thp 
evening. He had been, I found, from a chance 
observation I overheard, at the bishop's palace, 
and the bishop himself, I learned, was to break- 
fast with us in the morning. 

Harry, I have a commission for you," said 
Clara. " You must get up very early to-morrow, 
and climb the Cader mountain, and get me a 
grand bouquet of the blue and purj)le heath that 
I liked so much the last time I was there. Mind, 
very early, for I intend to surprise the bishop to- 
morrow with my taste in a nosegay. 

The sun had scarcely risen as I sprang from 
my bed, and started upon my errand. Oh! the 
glorious beauty of that morning's walk. As I 
climbed the mountain, the deep mists lay upon 
all around, and except the path I was treading, 
notliing was visible; but before I reached the 
top, the heavy masses of vapor were yielding to 
the influence of the sun; and as they rolled from 
the valleys up the mountain sides, were every in- 
stant opening new glens and ravines beneath 
me — bright in all their verdure, and sjieckled with 
sheep, whose tinkling bells reached me e\ en where 
1 stood. 

I counted above twenty lakes at different 
levels, below me ; some, brilliant, and shining like 
polished mirrors ; others, not less beautiful, dark 
and solemn with some mighty mountain shadow. 
As I looked landward, the mountains reared their 
huge crests, one above the other, to the farthest 
any eye could reach. Towards the opposite side, 
the calm and tranquil sea lay beneath me, bathed 
in the yellow gold of a rising sun ; a few ships 
were lying at anchor in the bay ; and the on-ly 
thing in motion was a row-boat, the heavy mo- 
notonous stroke of whose oars rose in the stillness 
of the morning air. Not a sinsle habitation of 
man could I descry, nor any vestige of a human 
being, except that mass of something upon a rock 
far down beneath were one, and I think it must 
have been, for I saw a siieep-dog ever returning 
again and again to the same spot. 

My bouquet was gathered; the gentian of the 
Alps, which is found here, also contributing its 
evidence to show "where I had been to seek it, and 
I turned home. 

The family were at breakfast as I entered ; at 
least so the servants said, for I only remembered 
then that the bishop was our guest, and that I 
could not present myself without some slight at- 
tention to my dress. I hastened to my room, 
and scarcely had I finished, when one of my 
cousins, a little girl of eight years, came to the 
door and said, — 

" Harry, come down, Clara wants you." 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



147 



I rushed down-stairs, and as I entered the break- 
fast-parlor, stood still with surprise. The ladies 
were all dressed in white, and even my little 
cousin wore a gala costume that almost amazed 
me. 

"My bouquet, Harry; I hope you have not 
forgotten it," said Clara, as I approached. 

I presented it at once, when she gaily and co- 
quettishly held out her hand for me to kiss. This 
I did, my blood rushing to my face and temples 
the while, and almost depriving me of conscious- 
ness. 

" Well, Clara, I am surprised at you," said 
Mortimer. "How can you treat the poor boy so?" 

I grew deadly pale at these words, and turning 
round, looked at the speaker full in the face_. 
"Poor fellow," thought I, "he is jealous, and I 
am really grieved for him;" and turned again to 
Clara. 

" Here it is — oh; how handsome, papa," said 
one of the younger children, running eagerly to 
the window, as a very pretty 0])en carriage with 
four horses drew up before the house. 

"The bishop has taste," I murmured to myself, 
scarcely deigning to give a second look at the 
equipage. 

Clara now left the room, but speedily returned 
• — her dress changed, and shawled as if for a walk. 
What could all this mean? — and the whispering, 
too, what is all that? — and why are they all so 
sad? — Clara has been weeping. 

" God bless you, my child — good-bye," said 
my aunt, as she folded her in her arms for the 
third time. 

" Good-bye, good-bye," I heard on every 
side. At length, approaching me, Clara took my 
hand and said, — 

" My poor Harry, so we are going to part. I 
am going to Italy." 

"To Italy, Clara? Oh, no— say no. Italy! I 
shall never see you again." 

" Won't you wear this ring for me, Harry ? It 
is an old favorite of yours — and when we meet 
again " 

"Oh! dearest Clara," I said, "do not speak 
thus." 

" Good-bye, my poor boy, good-bye," said 
Clara, hurriedly; and rushing out of the room, 
she was lifted by Mortimer into the carriage, who 
immediately jumping in after her, the whip 
cracked, the horses clattered, and all was out of 
sight in a second. 

"Why is she gone with him?" said I, reproach- 
fully, turning towards my aunt. 

"Why, my dear, a very sufficient reason. She 
was married this morning." 

This was my first love! 



CHAPTER XXXVII. 



WISE RESOLVES. 



Musing over this boyish adventure, I fell into 
a deep slumber, and on awakening it took me 
some minutes before I could recall my senses 



sufficiently to know where I was. The whole face 
of things in my room was completely changed. 
Flowers had been put in the china vases upon the 
tables — two handsome lamps, shaded with gauzes, 
stood upon the consoles — illustrated books, prints, 
and caricatures, were scattered about. A piano- 
forte had, also, by some witchcraft, insinuated it- 
self into a recess near the sofa — a handsome little 
tea-service, of old Dresden china, graced a small 
marqueterie table — and a little piquet tnble stood 
most invitingly beside the fire. I had sc;ircely 
time to turn my eyes from one to the other of these 
new occupants when I heard the handle of my 
door gently turn, as if by some cautious hand, 
and immediately closed my eyes and feigned 
sleep. 'J'hrough my half-shut lids I perceived the 
door opened. After a pause of about a second, 
the skirt of a white muslin dress appeared — then 
a pretty foot stole a little farther — and at last the 
slight and graceful figure of Emily Bingham ad- 
vanced noiselessly into the room. Fear had ren- 
dered her deadly pale; but the effect of her rich 
brown hair, braided jjlainly on either side of her 
cheek, suited so well the character of her features, 
I thought her far handsomer than ever. She came 
forwardtowards the table, and I now could perceive 
that she had something in her hand resembling 
a letter. This she placed near my hand — so near 
as almost to touch it. She leaned over me — I 
felt her breath upon rny brow, but never moved. 
At this instant, a tress of her hair, becoming un- 
fastened, fell over upon my face. She started — 
the motion threw me off my guard, and I looked 
up. She gave a faint, scarcely audible shriek, and 
shrank into the chair beside me. Recovering, 
however, upon the instant, she grasptd the letter 
she had just laid down, and having crushed it 
between her fingers, threw it into the fire. This 
done — as if the effort had been too much for her 
strength — she again fell back upon her seat, and 
looked so pale I almost thought she had fainted. 

Before I had time to speak, she rose once more; 
and now her face was bathed in blushes, her eyes 
swam with rising tears, and her lips trembled 
with emotion as she spoke. 

" Oh, Mr. Lorrequer, what will you — what can 

you think of this? If you but knew " and 

here she faltered and again grew pale, while I, 
with difficulty rising from the sofa, took her hand, 
and led her to the chair beside it. 

"And may I not know?" said I; "may I not 
know, my dear" — I am not sure I did not say 
dearest — " Miss Bingham, when, perhaps, the 
knowledge might make me the happiest of 
mortals?" 

This was a pretty plunge as a sequel to my late 
resolutions. She hid her face between her hands, 
and sobbed for some seconds. 

"At least," said I, "as that letter was destined 
for me but a few moments since, I trust that you 
will let me know its contents." 

" Oh, no — not now!" said she, entreatingly; and. 
rising at the same time, she turned to leave the 
room. I still held her hand, and pressed it withir 
mine. I thought she returned the pressure. I 
leaned forward to catch her eye, when the dooi 
was opened hastily, and a most extraordinarj 
figure presented itself. 



148 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



It was a short, fat man, with a pair of enor- 
mous mustachios, of a fiery red; huge bushy 
whiskers of the same color; a blue frock covered 
with braiding, and decorated with several crosses 
and ribbons; tight pantaloons and Hessian boots, 
with long brass spurs. He held a large gold- 
headed cane in his hand, and looked about witli 
an expression of very equivocal drollery, mingled 
with fear. 

" May I ask, sir," said I, as this individual 
closed the door behind him, " may I ask the 
reason for this intrusion?" 

"Oh, upon my conscience, I'll do — I'm sure to 
pass muster, now," said the well-known voice of 
Mr. O'Leary, whose pleasant features began to 
dilate amid the forest of red hair he was disguised 
in. " But I see you are engaged," said he, with 
a sly look at Miss Bingham, whom he had not 
yet recognized; "so I must contrive to hide my- 
self elsewliere, I suppose." 

" It is Miss Binghaui," said I, "who has been 
kind enough to come herewith her maid, to bring 
me some flowers. Pray present my compliments 
to Mrs. Bingham, and say how deeply I feel her 
kind attention." 

Emily rose at the instant, and recovering her 
self-possession at once, said, — 

"You forget, Mr. Lorrequer, it is a secret from 
whom the flowers came ; at least mamma hoped 
to place them in your vases without your know- 
ing. So pray don't speak of it — and I'm sure 
Mr. O'Leary will not tell." 

If Mr. O'Leary heard one word of this artful 
speech I know not, but he certainly paid no at- 
tention to it, nor to the speaker, who left the room 
without his appearing aware of it. 

" Now that she is gone — for which Heaven be 
praised," said I to myself — "let me see what this 
fellow can mean." 

As I turned from the door, I could scarcely 
avoid laughing aloud at the figure before me. He 
stood opposite a large mirror, his hat on one side 
of his head, one arm in his breast, and the other 
extended, leaning upon his stick ; a look of as 
much ferocity as such features could accomplish 
had been assumed, and his whole attitude was a 
kind of caricature of a melo-dratnatic hero in a 
German drama. 

"Why, O'Leary, what is all this?" 

" Hush, hush," said he, in a terrified whisper — 
"never mention that name again, till we are over 
the frontier." 

" But, man, explain — what do you mean?" 

"Can't you guess?" said he, dryly. 

"Impossible; unless the affair at the sah!7,\\s.% 
induced you to take this disguise, I cannot con- 
ceive the reason." 

"Nothing further from it, my dear friend; 
much worse than that." 

" Out with it, then, at once." 

"She's come — she's here — in this very house — 
No. 29, above the entresol J" 

"Who is here, in No. 29, above the entresol?" 

"Wlio, but Mrs. O'Leary herself. I was near 
saying, 'Bad luck to her.' " 

" And does she know you are here?" 

"That is what I can't exactly say," said he, 
" but she has had the Livre dcs Voyageurs brought 



up to her room, and has been making rather un- 
pleasant inquiries for the pro[)rietor of certain 
hieroglyphics beginning with O, which have given 
me great alarm — the more, as all the waiters have 
been sent for in turn, and subjected to long ex- 
amination by her. So I have lost no time, but, 
under the auspices of your friend Trevanion, have 
become the fascinating figure you find me, and 
am now Count O'Linski, a Pole of noble family, 
banished by the Russian government, with a father 
in Siberia, and all that ; and I hope, by the end 
of the week, to be able to cheat at c'carte', and de- 
ceive the very police itself." 

The idea of O'Leary's assuming such a meta- 
morphosis was too absurd not to throw me into a 
hearty fit of laugliing, in which the worthy e'tnigre 
indulged also. 

"But why not leave this at once," said I, "if 
you are so much in dread of recognition?" 

"You forget the trial," added O'Leary. "I 
must be here on the 18th, or all my bail is for- 
feited." 

" True — I have forgotten that. Well, now, your 
plans?" 

" Simply to keep very quiet here till the affair 
of the tribunal is over, and then quit France at 
once. Meanwhile, Trevanion thinks that we may, 
by a bold stratagem, send Mrs. O'Leary off on a 
wrong scent, and has requested Mrs. Bingham 
to contrive to make her acquaintance, and ask 
her to tea in her room, when she will see me, 
en Polonais, at a distance, you know — hear some- 
thing of my melancholy destiny from Trevanion 
— and leave the hotel quite sure she has no 
claim on me. Meanwhile, some others of the 
party are to mention incidentally having met 
Mr. O'Leary somewhere, or heard of his decease, 
or any pleasant little incident that may occur to 
them." 

" 'l"he plan is excellent," said I, "for in all 
probability she may never come in your way again, 
if sent off on a good errand this time." 

"That's what I'm thinking," said O'Leary; 
"and I am greatly disposed to let her hear that 
I'm with Belzoni in Egypt, with an engagement 
to spend the Christmas with the Dey of Algiers. 
That would give her a very pretty tour for the 
remainder of the year, and show her the Pyramids. 
But, tell me fairly, am I a good Pole?" 

" Rather short," said I, " and a little too fat, 
perhaps." 

" That comes from the dash of the Tartar blood, 
nothing more; and my inother was a Fin," said 
he, "she'll never ask whether from the Blackwater 
or the Baltic. How I revel in the thought that 
I may smoke in company without a breach of the 
unities. But I must go : there is a gentleman 
with a quinsy in No. 8, that gives me a lesson in 
Polish this morning. So good-bye, and don't for- 
get to be well enough to-night, for you must be 
present at my debut." 

O'Leary had scarcely gone, when my thoughts 
reverted to Emily Bingham. I was not such a 
coxcomb as to fancy her in love with me; yet 
certainly there was something in the affair which 
looked not unlike it; and though, by such a cir- 
cumstance, every embarrassment which pressed 
upon me had become infinitely greater, I could 



HARRY LORREQUER. 



149 



not dissemble from myself a sense of pleasurt at 
the thought. She was really a very pretty girl, 
and improved vastly upon acquaintance. Les 
absents out toujours tort is the truet.t proverb in 
any language, and I felt it, in its fullest force, 
when Trevanion entered my room. 

"Well, Lorrequer," said he, " vour time is not 
likely to liang iieavily on your hands in Paris, if 
occu])ation will pre\'ent it, for I find you are just 
now booked for a new scrape." 

"What can you mean?" said I, starting up. 

" Why, O'Leary, who has been, since your 
illness, the constant visitor at the Binghams — 
dining there every day, and spending his even- 
ings — has just told me that the mamma is only 
waiting for the arrival of Sir Guy Lorrequer in 
Paris to open the trenches in all form; and from 
what she has heard of Sir Guy, she deems it 
most likely he will give her every aid and sup- 
port to making you the husband 'of the fair 
Emil)". " 

"And with good reason, too," said I; "for if 
my uncle were only given to understand that I 
had once gone far in my attentions, nothing would 
induce him to break off the match. He was 
crossed in love himself when young, and has 
made a score of people miserable since, in the 
benevolent idea of marrying them against every 
obstacle." 

" How very smart you have become," said Tre- 
vanion, taking a look around my room, and sur- 
veying in turn each of the new occupants; "you 
must certainly reckon upon seeing your fair friend 
here, or all this elegance is sadly wasted." 

This was the time to explain all aliout Miss 
Bingham's visit; and I did so, of course omitting 
any details which might seem to me needless, or 
involving myself in inconsistency. 

Trevanion listened patiently to the end — was 
silent for some moments — then added: 

" And you never saw the letter?" 

" Of course not. It was burned before my 
eyes." 

"I think the affair looks very serious, Lorre- 
quer. You have won this girl's affections. It 
matters little whether the mamma be a hackneyed 
match-maker, or the cousin a bullying duellist. 
If the girl have a heart, and that you have gained 
it " 

" Then I must marry, you would sav?" 

" Exactly so — without the prompting of your 
worthy uncle; I see no other course open to you 
without dishonor. My advice, therefore, is, ascer- 
tain — and that speedily — how far your attentions 
have been attended with the success you dread — 
and then decide at once. Are you able to get as 
far as Mrs. Bingham's room this morning? If so, 
come along. I shall take all the /raw of la chl'ie 
mamma off your hands, while yon talk to the 
.daughter; and half an hour's courage and resolu- 
cion will do it all." 

Having made the most effective toilet my means 
would permit, my right arm in a sling, and my 
step trembling from weakness, I sallied forth with 
Trevanion to make love with as many fears for 
the result as the most bashful admirer ever expe- 
rienced, when pressing his suit upon some haughty 
belle — but for a far different reason. 



CHAPTER XXXVIIL 



THE PROPOSAL. 



On reaching Mrs. Bingham's apartment, v/e 
found that she had just left home to wait upon 
Mrs. O'Leary, and consequently, that Miss 
Bingham was alone. Trevanion, therefore, hav- 
ing wished me a safe deliverance through my try- 
ing mission, shook my hand warmly, and departed. 

I stood for some minutes irresolutely, with my 
hand upon the lock of the door. To think that 
the next few moments may decide the fortune of 
one's after-life is a sufficiently anxious thought; 
but that your fate may be so decided, by com- 
pelling you to finish in sorrow what you have 
begun in folly, is still more insupportable. Such, 
then, was my condition. I had resolved within 
myself, if the result of this meeting should prove 
that I had won Miss Bingham's affections, to pro- 
pose for her at once in all form, and make her my 
wife. If, on the other hand, I only found that 
she too had amused herself with a little passing 
flirtation, why, then, I was a free man once more: 
but, on catechizing myself a little closer, I dis- 
covered that I was not indisposed to make love 
de nn'o. 

With the speed of lightning, my mind ran over 
every passage of our acquaintance — our first meet- 
ing — our solitary walks — our daily, hourly associa- 
tions — our travelling intimacy — the adventure at 
Chantraine; there was, it is true, nothing in all 
this which could establish the fact of wooing, 
but everything which should convince an old of- 
fender like myself that the young lady was 
en prise, and that I myself — despite my really 
strong attachment elsewhere — was not entirely 
scathless. 

" Yes," said I, half aloud, as I once more re- 
viewed the past, " it is but another chapter in my 
history in keeping with all the rest — o>ie step has 
ever led me to a second, and so on to a third; 
what with other men have passed for mere trifles, 
have ever with me become serious difficulties, and 
the false enthusiasm with which I ever follow any 
object in life, blinds me for the time, and mistak- 
ing zeal for inclination, I never feel how little my 
heart is interested in success, till the fever of 
pursuit is over." 

These were pleasnnt thoughts Tor one about to 
throw nimself at a pretty girl's feet, and pour out 
his "soul of love liefore her;" but that with me 
was the least part of it. Curran, they say, usu- 
ually picked up his facts in a case frtini the op- 
posite counsel's statements. I always relied for my 
conduct in carrying on anything to the chance cir- 
cumstances of the moment, an-d trusted to my 
animal spirits to give me an interest in whatever, 
for the time being, engaged me. 

I opened the door. Miss Bingham -was sitting 
at a table, her head leaning upon her hands — 
some open letters which lay before her evidently 
so occu])ying her attention that my approach was 
unheard. On my addressing her, she turned round 
suddenly, and became at first deep scarlet, then 
pale as death, while, turning to the table, she 
hurriedly threw her letters into a drawer, and mo- 
tioned me to a place beside her. 



150 



HARRY LORREQUER. 



After the first brief and commonplace inquiry 
for my health, and hopes for my speedy recovery, 
she became silent: and I too, primed with topics 
innumerable to discuss — knowing how short my 
time might prove before Mrs. Bingham's return — 
could not say a word. 

"I hope, Mr. Lorrequer," said she, at length, 
" that you have incurred no risk by leaving your 
room so early." 

" I have not," I replied; "but even were there 
a certainty of it, the anxiety I labored under 
to see and speak with you alone, would have over- 
come all fears on that account. Since this unfortu- 
nate business has confined me to my chamber, 
I have done nothingbut think over circumstances 
which have at length so entirely taken possession 
of me, that I must, at any sacrifice, have sought 
an opportunity to explaui to you" — here Emilv 
looked down, and I continued — '" I need scarcely 
say what my feelings must long since have be- 
trayed, that to have enjoyed the daily happiness 
of living in your society, of estimating your worth, 
of feeling your fascinations, were not the means 
most in request for him, who knew, too well, 
how little he deserved, eitlier by fortune or de- 
sert, to hope to make you his; and yet, how little 
lias prudence or caution to do with situations 
like this." She did not guess the animus of 
this speech. "I felt all I have described; 
and yet, I lingered on, prizing too dearly the 
happiness of the present hour, to risk it by any 
avowal of sentiments, which might have banished 
me from your, presence forever. If the alterna- 
tion of these hopes and fears has proved too 
strong for my reason at last, I cannot help it; 
and this it is which novv leads me to make this 
avowal to you." Emily turned her head away 
from me; but her agitated manner showed how 
deeply my words had affected her; and I too, 
now that I had finished, felt that I had been 
"coming it rather strong" — though perhaps not 
very intelligibly. 

'■ I had hoped, Mr. Lorrequer," said she, at 
length — " I had hoped, I confess, to have had 
an opportunity of speaking with you." — Then, 
thought I, the game is over, and Bishop Lus- 
combe is richer by ten pounds than I wish him. 
— "Something, I know not what, in your man- 
ner, led me to suspect that your affections might 
lean towards me; hints you have dropped, and, 
now and then, your chance allusions strengthened 
the belief, and I determined, at length, that no 
feeling of maidenly shame on my part should en- 
danger the happiness of either of us, and I re- 
solved to see you; this was so difficult, that I 
wrote a letter, and that letter, which might liave 
saved me all distressing explanation, I burned 
before you this morning." 

"But why, dearest girl," — here was a plunge 
— "why, if the letter could remove any miscon- 
struction, or could be the means of dispelling any 
doubt — why not have let me see it?" 

" Hear me out," cried she, eagerly, and evi- 
dently not heeding my interruption; "I deter- 
mined, if your affections were indeed " A 

flood of tears here broke forth, and drowned her 
words; her head sank between her hands, and 
she sobbed bitterly. 



" Corpo di Baccho!" said I, to myself, " it is 
all over with me; the poor girl is evidently jeal- 
ous, and her heart will break." 

" Dearest, dearest Emily," said I, passing my 
arm round her, and approaching my head close 
to hers, " if you think that any other love than 
yours could ever beat within this heart — that I 
could see you hourly before me — live beneath 
your smile, and gaze upon your beaut) — and, 
still more than all— pardon the boldness of the 
thought — feel that I was not indifferent to 
you- 



" Oh! spare me this at least," said she, turning 
round her tearful eyes upon me, and looking most 
bewitchingly beautiful. "Have I then shown you 
this plainly?" 

" Yes, dearest girl ! That instinct which tells 
us we are lovtd has spoken within me. And 
here in this beating heart " 

" Oh! say no more," said she; "if I have in- 
deed, gained your affection: " 

"7/ — ;/ you have," said 1, clasping her to my 
heart, while she continued to sob still violently, 
and I felt half disposed to blow my brains out 
for my success. However, there is something in 
love-making, as in fox-hunting, which carries you 
along in spite of yourself; and I continued to 
pour forth whole rhapsodies of love that the 
Pastor Fido could not equal. 

" Enough," said sl.t — "it is enough that you 
love me, and that I have encouraged your so do- 
ing. But, oh! tell me once more, and think how 
much of future happiness may rest upon your 
answer — tell me, may not this be seme passing 
attachment, which circumstances have created, 
and others may dispel ? Say, might not absence, 
time, or another more worthy " 

This was certainly a very rigid cross-examina- 
tion when ] thought the trial was over! and, not 
being exactly piepared for it, I felt no other 
mode of reply than pressing her taper fingers 
alternately to my lips, and muttering something 
that might pass for a declaration of love unaltera- 
ble, but, to my own ears, restmbled a lament on 
my folly. 

"She is mine now," thought I, "so we must 
e'en make the best of it; and truly she is a very 
handsome girl, though not a Lady Jane Callonby. 
The next step is the mamma; but I do not antici- 
pate much difficulty in that quarter." 

" Leave me now," said she, in a low and broken 
voice; "but promise not to speak of this meeting 
to any one before we meet again. I have my 
reasons; believe me, they are sufficient ones, so 
promise me this before we part." 

Having readily given the pledge required, I 
again kissed her hand and lade farewell, not a 
little puzzled the whole time at perceiving that 
ever since my declaration ard acceptance Emily 
seemed anything but hap])y, and evidently strug- 
gling against some secret feeling of which ] knew 
nothing. "Yes," thought I, as I wended my way 
along the corridor, " the poor little girl is tremend- 
ously jealous, and I must have said many a thing 
during our intimacy to hurt her. However, that 
is all past and gone; and now comes a new char- 
acter for me; my next appearance will be in the 
part of the 'happy husband.' " 



HARRY LORREQUER. 



151 



CHAPTER XXXIX. 

THOUGHTS UPON MATRIMONY IN GENERAL, AND 

IN THE ARMY IN PARTICULAR THE KNIGHT OF 

KERRY AND BILLY m'CABE. 

"So," thought I, as I closed the door of my 
room beliind me, " I am accepted — the die is 
cast which makes me a Benedict; yet Heaven 
knows that never was a man less disposed to be 
over-joyous at his good fortune!" What a happy 
invention it were, if when adopting any road in 
life, we could only manage to forget that we had 
ever contemplated any other! It is the eternal 
looking back in this world that forms the staple 
of all our misery; and we are but ill-requited for 
such unhappiness by the brightest anticipations 
we can conjure up for the future. How much of 
all that '■ past" was now to become a source of 
painful recollection, and to how little of the 
future could I look forward with even hope! 

Our weaknesses are much more constantly the 
spring of all our annoyances and troubles than 
even our vices. The one we hold in some sort 
of subjection; we are perfectly slaves to the 
others. This thought came home most forcibly 
to my bosom, as I reflected upon the step which 
led me on impercejjtibly to my present embarrass- 
ment. " VVell, c'fsi fiiii, now," said I, drawing 
upon that bountiful source of consolation ever 
open to the man who mars his fortune — that 
"what is past can't be amended;" which piece of 
philosophy, as well as its twin brother, that " all 
will be the same a hundred years hence," have 
been golden rules to me from my childhood. 

The transition from one mode of life to 
another perfectly different has ever seemed to 
me a great trial of a man's moral courage; be- 
sides that, the fact of quitting forever anything, 
no matter how insignificant or valueless, is always 
attended with painful misgivings. My bachelor 
life had its share of annoyances and disappoint- 
ments, it is true; but upon the whole, it was a 
most happy one—and now I was about to surrender 
it forever, not yielding to the impulse of affection 
and love for one without whom life were value- 
less to me, but merely a recompense for the in- 
dulgence of that fatal habit I had contracted of 
pursuing with eagerness everv shadow that 
crossed mv path. All my early friends — all my 
vagrant fancies — all my day-dreams of the future 
I was now to surrender — for, what becomes of 
any man's bachelor friends when he is once mar- 
ried? Where are his rambles in high and by-ways 
when he has a wife? and what is left for anticipa- 
tion after his wedding, except, perhaps, to speculate 
upon the arrangement of his funeral? To a 
military man, more than to any other, these are 
serious thoughts. All the fascinations of an 
army life, in war or peace, lie in the daily, hourly 
associations with your brother officers — -the 
morning cigar, the barrack-square lounge — the 
afternoon ride — the game of billiards before 
dinner — the mess (that perfection of dinner 
society) — the plans for the evening — the devilled 
kidney at twelve — forming so many points of 
departure whence you sail out upon your daily 
voyage through life. Versus these, you have 



that awful perversion of all that is natural — an 
officer's wife. She has been a beauty when young, 
had black eyes and high complexion, a good 
figure, rather inclined to «■;«/'(;///)<'////, and a certain 
springiness in her walk, and a jauntiness in her 
air, that are ever sure attractions to a sub. in a 
marching regiment. She can play backgammon, 
and sing " Di tanti palpiti," and, if an Irish- 
woman, is certain to be able to ride a steeple- 
chase, and has an uncle a lord, who {en pare n- 
t/ihe) always turns out to be a creation made by 
King James after his abdication. In conclusion, 
she breakfasts en papillotei — wears her shoes down 
at heel — calls every officer of the regiment by 
his name — has a great taste for increasing his- 
majesty's lieges, and delights in London porter. 
To this genus of vrow I have never ceased tO' 
entertain the most thrilling abhorrence; and yet 
how often have I seen what appeared to be 
pretty and interesting girls fall into something of 
this sort! and how often have I vowed any fate 
to myself rather than become the husband of a 
baggage-wagon wife! 

Had all my most sanguine hopes promised 
realizing — had my suit with Lady Jane been favor- 
able, I could scarcely have bade adieu to my 
bachelor life without a sigh. No prospect of 
future happiness can ever perfectly exclude all! 
regret at quitting our present state forever. B 
am sure if I had been a caterpillar, it would have- 
been with a heavy heart tliat I would have donnedl 
my wings as a butterfly. Now the metamorphosis' 
was reversed: need it be wondered if I were 
sad ? 

So completely was I absorbed in my thoughts' 
upon this matter, that I had not perceived the en- 
trance of O'Leary and Trevanion, who, unaware 
of my being in the apartment, as I was stretched; 
upon a sofa in a dark corner, drew their chairs-' 
towards the fire and began chatting. 

" Do you know, Mr. Trevanion," said O'Leary,, 
" I am half afraid of this disguise of mine. I 
sometimes think I am not like a Pole ; and if she- 
should discover me " 

" No fear of that in the world ; your costume- 
is perfect, your beard unexceptionable. I could, 
perhaps, have desired a little less paunch ; but 
then " 

" That comes of fretting, as Falstaff says ; and 
you must not forget that I am banished from my 
country." 

" Now, as to your conversation, I should advise 
you saying very little — not one word of English. 
You may, if you like, call in the assistance of 
Irish when hard pressed." 

" I have my fears on that score. There is no' 
knowing where that might lead to discovery.. 
You know the story of the knight of Kerry and: 
Billy M'Cabe?" 

" I fear I must confess my ignorance — I have 
never heard of it." 

" Then maybe you never knew Giles Dackson?"' 

" I have not that pleasure either." 

" Lord bless me, how strange that is! I thought 
he was better known than the Duke of Wellington, 
or the travelling piper. Well, I must tell you the 
story, for it has a moral, too — indeed, several 
morals; but you'll find that out for yourself. 



152 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



Well, it seems that one day the knight of Kerry 
was walking along the Strand in London, killing 
an hour's time, till the House was done prayers, 
and Hume tired of hearing himself speaking; his 
eye was caught by an enormous picture displayed 
upon the wall of a house, representing a human 
figure covered with long, dark hair, with huge 
nails upon his hands, and a most fearful expres- 
sion of face. At first the knigiit thought it was 
Dr. Bowring; but on coming nearer he heard a 
a man with a scarlet livery and a cocked hat call 
out, ' Walk in, ladies and gentlemen — the most 
vonderful curiosity ever exhibited — only one 
shilling — the vild man from Chippowango, in 
Africay — eats raw wiltles without being cooked, 
and many other surprising and pleasing perform- 
ances.' 

" The knight paid his money, and was ad- 
mitted. At first the crowd prevented his seeing 
anything — -for the place was full to suffocation, 
and the noise awful — for, besides the exclama- 
tions and applause of the audience, there 
were three barrel-organs, playing ' Home, sweet 
Home!' and ' Cherry Ripe,' and the wild man 
himself contributed his share to the uproar. At 
last, the knight obtained, by dint of squeezing, 
and some pushing, a place in the front, when, to 
his very great horror, he beheld a figure that far 
eclipsed the portrait without doors. 

" It was a man nearly naked, covered with 
long, shaggy hair, that grew even over his nose 
and cheek bones. He sprang about, sometimes 
on his feet, sometimes all-fours, but always utter- 
ing the most fearful yells, and glaring upon the 
crowd in a manner that was really dangerous. 
The knight did not feel exactly happy at the 
whole proceeding, and began heartily to wish 
himself back in the ' House,' even upon a com- 
mittee of privileges, when, suddenly, the savage 
gave a more frantic scream than before, and 
seized upon a morsel of raw beef, which a keeper 
extended to him upon a long fork, like a tandem 
whip — he was not safe, it appears, at close 
quarters; — this he tore to pieces eagerly, and de- 
voured in the most voracious manner, amid great 
clapping of hands, and other evidences of satis- 
faction from the audience. ' I'll go, now, thought 
the knight, 'for God knows whether, in his 
hungry moods, he might not fancy to conclude 
his dinner by a member of Parliament' Just at 
this instant, some sounds struck upon his ear that 
surprised him not a little. He listened more at- 
tentively, and conceive, if you can, his amaze- 
ment to find that, amid his most fearful cries and 
wild yells, the savage was talking Irish. Laugh 
if you like, but it's truth I am telling you — 
nothing less than Irish. There he was, jumping 
four feet high in the air, eating his raw meat, pulling 
out his hair by handfuls, and, amid all this, curs- 
ing the whole company to his heart's content, in 
as good Irish as ever was heard in Tralee., Now, 
though the knight had heard of Red Jews and 
white Negroes, he had never happened to read 
any account of an African Irishman: so he 
listened very closely, and, by degrees, not only 
the words were known to him, but the very voice 
was familiar. At length, something he heard 
left no further doubt upon his mind, and, turning 



to the savage, he addressed him in Irish, at the 
same time fixing a look of most scrutinizing im- 
port upon him. 

Who are you, you scoundrel?' said thy 
knight. 

Billy M'Cabe, your honor.' 

" 'And what do you mean by playing off these 
tricks here, instead of earning your bread like an 
honest man?' 

"'Whisht!' said Billy, 'and keep the secret. 
I'm earning the rent for your honor. One must 
do many a queer thing that pays two pound ten 
an acre for bad land.' 

"This was enough; the knight wished Billy 
every success, and left him amid the vociferous 
applause of a well-satisfied audience. This ad- 
venture, it seems, made the worthy knight a great 
friend to the introduction of poor laws; for, he 
remarks very truly, 'more of Billy's countrymen 
might take a fancy to a savage life if the secret 
was found out.' " 

It was impossible for me to preserve my incog- 
nito^ as Mr. O'Leary concluded his story, and I 
was obliged to join in the mirth of Trevanion, 
who laughed loud and long as he finished it. 



CHAPTER XL. 



A REMINISCENCE. 



O'Leary and Trevanion had scarcely left the 
room, when the waiter entered with two letters — ■ 
the one bore a German post-mark, and was in the 
well-known hand of Lady Callonby — the other 
in a writing with which I was no less familiar — 
that of Emily Bingham. 

Let any one who has been patient enough to 
follow me through these " Confessions" conceive 
my agitation at this moment. There lay my fate 
before me, coupled, in all likelihood, with a view 
of what it might have been under happier aus- 
pices — at least so in anticipation did I read the 
two unopened epistles. My late interview with 
Miss Bingham left no doubt upon my mind that 
I had secured her affections; artd acting in ac- 
cordance with the counsel of Trevanion, no less 
than my own sense of right, I resolved upon 
marrying her, with what prospect of happiness I 
dared not think of! 

Alas! and alas! there is no infatuation like the 
taste for flirtation — mere empty, valueless, heart- 
less flirtation. You hide the dice-box and the 
billiard qut-tie, lest your son become a gambler — 
you put aside the Racing Calendar, lest he imbibe 
a jockey predilection — but you never tremble at 
his fondness for white muslin and a satin slipper, 
far more dangerous tastes though they be, and 
infinitely more perilous to a man's peace and 
prosperity than all the "Queens of trumps" that 
ever figured, whether on pasteboard or the Don- 
caster! " Woman's my wakeness, yer honor," 
said an honest Patlander, on being charged be- 
fore the lord mayor with having four wives living; 
and without having any such "Algerine act" upon 
my conscience, I must, I fear, enter a somewhat 
similar plea for my downfallings, and avow in 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



1C3 



humble gratitude, that I have scarcely had a mis- 
fortune through life unattributable to them in 
one way or another. And tiiis I say without any 
reference to country, class, or complexion, " black, 
brown, or fair;" from my first step forth into life, 
a raw sub, in the gallant 4 — th, to this same hour, 
I have no other avowal, no other confession to 
make. " Be always ready with the pistol," was 
the dying advice of an Irish statesman to his 
sons; mine, in a similar circumstance, would 
rather be "Gardez-vous des femmcs," and more 
especially if they be Irish. 

There is something almost treacherous in the 
facility with which an Irish girl receives your 
early attentions and appears to like them, that in- 
variably turns a young fellow's head very long be- 
fore he has any prospect of touching )icr heart. 
She thinks it so natural to be made love to, that 
there is neither any affected coyness nor any agi- 
tated surprise. She listens to your declaration of 
love as quietly as the chief justice would to one 
of law, and refers the decision to a packed jury of 
her relatives, who rarely recommend you to 
mercy. Love and fighting, too, are so intimately 
united in Ireland, that a courtship rarely pro- 
gresses without at least one exchange of shots 
between some of the parties concerned. My first 
twenty-four hours in Dublin is so pleasantly char- 
acteristic of this, that I may as well relate it 
here, while the subject is before us ; besides, as 
these " Confessions" are intended as warnings and 
guides to youth, I may convey a useful lesson, 
showing why a man should not " make love in the 
dark." 

It was upon a raw, cold, drizzling morning in 
February, 18 — , that our regiment landed on the 
North-wall from Liverpool, whence we had been 
hurriedly ordered to repress some riots and dis- 
turbances then agitating Dublin. 

We marched to the Royal Barracks, our band 
playing " Patrick's Day," to the very considerable 
admiration of as naked a population as ever loved 
music. The — th Dragoons were at the same 
time quartered there — right pleasant, jovial fel- 
lows, who soon gave us to understand that the 
troubles were over before we arrived, and that the 
great city authorities were now returning thanks 
for their preservation from fire and sword by a 
series of entertainments of the most costly, but 
somewhat incongruous, kind — the company being 
scarcely less mixed than the dishes. Peers and 
play-actors, judges and gaolers, archbishops, tail- 
ors, attorneys, rope-makers and apothecaries, 
all uniting in the festive delight of good feeding, 
and drinking the "glorious memory" — but of 
whom halt the company knew not, only surmis- 
ing " it was something agin the Papists." You 
may smile, but these were pleasant times, and I 
scarcely care to go back there since they were 
changed. But to return. The — th had just re- 
ceived an invitation to a ball, to be given by the 
high sheriff, and to which they most considerately 
said we should also be invited. This negotiation 
was so well managed, that before noon we all re- 
ceived our cards from a green-liveried youth, 
mounted upon a very emaciated pony — the whole 
turn-out not auguring flatteringly of the high 
sheriff's taste in equipage. 



We dined with the — th, and, as customary be- 
fore going to an evening party, took the " other 
bottle" of claret that lies beyond the frontier of 
prudence. In fact, from the lieutenant-colonel 
down to the newly-joined ensign, there was not a 
face in the party that did not betray" signs of the 
times" that promised most favorably for the mirth 
of the sheriff's ball. We were so perfectly up to 
the mark, that our major, a Connemara man, said, 
as we left the mess-room, "a liqueur glass would 
spoil us." 

In this acme of our intellectual wealth, we 
started about eleven o'clock upon every species 
of conveyance that chance could press into the 
service. Of hackney-coaches there were few, but 
in jingles, noddies, and jaunting-cars, with three 
on a side and " one in the well," we mustered 
strong. Down Barrack Street we galloped, the 
mob cheering us, we laughing, and I'm afraid 
shouting a little, too — the watchmen springing 
their rattles, as if instinctively at noise, and the 
whole population up and awake, evidently enter- 
taining a high opinion of our convivial qualities. 
Our voices became gradually more decorous, how- 
ever, as we approached the more civilized quar- 
ter of the town; and with only the slight stoppage 
of the procession to pick up an occasional drop- 
per-off, as he lapsed from the seat of a jaunting- 
car, we arrived at length at our host's residence, 
somewhere in Sackville Street. 

Had our advent conferred the order of knight- 
hood upon the host, he could not have received 
us with more delight. He shook us all in turn 
by the hand, to the number of eight-and-thirty, 
and then presented us seriatim to his spouse, a 
very bejewelled lady of some forty years — who, 
what between bugles, feathers, and her turban, 
looked excessively like a Chinese pagoda upon a 
saucer. The rooms were crowded to suffocation 
— the noise awful — and the company crushing and 
elbowing rather a little more than you expect 
where the moiety are of the softer sex. However, 
we all so perfectly fell in with the habits of the 
place, that, ere half an hour, we squcezc-d, ogled, 
leered, and drank champagne like the rest of the 
corporation. 

" Devilish hot work, this," said the colonel, as 
he passed me with two rosy-cheeked, smiling 
ladies on either arm; "the mayor — that little fel- 
low in the punch-colored shorts — has very nearly 
put me /wrs de combat with strong negus; take 
care of him, I advise you." 

Tipsy as I felt myself, I was yet sufficiently 
clear to be fully alive to the drollery of the scene 
before me. Flirtations that, under other circum- 
stances, vifould demand the secrecy and solitude 
of a country green lane, or some garden bower, 
were here conducted in all the open effrontery of 
wax-lights and lustres; looks were interchanged, 
hands were squeezed, and soft things whispered, 
and smiles returned; till the intoxication of 
"punch negus" and spiced port gave way to the 
far greater one of bright looks and tender glances. 
Quadrilles and country dances — waltzing there 
was none (perhaps all for the best) — whist, back- 
gammon, loo — unlimited for uproar — sandwiches, 
and warm liquors, employed us pretty briskly till 
supper was announced, when a grand squeeze 



154 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



took place on the stairs — the population tending 
thitherward with an eagerness that a previous 
starvation of twenty-four hours could alone jus- 
tify. Among this dense mass of moving muslin, 
velvet and broadcloth, 1 found myself chaperon- 
ing an extremely tempting little damsel, with a 
pair of laughing blue eyes and dark eyelashes, 
who had been committed to my care and guid- 
ance for the passage. 

" Miss Moriarty, Mr. Lorrequer," said an old 
lady in green and spangles, who I afterwards 
found was the lady mayoress. 

" The nicest girl in the room," said a gentle- 
man with a Tipperary accent, " and has a mighty 
sweet place near Athlone." 

The hint was not lost upon me, and I speedily 
began to "make up" to my charge; and before 
we reached the supper-room, learned certain par- 
ticulars of her history, which I have not yet for- 
gotten. She was, it seems, sister to a lady then 
in the room, the wife of an attorney, who rejoiced 
in the pleasing and classical appelation of Mr. 
Mark .Anthony Fitzpatrick; the aforesaid Mark 
Anthony being a tall, raw-boned, black-whiskered, 
ill-looking dog, that from time to time contrived 
to throw very uncomfortable-looking glances at 
me and Mary Anne, for she was so named, the 
whole time of supper. After a few minutes, 
however, I totally forgot him, and, indeed, every- 
thing else, in the fascination of my fair com- 
panion. She shared her chair with me, upon 
which I supported her by my arm passed around 
the back; we ate our pickled salmon, jelly, blanc- 
mange, cold chicken, ham, and custard off the 
same plate, with an occasional squeeze of the 
finger, as our hands met — her eyes making sad 
havoc with me all the while, as I poured my tale 
of love — love, lasting, burning, all-consuming — 
into her not unwilling ear. 

"Ah! now, ye'r not in earnest?" 

" Yes, Mary Anne, by all that's " 

"Well, there now, don't swear, and take care — 
sure Mark Anthony is looking." 

"Mark Anthony be " 

" Oh! how passionate you are; I'm sure I never 
could live easy with you. There, now, give me 
some sponge-cake, and don't be squeezing me, or 
they'll see you." 

"Yes. to my heart, dearest girl." 

"Och, it's cheese you're giving me," said she, 
with a grimace that nearly cured my passion. 

"A cottage, a hut, with you — whhyou/" said I, 
in a cadence that I defy Macready to rival. 
" What is worldly splendor, or the empty glitter 
of rank?" 

I here glanced at my epaulets, upon which I 
saw her eyes riveted. 

"Isn't tiie ginger-beer beautiful!" said she, 
emptying a glass of champagne. 

Still I was not to be roused from my trance, 
and continued my courtship as warmly as ever. 

" I suppose you will come home now;" said a 
gruff voice behind Mary Anne. 

I turned and perceived Mark Anthony, with a 
grim look of peculiar import. 

" Oh, Mark, dear, I'm engaged to dance another 
set with this gentleman." 

" Ye are, are ye?" replied Mark, eyeing me 



askance. " Troth and I think the gentleman 
would be better if he went off to his flea-bag 
himself." 

In my then mystified intellect this west-coun- 
try synonym for a bed a little puzzled me. 

"Yes, sir, the lady is engaged to me; have you 
anything to say to that?" 

" Nothing at present, at all," said Mark, almost / 
timidly. / 

"Oh dear, oh dear!" sobbed Mary Anne; 
" they're going to fight, and he'll be killed — I 
know he will." 

For which of us this fate was destined, I 
stopped not to consider, but taking the lady un- 
der my arm, elbowed my way to the drawing- 
room, amid a very sufficient patting upon the 
back, and thumping between the shoulders, be- 
stowed by members of the company who ap- 
jiroved of my proceedings. The three fiddles, 
the flute, and bassoon, that formed our band, be- 
ing by this time sufficiently drunk, played after a 
fashion of their own, which, by one of those 
strange sympathies of our nature, imparted its 
influence to our legs, and a country dance was 
performed in a style of free and easy gesticula- 
tion that defies description. At the end of 
eighteen couple, tired of my exertions — and they 
were not slight — I leaned my back against the 
wall of the room, which I now, for the first time, 
perceived was covered with a very peculiar and 
novel species of hanging — no less than a kind of 
rough, green baize cloth, that moved and floated 
at every motion of the air. I paid little atten- 
tion to this, till suddenly turning my head, some- 
thing gave way behind it. I felt myself struck 
upon the back of the neck, and fell forward into 
the room, covered by a perfect avalanche of 
fenders, fire-irons, frying-pans, and copper-ket- 
tles, mingled with the lesser artillery of small 
nails, door- keys, and hold-fasts. There I lay 
amid the most vociferous mirth I ever listened 
to, under the confounded torrent of ironmongery 
that half stunned me. The laughter over, I was 
assisted to rise, and having drunk about a pint 
of vinegar, and had my face and temples washed 
in strong whisky punch — the allocation of the 
fluids being mistaken — I learned that our host, 
the high sheriff, was a celebrated tin and iron 
man, and that his ball-room was no other than 
his magazine of metals, and that to conceal the 
well-filled shelves from the gaze of his aristo- 
cratic guests, they were clothed in the manner 
related; which my unhappy head, by some mis- 
fortune, displaced, and thus brought on a calam- 
ity scarcely less afflicting to him than to myself. 
I should scarcely have stopped to mention this 
here, were it not that Mary Anne's gentle nursing 
of me in my misery went far to complete what 
her fascination had begun; and although she 
could not help laughing at the occurrence, I for- 
gave her readily for her kindness. ! 

"Remember," said I, trying to ogle through a ' 

black eye, painted by the angle of a register 
grate — " remember, Mary Anne, I am to see you 
home.' 

"Oh! dear, sir, sure I don't know how you can 
manage it " 

Here Mark Anthony's entrance cut short het 



HARRY LORREQUER. 



155 



speech, for he came to declare that some of the 
officers had taken his coach, and was, as might 
be supposed, in a towering passion. 

" If, sir," said I, with an air of the most balmy 
courtesy — " if I can be of any use in assisting 
you to see your friends home " 

"Ah I then, ye'r a nice looking article to see 
ladies liome. I wish you seen yourself this min- 
ute," said he. 

As I felt it would be no breach of the unities — 
time, place, and everything considered — to smash 
his skull, I should certainly have proceeded to do 
so, had not a look of the most imploring kind from 
Mary Anne restrained me. By this time, he had 
taken her under the arm, and w-as leading her 
away. I stood irresolute, till a glance from my 
charmer caught me; when I rallied at once, and 
followed them down-stairs. Here the scene was 
to the full as the above; the cloaking, shawling, 
shoeing, etc., of the ladies being certainly as 
mirth-moving a process as I should wish to see. 
Here were mothers trying to collect their daugh- 
ters, as a hen her chickens, and, as in that case, 
the pursuit of one usually lost all the others; 
testy papas swearing, lovers leering, as they 
twisted the boas round the fair throats of their 
sweethearts; vows of love mingling with lamen- 
tations for a lost slipper or a stray mantle. Some- 
times the candles were extinguished, and the 
melee became greater, till the order and light were 
restored together. Meanwhile, each of our fel- 
lows had secured his fair one, save myself, and I 
was exposed to no small ridicule for my want of 
tact. Nettled by this, I made a plunge to the 
corner of the room, where Mary Anne was 
shawling; I recognized her pink sash, threw her 
cloak over her shoulders, and at the very moment 
that Mark Anthony drew his wife's arm within 
his, I performed the same by my friend, and fol- 
lowed them to the door. Here the grim brother- 
in-law turned round to take Mary Anne's aim, 
and seeing her with me, merely gave a kind of 
hoarse chuckle, and muttered, "Very well, sir; 
upon my conscience, you will have it, I see." 
During this brief interval, so occupied was I in 
watching him, that I never once looked in my 
fair friend's face; but the gentle squeeze of her 
arm, as she leaned upon me, assured me that I 
had her approval of what I was doing. 

What were the precise train of my thoughts, 
and what the subjects of conversation between 
us, I am unfortunately now unable to recollect. 
It is sufficient to remember, that I could not be- 
lieve five minutes had elapsed, when we arrived 
at York street. 

"Then you confess you love me," said I, as I 
squeezed her arm to my side. " Then, by this 
kiss, I swear never to relinauish " 

What I was about to add I am sure I know 
not; but true it is that a certain smacking noise 
here attracted Mr. Mark Anthony's attention, 
who started round, looked us full in the face, 
and then gravely added, " Enough is as good as 
a feast. I wish you pleasant drames, Mr. Larry 
Kar, if that's your name; and you'll hear from 
me in the morning." 

" I intend it," said I. " Good-night, dearest; 
think of " The slam of the street door in 



my face spoiled the peroration, and I turned to- 
wards home. 

By the time I reached the barracks, the united 
effects of champagne, sherry, and Sheffield iron, 
had in a good measure subsided, and my head 
had become sufficiently clear to permit a slight 
retrospect of the evening's amusement. 

From two illusions I was at last awakened: — 
First, the high-sheriff's ball was not the most ac- 
curate representation of high society; secondly, 
I was not deeply enamored of Mary Anne Mori- 
arty. Strange as it may seem, and how little so- 
ever the apparent connection between these two 
facts, the truth of one had a considerable influ- 
ence in deciding the other. "N'importe," said 
I, "the thing is over; it was rather good fun, too, 
upon the whole — saving the c/itite des casseroles; 
and as to the lady, she must have seen it was a 
joke as well as myself. At least, so I am decided 
it shall be; and as there was no witness to our 
conversation, the thing is easily got out of." 

The following day, as I was dressing to ride 
out, my servant announced no less a person than 
Mr. Mark Anthoiiy Fitzpatrick, who said "that 
he came upon a little business, and must see me 
immediately." 

Mr. Fitzpatrick, upon being announced, speedily 
opened his negotiation by asking, in very terse 
and unequivocal phrase, my intentions regarding 
his sister-in-law. After professing the most per- 
fect astonishment at the question, and its possible 
import, I replied, that she was a most cliarming 
person, with whom I intended to have nothing 
whatever to do. 

" And maybe you never proposed for her at 
the ball last night?" 

" Propose for a lady at a ball the first time I 
ever met her!" 

" Just so. Can you carry your memory so far 
back ? or, perhaps, I had better refresh it." And 
he here repeated the whole substance of my con- 
versation on my way homeward, sometimes in 
the very words I used. 

" But, my dear sir, the young lady could never 
have supposed I used such language as this you 
have repeated ?" 

" So, then, you intend to break off? Well, then, 
it's right to tell you that you're in a very ugly 
scrape, for it was my wife you took home last 
night — not Miss Moriarty; and I leave you to 
choose at your leisure whether you'd rather be 
defendant in a suit for breach of promise or 
seduction; and, upon my conscience, I think it's 
civil in me to give you a choice." 

What a pretty disclosure was here! So that 
while I was imagining myself fqueezing the hand 
and winning the heart of tlie fair Mary Anne, I 
was m-erely making a case of strong evidence for 
a jury, that might expose me to the world, and 
half ruin me in damages. There was but one 
course open — to make a fight for it; and, from 
what I saw of my friend Mark Anthony, this did 
not seem difficult. 

I accordingly assumed a high tone — laughed 
at the entire affair — said it was a "way that we 
had in the army" — that "we never meant any- 
thing by it," etc., etc. 

In a few minutes I perceived the bait was tnk- 



156 



HARRY LORREQUER. 



ing. Mr. Fitzpatrick's west country blood was 
up; all thought of the legal resource was aban- 
doned; and lie flung out of the room to find a 
friend, I having given him the name of " one 
of ours" as mine upon the occasion. 

Very little time was lost, for before three 
o'clock that afternoon a meeting was fixed for 
the following morning at the North Bull; and I 
had the satisfaction of hearing that I only 
escaped the malignant eloquence of Holmes in 
the King's Bench, to be " blazed" at by the best 
shot on the western circuit. The thought was 
not agreeable, and I indemnified myself for the 
scrape by a very satisfactory anathema upon the 
high sheriff, and his ball, and his counfounded 
saucepans; for to the lady's sympathy for my 
sufferings I attributed much of my folly. 

At eight the next morning I found myself 
standing with Curzon and the doctor upon 
the bleak portion of her Majesty's dominions 
they term the North Bull, waiting, in a chilly rain, 
and a raw fog, till it pleased Mark Anthony 
Fiztpatrick to come and shoot me — such being 
the precise terms of our combat, in the opinion 
of all parties. 

The time, however, passed on, and half-past 
eight, three-quarters, and at last nine o'clock, 
without his appearing; when, just as Curzon had 
resolved upon our leaving the ground, a hack- 
jaunting-car was seen driving at full speed along 
the road near us. It came nearer, and at length 
drew up; two men leaped off and came toivards 
us, one of whom, as he came forward, took off 
his hat politely, and introduced himself as Mr. 
O'Gorman, the fighting friend of Mark Anthony. 

"It's a mighty unpleasant business I'm come 
upon, gentlemen," said he. "Mr. Fitzpatrick 
has been unavoidably prevented from having the 
happiness to meet you this morning " 

" Then you can't expect us, sir, to dance at- 
tendance upon him here to-morrow," said Curzon, 
interrupting. 

" By no manner of means," replied the other, 
placidly, "for it would be equally inconvenient 
for him to be here then. But I have only to say, 
that as I'm here for my friend, and know all the 
particulars of the case, maybe you'd have the 
kindness to waive all etiquette, and let me stand 
in his place." 

" Certainly and most decidedly not," said 
Curzon. " Waive etiquette! — why, sir, we have 
no quarrel with you; never saw you before." 

"Well, now, isn't this hard.?" said Mr. O'Gormar, 
addressing his friend, who stood by with a pistol- 
case under his arm; but I told Mark that I was 
sure they'd be standing upon punctilio, for they 
were English. Well, sir," said he, turning towards 
Curzon, " there's but one way to arrange it now, 
that I see. Mr. Fitzpatrick, you must know, 
was arrested this morning for a trifle of ;^i4o. 
If you, or your friend there, will join us in the 
bail, we can get him out, and he'll fight you in 
the morning to your satisfaction." 

When the astonishment this proposal had 
created subsided, we asstired Mr. O'Gorman that 
we were noways disposed to pay such a price for 
our amusement — a fact that seemed considerably 
to surprise both him and his friend — and addin_^'. 



that to Mr. Fitzpatrick personally we should feel 
bound to hold ourselves pledged at a future 
period, we left llie ground, Curzon laughing 
heartily at the original expedient thus suggested, 
while I inwardly pronounced a most glowing 
eulogy on the law of imprisonment for debt. 

Before Mr. Fitzpatrick obtained the benefit of 
the act, we were ordered abroad, and I have 
never since heard of him. 



CHAPTER XLI. 



THE TWO LETTERS. 



From the digression of the last chapter I was 
recalled by the sight of the two letters which lay, 
during my reverie, unopened before me. I first 
broke the seal of Lady Callonby's epistle, which 
ran thus: — 

" Munich, La Croix Blanche. 

" Mv dear Mr. Lorrequer, — I have just 
heard from Kilkee that you are at length about 
to pay us your long-promised visit, and write 
these few lines to beg that before leaving Paris 
you will kindly execute for me the commissions 
of which I enclose a formidable list, or at least 
as many of them as you can conveniently accom- 
plish. Our stay here now will be so short, that it 
will require all your despatch to overtake us be- 
fore reaching Milan, Lady Jane's health requiring 
an immediate change of climate. Our present 
plans are, to winter in Italy, although such will 
interfere considerably with Lord Callonby, who is 
pressed much by his friends to accept office. 
However, all tliis and other gossip I reserve for 
our meeting. Meanwhile, adieu! and if any of 
my commissions bore you, omit them at once, 
except the white roses and the Brussels veil, 
which Lady Jane is most anxious for. 
" Sincerely yours, 

"Charlotte Callonby." 

How much did these few and apparently com- 
monplace lines convey to incl First, my visit 
was not only expected, but actually looked for- 
ward to, canvassed — perhaps I might almost 
whisper to myself the flattery — wished for. 
Again, Lady Jane's health was spoken of as pre- 
carious; less actual illness — I said to myself — 
than mere delicacy, requiring the bluer sky 
and warmer air of Italv. Perhaps her spirits 
were affected — some mental malady — some ill- 
placed passion — que sais-Jc? In fact, my brain 
ran on so fast in its devisings, that by a quick 
process, less logical than pleasing, I satisfied my- 
self that the lovely Lady Jane Callonby was actu- 
ally in love, with whom let the reader guess at. 
.^nd Lord Callonby too, about to join the min- 
istry — well, all the better to have one's father-in- 
law in power — promotion is so cursed slow now- 
a-days. And lastly, the sly allusion to the com- 
missions — the malice of introducing /ter name to 
interest me. With such materials as these to 
build upon, frail as they may seem to others, I 
found no difficulty in regarding myself as the 



HARRY LORREQUER. 



157 



dear friend of the family, and the acknowledged 
suitor of Lady Jane. 

In the midst, however, of all my self-congratu- 
lation, my eye fell upon the letter of Emily Bing- 
ham, and I suddenly remembered how fatal to all 
such happy anticipations it might prove. I tore 
it open in passionate haste and read: — 

" Mv DEAR Mr. Lorrequer, — As from the in- 
terview we have had this morning I am inclined 
to believe that I have gained your affections, I 
think that I should ill requite such a state of your 
feeling for me, were I to conceal that I cannot 
return you mine — in fact, that they are not mine 
to bestow. This frank avowal, whatever pain it 
may have cost me, I think I owe to you to make. 
You will, perhaps, say, the confession should have 
been earlier; to which I reply, it should have 
been so, had I known, or even guessed at the 
nature of your feelings for me. For — and I 
write it in all truth, and perfect respect for you — I 
only saw in your attentions the flirting habits of 
a man of the world, with a very unformed and 
ignorant girl of eighteen, with vi'hom, as it was 
his amusement to travel, lie deemed it worth his 
while to talk. I now see, and bitterly regret, my 
error, yet deem it better to make this painful 
confession than suffer you to remain in a delu- 
sion which may involve your happiness in the 
wreck of mine. I am most faithfully your friend, 

" E.MiLY Bingham." 

"What a charming girl she is!" I cried, as I 
finished the letter; " how full of true feeling, how 
honorable, how straightforward! And yet it is 
devilish strange how cunningly she played her 
part — and it seems now that 1 never did touch 
her affections; Master Harry, I begin to fear you 
are not altogether the awful lady-killer you have 
been thinking." Thus did I meditate upon this 
singular note — my delight at being once more 
" free" mingling with some chagrin that I was 
jockeyed, and by a young miss of eighteen too. 
"Confoundedly disagreeable if the mess knew 
it," thought I. " Per Baccho! how they would 
quiz upon my difficulty to break off a match, 
when the lady was only anxious to get rid of inc. 

" This affair must never come to their ears, or 
I am ruined; and now the sooner all negotiations 
are concluded the better. I nmst obtain a meet- 
ing with Emily, acknowledge the truth and justice 
of all her views, express my deep regret at the 
issue of the affair, slyly hint that I have been 
merely playing her own game back upon her; for 
it wo.uld be the devil to let her g'o off with the 
idea that she had singed me, yet never caught fire 
herself; so that we both shall draw stakes, and 
part friends." 

This valiant resolution taken, I wrote a very 
short note, begging an interview, and proceeded 
to make as formidable a toilet as I could for the 
forthcoming meeting; before I had concluded 
which, a verbal answer by her maid informed me, 
that " Miss Bingham was alone, and ready to re- 
ceive me." 

As 1 took my way along the corridor, I could 
not help feeling that among all my singular scrapes 
and embarrassing situations through life, my 



present mission was certainly not the least — the 
difficulty, such as it was, being considerably in- 
creased by my own confounded ajiwur propre, 
that would not leave me satisfied with obtaining 
my liberty, if I could not insist upon coming off 
scathless also. In fact, I was not content to 
evacuate the fortress, if I were not to march out 
with all the honors of war. This feeling I neither 
attempt to palliate nor defend; I merely chronicle 
it,'as are too many of these " Confessions," a matter 
of truth, yet not the less a subject for sorrow. 

My hand was upon the lock of the door. I 
stoi)ped, hesitated, and listened. I certainly heard 
something. Yes, it is too true — she is sobbing. 
What a total overthrow of all my selfish resolves, 
all my egotistical plans, did that slight cadence 
give. She was crying — her tears for the bitter 
pain she concluded I was suffering mingling doubt- 
less with sorrow for her own sources of grief — for 
it was clear to me that whoever may have been my 
favored rival, the attachment was either unknown 
to or unsanctioned by the mother. I wished I 
had not listened; all my d'eterminations were 
completely routed, and as I opened the door I 
felt my heart beating almost audibly against my 
side. 

In a subdued half-light — tempered through the 
rose-colored curtains, w'ith a small china cup of 
newly-plucked moss-roses upon the table — sat, or 
rather leaned, Emily Bingham, her face buried in 
her hands as I entered. She (did not hear my ap- 
proach, so that I had above a minute to admire 
the graceful character of her head, and the fine 
undulating curve of her neck and shoulders, be- 
fore I spoke. 

" Miss Bingham," said I 

Slie started — looked up — her dark blue eyes, 
brilliant, though tearful, were fixed upon me for a 
second, as if searching my very inmost thoughts. 
She held out her hand, and turning her head aside, 
made room for me on the sofa beside her. 
"Strange girl," thought I, "that in the very mo- 
ment of breaking with a man forever, puts on her 
most fascinating toilet, arrays herself in her most 
bewitching manner, and gives him a reception 
only calculated to turn his head, and render him 
ten times more in love than ever." Her hand, 
which remained still in mine, was burning as if in 
fever, and the heaving movement of her neck and 
shoulders showed me how much this meeting cost 
her. We were both silent, till at length, feeling 
that any chance interruption might leave us as far 
as ever from understanding each other, I resolved 
to begin. 

" My dear, dear Emily," I said, "do not, I en- 
treat of you, add to the misery I am this moment 
enduring by letting me see you thus. Whatever 
your wrongs towards me, this is far too heavy a 
retribution. My object was never to make 
you wretched; if I am not to obtain the bliss to 
strive and make you happy " 

"Oh! Harry" — this was the first time she had 
ever so called me — "how like you, to think of 
me — of mc, at such a time, as if I was not the 
cause of all our present unhappiness — but not 
wilfully, not intentionally. Oh, no, no — your at- 
tentions — the flattery of your notice, took me at 
once, and in the gratification of my self-esteem, I 



158 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



forgot all else. I heard, too, that you were en- 
gaged to another, and believing, as I did, that 
you were trifling with my affections, I spared no 
effort to win yours. I confess it, I wished this 
with all my soill." 

"And now," said I, " that you have gained them" 
' — here was a pretty sequel to my well-matured 
plans! — "and now, Emily " 

" But have I really done so?" said she, hurriedly 
turning round and fixing her large full eyes upon 
me, while one of her hands played carelessly 
through my hair — " have I your heart.'' your whole 
heart?" 

"Can you doubt it, dearest?" said I, passion- 
ately pressing her to my bosom, and at the same 
time muttering, " What the devil's in the wind now; 
we are surely not going to patch up our separation, 
and make love in earnest?" 

There she lay, her head upon my shoulder, her 
long, brown, waving ringlets falling loosely across 
my face and on my bosom, her hand in mine. 
What were her thoughts I cannot guess; mine — 
God forgive me! — Nvere a fervent wish either for 
her mother's appearance, or that the hotel would 
suddenly take fire, orsome other extensive calam- 
ity arise to put the finishing stroke to this em- 
barrassing situation. 

None of these, however, were destined to occur; 
and Emily lay still and motionless as she was, scarce 
seeming to breathe, and pale as death. "What 
can this mean?" said I; "surely this is not the 
usual way to part with a rejected suitor? if it be, 
why then, by Jupiter, the successful one must 
have rather the worst of it — and I fervently hope 
that Lady Jane be not at this moment giving her 
conge to some disappointed swain." She slowly 
raised her large, black-fringed eyelids, and looked 
into my face with an expression at once so tender 
and plaintive, that I felt a struggle within myself 

whether to press her to my heart, or what the 

deuce was the alternative? — I hope my reader 
knows, for I really do not! "And after all," 
thought I, " if we are to marry, I am only antici- 
pating a little; and if not, why then 3. c/iasie sa/i/Ze, 
as Winifred Jenkins calls it, she'll be none the 
worse for." Acting at once upon this resolve, I 
leaned downwards, and was jiassing back her 
ringlets from her now flushed cheek, when I was 
startled by my name, which I heard called several 
times in the corridor. The door at the same in- 
stant was burst suddenly open, and Trevanion 
appeared. 

" Harry, Harry Lorrequer," cried he, as he en- 
tered; then suddenly checking himself, added, 
"a thousand, ten thousand pardons, but " 

" But what," cried I, passionately, forgetting all 
save the situation of poor Emily at the moment— 
" what can justify " 

" Nothing certainly can justify such an intru- 
sion," said Trevanion, finishing my sentence for 
me, "except the very near danger you run this 
moment in being arrested. O'Leary's imprudence 
has compromised your safety, and you must leave 
Paris within an hour." 

"Oh, Mr. Trevanion," said Emily, who by this 
time had regained a more befitting attitude, " pray 
speak out; what is it? is Harry — is Mr. Lorrequer, 
I mean — in any danger?" 



" Nothing of consequence, Miss Bingham, if he 
only act with prudence and be guided by his 
friends. Lorrequer, you will find me in your 
apartments in half an hour — till then adieu." 

While Emily poured forth question after ques- 
tion as to the nature and extent of my present 
difficulty, I could not help thinking of the tact by 
which Trevanion escaped, leaving me to make my 
adieux to Emily as best I might — for I saw in a 
glance that I must leave Paris at once. I there- 
fore gave her to understand the aftair at the sa/on 
— which I suspected to be the cause of the threat- 
ened arrest — and was about to profess my unal- 
tered and unalterable attachment, w hen she sud- 
denly stopped me. 

" No, Mr. Lorrequer, no. All is over between 
us. We must never meet again — never. We 
have been both playing a part. Good-bye — good- 
bye; do not altogether forget me — and once more, 
Harry, good bye." 

What I might have said, thought, or done, I 
know not; but the arrival of Mrs. Bingham's car- 
riage at the door left no time for anything but 
escape. So once more pressing her hand firmly 
to my lips, I said — "Au reroir, Emily, au revoir, 
not good-bye," and rushing from the room, re- 
gained my room just as Mrs. Bingham reached 
the corridor. 



CHAPTER XLIL 



MR. O LEARY S CAPTURE. 



" Does she really care for me?" was my first 
question to myself, as I left the room. "Is this 
story about pre-engaged affections merely a got- 
up thing, to try the force of my attachment for 
her? for, if not, her conduct is most inexplicable; 
and great as my experience has been in such af- 
fairs, I avow myself out-manoeuvred." While I 
thought over this difficulty, Trevanion came up, 
and in a few words informed me more fully upon 
what he hinted at before. It appeared thai O'Lcary, 
much more alive to the imperative necessity of 
avoiding detection by his wife, than of involving 
himself with the police, had thrown out most 
dark and mysterious hints in the hotel as to the 
reason of his residence at Paris, fully impressed 
with the idea that, to be a good Pole, he need 
only talk "revolutionary;" devote to the powers 
below all kings, czars, and kaisers; weep over the 
wrongs of his nation; wear rather seedy habili- 
ments, and smoke profusely. The latter were 
with him easy conditions, and he so completely 
acted the former to the life, that he had' been 
that morning arrested in the Tuileries gardens, 
under several treasonable charges — among others, 
the conspiracy, with some of his compatriots, to 
murder the minister of war. ' \ i 

However laughable sucli an accusation against ' | 
poor O'Leary, one circumstance rendered the 
matter anything but ludicrous. Although he 
must come off free of this grave offence, yet, as 
the sahm transaction would necessarily now be- 
come known, I should be immediately involved, 
and my departure from Paris prevented. 

" So," said Trevanion, as he briefly laid before 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



159 



me the difficulty of my position, " you may per- 
ceive that, however strongly your affections may 
be engaged in a certain quarter, it is quite as 
well to think of leaving Paris without delay. 
O'Leary's arrest will be followed by yours, de- 
pend upon it, and once under the surveillance of 
the police, escape is impossible." 

" But, seriously, Trevanion," said I, nettled at 
the tone of raillery he spoke in, " you must see 
that there is nothing whatever in that business. I 
was merely taking my farewell of the fair Emily. 
Her affections have been long since engaged, and 
1- 



" Only endeavoring to support lier in her at- 
tachment to the more favored rival. Is it not so?" 

"Come, no quizzing. Faith I began to feel 
very uncomfortable about parting with her, the 
moment that I discovered that I must do so." 

"So I guessed," said Trevanion, with a dry 
look, "from the interesting scene I so abruptly 
trespassed upon. But you are right; a little bit 
of tenderness is never misplaced, so long as the 
object is young, pretty, and still more than all, 
disposed for it." 

"Quite out; perfectly mistaken, believe me. 
Emily not only never cared for me, but she has 
gone far enough to tell me so." 

"Then, from all I know of such matters," re- 
plied he, " you were both in a very fair way to 
repair that mistake on her part. But hark! what 
is this?" A tremendous noise in the street here 
interrupted our colloquy, and on opening the 
window, a strange scene presented itself to our 
eyes. In the middle of a dense mass of moving 
rabble, shouting, yelling, and screaming with all 
their might, were two gendarmes with a prisoner 
between them. The unhappy man was followed by 
a ratherover-dressed, middle-aged looking woman, 
who appeared to be desirous of bestowing the 
most t:pram pui//i:o endearments upon the culprit, 
whom a second glance showed us was O'Leary. 

" I tell you, my dear madam, you are mistaken," 
said O'Leary, addressing her with great sternness 
of manner and voice. 

" Mistaken! never, never. How could I ever be 
mistaken in that dear voice, those lovely eyes, 
that sweet little nose?" 

" Take her away; she's deranged," said O'Leary, 
to the gendarmes. "Sure, if I'm a Pole, that's 
enough of misfortune." 

" I'll follow him to the end of the earth, I will." 

"I'm going to the galleys, God be praised!" 
said O'Leary. 

" To the galleys — to the guillotine — anywhere," 
responded she, throwing herself upon his neck, 
much less, as it seemed, to his gratification, than 
that of the mob, who laughed and shouted most 
uproariously. 

" Mrs. Ram, ain't you ashamed?" 

"He calls me by my name," said she, "and 
he attempts to' disown me. Ha! ha! ha! ha!" 
and immediately fell off into a strong paroxysm 
of kicking, and pinching, and punching the by- 
standers, a malady well-known under the name 
of hysterics; but being little more than a privi' 
leged mode, among certain ladies, of paying off 
some scores, which it is not thought decent to do 
in their more sober moments. 



" Lead me away — anywhere — convict me of 
what you like," said he, " but don't let her follow 
me." 

The gendarmes, who little comprehended the 
nature of the scene before them, were not sorry 
to anticipate a renewal of it on Mrs. Ram's 
recovery, and accordingly seized the opportunity 
to march on with O'Leary, who turned the corner 
of the Rue Rivoli, under a shower of execra- 
tions from the mob, that fell fortunately most 
unconsciously upon his ears. 

The possibility of figuring in such a proces- 
sion contributed much to the force of Tre- 
vanion's reasonings, and I resolved to leave Paris 
at once. 

" Promise me, then, to involve yourself in no 
more scrapes for half an hour. Pack everything 
you may want with you. and, by seven o'clock, I 
will be here with your passport and all ready for 
a start." 

With a beating brain, and in a whirlwind of 
conflicting thoughts, I threw my clothes hither 
and thither into my trunk; Lady Jane and Emily 
both flitting every instant before my imagination, 
and frequently an irresolution to proceed stop- 
ping all my preparations for departure, I sat 
down musing upon a chair, and half determined 
to stay where I was, come what might of it. 
Finally, the possibility of exposure in a trial had 
its weight. I continued my occupation till the 
last coat was folded, and the lock turned, when 
I seated myself opposite my luggage, and waited 
impatiently for my friend's return. 



CHAPTER XLin. 



THE JOURNEY. 



Trev.\nion came at last. He had obtained 
my passport, and engaged a carriage to convey 
me about eight miles, where I should overtake 
the diligence — such a mode of travelling being 
judged more likely to favor my escape, by at- 
tracting less attention than posting. It was past 
ten when I left the Rue St. Honore, having 
shaken hands with Trevanion for the last time, 
and charged him with ten thousand soft mes- 
sages for the "friends" I left behind me. 

When I arrived at the village of St. Jacques, 
the diligence had not come up. To pass away 
the time, I ordered a little supper and a bottle of 
St. Julien. Scarcely had I seated myself to my 
cutlet, when the rapid whirl of wheels was heard 
without, and a cab drew up suddenly at the door. 
So naturally does the fugitive suspect pursuit 
that my immediate impression was, that I was 
followed. In this notion I was strengthened by 
the tones of a cracked, discordant voice, asking 
in very peculiar French if the "diligence and 
passed?" Being answered in the negative, he 
walked into the room where I was, and speedily, 
by his appearance, removed any apprehensions 
I had felt as to my safety. Nothing could less 
resemble the tall port and sturdy bearing of a 
gendarme, than the diminutive and dwarfish in- 
dividual before me. His height could scarcely 



160 



HARRY LORREOUER, 



have reached five feet, of which the iliead formed 
fully a fourth part; and even this "was rendered 
in appearance still greater by a mass of loosely 
floatin^f ULicIv hair, that fell upon his neck and 
shoulders, and gave him much tiie airof a"biack 
lion" on a signboard. His black frock — fur- 
collared and braided — his ill-made boots, his 
meerschaum projecting from his breast-pocket, 
above all, his unwashed hands, and a heavy gold 
ring upon his thumb — all made an ensemble of 
evidences that showed he could be nothin_g but a 
German. His manner was bustling, impatient, 
and had it not been ludicrous, would certainly 
be considered as insolent to every one about 
him, for he stared each person abruptly in the 
face, and mumbled some broken expressions of 
his opinion of them half aloud in German. His 
comments ran on: — "Bon soir. Monsieur," to the 
host; "ein Bosewicht, ganzsicher" — "a scoundrel 
without doubt;" and then added, still lower, 
" Rob you here as soon as look at you." " Ah, 
postilion! comment va?" — "much more like a 
brigand after all — I know which I'd take you 
for." " Verfluchte Frau" — '' how ugly the 
woman is." This compliment was intended for 
the hostess, who curtseyed down to the ground 
in her ignorance. At last, approaching me, he 
stopped, and having steadily surveyed me, mut- 
tered, "Ein echter Englander" — "a thorough 
Englishman, always eating," I could not resist 
the temptation to assure him that I was perfectly 
aware of his flattering impression in my behalf, 
though I iiad speedily to regret my precipitancy, 
for, less mindful of the rebuke than pleased at find- 
ing some one who understood German, he drew 
his chair beside me and entered into conversation. 

Every one has surely felt, some time or other 
in life, the insufferable annoyance of having his 
thoughts and reflections interfered with, and 
broken in upon by the vulgar impertinence and 
egotism of some "bore," who, mistaking your 
abstraction for attention, and your despair for de- 
light, inflicts upon you his whole life and adven- 
tures, when your own immediate destinies are 
perhaps vacillating in the scale. 

Such a doom was now mine ! Occupied as I 
was by the hope of the future, and my fears lest 
any impediment to my escape should blast my 
prospects forever, I preferred appearing to pay 
attention to this confounded fellow's "personal 
narrative," lest his questions, turning on my own 
affairs, might excite suspicions as to the reasons 
of my journey. 

I longed most ardently for the arrival of the 
diligence, trusting that with true German thrift, my 
friend might prefer the cheajMiess of the intcrciir 
to the magnificence of the coupe, and that thus I 
should see no more of him. But in this pleasing 
hope I was destined to be disappointed, for I was 
scarcely seated in my place when I found him 
beside me. The third occupant of this " privileged 
den," as well as my lamp-light survey of him per- 
mitted, afforded nothing to build on as a com- 
pensation for the German. He was a tall, lanky, 
lantern-jawed man, with a hook nose and pro- 
jecting chin; his hair, which iiad only been per- 
mitted to grow very lately, formed that curve 
upon his forehead we see in certain old-fashioned 



horse-shoe wigs; his compressed lip and hard 
features gave the expression of one who had seen 
a good deal of the world, and didn't think the 
betterof itin consequence. I observed that he 
listened to the few words we spoke while getting 
in with some attention, and then, like a person 
who did not comprehend the language, turned his 
shoulder towards us, and soon fell asleep. I was 
now left to the "tender mercies" of my talkative 
companion, who certainly spared me not. Not- 
withstanding my vigorous resolves to turn a deaf 
ear to his narratives, I could not avoid learning 
that he was the director of music to some German 
prince — that he had been to Paris to bring out 
an opera which, having, as he said, an " immense 
success!" he was about to repeat in Strasbourg. 
He further informed me that a depute from Alsace 
had obtained for him a government permission to 
travel with the courier; but that he, being 
" social" withal, and noways proud, preferred the 
democracy of the diligence to the solitary gran- 
deur of the caleche (for which Heaven confound 
him), and thus became my present companion. 

Music in all its shapes and forms made up the 
staple of the little man's talk. 'I'here was scarcely 
an opera or an overture, from Mozart to Doni- 
zetti, that he did not insist upon singing a scene 
from; and wound up all by a very pathetic lamen- 
tation over English insensibility to music, which 
he in great part attributed to our having only one 
opera, which he kindly informed me was " Bob 
et Joan." However indisposed lo check the cur- 
rent of his loquacity by any effort of mine, I 
could not avoid the temptation to translate for 
him a story which Sir Walter Scott once related 
to me, and was so far a propos, as conveying my 
own sense of the merits of our national music, 
such as we have it, by its associations with scents, 
and persons, and places we are all familiar with, 
however unintelligible to the ear of a stranger. 

A young French vicomte was fortunate enough 
lo obtain in marriage the hand of a singularly 
pretty Scotch heiress of an ancient family and 
good fortune, who, amongst her other endow- 
ments, possessed a Large old-fashioned house in a 
remote district of the Highlands, where her an- 
cestors had resided for centuries. Thither the 
young couple repaired to pass the honeymoon; 
the enamored bridegroom gladly availing himself 
of the opportunity to ingratiate himself with his 
new connection, by adopting the reclusion he 
saw practised by the English on such occasions. 
However consonant to our notions of happiness, 
and however conducive to our enjoyment this 
custom be — and I have strong doubts upon the 
subject — it certainly prospered ill with the vola- 
tile Frenchman, who pined for Paris, its ed/e's, its 
boulevards, its maisons de Jeu, and its soirees. 
His days were passed in looking from the deep 
and narrow windows of some oak-framed room 
upon the bare and heath-clad moors, or watching 
the cloud shadows as they passed across the dark 
pine-trees that closed the distance. 

Bored to death, and convinced that he had 
sacrificed enough and more than enough, to the 
barbarism which demanded such a se'jour, he was 
sitting one evening listlessly upon the terrace in 
front of the house, plotting a speedy escape from 



HARRY L O R R E O U E R. 



161 



his gloomy abode, and meditating ufon tlie life 
of pleasure that awaited him, when the discordant 
twang of some savage music broke upon his ear, 
and roused him from his reverie. 'I'he wild 
scream and fitful burst of a Highland pibroch is 
Certainly not the most likely thing in nature to 
allay the irritable and ruffled feelings of an irasci- 
ble person — unless, perhaps, the hearer eschew 
breeches. So thought the vicomte. He started 
hurriedly up, and straight before him, up the 
gravel walk, beheld the stalwart figure and bony 
frame of an old Highlander, blowing, with all his 
lungs, the "Gathering of the Clans." With all 
the speed he could muster, he rushed into the 
house, and, calling his servants, ordered them to 
expel the intruder, and drive him at once outside 
the demesne. When the mandate was made known 
to the old piper, it was with the greatest diffi- 
culty he could be brought to comprehend it — for, 
time out of mind, his approach had been hailed 
with every demonstration of rejoicing; and now 
— —but no; tiie thing was impossible — there 
must be a mistake somewhere. He was accord- 
ingly about to recommence, when a second and 
stronger hint suggested to him that it were safer 
to depart. "Maybe the 'carl' didna like the 
pipes," said the Plighlander, musingly, as he 
packed them up for his march. " Maybe he didna 
like me; perhaps, too, he was na in the humor for 
music," he paused for an instant as if reflecting 
— not satisfied, probably, that he had hit upon the 
true solution — when suddenly his eye brightened, 
his lips curled, and fixing a look upon the angry 
Frenchman, he said — " Maybe ye are right enow 
— ye heard them o'.ver muckle in Waterloo to like 
the skirl o' them ever since;" with which satis- 
factory explanation, made in no spirit of bitter- 
ness or raillery, but in the simple belief that he 
had hit the mark of the vicomte's antipathy, 
the old man gathered up his plaid and departed. 

However disposed I might have felt towards 
sleep, the little German resolved I should not ob- 
tain any, for when half an hour together I would 
preserve a rigid silence, he, nowise daunted, had 
recourse to some German "Lied," which he gave 
forth with an energy of voice and manner tliat 
must have aroused every sleeper in the diligence; 
so that, fain to avoid this, I did my best to keep 
him on the subject of his adventures, which, as a 
man of successful gallantry, were manifold indeed. 
Wearying at last, even of this subordinate part, 
I fell into a kind of half doze, the words of a 
student song he continued to sing without ceas- 
ing for above an hour being the last waking 
thought on my memory. 

Less as a souvenir of the singer than a speci- 
men of its class, I give here a rough translation of 
the well-known Burschen melody called: — 

THE POPE. 



The Pope he leads a happy life, 
He fears not married care, nor strife, 
He drinks the best of Rhenish wine — 
I would the Pope's gay lot were mine. 

CHflRlIS. 

He drinks the best of Rhenish wine — 
I would the Pope's gay lot were mine. 



But then all happy 's not his life, 
He hns not maid, nor blooming wife; 
Nor child lias lie to raise his hope — 
I would not wish to be the Pope. 



The Sultan better pleases me, 

His is a life of jollity; 

His wives are many as he will — 

I would the Sultan's throne then fill. 



But even lie's a wretched man. 

He must obey his Alcoran; 

And dares not drinU one drop of wine- 

I would not change his lot for mine. 



So then V\\ hold my lowly stand, 
And live in German \'aterland; 
I'll kiss my maiden fair and fine, 
And drink the best of Khenish wine, 

VI. 
Whene'er my maiden kisses me, 
I'll think that I ihc .Sultan be; 
And when my cheery glass I tope, 
I'll fancy then I am the Pope. 



CHAPTER XLIV. 

THE JOURNEY. 

It was with a feeling of pleasure I cannot ex- 
plain that I awoke in the morning and found 
myself upon the road. The turmoil, the bustle, 
the never-ending difficulties of my late life in 
Paris, had so over-excited and worried me, that 
I could neither think nor reflect. Now, all these 
cares and troubles were behind me, and I felt 
like a liberated prisoner as I looked upon the 
grey dawn of the coming day, as it gradually 
melted from its dull and leaden tint to the pink 
and yellow hue of the rising sun. The broad 
and richly-colored plains of la hclle France were 
before me — and it is la belle France, however in- 
ferior to parts of England in rural beaut) — the 
large tracts of waving yellow corn, undulating 
like a sea in the morning breeze — the intermina- 
ble reaches of forest, upon which the shadows 
played and flitted, deepening the effect and mel- 
lowing the mass, as we see them in Ruysdael's 
pictures — while now and then some tall-gabled 
antiquated chateau, with its mutilated terrace and 
dowager-like air of bygone grandeur, would ]jeep 
forth at the end of some long avenue of lime- 
trees, all having their own features of beauty — 
and a beauty with which every object around 
harmonizes well. The sluggish peasant, in his 
blouse and striped nightcap — the heavily capari- 
soned horse, shaking his head amidst a Babel- 
tower of gaudy worsted tassels and brass bells — 
the deeply-laden wagon, creeping slowly along — 
are all in keeping with a scene, where the very 
mist that rises from the valley seems indolent and 
lazy, and unwilling to impart the rich perfume of 
verdure with which it is loaded. Every land has 
its own peculiar character of beauty. The glaci- 
ered mountain, the Alpine peak, the dashing 
cataracts of Switzerland and the Tyrol, are not 



W2 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



finer in their way than the long flat moorlands of 
a Flemish landscape, with its clump of stunted 
willows clustering over some limpid brook, in 
which the oxen are standing for shelter from the 
noun-day heat, while, lower down, some rude 
water-wheel is mingling its sounds with the sum- 
mer bees and the merry voices of the miller and 
his companions. So strayed my thoughts as tlie 
German shook me by the arm, and asked if " 1 
were not ready for my breakfast?" Luckily, to 
this question there is rarely but the one answer. 
Who is not ready for his breakfast when on the 
road.? How delightful, if on the Continent, to 
escape from the narrow limits of the dungeon-like 
diligence, where you sit with your knees next 
your collar-bone, fainting with heat and suffo- 
cated by dust, and finding yourself suddenly be- 
side the tempting //<j/j' of a little French dcjcihicr, 
with its cutlets, its fried fish, its poiikt, its salad, 
and its little entree of fruit, tempered with a not 
despicable bottle of Beaune! If in England, 
the e.xchange is nearly as grateful; for though 
our travelling be better, and our position less irk- 
some, still it is no small alterative from the 
stage- ciach to ihi inn-parlor, redolent of aro- 
matic black tea, eggs, and hot toast, with an 
hospitable sideboard of lordly sirloins, and Vork 
hams that would make a Jew's mouth water. 
While, in America, the change is greatest of all, 
as any one can vouch for who has been suddenly 
emancipated from the stove-heat of a "nine- 
mside" leathern " conveniency," bumping ten 
miles an hour over a corduroy road, the company 
smoking, if not worse; to tlie ample display of 
luxurious viands displayed upon the breakfast- 
table, where, what with buffalo steaks, pumpkin 
pie, " chicken fixings," and other aristocratically- 
called temptations, he must be indeed fastidious 
who cannot employ his half hour. Pity it is, 
when there is so much good to eat, that people 
will not p.irtake of it like civilized beings, and 
with that air of cheerful thankfulness that all 
other nations more or less express vijhen enjoying 
the earth's bounties. But true it is, that there is 
a spirit of discontent in the Yankee, that seems 
to accept of benefits with a tone of dissatisfac- 
tion, if not distrust. I once made this remark to 
an excellent friend of mine, now no more, who, 
however, would not permit of my attiibuting this 
feature to the Americans exclusively^ adding, 
" Where have you more of this than in Ireland? and 
surely you would not call the Irish ungrateful?" 
He illustrated his first remark by the following 
short anecdote: — 

The rector of the parish iny friend lived in was 
a man who added to the income he derived from 
his living a very handsome private fortune, which 
he devoted entirely to the benefit of the poor 
around him. Among the objects of his bounty, 
one old woman — a childless widow — was remark- 
ably distinguished. Whether commiserating her 
utter helplessness or her complete isolation, he 
went fartner to relieve her than to many, if not 
all, the other ])oor. She frequently was in the 
habit of pleading her poverty as a reason for not 
api)earing in church among her neighbors; and 
he gladly seized an opportunity of so improving 
her "ondition, that, on that score, at least, no 



impediment existed. When all his little plans 
for her comfort had been carried into execution, 
he took the opportunity one day of dro])]jing in, 
as if accidentally, to speak to her. By degrees 
he led the subject to her changed condition in 
life — the alteration from a cold, damp, smoky 
hovel, to a warm, clean, slated house — the chter- 
ful garden before the door that replaced the mud- 
heap and the duck-pool^ — and all the other ha]ii y 
changes which a few weeks had effected. Andj' 
he then asked, did she not feel grateful to a boun-| 
tiful Providence that had showered down so many \ 
blessings upon her head? 

'"Ah, troth, it's thrue for yer honor, I am grate- 
ful," she replied, in a whining, discordant tone, 
which astonished the worthy parson. 

" Of course you are, my good woman, of course 
you are; but I mean to say, don't you feel that 
every moment you live is too short to express 
your thankfulness to this kind Providence for 
what He has done?" 

"Ah, darlin', it's all thrue; He's very good, 
He's mighty kind, so He is." 

" VVhy, then, not acknowledge it in a different 
manner?" said the parson, with some heat — "has 
He not housed you, and fed you, and clothed 
you?" 

"Yes, alanah. He done it all." 

"Well, where is your gratitude for all those 
mercies?" 

".Ah, sure, if He did," said the old crone, 
roused at length by the importunity of the ques- 
tioner — " sure, if He did, doesn't He take it out 
o' me in the corns?" 



CHAPTER XLV. 

A REMINISCE^■CE OF THE EAST. 

The breakfast-table assembled around it the 
three generations of men who issued from the 
three subdivisions of the diligence, and presented 
that motley and mixed assemblage of ranks, ages, 
and countries, which forms so very amusing a 
part of a traveller's experience. 

First came the haute aristocraile of the coupe, 
then the middle class of the inteiieiir, and lastly, 
the tiers ctat of the rotonde. with its nuiarge of 
Jew money-lenders, under-officers and their wives, 
a Norman nurse with a high cap and a red jiq'e; 
while, to close the procession, a German student 
descended from the roof, with a beard, a bloi;se, 
and a meerschaum. Of such materials was our 
party made up; and yet, differing in all our ob- 
jects and interests, we speedily amalgamated into 
a very social state of intimacy, and chatted away 
over our breakfast with much pood humor r.rd 
gayety, each person of the number seeming 
pleased at the momentary opportunity of finding 
a new listener, save my tall companion of the 
coupe. He preserved a dogged silence, un- 
broken by even a chance expression to the waiter, 
who observed his wants and supplied them by a 
species of quick instinct, evidently acquired by 
practice. As I could not help feeling somewhat 
interested about the hermit-like attachment he 



HARRY LORREQUER. 



1G3 



evinced for solitude, I watched him narrowly for 
some time, and at length, as the rati made its ap- 
pearance before him, after he had helped himself 
and tasted it, he caught my eye fixed upon him, 
and looking at me intently for a few seconds, he 
seemed to be satisfied in some passing doubt he 
labored under, as he said, with a most peculiar 
shake of the head — " No mangez, no mangez, 
cela." 

"Ah," said r, detecting in my friend's French 
his P^nulisii origin, "you are an Englishman, I 
find." 

"The devil a doubt of it, darling," said he, 
half testily. 

"An Irishman, too — still better," said I. 

"Why, then, isn't it strange that my French 
always shows me to be English, and my English 
jjroves me Irish? It's lucky for me there's no go- 
ing farther any how." 

Delighted to have thus fallen upon a "charac- 
ter," as the Irishman evidently appeared, I moved 
my chair towards his; finding, however, he was 
not half pleased at the manner in which my ac- 
quaintance had been made with him, and know- 
ing his country's susceptibility of being taken by 
a story, I resolved to make my advances by narrat- 
ing a circumstance which had once befallen me 
in my early life. 

Our countrymen, English and Irish, travel so 
much novv-a-days, that one ought never to feel 
surprised at finding them anywhere. The instance 
I am about to relate will verify to a certain extent 
the fact, by showing that no situation is too odd 
or too unlikely to be within the verge of calculation. 

When the loth Foot, to which 1 then belonged, 
were at Corfu, I obtained, with three other 
officers, a short leave of absence, to make a 
hurried tour of the Morea, and take a passing 
glance at Constantinople — in those days much less 
frequently visited by travellers than at present. 

After rambling pleasantly about for some 
weeks, we were about to return, when we deter- 
mined that before sailing we should accept an in- 
vitation some officers of the Blazer frigate, then 
stationed here, had given us, to pass a day at 
Pera, and pic-nic on the mountain. 

One fine bright morning was therefore selected 
— and a most appetising little dinner being care- 
fully packed up — and we set out, a party of four- 
teen, upon our excursion. 

The weather was glorious, and the scene far 
finer than any of us had anticipated — the view 
from the mountain extending over the entire city, 
gorgeous in the rich coloring of its domes and 
minarets; while, at one side, the Golden Horn 
was visible, crowded with ships of every nation, 
and at the other, a glimpse might be had of the 
Sea of Marmora, blue and tranquil as it lay 
beneath. The broad bosom of the Bosphorus was 
sheeted out like a map before us — peaceful, yet 
bustling with life and animation. Here lay the 
union-jack of old England, floating beside the 
lilies of France — we speak of times when lilies 
were and barricades were not — the tall and ta- 
per spars of a Yankee frigate towering above the 
low timbers and heavy hull of a Dutch schooner 
— the gilded poop and carved galleries of a Turk- 
ish three-decker, anchored beside the raking mast ' 



and curved deck of a suspicious looking craft, 
whose red-capped dark-visaged crew needed not 
the naked creese at their sides to bespeak them 
Malays. The whole was redolent of life, and 
teeming with food for one's fancy to conjure 
from. 

While we were debating upon the choice of a 
spot for our luncheon, which should command 
the chief points of view within our reach, one of 
the party came to inform us that he had just 
discovered the very thing we were in search of. 
It was a small kiosk, built upon a projecting rock 
that looked down upon the Bosphorus and the 
city, and had evidently, from the extended views 
it presented, been selected as the spot to build 
upon. The building itself was a small octagon, 
open on every side, and presenting a series of 
prospects, land and seaward, of the most varied 
and magnificent kind. 

Seeing no one near, nor any trace of habita- 
tion, we resolved to avail ourselves of the good 
taste of the founder; and spreading out the con- 
tents of our hampers, proceeded to discuss a 
most excellent cold dinner. When the good 
things had disappeared, and the wine began to 
circulate, one of the party observed that we 
should not think of enjoying ourselves before we 
had filled a bumper to the brim, to the health of 
our good king, whose birthday it chanced to be. 
Oar homeward thoughts and loyalty uniting, we 
filled our glasses, and gave so hearty a "hip, hip, 
hurrah," to our toast, that I doubt if the echoes 
of those old rocks ever heard the equal of it. 

Scarcely was the last cheer dying away in the 
distance, when the door of the kiosk opened, and 
a negro dressed in white muslin appeared, his 
arms and ankles bearing those huge rings of mas- 
sive gold, which only persons of rank distinguish 
their servants by. 

After a most profound obeisance to the party, 
he explained, in very tolerable French, that his 
master, the Effendi Ben Mustapha Al Halak, at 
whose charge (in house rent) we were then feast- 
ing, sent us greeting, and begged that if not con- 
sidered as contrary to our usa; e, etc., we should 
permit him and his suite to approach the kiosk and 
observe us at our meal. 

Independent of his politeness in the mode of 
conveying the request, as he would prove fully as 
entertaining a sight to us as ive could possibly be to 
him, we inunediately expressed our great willing- 
ness to receive his visit, coupled with a half-hint 
that perhaps he might honor us by joining tlie 
party. 

After a half-hour's delay, the door was once 
more thrown open and a venerable old Turk en- 
tered ; he salaamed three times most reverently, 
and motioned to us to be seated, declining at the 
same time, by a gentle gesture of his hand, our 
invitation. He was followed by a train of six 
persons, all splendidly attired, and attesting by 
their costume and manner, the rank and impor- 
tance of their chief. Conceiving that his visit 
had but one object — to observe our convivial cus- 
toms — we immediately re-seated ourselves, and 
filled our glasses. 

As one after another the officers of the Effen- 
di's household passed round the apartments, we 



164 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



offered them a goblet of champagne, which they 
severally declined with a polite but solemn smile 
— -all except one, a large, savage-looking J'urk, 
with a most ferocious scowl, and the largest black 
beard I ever beheld. He did not content him- 
self with a mute refusal of our offer, but stopping 
suddenly, he raised up his hands above his head, 
and muttered some words in Turkish, which one 
of the party informed us was a very satisfactory 
recommendation of the whole company to Satan 
for their lieretic abomination. 

The procession moved slowly round the room, 
and when it reached the door again retired, each 
member of it salaaming three times, us he had 
done on entering. Scarcely had they gone, when 
we burst into a loud fit of laughter at the savage- 
looking fellow who thought proper to excommu- 
nicate us, and were about to discuss his more 
than common appearance of disgust at our pro- 
ceedings, when again the door opened, and atur- 
baned head peeped in, but so altered were the 
features, that although seen but the moment be- 
fore, we could hardly believe them the same. The 
dark complexion — the long and bushy beard were 
there — but instead of the sleepy and solemn char- 
acter of the Oriental, with heavy eye and closed 
lip, there was a droll half devilry in the look, and 
partly open mouth, that made a most laughable 
contrast with the head-dress. He looked stealthily 
around him for an instant, as if to see that 
all was right, and then, with an accent and ex- 
pression I shall never forget, said, " /'// taste your 
wine, gentleinen, av it be pleasing to ye." 



CHAPTER XLVI. 

A V).\\ IN THE PHfENIX. 



When we were once more in the coupe of 
the diligence, I directed my entire attention 
towards my Irish acquaintance, as well because 
of his apparent singularity, as to avoid the little 
(ierman in the opposite corner. 

" You have not been long in France, then, sir," 
said I, as we resumed our conversation. 

"Three weeks, and it seems like three years to 
me — nofhing to eat — nothing to drink — and no- 
body to speak to. But I'll go back soon — I only 
came abroad for a month." 

" You'll scarcely see much of the Continent in 
so short a time." 

" Devil a much that will grieve me — I didn't 
come to see it." 

"Indeed!" 

" Notliing of the kind; I only came — to be 
away from home." 

" Oh! I perceive." 

" You're quite out there," said my companion, 
misinterpreting my meaning. "It wasn't any- 
tliing of that kind. I don't owe sixpence. I was 
laughed out of Ireland— that's all, though that 
same is bad enough." 

" Laughed out of it!" 

"Just so — and little you know of Ireland, if 
that surprises you." 

After acknowledging that such an event was 



perfectly possible, from what I myself had seen 
of that country, I obtained the following very 
brief account of my companion's reasons for 
foreign travel: — 

" Well, sir," began he, " it is about four montlis 
since I brought up to Dublin from Galway a little 
chestnut mare, with cropped ears and a short tail, 
square-jointed, and rather low — just what you'd 
call a smart hack for going to cover with — a 
lively thing on the road with a light weight. No- 
body ever suspected that she was a clean-bred 
thing — own sister to Jenny, that won the Corin- 
thians, and ran second to Giles for the Riddles- 
worth — but so she was, and a better bred mare 
never leaped the pound in Ballinasloe. 'Well, I 
brought her to Dublin, and used to ride her out 
two or three times a week, making little matches 
sometimes to trot — and, for a thorough-bred, she 
was a clipper at trotting — to trot a mile or so on 
the grass — another day to gallop the length c' 
the Nine Acres, opposite the Lodge — and thru 
sometimes back her for a ten-pound note, loji nip 
the biggest furze-bush that could be found — all 
of which she could do with ease, nobody think- 
ing, all the while, that the ccck-tailtd pony was 
by Scroggins, out of a 'Lamplighter mare.' As 
every fellow that was beat today was sure to 
come back to-morrow, with scmething better, 
either of his own or a friend's, I had matches 
booked for every day in the week — for I always 
made my little boy that rode, win by half a neck, 
or a nostril, and so we kejjt on day after day 
pocketing from ten to thirty pounds, or there- 
abouts. It was mighty pleasant while it lasted, 
for besides winning the money, I had my own 
fun laughing at the spoonies that never could 
book my bets fast enough. Y'oung infantry offi- 
cers and the junior bar — they were for the most 
part mighty nice to look at, but very raw about 
racing. How long I might have gone on in this 
way I cannot say; but one piorning I fell in with 
a fat, elderly gentleman, in shorts and gaiters, 
mounted on a dun cob pony, that was very 
fidgety and hot-tempered, and appeared to give 
the rider a great deal of uneasiness. 

" ' He's a spicy hack you're on, sir,' said I, ' and 
has a go in him, I'll be bound.' 

" ' I rayther think he has,' said the old gentle- 
man, half testily. 

"'And can trot a bit, too.' 

" ' Twelve Irish miles in fifty minutes, with my 
weight.' Here he looked down at a paunch like 
a sugar hogshead. 

" ' Maybe he's not bad across a country,' said 
I, rather to humor the old fellow, who, I saw, was 
proud of his ])ony. 

"'I'd like to see his match, that's all.' Here 
he gave a rather contemptuous glance at my hack. 

"Well, one word led to another, and it ended 
at last in our booking a matcii, with which one 
party was no less pleased than the other. It was 
this: each was to ride his own horse, starting 
from the school in the Park, round the Fifteen 
.\cres, outside of the Monument, and I ack to the 
start — just one heat, about a mile and a half — 
the ground good, and only soft enough. In con- 
sideration, however, of the greater weight, I was 
to give odds in the start; and as we could not 



HARRY L O R R E O U E R . 



105 



veil agree on how much, it was as length decided 
hat he was to get away first, and I to follow as 
'ast as I could, after drinking a pewter quart full 
)f Guinness's double stout — droll odds, you'll 
say, but it was the old fellow's own thought, and 
)s the match was a so/t one, I let him have his 
,vay. 

" The next morning the Phoenix was crowded 
is if for a review. There were all 'the Dublin 
lotorieties, swarming in barouches, and tilburies, 
ind outside jaunting-cars — smart clerks in the 
Post-otlice, mounted upon kicking devils from 
Dycer's and Lalouette's stables — attorneys' wives 
ind daughters from York Street, and a stray doctor 
)r so on a hack that looked as if it had been lec- 
ured on for the six winter months at the College 
jf Surgeons. My antagonist was half an hour 
ate, which time I occupied in booking bets on 
;very side of me — offering odds of ten. fifteen, 
ind at last, to tempt the people, twenty-five to 
)ne against the dun. At last the fat gentleman 
:ame up on a jaunting-car, followed by a groom 
eading the cob. I wish you heard the cheer that 
greeted him on his arrival, for it appeared he was 
I well-known character in town, and much in 
avor with the mob. When he got off the car, he 
bundled into a tent, followed by a few of his 
riends, where they remained for about five min- 
ites, at the end of which he came out in full 
•acing costume — blue and yellow-striped jacket, 
)hie cap and leathers — looking as funny a figure 
IS ever you set eyes upon. I now thought it time 

throw off ray white surtout, and show out in 
sink and orange, the colors I had been winning 
n for two months past. While some of the 
■)arty were sent on to station themselves at dif- 
■erent places round the Fifteen Acres, to mark 
)ut the course, my fat friend was assisted into his 
saddle, and gave a short preliminary gallop of a 
lundred yards or so, that set us all a-laughing. 
rhe odds were now fifty to one in my favor, and 
[ gave them wherever I could find takers. 'With 
j'ou, sir, if you please, in pounds, and the gentle- 
nan in the red whiskers, too, if he likes; very 
ivell, in half-sovereigns, if you prefer it.' So 1 
ivent on, betting on every side, till the bell rang 
:o mount. As I knew I had plenty of time to 
spare, I took little notice, and merely giving a 
look to my girths, I continued leisurely booking 
aiy bets. ,\t last the time came, and at th" word 
'Away!' off went the fat gentleman on the dun. 
It a spluttering gallop, that flung the mud on 
every side of us, and once more threw us all a- 
laughing, I waited patiently till he got near the 
upper end of the park, taking bets every minute; 
now that he was away, every one offered to wager. 
At last, when I had let him get nearly half round, 
and found no more money could be had, I called 
out to his friends for the porter, and, throwing 
myself into the saddle, gathered up the reins in 
my hand. The crowd fell back on each side, 
while from the tent I have already mentioned out 
came a thin fellow with one eye, with a pewter 
quart in his hand: he lifted it up towards me, and 

1 took it; but what was my fright to find that the 
porter was boiling, and the vessel so hot I could 
barely hold it. I endeavored to drink, however: 
the first mouthful took all the skin off my lips and 



tongue, the second half-choked, and the third 
nearly threw me into an apopletic fit, the mob 
cheering all the time like devils. Meantime, the 
old fellow had reached the furze, and was going 
along like fun. Again I tried the porter, and a 
fit of coughing came on which lasted five minutes. 
The pewter was so hot that the edge of the quart 
took away a piece of my mouth at every effort. 
I ventured once more, and with the desperation 
of a madman I threw down the hot liquid to its 
last drop. My head reeled, my eyes glared, and 
my brain was on fire. I thought I beheld fifty 
fat gentlemen, riding on every side of me, and all 
the sky raining jackets in blue and yellow. Half 
mechanically I took the reins, and put spurs to 
my horse; but before I gOt well away, a loud 
cheer, from the crowd assailed me. I turned, and 
saw the dun coming in at a floundering gallop, 
covered with foam, and so dead blown that neither 
himself nor the rider could have got twenty yards 
farther. The race was, however, won. My odds 
were lost to every man on the field, and, worse 
than all, I was so laughed at, that I could not 
venture out in the streets, without hearing allus- 
ions to my misfortune; for a ceitain friend of 
mine, one Tom O'Flaherty " 

"Tom of the nth Light Dragoons?" 

"The same: you know Tom, then? Maybe you 
have heard him mention me — Maurice Malone?" 

" Not Mr. Malone, of Fort Peak?" 

" Bad luck to him. I am as well known in 
connection with Fort Peak, as the Duke is with 
Waterloo. There is not a part of the globe 
where he has not told that confounded story." 

As my readers may not possibly be all num- 
bered in Mr. O'Flaherty's acquaintance, I shall 
venture to give the anecdote which Mr. Malone 
accounted to be so widely circulated. 



CHAPTER XLVH. 

AN ADVENTURE IN CANADA. 

Towards the close of the last war with America, 
a small detachment of military occui)ied the little 
block -house of Fort Peak, which, about eight 
miles from the Falls of Niagara, formed the last 
outpost on the frontier. The F'ort, in itself in- 
considerable, was only of importance as com- 
manding a part of the river where it was practica- 
ble to ford, and where the easy ascent of the bank 
offered a safe situation for the enemy to cross 
over, whenever they felt disposed to carry the 
war into our territory. 

There having been, however, no threat of in- 
vasion in this quarter, and the natural strength 
of the position being considerable, a mere hand- 
ful of men, with two subaltern officers, were al- 
lotted for this dut}- — such being conceived ample 
to maintain it till the arrival of succor from head- 
quarters, then at Little York, on the opposite side 
of the lake. The officers of this party were our 
old acquaintance Tom O'Flaherty, and our newly- 
made one Maurice Malone. 

Whatever may be the merits of commanding 
officers, one virtue they certainly can lay small 



166 



HARRY LORREOUER, 



claim to, viz., any insight into character, or at 
least any regard for the knowledge. Seldom are 
two men sent off on detachment duty to some 
remote quarter, to associate daily and hourly for 
months together, that they are not, by some happy 
chance, the very people who never, as the phrasc; 
ii, "took to each other" in their lives. The grey- 
headed, weather-beaten, disappointed " Peninsu- 
lar" is coupled with the essenced and dandified 
Adonis of the corps; the man of literary tastes 
and cultivated pursuits with the empty-headed, 
ill-formed youth, fresh from Harrow or West- 
minster. This case offered no exception to the 
rule; for though there were few men pcs^essed 
of more assimilating powers than O'Flaherty. ye 
certainly his companion did put the f j.cul y 1 1 
the test, for anything more unlike him there 
never existed. Tom, all good humor and high 
spirits — making the best of everything — never 
nonplussed — never taken aback — perfectly at 
home, whether flirting with a Lady Charlotte in 
her drawing,-room, or crossing a grouse mountain 
in the Highlands — sufficiently well read to talk 
on any ordinary topic — and always ready-wilted 
enough to seem more so. A thorough sports- 
man, whether showing forth in his '" pink" at 
Melton, whipping a trout-stream in Wales, or 
filling a country-house with black cock and moor- 
fowl; an unexceptional judge of all the good 
things in life, from a pretty ankle to a well-hung 
tilbury — from the odds at Hazard to the " Comet 
vintage." Such, in brief, was Tom. Now his 
confrire was none of these; he had been drafted 
from the Galway militia to the line, for some 
election services rendered by his family to the 
government candidate; was of a saturnine and 
discontented habit, always miserable about some 
trifle or other, and never at rest till he had 
drowned his sorrows in Jamaica rum, which, since 
the regiment was abroad, he had copiously used 
as a substitute for whisky. To such an extent 
had this passion gained upon him, that a cor- 
poral's guard was always in attendance whenever 
he dined out, to convey him home to the barracks. 

The wearisome monotony of a close garrison, 
with so ungenial a companion, would have damped 
any man's spirits but O'Flaherty's. He, however, 
upon this, as other occasions in life, rallied him- 
self to make the best of it; and, by short excur- 
sions within certain prescribed limits along the 
river side, contrived to shoot and fish enough to 
get through the day, and improve the meagte fare 
of his mess-table. Malone never appeared before 
dinner — iiis late sittings at night requiring all the 
following day to recruit him for a new attack 
upon the rum bottle. 

Now, although his seeing so little of his brother 
officer was anything but unpleasant to O'Flaherty, 
yet the ennui of such a life was gradually wear- 
ing him, and all his wits were put in requisition 
to furnish occupation for his time. Never a day 
passed without his praying ardently for an attack 
from the enemy; any alternative, any reverse, had 
been a blessing compared with his present life. 
No such spirit, liowever, seemed to animate the 
Yankee troops; not a soldier was to be seen for 
miles around, and every straggler that passed the 
Fort concurred in saying that the Americans 



were not within four day's march of the frontier. 

Weeks passed over, and the same state of 
things remaining unchanged, O'Flaherty gradually 
relaxed some of his strictness as to duty; small 
foraging parties of three and four being daily 
permitted to leave the Fort for a few hours, to 
which they usually returned laden with wild 
turkeys and fish— both being found in great 
abundance near them. 

Such was the life of the little garrison for two 
or three long summer months — each day so 
resembling its fellow, .that no difference could be 
found. 

As to how the war was faring, or what the aspect 
of affairs might be, they absolutely knew nothing. 
Newspapers never reached them; and whetiier 
from having so much occupation at headquarters, 
or that the difficulty of sending letters prevented, 
their friends never wrote a line; and thus they 
jogged on a very vegetable existence, till thought 
at last was stagnating in their brains, and 
O'Flaherty half envied his companion's resource 
in the S])irit flask. 

Such was tlie state of affairs at the Fort, when 
one evening O'Flaherty a|ipeared to pace the 
little rampart that looked towards Lake Ontario, 
with an appearance of anxiety and ini]jatience 
strangely at variance with his daily phlegmatic 
look. It seemed that the corporal's i)arty he had 
despatched that morning to forage near the 
"Falls" had not returned, and already were four 
hours later than their time away. 

Every imaginable mode of accounting for 
their absence suggested itself to his mind. Some- 
times he feared that they had been attacked by 
the Indian hunters, who were far from favorably 
disposed towards their poaching neighbois. 
Then, again, it might be merely that they luid 
missed their track in the forest; or could it be 
that they had ventured to reach Goat Island in a 
canoe, and had been carried down the rapids? 
Such were the torturing doubts that passed, as 
some shrill squirrel or hoarse night-owl pierced 
the air with a cry, and then all was silent again. 
While thus the hours went slowly by, his atten- 
tion was attracted by a briglit light in the sky. 
It appeared as if part of the heavens were reflect- 
ing some strong glare from beneath, for, as he 
looked, the light, at first pale and colorless, 
gradually deepened into a rich mellow hue, and 
at length, through the murky blackness of the 
night, a strong clear current of flame rose steadily 
upwards from the earth, and pointed towa'^ds the 
sky. From the direction, it must have been 
either at the Falls or immediately near them; and 
now the horrible conviction flashed u])on his 
mmd that the party had been waylaid by the 
Indians, who were, as is their custom, making a 
war-feast over their victims. 

Not an instant was to be lost. The little gar- 
rison beat to arms; and, as the men fell in, 
O'Flaherty cast his eyes around, while he selected 
a few brave fellows to accompany him. Scarcely 
had the men fallen out from the ranks, when the 
sentinel at the gate was challenged by a well- 
known voice, and in a moment more the corporal 
of the foraging party was among them. Fatigue 
and exhaustion had so overcome him, that for 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



167 



some minutes he was speechless. At length he 
recovered sufficiently to give the following brief 
account: — 

The little party having obtained their supply 
of venison above Queenston, were returning to 
the Fort, when they suddenly came upon a track 
of feet, and little experience in forest life soon 
proved that some new arrivals had reached the 
hunting-grounds, for on examining them closely, 
they proved neither to be Indian tracks, nor yet 
tho5e made by the shoes of the Fort party. Pro- 
ceeding with caution to track them backwards 
for three or four miles, they reached the bank of 
Niagara river, above the whirlpools, where the 
crossing is most easily effected from the American 
side. The mystery was at once explained: it was 
a surprise party of the Yankees, sent to attack 
Fort Peak; and now the only thing to be done 
was to hasten back immediately to their friends, 
and prepare for their reception. 

With this intent they took the river path as the 
shortest, but had not proceeded far when their 
fears were confirmed ; for in a little embayment 
of the bank they perceived a party of twenty blue 
coats, who, with their arms piled, were lying 
around as if waiting for the hour of attack. The 
sight of this party added greatly to their alarm, 
for they now perceived that the Americans had 
divided their force — the foot-tracks first seen 
being evidently those of another division. As the 
corporal and his few men continued, from the low 
and thick brushwood, to make their reconnois- 
ance of the enemy, they observed with delight 
that they were not regulars, but a militia force. 
With this one animating thought, they again, with 
noiseless step, regained the forest, and proceeded 
upon their way. Scarcely, however, had they 
niirched a mile, when the sound of voices and 
loud laughter apprised them that another party 
was near, which, as well as thev could observe in 
the increasing gloom, was still larger than the 
former. They were now obliged to make a con- 
siderable circuit, and advance still deeper into 
tile forest — ^their anxiety hourly increasing, lest 
the enemy should reach the Fort before them- 
selves. In this dilemma it was resolved that the 
|):irty should separate — the corporal determining 
to proceed alone by the river bank, while the 
others by a «'■'/■)«/- of some miles, should endeavor 
to learn the force of the Yankees, and, as far as 
they could, their mode of attack. From that in- 
stant the corporal knew no more, for, after two 
hours' weary exertion, he reached the Fort, which, 
had it been but another mile distant, his strength 
had not held out for him to attain. 

However gladly poor O' Flaherty might have 
hailed such information under other circum- 
stances, now it came like a thunderbolt upon 
him. Six of his small force were away, perhaps 
ere this made prisoners by the enemy; the Yan- 
kees, as well as he could judg.:-, were a numerous 
])irty; and he himself totally without a single 
adviser — for Malone had dined, and was, there- 
fore, by this time in that pleasing state of indif- 
ference, in which he could only recogni.-^e an 
enemy in the man that did not send round the 
decanter. 

In the half-indulged hope that his state might 



permit some faint exercise of the reasoning 
faculty, O'Flaherty walked towards the small den 
they had designated as the mess-room, in search 
of his brother-officer. 

As he entered the apartment, little disposed as 
he felt to mirth at such a moment, the tableau 
before him was too ridiculous not to laugh at. 
.\t one side of the fireplace sat Malone, his face 
florid with drinking, and his eyeballs projecting. 
Upon his head was a small Indian skull-cap, with 
two peacock's feathers, and a piece of scarlet 
cloth which hung down behind. In one hand he 
held a smoking goblet of rum punch, and in the 
other a long Indian Chibook pipe. Opposite to 
him, but squatted upon the floor, reposed a red 
Indian, that lived in the Fort as a guide, equally 
drunk, but preserving, even in his liquor, an im- 
passive, grave aspect, strangely contrasting with 
the high excitement of Malone's face. The red 
man wore Malone's uniform coat, which he had 
put on back foremost — his head-dress having, in 
all probability, been exchanged for it, as an 
amicable courtesy between the parties. There they 
sat, looking fixedly at each other; neither spoke, 
nor even smiled — the rum bottle, which at brief in- 
tervals passed from one to the other, maintained a 
friendly intercourse that each was content with. 

To the hearty fit of laughing of O'Flaherty, 
Malone replied by a look of drunken defiance, 
and then nodded to his red friend, who returned 
the courtesy. As poor Tom left the room, he 
saw that nothing was to be hoped for in this 
quarter, and determined to beat the garrison to 
arms without any further delay. Scarcely had he 
closed the door behind him, when a sudden 
thought flashed through his brain. He hesitated, 
walked forward a few paces, stopped again, and 
calling out to the corporal, said, — 

" You are certain they were militia?" 

" Yes, sir; quite sure." 

" Then, by Jove, I have it," cried O'Flaherty. 
" If they should turn out to be the Luffalo Fen- 
cibles, we may get through this scrape better than 
I hoped for." 

" I believe you are right sir; for I heard one of 
the men as I passed observe, ' What will they say 
in Buftalo when it's over?' " 

"Send Mathers here, corporal; and do you 
order four rank and file, with side-arms, to be in 
readiness immediately." 

" Mathers, you have heard the news," said 
O'Flaherty, as the sergeant entered. "Can the 
Fort hold out against such a force as Jackson 
reports? You doubt; well, so do I; so let's see 
what's to be done. Can you remember, was it 
not the Buffalo militia that were so tremendously 
thrashed by the Delawares last autumn?" 

"Yes, sir, they chased them for two days and 
nights, and had they not reached the town of 
Buffalo, the Delawares would not have left a scalp 
in the regiment." 

"Can you recollect the chief's name — it was 
Carran — something, eh?" 

" Caudan-dacwagae." 

"Exactly. Where is he supposed to be now?" 

" Up in Detroit, sir, they say, but no one 
knows. Those fellows are here to-day, and there 
to-morrow." 



168 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



" Well, then, sergeant, here's my plan." Saying 
these words, O'i'laherty proceeded to walk 
towards his quarters, accompanied by the sergeant, 
with whom he conversed for some time eagerly; 
occasionally replying, as it ajjpeared, to objec- 
tions, and offering explanations as the other 
seemed to require them. The colloquy lasted 
half an hour; and although the veteran sergeant 
seemed difficult of conviction, it ended by his 
saying, as he left the room, — 

" Well, sir, as you say, it can only come to hard 
knocks at worst. Here goes. I'll send off the 
scout party to make the fires and choose the men 
for the out-pickets, for no time is to be lost." 

In about an hour's time from the scene I have 
mentioned, a number of militia officers, of differ- 
ent grades, were seated round a bivouac fire, upon 
the bank of the Niagara river. The conversation 
seemed of an angry nature, for the voices of the 
speakers were loud and irascible, and their ges- 
tures evidenced a state of high excitement. 

" I see," said one, who seemed the superior of 
the party—" I see well where this will end. We 
shall have another Queenston affair, as we had 
last fall with the Delawares." 

"I only say," replied another, " that if you wish 
our men to stand fire to-morrow morning, the less 
you remind them of the Delawares the better. 
What is that noise? Is not that a drum beating.'" 

The party at these words sprang to their legs, 
and stood in an attitude of listening for some 
seconds. 

" Who goes there?" sang out a sentinel from his 
post; and then, after a moment's delay, added: 
"Pass flag of truce to Major Brown's quarters." 

Scarcely were the words spoken, when three 
ofificers in scarlet, preceded by a drummer with a 
white flag, stood before the American party. 

"To whom may I address myself?" said one 
of the British — who, I may inform my reader, eit 
passant, was no other than O'Flaherty — " to whom 
may I address myself as the officer in command?" 

"I am Major Brown," said a short plethoric 
little man, in a blue uniform and round hat, 
"And who are you?" 

"MajorO'Flaherty, of his Majesty's Fifth Foot," 
said Tom, with a very sonorous emphasis on each 
word, " the bearer of a flag of truce and an 
amicable proposition from Major-General Allen, 
commanding the garrison of Fort Peak." 

The Americans, who were evidently taken by 
surprise at their intentions of attack being known, 
were silent, while he continued: — 

" Gentlemen, it may appear somewhat strange 
that a garrison, possessing the natural strength of 
a powerful position, supplied with abundant am- 
munition and every muniment of war, should 
despatch a flag of truce on the eve of an attack, 
in preference to waiting for the moment when a 
sharp and well-prepared reception might best 
attest its vigilance and discipline. But the reasons 
for this step are soon explained. In the first 
place, you intend a surprise. We have been long 
aware of your projected attack. Our spies have 
tracked you from your crossing the river above 
the whirlpool to your present jiosition. Every 
man of your party is numbered by us; and, what 
is still more, numbered by our allies; yes, gentle- 



men, I must repeat it, 'allies,' though as a 
Bnton, I blush at the word. Shame and dis- grace 
forever be that man's portion who first associated 
the honorable usages of war with the atrocious 
and bloody cruelties of the savage. Yet so it is: 
the Delawares of the hills" — here the Yankees 
exchanged very peculiar looks — "have this morn- 
ing arrived at Fort Peak, with orders to ravage 
the whole of your frontier, from Fort George to 
Lake Erie. They brought us the information of 
your approach, and their chief is, while I sjjeak, 
making an infamous proposition, by which a 
price is to be paid for every scalp he produces in 
the morning. Now, as the general cannot refuse 
to co-operate with the savages without compro- 
mising himself with the commander-in-chief, 
neither can he accept of such assistance without 
some pangs of conscience, he has taken the only 
course open to him; he has despatched myself 
and my brother officers here — " O'Flaherly 
glanced at two privates dressed up in his regi- 
mentals — " to offer you terms " 

O'Flaherty paused when he arrived thus far, ex- 
pecting that the ojjposile party would make some 
reply; but they continued silent; when suddenly, 
from the dense forest, there rang forth a wild and 
savage yell, that rose and fell several times, like 
the pibroch of a Highlander, and ended at last in 
a loud whoop, that was echoed and re-echoed 
again and again for several seconds after. 

" Hark!" said O'Flaherty, with an accent cf 
horror. "Hark! the war-cry of the Delawares! 
The savages are eager for their prey. May it ytt 
be time enough to rescue you from such a fate! 
Time presses — our terms are these— as they to 
not admit of discussion, and must be at once ac- 
cepted or rejected, to your own ear alone can I 
impart them." 

Saying which he took Major Brown aside, and 
walking apart from the others, led him, by slew 
steps, into the forest. While O'Flaherty con- 
tinued to dilate upon the atrocities of Indian war, 
and the revengeful character of the savages, he 
contrived to be always advancing towards the 
river side, till at length the glare of a fire wr.s 
perceptible through the glocni. Major Brown 
stopped suddenly, and pointed in the direction of 
the flame. 

" It is the Indian jiicket," said O'Flaherty, 
calmly: "and as the facts I have been detailing 
may be more palpable to your mind, you shall see 
them with your own eyes. Yes, I repeat it, you 
shall, through the cover of this brushwood, see 
Caudan-dacwagae himself — for he is with them 
in person." 

As O'Flaherty said this, he led Major Brown, 
now speechless with terror, behind a mass-ive 
cork-tree, from which spot they could look, down 
upon the river side, where in a small creek sat 
five or six persons in blankets and scarlet head- 
dresses; their faces streaked with patches of yel- 
low and red paint, to which the glare of the fire 
lent fresh horror. In the midst sat one whose 
violent gestures and savage cries gave him the 
verv appearance of a demon, as he resisted with 
all his might the efforts of the others to restrain 
him, shouting like a maniac all the while, and 
struggling to rise. 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



1C9 



"It is the chief," said O'FIaherty; "he will 
wait no longer. We have bribed the others to 
keep him quiet, if possible, a little time; but I 
see they cannot succeed." 

A loud yell of triumpii from below interrupted 
Tom's speech. The infuriated savage — who was 
no other than Mr. Malone — having obtained the 
rum bottle, for which he was fighting with all his 
might; his temper not being improved in the 
struggle by occasional admonitions from the red 
end of a cigar, applied to his naked skin by the 
other Indians, who were his own soldiers anting 
under O'Flaherty's orders. 

" Now," said Tom, " that you have convii ced 
yourself, and can satisfy your brother officers, 
will you take your chances? or will you accept the 
honorable terms of the general^pile your arms, 
and retreat beyond the river before daybreak? 
Your muskets and ammunition will offer a bribe 
to the cupidity of the savage, and delay his pur- 
suit till you can reach some place of safety." 

Major Brown heard the proposal in silence, and 
at last determined upon consulting his brother 
officers. 

"I have outstayed my time," said O'FIaherty; 
"but stop; the lives of so many are at stake, I 
consent." Saying which, they walked on with- 
out speaking, till they arrived where the others 
were standing around the watch-fire. 

As Brown retired to consult with the officers, 
Tom heard with pleasure how much /;n"two com- 
panions had worked upon the Yankees' fears dur- 
ing his absence, by details of the vindictive feel- 
ings of the Delawares, atid their vows to annihilate 
the Buffalo militia. 

Before five minutes they had decided. Upon 
a solenm pledge from O'FIaherty that the terms 
of the compact were to be observed as he stated 
them, they agreed to march with their arms to the 
ford, where, having piled them, they were to cross 
over, and make the best of their way home. 

By sunrise the next morning all that remained 
of the threatened attack on Fort Peak were the 
smouldering ashes of some wood fires — eighty 
muskets piled in the fort — and the yellow ochre 
and red stripes that still adorned the countenance 
of the late Indian chief — but now snoring Lieu- 
tenant — Maurice Malone. 



CHAPTER XLVIII. 

THE courier's passport. 

A SECOND night succeeded to the long dreary 
day of the diligence, and only one agreeable 
reflection arose in the feeling that every mile 
travelled was diminishing the chance of pursuit, 
and removing me still further from that scene of 
trouble and annoyance that was soon to furnish 
gossip for Paris — under the title of the ''Affaire 
O' Leary." 

How //(♦ was ever to extricate himself from the 
numerous and embarrassing difficulties gave me, 
I confess, less uneasiness than the uncertainty of 
my own fortunes. Luck seemed ever to befriend 
him — me it had always accompanied far enough 



through life to make its subsequent desertion 
more painful. How far I should blame myself 
for this, I stopped not to consider, but brooded 
over the fact in a melancholy and discontented 
mood. The one thought uppermost in my mind 
was. How will Lady Jane receive me — am I for- 
gotten — or am I only remembered as the subject 
of that unlucky mistake, when, under the guise of 
an elder son, I was feted and made much of? 
What pretensions I had, without fortune, rank, 
influence, or even expectations of any kind, to 
seek the hand of the most beautiful girl of the 
day, with the largest fortune as her dowry, I dare 
not ask myself — the reply would have daslied all 
my hopes, and my pursuit w^ould have at once 
been abandoned. " Tell the peojile you are an 
excellent preacher," was the advice of an old 
and learned divine to a younger and less experi- 
enced one — " tell them so every morning, and 
every noon, and every evening, and at last they 
will begin to believe it." "So," thought I, "I 
shall impress upon the Callonbys that I am a 
most unexceptionable parti. Upon every occa- 
sion they shall hear it, as they open their news- 
papers at breakfast, as they sip their soup at 
luncheon, as they adjust their napkins at dinner, 
as they chat over their wine at night. My influ- 
ence in the house shall be unbounded, my pleas- 
ures consulted, my dislikes remembered. The 
people in favor with me shall dine there three 
times a week — those less fortunate shall be put into 
schedule B. My opinions on all subjects shall be 
a law, whether I pronounce upon politics, or dis- 
cuss a dinner: and all this I shall accomplish by 
a successful flattery of my lady, a little bullying 
of my lord, a devoted attention to the youngest 
sister, a special cultivation of Kilkee, and a very 
prononcc' neglect of Lady Jane." These were my 
half waking thoughts, as the heavy diligence 
rumbled over the pav^ into Nancy; and I was 
aroused by the door being suddenly jerked open, 
and a bronzed face, with a black beard and mous- 
tache, being thrust in amongst us. 

" Your passports, messieurs?" as a lantern was 
lield up in succession across our faces, and we 
handed forth our crumpled and worn papers to the 
official. 

The night was stormy and dark — gusts of wind 
sweeping along, bearing with them the tail of some 
thunder cloud — mingling their sounds with a fall- 
ing tile from the roofs, or a broken chimney-pot. 
The officer in vain endeavored to hold open the 
passports while he inscribed his name; and just 
as the last scrawl was completed, the lantern went 
out. Muttering a heavy curse upon the weather, 
he thrust them in upon us en masse, and, banging 
the door to, called out to the conductor, "En 
route." 

Again we rumbled on, and, ere we cleared the 
last lamps of the town, the whole party were once 
more sunk in sleep, save myself. Hour after hour 
rolled by, the rain pattering upon the roof, and 
the heavy plash of the horses' feet contributing 
their mournful sounds to the melancholy that was 
stealing over me. At length we drew up at the 
door of a little inn, and, by the noise and bustle 
without, I perceived there was a change of horses. 
Anxious to stretch my legs, and relieve, if even 



170 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



for a moment, the wearisome monotony of the 
night, I got out, and strode into the little parlor 
of the inn. There was a cheerful fire in an open 
stove, beside which stood a portly figure in a 
sheepskin bunta and a cloth travelling cap, with 
a gold band; his legs were cased in high Russia 
leather boots, all evident signs of the profession 
of the wearer, had even his haste at supper not 
bespoken the fact that he was a government 
courier. 

" You had better make haste with the horses, 
Antoine, if you don't wish the postmaster to hear 
of it," said he, as I entered, his mouth filled with 
pie-crust and vin de Beaune, as he spoke. 

A lumbering peasant, with a blouse, sabots, and 
a striped nightcap, replied in some unknown 
patois; when the courier again said, — ■ 

" Well, then, take the diligence horses; I must 
get on, at all events; they are not so hurried, I'll 
be bound; besides, it will save the gendarmes 
some miles of a ride if they overtake them here." 

" Have we another vise of our passports here, 
then?" said I, addressing the courier, "for we have 
already been examined at Nancy." 

''Not exactly a zw'," said the courier, eyeing 
me most suspiciously as he spoke, and then con- 
tinuing to eat with his former voracity. 

" Then what, may I ask, have we to do with 
the gendarmes?" 

"It is a search," said the courier, gruffly, and 
with the air of one who desired no further ques- 
tioning. 

I immediately ordered a bottle of Burgundy, 
and filling a large goblet before him, said, with 
much respect, — 

" A votre bon voyage. Monsieur le Courier." 

To this he at once replied, by taking off his 
cap and bowing politely as he drank off the 
wine. 

"Have we any runaway felon or stray galley 
slave among us," said I, laughingly, " that they are 
going to search us ?" 

"No, Monsieur," said the courier; " but there 
has been a government order to arrest a person on 
this road connected with the dreadful Polish plot 
that has just /,:-/rt//i/ at Paris. I passed a vidette 
of cavalry at Nancy, and they will be up here in 
half an hour." 

"A Poli-sh plot! Why, I left Paris only two 
days ago, and never heard of it." 

" C'est bien possible, Monsieur! Perhaps, 
after all, it may only be an affair of the police; 
but they have certainly arrested one prisoner at 
Meurice, charged with this, as well as the attempt 
to rob Frascati, and murder the croupier." 

"Alas," said I, with a half-suppressed groan, 
"it is too true; that infernal fellow, O'Leary, has 
ruined me, and I shall be brought back to Paris, 
and only taken from prison to meet the open 
shame and disgrace of a public trial." 

What was to be done? — every moment was 
precious. I walked to the door to conceal my agi- 
tation. All was dark and gloomy. The thought 
of escape was my only one; but how to accom- 
plish it? Every stir without suggested to my anx- 
ious mind the approaching tread of horses — every 
rattle of the harness seemed like the clink of 
accoutrements. 



While I yet hesitated, I felt that my fate was 
in the balance. Concealment where I was, was 
impossible; there were no means of obtaining 
horses to proceed. My last only hope then 
rested in the courier; he, perhajis, might be bribed 
to assist me at this juncture. Still his impression 
as to the enormity of the crime imputed, might 
deter him: and there was no time for explanation, 
if even he would listen to it. I returned to the 
room; he had finished his meal, and was now en- 
gaged in all the preparations for encountering a 
wet and dreary night. I hesitated; my fears that 
if he should refuse my offers, all chance of my es- 
cape was gone, deterred me for a moment. At 
length, as he wound a large woollen shawl around 
his throat, and seemed to have completed his cos- 
tume, I summoned nerve for the effort, and with 
as mucli boldness in my manner as I could muster, 
said, — 

" Monsieur le Courier, one word \vith you." I 
here closed the door, and continued: "My for- 
tunes, my whole prospects in life, depend upon my 
reaching Strasbourg by to-morrow night. You 
alone can be the means of my doing so. Is there 
any price you can mention for which you will 
render me this service?— if so, name it." 

"So, then. Monsieur," said the courier, slowly, 
" so, then, you are the " 

" You ha\e guessed it," said I, interrupting. 
" Do you accept my proposal." 

"It is impossible," said he, " utterly impossi- 
ble, for even should I be disposed to run the risk 
on my own account, it would avail you nothing; 
the first town we entered, your jiassport would be 
demanded, and not being visi'd by the minister to 
travel en courier you would at once be detained 
and arrested." 

" Then am I lost," said I, throwing myself upon 
a chair; at the same instant my passport, which I 
carried in my breast-pocket, fell out at the feet of 
the courier. He lifted it and opened it leisurely. 
So engrossed was I at my misfortunes, that for 
some minutes I did not perceive that, as he con- 
tinued to read the passport, he smiled from time to 
time till at length a hearty fit of laughing awoke 
me from my abstraction. My first impulse, was 
to seize him by the throat; controlling luy tem- 
per, however, with an effort, I said, — 

" And pray. Monsieur, may I ask in what manner 
the position I stand in at this moment affords you 
so much amusement? Is there anything so par- 
ticularly droll — anything so excessively ludicrous 
in my situation — or what particular gift do you 
possess that shall prevent me throwing you out of 
the window?" 

" Mais, Monsieur," said he, half stifled with 
laughter, " do you know the blunder I fell into? 
it is really too good. Could you only guess whom 
I took you for, you would laugh, too." 

Here he became so overcome with merriment, 
that he was obliged to sit down, which he did op- 
posite to me, and actually shook with laughter. 

"When this comedv is over," thought I, "we 
may begin to understand each other." Seeing 
no prospect of this, I became at length impatient, 
and jumping on my legs, said, — 

" Enough, sir, quite enough of this foolery. 
Believe me, you have every reason to be thankful 



HARRY LORREOUER, 



171 



that my present embarrassment should so far en- 
gross me, that I cannot afford time to give you a 
thrashing." 

" Pardon, mille pardons," said he, humbly, 
" but you will, I am sure, forgive me when I tell 
you that I was stupid enough to mistake you for 
the fugitive Englishman, whom the gendarmes are 
in pursuit of. How good, eh?" 

"Oh! devilisli good — -but what do you mean?" 

"Why, the fellow that caused the attack at 
Frascati, and all that, and •" 

'■ Ves — -well, eh? Did you think I was he?" 

"To be sure I did, till I saw your passport." 

"Till you saw my passport! — VVhy, what on 
earth can he mean?" thought I. — " No, but," said 
I, half jestingly, "how could you make such a 
blunder?" 

" Why, your confused manner — your impa- 
tience to get on — -your hurried questions, all con- 
vinced me. In fact, I'd have wagered anything 
you were the Englishman." 

" And what, in Heaven's name, does he think 
nie now?" thought I, as I endeavored to join the 
laugh so ludicrous a mistake occasioned. 

"Bat we are delaying sadly," said the courier. 
" Are you ready?" 

" Ready? — ready for what?" 

" To go on with me, of course. Don't you wish 
to get early to Strasbourg?" 

" To be sure I do." 

" Well, then, come along. But, pray don't mind 
your luggage, for my caleche is loaded. Your in- 
struments can come in the diligence." 

"My instruments in the diligence! He's mad 
— that's flat." 

" How they will laugh at Strasbourg at my 
mistake." 

" That they will," thought I. " The only doubt 
is, will you join in the merriment?" 

So saying, I followed the courier to the door, 
jumped into his caleche, and in another moment 
was hurrying over the />tz;^^' at apace that defied 
pursuit, and promised soon to make up for all 
our late delay. Scarcely was the fur-lined apron 
of the caleche buttoned around me, and the 
German blinds let down, when I set to work to 
think over the circumstance that had just be- 
fallen me. As I Imd never exammed my pass- 
jtort from the moment Trevanion handed it to 
me at Paris, I knew nothing of its contents; there- 
fore, as to what impression it might convey of 
me, I was totally ignorant. To ask the courier 
for it now might excite suspicion; so that I was 
totally at sea how to account for his sudden 
change in my favor, or in what precise capacity 
I was travelling beside him. Once, and once 
only, the thought of treachery occurred to me. 
"Is he about to hand me over to the gendarmes? 
and are we now only retracing our steps towards 
Nancy? If so, Monsieur le Courier, whatever be 
jiiy fate, yours is certainly an unenviable one." 
My reflections on this head were soon broken in 
upon, for mvcompanion again returned to the sub- 
ject of his " singular error," and assured me that 
he was as near as possible leaving me behind, 
under the mistaken impression of my being " my- 
self;" and informed me that all Strasbourg would 
be delighted to see me, which latter piece of news 



was only the more flattering, that I knew no one 
there, nor had ever been in that city in my life; 
and after about an hour's mystification as to my 
tastes, habits, and pursuits, he fell fast asleep, 
leaving me to solve the difficult [.roblem as to 
whether I was not somebody else, or, the only al- 
ternative — whether travelling en coinicr might not 
be prescribed by physicians as a mode of treating 
insane patients. 



CHAPTER XLIX. 

A NIGHT IN STRASBOURG. 

With the dawn of day my miseries recom- 
menced; for after letting down the sash, and vent- 
ing some very fervent imprecations uj on th.e 
l)ostilion for not going faster than his horses were 
able, the courier once more recurred to his last 
night's blunder, and proceeded very leisurely to 
catechize me as to my probable stay at Stras- 
bourg, whither I should go frcm thence, and so 
on. As I was still in doubt what or whom he 
took me for, I answered with the greatest cir- 
cumspection — watching, the ^^hile, for any clue 
that might lead me to a discovery of myself. 
Thus occasionally evading all pushing and home 
queries, and sometimes, whtn haid pressed, 
feigning drowsiness, 1 ] assed the long and anxicus 
day — the fear of being o\ trlaktn e\tr n.irgling 
with the thought that seme unlucky rcmissicn 
of mine might discover m}- real character to the 
courier, who, at any post station, might hand me 
over to the authorities. "Cculd I only gucis at 
the part I am perfoiming," thouf:ht I, "and !• 
might manage to keep up the illusion;" Lut my 
attention was so entirely engrossed by fencing off 
all the thrusts, that 1 could find out nothing. At 
last, as night drew near, the thought that we were 
approaching Strasbourg rallied my spirits, sug- 
gesting an escape from all pursuit, as well as the 
welcome prospect of getting rid of my present 
torturer, who, whenever I awoke from a doze, re- 
verted to our singular meeting with a pertinacity 
that absolutely seemed like malice. 

"As I am aware that this is your first visit to 
Strasbourg," said the courier, "perhaps I can be 
of service to you in reccn.mending a hotel. Tut 
up, I advise )0U, at the ' Bear'^a capital Jiotel, 
and not ten minutes' distance from the theatre." 

I thanked him for the counsel; and, rejoicing 
in the fact that my prototype, vhoever he might 
be, was unknown in the city, began to feel ."-cme 
little hope of getting through this scrape, as I had 
done so many others. 

" They have been keeping the ' Huguenots' for 
your arrival, and all Strasbourg is impatient for 
your coming." 

"Indeed!" said I, mumbling something meant 
to be modest. " Who the devil am I, then, to 
cause all this fracas? Heaven grant, not the new 
'prefect,' or the commander of the forces." 

"I am told the ' ZauberfliJtte' is ycur favorite 
opera?" 

" I can't say that I ever heard it — that is, I mean 
that I could say — well got up." 



It2 



HARRY LORREOUER, 



Here I floundered on, having so far forgot my- 
self as to endanger everything. 

"How very unfortunate! Well, I hope you 
will not long have as much to say. Meanwhile, 
here we are — this is the ' Bear.' " 

We rattled into the ample por/e cochereoi avast 
hotel, the postilion cracking his enormous whip, 
and bells ringing on every side, as if the Crown 
Prince of Russia had been the arrival, and not a 
poor sub. in the 4 — th. 

The courier -jumped out, and running up to 
the landlord, whispered a few words in his ear, 
to which the other answered with a deep " Ah, 
vraiment!" and then saluted me with an obse- 
quiousness that made my flesh quake. 

"I shall make ' mes hommages' in the morn- 
ing," said the courier, as he drove off at full 
speed to deliver his despatches, and left me to 
my own devices to perform a character, without 
even being able to guess what it might be. My 
passport, too, the only thing that could throw 
any light upon the affair, he had taken along with 
him, promising to have it vis^d, and save me any 
trouble. 

Of all my difficulties and puzzling situations 
in life, this was certainly the worst; for however 
often my lot had been to personate another, yet 
hitherto I had had the good fortune to be aware 
of what and whom I was performing. Now I 
might be anybody, from Marshal Soult to Mon- 
sieur Scribe; one thing only was certain, I must 
be a "Celebrity." The confounded pains and 
trouble they were taking to receive me, attested 
that fact, and left me to the pleasing reflection 
that my detection, should it take place, would be 
sure of attracting a very general publicity. Hav- 
ing ordered my supper from the landlord, with a 
certain air of reserve, sufficient to prevent even 
an Alsace host from obtruding any questions 
upon me, I took my opportunity to stroll from 
the inn down to the river side. There lay the 
broad, rapid Rliine, separating me, by how nar- 
row a limit, from that land, where, if I once ar- 
rived, my safety was certain. Never did that 
great boundary of nations strike me so forcibly 
as now, when my own petty interests and fortunes 
^^ere at stake. Night was fast settling upon the 
lnw, flat banks of the stream, and nothing stirred, 
s<ive the ceaseless ripple of the river. One fish- 
ing barque alone was on the water I hailed the 
solitary tenant of it, and after some little parley, 
iiidiiced him to ferry me over. This, however, 
couid only be done when the night was further 
advanced — it being against the law to cross the 
river except at certain hours, and between two 
established points, where officers of the revenue 
were stationed. The fisherm.in was easily bribed, 
however, to evade the regulation, and only bar- 
gained that I should meet him on the bank be- 
fore daybreak. Having settled this point to my 
satisfaction, I returned to my hotel in better 
spirits, and with a Strasbourg pate, and a flask 
of Nieren steiner, drank to my speedy deliverance. 

How to consume the long, dreary hours be- 
tween this time and that of my departure, I knew 
not, for though greatly fatigued, I felt that sleep 
-ivas impossible: the usual resource of a gossip 
with the host was equally out of the question; 



and all that remained was the theatre, which I 
happily remembered was not far from the hotel. 

It was an opera night, and the house was 
crowded to excess; but with some little manage- 
ment, I obtained a place in a box near the stage. 
The piece was " Les Francs Masons," which was 
certainly admirably supported, and drew down 
from the audience — no mean one as judges of 
music — the loudest thunders of applause. As 
for me, the house was as great a curiosity as the 
opera. The novel spectacle of some hundred 
people relishing and appreciating the highest 
order of musical genius, was something totally 
new and surprising to me. The curtain at length 
fell upon the fifth act — and now the deafening 
roar of acclamation was trtmtndous; and amid 
a perfect shout of enthusiasm, the manager an- 
nounced the opera for the tnsuing e\ening. 
Scarcely had this subsided, A\htn a buzz rr.n 
through the house; at first subdued, but grrd- 
ually getting louder — extending frcm the Lcxts 
to the balcony — from the baleen)' to the parteire 
— and finally even to the galleries. Groujis of 
people stood upon the benches, and looked fix- 
edly in one part of the house; then changed and 
regarded as eagerly the other. 

What can this mean? thought I. Is the thea- 
tre on fire? Something surely has gene wrong. 

In this conviction, with the contagious fpirit 
of curiosity, I mounted upon a seat, and looked 
about roe on every side; but unable still to calih 
the object which seemed to attract ihe rest, as I 
was about to resume my place, my e\ es fell U] on 
a well-known face, which in an instant I remem- 
bered was that of my late fellow-traveller, the 
courier. Anxious to avoid his recognition, I at- 
tempted to get down at once; but before 1 cculd 
accomplish it, the wretch had perceived and re- 
cognized me; and I saw him, even with a gesture 
of delight, point me out to some friends beside 
him. 

"Confound the fellow," muttered I; "I must 
leave this at once, or I shall be in\ohed in tome 
trouble." 

Scarcely was my resolve taken, when a new 
burst of voices arose frcm the pit — the words 
"L'Auteur!" mingling nith loud cries for "Mey- 
erbeer!" " Meyerbeer!" to appear. 

" So," thought I, " it see ms the great composer is 
here. Oh, by Jove! I must have a peep at him before 
I go." So, leaning over the front rail of the box, I 
looked anxiously about to catch one hasty glimpse 
of one of the great men of his day and country. 
What was my surprise, however, to perceive that 
about two thousand eyes were firmly riveted u] on 
the box I was seated in; while about half the 
number of tongues called out unceasingly, "Mr. 
Meyerbeer! vive Meyerbeer! — vive I'Auteur des 
Francs Masons! — vive les Francs Masons!" etc. 
Before I could turn to look for the hero of 
the scene, my legs were taken from under 
me, and I felt myself lifted by se\-eral strong men 
and held out in front of the box, while the whole 
audience, rising en masse, saluted me — yes, me, 
Harry Lorrequer — with a cheer that shook the 
building. Fearful of precipitating myself into 
the pit beneath if I made the least effort, and 
half wild with terror and amazement, 1 stared 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



173 



about like a maniac, while a beautiful young 
woman tripped along the edge of the box, sup- 
ported by her companion's hand, and placed 
lightly upon my brow a chaplet of roses and 
laurel. Here the applause was like an earthquake. 

'■ May the devil fly away with half of you," 
was my grateful response to as full a cheer of 
applause as ever the walls of the house rerechoed 
to. 

"On the stage — on the stage!" shouted that 
portion of the audience who, occupying the same 
side of the house as myself, preferred having a 
better view of me; and to the stage I was accord- 
ingly luirried, down a narrow stair, through a side 
scene, and over half tfie corps de ballet who were 
waiting for their entn'e. Kicking, plunging, buf- 
feting like a madman, they carried me to the 
" flats." when the manager led me forward to the 
foot-lights, my wreath of flowers contrasting 
rather ruefully v'ith my bruised cheeks and torn 
habiliments. Human beings, God be praised! 
are only capable of certain efforts — so that one- 
half the audience were coughing their sides out, 
while the other were hoarse as bull-frogs from 
their enthusiasm in less than five minutes. 

" You'll have what my friend Rooney calls a 
chronic bronchitis iox \\\fs,& X\\x&e. weeks," said I, 
" that's one comfort," as I bowed my back to the 
" practicable" door, through which I made my 
exit, with the thousand faces of the parterre 
shouting my name, or, as fancy dictated, that of 
one of my operas. I retreated behind the sceneh 
to encounter very nearly as much, and at closer 
quarters, too, as that lately sustained before the 
audience. After an embrace of two minutes' 
duration from the manager, I ran the gauntlet 
from the prima donna to the last triangle of the 
orchestra, who cut away a back button of my 
coat as a souvenir. During all this, I must con- 
fess, very little acting was needed on my part. 
They were so perfectly contented with their self- 
deception, that if I had mxde an affid.ivit before 
the mayor — if there be such a functionary in 
such an insane town — they would not have be- 
lieved me. Wearied and exhausted at length by 
all I had gone through, I sat down upon a bench, 
and, affecting to be overcome by my feelings, 
concealed my face in my handkerchief. This 
was the first moment of relief I experienced 
since my arrival; but it was not to last long, for 
the manager, putting down his head close to my 
ear, v/hispered, — 

"Monsieur Meyerbeer, I have a surprise for you, 
such as you have not had for some time, I ven- 
ture to say." 

'■ I defy you on this head," thought I. "If 
they make me out King Solomon now, it will not 
amaze me." 

"And when I tell you my secret," continued 
he, " you will acknowledge I cannot be of a very 
jealous disposition. Madame Baptiste has just 
told me she knew you formerly, and that she — 
that is you — were, in fact — you understand — 
there had been — so to say — a little something be- 
tween you." 

I groaned in spirit as I thought, " Now am I 
lost without a chance of escape — the devil take her 
reminiscences!" 



"I see,' continued le bon mart, "you cannot 
guess of whom I speak; but when I tell you of 
Amelie Grandet, your memory will, perhaps, be 
better." 

"Amelie Grandet'" said I, with a stage start. 
I need not say that I had never heard- the name 
before — "Amelie Grandet here!" 

"Yes, that she is," said the manager, rubbing 
his hands; " and my wife, too." 

"Married! — Amelie Grandet married! No, 
no, it is impossible- — I cannot believe it. But 
were it true — true, mark me — for woilds would 
I not meet her." 

" Comme il est drole," said tlie manr-eer, sol- 
iloquizing aloud; "for my wife takes it much 
easier, seeing they never met each other since 
they were fifteen." 

" Ho, ho!" thought I, " the affair is not so bad 
either; time makes great changes in that space, 
.^nd does she still remember me?" said I, in a 
very Romeo-in-the-garden voice. 

" Why, so far as remembering the little boy 
that used to play with her in the orchard at her 
mother's cottage near Pima, and ^^ith whcm she 
used to go boating upon the Elbe, I believe the 
recollection is perfect. But come along, she in- 
sists upon seeing you, and is at this very moment 
waiting supper in our room for you." 

"A thorough German she must be," thought I, 
" with her sympathies and her supper, her 
reminiscences and her Rhine wine hunting in 
couples through her brain." 

Summoning courage from the fact of our long 
absence from each other, I followed the manager 
through a wilderness of pavilions, forests, clouds, 
and cataracts, and at length arrived at a little 
door, at which he knocked gently. 

" Come in," said a soft voice inside, '\^'e 
opened, and beheld a very beautiful young voman 
in Tyrolese costume. She was to perfoim in the 
afterpiece, her low bodice and short scarlet pet- 
ticoat displaying the most perfect sjmmetry of 
form and roundness of proportion. She was 
dressing her hair before a low glass as we came 
in, and scarcely turned at our a]i])roach; but in 
an instant, as if some sudden thought struck her, 
she sprang fully round, and looking at me fixedly 
for above a minute — a very trying one for mt — 
she glanced at her husband, whose countennnfe 
plainly indicated that she was right, and calling 
out ' C'est lui — c'est bien lui!' threw herself into 
my arms, and sobbed convulsively. 

" If this were to be the only fruits of my im- 
personation," thought I, "it is not so bad; but I 
am greatly afraid these good people will find 
out a wife and seven babies for me before morn- 
ing." 

Whether the manager thought that enough had 
been done for stage effect, I know not; but he 
disengaged th-j lovely Amelie, and deposited her 
upon a sofa, to a place upon which she speedily 
motioned me by a look from a pair of very seduc- 
ing blue eyes. 

" Francois, mon cher, you must put off ' La 
Chaumiere.' I can't play to-night." 

"Put it off! But only think of the audience, 
ma mie— they will pull down the house." 

" C'est possible," said she, carelessly. " If 



174 



HARRY LORREOUER, 



that give them any pleasure, I suppose they must 
be indulged; but I, too, must have a little of my 
own way. 1 shall not play!" 

The tone this was said in — the look — the easy 
gesture of command — no less than the afflicted 
helplessness of the luckless husband — showed 
me that Amelie, iiowever docile as a sweetheart, 
had certainly her own way as wife. 

While le cher Franrois then retired to make 
his proposition to the audience, of substituting 
something for the " Chaumiere" — the " sudden 
illness of Madame Baptiste having prevented her 
appearance" — we began to renew our old ac- 
quaintance by a tliousand inquiries into that long- 
past time when we were sweethearts and lovers. 

" You remember me then so well?" said I. 

" As of yesterday. You are much taller, and 

your eyes darker; but still there is something 

You know, however, I have been expecting to 
see you these two days, and tell me frankly, how 
do you find me looking?" 

" More beautiful, a thousand times more beau- 
tiful, than ever — all save in one tiling, Amelie " 

" And that is ?" 

" You are married." 

" How you jest. But lei us look back. Do 
you ever think on any of our old compacts?" 
Here she pulled a leaf from a rosebud in her 
bouquet, and kissed it. " I wager you have for- 
gotten that." 

How I should have replied to this masonic 
sign. Heaven knows; but the manager fortunately 
entered, to assure us that the audience had kindly 
consented not to pull down the house, but to 
listen to a five-j.ct tragedy instead, in which he 
had to perform the principal character. " So, 
then, don't wait supper, Amelie; but take care of 
Monsieur Meyerbeer till my return." 

Thus once more we were left to our souvenirs, 
in which, whenever hard pushed myself, I regularly 
carried the war into the enemy's camp, by allu- 
sions to incidents which, I need not observe, had 
never occurred. After a thousand stories of our 
early loves, mingled with an occasional sigh over 
their fleeting character — now indulging a soft 
retrospect of the once happy past, now moralizing 
on the future — Amelie and I chatted away the 
hours till the conclusion of the tragedy. 

By this time tlie hour was approaching for my 
departure; so, after a very tender leave-taking 
with my new friend and my old love, I left the 
theatre, and walked slowly along the river. 

"So much, for early associations," thought I: 
"and how much better pleased are we ever to 
paint the past according to our own fancy, than 
to remember it as it really was. Hence all the 
insufferable cant about hajipy infancy, and 'the 
glorious schoolboy days,' which have generally 
no more foundation in fact than have the 
Chateaux en Espagne we build up for the future. 
I wager that the real Amant d'Enfance, when he 
arrives, is not half so great a friend with the fair 
Amelie as his unworthy shadow. At the same time, 
I had just as soon that Lady Jane should have 
no 'early loves' to look back upon, excejit such 
as I have performed a character in." 

The plash of oars near me broke my reflections, 
and the next moment found me skimming the 



rapid Rhine, as I thought for the last time, " What 
will they say in Strasbourg to-morrow? How wul 
they account for the mysterious disappearance of 
Monsieur Meyerbeer? Poor Amelie Grandet!" 
for so completely had the late incidents engrossed 
my attention, that I had for the moment lost 
sight of the most singular event of all — how I 
came to be mistaken for the illustrious composer. 



CHAPTER L. 



A SURPRISE. 



It was late upon the following day ere I awoke 
from the long deep sleep that closed my labors 
in Strasbourg. In the confusion of my waking 
thoughts, I imagined myself still before a crowded 
and enthusiastic audience — the glare of the foot- 
lights — the crash of the orchestra — the shouts of 
L' Auteur! L'Ai/teur.' were all before me, and so 
completely possessed me, that, as the waiter en- 
tered with hot water, I could not resist the im- 
pulse to pull off my nightcap with one hand, and 
press the other to my heart in the usual theatrical 
style of acknowledgments for a most flattering 
reception. The startled look of the poor fellow 
as he neared the door to escape, roused me from 
my hallucination, and awakened me to the con- 
viction that the suspicion of lunacy might be a 
still heavier infliction than the personation of 
Monsieur Meyerbeer. 

With thoughts of this nature, I assumed my 
steadiest demeanor — ordered my breakfast in tlie 
most orthodox fashion — ate it like a man in his 
senses; and when I threw myself back in the 
wicker conveniency they call a caleche, and bid 
adieu to Kehl, the whole fraternity of the inn 
would have given me a certificate of sanity before 
any court in Euroiie. 

" Now for Munich," said I, as we rattled along 
down the steep street of the little town. " Now 
for Munich, with all the speed that first of post- 
masters and slowest of men, the Prince of Tour 
and Taxis, will afford us." 

The future engrossed all my thoughts; and, 
puzzling as my late adventures had been to ac- 
count for, I never for a moment reverted to ti.e 
past. "Is she to be mine?" was the ever-rising 
question in my mind. The thousand difficulties 
that had crossed my path might long since have 
terminated a pursuit where there was so little of 
promise, did I not cherish the idea in my heart, 
that I was fated to succeed. Sheridan answered 
the ribald sneers of his first auditory by saying, 

"Laugh on; but I have it in me, and by it 

shall come out." So I whispered to myself — 
"Go on, Harry. Luck has been hitherto against 
you, it is true; but you have yet one throw of the 
dice, and something seems to say, a fortunate one, 
in store; and if so " But I cannot trust my- 
self with such anticipations. I am well aware 
how little the world sympathizes with the man 
whose fortunes are the sport of his temperamer.t 
— that April-day frame of mind is ever the jest 
and scoff of ihose. hardier and sterner naturis 
who, if never overjoyed by success, are never nuvch 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



175 



depressed by failure. That I have been cast in 
the former mould, these " Confessions" have, ahis! 
plainly proved; but that I regret it, I fear also for 
mv character for sound judgment, I must answer, 
' No." 

** Better far to be 

In utter darkness lying, 
Than be blest with light, and see 
That light forever tlying," 

i- doubtless very pretty poetry, but very poor 
philosophy. For myself — and some glimpses of 
sunshine this fair world has afforded me, Heeting 
and passing enough, in all conscience — and vet I 
am not so ungrateful as to repine at my happiness 
because it was not permanent, while I am thank- 
ful for those bright hours of "Love's young dream," 
which, i' nothing more, are at least delightful 
souvenirs. They form the golden thread in the 
tangled web of our e.xistence, ever appearing amid 
the darker surface around, and throwing a fair 
halo of brilliancy on what, without it, were cold, 
bleak, and barren. No, no — 

" The light that lies 
In woman's eyes," 

were !•■ twice as fleeting — as it is ten times more 
brilliant — than the forked lightning, irradiates the 
dark gloom within us for m.my a long day after 
it has ceased to shine upon us. As in boyhood 
it is the humanizing influence that tempers the 
fierce and unruly passions of our nature, so in 
manhood it forms the goal to which all our better 
and higher aspirations tend, telling us there is 
something more worthy than gold, and a more 
lofty pinnacle of ambition than the praise and 
envy of our fellow-men; and we may rest assured 
that when this feeling dies within us, all the ideal 
of life dies with it, and nothing remains save the 
dull reality of our daily cares and occupations. 
" I have lived and have loved," saith Schiller; and 
if it were not that there seems some tautology in 
the phrase, I should say, such is my own motto. 
'■ If Lady Jane but prove true — if I have really suc- 
ceeded — if, in a word — —But why sjieculate upon 
such chances? — what pretensions have I? — -what 
reasons to look for such a prize? Alas/< and alas! 
were 1 to catechise myself too closely, I fear that 
my horses' heads would face towards Calais, and 
that 1 should turn my back upon the only pros- 
pect of happiness I can picture to myself in this 
world." In reflections such as these, the hours 
rolled over, and it was already late at night when 
we reached the little village of Merchem. While 
fresh horses were being got ready, I seized the 
occasion to partake of the tabic d'/ioL' supper of 
the inn, at the door of which the diligence was 
drawn up. Around th; long, and not over-scru- 
pulously clean table, sat the usual assemblage of 
a German "Eilwagen" — smoking, dressing salad, 
knitting, and occasionally picking their teeth 
with their forks, until the soup should make its 
appearance. Taking my place amid this motley 
assemblage of mustachioed shopkeepers and vol- 
uminously-petticoated fraus, I sat calculating how 
long human patience could endure such compan- 
ionship, when my attention was aroused bv hear- 
ing a person near me narrate to his friend the cir- 



cumstances of my ddbiit at Strasbourg, with cer- 
tain marginal notes of his own, that not a little 
surprised me. 

"And so it turned out not to be Meyerbeer, 
after all," said the listener. 

"Of course not," replied the other. "Meyer- 
beer's passport was stolen from him in the dili- 
gence by this English cscioc, and the consequence 
was that our poor countryman was arrested, the 
other passport being found upon him, while the 
Englishman, proceeding to Strasbourg, took his 
benefit at the opera, and walked away with above 
twelve thousand florins." 

" Sappermint!" said the other, tossing off his 
beer. " He must have been a clever fellow, 
though, to lead the orchestra in the Francs 
Masons." 

" That is the most astonishing part of all, for 
they say in Strasbourg that his performance upon 
the violin was far finer than Paganini's; but there 
seems some secret in it, after all; for Madame 
Baptiste swears that he is Meyerbeer; and, in 
fact, the matter is far from being cleared up — 
nor can it be, till he is apprehended." 

" Which shall not be for some time to come," 
said I to myself, as, slipping noiselessly from the 
room, I regained my caleche, and in ten minutes 
more was proceeding on my journey. " So much 
for correct information," thought L " One thing, 
however, is certain — to the chance interchange of 
passports I owe my safety, with the additional 
satisfaction that my little German acquaintance 
is reaping a pleasant retribution for all his worry 
and annoyance of me in the coupe." 

Only he who has toiled over the weary miles of 
a long journey — exclusively occupied with one 
thought^ — -one overpowering feeling — can ade- 
quately commiserate my impatient anxiety as the 
days rolled slowly over on the long, tiresome 
road that leads from the Rhine to the south of 
Germany. 

The morning was breaking on the fourth day 
of my journey as the tall spires of Munich rose 
to my view, amid the dull and arid desert of sand 
that city is placed in. "At last!" was my ex- 
clamation, as the postilion tapped at the window 
with his whip, and pointed towards the city — 
"at last! Oh! what would be the ecstacy of 
my feelings now, could I exchange the torturing 
anxieties of suspense for the glorious certainty 
my heart throbs for; now my journey is nearing 
its end, to see me claim as my own what I only 
barely aspire to in the sanguine hope of a heart 
that will not despair. But cheer up, Harry! It 
is a noble stake you play for, and it is ever the 
bold gambler that wins." Scarcely was this re- 
flection made, half aloud, when a sudden shock 
threw me from my seat. I fell towards the door, 
which, bursting open, launched me out upon the 
road, at the same moment that the broken axle- 
tree of the caleche had upset it on the opposite 
side, carrying one horse along with it, and leaving 
the other, with the postilion on his back, kicking 
and plunging with all his might. After assisting 
the frightened fellow to dismount, and having cut 
the traces of the restive animal, I then pern ivtd 
that in the 7uHce I had not escaped srathkss. I 
could barely stand; and, on passing my h-ind 



176 



HARRY LORREOUER, 



along my instep, perceived I had sprained my 
ankle in the fall. The day was only breaking, 
no one was in sight, so that alter a few minutes' 
consideration, the best thing to do appeared to be to 
get the other horse upon his legs, and despatch- 
ing the postilion to Munich, then about three 
leagues distant, for a carriage, wait patiently on 
the road-side for his return. No sooner was the 
resolve made than carried into e.xecution; and in 
less than a quarter of an hour from the moment 
of the accident, I was seated upon the bank, 
watching tlie retiring figure of the postilion, as 
he disappeared down a hill, on his way to Munich. 
When the momentary burst of impatience was 
over, I could not help congratulating myself that 
I was so far fortunate in reaching the end of my 
journey ere the mischance befell me. Had it 
occurred at Stutgard, I really think that it would 
have half driven me distracted. 

I was not long in my present situation, when a 
number of peasants, with broad-brimmed hats 
and many-buttoned coats, passed on their way to 
work; they all saluted me respectfully; but al- 
though they saw the broken carriage, and might 
well guess the nature of my accident, yet not one 
ever thought of proffering his services, or even 
indulging curiosity, by way of inquiry. " How 
thoroughly German," I thought, " these people 
are the Turks of Europe, stupefied with tobacco 
and strong beer. They have no thought for any- 
thing but themselves, and their own immediate 
occupations." Perceiving at length one whose 
better dress and more intelligent l<jok bespoke a 
rank above the common, I made the effort with 
such plat Diiitsch as I could muster, to ask if 
there were any house near, where I could re- 
main till the pcstitlon's return, and learned, 
greatly to my gratification, that by taking the path 
which led through the grove of pine-trees near 
m.:, I should find a chateau, but who was the pro- 
prietor he knew not; indeed, the people were 
only newly come, and he believed were foreigners 
— English, he thought. Oh, how my heart jumped, 
as I said, " Can they be the Callonbys? are they 
many in family? are there ladies — young ladies 
among them?" He knew not. Having hastily 
arranged with my new friend to watch the car- 
nage till my return, I took the path he showed 
me, and, smarting with pain at every step, hur- 
ried along as best I could toward the chateau-. 
I had not walked many minutes, when a break in 
the wood gave me a view of the old mansion, 
and at once dispelled the illusion that was mo- 
mentarily gaining upon me. "They could not 
be the Callonbys." The house was old; and 
though it had once been a fine and handsome 
structure, exhibited now abundant traces of de- 
cay; the rich cornices which supported the roof 
had fallen in many places, and lay in fragments 
ujion the terrace beneath; the portico of the door 
was half tumbling; and the architraves of the 
windows were broken and dismantled; the tall 
and once richly ornamented chimneys were be- 
reft of all their tracery, and stood bolt upright in 
all their nakedness above the high-pitched roof. 
A straggling jet d'eaii was vigorously fighting its 
way amid a mass of creeping shrubs and luxuri- 
ant lichens that had grown around and above a 



richly carved fountain; and fell in a shower of 
sparkling dew upon the rank grass and tall weeds 
around. The gentle murmur was the only sound 
that broke the stillness of the morning. 

A few deities in lead and stone, mutilated and 
broken, stood like the f^eini loci, guarding the 
desolation about them, where an old suiierannu- 
ated ]ieacock, with drooping, ragged tail, was the 
only living thing to be seen. All bespoke the 
wreck of what once was great and noble, and 
all plainly told me that such could not be the 
abode of the Callonbys. 

Half doubting that the house was inhabited, 
and half scrupling, if so, to disturb its inmates 
from their rest, I sat down upon the terrace steps 
and fell into a fit of musing on the objects about. 
That strange propensity of my countrvmen to 
settle down in remote and unfrequented spots 
upon the Continent had never struck me so for- 
cibly; for although unquestionably there were 
evident traces of the former grandeur of the 
place, yet it was a long-past greatness; and in 
the dilapidated walls, weed-grown walks, the dark 
and gloomy pine-groves, there were more hints 
for sadness than I should willingly surround my- 
self by, in a residence. The harsh grating of a 
heavy door behind aroused me; I turned and 
beheld an old man in a species of tarnished and 
worm-eaten livery, who, holding the door, again 
gazed at me with a mingled expression of fear 
and curiosity. Having briefly ex])lained the cir- 
cumstances which had befallen me, and appealed 
to the broken caleche upon the road to corroborate 
my testimony, which I perceived needed such aid, 
the old man invited me to enter, saying that his 
master and mistress had not yet risen, but that he 
would himself give me some breakfast, of which 
by this time I stood much in want. The room 
into which I was ushered corresponded well with 
the exterior of the house. It was large, bleak, 
and ill-furnished; the ample, uncurtained win- 
dows, the cold, white-panelled walls, the un- 
carpeted floor, all giving it an air of uninhabit- 
able misery. A few chairs of the Louis-Quatorze 
taste, with blue velvet linmgs, faded and worn, a 
cracked marble table upon legs that cnce had 
been gilt, two scarcely detectable portraits of a 
mail-clad hero and a scarcely less formidalile fair, 
with a dove upon her wrist, formed the principal 
articles of furniture in this dismal abode, where, 
so sad and depressing did everything aj)pear, that 
I half regretted the curiosity that had tempted 
me from the balmy air and cheerful morning with- 
out, to the gloom and solitude around me. 

The old man soon reappeared with a despicable 
cup of cafi! noir, and a piece of bread as large as 
a teaspoon, and used by the Germans pretty much 
in the same way. As the adage of the " gift 
horse" is of tolerably general acceptation, I ate 
and was thankful, mingling my acknowledgments 
from time to time with some questions about the 
owners of the mansion, concerning whom I could 
not help feeling curious. The ancient servitor, 
however, knew little or nothing of those he served; 
his master was the honorable baron; but of his 
name he was ignorant; his mistress was young; 
they had not been many months there; they 
knew no one — had no visitors — he had heard they 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



177 



were English, but did not know it himself; they 
were " gute Leute," " good people," and that was 
enough for him. How strange did all this seem, 
that two people, young, too, should separate ihcm- 
selves from all the attractions and pleasures of 
the world and settle down in this dark and dreary 
solitude, where every association was of melan- 
choly, every object a text for sad reflections. 
Lost in these thoughts, I sat down beside the 
window, and heeded not the old man as he noise- 
lessly left the room. My thoughts ran on over 
the strange phases in which life presents itself, 
and how little, after all, external influences have 
to do with that peace of mind whose origin is 
within. " Tiie Indian, whose wigwam is beside 
the cataract, heeds not its thunders, nor feels its 
sprays, as they fall in everlasting dews upon him; 
the Arab of the desert sees no bleakness in those 
never-ending plains, upon whose horizon his eye 
has rested from childhood to age. Who knows 
but he who inhabits this lonely dwelling may 
have once shone in the gay world, mixing in its 
follies, tasting of its fascination ? And to think 

that now " The low murmurs of the pine 

tops, the gentle rustle of the water through the 
tank grass, and my own thoughts combining, 
overcame me at length, and I slept — -how long I 
know not; but when I awoke, certain changes 
about showed me that some length of time had 
elapsed ; a gay wood fire was burning on the 
hearth; an ample breakfast covered the table; and 
the broad sheet of the Times newspaper was neg- 
ligently reposing in the deep hollow of an arm- 
chair. Before I had well thought how to apolo- 
gize for the cool insouciance of my intrusion, the 
door opened, and a tall, well-built man entered; 
his shooting-jacket and gaiters were evidence of 
his English origin, while a bushy moustache and 
most ample " Henri Quatre" nearly concealed fea- 
tures that still were not quite unknown to me; he 
Stopped, looked steadily at me, placed a hand on 
either shoulder, and calling out, " Harry — Harry 
Lorrequer, by all that's glorious!" rushed from 
the room in a transport of laughter. 

If my escape from the gallows depended upon 
my guessing my friend, I should have submitted 
to the last penalty of the law; never was I so 
completely nonplussed. "Confound him, what 
does he mean by running away in that fashion! 
It. would serve him right were I to decamp by 
one of the windows before he comes back; but, 
hark! some one is approaching." 

"I tell you I cannot be mistaken," said the 
man's voice without. 

"Oh, impossible!" said a ladylike accent that 
seemed not heard by me for the first time. 

" Judge for yourself, though certainly the last 
time you saw him may confuse your memory a 
little." 

"What the devil does he mean by that?" said 
I, as the door opened and a very beautiful young 
woman came forward, who, after a moment's hesi- 
tation, called out, — 

" True, indeed, it is Mr. Lorrequer; but he 
seems to have forgotten me." 

The eyes, the lips, the tone of the voice, were 
all familiar. "What! can it be possible!" Her 
companion, who had now entered, stood behind 



her, holding his sides with ill-suppressed mirth, 
and at length called out, — 

" Harry, my boy, you scarcely were more dis- 
composed the last morning we parted, when the 
yellow plush " 

"By Jove it is!" said I, as I sprang forward, 
and seizing my fair friend in my arms, saluted 
upon both cheeks my quondam flame, Miss 
Kamworth, now the wife of my old friend, Jack 
Waller, of whom I have made due mention in an 
early chapter of these "Confessions." 

Were I given a muster-roll of my acquaintance 
to say which of them might iiih.nbit this deserted 
mansion. Jack Waller would certainly have been 
the last I should have selected- — the gay, lively,, 
dashing, high-spirited Jsik, fond of society, 
dress, equipage, livingentirely in the world, knowa 
to and liked by everybody, of universal reputa- 
tion. Did you want a cavalier to see your wife 
through a crush at the Opera, a friend in a duel,, 
a rider for your kicking horse in a stiff steeple- 
chase, a bow-oar for your boat at a rowing-match,. 
Jack was your man. Such, then, was my sur- 
prise at finding him here, that although there were 
many things I longed to inquire about, my first^ 
question was, — 

" And how came you here?" 

" Life has its vicissitudes," replied Jack, laugh- 
ing; "many stranger things have come to pass, 
than ;;/_)' reformation. But first of all, let us think. 
of breakfast; you shall have ample satisfaction^ 
for all your curiosity afterwards." 

" Not now, I fear; I am hurrying on tO' 
Munich." 

" Oh, I perceive; but you are aware that 

your friends are not there." 

" The Callonbys not at Munich!" said I, with a 
start. 

" No, they have been at Saltzburg, in the Tyrol,. 
for some weeks; but don't fret yourself ; they are 
expected to-morrow in time for the court mas- 
querade, so that until then at least you are my 
guest." 

Overjoyed at this information, I turned my at- 
tention towards madame, whcm I found much 
improved; the evibonpoint of womanhood had still 
further increased the charms of one who had 
always been handsome, and I could not help ac- 
knowledging that my friend was warrantable in. 
any scheme for securing such a prize. 



CHAPTER LL 



JACK WALLER S STORY. 



The day passed quickly over with my newly- 
found friends, whose curiosity to learn my ad- 
ventures since we parted, anticipated me in my 
wish to learn theirs. After an early dinner, how- 
ever, with a fresh log upon the hearth, a crusty 
flask of red hermitage before us. Jack and I 
found ourselves alone, and at liberty to speak 
freely together. 

" I scarcely could have expected such would be 
our meeting. Jack," said I, '' ffom the way we 
last parted." 



178 



HARRY LORREQUER. 



"Yes, by Jove, Harry, I believe I behaved but 
shabbily to you in that affair; but 'Love and 
War,' you know; and besides we had a distinct 
agreement drawn up between us." 

"All true; and after all, you are, perhaps, less 
to blame than my own miserable fortune that 
lies in wait to entrap and disappoint me at every 
turn in life. Tell me, what do you know of the 
Callonbys?" 

" Nothing personally. We have met them at 
dinner, a visit passed subsequently between us, 
et viola tout; they have been scenery hunting, 
picture hunting, and all that sort of thing, since 
their arrival, and rarely much in Munich. But 
how do you stand there? ' To be or not to be' — 
eh?" 

" That is the very question of all others I 
would fain solve, and yet am in most complete 
ignorance of all about it; but the time approaches 
which must decide all. I have neither temper 
nor patience for further contemplation of it. So 
here goes: ' Success to the Enterprise.' " 

"Or," said Jack, tossing off his glass at 
the moment, "or, as they would say in Ire- 
land, 'Your health and inclinations, if they be 
virtuous.' " 

And now, Jack, tell me something of your own 
fortunes since the day you passed me in the post- 
chaise and four." 

" The story is soon told. You remember that 
when I carried off Mary, I had no intention of 
leaving England whatever: my object was, after 
making her my wife, to open negotiations with the 
old colonel; and after the approved routine of 
penitential letters, imploring forgiveness, and 
setting forth happiness only wanting his sanction 
to make it heaven itself, to have thrown our- 
selves at his feet selon les rigles, sobbed, blub- 
bered, blew our noses, and dressed for dinner, 
very comfortable inmates of that particularly 
snug residence, ' Hydrabad Cottage.' Now Mary, 
who behaved with great courage for a couple of 
days, after that got low-spirited and depressed; 
the desertion of her father, as she called it, 
weighed upon lier mind, and all my endeavors 
to rally and comfort her were fruitless and un- 
availing. Each day, however, I expected to hear 
something of, or from, the colonel that would 
put an end to this feeling of suspense; but no — 
three weeks rolled on, although I took care that 
he knew of our address, we never received any 
communication. You are aware -that when I 
married I knew Mary had, or was to have had, 
a large fortune, and that I myself had not then 
enough in the world to jxay the common e.xpenses 
rf our wedding tour. My calculation was this — 
the reconciliation will possibly, what with delays 
of post, distance, and deliberation, take a month — 
say five weeks — -now, at forty pounds per week, that 
makes exactly two hundred pounds — such beng 
the precise limit of my exchequer, when, blessed 
with a wife, a man, and a maid, three imperials, 
a cap-case and a poodle, I arrived at the Royal 
Hotel, in Edinburgh. Had I been Lord Francis 
Somebody, with his hundred thousand a year, 
looking for a new ' distraction' at any price, or, 
still more, were I a London shopkeeper spending] 
a Sunday in Bouloge-sur-Mer, and trying to find i 



out something ' expensive, as he had only one 
day to stay,' I could not have more industriously 
sought out opportunities for extravagance, and 
each day contrived to find out some two or 
three acquaintances to bring home to dinner. 
And as I affected to have been married for a long 
time, Mary felt less awkward among strangers, and 
we got on famously; still the silence of the colonel 
weighed upon her mind, and although she par-, 
took of none of my anxieties from that source,| 
being perfectly ignorant of the state of my finances,' 
she dwelt so constantly upon this subject, that I 
at length yielded to her repeated solicitations, and 
permitted her to write to her father. Her letter 
was a most proper one, combining a dutiful 
regret for leaving her home, with the hope that 
her choice had been such as to excuse her rash- 
ness, or, at least, palliate her fault. It went to 
say, that her father's acknowledgment of her was 
all she needed or cared for to complete her hap- 
piness, and asking for his permission to seek it in 
person. This was the substance of the letter, 
which, upon the whole, satisfied me, and I waited 
anxiously for the reply. At the end of five days 
the answer arrived. It was thus: — 

" ' Dear Mary, — You have chosen your own 
path in life, and having done so, I have neither 
the right nor inclination to interfere with your 
decision; I shall neither receive you, nor the 
person you have made your husband; and to 
prevent any further disappointment, inform you, 
that, as I leave this to-morrow, any future letters 
you might think proper to address, will not 

' " 'Yours very faithfully, 

" ' Z7 .? u 1 n it •• " ' C. Kamworth. 
Hydrabad Cottage. 

" This was a tremendous coup, and not in the 
least anticipated by either of us; upon me the effect 
was stunning, knowing, as I did, that our fast 
diminishing finances were nearly expended. 
Mary, on the other hand, who neither knew nor 
thought of the exchequer, rallied at once from 
her depression, and after a hearty fit of crying, 
dried her eyes, and putting her arm round my 
neck, said, — 

• " ' Well, Jack, I must only love you the more, 
since papa will not share any of my affections.' 

" ' I wish he would his purse though,' muttered 
I, as I pressed her in my arms, and strove to seem 
perfectly happy. 

" I shall not prolong my story by dwelling upon 
the agitation this letter cost me; however, I had 
yet a hundred pounds left, and an aunt in Harley 
street, with whom I had always been a favorite. 
This thought, the only rallying one I possessed, 
saved me for the time; and as fretting was never 
my forte, I never let Mary perceive that anything 
had gone wrong, and managed so well in this 
respect, that my good spirits raised hers, and we 
set out for London one fine sunshiny morning as 
happy a looking couple as ever travelled the north 
road. 

"When we arrived at the ' Clarendon,' my first 
care was to get into a cab, and drive to Harley 
street. I rang the bell; and not waiting to ask if 
my aunt was at home, I dashed up-stairs to the 



HARRY LORREQUER. 



179 



drawing-room; in I bolted, and instead of the 
precise old Lady Lilford sitting at her embroidery, 
with her fat poodle beside her, beheld a strap- 
ping-looking fellow, with a black mustache, 
making fierce love to a young lady on a sofa 
beside him. 

" ' Why, how is this — I really — there must be 
some mistake here.' In my heart I knew that 
such doings in my good aunt's dwelling were im- 
possible. 

" ' I should suspect there is, sir,' drawled out 
he of the moustache, as he took a Vi;ry cool sur- 
vey of me through his glass. 

'"Is Lady Lilford at home, may I ask?' said I, 
in a very apologetic tone of voice. 

" ' I haven't the honor of her ladyship's ac- 
quaintance,' replied he, in a lisp, evidently enjoy- 
ing my perplexity, which was every moment be- 
coming more evident. 

" ' But this is her house,' said I, ' at least ' 

" ' I,ady Lilford is at Paris, sir,' said the young 
lady, who now s|3oke for the first time. ' Papa 
has taken the house for the season, and that may 
perhaps account for your mistake.' 

■' What I muttered by way of apology for my 
intrusion, I know not; but I stammered — the 
young lady blushed — the beau chuckled, and 
turned to the window, and when I found myself 
in the street, I scarcely knew whether to laugh at 
my blunder, or curse my disappointment. 

" The next morning I called upon my aunt's 
lawyer, and having obtained her address in 
Paris, sauntered to the 'Junior Club,' to write 
her a letter before post hour. As I scanned 
over the morning papers, I could not help smiling 
at the flaming paragraph which announced my 
marriage to the only daughter and heiress of the 
millionnaire Colonel Kamworth. Not well know- 
ing how to open the correspondence with my 
worthy relative, I folded the paper containing the 
news, and addressed it to ' Lady Lilford, Hotel 
de Bristol, Paris.' 

" When I arrived at the 'Clarendon,' I found 
my wife and her maid surrounded by cases and 
bandboxes; laces, satins, and velvets were dis- 
played on all sides, while an emissary from 
' Storr and Mortimer' was arranging a grand re- 
view of jewelry on a side-table, one half of 
which would have ruined the Rajah of Mysore to 
purchase. My advice was immediately called 
into requisition; and pressed into service, I had 
nothing left for it but to canvass, criticize, and 
praise, between titnes, which I did with a good 
grace, considering that I anticipated the 'Fleet' 
for every flounce of Valenciennes lace; and could 
not help associating a rich diamond aigrette with 
hard labor for life and the climate of New South 
Wales. The utter abstraction I was in led to 
some awkward contretemps, and as my wife's en- 
I thusiasm for her purchases increased so did my 
reverie gain ground. 

"'Is it not beautiful, Jack? how delicately 
worked! it must have taken a long lime to 
do it.' 

Seven years,' I muttered, as my thoughts 
ran upon a very different topic. 

" ' Oh, no, not so much,' said she, laughing; 
'and it must be such a hard thing to do.' 



" ' Not half so hard as carding wool, or pound- 
ing oyster shells.' 

"'How absurd you are! Well, I'll take this, 
it will look so well in ' 

" ' Botany Bay,' said I, with a sigh that set all 
the party laughing, which at last roused me, and 
enabled me to join in the joke. 

"As at length one-half of the room became 
filled with millinery, and the other glittered 
with jewels and bijouterie^ ray wife grew weary 
with her exertions, and we found ourselves 
alone. 

"When I told her that my aunt had taken up 
her residence in Paris, it immediately occurred to 
her how pleasant it would be to go there too; 
and, although I concurred in the opinion for very 
different reasons, it was at length decided that we 
should do so; and the only difficulty now existed 
as to the means, as though the daily papers teemed 
with 'four ways to go from London to Paris,' 
they all resolved themselves into one, unfortu- 
nately to me, the most difficult and impracticable 
— by money. 

" There was, however, one last resource open — 
the sale of my commission. I will not dwell upon 
what it cost me to resolve upon this — the deter- 
mination was a painful one, but it was soon come 
to, and before five o'clock that day. Cox and 
Greenwood had got their instructions to sell out 
for me, and had advanced a thousand pounds of 
the purchase. Our bill settled, the waiters bow- 
ing to the ground fit is your ruined man that is al- 
ways the most liberal\ the ]wst-horses harnessed, 
and impatient for the road, I took my place be- 
side my wife, while my valet held a parasol over 
the soubrette in the rumble — all in the ajiproved 
fashion of those who have an unlimited credit 
with Coutts or Drummond — the whips cracked, 
the leaders capered, and with a patronizing bow 
to the proprietor of the 'Clarendon,' away we 
rattled to Dover. 

" After the usual routine of sea-sickness, fa- 
tigue, and poisonous cookery, we reached Paris 
on the fifth day, and put up at the ' Hotel de 
Londres,' Place Vendome. 

" To have an adequate idea of the state of my 
feelings as I trod the splendid apartments of this 
princely hotel, surrounded by every luxury that 
wealth can procure or taste suggest, you must 
imagine the condition of a man who is regaled with 
a sumptuous banquet on the eve of his execution. 
The inevitable termination to all my present 
splendor was never for a moment absent from 
my thoughts, and the secrecy with which I was 
obliged to conceal my feelings formed one of the 
greatest sources of my misery. ' The coup, when 
it does come, will be sad enough, and poor Mary 
may as well have the comfort of the deception 
as long as it lasts, without suffering as I do.' 
Such was the reasoning by which I met every re- 
solve to break to her the real state of our finances, 
and such the frame of mind in which I spent my 
days at Paris, the only real unhappy ones I can 
ever charge my memory with. 

"We had scarcely got settled in the hotel', 
when my aunt, who inhabited the opposite side 
of the ' Place,' came over to see us and wish us 
joy. She had seen the paragraph in the Post, 



180 



HARRY LORREQUER, 



and like all other people with plenty of money, 
fully approved a match like mine. 

"She was delighted with Mary, and despite 
the natural reserve of the old maiden lady, be- 
came actually cordial, and invited us to dine with 
her that day, and every succeeding one we might 
feel disposed to do so. ' So far so well,' thought 
I, as I offered her my arm to see her home; 'but 
if she knew of what value even this small atten- 
tion is to us, am I quite so sure she would offer 
it? However, no time is to be lost; I cannot live 
in this state of hourly agitation; I must make 
some one the confidant of my sorrows, and none 
so fit as she who can relieve as well as advise 
upon them.' Although such was my determina- 
tion, yet somehow I could not pluck up my cour- 
age for the effort. My aunt's congratulations 
upon my good luck made me shrink from the 
avowal; and while she ran on upon the beauty 
and grace of my wife, topics I fully concurred in, 
I almost chimed in with her satisfaction at the 
prudential and proper motives which led to the 
match. Twenty times I was on the eve of inter- 
rupting her, and saying, 'But, madam, I am a 
beggar, my wife has not a shilling^I have abso- 
lutely nothing — her father disowns us — my com- 
mission is sold, and in three weeks the " Hotel 
de Londres" and the " Palais Royal" will be some 
hundred pound the richer, and I without the fare 
of a cab to drive me down to the Seine to drown 
myself.' 

"Such were my thoughts; but whenever I en- 
deavored to speak them, some confounded ful- 
ness in my throat nearly choked me; my temples 
throbbed, my hands trembled, and whether it 
was shame, or 'he sickness of despair, I cannot 
say, but the words would not come, and all that 
I could get out was some flattery of my wife's 
beauty, or some vapid eulogy upon my own clev- 
erness in securing such a prize. To give you in 
one brief sentence an idea of my state, Harry, 
know, then, that though loving Mary with all my 
heart and soul, as I felt she deserved to be loved, 
fifty times a day I would have given my life itself 
that you had been the successful man on that morn- 
ing that I carried her off, and that Jack Waller 
was once more a bachelor, to see the only woman 
he ever loved the wife of another. 

" But this is growing tedious, Harry; I must 
get over the ground faster. Two months passed 
over at Paris, during which we continued to live 
at the Londres, giving dinners, soirees, de'jeiiners, 
with the prettiest equipage in the Champs Elysees, 
we were quite the mode, for my wife, which is 
rare enough for an Englishwoman, knew how to 
dress herself. Our evening parties were the most 
distinguished things going, and if I were capable 
of partaking of any pleasure in the eclat, I had 
my share, having won all the pigeon matches in 
the Bois de Boulogne, and beat Lord Henry 
Seymour himself in a steeple-chase. The contin- 
ual round of occupation in which pleasure in- 
volves a man is certainly its greatest attraction — 
reflection is impossible— the present is too full 
to admit any of the past, and very little of the 
future; and even I, with all my terrors awaiting 
me, began to feel a half indifference to the result 
in the manifold cares of my then existence. To 



this state of fatalism, for such it was becoming, 
had I arrived, when the vision was dispelled in a 
moment by a visit from my aunt, who came to 
say, that some business requiring her immediate 
presence in London, she was to set out that even- 
ing, but hoped to find us in Paris on her return. 
I was thunderstruck at the news, although as yet 
I had obtained no manner of assistance from the 
old lady, yet I felt that her very presence was a 
kind of security to us, and that in every sudden 
emergency she was there to apply to. My money 
was nearly expended, the second and last instal- 
ment of my commission was all that remained, 
and much of even that I owed to tradespeople. 
I now resolved to speak out. 'The worst must 
be known,' thought I, ' in a few days, and now 
or never be it.' So saying, I drew my aunt's 
arm within my own, and telling her that I wished 
a few minutes' conversation alone, led her to one 
of the less frequented walks in the Tuileries gar- 
dens. When we had got sufficiently far to be re- 
moved from all listeners, 1 began thus: 'My 
dearest aunt, what I have suffered in concealing 
from you so long the subject of my present con- 
fession, will plead as my excuse in not making you 
sooner my confidante.' When I had got thus far, 
the agitation of my aunt was such that I could 
not venture to say more for a minute or two. At 
length she said, in a kind of hurried whisper, 
'Go on;' and although then I would have given 
all I possessed in the world to have continued, I 
could not speak a word. 

" ' Dear John, what is it? — anything about Mary? 
For Heaven's sake, speak.' 

" ' Yes, dearest aunt, it is about Mary, and en- 
tirely about Mary.' 

"' Ah, dear me, I feared it long since; but tl < n, 
John, consider, she is very handsome — very much 
admired — and — • — ' 

" ' That makes it all the heavier, my dear aunt; 
the prouder her present position, the more severely 
will she feel the reverse.' 

"'Oh, but surely, John, your fears must ex- 
aggerate the danger.' 

" ' Nothing of the kind — I have not words to 
tell you.' 

"' Oh dear, oh dear, don't say so,' said the old 
lady, blushing; 'for, though I have often re- 
marked a kind of gay flirting manner she has 
with men, I am sure she means nothing by it — 

she is so young — and- ' 

" I stopped, stepped forward, and looking 
straight in ray aunt's face, broke out into a fit of 
laughter, that she, mistaking for hysterical from 
its violence, nearly fainted upon the spot. 

" As soon as I could sufficiently recover gravity 
to explain to my aunt her mistake, I endeavored 
to do so; but so ludicrous was the conti etemps, 
and so ashamed the old lady for her gratuitous 
suspicions, that she would not listen to a word, 
and begged me to return to her hotel. Such an 
unexpected turn to my communications routed 
all my olans; and after a very awkward silence 
of some minutes on both sides, I mumbled some- 
thing about her expensive habits of life, costly 
equipage, number of horses, etc., and hinted at 
thjs propriety of retrencliment. 

" ' Mary rides beautifully,' said my aunt, dryly. 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



181 



"'Yes; but, my dear aunt, it was not exactly 
of that I was going to speak, for in fact ' 

'"Oh, John,' said she, interrupting,'! know 
your delicacy too well to suspect; but, in fact, I 
have myself perceived what you allude to, and 
wished very much to have some conversation with 
you on the subject.' 

"'Thank God!' said I to myself, 'at length 
we understand each other, and the ice is broken 
at last.' 

" * Indeed, I think I have anticipated your wish 
in the matter; but as time presses, and I must 
look after all my packing, I shall say good-bye 
for a few weeks; and in the evening, Jepson, who 
stays here, will bring you what I mean over to 
your hotel. Once more, then, good-bye!' 

'"Good-bye, my dearest, kindest friend!' said 
I, taking a most tender adieu of the old lady. 
'What an excellent creature she is!' said I, half 
aloud, as I turned towards home; 'how consid- 
erate, how truly kind, to spare me, too, all the 
pain of explanation. Now I begin to breathe 
once more. If there be a flask of Johannisberg 
in the "Londres," I'll drink your health this day, 
and so shall Mary.' So saying, I entered the 
hotel with a lighter heart and a firmer step than 
ever it had been my fortune to do hitherto. 

" ' We shall miss the old lady, I'm sure, Mary, 
she is so kind.' 

'"Oh! indeed she is; but then, John, she is 
such a prude.' 

"Now I could not help recurring in my mind 
to some of the conversation in the Tuileries gar- 
dens, and did not feel exactly at ease. 

" 'Such a prude^ and so very old-fashioned in 
her notions.' - 

"'Yes, Mary,' said I, with more gravity than 
she was prepared for, 'she is a prude; but I am 
not certain that in foreign society, where less lib- 
erties are tolerated than in our country, if such a 
bearing be not wiser.' What I was going to plunge 
into. Heaven knows, for the waiter entered at the 
moment, and presenting me with a large and care- 
fully-sealed package said, ' De la part de Miladi 
Lilfore.' ' But stay, here comes, if I am not mis- 
taken, a better eulogy upon my dear aunt than 
any I can pronounce.' 

" ' How heavy it is,' said I to myself, balancing 
the parcel in my hand. ' There is no answer,' said 
I aloud to the waiter, who stood as if expecting 
one. 

" ' The servant wishes to have some acknowledg- 
ment in writing, sir, that it has been delivered into 
your own hands.' 

" ' Send him here, then,' said I. 

"Jepson entered. 'Well, George, your parcel 
is all right, and here is a napoleon to drink my 
health.' 

" Scarcely had the servants left the room, when 
Mary, whose curiosity was fully roused, rushed 
over, and tried to gi,t the packet from me. After 
a short struggle, I yielded, and she flew to the 
end of the room; and tearing open the seals, 
several papers fell to the ground. Before I could 
have time to snatch them up, she had read some 
lines written on the envelope, and, turning to- 
wards me, threw her arms round my neck, and 
said, ' Yes, Jack, she is indeed all you have said. 



Look here!' I turned and read, witTi what feeling 
I leave to you to guess, the following: — 

"'Dear Nephew a.nd Niece. — The enclosed 
will convey to you, with my warmest wishes for 
your happiness, a ticket on the Frankfort Lottery, 
of which I enclose the scheme. I also take the. 
opportunity of saying that I have purchased 
the Hungarian pony for Mary, which we spoke of 
this morning. It is at Johnston's stable, and will 
be delivered on sending for it." 

" ' Think of that. Jack — the Borghese pony, with 
the silky tail, mine! Oh, what a dear, good old 
soul! it was the very thing of all others I longed 
for, for they told me the princess had refused 
every offer for it.' 

" While Mary ran on in this strain, I sat mute 
and stupefied; the sudden reverse my hopes had 
sustained deprived me for a moment of all thought, 
and it was several minutes before I could rightly 
take in the full extent of my misfortunes. 

" How that crazy old maid — for such, alas! I 
called her to myself now — could have so blun- 
dered all my meaning — how she could so palpably 
have mistaken — I could not conceive. What a 
remedy for a man overwhelmed with debt — a ticket 
in a German lottery, and a cream-colored pony, as 
if my whole life had not been one continued lot- 
tery, with every day a blank; and as to horses 
I had eleven in my stables already. Perhaps she 
thought twelve would read better in the schedule, 
when I, next week, surrendered as insolvent. 

"Unable to bear the delight, the childish de- 
light of Mary, on her new acquisition, I rushed out 
of the house, and wandered for several hours on 
the Boulevards. At last I summoned up courage 
to tell my wife. I once more turned towards 
home, and entered her dressing-room, where she 
was having her hair dressed for a ball at the 
Embassy. My resolution failed me; 'Not now;' 
thought I, 'to morrow will do as well — one night 

moreof happiness for her, and then ' I looked 

on with pleasure and pride, as ornament after orna- 
ment, brilliant with diamonds and emeralds, shone 
in her hair and upon her arms, still heightening her 
beauty, and lighting up with dazzling brilliancy 
her lovely figure. ' But then it must come, and 
whenever the hour arrives, the reverse will be 
fully as bitter; besides, I am able now, and when 
I may again be so, who can tell? Now then be it,' 
said I, as I told the waiting-maid to retire; and 
taking a chair beside my wife, put my arm round 
her. 

"'There, John, dearest, take care; don't you 
see you'll crush all that great affair of Malines 
lace, and Rosetta has been breaking her heart to 
manage this half hour.' 

" ' Et puis?' said I. 

"' Et puis, I could not go to the ball, naughty 
boy. I am bent on great conquest to-night; so 
pray don't mar such good intentions.' 

" ' And would be greatly disappointed were you 
not to go?' 

" ' Of course I should. But what do you mean; 
is there any reason why I should not? You are 
silent, John; speak — oh, speak— has anything oc- 
curred to my ' 



182 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



" ' No, no, dearest — nothing that I know has 
occurred to the colonel.' 

"'Well, then, who is it? Oh, tell me at once.' 

" ' Oh, my dear, there is no one in the case but 
ourselves.' So saying, despite the injunction 
about the lace, I drew lier towards me, and m as 
few words, but as clearly as I was able, explained 
all our circumstances — my endeavor to better 
them — my hopes — my fears — and now my bitter 
disappointment, if not despair. 

" The first shock over, Mary showed not only 
more courage, but more sound sense than I could 
have believed. All the frivolity of her former 
character vanished at the first touch of adversity: 
just as of old, Harry, we left the tinsel of our gay 
jackets behind, when active service called upon 
us for something more sterling. She advised, 
counselled, and encouraged me by turns; and in 
half an hour the most poignant regret I had was 
in not having sooner made her my confidante, and 
checked the progress of our enormous expendi- 
ture somewhat earlier. 

" I shall not detain you much longer. In three 
weeks we had sold our carriages and horses, our 
pictures (we had begun this among our extrava- 
gances), soon after our china followed, and under 
the plea of ill-health set out for Baden, not one 
among our Paris acquaintances ever suspecting 
the real reason of our departure, and never at- 
tributing any pecuniary difficulties to us — for we 
paid our debts. 

" The same day we left Paris I despatched a 
letter to my aunt, explaining fully all about us, 
and suggesting that, as I had now left the army 
forever, perhaps she would interest some of her 
friends — and she had powerful ones — to do some- 
thing for me. 

"After some little loitering on the Rhine, we 
fixed upon Hesse Cassel for our residence. It 
was very quiet — very cheap. The country around 
picturesque, and last, but not least, there was not 
an Englishman in the neighborhood. The second 
week after our arrival brought us letters from my 
aunt. She had settled four hundred a year upon 
us for the present, and sent the first year in ad- 
vance; and, pledging herself not to forget when 
an opportunity of serving me should offer, 
promised us a visit as soon as we were ready tOi 
receive her. 

" From that moment to this," said Jack, " all 
has gone well with us. We have, it is true, not 
many luxuries, but we have no wants, and, better 
still, no debts. The dear old aunt is always mak- 
ing us some little present or other, and somehow 
I have a kind of feeling that better luck is still in 
store; but faith, Harry, as long as I have a happy 
home, and a warm fireside for a friend when he 
drops in upon me, I scarcely can say that better 
luck need be wished for." 

"There is only one point. Jack, you have not 
enlightened me upon; how came you here? You 
are some hundred miles from Hesse in your 
chateau." 

" Oh! by Jove, that was a great omission in my 
narrative; but come, this will explain it; see 
here." So saying, he drew from a little drawer 
a large lithographic print of a magnificent cas- 
tellated building, with towers and bastions, keep. 



moat, and even drawbridge, the walls bristling 
with cannon, and an eagled banner floating 
proudly above them. 

" What, in the name of the Sphynxes, is this?" 

" There," said Jack, " is the Schloss von Eber- 
hausen; or, if you like it in English, Eberhaustn 
Castle, as it was in the year of the Deluge, since 
the present mansion that we arc now sipping our 
wine in bears no close resemblance to it. But to 
make the mystery clear, this was the great prize 
in the Frankfort lottery, the ticket of which my 
aunt's first note contained, and which we were 
fortunate enough to win. We have only been 
here a few weeks, and though the affair looks 
somewhat meagre, we have hopes that in a little 
time, and with some pains, much may be done 
to make it habitable. There is a capital chasse 
of some hundred acres; plenty of wood and in- 
numerable rights, seignorial, manorial, etc., which, 
fortunately for my neighbors, I neither under- 
stand nor care for; and we are therefore the 
best friends in the world. Among others, I am 
styled the Graf or Count " 

" Well, then. Monsieur le Comte," said his 
wife, coming in, "do you intend favoring me with 
your company at coffee this evening? for already 
it is ten o'clock; and considering my former claim 
upon Mr. Lorrequer, you have let me enjoy very 
little of his society." 

We now adjourned to the drawing-room, where 
we gossiped away till past midnight; and I retired 
to my room, meditating over Jack's adventures, 
and praying in my heart, that, despite all his mis- 
chances, my own might end as happily. 



CHAPTER Lll. 



MUNICH. 



The rest and quietness of the preceding day 
had so far recovered me from the effects of my 
accident, that I resolved, as soon as breakfast 
was over, to take leave of my kind friends, and 
set out for Munich. 

" We shall meet to-night, Harry," said Waller, 
lias we parted — "we shall meet at the Casino — and 
don't forget that the Croix Blanche is your hotel; 
and Schnetz, the tailor, in the C}rande Place, will 
provide you with everything you need in the way 
of dress." 

This latter piece of information was satisfac- 
tory, inasmuch as the greater part of my luggage, 
containing my uniform, etc., had been left in the 
French diligence; and as the ball was patronized 
by the Court, I was greatly puzzled how to make 
my appearance. 

Bad roads and worse horses made me feel the 
few leagues before me the most tiresome part of 
my journey. But, of course, in this feeling im- 
patience had its share. A few hours more and 
my fate would be decided; and yet I thought the 
time would never come. " If the Callonbys 
should not arrive — if, again, my evil star be in 
the ascendant, and any new impediment to our 
meeting arise —but I cannot, will not think this — ■ 
fortune must surely be tired of persecuting me 



HARRY LORREQUER. 



183 



by this time, and, even to sustain her old charac- 
ter for fickleness, must befriend me now. Ah! 
here we are in Munich — and this is the Croix 
Blanche — what a dingy old mansion!" Beneath 
a massive porch, supported by heavy stone pil- 
lars, stood the stout figure of Andreas Behr, tiie 
liost. A white napkin, fastened in one button- 
hole, and hanging gracefully down beside him — 
a soup-ladle held sceptre-wise in his right hand, 
and the grinding motion of his nether jaw, all 
showed that he had risen from his table d' hote 
to welcome the new arrival; and certainly, if 
noise and uproar might explain the phenomenon, 
the clatter of my equipage over the pavement 
might have roused the dead. 

While my postilion was endeavoring, by mighty 
efforts, with a heavy stone, to turn the handle of 
the door, and thus liberate me from my cage, I 
perceived that the host came forward and said 
something to him — on replying to which, he 
ceased his endeavors to open the door, and looked 
vacantly about him. Upon this I threw down 
the sash, and called out, — 

"I say, is not this the Croix Blanche?" 
" Ja," said the man-mountain, with the napkin. 
" Well, then, open the door, pray — I'm going 
to stop here." 
" Nein." 

"No! What do you mean by that? Has not 
Lord Callonby engaged rooms here?" 
''Ja." 

" Well, then, I am a particular friend of his, 
and will stay here too." 
"Nein." 

" What the devil are you at with your ja and 
nein?" said I. " Has your confounded tongue 
nothing better than a monosyllable to reply with?" 
Whether disliking the tone the controversy was 
assuming, or remembering that his dinner waited, 
I know not, but at these words my fat friend 
turned leisurely round, and waddled back into 
the house; where, in a moment after, I had the 
pleasure of beholding him at the head of a long 
table, distributing viands with a very different 
degree of activity from what he displayed in 
dialogue. 

With one vigorous jerk I dashed open the 
door, upsetting, at the same time, the poor pos- 
tilion, who had recommenced his operations on 
the lock, and, foaming with passion, strode into 
the salle a manger. Nothing is such an immedi- 
ate damper to any sudden explosion of temper, 
as the placid and unconcerned faces of a number 
of people, who, ignorant of yourself and your 
peculiar miseries at the moment, seem only to re- 
gard you as a madman. This I felt strongly, as, 
fiuslied in face and tingling in my fingers, I en- 
tered the room. 

"Take my luggage," said I to a gaping waiter, 
" and place a chair there, do you hear?" 

There seemed, I suppose, something in my 
looks that did not admit of much parley, for the 
man made room for me at once at the table, and 
left the room, as if to discharge the other part of 
my injunction, without saying a word. As I ar- 
ranged my napkin before me, I was collecting my 
energies and my German, as well as I was able, 
for the attack of the host, which, I anticipated, 



from his recent conduct, must now ensue; but, 
greatly to my surprise, he sent me my soup with- 
out a word, and the dinner went on without any 
interruption. When the dessert had made its ap- 
pearance, I beckoned the waiter towards me, and 
asked what the landlord meant by his singular 
reception of me. The man shrugged his shoulders 
and raised his eyebrows without speaking, as if to 
imply, " it's his way." 

" Well, then, no matter," said I. " Have you 
sent my luggage up-stairs?" 

" No, sir, there is no room — the house is full." 
"The house full! Confound it — this is too 
provoking. I have most urgent reasons for wish- 
ing to stay here. Cannot you make some arrange- 
ment — see about it, waiter." I here slipped a 
napoleon into the fellow's hand, and hinted that as 
much more awaited the finale of the negotiation. 
In about a minute after, I perceived him be- 
hind the host's chair pleading my cause with con- 
siderable energy; but to my complete chagrin I 
heard the other answer all his eloquence by a 
loud "Nein," that he grunted out in such a 
manner as closed the conference. 

" I cannot succeed sir," said the man, as he 
passed behind me, "but don't leave the house till 
I speak with you again." 

" What confounded mystery is there in all this?" 
thought I. " Is there anytliing so suspicious in 
my look or appearance, that the old bear in the 
fur cap will not even admit me? What can it all 
mean? One thing I'm resolved upon — nothing 
less than force shall rtmove me." 

So saying,.! lit my cigar, and jn.order to give 
the waiter an opportunity of conferring with me 
unobserved by his master, walked out into the 
porch and sat down. 

In a few minutes he joined me, and after a 
stealthy look on each side said,— 

" The Herr Andreas is a hard man to deal with, 
and when he says a thing, never goes back of it. 
Now, he has been expecting the new English 
Charge d'Affaires here these last ten days, and 
has kept the hotel half empty in consequence; 
and as Milor Callonby has engaged the other 
half, why we have nothing to do; so that when he 
asked the postilion if you were milor, and found 
that you were not, he detei mined not to admit 
you." 

" But why not have the civility to explain 
that?" 

" He seldom speaks; and when he does, only a 
word or two at a time. He is quite tired with 
what he has gone through to-day, and will retire 
very early to bed; and for this reason I have re- 
quested you to remain, for as he never ventures 
up-stairs, I will then manage to give you one of 
the ambassador's rooms, which, even if he come, 
he'll never miss. So that if you keep quiet, and 
do not attract any particular attention towards 
you, all will go well." 

This advice seemed so reasonable, that I de- 
termined to follow it, any inconvenience being 
preferable, provided I could be under the same 
roof with my beloved Jane; and from the waiter's 
account, there seemed no doubt whatever of their 
arrival that evening. In order, therefore, to 
follow his injunctions to the letter, I strolled out 



184 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



toward the Place in search of the tailor, and 
also to deliver a letter from Waller to the cham- 
berlain, to provide me with a card for the ball. 
Monsieur Schnetz, who was the very pinnacle of 
politeness, was nevertheless, in fact, nearly as 
untractable as my host of the "Cross." All his 
people were engaged in preparing a suit for the 
English Charge d'Affaires, whose trunks had been 
sent in a wrong direction, and who had despatclied 
a courier from Frankfort to order a uniform. 
This second thwarting, and from the same source, 
so nettled me, that I greatly fear all my respect 
for the Foreign Office, and those who lived there- 
by, would not have saved them from something 
most unlike a blessing, had not Monsieur Schnetz 
saved diplomacy from such desecration by saying, 
that if I could content myself with a plain suit, 
such as civilians wore, he would do his endeavor 
to accommodate me. 

"Anything, Monsieur Schnetz; dress me like 
the Pope's Nuncio, or the Lord Mayor of Lon- 
don, if you like, but only enable me to go." 

Although my reply did not seem to convey a 
very exalted idea of my taste in costume to the 
worthy artist, it at least evinced my anxiety for 
the ball; and running his measure over me, he 
assured me that the dress he would provide was 
both well-looking and becoming; adding, " At 
nine o'clock, sir, you'll have it, exactly the same 
size as his Excellency the Charge d'Affaires!" 

" Confound the Charge d'Affaires!" I added, 
and left the house. 



CHAPTER LIIL 

INN AT MUNICH. 

As I had never been in Munich before, I 
strolled about the town till dusk. At that time 
the taste of the King had not enriched the cap- 
ital with the innumerable objects of art which 
render it now second to none in Europe. There 
were, indeed, then but few attractions — narrow 
streets, tall, unarchitectural-looking houses, and 
gloomy, unimpressive churches. Tired of this, 
I turned towards my inn, wondering in my mind 
if Antoine had succeeded in procuring me the 
room, or whether I should be obliged to seek my 
lodging elsewhere. Scarcely had I entered the 
porch, when I found him awaiting my arrival, 
candle in hand. He conducted me at once up 
the wide oaken stair, then along the gallery, into 
a large wainscoted room, with a most capacious 
bed. A cheerful wood fire burned and crackled 
away in the grate — the cloth was already spread 
for supper — (remember it was in Germany) — the 
newspapers of the day were placed before me; 
and, in a word, every attention showed that I had 
found the true avenue to Antoine's good graces, 
who now stood bowing before me, in apparent 
ecstasy at his own cleverness. 

"All very well done, Antoine; and now for sup- 
per. Order it yourself for me; I never can find 
my way in a German Speiss-carte; and be sure 
to have til fiacre here at nine — nine precisely." 



Antoine withdrew, leaving me to my own re- 
flections, which now, if not gloomy, were still of 
the most anxious kind. 

Scarcely was the supper placed upon the table, 
when a tremendous tramping of horses along the 
street, and loud crackmg of whips, announced a 
new arrival. 

"Here they are!" said I, as, springing up, I 
upset the soup, and nearly threw the roti into 
Antoine's face, as he was putting it before me. 

Down-stairs I rushed through the hall, pushing 
aside waiters and overturning chambermaids in 
my course. The carriage was already at the 
door. " Now for a surprise," thought I, as I 
worked through the crowd in the porch, and 
reached the door just as the steps were clattered 
down, and a gentleman began to descend, whom 
twenty expectant voices, now informed of his 
identity, welcomed as the new Charge d'Affaires. 

" May all the " 

What I wished for his Excellency it would not 
be polite to repeat, nor most discreet even to re- 
member; but, certes, I mounted the stairs with 
as little good will towards the envoy extraor- 
dinary as was consistent with due loyalty. 

When once more in my room, I congratulated 
myself that now at least no more " false starts" 
could occur: "The eternal Charge d'Affaires, of 
whom I have been hearing since my arrival, can- 
not come twice. He is here, now, and I hope 
I've done with him." 

The supper — some greasiness apart — was good; 
the wine excellent. My spirits were gradually 
rising, and I paced my room in that mingled state 
of hope and fear, that amid all its anxieties, has 
such moments of ecstasy. Anew noise without — 
some rabble in the street; hark! it comes nearer — 
I hear the sound of wheels; yes, there go the 
horses — nearer and nearer. Ah, it is dying away 
again — stay — yes, yes, here it is, here they are! 
The noise and tumult without now increased 
every instant; the heavy trot of six or eight 
horses shook the very street, and I heard the 
round, dull, rumbling of a heavy carriage, as it 
drew up at last at the door of the inn. Why it 
was, I know not, but this time I could not stir; 
my heart beat almost loud enough forme to hear; 
my temples throbbed, and then a cold and clammy 
perspiration came over me, and 1 sank into a 
chair. Fearing that I was about to faint, sick as 
I was, I felt angry with myself, and tried to rally, 
but could not, and only at length was roused by 
hearing that the steps were let down, and sliortly 
after, the tread of feet coming along the gallery 
towards my room. 

"They are coming — she is coming," thought L 
"Now, then, for my doom!" 

There was some noise of voices outside. I 
listened, for I still felt unable to rise. Tiie talk- 
ing grew louder — doors were opened and shut — 
then came a lull — then more slamming of doors 
and more talking — then all was still again — and 
at last I heard the. steps of people as if retiring, 
and in a few minutes after, the carriage door was 
jammed to, and again the heavy tramp of the 
horses rattled over the /ai'c'. At that instant An- 
toine entered. 

" Well, Antoine," said I, in a voice trembling 




^■^/a^^ 




?^ (jp/iatae x/i 




■/4^J,: 



HARRY LORREQUER. 



185 



with weakness and agitation — "well, who has 
arrived ?" 

" It was his Grace the Grand Mar^chal," said 
Antoine, scarcely heeding my question, in the 
importance of the illustrious visitor who had 
come. 

"Ah, the Grand Mar^chal," said I, carelessly; 
"does he live here?" 

"Sappermint nein, mein herr; but he has just 
been to pay his respects to his Excellency the 
new Charge d'Affaires." 

■ In the name of all patience, I ask, who could 
endure this? From the hour of mv arrival I 
am haunted by this one image — the Charge d'Af- 
faires. For him I have been almost condemned 
to go houseless, and naked: and now the most 
sacred feelings of my heart are subject to his 
influence. I walked up and down in an agony. 
"Another such disappointment, and my brain 
will turn," thought I, " and they may write 
my epitaph — ' Died of love and a Charge d'Af- 
faires.' " 

"It is time to dress," said the waiter. 

■ " I could strangle him with my own hands," 
muttered I, worked up into a real heat by the ex- 
citement of my passion. 

"The Charge " 

" Say that name again, villain, and I'll blow 
your brains out," cried I, seizing Antoine by the 
throat, and pinning him against the wall; " only 
dare to mutter it, and you'll never breathe an- 
other syllable." 

The poor fellow grew green with terror, and 
fell upon his knees before me. 

"Get my dressing things ready," said I, in a 
more subdued tone. " I did not mean to terrify 
you — but beware of what I told you." 

" While Antoine occupied himself with the prep- 
arations for my toilet, I sat broodingly over the 
the wood embers, thinking of my fate. 

A knock came to the door. It was the tailor's 
servant with my clothes. He laid down the par- 
cel and retired, while Antoine proceeded to open 
it, and exhibited before me a blue uniform 
with embroidered collar and cuffs — the whole, 
without being gaudy, being sufficiently handsome, 
and quite as showy as I could wish. 

The poor waiter expressed his unqualified ap- 
proval of the costume, and talked away about 
the approaching ball as something pre-eminently 
magnificent. 

" You liad better look after the fiacre, An- 
toine," said I; "it is past nine." 

He walked towards the door, opened it, and 
then turning round, said, in a kind of low, con- 
fidential whisper, pointing with the thumb of his 
left hand towards the wall of the room as he 
spoke, — 

"He won't go — very strange that." 

" Who do you mean?" said I, quite unconscious 
of the allusion. 

"The Charge d'Aff " 

I made one spring at him, but he slammed the 
door to, and before I could reach the lobby, I 
.heard him rolling from top to bottom of the oak 
staircase, making noise enough in bis fall to ac- 
count for the fracture of every bone in his 
ibody. 



CHAPTER LIV. 



THE BALL. 



As I was informed that the King would 
himself be present at the ball, I knew that 
court etiquette required that the company should 
arrive before his Majesty; and, although at 
every minute I expected the arrival of the Cal- 
lonbys, I dared not defer my departure any 
lorger. 

" They are certain to be at the ball," said 
Waller, and that sentence never left my mind. 

So saying I jumped into theyf(7f/Y, and in a few 
minutes found myself in the long line of carriages 
that led to the " Hof-saal." Any one who has 
been in Munich will testify for me, that the ball- 
room is one of the most beautiful in Europe, and 
to me, who for some time had not been living 
much in the world, its splendor was positively 
dazzling. The glare of the chandeliers, the clang 
of the music, the magnificence of the dresses, 
the beauty of the Bavarian women, too, all sur- 
prised and amazed me. There were several hun- 
dred people present, but the King not having yet 
arrived, dancing had not commenced. Feeling 
as I did then, it was rather a relief to me than 
otherwise, that I knew no one. There was quite 
amusement enough in walking through the sa- 
loons, observing the strange costumes, and re- 
marking the various groups as they congregated 
around the trays of ices and the champagne 
frappe. The buzz of talking and the sounds of 
laughter and merriment prevailed over even the 
orchestra ; and as the gay crowds paraded the 
rooms, all seemed pleasure and excitement. Sud- 
denly a tremendous noise was heard without — 
then came a loud roll of the drums, which lasted 
for several seconds, and the clank of musketry 
— then a cheer ; it is the King. 

" The King!" resounded on all sides ; and in 
another moment the folding-doors at the end of 
the saal were thrown open, and the music struck 
up the national anthem of Bavaria. 

His Majesty entered, accompanied by the 
Queen, his brother, two or three Archduchesses, 
and a long suite of officers. 

I could not help remarking upon the singular 
good taste with which the assembly — all anxious 
and eager to catch a glimpse of his Majesty — be- 
haved on this occasion. There was no pressing 
forward to the estrade where he stood^ — no vulgar 
curiosity evinced by any one, but the groups con- 
tinued, as before, to gather and scatter. The 
only difference being, that the velvet chair and 
cushion, which had attracted some observers be- 
fore, were, now that they were tenanted by roy- 
alty, passed with a deep and respectful saluta- 
tion. " How proper this," thought I, "and what 
an inducement for a monarch to come among his 
people, who remember to receive him with such 
true politeness." While these thoughts were 
passing through my mind, and I was leaning 
against a pillar that supported the gallery of the 
orchestra, a gentleman whose dress, covered vi'ith 
gold and embroidery, bespoke him as belonging 
to the court, eyed me with his lorgnette, and then 
passed rapidly on. A quadrille was now forming 



186 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



ne:ir me, and I was watching, with some interest, 
the proceeding, when the same figure that I re- 
marked before, approached me, bowing deeply at 
every step, and shaking a halo of powder from 
his hair at each reverence. 

"May I take the liberty of introducing myself 
to you?" said he. " Le Comte Benningsen." 
Here he bowed again, and I returned the 
obeisance still deeper. — " Regret much that I was 
not fortunate enough to make your acquaintance 
this evening, when I called upon you," said he, 
with another salutation. 

" Never heard of that," said I to myself. 

"Your Excellency arrived this evening?" 

"Yes," said I, "only a few hours since." 

" How fond these Germans are of titles," 
thought I. Remembering that in Vienna every 
one is " his Grace," I thought it might be Bava- 
rian politeness to call every one his Excellency. 

" You have not been presented, I believe?" 

" No," said I; " but 1 hope to take an early op- 
portunity of paying /ites homina^rs to his Maj- 
esty." 

" I have just received his orders to present you 
now," replied he, with another bow. 

" The devil you have," thought I. " How very 
civil that." And although I had heard innumera- 
ble anecdotes of the free-and-easy habits of the 
Bavarian court, this certainly surprised me, so 
that I actually, to prevent a blunder, said, " Am 
I to understand you, Monsieur le Comte, that his 
Majesty was graciously pleased " 

" If you will follow me," replied the courtier, 
motioning with his chapeau; and in another 
moment I was elbowing my way through the mob 
of marquises and duchesses, on my way to the 
raised platform where the kmg was standing. 

" Heaven grant I have not misunderstood all 
he has been saying," was my last thought, as 
the crowd of courtiers fell back on either side, 
and I found myself before his Majesty. How the 
Grand Marechal entitled me, I heard not; but 
when the king addressed me immediately in Eng- 
lish saying, " I hope your Excellency has had a 
good journey?' I said to myself, " Come, there is 
no mistake here, Harry; and it is only another 
freak of fortune, who is now in good humor with 
you." 

The King, who was a fine, tall, well-built man, 
with a large, bushy moustache, possessed, tliough 
not handsome, a most pleasing expression; his ut- 
terance was very rapid, and his English none of 
the best, so that it was with the greatest difficulty I 
coni rived to follow his qucs ions, which came thick 
as hail upon me. After some commonplaces 
about the roads, the weather, and the seasons, his 
Majesty said, — 

" My Lord Callonby has been residing some 
time here. You know him?" And then, not 
waiting for a reply, added, " Pleasant person — 
well informed — like him much, and his daughters, 
too — how handsome they are!" Here I blushed, 
and felt most awkwardly, while the King con- 
tinued, — 

" Hope they will remain some time — quite an 
ornament to our court. Monsieur le Comte, his 
Excellency will dance." I here muttered an apol- 
ogy about my sprained ankle, and the king turned 



to converse with some of the ladies of the court. 
His Majesty's notice brought several persons 
now around me, who introduced themselves; and 
in a quarter of an hour, I fell myself surrounded 
by acquaintances, each vying with the other in 
showing me attention. 

" Worse places than Munich, Master Harry," 
tliought I, as I chaperoned a fat Duchess, with 
fourteen quarterings, towards the refreshment- 
room, and had just accepted invitations enough to 
occupy me three weeks in advance. 

" 1 have been looking everywhere for your Ex- 
cellency," said the Grand Marechal, bustling his 
way to me, breathless and panting. His majesty 
desires you will make one of his party at whist, so 
pray come at once." 

"Figaro qua, Figaro la," muttered I. "Never 
was man in such request. Heaven grant the whole 
royal family of Bavaria be not mad, for this looks 
very much like it. Lady Jane had better look 
sharp, for 1 have only to throw my eyes on an 
Archduchess, to be king of the Bavarian Tyrol 
some fine morning." 

"You play whist, of course; every Englishman 
does," said the king. "You shall be my partner." 

Our adversaries were the Prince Maximilian, 
brother to his majesty, and the Prussian Ambassa- 
dor. As I sat down at the table, I could not help 
saying in my heart, " Now is your time, Harry; if 
my Lord Callonby should see you, your fortune 
is made." Waller passed at this moment, and as 
he saluted the King, I saw him actually start with 
amazement as he beheld me. — " Better fun this 
than figuring in the yellow plush. Master Jack," 
I muttered, as he passed on, actually thunderstruck 
with amazement. But the game was begun, and I 
was obliged to be attentive. We won the first 
game, and the king was in immense good humor as 
he took some franc pieces from the Prussian min- 
ister, who, small as the stake was, seemed not to 
relish losing. His Majesty now complimented 
me upon my play, and was about to add some- 
thing, when he perceived some one in the crowd, 
and sent an aide-de-camp for him. 

"Ah, my lord, we expected you earlier;" and 
then said some words in too low a tone for me to 
hear, motioning towards me as he spoke. If 
Waller was surprised at seeing me where I was, it 
was nothing to the effect produced upon the pres- 
ent party, whom I now recognized as Lord Cal- 
lonby. Respect for the presence we were in re- 
strained any expression on either side, and a more 
ludicrous tableau than we presented can scarcely 
be conceived. What I would have given that the 
whist party was over, I need not say, and certainly 
his Majesty's eulogy upon my play came too soon, 
for I was now so discomposed, my eyes wander- 
ing from the table to see if Lady Jane was near, 
that I lost every trick, and finished by revoking. 
The king rose half pettishly, observing that "Kis 
Excellency seems fatigued," and I rushed forward 
to shake hands with Lord Callonby, totally for- 
getting the royal censure in my delight at dis- 
covering my friend. 

" Lorrequer, I am indeed rejoiced to see you, 
and when did you arrive?" 

" This evening." 

" This evening! and how the deuce have you 



HARRY LORREQUER, 



187 



contrived already, eh? — why you seem quite at 
home here?" 

"You shall hear all," said I, hastily; "but is 
Lady Callonby here?" 

"No. Kilkee only is with me; there he is, 
figuranting away in a gallop. The ladies were 
too tired to come; particularly as they dine at 
court to-morrow, the fatigue would be too great." 

" I have his Majesty's order to invite your Ex- 
cellency to dinner to-morrow," said the Grand 
Marechal, coming up at this instant. 

I bowed my acknowledgments, and turned again 
to Lord Callonby, whose surprise now seemed to 
have reached the climax. 

" Why, Lorrequer, I never heard of this; — when 
did you adopt this new career?" 

Not understanding the gist of the question, and 
conceiving that it ajsplied to my success at court, 
I answered at random, something about " falling 
upon my legs, good luck, etc.," and once more 
returned to the charge, inquiring most anxiously 
for Lady Callonby's health. 

"Ah! she is tolerably well. Jane is the only 
invalid; but then we hope Italy will restore her." 
Just at this instant, Kilkee caught my eye, and 
rushing over from his place beside his partner, 
snook me by both hands, saying, — 

" Delighted to see you here, Lorrequer; but as 
I can't stay now, promise to sup with me to-night 
at the 'Cross.' " 

I accepted of course, and the next instant he 
was whirling along in his waltz, with one of the 
most lovely German girls I ever saw. Lord Cal- 
lonby saw my admiration of her, and as it were 
replying to my gaze, remarked, — 

" Yes, very handsome, indeed; but really Kilkee 
is going too far with it. I rely very much upon 
you to reason him out of his folly, and we have 
all agreed that you have most influence over him, 
and are most likely to be listened to patiently." 

Here was a new character assigned me, the con- 
fidential friend and adviser of the family, trusted 
with a most delicate and important secret, likely 
to bring me into most intimate terms of inter- 
course with them all, for the " 7iV of Lord Cal- 
lonby bespoke a family consultation, in which I 
was deputed as the negotiator. I at once promised 
my assistance, saying, at the same time, that if 
Kilkee really was strongly attached, and had also 
reason to suppose that the lady liked him, it was 
not exactly fair; that in short, if the matter had 
gone beyond flirtation, any interference of mine 
would be imprudent, if not impertinent. Lord 
Callonby smiled slightly as he replied, — 

"Quite right, Lorrequer; I am just as much 
against constraint as yourself, if only no great 
barriers exist; but here, with a difference of re- 
ligion, country, language, habits, in fact, every- 
thing that can create disparity, the thing is not to 
be thought ot." 

I suspected that his lordship read in my partial 
defence of Kilkee a slight attempt to prop up my 
own case, and felt confused and embarrassed be- 
yond measure at the detection. 

"Well, we shall have time enough for all this. 
Now let us hear something of my old friend Sir 
Guy. How is he looking?" 

" I am unfortunately unable to give you any 



account of him. I left Paris the very day before 
he was expected to arrive there." 

"Oh, then, I have all the news myself in that 
case, for in his letter, which I received yesterday, 
he mentions that we are not to expect him before 
Tuesday." 

" Expect him. Is he coming here, then?" 

" Yes. Why, I thought you were aware of that; 
he has been long promising to pay us a visit, and 
at last, by great persuasion, we have succeeded 
in getting him across the sea, and, indeed, were 
it not that he was coming, we should have been in 
Florence before this." 

A gleam of hope shot through my heart as I said 
to myself, " What can this visit mean?" and the 
moment after I felt sick, almost fainting, as I asked 
if my cousin Guy was also expected. 

" Oh, yes. We shall want him, I should think," 
said Lord Callonby, with a very peculiar smile. 

I thought I should have fallen at these few 
words. " Come, Harry," thought I, " it is better 
to learn your fate at once. Now or never; death 
itself were preferable to this continued suspense. 
If the blow is to fall, it can scarcely sink me lower 
than I now feel." So reasoning, I laid my hand 
upon Lord Callonby's arm, and with a face pale 
as death, and a voice all but inarticulate, said, — 

" My lord, you will pardon me, I am sure " 

" My dear Lorrequer," said his lordship, inter- 
rupting me, "for heaven's sake, sit down. How 
ill you are looking; we must nurse you, my poor 
fellow." 

I sank upon a bench — the light danced before 
my eyes — the clang of the music sounded like 
the roar of a waterfall, and I felt a cold perspi- 
ration burst over my face and forehead; at the 
instant 1 recognized Kilkee's voice, and without 
well knowing why or how, discovered myself in 
the open air. 

" Come, you are better now," said Kilkee, " and 
will be quite well when you get some supper, and 
a little of the tokay his Majesty has been good 
enough to send us." 

" His Majesty desires to know if his Excel- 
lency is better," said an aide-de-camp. 

I muttered my most grateful acknowledgements. 

" One of the court carriages is in waiting for 
your Excellency," said a venerable old gentleman 
in a tie wig, whom I recognized as the Minister 
for Foreign Affairs, as he added, in a lower tone, 
to Lord Callonby, " I fear he has been greatly 
overworked lately. His exertions on the subject 
of the Greek Loan are well known to his Majesty." 

"Indeed!" said Lord Callonby, with a start of 
surprise, " I never heard of that before." 

If it had not been for that start of amazement, 
I should have died of terror. It was the only 
thing that showed me I was not out of my 
senses, which I now concluded the old gentleman 
must be, for I never had heard of the Greek 
Loan in my life before. 

"Farewell! mon cher collegue," said the ven- 
rable minister, as I got into the carriage, wonder- 
ing, as well I might, what singular band of bro- 
therhood united one of his Majesty's 4 — th with 
the Minister for Foreign Affairs of the Court of 
Bavaria. 

When I arrived at the "White Cross," I found 



188 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



my nerves, usually proof to anything, so shaken 
and shattered, that, fearing, with the difficult 
game before me, any mistake, however trivial, 
might mar all my fortunes forever, I said a " good- 
night" to my friends, and went to bed. 



CHAPTER LV. 



A DISCOVERY. 



"A NOTE for Monsieur," said the waiter, awak- 
ening me at the same time from the soundest 
sleep and the most delightful dream. The billet 
ran thus; — 

" If ' your Excellency' does not intend to slum- 
ber during the next twenty-four hours, it might 
be as well to remember that we are waiting 
breakfast. Ever yours, Kilkee." 

" It is true, then," said I, following up the de- 
lusion of my dream — " it is true I am really do- 
mesticated once more with the Callonbys; my 
suit is prospering, and at length the long-sought, 
long hoped-for moment is come " 

" Well, Harry," said Kilkee, as he dashed open 
the door — " well, Harry, how are you? — better 
than last night, I hope?" 

" Oh, yes, considerably. In fact, I can't think 
what could have been the matter with me; but I 
felt confoundedly uncomfortable." 

"You did! Why, man, what can you mean? 
Was it not a joke?" 

"A joke!" said I, with a start. 

" Yes, to be sure. I thought it was only the 
sequel of the other humbug." 

" 'The sequel of the other humbug!' Gra- 
cious mercy," thought I getting pale with horror, 
" is it thus he ventures to designate my attach- 
ment to his sister?" 

" Come, come, it's all over now. What the 
devil could have persuaded you to push the thing 
so far?" 

" Really, I am so completely in the dark as to 
your meaning, that I only get deeper in the mys- 
tery by my chance replies. What do you mean?" 

" What do I mean? Why, the affair of last 
night, of course. All Munich is full of it; and,_ 
most fortunately for you, the King has taken it 
all in the most good-humored way, and laughs 
more than any one else about it." 

"Oh, then," thought I, " I must have done or 
said something last night, during my illness, that 
I can't remember now. Come, Kilkee, out with 
it. What happened last night, that has so served 
to amuse the good people of Munich? for as I 
am a true man, I forget all you are alluding to." 

"And don't remember the Greek Loan, eh?" 

"The Greek Loan?" 

" And your Excellency's marked reception by 
his Majesty? By Jove! though, it was the rarest 
piece of impudence I ever heard of: hoaxing a 
crowned head. quizzing one of the Lord's anointed, 
is un peu tr op fort." 

" If you really do not wish to render me insane 



at once, for the love of mercy say, in plain terms, 
what all this means." 

"Come, come, I see you are incorrigible; but 
as breakfast is waiting all this time, we shall have 
your explanations below stairs." 

Before I had time for another question, Kilkee 
passed his arm within mine, and led me along the 
corridor, pouring out, the entire time, a whole 
rhapsody about the practical joke of my late ill- 
ness, which he was pleased to say wOuld ring 
from one end of Europe to the other. 

Lord Callonby was alone in the breakfast-room 
when we entered, and the moment he perceived 
me, called out,— 

" Eh, Lorrequer, you here still? Why, man, I 
thought you'd have been over the frontier early 
this morning." 

"Indeed! my lord. I am not exactly aware of 
any urgent reason for so rapid a flight." 

"You are not? — the devil you are not! Why, 
you must surely have known his Majesty to be 
the best-tempered man in his dominions, then, or 
you would never have played off such a / ttse; 
though, I must say, there never was anything 
better done. Old Heldersteen, the Minister for 
Foreign Affairs, is nearly deranged this morning 
about it. It seems that he was the first that fell 
into the trap. But, seriously speaking, I think 
it would be better if you got away from this. The 
King, it is true, has behaved with the best pos- 
sible good feeling; but " 

" My lord, I have a favor to ask, perhaps — in- 
deed, in all likelihood, the last I shall ever ask 
of your lordship — it is this: what are you al- 
luding to all this while? and, for what especial 
reason do you suggest my immediate departure 
from Munich?" 

" Bless my heart and soul! you surely cannot 
mean to carry the thing on any further? You 
never can intend to assume your ministerial func- 
tions by daylight?" 

"My what! — my ministerial functions!" 

" Oh no, that were too much, even though his 
Majesty did say that you were the most agree- 
able diiilomatist he had met for a long time." 

" I, a diplomatist!" 

" You — certainly. Surely, you cannot be act- 
ing now! Why, gracious mercy, Lorrequer! can 
it be possible that you were not doing it by de- 
sign? Do you really not know in what character 
you appeared last night?" 

" If in any other than that of Harry Lorrequer, 
my lord, I pledge my honor I am ignorant." 

" Nor the uniform you wore — don't you know 
what it meant?" 

" The tailor sent it to my room." 

"Why, by Jove! this will kill me!" said Lord 
Callonby, bursting into a fit of laughter, in which 
Kilkee, a hitherto silent spectator of our colloquy, 
joined to such an extent, that I thought he might 
burst a blood-vessel. " ^^ hy, man, you went as 
the Charge d'Affaires." 

" I, the Charge d'Affaires!" 

" That you did, and a most successful d3ut 
you made of it." 

While shame and confusion covered me from 
head to foot at the absurd and ludicrous blunder 
I had been guilty of, the sense of the ridiculous 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



189 



was so strong in me, that I fell upon a sofa, and 
laughed on with the others for full ten minutes. 

" Your Excellency is, I am rejoiced to find, in 
good spirits," said Lady Callonby, entering, and 
presenting her hand. 

" He is so glad to have arranged the Greek 
Loan," said Lady Catherine, smiling, with a half- 
malicious twinkle of the eye. 

Just at this instant, another door opened, and 
Lady Jane appeared. Luckily for me, the in- 
creased mirth of the party, as Lord Callonby in- 
formed them of my blunder, prevented their pay- 
ing any attention to me; for, as I half-sprang 
forward toward her, my agitation would have 
revealed to any observer the whole state of my 
feelings. I took her hand, which she extended 
to nie, without speaking, and bowing deeply over 
it, raised my head and looked into her eyes, as if 
to read, at one glance, my fate, and when I let 
fall her hand, I would not have exchanged my 
fortune for a kingdom. 

" You have heard, Jane, how our friend opened 
his campaign in Munich last night?" 

" Oh, I hope, Mr. Lorrequer, they are only 
quizzing. You surely could not " 

" Could not. What he could not — what he 
would not do, is beyond my calculation to 
make out," said Kilkee, laughing; " anything in 
life from breaking an axletree to hoaxing a king." 
I turned, as may be imagined, a deaf ear to this 
allusion, which really frightened me, not knowing 
how far Kilkee's information might lead, nor 
how he might feel disposed to use it. Lady Jane 
turned a half-reproachful glance at me, as if re- 
buking my folly; but the interest she thus took in 
me I would not have bartered for the smile of the 
proudest queen in Christendom. 

Breakfast over. Lord Callonby undertook to 
explain to the court the blunder by which I had 
unwittingly been betrayed into personating the 
newly-arrived minister, and as the mistake was 
more of their causing than my own, my excuses 
were accepted, and when his lordship returned to 
the hotel, he brought with him an invitation for 
me to dine at court in my own unaccredited 
character. By this time I had been carrying on 
the siege as briskly as circumstances permitted; 
Lady Callonby being deeply interested in her 
newly-arrived purchases, and Lady Catherine 
being good-natured enough to pretend to be so 
also, left me, at intervals, many opportunities of 
speaking to Lady Jane. 

As I feared that such occasions would not 
often present themselves, I determined on making 
the best use of my time, and at once led the con- 
versation towards the goal I aimed at, by asking, 
"if Lady Jane had completely forgotten the wild 
cliffs and rocky coast of Clare, amid the tall 
mountains and glaciered peaks of the Tyrol ?" 

" Far from it," she replied. " I have a most 
clear remembrance of bold Moher and the rolling 
swell of the blue Atlantic, and long to feel its 
spray once more upon my cheek; but then, I 
knew it in childhood — your acquaintance with it 
was of a later date, and connected with fewer 
happy associations." 

" Fewer happy associations — how can you say 
so? Was it not there tlie brightest hours of my 



whole life were passed — was it not there I first 
met ■" 

" Kilkee tells me," said Lady Jane, interrupting 
me shortly, " that Miss Bingham is extremely 
pretty." 

This was turning my flank with a vengeance; 
so I muttered something about difference' of 
tastes, etc., and continued, "I understand my 
worthy cousin Guy had the good fortune to make 
your acquaintance in Paris." 

It was now her turn to blush, which she did 
deeply, and said nothing. 

" He is expected, I believe, in a few days at 
Munich," said I, fixing my eyes upon her, and 
endeavoring to read her thoughts; she blushed 
more deeply, and the blood at my own heart ran 
cold, as I thought over all I had heard, and I 
muttered to myself, " She loves him." 

" Mr. Lorrequer, the carriage is waiting, and as 
we are going to the Gallery this mornmg, and 
have much to see, pray let us have your escort." 

"Oh, I'm sure," said Catherine, "his assistance 
will be considerable— particularly as his knowledge 
of art only equals his tact in botany. Don't you 
think so, Jane?" But Jane was gone. 

They left the room to dress, and I was alone — 
alone with my anxious, now half-despairing 
thoughts, crowding and rushing upon my beating 
brain. " She loves him, and I have only come to 
witness her becoming the wife of another. I see 
it all, too plainly: my uncle's arrival — Lord Cal- 
lonby's familiar manner — Jane's own confession. 
All — all convince me that my fate is decided. 
Now, then, for one last brief explanation, and I 
leave Munich, never to see her more." Just as 
I had so spoken, she entered. Her gloves had 
been forgotten in the room, and she came in, not 
knowing that I was there. What would I not 
have given at that moment for the ready-witted 
assurance, the easy self-possession, with which I 
should have made my advances had my heart not 
been as deeply engaged as I now felt it. Alas! 
my courage was gone; there was too much at 
stake, and I preferred, now that the time was 
come, any suspense, any vacillation, to the dread- 
ful certainty of refusal. 

These were my first thoughts, as she entered; 
how they were followed, I cannot say. The same 
wild confusion of my brain, which I once felt 
when mounting the breach in a storm-party, now 
completely beset me; and as then, when death 
and destruction raged upon every side, I held on my 
way regardless of every obstacle, and forgetting all 
save tlie goal before me; so did I now, in the inten- 
sity of my excitement, disregard everything, save 
the story of my love, which I poured forth with that 
fervor which truth only can give. But she spoke 
not; her averted head, her cold and tremulous 
hand, and half-drawn sigh, were all that replied 
to me, as I waited for that one word upon which 
hung all my fortune. At length her hand, which 
I scarcely held within my own, was gently with- 
drawn. She lifted it to her eyes, but still was 
silent. 

" Enough," said I; "I seek not to pain you 
more. The daring ambition that prompted me 
to love you has met its heaviest retribution. Fare- 
well. You, Lady Jane, have nothing to reproach 



190 



HARRY LORREOUER, 



yourself with — you never encouraged, you never 
deceived me. I, and I alone, have been to blame, 
and mine must be the suffering. Adieu, then, 
once more, and forever." 

She turned slowly round, and, as the handker- 
chief fell from her hand — her features were pale 
as marble — I saw that she was endeavoring to 
speak, but could not; and, at length, as the color 
came slowly back to her cheek, her lips moved, 
and just as I leaned forward, with beating heart, 
to hear, her sister came running forward, and 
suddenly checked herself in her career, as she 
said, laughingly, — 

" Mille pardons, Jane, but his E.xcellency must 
take another occasion to explain the quadruple 
alliance, for mamma has been waiting in the car- 
riage these ten minutes." 

I followed them to the door, placed them in 
the carriage, and vvas turning again towards the 
house, when Lady Callonby s.iid, — 

"Oh, Mr. Lorrequer, we count upon you; you 
must not desert us." 

I muttered something about not feeling well. 

"And then, perhaps, the Greek Loan is engag- 
ing your attention," said Catherine; " or, mayhap, 
some reciprocity treaty is not prospering?" 

The malice of this last sally told, for Jane 
blushed deeply, and I felt overwhelmed with 
confusion. 

"But pray come; the drive will do you good." 

"Your ladyship will, I am certain, excuse " 

Just as I had got so far, I caught Lady Jane's 
eye, for the first time since we had left the draw- 
ing-room. What I read there, I could not, for the 
life of me, say; but, instead of finishing my sen- 
tence, I got into the carriage, and drove off, very 
much to the surprise of Lady Callonby, who, 
never having studied magnetism, knew very little 
the cause of my sudden recovery. 

The thrill of hope that shot through my heart 
succeeding so rapidly the dark gloom of my de- 
spairing thoughts, buoyed me up; and while I 
whispered to myself, '' All may not yet be lost," 
I summoned my best energies to my aid. Luckily 
for me, I was better qualified to act as cicerone 
in a gallery than as a guide in a green-house; and 
with the confidence that knowledge of a subject 
ever inspires, I rattled away about art and artists, 
greatly to the edification of Lady Callonby— 
much to the surprise of Lady Catherine — and, 
better than all, evidently to the satisfaction of 
her, to win whose praise I would gladly have 
risked my life. 

" There," said I, as I placed my fair friend 
before a delicious little Madonna of Carlo Dolce, — 
" there is, perhaps, the triumph of coloring; from 
the downy softness of that cheek, the luscious 
depth of that blue eye, the waving richness of 
those sunny locks, all is perfect; fortunately so 
beautiful a head is not a monopoly, for he painted 
many copies of this picture.'' 

"Quite true," said a voice behind; "and mine 
at Elton is, I think, -if anything, better than 
this." 

I turned, and beheld my good old uncle. Sir 
Guy, who was standing beside Lady Callonby. 
While I welcomed my worthy relative, I could 
not help casting a glance around to see if Guy 



were also there, and not perceiving him, my heart 
beat freely again. 

My uncle, it appeared, had just arrived, and 
lost no time in joining us at the gallery. His 
manner to me was cordial to a degree; and I per- 
ceived that, immediately upon being introduced 
to Lady Jane, he took considerable pains to ob- 
serve her, and paid her the most marked atten- 
tion. 

The first moment I could steal unnoticed, I 
took the opportunity of asking if Guy were come. 
That one fact was to me all, and up>on the an- 
swer to my question I hung with deep anxiety. 

"Guy here! — no, not yet. The fact is, Harry, 
my boy, Guy has not got on here as well as I 
could have wislied. Everything had been ar- 
ranged among us; Callonby behaved most hand- 
somely; and, as far as regarded myself, I threw 
no impediment in the way. But still, I don't 
know how it was, but Guy did not advance, and 
the matter now " 

" Pray, how does it stand? Have you any hopes 
to put all to rights again?" 

" Yes, Harry, I think with your assistance, much 
may be done." 

" Oh, count upon me, by all means," said I 
with a sneering bitterness that my uncle could not 
have escaped remarking, had his attention not 
been drawn off by Lady Callonby. 

" What have I done — what sin did I meditate 
before I was born, that I should come into the 
world branded with failure in all I attempt? Is 
it not enough that my cousin, my elder by some 
months, should be rich while I am poor; honored 
and titled, while I am unknown and unnoticed; 
but is he also to be preferred to me in every sta- 
tion in life? Is there no feeling of the heart so 
sacred that it must not succumb to primogeni- 
ture?" 

" What a dear old man Sir Guy is!" said 
Catherine, interrupting my sad reflections, "and 
how gallant! he is absolutely flirting with Lady 
Jane." 

And quite true it was. The old gentleman was 
paying his devoirs with a studied anxiety to please, 
that went to my very heart as I witnessed it. The 
remainder of that day to me was a painful and 
suffering one. My intention of suddenly leaving 
Munich had been abandoned; why, I knew not. 
I felt that I was hoping against hope, and that 
my stay was only to confirm, by the most " dam- 
ning proof," how surely I was fated to disap- 
pointment. My reasonings all ended in one point. 
"If she really love Guy, then my present atten- 
tions can only be a source of unhappiness to her; 
if she do not, is there any prospect that, from the 
bare fact of my attachment, so proud a family as 
the Callonbys will suffer their daughter to make 
a mere love-match?" 

There was but one answer to this question, and 
I had at last the courage to make it: and yet the 
Callonbys had marked me out for their atten- 
tions, and had gone unusually out of their way to 
inflict injury upon me, if all were meant to end 
in nothing. "If I only could bring myself to 
think that this was a systematic game adopted by 
them, to lead to the subsequent arrangement with 
my cousin.? — if I conld but satisfy my doubts on 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



191 



this head " What threats of vengeance I mut- 
tered, I cannot remember, for I was summoned 
at that critical moment to attend the party to the 
palace. 

The state of excitement I was in was an ill pre- 
parative for the rigid etiquette of a court dinner. 
All passed off, however, ha]3pily; and the king, 
by a most good-natured allusion to the blunder 
of the night before, set me perfectly at ease on 
that head. 

I was placed next to Lady Jane at dinner; and 
half from wounded pride, half from the momen- 
tarily increasing conviction that all was lost, 
chatted away gayly, without any evidence of a 
stronger feeling than the mere vicinity of a pretty 
person is sure to inspire. What success this game 
was attended with, I know not; but the suffering 
it cost me, I shall never cease to remember. One 
satisfaction I certainly did experience — she was 
manifestly piqued, and several times turned 
towards the person on the other side of her, to 
avoid the tone of indifference in which I discussed 
matters that were actually wringing my own heart 
at the moment. Yet such was tlie bitterness of 
my spirit, that I set down this conduct on her 
part as coquetry; and quite convinced myself that 
any slight encouragement she might ever have 
given my attentions was only meant to indulge a 
spirit of vanity, by adding another to the list of 
her conquests. 

As the feeling grew upon me, I suppose my 
manner to her became more palpably cutting, for 
it ended at last in our discontinuing to speak; 
and when we retired from the palace, I accom- 
panied her to the carriage in silence, and wished 
her a cold and distant good-night, without any 
advance to touch her hand at parting — and yet 
that parting I had destined for our last. 

The greater part of that night I spent in writ- 
ing letters. One was to Jane herself, owning my 
affections, confessing that even the rudeness of 
my late conduct was the fruit of it, and finally 
assuring her that failing to win from her any re- 
t\irn of my passion I had resolved never to meet 
her more. I also wrote a short note to my uncle, 
thanking him for all he had formerly done in my 
behalf, but coldly declining for the future any as- 
sistance upon his part, resolving that upon my 
own efforts alone should I now rest my fortunes. 
To Lord Callonby I wrote at greater length, re- 
capitulating the history of our early intimacy, and 
accusing him of encouraging me in expectations, 
which, as he never intended to confirm them, 
were fated to prove my ruin. More — much more 
— I said, which to avow, I should gladly shrink 
from, were it not that I have pledged myself to 
honesty in these "Confessions," and as they de- 
pict the bitterness and misery of my spirit. I must 
plead guilty to them here. In a word, I felt my- 
self injured. I saw no outlet for redress, and the 
only consolation open to my wounded pride and 
crushed affection, was to show, that if I felt my- 
self a victim, at least I was not a dupe. I set 
about packing up for the journey — whither, I 
knew not. My leave was nearly expired, yet I 
could not bear the thought of rejoining the /egi- 
ment. My only desire was to leave Munich, and 
that speedily. When all my arrangements were 



completed, I went down noiselessly to the inn- 
yard to order post-horses by daybreak; there to 
my surprise I found all activity and bustle. 
Though so late at night, a courier had arrived from 
England for Lord Callonby, with some important 
despatches from the Government. This would, 
at any other time, have interested me deeply; 
now I heard the news without a particle of feel- 
ing, and I made all the necessary dispositions for 
my journey, without paying the slightest atten- 
tion to what was going on about me, I had just 
finished, when Lord Callonby's valet came to say 
that his lordship wished to see me immediately in 
his dressing-room. Though I would gladly have 
declined any further interview, I saw no means 
of escape, and followed the servant to his lord- 
ship's room. 

There I found Lord Callonby in his dressing- 
gown and nightcap, surrounded by papers, letters, 
despatch boxes, and red tape-tied parcels, that 
all bespoke business. 

" Lorrequer, sit down, my boy; I have much 
to say to you, and as we have no time to lose, 
you must forego a little sleep. Is the door closed? 
I have just received most important news from 
England; and to begin." Here his lordshp 
opened a letter and read as follows: — 

" My dear Lord, — They are out at last — the 
majority on Friday increased to forty yesterday 
evening, when they resigned; the Duke has mean- 
while assumed the reins till further arrangements 
can be perfected, and despatches are now pre- 
paring to bring all our old friends about us. The 

only rumors as yet are, L- , for the Colonies, 

H , to the Foreign Office, W , President 

of the Council, and we anxiously hope, yourself, 
Viceroy in Ireland. In any case lose no time in 
coming back to England. The struggle will be a 
sharp one, as the outs are distracted, and we shall 
want you much. Ever yours, my dear lord, 

"Henry ." 

"This is much sooner than I looked for, Lor- 
requer, perhaps almost than I wished; but as it 
has taken place, we must not decline the battle; 
now what I wanted with you is this — if I go to 
Ireland, I should like your acceptanc. of the 
Private Secretary's Office. Come, come, no ob- 
jections; you know that you need not leave the 
army; you can become unattached; I'll arrange 
all that; a propos, this concerns you; it is from the 
Horse Guards; you need not read it now though; 
it is merely your gazette to the company; your 
promotion, however, shall not stop there. How- 
ever, the important thing I want with you is tliis; 
I wish you to start for England to-morrow; cir- 
cumstances prevent my going from this for a few 

days. You can see L and W , etc., and 

explain all I have to say; I shall write a few let- 
ters, and some hints for your own guidance; and 
as Kilkee never would have head for these mat- 
ters, I look to your friendship to do it for ine." 

Looking only to the past, as the proposal suited 
my already-made resolve to quit Munich, I ac- 
ceded at one, and assured Lord Callonby that I 
should be ready in an hour. 

"Quite right, Lorrequer, but still I shall not 



192, 



HARRY LORREQUER. 



need this; you cannot leave before eleven or 
twelve o'clock; in fact, I have another service to 
exact at your hands before we part with you; 
meanwhile, try and get some sleep; you are not 
likely to know anything of a bed before you reach 
the Clarendon." So saying, he hurried me from 
the room, and as he closed tlie door, I heard him 
muttering his satisfaction, that already so far, all 
had been well arranged. 



CHAPTER LVI. 



CONCLUSION. 



Sleep came on me, without my feeling it, and 
amid all the distracting cares and pressing thoughts 
that embarrassed me, I only awoke when the roll 
of the caleche sounded beneath my window, and 
warned me that I must be stirring and ready for 
the road. 

•" Since it is to be thus," thought I, "it is much 
better that this opportunity should occur of my 
getting away at once, and thus obviate the un- 
pleasantness of any future meeting with Lady 
Jane, and the thousand conjectures that my de- 
parture, so sudden and unannounced, might give 
rise to. So be it, and 1 have now only one hope 
more — that the terms we last parted on may pre- 
vent her appearing at the breakfast-table." With 
these words I entered the room, where the 
Callonbys were assembled. 

"This is too provoking, really, Mr. Lorrequer," 
said Lady Callonby with her sweetest smile, and 
most civil manner; " quite too bad to lose you, 
now that you have just joined us." 

" Come, no tampering with our party," said 
Lord Callonby; "my friend here must not be se- 
duced by honeyed words and soft speeches from 
the high road that leads to honors and distinc- 
tions. Now for your instructions." Here his 
lordship entered into a very deep discussion as to 
the conditions upon which his support might be 
expected and relied upon, which Kilkee from time 
to time interrupted by certain quizzing allusions to 
the low price he put upon his services, and sug- 
gested that a mission for myself should certainly 
enter into the compact. 

At length breakfast was over, and Lord Cal- 
lonby said, " Now make your adieux, and let me 
see you for a moment in Sir Guy's room; we have 
a little discussion there, in which your assistance 
is wanting." I accordingly took my farewell of 
Lady Callonby, and approached to do so to 
Lady Jane; but much to my surprise, she made a 
very distant salute, and said in her coldest tone, 
" I hope you may have a pleasant journey." Be- 
fore I had recovered my surprise at this move- 
ment, Kilkee came forward and offered to ac- 
company me a few miles of the road. I accepted 
readily the kind offer, and once more bowing to 
the ladies, withdrew. " And thus it is," thought 
I, "that I leave all my long-dreamed of happi- 
ness, and such is the end of many a long day's 
ardent expectation." When I entered my uncle's 
room, my temper was certainly not in the mood 



most fit for further trials, though it was doomed 
to meet them. 

" Harry, my boy, we are in a great want of you 
here, and, as time presses, we must state our case 
very briefly. You are aware, Sir Guy tells me, 
that your cousin Guy has been received among 
us as the suitor of my eldest daughter. It has 
been an old compact between us to unite our 
families by ties still stronger than our very an- 
cient friendship, and this match has been accord- 
ingly looked to by us both with much anxiety. 
Now, although on our parts I think no obstacle 
intervenes, yet I am sorry to say there appear 
difficulties in other quarters. In fact, certain 
stories have reached Lady Jane's ears concerning 
your cousin, which have greatly prejudiced her 
against him, and we have reason to think most 
unfairly; for we have succeeded in tracing some 
of the offences in question, not to Guy, but to a 
iVIr. Morewood, who it seems has personated 
your cousin upon more than one occasion, and 
not a little to his disadvantage. Now we wish 
you to sift these matters to the bottom, by your 
going to Paris as soon as you can venture to 
leave London — find out this man, and, if possi- 
ble, make all straight; if money is wanting, he 
must, of course, have it; but bear one thing in 
mind, that any possible step which may remove 
this unhappy impression from my daughter's 
mind, will be of infinite service, and never for- 
gotten by us. Kilkee, too, has taken some dis- 
like to Guy. You have only, however, to talk to 
him on the matter, and he is sure to pay attention 
to you." 

"And, Harry," said my uncle, "tell Guy I am 
much displeased that he is not here; I expected 
him to leave Paris with me, but some absurd 
wager at the Jockey Club detained him." 

" Another thing, Harry, you may as well men- 
tion to your cousin, that Sir Guy has complied 
with every suggestion that he formerly threw out 
— he will understand the allusion." 

" Oh, yes," said my uncle; "tell him roundly, 
he shall have Elton Hall; I have fitted up Marsden 
for myself; so no difficulty lies in that quarter." 

" You may add, if you like, that my present 
position with the Government enables me to offer 
him a speedy prospect of a regiment, and that I 
think he had better not leave the army." 

"And say that by next post Hamercloth's bond 
for the six thousand shall be paid off, and let 
him send me a note of any other large sum he 
owes." 

" And above all things, no more delays. I 
must leave this for England inevitably, and as 
the ladies will probably prefer wintering in 
Italy " 

" Oh, certainly," said my uncle, " the wedding 
must take place at once." 

" I scarcely can ask you to come to us on the 
occasion, though I need not say how greatly we 
should all feel gratified if you could do so," said 
my lord. 

While this cross-fire went on from both sides, 
I looked from one to the other of the speakers. 
My first impression being, that having perceived 
and disliked my attention to Lady Jane, they 
adopted this mauvaise plaisanierie as a kind of 



HARRY LORREQUER. 



193 



smart lesson for my future guidance. My next 
impression was that they were really in earnest, 
but about the very stupidest pair of old gentle- 
men that ever wore hair powder. 

" And this is all?" said I, drawing a long 
breath, and inwardly uttering a short prayer for 
patience. 

" Why, I believe I have mentioned everything," 
said Lord Callcnby, "except that if anything 
occurs to yourself that offers a prospect of for- 
warding this affair, we leave you a cirte blanche 
to adopt it." 

" Of course, then," said I, " I am to under- 
stand that as no other difficulties lie in the way 
than those your lordship has mentioned, the feel- 
ings of the parties — their affections are mutual ?" 

"Oh, of course; your cousin, I suppose, has 
made himself agreeable; he is a good-looking 
fellow, and, in fact, I am not aware why they 
should not like each other, eh, Sir Guy?" 

"To be sure; and the Elton estates run half 
the shire with your Gloucestershire property; 
never was there a more suitable match." 

" Then only one point remains, and that being 
complied with, you may reckon upon my services; 
nay, more, I promise you success. Lady Jane's 
own consent must be previously assured to me; 
without this, I most positively decline moving a 
step in the matter; that once obtained, freely and 
without constraint, I pledge myself to do all you 
require." 

"Quite fair, Harry, I perfectly approve of your 
scruples." So saying, his lordship rose, and left 
the room. 

"Well, Harry, and yourself, what is be to done 
for \oul — has Callonby offered you anything 
■yet?" 

" Yes, sir, his lordship has most kindly offered 
me the under secretaryship in Ireland, but I 
have resolved on declining it, though I shall not 
at present say so, lest he should feel any delicacy 
in employing me upon the present occasion." 

" Why, is the boy deranged.' — decline it! — 
what have you got in the world, that you should 
refuse such an appointment?" 

The color mounted to my cheeks, my temples 
burned, and what I should have replied to this 
taunt, I know not, for passion had completely 
mastered me. When Lord Callonby again entered 
the room, his usually calm and pale face was 
agitated and flushed, and his manner tremulous 
and hurried; for an instant he was silent; then 
turning towards my uncle, he took his hand affec- 
tionately, and said, — 

"My good old friend, I am deeply, deeply 
grieved; but we must abandon this scheme. I 
have just seen my daughter; and from the few 
words which we have had together, I find that 
her dislike to the match is invincible, and, in fact, 
she has obtained my promise never again to 
allude to it. If I were willing to constrain the 
feelings of my child, you yourself would not 
permit it. So here let us forget that we ever 
hoped for, ever calculated on a plan in which 
both our hearts were so deeply interested. 

These words, few as they were, were spoken 
with deep feeling, and for the first time I looked 
upon the speaker with sincere regard. They 



were both silent for some minutes; Sir Guy, who 
was himself much agitated, spoke first. 

" So be it then, Callonby, and thus do I relin- 
quish one — perhaps the only cheering prospect 
my advanced age held out to me. I have long 
wished to have your daughter for my niece, and 
since I have known her, the wish has increased 
tenfold." 

" It was the chosen dream of all my anticipa- 
tions," said Lord Callonby, "and now Jane's 
affections only but let it pass." 

" And is there then really no remedy! — can 
nothing be thought of?" 

" Nothing." 

" I am not quite so sure, my lord," said I, 
tremulously. 

" No, no, Lorrequer; you are a ready-witted 
fellow, I know, but this passes <i\tnyoitr ingenuity; 
besides, I have given her my word." 

" Even so." 

"Why, what do you mean? speak out, man," 
said Sir Guy. " I'll give you ten thousand pounds 
on the spot if you suggest a means of overcoming 
this difficulty." 

'■ Perhaps you might not accede afterwards." 

" I pledge myself to it." 

" And I, too," said Lord Callonby, " if no unfair 
stratagem be resorted to towards my daughter. 
If she only give her free and willing consent, I 
agree." 

"Then you must bid higher, uncle; ten thou- 
sand won't do, for the bargain is well worth the 
money." 

"Name your price, boy, and keep your word." 

" Agreed, then. Holding my uncle to his prom- 
ise, I pledge myself that his nephew shall be the 
husband of Lady Jane Callonby. And now, my 
lord, write Harry vice Guy in the contract, and I 
am certain my uncle is too faithful to his plighted 
word and too true to his promise, not to say it shall 
be." 

The suddenness of this rash declaration abso- 
lutely stunned them both, and then recovering at 
the same moment, their eyes met. 

" Fairly caught, Guy," said Lord Callonby; " a 
bold stroke, if it only succeed." 

"And it shall, by G -," said my uncle; 

" Elton is yours, Harry, and with seven thousand 
a year, and my nephew to boot, Callonby won't 
refuse you." 

There are moments in life in which conviction 
will follow a bold coup de main that never would 
have ensued from the slow process of reasoning. 
Luckily for me, this was one of those happy in- 
tervals. Lord Callonby, catching my uncle's en- 
thusiasm, seized me by the hand, and said, — 

"With her consent, Lorrequer, you may count 
upon mine; and faith, if truth must be told, I 
always preferred you to the other." 

What my uncle added, I waited not to listen 
to, but with one bound sprung from the room — 
dashed upstairs to Lady Callonby's drawing-room 
— looked rapidly around to see if she were therr, 
and then, without paying the slightest attention 
to the questions of Lady Callonby and her young- 
est daughter, was turning to leave the room, when 
my eye caught the flutter of a cashmere shawl in 
the garden beneath. In an instant the window 



194 



HARRY LORREOUER. 



was torn open — I stood upon the sill, and, though 
the fall was some twenty feet, with one spring I 
took it, and before the ladies had recovered from 
their first surprise at my unaccountable conduct, 
put the finishing stroke to their amazement, by 
throwing my arms around Lady Jane, and clasp- 
ing her to my heart. 

I cannot remember by what process I explained 
the change that had taken place in my fortunes. 
I had some very vague recollection of vows of 
eternal love being mingled with praises of my 
worthy uncle, and the state of my affections and 
finances were jumbled up together, but still suffi- 
ciently intelligible to satisfy my beloved Jane that 
this time at least I made love, with something 
more than my oion consent to support me. Before 
we had walked half round the garden she had 
promised to be mine; and Harry Lorrequer, who 
rose that morning with nothing but despair and 
darkness before him, was now the happiest of 
men. 

Dear reader, I have little more to confess. 
Lord Callonby's politics were fortunately deemed 
of more moment than maidenly scruples, and the 
treasury benches more respected than the trous- 
seau. Our wedding was therefore settled for the 
following week. Meanwhile every day seemed to 
teem with its own meed of good fortunes. My good 
uncle under whose patronage, forty odd years 
before, Colonel Kamworth had obtained his com- 
mission, undertook to effect the reconciliation 
between him and the Wallers, who now only 
waited for our wedding before they set out for 
Hydrabad cottage, that snug receptacle of curry 
and Madeira, Jack confessing that he had rather 
listen to the siege of Java by that fireside, than 
hear an account of Waterloo from the lips of the 
great Duke himself. 

I wrote to Trevanion to invite him over to 
Munich for the ceremony, and the same post which 
informed me that he was en rente to join us, brought 
also a letter from my eccentric friend O'Leary, 
whose name having so often occurred in these 
Confessions, I am tempted to read aloud; the 
more so as its contents are no secret, Kilkee hav- 
ing insisted upon reading it to a committee of the 
whole family assembled after dinner. 

" Dear Lorrequer, — The trial is over, and I 
am acquitted, but still in Sainte Pelagie; for as 
the government were determined to cut my head 
off, if guilty, so the mob resolved to murder me, 
if innocent. A pleasant situation this. Before 
the trial, I was the most popular man in Paris; 



my face was in every print-shop; plaster busts of 
me, with a great organ behind the ear, in all the 
thoroughfares; my autograph selling at six-and- 
twenty sous, and a lock of my hair at five francs. 
Now that it is proved I did not murder the ' minis- 
ter at war' (who is in excellent health and spirits), 
the popular feeling against me is very violent, and 
I am looked upon as an impostor, who had ob- 
tained his notoriety under false pretences; and 
Vernet, who had begun my picture for a Judas, 
has left off in disgust. Your friend Trevanion is 
a trump; he procured a Tipperary gentleman to 
run away with Mrs. Ram, and they were married 
at Frankfort on Tuesday last. By-the-bye, what 
an escape you had of Emily: she was only quiz- 
zing you all the time. She is engaged to be mar- 
ried to Tom O'Flaherty, who is here now. Emily's 
imitation of you, with the hat a little on one side, 
and a handkerchief flourishing away in one hand, 
is capital; but when she kneels down and says, 
' Dearest Emily,' etc., you'd swear it was yourself. 
— [Here the laughter of the auditory prevented 
Kilkee proceeding, who, to my utter confusion, 
resumed after a little.] — Don't be losing your time 
making up to Lord Callonby's daughter — [here 
came another burst of laughter] — they say here 
you have not a chance, and, moreover, she's a 
downright flirt. — [' It is your turn now, Jane,' said 
Kilkee, scarcely able to proceed.] — Besides that, 
her father's a pompous old Tory, that won't give 
a sixpence with her; and the old curmudgeon, 
your uncle, has as much idea of providing for you 
as he has of dying. — [This last sally absolutely 
convulsed all parties.] — To be sure, Kilkee's a 
fool, but he is no use to you.^ — [' Begad, I thought 
I was going to escape,' said the individual alluded 
to, 'but your friend O'Leary cuts on every side 
of him.']" The letter, after some very grave re- 
flections upon the hopelessness of my pursuit, con- 
cluded with a kind ]jledge to meet me soon, and 
become my travelling companion. " Meanwhile," 
added he, "I must cross over to London, and 
look after my new work, which is to come out 
soon, under the title of 'The Loiterings of Arthur 
O'Leary.'" 

This elegant epistle formed the subject of much 
laughter and conversation amongst us long after 
it was concluded, and little triumph could be 
claimed by any party, where nearly all were so 
roughly handled. So passed the last evening I 
spent in Munich. The next morning I was married. 

THE END. 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, 



THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



PREFACE. 

The success of Harry Lorrequer was the reason for 
writing Charles O'Maliey. That I myself was in no wise 
prepared for the favor the public bestowed on my first at- 
tempt is easily enough understood. The ease with which 
I strung my stories together — and in reality the Confessions 
of Harry l.orrequer are little other than a note-book of 
absurd and laughable incidents — led me to believe that I 
coultl draw on this vein of composition without any limit 
whatever. I felt, or thought I felt, an inexhaustible store 
of fun and buoyancy within me, and I began to have a 
misty, half-confused impression that Englishmen generally 
labored under a sad-colored temperament, took depressing 
views of life, and were proportionately grateful to any one 
who would rally them, even passingly, out of their de- 
spondency, and give thera a laugh without much trouble 
for going in search of it. 

When I set to work to write Charles O'Nfalley f was, as 
I have ever been, very low with fortune, and the success of 
a new venture was pretty much as eventful to me as the 
turn of the right color at rott^e ft noir. At the same time, 
I had thL'n an amount of spring in my temperament, and 
a power of enjoying life, which I can honestly say I never 
found surpassed. The wurld had for me all the interest of 
an admirable comedy, in which the part allotted myself, if 
not a high or a foreground one, was eminently suited to my 
taste, and brought me, besides, sufficiently often on the 
stage to enable me to follow all the fortunes of tlie piece. 
Brussels, where I was then living, was adorned at the pe- 
riod by a most agreeable English society. Some leaders 
of the fashionable world of London had come there to 
relit and recruit, both in body and estate. There were 
several pleasant and a great number of pretty people among 
them; and, so far as I could judge, the fashionable dramas 
of Belgrave Square and its vicinity were being performed 
in the Rue Royal and the Boulevard de Waterloo, with 
very considerable success. There were dinners, balls, aV- 
jedmrs and picnics in the Bois de Cainbre, excursions to 
Waterloo, and select little parties to Bois-fort, a charming 
little resort in the forest, whose intense cockneyism became 
perfectly inoffensive as being in a foreign land, and remote 
from the invasion of home bred vulgarity. I mention all 
these things to show the adjuncts by which I was aided, 
and the rattle of gayety by which I was, as it were, "ac- 
companied," when I next tried my voice. 

The soldier element tinctured strongly our society, and I 
will say most agreeably. Amongst those whom I remem- 
ber best, were several old Peninsulars. Lord Combermere 
was of this number, and another of our set was an officer 
who accompanied, if indeed he did not command, the first 
boat party who crossed the Douro. It is needless to say 
how I cultivated a society so full of all the storied details 
1 was eager to obtain, and how generously disposed were 
they to give me all the information I needed. On topog- 
raphy, especially, were they valuable to me, and with such 
good result that I have been more than once complimented 
on the accuracy of my descriptions of places which I have 
never seen, and whose features I have derived entirely from 
the narratives of my friends. 



When, therefore, my publishers asked me coukl I write 
a story in the Lorrequer vein, in which active service and 
military adventure could figure more prominently than 
mere civilian life, and where the achievements of a British 
army might form the staple of the narrative? when this 
question was propoundtd me, I was ready to reply — Not 
one, but fifty. Do not mistake me, and suppose that any 
overweening confidence in my literary poweis would have 
emboldened me to make this reply; my vhole strength lay 
in the fact that I could not recf gnize anything like literary 
effort in the matter. If the world would only condescend 
to read that which I wrote piecisely as I was in the habit 
of talking, nothing could be easier than for me to occupy 
them. Not alone was it very easy to me, but it was in- 
tensely interesting and amusing to myself to be so engaged. 

Ihe success of Harry Lorrequer had been freely wafttd 
across the German Ocean, but even in its mildest accents it 
was very intoxicating incense to me: and I set to work on 
my second book with a thrill of hope as regards the 
world's favor w hich — and it is no small thing to say it — 
I can yet recall. 

I can recall, too, and I am afraid more vividly still, seme 
of the difficulties of my task when I endeavored to form 
anything like an accurate or precise idea of some cam- 
paigning incident, or tcme passage of arms, from the nar- 
ratives of two distinct and separate "eyewitnesses." 
What mistrust I conceived for all eye-witnesses from my 
own brief experience of their testimonies! What an im- 
pulse did it lend me to study the nature and the tempera- 
ment of the narrator, as indicative of the peculiar coloring 
he might lend his narrative; and how it taught me to know 
the force of the French epigram that has declared how it 
was entirely the alternating popularity of Marshal Soult 
that decided whether he won or lost the battle of Toulouse. 

While, however, I was sifting these evidences, and sepa- 
rating, as well as I might, the wheat fr<m the chaff, I was 
in a measure training myself for what, without my then 
knowing it, was to become my career in life. This was 
not therefore altcgeiher without a certain degree of labor, 
but so light and pleasant withal, so full of picturesque 
peeps at character, and humorous views of human nature, 
that it would be the very lankest ingratitude of me if I did 
not own that I gained all my earlier experiences of the 
world in very pleasant ccmpan) — highly enjoyable at the 
time, and with matter for charming souvenirs long after. 

That certain traits of my acquaintances found themselves 
embodied in some of the characters of this story, I do not 
seek to deny. The principle of natural selection adapts it- 
self to novels as to nature, and it would have demanded an 
effort above my strength to have disabused myself at the 
desk of all the impressions of the dinner table, and to 
have forgotten features which interested or amused me. 

One of the personages of my tale I drew, however, with 
very little aid from fancy. I would go so far as to say that 
I took him from the life, if my memory did not confront 
me with the lamentable inferiority of my picture to the 
great original it was meant to portray. 

With the exception of the quality of courage, I never 
met a man who contained within himself so many of the 
traits of Falstaff, as the individual who furnished me with 
Major Monsoon. But the major — I must call him so, though 

195 



196 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



that rank was far beneath his own — wasa man of .unques- 
tionable bravery. His powers as a story-teller were to my 
thinking unrivalled, the peculiar reflections on life which 
he woukl passingly introduce — the wi.^e apothegms — were 
after a morality so essentially of his own invention, that he 
would indulge in the unsparing exhibition of himself in 
situations such as other men would never have confessed to, 
all blended up with a racy enjoyment of life, dashed occa- 
sionally with sorrow that our tenure of it was short of 
patriarchal. All these, accompanied by a face redolent of 
intense humor, and a voice whose modulations were 
managed with the skill of a consummate artist, all these I 
say were above me to convey, nor indeed, as I re-read any 
of the adventures in which he figures, am I other than 
ashamed at the weakness of my drawing and the poverty of 
my coloring. 

That I had a better claim to personify him than is always 
thi lot of a noyelist — that I possessed, so to say, a vested 
interest in his life and adventures, I will relate a little in- 
cident in proof; and my accuracy, if nece'ssary, can be at- 
tested by another actor in the scene, who yet survives. 

I was living a bachelor life at Urussels, my family being 
at Ostende for the bathing daring the summer of 1840. 
The city was comparatively empty; all the so-called society 
being absent at the various spas or baths of Germany. One 
member of the British Legation, who remained at his post 
to represent the mi.ssion, and myself, making common 
cause of our desolation and ennui, spent much of our 
time together, and dined tet,--ci-tcle every day. 

It chanced that one evening, as we were hastening 
through the park on our way to dinner, we espied the 
major — for as major I must spe.ak of him — lounging along 
with that half careless, half observant air we had both of 
us remarked as indicating a desire to be somebody's, any- 
body's, guest, rather than surrender himself to the homeli- 
ness of domestic fare- 

•' There's that confounded old Monsoon," cried my 
diplomatic friend. " It's all up if he sees us, and I can't 
endure him." 

Now I must remark that my friend, though very far from 
insensible to the humoristic side of the major's character, 
was not always in the vein to enjoy it, and when so in- 
disposed he could invest the object of his dislike with some- 
thing little short of antipathy. " Promise me," said he, as 
Monsoon came towards us, "promise me. you'll not ask 
him to dinner." Before I could make any reply, the 
major was shaking a hand of either of us, and rapturously 
expatiating over his good luck at meeting us. "Mrs. M." 
said he, " has got a dreary party of old ladies to dine with 
her, and I have come out here to hnd some pleasant 
fellow to join me, and take our mutton chop together." 

" We're behind our time, major," said my friend, " sorry 
to leave you so abruptly, but must push on. Eh, Lorre- 
quer," added he, to evoke corroboration on my part. 

" Harry says nothing of the kind," replied Monsoon, 
" he says, or he's going to say, ' Major, I have a nice bit 
of dinner waiting for me at home, enough for two, will 
feed three, or, if there be a shortcoming, nothing easier than 
to eke out the deficiency by another bottle of Moulton; 
come along with us'then. Monsoon, and we shall be all the 
merrier for your company.' " 

Repeating his last words, "come along. Monsoon," etc., 
I p.assed my arm within his, and away we went. For a 
moment my friend tried to get free and leave me, but I 
held him fast and carried him along in spite of himself. 
He was, however, so chagrined and provoked that till the 
moment we reached my door he never uttered a word, nor 
paid the slightest attention to Monsoon, who talked away 
in a vein that occasionally made gravity all but impossible. 

Our dinner proceeded drearily enough, the diplomatist's 
stiffness never relaxed lor a moment, and my own awk- 
wardness d.miped all myat;em|its at conversation. Not so, 
however, Monsoon, he ate heartily, approved of everything, 
and pronounced my wine to be exquisite. He gave us a 
perfect discourse on sherry, and Spanish wines in general, 
told us the secret of the Amontillado flavor, and explained 
that process of browning by boiling down wine, which 
some are so fond of in England. At last, seeing, perhaps, 
that the protection liad little charm for us, with his accus- 
tomed tact, he diverged into anecdote. " I was once for- 
tunate enough," said he, " to fall upon some of that choice 
sherry from the St. I.ucas L lentas. which is always reserved 
for royally. It was a pale wine, delicious in the drinking. 



and leaving no more flavor in the mouth than a faint dry- 
ness that seemed to say — another glass. Shall I tell you 
how I came by it?" And scarcely pausing for reply, he 
told the story of having robbed his own convoy, and stolen 
the wine he was in charge of for safe conveyance. 

I wish I could give any — even the weakest — idea of how 
he narrated that incident, the struggle that he portrayed 
between duty and temptation, and the apologetic tone of 
his voice in which he explained that the frame of mind 
that succeeds to any yielding to seductive influences, is 
often in the main more profitable to a ifian than is the vain- 
glorious sense of having resisted a temptation. " Meek- 
ness is the mother of all the virtues," said he, " and there 
is no being meek without frailty." The story, told as he 
told it, was too much for the diplomatist's gravity, he re- 
sisted all signs of attention as long as he was able, and at 
last fairly roared out with laughter. 

As soon as I myself recovered from the effects of his 
drollery, I said, " Major, I have a proposition to make 
you, let me tell the story in print, and I'll give you five 
naps." 

"Are you serious, Harry?" asked he. " Is this on honor?" 

" On honor, assuredly," I replied. 

" Let me have the money down on the nail, and I'll 
give you leave to have me and my whole life, every adven- 
ture that ever bcfel me, aye, and, if you like, every moral 
reflection that my experiences have suggested." 

" Done!" cried I, " I agree." 

" Not so fast," cried the diplomatist, "we must make a 
protocol of this; the high contracting parties must know 
what they give and what they receive. I'll draw out the 
treaty." 

He did so at full length on a sheet of that solemn blue- 
tinted paper, so dedicated to despatch purposes— he duly 
set forih the concession and the consideration. We each 
signed the document, he witnessed and sealed it, and Mon- 
soon pocketed my five napoleons, filling a bumper to any 
success the bargain might bring me, and of which I have 
never had reason to express deep disappointment. 

This document, along with my University degree, my 
commission in a militia regiment, and a vast amount of 
letters very interesting to me, were seized by the Austrian 
authorities on the way from Como to Florence, in the Au- 
gust of 1847, being deemed part of a treasonable corre- 
spondence — probably purposely allegorical in form — and 
never restored to me. I fairly own that I'd give all the 
rest willingly to repossess myself of the Monsoon treaty, 
not a little for the sake of that quaint old autograph, faintly 
shaken by the quiet laugh with which he wrote it. 

That I did not entirely fail in giving my major some 
faint resemblance to the great original from whom I copied 
him, I may mention that he was speedily recognized in 
print by the Marquis of Londonderry, the well known Sir 
Charles Stuart of the Peninsular campaign. " I know that 
fellow well," said he, " he once sent me a challenge, and I 
had to make him a very humble apology. The occasion 
was this: I had been out with a single aide-de-camp, to 
make a reconnoisance in front of Victor's division; and to 
avoid attracting any notice, we covered over our uniform 
with two common grey overcoats which reached to the feet, 
and effectually concealed our rank as officers. Scarcely, 
however, had we topped a hill which commanded the view 
of the French, than a shower of shells flew over and around 
us. Amazed to think how we could have been so quickly 
noticed, I looked around me, and discovered, quite close 
in my rear, your friend Monsoon with what he called his 
staff, a popinjay set of rascals, dressed out in green and 
gold, and with more plumes and feathers than the general 
staff ever boasted. Carried away by momentary passion 
at the failure of my reconnoisance, I burst out with some 
insolent allusion to the harlequin assembly which had 
drawn the French fire upon us. Monsoon saluted me re- 
spectfully, and retired without a word; but I had scarcely 
reached my quarters when a ' friend* of his waited on me 
with a message, a very categorical message it was too, ' it 
must be a meeting or an ample apology.' I made the apol- 
ogy, a most full one, for the major was right, and I had 
not a fraction of reason to sustain me in my conduct, and 
we have been the best of friends ever since." 

I myself had heard the incident before this from Mon- 
soon, but told amongst other adventures whose exact ve- 
racity I was rather disposed to question, and did not, 
therefore accord it all the faith that was its due; and 1 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



197 



admit that the accidental corroboration of this one event 
very often served to puzzle me afterwards, when I listened 
to stories in which tlie major seemed a second Munchausen, 
but might, like in this of the duel, have been amongst the 
truest a!\d most matter-of-fact of historians. May the 
reader be not less embarrassed than myself, is my sincere, 
if not very courteous, prayer. 

I have no doubt myself, that often in recounting some 
strange incident, a personal experience it always was, he 
was himself more amused by tlie credulity of the heaiers, 
and the amount of interest he could excite in them, than 
were they by the story. He possessed the true narrative 
gusto, and there was a marvellous instinct in tlie way in 
whicli lie would vary a tale to suit the tastes of an audi- 
ence; while liis moralizings were almost certain to take the 
tone of a humoristic quiz on the company. 

Though fully aware that I was availing myself of the 
contract that delivered him into my hands, and dining with 
me two or three days a week, he never lapsed into any 
allusion to his appearance in print, and the story had been 
already some weeks published bcfoie he asketl me to lend 
him " that last thing — he forgot the name of it — I was 
writing " 

Of Frank Webber I have said, in a former notice, tliat 
he was one of my earliest friends, my chum in college, and 
in the very chambers where I have located Charles O'Mal- 
ley, in Old Trinity. He was a man of the highest order 
of abilities, and with a memory that never forgot, but 
ruined and run to seed by the idleness tliat came of a dis- 
cursive, uncertain temperament. Capable of anything, he 
spent his youth in follies and eccentricities; every one of 
which, however, gave indications of a mind inexhaustible 
in resources, and abounding in devices and contrivances 
that none other but himself would have thought of. Poor 
fellow, he died young; and perhaps it is better it should 
have been so. Had he lived to a later day, he would most 
probably have been found a foremost leader of Fenianism, 
and from what I knew of him, I can say he would have 
been a more dangerous enemy to English rule than any of 
those dealers in the petty larceny of leiellion we have lately 
seen amongst us. 

I have said that of Mickey Free I had not one, but one 
thousand — types. Indeed, I am not quite sure that in my 
last visit to Dublin, I did nut chance on a living specimen 
of the "Free" family, much readier in repartee, quicker 
with an a propos, and droller in illustration than my own 
Mickey. This fellow was " boots" at a great hotel in 
Sackville street; and I owe him more amusement and 
some heartier laughs than it has been always my fortune to 
enjoy in a party of wils. His criticisms on my sketches of 
Irish character were about the shrewdest and the best I 
ever listened to; and that I am not bribed to this opinion 
by any flattery, I may remark that they were more often 
severe than complmientary, and that he hit every blunder 
of image, every mistake in figure, of my peasant charac- 
ters, with an acuteness and correctness, whicli made me 
very grateful to know that his daily occupations were lim- 
ited to blacking boots, and not polishing off authors. 

I believe I have now done with my confessions, except I 
should like to own that this story was the means of accord- 
ing me a more heartfelt glow of satisfaction, a more grati- 
fying sense of pride, than anything I ever have or ever 
shall write, and in this wise: My brother, at that time the 
rector of an Irish parish, once forwarded to me a letter 
from a lady unknown to him, but who had heard he was 
the brother of " Harry Lorrequer," and who addressed 
him, not knowing where a letter might be directed to my- 
self. The letter was the grateful expression of a mother, 
who said, " I am the widow of a field officer, and with an 
only son, for whom I obtained a presentation to Woolwich; 
but .seeing in my boy's nature certain traits of nervousness 
' and timidity, which induced me to hesitate on embarking 
] him in the career of a soldier, I became very unhappy and 
' uncertain which course to decide on. 

" While in this state of uncertainty I chanced to make 
him a birthday present of ' Charles O'Malley,' the reading 
of which seemed to act like a charm on his whole charac- 
ter, inspiring him with a passion for movement and adven- 
ture, and spiriting him to an eager desire for a military 
life. Seeing that this was no passing enthusiasm, but a 
decided and determined bent, I accepted the cadetship for 
him, and his career has been not alone distinguished as a 
student, but one which has marked him out for an almost 



hair brained courage, and for a dash and heroism that give 
high promise for his future. 

"Thank your brother for me," wrote she. "a mother's 
thanks for the welfare of an only son, and say how I wish that 
my best wishes for him and his could recompense him for 
what I owe him." 

I humbly hope that it may not be imputed to me as un- 
pardonable vanity — the recording of this incident. It gave 
me an intense pleasure when I heard it; and now, as I look 
back on it, it invests this story for myself with an interest 
which nothing else that I have written can afford me. 

I have now but to repeat, what 1 have declared in former 
editions, my sincere gratitude for ihe favor the public still 
continues to bestow on me — a favor which ])robably asso- 
ciates the memory of this book with whatever I have since 
done successfully, and compels me to remember that to the 
popularity of "Charles O'Malley" I am indebted for a 
great share of that kindliness in criticism, and that genial- 
ity in judgment, which — for more than a quarter of a cen- 
tury — my countrymen have graciously bestowed on their 
faithful friend and servant, CHARLES LEVER. 

Trieste, 1872. 



CHAPTER I. 



DALY S CLUB HOUSE. 



The rain was dashing in torrents against the 
window-panes, and the wind sweeping in lieavy 
and fitful gusts along the dreary and deserted 
streets, as a party of three persons sat over their 
wine, in that stately old pile which once formed 
the resort of the Irish Members, in College-green, 
Dublin, and went by the name of Daly's Club 
House. The clatter of falling tiles and chimney- 
pots — the jarring of the window-frames and howl- 
ing of the storm without, seemed little to affect 
the spirits of those within, as they drew closer to 
a blazing fire, before which stood a small table 
covered with the remains of a dessert, and an abun- 
dant supply of bottles, whose characteristic length 
of neck indicated the rarest wines of France and 
Germany ; while the portly magnum of claret — 
the wme. par excel/eiice of every Irish gentleman 
of the day — passed rapidly from hand to hand, 
the conversation did not languish, and many a deep 
and hearty laugh followed the stories which every 
now and then were told, as some reminiscence of 
early days was recalled, or some trait of a former 
companion remembered. 

One of the party, however, was apparently en- 
grossed by other thoughts than those of the mirth 
and merriment around : for, in the midst of all, 
he would turn suddenly from the others, and de- 
vote himself to a number of scattered sheets of 
paper, upon which he had written some lines, but 
whose crossed and blotted sentences attested how 
little success had waited upon his literary labors. 
This individual was a short, plethoric-looking, 
white-haired man, of about fifty, with a deep, 
round voice, and a chuckling, smothering laugh, 
which, whenever he indulged, not only sliook his 
own ample person, but generally created a petty 
earthquake on every side of him. For the pres- 
ent, I shall not stop to particularise him more 
closely; but, when I add, that the person in ques- 
tion was a well-known member of the Irish House 
of Commons, whose acute understanding and 
practical good sense were veiled under an affected 
I rind well-dissembled habit of blundering, that did 



108 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



far more for his party than the most violent and 
pointed attacks of his more accurate associates, 
some of my readers may anticipate me in pro- 
nouncing him to be Sir Harry Boyle. Upon his 
left sat a figure the most unlike him possible; he 
was a tall, thin, bony man, with a bolt-upright 
air, and a most saturnine expression; his eyes 
were covered by a deep green shade, which fell 
far over his face, but failed to conceal a blue scar 
that, crossing his cheek, ended in the angle of his 
mouth, and imparted to that feature, when he 
spoke, an apparently abortive attempt to extend 
towards his eyebrow; his upper lip was covered 
with a grizzly and ill-trimmed moustache, which 
added much to the ferocity of his look, while a 
thin and pointed beard on his chin gave an ap- 
parent length to the whole face that completed 
its rueful character. His dress was a single- 
breasted, tight-buttoned frock, in one button-hole 
of which a yellow ribbon was fastened, the deco- 
ration of a foreign service, which conferred upon 
its wearer the title of Count; and though Billy 
Considine, as he was familiarly called by his 
friends, was a thorough Irishman in all his feelings 
and affections, yet he had no objection to the 
designation he had gained in the Austrian army. 
The Count was certainly no beauty, but, some- 
how, very few men of his day had a fancy for 
telling him so; a deadlier hand and a steadier eye 
never covered his man in the Phoenix, and though 
he never had a seat in the House, he was always 
regarded as one of the government party, who 
more than once had damped the ardor of an op- 
position member, by the very significant threat of 
"setting Billy at him." The third figure of the 
group was a large, powerfullv-built, and hand- 
some man, older than either of the others, but not 
betraying in his voice or carriage any touch of 
time. He was attired in the green coat and buff 
vest which formed the livery of the club; and in 
his tall, ample forehead, clear, well-set eye, an^i 
still handsome mouth, bore evidence that no great 
flattery was necessary at the time which called 
Godfrey O'Malley the handsomest man in Ire- 
land. 

"Upon my conscience," said Sir Harry, throw- 
ing down his pen with an air of ill-temper, "lean 
make nothing of it; I have got into such an in- 
fernal habit of making bulls, that I can't write 
sense when I want it." 

" Come, come," said O'Malley, " try again my 
dear fellow. If you can't succeed, I'm sure Billy 
and I have no chance." 

'' What have you written? Let us see," said 
Considine, drawing the paper towards him, and 
holding it to the light. "Why, what the devil is 
all this? you have made him ' drop down dead 
after dinner, of a lingering illness brought on by 
the debate of yesterday.' " 

"Oh, impossible!" 

"Well, read it yourself; there it is; and, as if 
to make the thing less credible, you talk of his 
' Bill for the Better Recovery of Small Debts.' 
I'm sure, O'Malley, your last moments were not 
employed in that manner." 

"Come, now," said Sir Harry, "I'll iiet all to 
fights with a postscript. 'Any one who questions 
the above statement, is politely requested to call 



on Mr. Considine, i6 Kildare street, who will 
feel happy to afford him every satisfaction upon 
Mr. O'Malley's decease, or upon miscellaneous 
matters." 

"Worse and worse," said O'Malley. "Killing 
another man will never persuade the world that 
I'm dead." 

" But we'll wake you, and have a glorious fune- 
ral." 

" And if any man doubt the statement, I'll call 
him out," said the Count. 

"Or, better still," said Sir Harry, "O'Malley 
has his action at law for defamation." 

" I see I'll never get down to Galway at this 
rate," said O'Malley, "and as the new election 
takes place on Tuesday week, time presses. There 
are more writs flying after me this instant, than 
for all the government boroughs." 

" And there will be fewer returns, I fear," said 
Sir Harry. 

" Who is the chief creditor?" asked the Count. 

" Old Stapleton, the attorney in Fleet street, 
has most of the mortgages." 

" Nothing to be done with him in this way?" 
said Considine, balancing the cork-screw like a 
hair trigger. 

" No chance of it." 

" Maybe," said Sir Harry, " he might come to 
terms if I were to call and say — You are anxious 
to close accounts, as your death has just taken 
place. You know what 1 mean." 

" I fear so should lie, were you to say so. No, 
no, Boyle, just try a ])lain, straightforward para- 
graph about my death. We'll have it in Falk- 
ner's paper to-morrow; on Friday the funeral 
can take place, and, with the blea.sing o' God, I'll 
come to life on Saturday at Athlone, in time to 
canvass the market." 

" I think it wouldn't be bad if your ghost were 
to appear to old Timins the tanner, in Naas, on 
your way down ; you know he arrested you once 
before." 

" I prefer a night's sleep," said O'Malley; "but 
come, finish the squib for the paper." 

" Stay a little," said Sir Harry, musing; " it just 
strikes me that, if ever the matter gets out, I may 
be in some confounded scrape. Who knows if 
it is not a breach of privilege to report the death 
of a member? And, to tell you truth, I dread the 
Sergeant and the Speaker's warrant with a very 
lively fear." 

"Why, when did you make his acquaintance?" 
said the Count. 

" Is it possible you never heard of Boyle's com- 
mittal ?" said O'Malley; " you surely must have 
been abroad at the time; but it's not too late to 
tell it yet. 

" Well, it's about two years since old Town- 
send brought in his Enlistment Bill, and the whole 
country was scoured for all our voters, who were 
scattered here and there, never anticipating an- 
other call of the House, and supposing that the 
session was just over. Among others, up came 
our friend Harry, here, and, the night he arrived, 
they made him a 'Monk of the Screw,' and very 
soon made him forget iiis senatorial dignities. 

"On the evening after his reaching town, the 
bill was brought in, and, at two in the morning. 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



199 



the division took place — a vote was of too much 
consequence not to look after it closely — and a 
Castle messenger was in waiting in Exchequer 
street, who, when the debate was closing, put 
Harry, with three others, into a coach, and brouglit 
them down to the House. Unfortunately, how- 
ever, they mistook their. friends, voted against the 
bill, and, amid the loudest cheering of the oppo- 
sition, the government party were defeated. The 
rage of the ministers knew no bounds, and looks 
of defiance and even threats were exchanged be- 
tween the ministers and the deserters. Amid all 
this poor Harry fell fast asleep, and dreamed 
that he was once more in Exchequer street, pre- 
siding among the monks, and mixing another 
tumbler. At length he awoke and looked about 
him — the clerk was just at the instant reading 
out, in his usual routine manner, a clause of the 
new bill, and the remainder of the House was 
in dead silence. Harry looked again around on 
every side, wondering where was the hot water, 
and what had become of the whiskey bottle, and 
above all, why the company were so extremely 
dull and ungenial. At length, with a half shake, 
he roused up a little, and giving a look of un- 
equivocal contempt on every side, called out, 
' Upon my soul, you're pleasant companions — but 
I'll give you a chant to enliven you.' So saying, 
he cleared his throat with a couple of short 
coughs, and struck up, with the voice of a Stentor, 
the following verse of a popular ballad: 

" ' And they nibbled away, both night and day, 
Like mice in a round of Glo'ster; 
Great rogues they were all. both great and small; 
From Flood to Leslie Foster. 

" ' Great rogues all.' 

'"Chorus boys!' 
If he was not joined by the voices of his friends 
in the song, it was probably because such a roar 
■of laughing never was heard since the walls were 
roofed over The whole House rose in a mass, 
and my friend Harry was hurried over the benches 
by the Sergeant-at-Arms, and left for three weeks 
in Newgate, to practise his melody." 

"All true," said Sir Harry, "and worse luck to 
"then for not liking music; but come now, will 
this do? — 'It is our melancholy duty to announce 
■the death of Godfrey O'Malley, Esq., late mem- 
ber for the county of Gahvay, which took place 
on Friday evening, at Daly's Club House. This 
esteemed gentleman's family — one of the oldest 
in Ireland, and among whom it was hereditary 
not to have any children ' " 

Here a burst of laughter from Considine and 
O'Malley interrupted the reader, who with the 
greatest difficulty could be persuaded that he was 
again bulling it. 

" The devil {\y away with it," said he, " I'll 
never succeed." 

" Never mind," said O'Malley; " the first part 
will do admirably; and let us now turn our atten- 
tion to other matters." 

A fresh magnum was called for, and over its 
inspiring contents all the details of the funeral 
were planned; and, as the clock struck four, the 
party separated for the fii^/a, well satisfied with 
the result of their labors. 



CHAPTER II. 



THE ESCAPE. 



When the dissolution of Parliament was an- 
nounced the following morning in Dublin, its 
interest in certain circles was manifestly in- 
reased by the fact that Godfrey O'Malley was 
at last open to arrest; for as, in olden times, 
certain gifted individuals possessed some happy 
iinmunity against death by fire or sword, so 
the worthy O'Malley seemed to enjoy a no 
less valuable privilege, and for many a year 
had passed, among the myrmidons of the law, as 
writ-proof. Now, however, the charm seemed to- 
have yielded, and pretty much with the same feel- 
ing as a storming party may be supposed to ex- 
perience on the day that a breach is reported as- 
practicable, did the honest attorneys, retained in 
the various suits against him, rally round each 
other that morning in the Four Courts. 

Bonds, mortgages, post-obits, promissory notes 
— in fact, every imaginable species of invention 
for raising the O'Malley exchequer for the pre- 
ceding thirty years — were handed about on all 
sides, suggesting to the mind of an uninterested 
observer the notion that, had the aforesaid O'Mal- 
ley been an independent and absolute monarch,, 
instead of merely being the member for Galway,. 
the kingdom over whose destinies he had been; 
called to preside would have suffered not a little- 
from a depreciated currency and an extravagant 
issue of paper. Be that as it might, one thing 
was clear: the whole estates of the family could 
not possibly pay one-fourth of the debt, and the 
only question was one which occasionally arises- 
at a scanty dinner on a mail-coach road — who- 
was to be the lucky individual to carve the joint, 
where so many were sure to go off hungry. 

It was now a trial of address between these 
various and highly-gifted gentlemen, who should 
first pounce upon the victim, and when the skill 
of their caste is taken into consideration, who will 
doubt that every feasible expedient for securing 
him was resorted to? While writs were struck 
against him in Dublin, emissaries were despatched! 
to the various surrounding counties to procure 
others in the event of his escape. JVe exfatr 
were sworn, and water-bailiffs engaged to follow 
him on the high seas; and, as the great Nassau 
balloon did rot exist in those days, no imaginable 
mode of escape appeared possible, and bets v.-ere 
offered at long odds that, within twenty-four 
hours, the late member would be enjoying his- 
otiiun cum dignitate in his Majesty's gaol of 
Newgate. 

Expectation was at the highest — confidence 
hourly increasing — success all but certain — when,, 
in the midst of all this high-bounding hope, the 
dreadful rumor spread that O'Malley was no 
more. One had seen it just five minutes before 
in the evening edition of F'alkner's paper — an- 
other heard it in the courts — a third overheardi 
the Chief Justice stating it to the Master of the 
Rolls — and, lastly, a breathless witness arrived 
from College-green with the news that Daly's 
Club House was shut up, and the shutters closed. 
T» describe the consternation the intelligence 



200 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



caused on every side is impossible; nothing in 
history equals it, except, perhaps, the entrance of 
the French army into Moscow, deserted and for- 
saken by its former inhabitants. While terror 
and dismay, therefore, spread amid that wide and 
respectable body who formed O'Malley's cred- 
itors, the preparations for his funeral were going 
on with every rapidity; relays of horses were 
ordered at every stage of the joarney, and it was 
announced that, in testimony of his worth, a large 
party of his friends were to accompany his re- 
mains to Portumna Abbey — a test much more in- 
dicative of resistance in the event of any attempt 
to arrest the body, than of anything like rever- 
ence for their departed friend. 

Such was the state of matters in Dublin, when 
a letter reached me one morning at O'Malley 
Castle, whose contents will at once explain the 
writer's intention, and also serve to introduce my 
unworthy self to my reader. It ran thus: 

" Dear Charley, — -Your uncle Godfrey, whose 
debts (God pardon him) are more numerous than 
the hairs of his wig, was obliged to die here last 
night. We did the thing for him completely; and 
all doubts as to the reality of tlie event are silenced 
by the circumstantial detail of the newspaper ' that 
he was confined six weeks to his bed from a cold 
he caught, ten days ago, while on guard.' Repeat 
this, for it's better we had all the same story till 
he comes to life again, which, maybe, will not take 
place before Tuesday or Wednesday. At the same 
time canvass the county for him, and say he'll be 
with his friends next week, and up in Woodford 
and the Scariff barony: say he died a true Cath- 
olic; it will serve him on the hustings. Meet us 
in Athlone on Saturday, and bring your uncle's 
mare with you — he says he'd rather ride home; 
and tell Father MacShane to have a bit of dinner 
ready about four o'clock, for the corpse can get 
nothing after he leaves Mount-mellick. — No more 
now, from yours, ever, 

" Harry Boyle. 

"Daly's, about eight in the evening. 
"To Charles O'Malley, Esq., O'Malley Castle, 

Galway." 

When this not over-clear document reached 
tne, I was the sole inhabitant of O'Malley Castle^ 
a. very ruinous pile of incongruous masonry, that 
stood in a wild and dreary part of the county of 
•Galway, bordering on the Shannon. On every side 
^stretched the property of my uncle, or at least what 
had once been so; and, indeed, so numerous were 
its present claimants, that he would have been a 
subtle lawyer who could hare pronounced upon 
the rightful owner. The demesne around the 
castle contained some well-grown and handsome 
timber, and, as the soil was undulating and fertile, 
presented many features of beauty; beyond it, all 
was sterile, bleak, and barren. Long tracts of brown 
heath-clad mountains, or not less unprofitable val- 
leys of tall and waving fern, were all that the eye 
could discern, except where the broad Shannon, 
expanding into a tranquil and glassy lake, lay still 
and motionless beneath the dark mountains, a few 
islands, with some ruined churches and a round 
tower, alone breaking the dreary waste of water. 



Here it was that I had passed my infancy and my 
youth, and here I now stood at the age of seven- 
teen, quite unconscious that the world contained 
aught fairer and brighter than that gloomy valley, 
with its rugged frame of mountains. 

When a mere child, I was left an orphan to the 
care of my worthy uncle. My father, whose extrava- 
gance had well sustained the family reputation, had 
squandered a large and handsome proiierty in con- 
testing elections for his native county, and in | 
keeping up that system of unlimited hospitality 
for which Ireland in general, and Galway more ' 
especially, was renowned. The result was as might 
be expected, ruin and beggary. He died, leaving 
every one of his estates encumbered with heavy 
debts, and the only legacy he left to his brother 
was a boy of four years of age, entreating him, 
with his last breath, "Be anything you like to 
him, Godfrey, but a father, or at least such a one 
as I have proved." 

Godfrey O'Malley, some short time previous, had 
lost his wife, and when this new trust was com- 
mitted to him, he resolved never to remarry, but 
to rear me up, as his own child, and the inheritor 
of his estates. How weighty and onerous an ob- 
ligation this latter might prove, the reader can 
form some idea. The mtention was, however, a 
kind one; and, to do my uncle justice, he loved 
me with all the affection of a warm and open 
heart. 

From my earliest years his whole anxiety was 
to fit me for the part of a country gentleman, as 
he regarded that character- — viz., I rode boldly 
with fox-hounds; I was about the best shot within 
twenty miles of us; I could swim the Shannon at 
Holy Island; I drove four-in-hand better than the 
coachman himself; and from finding a hare to 
hooking a salmon, my equal could not be found 
from Kilaloe to Banagher. 

These were the staple of my endowments. Be- 
sides which, the parish priest had taught me a 
little Latin, a little French, and a little geometry, 
and a great deal of the life and opinions of St. 
Jago, who presided over a holy well in the neigh- 
borhood, and was held in very considerable 
repute. 

When I add to this portraiture of my accom- 
plishments that I was nearly six feet high, with 
more than a common share of activity and strength 
for my years, and no inconsiderable portion of good 
looks, i have finished my sketch, and stand before 
my reader. 

It is now time I should return to Sir Harry's 
letter, which so completely bewildered me, that, but 
for the assistance of Father Roach, I should have 
been totally unable to make out the writer's inten- 
tions. By his advice, I immediately set out for 
Athlone, where, when I arrived, I found my uncle 
addressing the mob from the top of the hearse, 
and recounting his miraculous escapes as a new 
claim upon their gratitude. 

"There was nothing else for it, boys; the Dub- 
lin people insisted on my being their member, and 
besieged the club-house. I refused — they threat- 
ened — I grew obstinate — they furious. 'I'll die 
first,' said I. ' Galway or nothing!' " "Hurrah'" 
from the mob. " O'Malley forever!" "And ye 
see, I kept my word, boys — I did die; I died that 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



201 



evening at a quarter past eight. There, read it 
for yourselves; there's the paper; was waked and 
carried out, and here I am, after all, ready to die 
in earnest for you — but never to desert you." 

The cheers here were deafening, and my uncle 
was carried through the market, down to the 
mayor's house, who, being a friend of the opposite 
party was complimented with three groans; then 
up the Mall to the chapel, beside which Father 
MacShane resided. He was then suffered to 
touch the earth once more, when, having shaken 
hands with all of his constituency within reach, 
he entered the house, to partake of the kindest 
welcome and best reception the good priest could 
afford him. 

My uncle's progress homeward was a triumph; 
the real secret of his escape had somehow come 
out, and his popularity rose to a white heat. 
"An' it's little O'Malley cares for the law — bad 
luck to it; it's himself can laugh at judge and 
jury. Arrest him — nabocklish — catch a weasel 
asleep," etc. Such were the encomiums that 
greeted him as he passed on towards home, while 
shouts of joy and blazing bonfires attested that 
his success was regarded as a national triumph. 

The west has certainly its strong features of 
identity. Had my uncle possessed the claims of 
tlie immortal Howard — had he united in his per- 
son all the attributes which confer a lasting and 
an ennobling fame upon humanity — he might have 
passed on unnoticed and unobserved; but for 
the man that had duped a judge and escaped the 
sheriff, nothing was sutificiently flattering to mark 
their approbation. The success of the exploit 
was twofold; the news spread far and near, and 
the very story canvassed the county better than 
Billy Davern himself, the Athlone attorney. 

This was the prospect now before us; and, 
however little my readers may sympathize with 
my taste, I must honestly avow that I looked 
forward to it with a most delighted feeling. 
O'Malley Castle was to be the centre of opera- 
tions, and filled with my uncle's supporters; while 
I, a mere stripling, and usually treated as a boy, 
was to be entrusted with an important mission, 
and sent off to canvass a distant relation, with 
whom my uncle was not upon terms, and who 
might possibly be approachable by a younger 
branch of the family, with whom he had never 
any collision. 



CHAPTER III, 



MR. BLAKE. 



Nothing but the exigency of the case could 
ever have persuaded my uncle to stoop to the 
humiliation of canvassing the individual to whom 
I was now about to proceed as envoy extraordi- 
nary, with full powers to make any, or every 
amende, provided only his interest, and that of his 
followers, should be thereby secured to the 
O'Malley cause. The evening before I set out 
was devoted to giving me all the necessary in- 
structions how I was to proceed, and what diffi- 
culties I was to avoid. 



" Say your uncle's in high feather with the 
government party," said Sir Harry, "and that he 
only votes against them as a ruse de guerre, as the 
French call it." 

" Insist upon it that I am sure of the election 
without him; but that for family reasons he 
should not stand aloof from me; that people are 
talking of it in the country." 

" And drop a hint," said Considine, " that 
O'Malley is greatly improved in his shooting." 

" And don't get drunk too early in the evening, 
for Phil Blake has beautiful claret," said another. 

" And be sure you don't make love to the red- 
headed girls," added a third; "he has four of 
them, each more sinfully ugly than the other." 

"You'll be playing whist, too," said Boyle; 
"and never mind losing a few pounds. Mrs. B., 
long life to her, has a playful way of turning the 
king." 

"Charley will do it all well," said my uncle; 
"leave him alone. And now let us have in the 
supper." 

It was only on the following morning, as the 
tandem came round to the door, that I began to 
feel the importance of my mission, and certain 
misgivings came over me as to my ability to fulfil 
it. Mr. Blake and his family, though estranged 
from my uncle for several years past, had been 
always most kind and good-natured to me; and 
although I could not, with propriety, have culti- 
vated any close intimacy with them, I had every 
reason to suppose that they entertained towards 
me nothing but sentiments of good-will. The 
head of the family was a Galway squire of the 
oldest and most genuine stock; a great sports- 
man, a negligent farmer, and most careless father; 
he looked upon a fox as an infinitely more precious 
part of the creation than a French governess; 
and thought that riding well with hounds was a far 
better gift than all the learning of a Person. His 
daughters were after his own heart — the best- 
tempered, least-educated, most high-spirited, gay, 
dashing, ugly girls in the country — ready to ride 
over a four-foot paling without a saddle, and to 
dance the "Wind that shakes the barley," for 
four consecutive hours, against all the officers 
that their hard fate, and the Horse Guards, ever 
condemned to Galway. 

The mamma was only remarkable for her liking 
for whist, and her invariable good fortune there- 
at; a circumstance the world were agreed in 
ascribing less to the blind goddess than her own 
natural endowments. 

Lastly, the heir of the house was a stripling of 
about my own age, whose accomplishments were 
limited to selling spavined and broken-winded 
horses to the infantry officers, playing a safe 
game at billiards, and acting as jackal-general to 
his sisters at balls, providing them with a suffi- 
ciency of partners, and making a strong fight for 
a place at the supper-table for his mother. These • 
fraternal and filial traits, more honored at home 
than abroad, had made Mr. Matthew Blake a 
rather well-known individual in the neighborhood 
where he lived. 

Though Mr. Blake's property was ample, and, 
strange to say for his county, unencumbered, the 
whole air and appearance of his house and 



202 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



grounds betrayed anything rather than a suf- 
ficiency of means. The gate lodge was a miserable 
mud hovel, with a thatched and falling roof; the 
gate itself, a wooden contrivance, one-half of 
which was boarded, and the other railed; the 
avenue was covered witii weeds, and deep with 
ruts, and the clumps of young plantation, which 
had been planted and fenced with care, were 
now open to the cattle, and either totally uprooted, 
or denuded of their bark, and dying. The 
lawn, a handsome one of some forty acres, had 
been devoted to an e.\ercise-ground for training 
horses, and was cut up by their feet beyond all 
semblance of its original destination; and the 
house itself, a large and venerable structure of 
above a century old, displayed every variety of 
contrivance, as well as the usual one of glass, to ex- 
clude the weather. The hall-door hung by a single 
hinge, and required three persons each morning 
and evening to open and shut it; the remainder 
of the day it lay pensively open; the steps which 
led it to were broken and falling; and the whole 
aspect of things without was ruinous in the ex- 
treme. Within, matters were somewhat better, 
for, though the furniture was old, and none of it 
clean, yet an appearance of comfort was evident; 
and the large grate, blazing with its pile of red- 
hot turf, the deep-cushioned chairs, the old 
black mahogany dinner-table, and the soft carpet, 
albeit deep with dust, were not to be despised on 
a winter's evening, after a hard day's run with 
the "Blazers." Here it was, however, that Mr. 
Philip Blake had dispensed his hospitalities 
for above fifty years, and his father before him; 
and here, with a retinue of servants as gauche 
and ill-ordered as all about them, was he accus- 
tomed to invite all that the county possessed of 
rank and wealth, among which the officers 
quartered in his neighborhood were never neg- 
lected, the Miss Blakes having as decided a taste 
for the army as any young ladies of the west of 
Ireland; and, while the Galway squire, with his 
cords and tops, was detailing the last news from 
Ballinasloe in one corner, the dandy from St. 
James street might be seen displaying more arts 
of seductive flattery in another than his most ac- 
curate insouciance would permit him to practice 
in the elegant saloons of London or Paris: and 
the same man who would have " cut his brother," 
for a solecism of dress or equipage, in Bond 
street, was now to be seen quite domesticated, 
eating family dinners, rolling silk for the young 
ladies, going down the middle in a country 
dance, and even descending to the indignity of 
long whist, at "tenpenny" points, with only the 
miserable consolation that the company were not 
honest. 

It was upon a clear frosty morning, when a 
bright blue sky and a sharp but bracing air seem 
to exercise upon the feelings a sense no less 
.pleasurable than the balmiest breeze and warmest 
sun of summer, that I whipped my leader short- 
round, and entered the precincts of " Gurt-na- 
Morra." As I proceeded along the avenue, I 
was struck by the slight traces of repairs here 
and there evident; a gate or two that formerly 
had been parallel to the horizon, had been raised 
to the perpendicular; some ineffectual efforts at 



paint were also perceptible upon the palings; 
and, in short, everything seemed to have under- 
gone a kind of attempt at improvement. 

When I reached the door, instead of being 
surrounded, as of old, by a tribe of menials 
frieze-coated, bare-headed, and bare-legged, my 
presence was announced by a tremendous ring- 
ing of bells, from the hands of an old function- 
ary, in a very formidable livery, who peeped at 
me through the hall-window, and whom, with the 
greatest difficulty, I recognised as my quondam 
acquaintance, the butler. His wig alone would 
have graced a king's counsel, and the high collar 
of his coat, and the stiff pillory of his cravat, de- 
noted an eternal adieu to so humble a vocation 
as drawing a cork. Before I had time for any 
conjecture as to the altered circumstances about, 
the activity of my friend at the bell had sur- 
rounded me with" four others worse than himself" 
at least, they were exactly similarly attired; and, 
probably from the novelty of their costume, and 
the restraints of so unusual a thing as dress, were 
as perfectly unable to assist themselves or others, 
as the Court of Aldermen would be, were they to 
rig out in plate armor of the fourteenth century. 
How much longer I might have gone on conjec- 
turing the reasons for the masquerade around, I 
cannot say; but my servant, an Irish disciple of 
my uncle's, whispered in my ear — " It's a red 
breeches day. Master Charles — they'll have the 
hoith of company in the house." From the 
phrase, it needed little explanation to inform me 
that it was one of those occasions on which Mr. 
Blake attired all the hangers-on of his house in 
livery, and great preparations were in progress 
for a more than usually splendid reception. 

In the next moment I was ushered into the 
breakfast-room, where a party of above a dozen 
persons were most gaily enjoying all the good cheer 
for which the house had a well-deserved repute. 
After the usual shaking of hands, and hearty greet- 
ings were over, I was introduced in all form to 
Sir George Dashwood, a tall and singularly hand- 
some man of about fifty, with an undress military 
frock and ribbon. His reception of me was 
somewhat strange, for, as they mentioned my re- 
lationship to Godfrey O'Malley, he smiled slightly, 
and whispered something to Mr. Blake, who re- 
plied, "Oh! no, no; not the least. A mere boy 

and besides " What he added I lost, for at 

that moment Nora Blake was presenting me to 
Miss Dashwood. 

If the sweetest blue eyes that ever beamed be- 
neath a forehead of snowy whiteness, over which 
dark brown and waving hair fell, less in curls than 
masses of locky richness, could only have known 
what wild work they were making of my poor 
heart. Miss Dashwood, I trust, would have looked 
at her teacup or her muffin rather than at me, as 
she actually did on that fatal morning. If I were 
to judge from her costume, she had only just ar- 
rived, and the morning air had left upon her 
cheek a bloom that contributed greatly to the ef- 
fect of her lovely countenance. Although very 
young, her form had all the roundness of woman- 
hood; while her gay and sprightly manner indi- 
cated all the sans gene which only very young girls 
possess, and which, when tempered with perfect 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



203 



good taste, and accompanied by beauty and no 
small share of talent, forms an irresistible power 
of attraction. 

Beside her sat a tall, handsome man of about 
five-and-thirty, or perhaps forty years of age, with 
a most soldierly air, who, as I was presented to 
him, scarcely turned his head, and gave me a half- 
nod of very unequivocal coldness. There are 
moments in life, in which the heart is, as it were, 
laid bare to any chance or casual impression with 
a wondrous sensibility of pleasure or its opposite. 
This to me was one of those; and, as I turned 
from the lovely girl, who had received me with a 
marked courtesy, to the cold air, and repelling 
hauteur of the dark-browed captain, the blood 
rushed throbbing to my forehead; and as I walked 
to my place at the table, I eagerly sought his eye, 
to return him a look of defiance and disdain, 
proud and contemptuous as his own. Captain 
Hammersley, however, never took further notice 
of me, but continued to recount, for the amuse- 
ment of those about him, several excellent stories 
of his military career, which, I confess, were heard 
with every test of delight by all, save me. One 
thing galled me particularly — and how easy is it, 
when you have begun by disliking a person, to 
supply food for your antipathy — all his allusions 
to his military life were coupled with half hinted 
and ill-concealed sneers at civilians of every kind, 
as though every man not a soldier were absolutely 
unfit for common intercourse with the world — still 
more, for any favorable reception in ladies' society. 

The young ladies of the family were a well- 
chosen auditory, for their admiration of the army 
extended from the Life Guards to the Veteran 
Battalion, the Sappers and Miners included; and, 
as Miss Dashwood was the daughter of a soldier, 
she, of course, coincided in many, if not all his 
opinions. I turned towards my neighbor, a Clare 
gentleman, and tried to engage him in conversa- 
tion, but he was breathlessly attending to the cap- 
tain. On my left sat Matthew Blake, whose eyes 
were firmly riveted upon the same person, and 
heard his marvels with an interest scarcely inferior 
to that of his sisters. Annoyed, and in ill-temper, 
I ate my breakfast in silence, and resolved that, 
the first moment I could obtain a hearing from 
Mr. Blake, I would open my negotiation, and take 
my leave at once of " Gurt-na-Morra." 

We all assembled in a large room, called, by 
courtesy, the library, when breakfast was over; 
and then it was that Mr. Blake, taking me aside, 
whispered, "Charley, it's right I should inform 
you that Sir George Dashwood there is the Com- 
mander of the Forces, and is come down here at 

this moment to ." What for, or how it should 

concern me, I was not to learn; for, at that crit- 
ical instant, my informant's attention was called 
off by Captain Hammersley asking if the hounds 
were to hunt that day. 

" My friend Charley, here,_is the best authority 
upon that matter," said Mr. Blake, turning towards 
me. 

"They are to try the Priest's meadows," said I, 
with an air of some importance; "but, if your 
guests desire a day's sport, I'll send word over to 
Brackley to bring the dogs over here, and we are 
sure to find a fox in your cover." 



" Oh, then, by all means," said the captain 
turning towards Mr. Blake, and addressing him- 
self to him — "by all means; and Miss Dashwood, 
I'm sure, would like to see the hounds throw- 
off." 

Whatever chagrin the first part of his speech 
caused me, the latter set my heart a throbbing; 
and I hastened from the room to despatch a mes- 
senger to the huntsman to come over to Gurt-na- 
Morra, and also another to O'Malley Castle, to 
bring my best horse and my riding equipments, 
as quickly as possible. 

" Matthew, who is this captain?" said I, as young 
Blake met me in the hall. 

"Oh! he is the aide-de-camp of General Dash- 
wood. A nice fellow, isn't he?" 

"I don't know what you may think," said I. 
" But I take him for the most impertinent, impu- 
dent, supercilious " 

The rest of my civil speech was cut short by 
the appearance of the very individual in question, 
who, with his hands in his pockets and a cigar in 
his mouth, sauntered forth down the steps, taking 
no more notice of Matthtw Blake and myself 
than the two fox terriers that followed at his 
heels. 

However anxious I might be to open negotia- 
tions on the subject of my mission, for the pres- 
ent the thing was impossible; for I found that 
Sir George Dashwood was closeted closely with 
Mr. Blake, and resolved to wait till evening, when 
chance might afford me the opportunity I de- 
sired. 

As the ladies had retired to dress for the hunt, 
and as I felt no peculiar desire to ally myself 
with the unsocial captain, I accompanied Matthew 
to the stable to look after the cattle, and make 
prep.nrations for the coming sport. 

"There's Captain Hammersley 's mare," said 
Matthew, as he pointed out a highly bred but 
powerful English hunter; she came last night, for, 
as he expected some sport, he sent his horses from 
Dublin on purpose. The others will be here to- 
day." 

" What is his regiment?" said I, with an ap- 
pearance of carelessness, but in reality feeling 
curious to know if the captain was a cavalry or 
infantry officer. 

"'I'h'e — th Light Dragoons," said Matthew. 

"You never saw him ride?" said I. 

" But his groom there says he leads the way in 
his own country." 

" And where may that be?" 

" In Leicestershire, no less," said Matthew. 

"Does he know Galway?" 

" Never was in it before; it's only this minute 
he asked Mosey Daly if the ox-Iences were high 
here." 

"Ox-fences! then he does not know what a 
wall is?" 

" Devil a bit; but we'll teach him." 

"That we will," said I, with as bitter a resolu- 
tion to impart the instruction as ever schoolmas- 
ter did to whip Latin grammar into one of the 
great unbreeched. 

"But I had better send the horses down to the 
Mill,' said Matthew; "we'll draw that cover 
first." 



204 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



So saying, he turned towards the stable, while 
I sauntered alone towards the road, by which I 
expected the huntsman. I had not walked half 
a mile before I heard the yelping of the dogs, 
and, a little farther on, I saw old Brackely com- 
ing at a brisk trot, cutting the hounds on each 
side, and calling after the stragglers. 

" Did you see my horse on the road Brackely?" 
said I. 

"I did, Misther Charles, and, troth, I'm sorry 
to see him; sureyerself knows better than to take 
out the Badger, the best steeple-chaser in Ireland, 
in such a country as this; nothing but awkward 
stone-fences, and not a foot of sure ground in the 
whole of it." 

'■ I know it well, Brackely ; but I have my rea- 
sons for it." 

" Well, maybe you have; what cover will your 
honor try first?" 

" They talk of the Mill," said I, " but I'd much 
rather try ' Morran-a-Gowl.' " 

" Morran-a-Gowl? do you want to break your 
neck entirely?" 

" No, Brackely, not mine." 

" Whose then, alannah?" 

"An English captain's, the devil fly away with 
him; he's come down here to-day, and from all 
I can see is a most impudent fellow; so Brack- 
ely " 

" I understand. Well, leave it to me, and, 
though I don't like the only deer-park wall on 
the hill, we'll try it this morning with the bless- 
ing; I'll take him down by Woodford, over the 
' Devil's Mouth,' — it's eighteen foot wide this 
minute with the late rains — into the four callows; 
then over the stone walls, down to Dangan; then 
take a short cast up the hill, blow him a bit, and 
give him the park wall at the top. You must 
come in then fresh, and give him the whole run 
home over Sleibhmich — the Badger knows it all, 
and takes the road always in a fly — a mighty dis- 
tressing thing for the horse that follows, more par- 
ticularly, if he does not understand a stony coun- 
try. Well, if he lives through this, give him the 
sunk fence and the stone wall at Mr. Blake's 
clover-field, for the hounds will run into the fox 
about there; and though we never ride that leap 
since Mr. Malone broke his neck at it, last Octo- 
ber, yet, upon an occasion like this, and for the 
honor of Galway " 

"To be sure, Brackely, and here's a guinea for 
you, and now trot on towards the house; they 
must not see us together, or they might suspect 
something. But, Brackely," said I, calling out 
after him, "if he rides at all fair, what's to be 
done?" 

" Troth, then, myself doesn't know, there is 
nothing so bad west of Athlone; have ye a great 
spite agin him?" 

"I have," said I, fiercely. 

" Could ye coax a fight out of him?" 

"That's true," said I; "and now ride on as 
fast as you can." 

Brackely's last words imparted a lightness to 
my heart and my step, and I strode along a very 
different man from what I had left the house half 
an hour previously. 



CHAPTER IV. 



THE HUNT. 



Although we had not the advantages of a 
" southerly wind and cloudy sky," the day, towards 
noon, became strongly overcast, and promised to 
afford us good scenting weather, and as we as- 
sembled at the meet, mutual congratulations were 
exchanged upon the improved a]i]iearance of the 
day. Young Blake had provided Miss Dashwocd 
with a quiet and well-trained horse, and his sisters 
were all mounted, as usual, upon their own ani- 
mals, giving to our turn-out quite a gay and lively 
aspect. I myself came to cover upon a hackney, 
having sent Badger with a groom, and -longed ar- 
dently for the moment when, casting the skin of 
my great coat and overalls, I should appear 
before the world in my well-appointed "cords ar.d 
tops." Captain Hammersley had not as yet made 
his appearance, and many conjectures were afloat 
as to whether "he might have missed the road or 
changed his mind," or, " forgot all about it," as 
Miss Dashwood hinted. 

" Who, pray, pitched upon this cover?" said 
Caroline Blake, as she looked with a practised eye 
over the country, on either side. 

" There is no chance of a fox late in the day 
at the Mill," said the huntsman, inventing a lie 
for the occasion. 

" Then of course you never intend us to see 
much of the sport, for, after you break co%er, 
you are entirely lost to us." 

" I thought you always followed the hounds?" 
said Miss Dashwood, timidly. 

" Oh, to be sure we do, in any common coun- 
try; but here it is out of the question; the fences 
are toe large for any one, and, if I am not mis- 
taken, these gentlemen will not ride far over this. 
There, look yonder, where the river is rushing 
down the hill- -that stream, widening as it ad- 
vances, crosses the cover nearly midway; well, 
they must clear that; and then you may see these 
walls of large loose stones, nearly five feet in 
height ; that is the usual course the fox takes, unless 
he heads towards the hills, and goes towards 
Dangan, .and then there's an end of it; for the 
deer park wall is usually a pull-up to every one, 
except, perhaps, to our friend Charley yonder, who 
has tried his fortune against drowning more than 
once there." 

" Look, here he comes," said Mathew Blake, 
" and looking splendidly, too — a little too much in 
flesh, perhaps, if anything." 

" Captain Hammersley!" said the four Miss 
Blakes, in a breath, " where is he?" 

" No, it's the Badger I'm speaking of," said 
Matthew, laughing, and pointing with his finger 
towards a corner of the field where my servant 
was leisurely throwing down a wall about two feet 
high to let him pass. 

" Oh, how handsome! — what a charger for a dra- 
goon!" said Miss Dashwood. 

Any other way of praising my steed would have 
been much more acceptable. The word dragoon- 
was a thorn in my tenderest part, that rankled and 
lacerated at every stir. In a moment I was in the 
saddle, and scarcely seated, when at once all the 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



'206 



mauvaise honte of boyhood left me, and I felt every 
inch a man. I often look back to that moment 
of my life, and, comparing it with many similar 
ones, cannot help acknowledging how purely is 
the self-possession which so often wins success 
the result of some slight and trivial association. 
My confidence in my horsemanship suggested 
moral courage of a very different kind, and I felt 
that Charles O'Malley curvetting upon a thorough- 
bred, and the same man ambling upon a shelty, 
were two and very dissimilar individuals. 

" No chance of the captain," said Matthew, 
who had returned from a reconnoissance upon the 
road; " and after all it's a pity, for the day is get- 
ting quite favorable." 

While the young ladies formed pickets to look 
out for the gallant milifaire, I seized the oppor- 
tunity of prosecuting my acquaintance with Miss 
Dashwood ; and, even in the few and passing ob- 
servations that fell from her, learned how very 
different an order of being she was from all I had 
hitherto seen of country belles. A mixture of 
courtesy with naivete — a wish to please, with a 
certain feminine gentleness, that always flatters a 
man, and still more a boy that fain would be one 
— gained momentarily more and more upon me, 
and put me also upon my mettle to prove to my 
fair companion that I was not altogether a mere 
uncultivated and unthinking creature, like the 
remainder of those about me. 

"Here he is, at last," said Helen Blake, as she 
cantered across a field, waving her handkerchief 
as a signal to the captain, who was now seen ap- 
proaching at a brisk trot. 

As he came along, a small fence intervened; he 
pressed his horse a little, and, as he kissed hands 
to the fair Helen, cleared it in a bound, and was 
in an instant in the midst of us. 

" He sits his horse like a man, Misther Charles," 
said the old huntsman, " troth, we must give him 
the worst bit of it." 

Captain H.immersley was, despite all the criti- 
cal acumen with which I canvassed him, the very 
beau ideal of a gentleman rider; indeed, although 
a very heavy man, his powerful English thorough- 
bred, showing not less bone than blood, took 
away all semblance of overweight; his saddle, 
well fitting and well placed; his large and broad- 
reined snaffle; his own costume of black coat, 
leathers, and tops, was in perfect keeping, and 
even to his heavy-handled hunting-whip I could 
find nothing to cavil at. As he rode up he paid 
his respects to the ladies in his usual free and easy 
manner, expressed some surprise, but no regret, 
at hearing that he was late, and never deigning 
any notice of Matthew or myself, took his place 
beside Miss Dashwood, with whom he conversed 
in a low and under tone. 

"There they go," said Matthew, as five or six 
dogs, with their heads up, ran yelping along a 
furrow, then stopped, howled again, and once 
more set off together. In an instant all was com- 
motion in the little valley below us. The hunts- 
man, with his hand to his mouth, was calling off 
the stragglers, and the whipper-in following up 
the leading dogs with the rest of the pack. 
" They've found! — they're away!" said Matthew; 
and, as he spoke, a great yell burst from the val- 



ley, and in an instant the whole pack were oflf 
at full speed. Rather more intent that moment 
upon showing off my horsemanship than anything 
else, I dashed spurs into Badger's sides, and 
turned him towards a rasping ditch before me; 
over we went, hurling down behind us a rotten 
bank of clay and small stones, showing how little 
safety there had been in topping instead of clear- 
ing it at a bound. Before I was well seated again, 
the captain was beside me. " Now for it, then," 
said I; and away we went. AVhat might be the 
nature of his feelings I cannot pretend to state, 
but my own were a strange melatii:^e of wild, boy- 
ish enthusiasm, revenge, and recklessness. For 
my own neck I cared little — nothing; and, as I 
led the way by half a length, I muttered to my- 
self, " Let him follow me fairly this day, and I 
ask no more." 

The dogs had got somewhat the start of us, 
and, as they were in full cry, and going fast, we 
were a little behind. A thought therefore struck 
me that, by appearing to take a short cut upon 
the hounds, I should come down upon the river 
where its breadth was greatest, and thus,, at one 
coup might try my friend's mettle and his horse's 
performance at the same time. On we went, our 
speed increasing, till the roar of the river we were 
now approaching was plainly audible. I looked 
half around, and now perceived the captain was 
standing in his stirrups, as if to obtain a view of 
what was before him; otherwise his countenance 
was calm and unmoved, and not a muscle be- 
trayed that he was not cantering on a parade. I 
fixed myself firmly in my seat, shook my horse a 
little together, and with a shout whose import 
every Galway hunter well knows, rushed him at 
the river. I saw the water dashing among the 
large stones, I heard its splash, I felt a bound 
like the ricochet of a shot, and we were over, but 
so narrowly, that the bank had yielded beneath 
his hind legs, and it needed a bold effort of the 
noble animal to regain his footing. Scarcely was 
he once more firm, when Hammersley flew by 
me, taking the lead, and sitting quietly in his 
saddle, as if racing. I know of little in all my 
after-life like the agony of that moment; for al- 
though I was far, very far, from wishing real ill 
to him, yet I would gladly have broken my leg 
or my arm if he could not have been able to fol- 
low me. And now, there he was, actually a length 
and a half in advance! and, worse than all. Miss 
Dashwood must have witnessed the whole, and 
doubtless his leap over the river was better and 
bolder than mine. One con'solation yet remained, 
and while I whispered it to myself I felt com- 
forted again. " His is an English mare — they 
understand these leaps — but what can he make 
of a Galway wall?" The question was soon to 
be solved. Before us, about three fields, were 
the hounds still in full cry; a large stonewall lay 
between, and to it we both directed our course 
together. "Ha!" thought L "'le is floored at 
last," as I perceived that the captain held his 
horse rather more in hand, and suffered me to 
lead. "Now, then, for it!" So saying, I rode 
at the largest part I could find, well knowing that 
Badger's powers were here in their element. One 
spring, one plunge, and away we were, galloping 



206 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



along at the other side. Not so the captain; his 
horse had refused the fence, and he was now 
taking a circuit of the field for another trial of it. 

" Pounded, by Jove!" said I, as I turned round 
in my saddle to observe him. Once more she 
came at it, and once more balked, rearing up 
at the same time, almost so as to fall backward. 

My triumph was complete, and I again was 
about to follow the hounds, when, throwing a 
look back, I saw Hammersley clearing the wall 
in a most splendid manner, and taking a stretch 
of at least thirteen feet beyond it. Once more he 
was on my flanks, and the contest renewed. 
Whatever might be the sentiments of the riders 
(mine I confess to), between the horses it now be- 
came a tremendous struggle. The English mare, 
though evidently superior in stride and strength, 
was slightly overweighted, and had not, besides, 
that cat-like activity an Irish iiorse possesses; so 
that the advantages and disadvantages on either 
side were about equalized. For about half an 
hour now the pace was awful. We rode side by 
side, taking our leaps exactly at the same instant, 
and not four feet apart. The hounds were still 
considerably in advance, and were heading to- 
wards the Shannon, when suddenly the fox 
doubled, took the hill-side, and made for Dangan. 
"Now, then, comes the trial of strengtii," I said, 
half aloud, as I threw my eye up a steep and 
rugged mountain, covered with wild furze and 
tall heath, around the crest of which ran, in a 
zig-zag direction, a broken and dilapidated wall, 
once the enclosure of a deer-park. This wall, 
which varied from four to six feet in height, was 
of solid masonry, and would, in the most favora- 
ble ground, have been a bold leap. Here, at the 
summit of a mountain, with not a yard of footing, 
it was absolutely desperation. 

By the time that we reached the foot of the 
hill, the fox, followed closely by the hounds, had 
passed through a breach in the wall, while Matthew 
Blake, with the huntsman and whipper-in, 
were riding along in search of a gap to lead the 
horses through. Before I put spurs to Badger, 
to face the hill, I turned one look towards Ham- 
mersley. There was a slight curl, half smile, 
half sneer upon his lip, that actually maddened 
me, and had a precipice yawned beneath my feet, 
I should have dashed at it after that. The as- 
cent was so steep that I was obliged to take the 
hill in a slanting direction, and even thus, the 
loose footing rendered it dangerous in the ex- 
treme. 

At length I reached the crest, where the wall, 
more than five feet in height, stood frowning 
above and seeming to defy me. I turned my 
horse full round, so that his very chest almost 
touched the stones, and, with a bold cut of the 
whip and a loud halloo, the gallant animal rose, 
as if rearing, pawed for an instant to regain his 
balance, and then, with a frightful struggle, fell 
backwards, and rolled from top to bottom of the 
hill, carrying me along with him; the last object 
that crossed my sight, as I lay bruised and mo- 
tionless, being the Captain, as he took the wall 
in a flying leap, and disappeared at the other 
side. After a few scrambling efforts to rise, 
Badger regained his legs and stood beside me; 



but such was the shock and concussion of my 
fall, that all the objects around seemed wavering 
and floating before me, while showers of bright 
sparks fell in myriads before my eyes. I tried to 
rise, but fell back helpless. Cold perspiration 
broke over my forehead, and I fainted. From 
that moment I can remember nothing, till I felt 
myself galloping along, at full speed upon a level 
table-land, with the hounds about three fields in 
advance, Hammersley riding foremost, and tak- 
ing all his leaps coolly as ever. As I swayed to 
either side upon my saddle, from weakness, I was 
lost to all thought or recollection, save a flicker- 
ing memory of some plan of vengeance, which 
still urged me forward. The chase had now 
lasted above an hour, and both hounds and 
horses began to feel the pace at which they were 
going. As for me, I rode mechanically; I neither 
knew nor cared for the dangers before me. My 
eye rested on but one object; my whole being 
was concentrated upon one vague and undefined 
sense of revenge. At this instant the huntsman 
came alongside of me. 

"Are you hurted, Misther Charles? did you 
fall; — your cheek is all blood, and your coat is 
torn in two; and. Mother o' God, his boot is 
ground to powder; he does not hear me. Oh, 
pull up — pull up, for the love of the 'Virgin; 
there's the clover field, and the sunk fence before 
you, and you'll be killed on the spot." 

"Where?' cried I, with the cry of a madman, 
'' where's the clover field?— where's the sunk 
fence? Ha! I see it — I see it now." 

So saying I dashed the rowels into my horse's 
flanks, and in an instant was beyond tlie reach of 
the poor fellow's remonstrances. Another mo- 
ment, I was beside the captain. He turned round 
as I came up; the same smile was upon his mouth 
— I could have struck him. About three hundred 
yards before us lay the sunk fence: its breadth 
was about twenty feet, and a wall of close brick- 
work formed its face. Over this the hounds were 
now clambering; some succeeded in crossing, but 
by far the greater number fell back howling into 
the ditch. 

I turned towards Hammersley. He was stand- 
ing high in his stirrups, and, as he looked towards 
the yawning fence, down which the dogs were 
tumbling in masses, I thought (perhaps it was but 
a thought) that his cheek was paler. I looked 
again, he was pulling at his horse, ha! it was true 
then, he would not face it. I turned round in my 
saddle — looked him full in the face, and, as I 
pointed with my whip to the leap, called out in a 
voice hoarse with passion, "Come on." I saw 
no more. All objects were lost to me from that 
moment. When next my senses cleared I was 
standing amid the dogs, where they had just 
killed. Badger stood blown and trembling beside 
me, his head drooping, and his flanks gored with 
spur marks. I looked about, but all conscious- 
ness of the past had fled; the concussion of my 
fall had shaken my intellect, and I was like one 
but half awake. One glimpse, short and fleeting, 
of what was taking place, shot through my brain, 
as old Brackely whispered to me, " By my soul, 
ye did for the captain there." I turned a vague 
look upon him, and my eyes fell upon the figure 



j£.4ii*^»v.V,: 




r^ .> i- ■^■-■^ \ 











Y'/irs: 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



207 



of a man that lay stretched and bleeding upon a 
door before me. His pale face was crossed with a 
purple stream of blood, that trickled from a 
wound beside his eyebrow; his arms lay motion- 
less and heavily at either side. I knew him not. 
A loud report of a pistol aroused me from my 
stupor; I looked back. I saw a crowd that broke 
suddenly asunder, and fled right and left. I 
heard a heavy crash upon the ground; I pointed 
with my finger, for I could not utter a word. 

" It is the English mare, yer honor; she was 
a beauty this morning, but she's broke her shoul- 
der-bone, and both her legs, and it was best to 
put her out of pain." 



CHAPTER V. 



THE DRAWING-ROOM. 



On the fourth day following the adventure de- 
tailed in the last chapter I made my appearance 
in the drawing-room ; my cheek well blanched 
by copious bleeding, and my step tottering and 
uncertain. On entering the room I looked about 
in vain for some one who might give me an in- 
sight into the occurrences of the four preceding 
days, but no one was to be met with. The ladies, 
I learned, were out riding; Matthew was buying 
a new setter; Mr. Blake was canvassing; and 
Captain Hammersley was in bed. Where was 
Miss Dashwood? — -in her room; and Sir George? 
— he was with Mr. Blake. 

" What! canvassing too?" 

"Troth, that same was possible," was the in- 
telligent reply of the old butler, at which I could 
not help smiling. I sat down, therefore, in the 
easiest chair I could find, and, unfolding the 
county paper, resolved upon learning how mat- 
ters were going on in the political world. But, 
somehow, whetlier the editor was not brilliant, or 
the fire was hot, or that my own dreams were 
pleasanter to indulge in than his fancies, I fell 
sound asleep. 

How differently is the mind attuned to the ac- 
tive busy world of thought and action, wlien 
awakened from sleep by any sudden and rude 
summons to arise and be stirring, and when 
called into existence by the sweet and silvery 
notes of softest music, stealing over the senses, 
and while they impart awakening thoughts of bliss 
and beauty, scarcely dissipating the dreary in- 
fluence of slumber! Such was my first thought 
as, with closed lids, the thrilling chords of a harp 
broke upon my sleep, and aroused me to a feel- 
ing of unutterable pleasure. I turned gently 
round in ray chair, and beheld Miss Dashwood. 
She was seated in a recess of an old-fashioned 
window; the pale yellow glow of a wintry sun 
at evening fell upon her beautiful hair, and tinged 
it with such a light as I have often since then 
seen in Rembrandt's pictures; her head leaned 
upon the harp, and, as she struck its chords at 
random, I saw that her mind was far away from 
all around her. As I looked, she suddenly started 
from her leaning attitude, and, parting back her 
curls from her brow, she preluded a few chords, 



and then sighed forth, rather than sang, that most 
beautiful of Moore's Melodies — 

" She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps." 

Never before had such pathos, such deep ut- 
terance of feeling, met my astonished sense; I 
listened breathlessly as the tears fell one by one 
down my cheek; my bosom heaved and fell; and, 
when she ceased, I hid my head between my 
hands and sobbed aloud. In an instant she was 
beside me, and placing her hand upon my shoul- 
der, said: 

" Poor dear boy, I never suspected you of be- 
ing there, or I should not have sung that mourn- 
ful air." 

, I started and looked up, and from what I know 
not, but she suddenly crimsoned to her very 
forehead, while she added in a less assured tone: 

"I hope, Mr. O'Malley, that you are much 
better, and I trust there is no imprudence in 
your being here." 

" For the latter I shall not answer," said I, 
with a sickly smile; "but already I feel your 
music has done me service." 

"Then let me sing more for you." 

" If I am to have a choice, I should say. Sit 
down, and let me hear you talk to me. My ill- 
ness and the doctor together have made wild 
work of my poor brain; but, if you will talk to 
me " 

" Well, then, what shall it be about? Shall I 
tell you a fairy tale?" 

" I need it not: I feel I am in one this instant." 

" Well, then, what say you to a legend, for I 
am rich in my stores of them?" 

" The O'Malleys have their chronicles, wild 
and barbarous enough, without the aid of Thor 
and Woden." 

" Then, ^hall we chat of every-day matters? 
Should you like to hear how the election and the 
canvass go on?" 

"Yes, of all things." 

" Well, then, most favorably. Two baronies, 
with most unspeakable names, have declared for 
us, and confidence is rapidly increasing among 
our party. This I learned by chance yesterday; 
for papa never permits us to know anything of 
these matters — not even the names of the candi- 
dates." 

" Well, that was the very point I was coming 
to, for the government was about to send down 
some one just as I left home; and I am most anx- 
ious to learn who it is." 

"Then am I utterly valueless; for I really 
can't say what party the government espouses, 
and only know of our own." 

" Quite enough for me that you wish it success," 
said I, gallantly. "Perhaps you en n tell me if 
my uncle has heard of my accident?" 

"Oh, yes; but somehow he has not been here 
himself, but sent a friend — a Mr. Considine, I 
think: a very strange person he seemed. He de- 
manded to see papa, and, it seems, asked him if 
your misfortune had been a thing of his contriv- 
ance, and whether he was ready to explain his 
conduct about it; and, in fact, I believe he ii 
mad." 



208 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



"Heaven confound him," I muttered between 
my teeth. 

'' And then he wished to have an interview 
with Captain Hammersley; however, he is too ill; 
but as the doctor hoped he might be down-stairs 
in a week, Mr. Considine kindly hinted that he 
should wait." 

'■ Oh, then, do tell me how is the captain." 

" Very much bruised, very much disfigured, 
they say," said she, half smiling, " but not so 
much hurt in body as in mind." 

" As how, may I ask?" said I, with an appear- 
ance of innocence. 

" I don't exactly understand it; but it would 
appear that there was something like rivalry 
among you gentlemen chasseurs on that luckless 
morning, and that while you paid the penalty of 
a broken head, he was destined to lose his horse 
and break his arm." 

" I certainly am sorry — most sincerely sorry for 
any share I might have had in the catastrophe; 
and my greatest regret, I confess, arises from the 
fact that I should ca.nse you unhappiness." 

"Me — pray explain?" 

" Why, as Captain Hammersley " 

" Mr. O'Malley, you are too young now to 
make me suspect you have an intention to offend; 
but, I caution you, never repeat this." 

I saw that I had transgressed, but how, I most 
honestly confess, I could not guess; for though I 
certainly was the senior of my fair companion in 
years, I was most lamentably her junior in tact 
and discretion. 

Tiie grey dusk of evening had long fallen as 
we continued to chat together beside the blazing 
wood embers; she evidently amusing herself with 
the original notions of an untutored, unlettered 
boy, and I drinking deep those draughts of love 
that nerved my heart through many a breach and 
battlefield. ( 

Our colloquy was at length interrupted by the 
entrance of Sir George, who shook me most 
cordially by the hand, and made the kindest in- 
quiries about my health. 

" They tell me you are to be a lawyer, Mr. 
O'Malley," said he; " and, if so, I must advise 
you to take better care of your headpiece." 

"A lawyer, papa; oh dear me! I should never 
have thought of his being anything so stupid." 

" Whyj silly girl, what would you have a man 
be>" 

"A dragoon, to be sure, papa," said the fond 
■girl, as she pressed her arm around his manly 
figure, and looked up in his face with an expres- 
sion of mingled pride and affection. 

That word sealed my destiny. 



CHAPTER VI. 

THE DINNER. 



When I retired to my room to dress for dinner, 
I found my servant waiting with a note from my 
imcle, to which, he informed me, the messenger 
expected an answer. 

I broke the seal and read; 



" Dear Charley, — Do not lose a moment in 
securing old Blake — if you have not already 
done so — as information has just reached me that 
the government party has promised a cornetcy to 
young Matthew if he can bring over his father. And 
these are the people I have been voting with — 
a few private cases excepted — for thirty odd 
years! 

"I am very sorry for your accident. Considine 
informs me that it will need explanation at a later 
period. He has been in Athlone since Tuesday, 
in hopes to catch the new candidate on his way 
down, and get him into a little private quarrel 
before the day; if he succeed, it will save the 
county much expense, and conduce greatly to the 
peace and happiness of all parties. But ' these 
things,' as Father Roach says, 'are in the hands 
of Providence.' You must also persuade old 
Blake to write a few lines to Simon Mallock, 
about the Coolnamuck mortgage. We can give 
him no satisfaction at present, at least such as he 
looks for; and don't be philandering any longer 
where you are, when your health permits a change 
of quarters. 

" Your affectionate uncle, 

" Godfrey O'Malley, 

" P. S. — I have just heard from Considine; he 
was out this morning and shot a fellow in the 
knee, but finds that after all he was not the can- 
didate, but a tourist that was writing a book about 
Connemara. 

" P. S. No. 2. — Bear the mortgage in mind, for 
old Mallock is a spiteful fellow, and has a grudge 
against me, since I horsewhipped his son in 
Banagher. Oh, the world, the world!— G. O'M." 

Until I read this very clear epistle to the end, 
I had no very precise conception how completely 
I had forgotten all my uncle's interests, and 
neglected all his injunctions. Already five days 
had elapsed, and I had not as much as mooted 
the question to Mr. Blake, and probably all this 
time my uncle was calculating on the thing as con- 
cluded; but, with one hole in my head and some 
half-dozen in my heart, my memory was none 
of the best. 

Snatching up the letter, therefore, I resolved 
to lose no more time; and proceeded at once to 
Mr. Blake's room, expecting that I should, as 
the event proved, find him engaged in the very 
laborious duty of making his toilette. 

" Come in, Charley," said he, as I tapped gently 
at the door; "it's only Charley, my darling; Mrs. 
B. won't mind you." 

" Not the least in life," responded Mrs. B., dis- 
posing at the same time a pair of her husband's 
corduroys, tippet fashion, across her ample shoul- 
ders, which before were displayed in the plenitude 
and breadth of coloring we find in a Rubens. 
" Sit down, Charley, and tell us what's the 
matter." 

As, until this moment, I was in perfect igno- 
rance of the Adam and Eve-like simplicity in 
which the private economy of Mr. Blake's house- 
hold was conducted, I would have gladly retired 
from what I found to be a mutual territory of 
dressing-room, had not Mr. Blake's injunctions 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE H^ISH DRAGOON., 



209 



been issued somewhat like an order to remain. 

" It's only a letter, sir," said I, stuttering, " from 
my uncle, about the election. He says that, as 
his majority is now certain, he should feel better 
pleased in going to the ])oll w itii all the family, 
you know, sir, along with him. He wishes me 
just to sound your intentions — to make out how 
you feel disposed towards him; and — and, faith, 
as I am but a poor diijloniatist, I thought tiie best 
way was to come straight to the point and tell 
you so." 

" 1 perceive," said Mr. Blake, giving his chin 
at the moment an awful gash with the razor, "I 
perceive; goon." 

" Well, sir, I have little more to say; my uncle 
knows what influence you have in Scariff, and 
evpects vou'll do what you can there." 

"Anything more.''" said Blake, with a very dry 
and quizzical expression I didn't half like — "any- 
thing more?" 

"Oh, yes; you are to write a line to old Mal- 
l..( k." 

"I understand; about Coolnamuck, isn't it?" 

" E.xactly; I believe that's all." 

" Well, now, Charley, you may go down-stairs, 
and we'll talk it over after dinner." 

" Ves, Charley, dear, go down, for I'm going 
to draw on my stockings," said the fair Mrs. 
Blake, with a look of very modest consciousness. 

When I had left the room, I couldn't help mut- 
tering a "thank God!" for the success of a mis- 
sion [ more than once feared for, and hastened 
to despatch a note to my uncle, assuring him of 
the Blake interest, and adding that, for propriety 
sake, I should defer my departure for a day or 
two longer. 

This done, with a heart lightened of its load, 
and in high spirits at my cleverness, I descended 
to the drawing-room. Here a very large jiarty 
were already assembled, and, at every opening of 
the door, a new relay of Blakes, Burkes and Bod- 
kins, was introduced. In the absence of the host, 
Sir (ieorge Dashwood was " making the agree- 
able" to the guests, and shook hands with every 
Ui;\v arrival, with all the warmth and cordiality 
ot old friendship. While thus he inquired for 
various absent individuals, and asked most af- 
fectionately for sundry aunts and uncles, not 
forthcoming, a slii^ht incident occurred, which, 
by its ludicrous turn, served to shorten the long 
half-hour before dinner. An individual of the 
party, a Mr. Blake, had, from certain peculiarities 
of face, obtained in his boyhood, the sobriquet of 
" .Shave-the-witid." This hatchct-like conforma- 
tion had grown with his growth, and perpetuated 
upon him a nick-name, by which alone was he 
ever spoken of among his friends and acquaint- 
ai'.ces; the only difference being that, as he came 
to man's estate, brevity, that soul of wit, had cur- 
tailed the epithet to mere"Sha\e," Now, Sir 
(Ieorge had been hearing frequent reference made 
to him always by this name, heard him ever so 
addressed, and perceived him to reply to it; so 
that, when he himself was asked by some one 
what sport he had found that day among the 
woodcocks, he answered at once, with n bow of 
very grateful acknowledgment, " P^xctllent, in- 
deed, but entirely owing to where I was ])laced 



in the copse; had it not been for Mr. Shave 
there " 

I need not say that the remainder of his speecli, 
being heard on all sides, became one universal 
shout of laughter, in which, to do him justice, the 
excellent .Shave himself heartily joined. Scarcely 
were the sounds of mirth lulled into an a[iparent 
calm, when the door opened, and the host and 
hostess appeared. Mrs. Blake advanced in all 
the plenitude of her charms, arrayed in crimson 
satin, sorely injured in its freshness by a patch of 
grease upon the front, about the same size and 
shape as tne continent of Europe, in Arrowsniith's 
atlas; a swansdown tipjpet covered her shouldt rs; 
massive bracelets ornamented her wrists; \\hiie 
from her ears descended t^^o Irish diamond ear- 
rings, rivalling in magnitude and value the glass 
pendents of a lustre. Her reception of her guests 
made ample amends, in waimlh ard ccidiality,' 
for any deficiency of elegance; and, as she dis- 
posed her ample proportions upon the sofa, and 
looked around upon the company she appeared 
the very impersonation of hospitality. 

After several openings and shuttings of the 
drawing-room door, accompaniid by the aji]iear- 
ance of old Simon the butler, v. ho counted the parly 
at least five times before he was certain that the 
score was correct, dinner was at length an- 
nounced. Now came a moment of difficuiiv, and 
one which, as testing Mr. Blake's tact, he votdd 
gladly have seen devolve upon some other shoul- 
ders; for he well knew that the marshalling of a 
room full of mandrrins, blue, green, and yel- 
low, was " cakes and gingerbread " to ushering 
a Gahvay party to dinner. 

F'irst, then, was Mr. Miles Bodkin, whose grand- 
father would have been a lord if Cromwell had 
not hanged him one fine morning. Then Mrs. 
Mosey Blake's first husband was promised the 
title of Kilmacud if it was ever restored, whereas 
Mrs. French of Knocktumnor's mother was then 
at law for a title; and, lastly, Mrs. Joe Bu.rke was 
fourth cousin to Lord Clanricarde, as is or will be 
every Burke from this to the day of judgment. 
Now, luckily for her prospects, the lord was alive; 
and Mr. Blake, remembering a very sage adage 
about "dead lions," etc., solved the difficulty at 
once by gracefully tucking the lady under his arm 
and leading the way. The others soon followed, 
the priest of Portumna and my unworthy self 
bringing up the rear. 

When, many a year afterwards, the hard ground 
of a mountain bivouac, with its pitiful portion of 
pickled cork-tree, yclept mess-beef, and that pyro- 
ligneous aquafortis they call corn-brandy, have 
been my hard fare, I often looked back to that 
day's dinner with a most heart-yearning sensation: 
a turbot as big as the Waterloo shield — a sirloin 
that seemed cut from the sides of a rhinoceros — 
a sauce-boat that contained an oyster-bed. There 
was a turkey, which singly would have formed 
the main army of a French dinner, doing mere 
outpost duty, flanked by a picket of ham and a 
detached squadron of chickens, carefully am- 
buslied in a forest of greens; potatoes, not dis- 
giii>ed a la /naif re d'hctcl and tortured to resemble 
bad macaroni, but piled like shot in an ordnance- 
yard, were uostcd at different ciuarters: while 



210 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



massive decanters of port and sherry stood proudly 
up like standard-bearers amid the goodly array. 
'I'his was none of your austere " great dinners," 
where a cold and chilling //(z/(-(7« of artificial non- 
sense cuts off one-half of the table from inter- 
course with the other; when whispered sentences 
constitute the conversation, and all the friendh 
recognition of wine-drinking, which renews ac- 
(juaintance and cements an intimacy, is replaced 
by the ceremonious filling of your glass by a lacquey 
— where smiles go current in lieu of kind speeches, 
and epigram and smartness form the substitute for 
the broad jest and merry story. Far from it 
Here the company ate, drank, talked, laughed, 
did all but sing, and certainly enjoyed themselves 
heartily. As for me, I was little more than a 
listener, and such was the crash of plates, tht- 
jingle of glasses, and the clatter of voices, that 
fragments only of what was passing around reached 
me, giving to the conversation of the party a 
character occasionally somewhat incongruous. 
Thus such sentences as the following ran foul ol 
each other every instant: 

" No better land in Gahvay" — " where could you 
find such facilities" — "for shooting Mr. Jones on 
his way home" — "the truth, the whole truth, and 
nothing but the truth" — "kiss" — "Miss Blake, 
she's the girl with a foot and ankle" — " Daly has 
never had wool on his sheep" — "how could he" 
— "what does he jjay for the mountain" — "four 
and tenpence a yard" — "not a penny less" — "all 
the cabbage-stalks and potato-skins" — " with some 
bog stuff through it"— " that's llie thing to" — 
"make soup, with a red herring in it instead of 
salt" — -"and when he proposed for my niece, 
ma'am, says he" — "mix a strong tumbler, and I'll 
make a shake-down for you on the floor"— "and 
may the Lord have mercy on your soul" — "and 
now, down the middle and up again" — " Captain 
Magan, my dear, he is the man" — -"to shave a jjig 
properly" — " it's not money I'm looking for, savs 
he, the girl of my heart" — " if she had not a wind- 
gall and two spavins" — "I'd have given her the 
rights of the church, of coorse," said Father Roach, 
bringing up the rear of this ill-assorted jargon. 

Such were the scattered links of conversation 
I was condemned to listen to, till a general rise 
on the part of the ladies left us alone to discuss 
our wine, and enter in good earnest upon the 
more serious duties of the evening. 

Scarcely was the door closed when one of the 
company, seizing the bell-rope, said, " With your 
leave, Blake, we'll have the 'dew' now." 

"Good claret — no better," said another; "but 
it sits mighty cold on the stomach." 

"There's nothing like the groceries, after all — 
eh, Sir George?" said an old Galway squire to the 
English general, who acceded to the fact, which 
he understood in a very different sense. 

"Oh, punch, you are my darlin'," hummed 
another, as a large square half-gallon decanter of 
whiskey was ])laced on the table, the various de- 
canters of wine being now ignominiously sent 
down to the end of the board without any evi- 
dence of regret on any face save Sir George Dash- 
wood's, who mixed -his tumbler with a very rebel- 
lious conscience. 

Whatever were the noise and clamor of the 



company before, they were nothing to what new 
ensued. As one party was discussing the ap- 
proaching contest, another was jilannirg a steeple- 
chase; while two individuals, unhappily removed 
from each other the entire length of the table, 
were what is called "challenging each other's 
effects" in a very remarkable manner, the process 
so styled being an exchange of property, nhtn 
each party, setting an imaginary value upon seme 
article, barters it lor another, the amount of boot i 
paid and received being determined by a third! 
person, who is the umpire. Thus a gold brea.st- ' 
pin was swopped, as the phrase is, against a horse; 
then a pair of boots, then a Kerry bull — e\ery 
imaginable species of property ctming into the 
market. Sometimes, as matters of very dubious 
value turned up, great laughter was the result. 
In this very national pastime, a Mr. Miles Bodkin, 
a noted fire-eater of the west, was a great pro- 
ficient, and, it is said, once so completely succeeded 
m despoiling an uninitiated hand, that, after win- 
ning in succession his horse, pig, harness, etc., he 
proceeded seriatim to his watch, ring, clothes, and 
portmanteau, and actually concluded by v inning 
all he possessed, and kindly lent him a card-cloth 
to cover him on his way to the hotel. His suc- 
cess on the present occasion was considerable, 
and his spirits proportionate. The decanter h;.d 
thrice been replenished, and the flushed faces ard 
thickened utterance of the guests evinced that 
from the cold properties cf the claret there was 
but little to dread. As for Mr. Pcdkin, his man- 
ner was incapable of any higher flight, when under 
the influence of whisky, than what it evinced on 
coinmon occasions; and, as he sat at the end of 
the table, fronting Mr. Blake, he assumed all 
the dignity of the ruler of the feast, with an energy 
no one seemed disposed to question. In answer 
to some observations of Sir George, he was kd 
into something like an oralicn uj on the jetiliar 
excellences of his native country, which ended in 
a declaration that there was nothing like Gah\ry. 

"Why don't you give us a song, Milts? .ind 
maybe the general would learn more from it than 
all your speech-making." 

" 'I"o be sure," cried out several voices together; 
"to be sure: let us hear the "Man for Galway!'" 

Sir George having joined mcst waimly in the 
request, Mr. Bodkin filled up his glass to the brim, 
bespoke a chorus to his chant, and, clearing his 
voice with a deep hem, began the following ditty, to 
the air which Moore has since rendered immortnl, 
by the beautiful song, "Wreath the Bowl," etc. 
And although the words are well known in the 
west, for the information of less favored regions I 
here transcribe 

" THE MAN FOR GALWAY. 

" To clrink a torvFit, 
A proctor roast. 

Or bailiff as the case is. 
To kiss your wife 
Or take your life 

At ten or fifteen paces; 
To keep game cocks — to hunt the fox. 

To drink in puncli tlie SoUvay, 
With debts j;alore, but fun far more; 

Oh, that's ' the man for Gahvay.' 

"Chorus — With debts, etc. 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



211 



" The king of Oude 

Is mighty proud, 

And so were onst the C<?)'JO'-J— (Caesars) 
But ould Giles Eyre 
Would make them stare, 

Av he had thcni with the Blazers 
To the devil I'll fling — Ould Ruiijeet Sing, 

He's only a prince in a small way. 
And knows nothing at all of a six foot wall; 

OI>, he'd never 'do for Galway,' 

"Chorus — Wilh debt, etc. 

" Ye think the Rlakes 
Are no 'great shakes;' 

They're all his blood relations. 
And the liodkins sneeze 
At the grim Chinese, 

For they come from the Phenaycians^ 
So till the Inim, and here's to him 

Who'd (.Irink in punch the Solway; 
With debts galore, but fun far more; 

Oh! that's ' the man for Galway ' 

" Chorus — With debts," etc. 

I tnucli fear that the reception of this very classic 
ode would not be as favorable in general companies 
as it was on the occasion I first heard it, for cer- 
tainly the ai)plause was almost deafening; and 
even Sir George, the defects of whose English 
education left some of the allusions out of his 
reach, was highly amused, and laugh;d heartily. 

The conversation once more reverted to the elec- 
tion, and although I was too far from those who 
seemed best informed on the matter to hear much, 
I could catch enough to discover that the feeling 
was a confident one. This was gratifying to me, 
as I had some scruple about my so long neglect- 
ing my uncle's cause. 

" We have Scariff to a man," said Bodkin. 

"And Mosey 's tenantry," said another. "1 
swear, though there's not a freehold registered on 
the estate, that they'll vote, every mother's son of 
them, or the devil a stone of the Court-house 
they'll le.tve standing on another." 

"And may the Lord look lo the returning offi- 
cer!" said a third, throwing up his eyes. 

'' Mosey's tenantry are droll boys, and like their 
landlord, more by token — they never pay any 
rent." 

" .\nd what for shouldn't they vote?" said a dry- 
looking, little, old fellow in a red waistcoat: " when 
1 was the dead agent " 

" The dead agent?" interrupted Sir George, 
with a start. 

" Just so," said the old fellow, pulling down his 
spectacles from his forehead, and casting a half- 
angry look at Sir George, for what he had sus- 
pected to be a doubt of his veracity. 

" The general does not know, maybe, what that 
is," said some one. 

" It is the dead agent," said Mr. Blr.ke, " who 
always provides substitutes for any voters that 
may have died since the last election. A very 
important fact in statistics may thus lie gathered 
from the poll-books of this coimty, which jjroves 
it to be the healthiest part of Europe — a free- 
holder has not died in it for the last fifty years." 

"The ' Kiltopher boys' won't come this time — 
they say there's no use trying to vote when so 
many were transported last assizes for perjury." 

" i'hey'rc poor-spirited creatures,"said another. 



" Not they — they are as decent boys as any 
we have — they're willing to wreck the town for 
fifty shillings' worth of spirits; besides, if they 
don't vote for the county, they will for the 
borough." 

This declaration seemed to restore these inter- 
esting individuals to favor, and now all attention 
was turned toward Bodkin, who was detailing the 
plan of a grand attack upon the polling-booths, 
to be headed by himself. By this time all the 
prudence and guardedness of the party had 
given way — whiskey was in the ascendant, and 
every bold stroke of election policy, every cun- 
ning artifice, every ingenious device, was detailed 
and applauded, in a manner which proved that 
self-respect was not the inevitable gift of "moun- 
tain dew." 

'I'he mirth and fun grew momentarily more 
boisterous, and Miles Bodkin, who had twice be- 
fore been prevented proposing some toast, by a 
telegraphic signal from the other end of the table, 
now swore that nothing should prevent him any 
longer, and rising with a smoking tumbler in his 
hand, delivered himself as follows: 

" No, no, Phil Blake, ye needn't be winkin' at 
me that way — it's little I care for the spawn of 
the ould serpent." ^,Here great cheers greeted 
the speaker, in which, without well knowing why, 
I heartily joined.) " I'm going to give a toast, 
boys — a real good toast — none of your senti- 
mental tilings about wall-flowers, or the vern.nl 
equinox, or that kind of thing, but a sensible, 
patriotic, manly, intrepid toast; a toast you must 
drink in the most universal, laborious, and awful 
manner — do ye see now?"- (Loud cheers.) " If 
any man of you here present doesn't drain this 
toast to the bottom — (here the speaker looked 
fixedly at me, as did the rest of the company) — 
then, by the great Gun of Athlone, I'll make him 
eat the decanter, glass stopper and all, for the 
good of his digestion — d'ye see now?" 

The cheering at this mild determination pre- 
vented my hearing what followed; but the peror- 
ation consisted in a very glowing eulogy upon 
some person unknown, and a s] etdy return to 
hiin as member for Galway. Amid all the noise 
and tumult at this critical moment, nearly every 
eye at the table was turned upon me; and, as I 
concluded that tliey had been drinking my uncle's 
health, I thundered away at the mahogany with 
all iny energy. At length, the hip, hipping over, 
and comparative quiet restored, I rose from my 
seat to return thanks — but strange enough, Sir 
George I.)ashwood did so likewise; and there 
we both stood, amid an uproar that might well 
have shaken the courage of more practised 
orators; while from every side came cries of 
" Hear, hear" — ''Goon, Sir George" — "Speak out, 
general" — "Sit down, Charley" — "Confound 
the boy" — "Knock the legs from under him." 
etc. Not understanding why Sir George should 
interfere with what 1 regarded as my peculiar 
duty, I resolved not to give way, and avowed this 
determination in no very equivocal terms. "In 
that case," said the general, " I am to suppose 
that the young gentleman moves an amendment 
to your proposition; and, as the etiquette is in 
his favor, 1 yield." — Hv.rt he resumed his plan.-. 



-212 



CHARLES O'MALLEV, THE IRISH DRAGOON, 



amid a most terrific scene of noise and tumult, 
while several humane proposals as to my treat- 
ment, vera made round me, and a kind sugges- 
tion thrown out to break my neck, by a near 
neighbor. Mr. Blake at length prevailed upon 
the party to hear what I had to say — for he was 
certain 1 siiould not detain them above a minute. 
'I'he commotion having in some measure sub- 
sided, I began: " GentL.^men, as the adopted son 
of the worthy man whose health you have just 

drunk " Heaven knows how I should have 

continued — but here my eloijuence was met by 
such a roar of laughing as I never before listened 
to;, from one end of the board to the otiier it 
was one continued shout, and went on, too, as if all 
the spare lungs of the party had been kept in re- 
serve for the occasion. I turned from one to the 
other — I tried to smile, and seemed to participate 
in the joke, bat failed; I frowned — I looked 
savagely about where I could see enougli to 
turn my wrath thitherward; and, as it chanced, 
not in vam; for Mr. Miles Bodkin, with an intui- 
tive perception of my wishes, most suddenly 
ceased his mirth, and, assuming a look of frown- 
ing defiance that had done him good service 
upon many former occasions, rose and said: 

" Well, sir, I hope you're proud of yourself — 
} ou /e made a nice beginning of it, and a pretty 
:toy you'll have for your uncle. But if you'd 
liK.e to break the news by a letter, the general 
will have great pleasure in franking it for you; 
for, by the rock of Cashel, we'll ^arry him in 
against all the O'Mallejs that c»^i' cheated the 
Sheriff." 

Scarcely vveve the .words uttered, when I 
seized my wine glass and hurled it with all my 
force at his head; so sudden was the act, and so 
I rue the aim, that Mr. Bodkin measured his length 
upon the floor ere his fiiends could a|-preciate 
his late eloquent effusio... The scene now be- 
came terrific; for though the redoubted Miles 
was /lors de combat, his frii.iids made a tremend- 
oui> rush at, and would infi.llibl'.' have succeeded 
in capturing me, had not Blake and four or five 
others interposed. Amid a desperate struggle 
which lasted for some minutes, I was torn from 
the spot, carried bodily up-stairs, and pitched 
headlong into my own room, where, having doubly 
locked the door on the outside, they left me to 
my own cool and not over-agreeable reflections. 



CHAPTER VH. 

THE FLIGHT FROM GURT-N .\-MOR R A. 

. It was by one of those sudden and inexplica- 
ble revulsions which occasionally restore to sense 
and intellect the maniac ot years' standing, tha.t 
1 wa.s no sooner left alone in my chamber than I 
became perfectly sober. The fumes of the wine 
— and 1 had drunk deeply — were dissijjated at 
once; my head, which but a moment before was 
half wild with excitement, was now cool, calm 
and collected; and, stranger than all, I, who had 
only an hour since entered the dining-room with 
all the unsuspecting freshness of boyhood, be- 



came, by a mighty bound, a man — a man in all 
my feelings of responsibility, a man who, repel- 
ling an insult by an outrage, had resolved to 
stake his life upon the chance. In an instant a 
new era in life had opened before me — the light- 
headed gayety which fearlessness and youth im- 
part, was replaced by one absorbing thought — one 
all-engrossing, all-pervading imjjression,^ that if I 
did not follow up my quarrel with Bodkin, I was 
dishonored and disgraced; my little knowledge of 
such matters not being sufficient to assure me 
that I was now the aggressor, and that ;lny fur- 
ther steps in th.e affair should come from his side. 

So thoroughly did my own griefs occupy me, 
that I had no thought for the disappointment my 
poor uncle was destined to meet with in hearing 
that the Blake interest was lost to him, and the 
former breach between the families irreparably 
widened by the events of the evening. Escape 
was my first thought; but how to accomplish it? 
— the door, a solid one of Irish oak, doubly 
locked and bolted, defied all my efforts to break 
it open; the window was at least five-and-twenty 
feet from the ground, and not a tree near to swing' 
into. I shouted, I called aloud, I opened the 
sash, and tried if any one outside were within 
hearing; but in vain. Weary and exhausted, I 
sat down upon my bed and ruminated over my 
fortunes. Vengeance — quick, entire, decisive 
vengeance — I thirsted and panted for; and every 
moment 1 lived under ihe insult inflicted on me, 
seemed an age of torturing and maddening ago- 
ny. I rose with a leap, a thought had just oc- 
curred to me. I drew the bed towards the win- 
dow, and fastening the sheet to one of the posts 
with a firm knot, 1 twisted it into a rope, and let 
myself down to within about twelve feet of the 
ground, when I let go my hold, and dropped 
upon the giuss beneath, safe and uninjured. A 
thin, misty rain was falling, and 1 now perceived, 
for the first time, that in my haste I had forgot- 
ten my hat; this thought, however, gave me little 
uneasiness, and I took my wav towards the sta- 
ble, resolving, if I could, to saddle my horse, and 
get off before any intimation of my escape reached 
the family. 

When I gained the yard all was quiet and de- 
serted; the servants were doubtless enjoying 
themselves below stairs; and I met no one in the 
way. I entered the stable, threw the saddle on 
" Badger," and, before five minutes from my de- 
scent from the window, was galloping towards 
O'Malley t'astle at a pace that defied juirsuit, had 
any one thought of it. 

It was about five o'clock on a dark wintry 
morning as I led my horse through the well- 
known defiles of out-houses and stables which 
formed the long line of offices to my uncle's 
house. As yet no one was stirring; and as I 
wished to have my arrival a secret from tlie fam- 
ily, after providing for the wants of my gallant 
grey, I lifted the latch of the kitchen door — no 
other fastening being ever thought necessary, 
even at night — and gently groped my way towards 
the stairs; all was perfectly still, and the silence 
now recalled me to reflection as to what course I 
should ]nirsue. It was all-important that my 
uncle should know nothing of my quarrel, other- 



CHATILES OMALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



213 



wise he would inevitably make it his own, and, 
by treating; me like a boy in the matter, give the 
whole affair the very turn I most dreaded. 'I'hen, 
as to Sir Harry Boyle, he would most certainly 
turn the whole thing into ridicule, make a good 
story, perhaps a song, out of it, and laugh at my 
notions of demanding satisfaction. Considine, I 
knew, was my man; hut then he was at Athlone 
— at least so my uncle's letter mentioned; per- 
haps he might have returned; if not, to Athlone 
I should set off at once. So resolving. I stole 
noiselessly up-stairs, and reached the door of the 
count's chamber; I opened it gently and entered; 
and, though my step was almost imperceptible to 
myself, it was quite sufficient to alarm tlie watch- 
ful occupant of the room, who, springing up in 
his bed, demanded gruffly, "Who's there.'" 

"Charles, sir," said I, shutting the door care- 
fully, and approaching his bedside. " Charles 
O'Malley, sir. I've come to have a bit of your 
advice; and, as the affair won't keep, I have 
been obliged to disturb you." 

"Never mind, Charley," said the count; "sit 
down, there's a chair somewhere near the bed — 
have you found it? There — well now, what is it? 
What news of Blake? 

"Very bad; no worse. B:it it is not exactly 
that I came about. I've got into a scrape, sir. 

" Run off with one of the daughters," said 
Considine. "By jingo, I knew what those artful 
devils would be after." 

"Nit so bad as that," said I, laughing. " It's 
just a row, a kind of squabble; something that 
must come " 

"Ay, ay," said the count, brightening up, "say 
you so, Charley? Begad, the young ones will 
beat us all out of the field. Who is it with — not 
old Blake himself — how was it? tell me all." 

I immediately detailed the whole events of the 
preceding chapter as well as his frequent inter- 
ruptions would permit, and concluded by asking 
wliat further step was now to be taken, as I was 
resolved the matter should be concluded before 
it came to my uncle's ears. 

"I'here you are all right; quite correct, my 
boy. But there are many points I should have 
wished otherwise in the conduct of the affair 
hitherto." 

Conceiving that he was displeased at my petu- 
lance and boldness, I was about to commence a 
kind of defence, when he added — 

" Because, you see," said he, assuming an or- 
acular tone of voice, " throwing a wine-glass, with 
or without wine, in a man's face, is merely, as 
you may observe, a mark of denial and displeas- 
ure at some observation he may have made, not 
in any wise intended to injure him, further than 
in the wound to his honor at being so insulted, 
for which, of course, he must subsequently call 
you out. Whereas, Charley, in the present case, 
the view I take is different; the expression of 
Mr Bodkin, as regards yniir uncle, was insulting 
to a degree — gratuitously offensive, and warrant- 
ing a blow Therefore, my boy, you should, under 
s\ich circumstances have preferred aimineathim 
with a decanter — a cut-glass decanter, well aimed 
and low, I have seen do effective service. How- 
ever, as you remark it was your first thing of the 



kind, I am pleased with you — very much ])leascd 
with you. Now, then, for the ne.xt step." So 
saying, he arose trom his bed, and striking a ligiit 
with a tinder-box, proceeded to dress himself as 
leisurely as if for a dinner party, talking all the 
while. 

"I will just take Godfrey's tax-cart and the 
roan mare on to Meelish; put them up at the little 
inn — it is not above a mile from Bodkin's — and 
I'll go over and settle the thing for you: you 
must stay quiet till I come back, and not leave 
the house on any account. I've got a case of old 
broad barrels there that will answer you beauti- 
fully; if you were anything of a shot, I'd give 
you my own cross handles, but they'd only spoil 
your shooting." 

"I can hit a wine-glass in the stem at fifteen 
paces," said I, rather nettled at the dis])araging 
tone in which he spoke of my performance. 

" I don't care sixpence for that: the wine-glass 
had no pistol in his hand. Take the old German, 
then; see now, hold your pistol thus: no finger on 
tlie guard there, these two on the trigger. 'I'hey 
are not hair triggers; drop the muzzle a bit; bend 
your elbow a trifle more; sight your man outside 
your arm; outside, mind, and take him in the 
hip, and, if anywhere higher, no matter." 

By this time the count had completed his toil- 
ette, and, taking the small mahogany box which 
contained his peace-makers under his arm, led 
the way towards the stables. When we reached 
the yard, the only person stirring there was a 
kind of half-witted boy, who, being about the 
house, was employed to run of messages for the 
servants, walk a stranger's horse, or to do any of 
the many petty services that regular domestics con- 
trive always to de\ol\e upon some adopted subor- 
dinate. He was seated upon a stone step, formerly 
used for mounting, and though the day was 
scarcely breaking, and the weather severe and 
piercing, the poor fellow was singing an Irish 
song, in a low monotonous tone, as he chafed a 
curb chain between his hands with some sand. 
As we came near, he started up, and, as he pulled 
off his cap to salute us, gave a sharp and piercing 
glance at the count, then at me; then once more 
u[)on my companion, from whom his eyes were 
turned to the brass-bound box beneath his arm; 
when, as if seized with a sudd n impulse, he 
started on his feet, and set off tow^ards the house 
with the speed of a greyhound, not, however, be- 
fore Considine's practised eye had anticipated 
his plan; for, tlirowing down the pistol case, he 
dashed after him, and, in an instant, had seized 
him by the collar. 

" It won't do, Patsey," said the cotmt; "you 
can't double on me." 

"Oh, count, darlin', Mister Considine, avick, 
don't do it, don't now," said the poor fellow, 
falling on his knees, and blubbering like an 
infant. 

" Hold your tongue, you villain, or III cut it 
out of your head," said Considine. 

"And so I will; but don't do it, don't for the 
love of " 

" Don't do what, you whimpering scoundrel? 
What does he think I'll do?" 

" Don't I know very well what you're after, 



214 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON, 



what you're always after, too? oh, wirra, wirra!" 
Here he wrung his hands, and swayed himsell" 
backwards and forwards, a true picture of Irish 

" I'll stop his blubbering," said Considine, 
opening the box, and talking out a pistol, whicii he 
cocked leisurely, and pointed at the poor fellow's 
head; "another syllable now, and I'll scatter 
your brains upon that pavement." 

" And do, and divil thank you; sure it's your 
trade " 

The coolness of the reply threw us both off 
our guard so completely, that we burst out into a 
hearty fit of laughing. 

" Come, come," said the Count, at last, " this 
will never do; if he goes on this way, we'll have 
the whole house about us. Come, then, harness 
the roan mare, and here's half-a-crown for you." 

" I wouldn't touch the best piece in your 
purse," said the poor boy, " sure its blood-money, 
no less." 

The words were scarcely spoken, when Consi- 
dine seized him by the collar with one hand, and 
b.y the wrist with the other, and carried him over 
the yard to the stable, where, kicking open the 
door, he threw him on a heap of stones, adding, 
'■ If you stir now, I'll break every bone in your 
body;" a threat that seemed certainly considera- 
bly increased in its terrors, from tiie rough gripe 
he had already experienced, for the lad rolled 
himself up like a ball, and sobbed as if his heart 
was breaking. 

'Very few minutes sufficed us now to harness 
the mare in the tax-cart, and, when all was ready, 
Considine seized the whip, and locking the stable- 
door upon Patsey, was about to get up, when a 
sudden thought struck him. " Charley," said he, 
"that fellow will find some means to give the 
alarm; we must take him with us." So saying 
he opened the door, and taking the poor fellow 
by the collar, flung him at my feet in the tax- 
cart. 

We had already lost some time, and the roan 
mare was put to her fastest speed to make up for 
it Our pace became, accordingly, a sharp one; 
and, as the road was bad, and the tax-cart no 
" patent inaudible," neither of us spoke. Tome 
this was a great relief; the events of the last few 
days had given them the semblance of years, and 
all the reflection I could muster was little enough 
to make anything out of the chaotic mass — love, 
mischief, and misfortune — in which I had been 
involved since my leaving O'Malley Castle. 

" Here we are, Charley," said Considine, draw- 
ing up short at the door of a little country ale-house, 
or in Irish parlance, shebeen, which stood at the 
meeting of four bleak roads, in a wild and barren 
mountain tract, beside the Shannon. " Here we 
are, my boy! jump out, and let us be stirring." 

" Here, Patsey, my man," said the count, un- 
ravelling the prostrate and doubly-knotted figure 
at our feet; "lend a hand, Patsey." Much to 
my astonishment, he obeyed the summons with 
alacrity, and proceeded to unharness the mare 
with the greatest despatch. My attention was, 
however, soon turned from him to my own more 
immediate concerns, and I followed my companion 
into the house. 



"Joe," said the count to the host, "is Mr. 
Bodkin up at the house this morning?" 

" He's just passed this way, sir, with Mr. 
Malowney of Tillnamuck, in the gig, on their way 
from Mr. Blake's. They stopped here to order 
horses to go over to O'Malley Castle, and the gos- 
soon is gone to look for a ])air." 

"All right," said Considine; and added, in a 
whisper, "we've done it well, Charley, to be 
beforehand, or the governor would have found i 
it all out, and taken the affair into his own hands. 
Now, all you have to do is, to stay quietly here' 
till I come back, which will not be above an hour 
at farthest. Joe, send me the pony — keep an eye 
on Patsey, that he doesn't play us a trick — the 
short way to Mr. Bodkin's is through Scarifl — ah, 
I know it well, good-bye Charley — by the Lord, 
we'll pepper him." 

These were the last words of the worthy 
count as he closed the door behind him, and left 
me to my own not very agreeable reflections. 
Independently of my youth and perfect ignorance 
of the world, which left me unable to form any 
correct judgment on my conduct, I knew that I 
had taken a great deal of wine, and was highly 
excited when my unhappy collision with Mr. 
Bodkin occurred. Whether, then, I had been 
betrayed into anything which could fairly have 
provoked his insulting retort or not, I could 
not remember; and now my most afflicting thought 
was, what ojiinion might be entertained of me by 
those at Blake's table; and above all, what Miss 
Dashwood herself would think, and what narra- 
tive of the occurrence would rea,ch her. The 
great effort of my last few days had been to stand 
well in her estimation, to appearsomething better 
in feeling, something higher in principle, than 
the rude and unpolished squirearchy about me, 
and now here was the end of it! What would 
she, what could she, think, but that I was the 
same punch-drinking, rowing, quarrelling bumpkin 
as those whom I had so lately been carefully 
endeavoring to separate myself from? How I 
hated myself for the excess to which passion had 
betrayed me, and how I detested my opponent 
as the cause of all my present misery. " How 
very differently," thought I, " her friend the 
captain would have conducted himself. His 
quiet and gentlemanly manner would have done 
fully as much to wipe out any insult on his honor 
as I could do, and after all, would neither have 
disturbed the harmony of a dinner-table, nor 
made himself, as I shuddered to think I had, a 
subject of rebuke, if not of ridicule." These 
harassing, torturing reflections continued to press 
on me, and I paced the room with my hands 
clasped and the pers])irntion upon my brow, 
" One thing is certain, — 1 can never see her again," 
thought 1; "this disgraceful business must, m 
some shape or other, become known to her, and 
all I have been sa\ing these last three days rise 
up in judgment against this one act, and stamp 
me an impostor; I that decried — nay, derided — 
our false notion of honor. Would that Considine 
were come! What can keep him now?" I walked 
to the door; a boy belonging to the house was 
walking the roan before the door. "What had, 
then, become of Pat?' 1 inquired; but no ont. 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE H^ISH DRAGOON. 



215 



could tell. He had disappeared shortly after 
our arrival, and had not been seen afterwards. 
Mv own thoughts were, however, too engrossing 
to permit nie to think more of this circumstance, 
and I turned again to enter the house, when 1 
saw Considine advancing up tiie road at the full 
S[)eed of his pony. 

" Out with the mare, Charley — be alive, my 
boy — all's settled." So saying, he sprajig from 
the pony, and proceeded to liarness the roan 
with tiie greatest haste, informing me in broken 
sentences as he went on with all the arrange- 
ment.s. 

" We are to cross the bridge of Portumna. 
They won the ground, and it seems Bodkin likes 
the snot; he shot Peyton there three years ago. 
Worse luck now, Charley, you know; by all the 
rules of chance, he can't expect the same thing 
twice — never four by honors in two deals — didn't 
say that, though — a sweet meadow, I know it 
well; small hillocks, like molehills all over it — 
caught him at breakfast; I don't think he e.vpected 
the message to come from us, but said that it was 
a very polite attention, and so it was, you know. " 

So he continued to ramble on as we once more 
took our seats in the ta.x-cart, and set out for the 
ground. 

" What are you thinking of, Charley.'" said the 
count, as I kept silent for some minutes. 

"I'm thinking, sir, if I were to kill him, what 
I must do after." 

"Right, my boy; nothing like that, but I'll 
settle all for you. Upon my conscience, if it 
wasn't for the chance of his getting into another 
quarrel and spoilmg the election, I'd go back 
for Godfrey; he'd like to see you break ground 
so prettily. And you say you're no shot?" 

" Never could do anything with the pistol to 
speak of, sir," said I, remembering his rebuke of 
the morning. 

"I don't mind that; you've a good eye; never 
take it off him after you're on the ground — fol- 
hnv him everywhere. Poor Callaghan, that's 
gone, shot his man always that way. Hj had a 
way of looking, without winking, that was very 
fatal at a short distance; a very good thing to 
learn, Charley, when you have a little spare time." 

Half an hour's sharp driving brought us to the 
river side, where a boat had been provided by 
Considine to ferry us over. It was now about 
eight o'clock, and a heavy, gloomy morning. 
Much rain had fallen overnight, and the dark 
and lowering atmosphere seemed charged with 
more. The mountains looked twice their real 
size, and all the shadows were increased to an 
enormous extent. A very killing kind of light 
it was, as the count remarked. 



CHAPTER VIII. 

THE DUEL. 



As the boatmen jnilled in towards the shore 
we perceive.l, a few hur.dred )'ards off, a grouji 
of persons standing, whom we soon recognized 
as our opponents. "Charley," said the count, 



grasping my arm tightly, as I stood up to spring 
on the land — "Charley, although you are only a 
boy, as I may say, I have no fear for your cour- 
age; but, still, more than that is needful' here. 
I'his Bodkin is a noted duellist, and will try to 
shake your nerve. Now, mind that you take 
everything that happens quite with an air of in- 
difference; don't let him think that he has any 
advantage o\er you, and you'll see how the tables 
will be turned in your favor." 

"Trust to me, count," said I; "I'll not disgrace ■ 
you." 

He pressed my hand tightly, and I thought 
that I discerned something like a slight twitch 
about the corners of his grim mouth, as if some 
sudden and painful thought had shot across his 
mmd; but in a moment he was calm, and stern- 
looking as ever. 

■'Twenty minutes late, Mr. Considine," said a 
short, red-faced little man, with a military frcck 
and foraging cap, as he held out his watch in 
evidence. 

" I can only say, Captain Malowney, that we 
lost no time since we parted; we had some diffi- 
culty in finding a boat; but, in any case, we are 
here tiow, and that, I opine, is the important part 
of the matter." 

" Quite right — very just, indeed. Will you pre- 
sent me to your young friend — very proud to 
make your acquaintance, sir; }0ur uncle and I 
met more than once in this kind of way. I was 
out with him in '92 — was it? no, I think it was 
'93 — when he shot Harry Burgo) ne, who, by-the- 
by, was called the crack shot of our mess; but, 
begad, your uncle knocked his pistol hand to 
shivers, saying in his dry way, 'He must try the 
left hand this morning.' Count, a little this side, 
if )ou please." 

While Considine and the captain walked a few 
paces apart from wliere 1 stood, I had leisure to 
observe my antagonist, who stood among a grouj) 
of his friends, talking and laughing away in great 
spirits. As the lone they sjoke in was not of the 
lowest, I could catch much of their conversation 
at the distance I was from them. They were dis- 
cussing the last occasion that Bodkin had visited 
this spot, and talking of the fatal event which 
happened then. 

" Poor devil," said Eodkin, "it wasn't his fault; 
but you see, some of the — th had been showing 
white feathers before that, and he was obliged to 
go out. In fact, the colonel himself said, ' Fight, 
or leave the corps.' Well, out he came: it was a 
cold morning in February, with a frost the night 
before, going off in a thin rain; well, it seems he 
had the consumption, or something of that sort, 
with a great cough and spitting of blood, and this 
weather made him worse, and he was very weak 
when he came to the ground. Now, the moment 
I got a glimpse of him, I said to myself, 'He's 
pluck enough, but as nervous as a lady;' for his 
eye wandered all about, and his mouth was con- 
stantly twitching. 'Take off your great-coat, 
Ned,' said one of his people, when they were 
going to put him up; 'take it off, man.' He 
seemed to hesitate for an instant, when Michael 
Biake remarked, ' Arrah, let him alone; it's his 
mother makes hiai wear it, for the cold he has." 



'216 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



They all began to laugh at this, but I kept niv eye 
upon him. And I saw that his cheek grew quite 
livid, and a kind of grey color, and his eyes 
filled up. ' I have you now,' said 1 to myself, and 
I shot liini through the lungs." 

" And this poor fellow," thought I, " was the 
only son of a widowed mother," I walked from 
the spot to avoid hearing further, and felt, as I 
did so, something like a spirit of vengeance rising 
within me, for the fate of one so untimely cut off. 

" Here we are, all ready," said Malowney, 
springing over a small fence into the adjoining 
field — "take your ground, gentlemen." 

Considine took my arm and walked forward. 
"Charley," said he, "I am to give the signal; 
I'll drop my glove when you are to fire, but don't 
look at me at all. I'll manage to catch Bodkin's 
eye, and do you watch him steadily, and fire when 
he does." 

"I think that the ground we are leaving behind 
us is rather l;etter,'' said some one. 

"So it is," said Bodkin; "but it might be 
troublesome to carry the young gentleman down 
that way — here all is fair and easy." 

The next instant we were placed, and I well 
remember the first thought that struck me was, 
tiiat there could be no chance of either of us es- 
caping. 

"Now, then," said the count, "I'll walk twelve 
paces, turn and drop this glove, at which signal 
you fire, and together mind. The man who re- 
serves his shot, falls by my hand." This very 
summary denunciation seemed to meet general 
approbation, and the count strutted forth. Not- 
withstanding the ad\ ice of my friend, I could not 
help turning my eyes from Bodkin to watch the 
retiring figure of the count. At length he 
stopped — a second or two elapsed — he wheeled 
rapidly round, and let fall the glove. Mv eye 
glanced toward my opponent, I raised my pistol 
and fired. My hat turned half round upon my 
head, and Bodkin fell motionless to the earth. I 
saw the people round me rush forward; I caught 
two or three glances thrown at me with an ex- 
pression of revengeful passion; I felt some one 
grasp me round the waist, and hurry me from the 
spot, and it was at least ten minutes after, as we 
were skimming the surface of the broad Shannon, 
before I could well collect my scattered faculties 
to remember all that was passing, as Considine, 
poiniing to the two bullet holes in my hat, re- 
marked, "Sharp practice, Charley; it was the 
overcharge saved you." 

" Is he killed, sir?" I asked. 

"Not quite, I believe, but as good; you took 
him just above the hip." 

" Can he recover?" said I, with a voice tremu- 
lous from agitation, which I vainly endeavored to 
conceal from my companion. 

" Not if the doctor can help it," said Considine, 
" for the fool keeps poking about for the ball. 
But now let's think of the next step; you'll have 
to leave this, and at once too." 

Little more passed between us. As we rowed 
towards the shore, Considine was following up 
his reflections, and I had mine, alas! too many 
and too bitter to escape from. 

As we neared the land, a strange spectacle 



caught our eye. For a considerable distance 
along the coast crowds of country people were 
assembled, who, forming in groups, and breaking 
into parties of two and three, were evidently 
watching with great anxiety what was taking 
place at the opposite side. Now the distance 
was at least a nule, and therefore any part of the 
transaction which had been enacting there must 
have been quite beyond their view. While I was 
wondering at this, Considine cried out suddenly, 
" Too infamous, by Jove; we're murdered men." 

" What do you mean?" said I. 

" Don't you see that?" said he, pointing to 
something black which floated from a pole at the 
opposite side of the river. 

" Yes; what is it?" 

" It's his coat they've put upon an oar to show 
the people he's killed, that's all. Every man 
here's his tenant, and look — there! — they're not 
giving us much doubt as to their intention." 
Here a tremendous yell burst forth from the mass 
of people along the shore, which, rising to a 
terrific cry, sunk gradually down to a low 
wailing, then rose and fell again several times, 
as the Irish death-cry filled the air and rose 
to heaven, as if imploring vengeance on a 
murderer. 

The appalling influence of the keen, as it is 
called, had been familiar to me from my infancy, 
but it needed the awful situation I was placed in 
to consummate its horrors. It was at once my ac- 
cusation and my doom. I knew well — none 
better — the vengeful character of the Irish peas- 
ant of the west, and that my death was certain I 
had no doubt. The very crime that sat upon my 
heart quailed its courage and unnerved my arm. As 
the boatmen looked from us towards the shore, 
and again at our faces, they, as if instinctively, 
lay upon their oars, and waited for our decision 
as to what course to pursue. 

" Rig the spritsail, my boys," said Considine, 
"and let her head lie up the river, and be alive, 
for I see they're c aling a boat below the little reef 
there, and will be after us in no time." 

The poor fellows, who, although strangers to 
us, symj)athizing in what they perceived to be our 
imminent danger, stepped the light spar which 
;!cted as mast, and shook out their scanty rag of 
canvas in a minute. Considine, meanwhile, went 
aft, and steadying her head with an oar, held the 
small craft up to the wind till she lay completely 
over, and, as she rushed through the water, ran 
dipi'ing her gunwale through the white foam. 

" Where can we make without tacking, boys?" 
inquired the count. 

" If it blows on as fresh, sir, we'll nm you 
ashore within half a mile of the castle." 

" Put an oar to leeward," said Considine, " and 
keep her up more to the wind, and I promise you, 
my lads, you will not go home fresh and fasting, 
if you land us where you say." 

" Here they come," said the other boatman, as 
he pointed back with his finger towards a large 
yawl, which shot suddenly frcm the shore, with 
six sturdy fellows pulling at their oars, while three 
or four others were endeavoring to get up their 
rigging, which njjpeared tangled and confused at 
the bottom of the boat; the white splash of water, 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



217 



which fell each moment beside her, showing that 
the process of baling was still continued. 

" Ah, then, may I never — av it isn't the ould 
Dolphin they liave launched for the cruise," said 
one of our fellows. 

" What's the Dolphin, then?" 

"An ould boat of the Lord's (Lord Clanri- 
carde) that didn't see water, except when it rained, 
these four years, and is sun-cracked from stem to 
stern." 

"She can sail, however," said Considine, who 
watched, with a painful anxiety, the rapidity of 
her course through the water. 

" Nabockiish, she was a smuggler's jolly-boat, 
and well used to it. Look how they're pulling, 
(iod pardon them; but they're in no blessed 
humor this morning." 

" Lay out upon your oars, boys; the wind's 
failing us," cried the count, as the sail flapped 
lazily against the mast. 

" It's no use, your honor," said the elder; 
"we'll be only breaking our hearts to no purpose; 
they're sure to catch us." 

" Do as I bade you, at all events. What's that 
ahead of us there?" 

"The Oat Rock, sir. A vessel with grain struck 
there, and went down with all aboard, four years 
last winter. There's no channel between it and 
the shore — all sunk rocks, every inch of it. 
There's the breeze" — the canvas fell over as he 
spoke, and the little craft lay down to it till the 
foaming water bubbled over her lee bow — "keep 
her head up, sir; higher — higher still" — but Con- 
sidine little heeded the direction, steering straight 
for the narrow channel the man alluded to. 
" Tear and ages, but you're going right for the 
cloch na quirka!" 

"Arrah, an' the devil a taste I'll be drowned 
for your devarsion," said the other, .springing up. 

" Sit down there, and be still," roared Considine, 
as he drew a pistol from the case at his feet, " if 
you don't want some leaden ballast to keep you 
so. Here, Charley, take this, and if that fellow 
stirs hand or foot — you understand me." 

The two men sat sulkily in the bottom of the 
boat, which now was actually flying through the 
water. Considine's object was a clear one; he 
saw that, in sailing, we were greatly over-matched, 
and that our only chance lay in reaching the nar- 
row and dangerous channel between the Oat 
Rock and the shore, by which we should distance 
the pursuit, the long reef of rocks that ran out 
beyond requiring a wide berth to escape from. 
Nothing but the danger behind us could warrant 
so rash a daring. The whole channel was dotted 
with patches of white and breaking foam — the 
sure evidence of the mischief beneath — while 
here and there a dash of spurting spray flew up 
from the dark water, where some cleft rock lay 
hid below the flood. Escape seemed impossible; 
but who would not have preferred even so slen- 
der a chance with so frightful an alternative be- 
hind him! As if to add terror to the scene, Con- 
sidine had scarcely turned the boat ahead of the 
channel when a tremendous blackness spread over 
all around; the thunder pealed forth, and, amid 
the crashing of the hail and the bright glare of 
lightning, a squall struck us, and laid us nearly 



keel uppermost for several minutes. I well re- 
member, we rubhed througli the dark and blacken- 
ing water, our little craft more than half filled, 
the oars floating off to leeward, and we ourselves 
kneeling on the bottom planks for safety. Roll 
after roll of loud thunder broke, as it were, just 
above our heads; while, in the swift dashing rain 
that seemed to hiss around us, every object was 
hidden, and even the other boat was lost to our 
view. The two poor fellows! I shall never for- 
get their e.xpression. One, a devout Catholic, had 
placed a little leaden image of a saint before him 
in the bow, and implored its intercession with a 
torturing agony of suspense that wrung my very 
heart; the other, apparently less alive to sucii 
consolations as his Church afforded, remained 
with his hands clasped, his mouth conijjressed, 
his brows knitted, and his dark eyes bent u])(in 
me with the fierce hatred of a deadly enemy; his 
eyes were sunken and bloodshot, and all told of 
some dreadful conflict within; the wild ferocity 
of his look fascinated my gaze, and amid all the 
terrors of the scene I could not look from him. As 
I gazed, a second and more awful squall struck the 
boat, the mast bent over, and, with a loud report 
like a pistol-shot, smashed at the thwart, and fell 
over, trailing the sail along the milky sea behind us. 
Meanwhile, the water rushed clean over us, and 
the boat seemed settling. At this dreadful mo- 
ment, the sailor's eye was bent upon me, his lips 
parted, and he muttered, as if to himself, " This 
it is to go to sea with a murderer." O God! the 
agony of that moment — the heartfelt and accusing 
consciousness that I was judged and doomed — 
that the brand of Cain was upon my brow — that 
my fellow-men had ceased forever to regard me 
as a brother — that I was an outcast and a wan- 
derer forever. I bent forward till my forehead 
fell upon my knees, and I wept. Meanwhile, the 
boat flew through the water, and Considine, who 
alone among us seemed not to lose his presence 
of mind, cut away the mast, and sent it overboard. 
The storm now began to abate, and, as the black 
mass of cloud broke from around us, we beheld 
the other boat, also dismasted, far behind us, while 
all on board of her were employed in baling out the 
water with which she seemed almost sinking. Tiie 
curtain of mist that had hidden us from each 
otlier no sooner broke than they ceased their la- 
bors for a moment, and, looking towards us, burst 
forth into a yell so wild, so savage, and so dreadful, 
my very heart quailed as its cadence fell upon my 
ear. 

"Safe, my boy," said Considine, clapping me 
on the shoulder, as he steered the boat forth from 
its narrow path of danger, and once more reached 
the broad Shannon — "safe, Charley; though 
we've had a brush for it." In a minute more we 
reached the land, and, drawing our gallant little 
craft on shore, set out for O'Malley Castle. 



CHAPTER IX. 

THE RETURN. 

O'Malley Castle lay about four miles from 



218 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



tiie spot we landed at, and thither accordingly we 
bent our steps without loss of time. We had not, 
however, proceeded far, when, before us on the 
road, we perceived a mixed assemblage of horse 
and foot, hurrying along at a tremendous rate. 
'I'he mob, which consisted of some hundred 
country people, were armed with sticks, scythes, 
and pitchforks, and, although not preserving any 
very military aspect in their order of march, were 
still a force quite formidable enough to make 
us call a halt, and deliberate upon what we were 
to do. 

"They've outflanked us, Charley," said Consi- 
dine; "' however, all is not yet lost. But see, 
they've got sight of us — here they come." 

At these words, the vast mass before us came 
pouring along, splashing the mud on every side, 
and huzzaing like so many Indians. In the front 
ran a bare-legged boy, waving his cap to en- 
courage the rest, who followed him at about fifty 
yards behind. 

'■ Leave that fellow for me," said the count, 
coolly examining the lock of his pistol; " I'll pick 
him out, and load again in time for his friends' 
arrival. Charley, is that a gentleman I see far 
back in the crowd ? Yes, to be sure it is? he's 
on a large horse — now he's pressing forward, sa 
let — no — oh — ay — it's Godfrey O'Malley himself, 
and these are our own people." Scarc:ely were 
the words out when a tremendous cheer arose 
from the multitude, who, recognising us at the 
same instant, sprung from their horses and ran 
forward to welcome us. Among the foremost 
was the scarecrow leader, whom I at once per- 
ceived to be poor Patsey, who, escaping in the 
morning, had returned at full speed to O'Malley 
Castle, and raised the whole country to my rescue. 
Before I could address one word to my faithful 
followers, I was in my uncle's arms. 

" Safe, my boy, quite safe?" 

" Quite safe, sir." 

" No scratch anywhere?" 

" Nothing but a hat the worse, sir," said I, 
showing the two bullet holes in my headpiece. 

His lip quivered as he turned and whispered 
something into Considine's ear. which I heard 
not; but the count's reply was, " Devil a bit, as 
cool as you see him this minute." 

" And Bodkin, what of him?" 

" This day's work's his last," said Considine; 
"the ball entered here; but come along, God- 
frey; Charley's new at this kind of thing, and we 
"liad better discuss matters in the house." 

Half an hour's brisk trot — for we were soon 
supplied with horses — brought us back to the 
Castle, much to the disappointment of our cortege, 
who had been promised a scrimma^^e, and went 
back in very ill-humor at the breach of contract. 

The breakfast-room, as we entered, was filled 
with my uncle's supporters, all busily engaged 
over poll-books and booth tallies, in preparation 
for the eventful day of battle. These, however, 
were immediately thrown aside to hasten round 
me, and inquire all the details of my duel. Con- 
sidine, happily for me, however, assumed all the 
dignity of an historian, and recounted the events 
of the morning so much to my honor and glory, 
that I, who only a little before felt crushed and 



bowed down by the misery of my late duel, began, 
amid the warm congratulations and eulogiums 
about me, to think I was no small hero; and, in fact, 
something very much resembling " the man for 
Galway." To this feeling a circumstance that fol- 
lowed assisted in contributing; while we were 
eagerly discussing the various results likely to 
arise from the meeting, a horse galloped rapidly 
to the door, and a Itiud voice called out, " I can't 
get off, but tell him to come here." We rushed 
out, and beheld Captain Mnlowney, Mr. Bodkin's 
second, covered with mud from iiead to foot, and 
his horse reeking with foam and sweat. ''I am 
hurrying on to Athlone for another doctor; but 
I've called to tell you that the wound is not sup- 
posed to be mortal — he may recover yet." With- 
out waiting for another word, he dashed spurs 
into his nag, and rattled down the avenue at full 
gallop. Mr. Bodkin's dearest friend on earth 
could not have received the intelligence with more 
delight, and I now began to listen to the congratu- 
lations of my friends with a more tranquil spirit. 
My uncle, too, seemed much relieved by the in- 
formation, and heard with great good temper my 
narrative of the few days at Gurt-na-Morra. " So 
then," said he, as I concluded, "my opponent is 
at least a gentleman; tiiat is a comfort." 

"Sir George Dashwood," said I, "from all I 
have seen, is a remarkably nice person, and I am 
certain you will meet with only the fair and le- 
gitimate opposition of an opposing candidate in 
him — no mean or unmanly subterfuge." 

"All right, Charley. Well, now, your affair of 
this morning must keep you (juiet here for a few 
days, come what will; by Monday next, when the 
election takes place. Bodkin's fate will be pretty 
clear, one way or the other, and, if matters go 
well, you can come into town; otherwise, I have 
arranged with Considine to take you over to the 
Continent for a year or so; but we'll discuss all 
this in the evening. Now, I must start on a can- 
vass. Boyle expects to meet you at dinner to- 
day; he is coming from Athlone on purpose. 
Now, good-bye!" 

When my uncle had gone I sank into a chair, 
and fell into a musing fit over all the changes a 
few hours had wrought in me. From a mere boy, 
whose most serious employment was stocking the 
house with game, or inspecting the kennel, I had 
sprung at once into man's estate, was compli- 
mented for my coolness, praised for my prowess, 
lauded for my discretion, by those who were my 
seniors by nearly half a century; talked to in a 
tone of confidential intimacy by my uncle, and, 
in a word, treated in all respects as an equal — 
and such was all the work of a few hours. But 
so it is, the eras in life are separated by a narrow 
boundary: — some trifling accident, some casual 
rencontre, impels us across the Rubicon, and we 
pass from infancy to youth — from youth toman- 
hood — from mnnhood to age — less by the slow 
and imperceptible step of time than by someone 
decisive act or passion, 'which occurring at a 
critical moment, elicits a long latent feeling, and 
impresses our existence with a color that tinges it 
for many a long year. As for me, I had cut the 
tie which had bound me to the careless gayety of 
boyhood with a rude gash. In three short days 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



219 



I had fallen deeply, desperately in love, and 
had wounded, if not killed, an antagonist in a 
duel. As I meditated on these things, I was 
aroused by the noise of horses' feet in the yard 
beneath. I opened the window and beheld no 
less a person than Captain Hammersley. He was 
handing a card to a servant, which lie was ac- 
companying by a verbal message: tlie impres- 
sion of sometliing like hostility on the part of the 
captain had never left my mind, and I hastened 
down-stairs just in time to catch him as he turned 
from the door. 

"Ah, Mr. O'Malley!" said he, in his most cour- 
teous tone, " they told me vou were not at home." 

I apologized for the blunder, and begged of 
liim to alight and come in. 

''I thank you, very much; but, in fact, my 
hours are now numbered here. I have just re- 
ceived an order to join my regiment: we have 
been ordered for service, and Sir George has 
most kindly permitted my giving up my staff ap- 
pointment. I could not, however, leave the coun- 
try without shaking hands with you. I owe you 
a lesson in horsemanship, and I'm only sorry that 
we are not to have another day together." 

"Then you are going out to the Peninsula?" 
said I. 

"Why, we hope so: the Commander-in-Chief, 
they say, is in great want of cavalry, and we 
scarcely less in want of something to do. I'm 
sorry vou are not coming witli us." 

"Would to Heaven I were!" said I, with an 
earnestness that almost made my brain start. 

" Then, why not?" 

" Unfortunately, I am peculiarly situated. My 
worthy uncfe, who is all to me in this world, 
would be quite alone if I were to leave him; and 
although he has never said so, I know he dreads 
the possibility of my suggesting such a thing to 
him; so th-it, between his f-ars and mine, the 
matter is never broached by either party, nor do 
I think ever can be." 

"Devilish hard — but I believe you are right; 
something, however, may turn up yet to alter his 
mind, and, if so, and if you do take to dragoon- 
ing, don't forget George Hammersley will be 
always most delighted to meet you; and so good- 
bye, O'Malley, good bye." 

He turned his horse's head and was already 
some paces off, when he returned to my side, and, 
in a lower tone of voice, said: 

" I ought to mention to you that there has been 
mucli discussion on your affair at Blake's table, 
and only one opinion on the matter among all 
parties — that you acted perfectly right. Sir 
("■eorge Dasliwood — no mean judge of such things 
■ — <}uite approves of your conduct, and I believe 
wishes you to know as much; and now, once 
more, good-bye." 



CHAPTER X. 

THE ELECTION. 



The important morning at length arrived, and, 
as I looked from my bedroom window at day- 



break, the crowd of carriages of all sorts and 
shapes, decorated with banners and placards; the 
incessant bustle; the hurrying hither and thither; 
the cheering as each new detachment of voters 
came up, mounted on jaunting cars, or on horses 
whose whole caparison consisted in a straw rope 
for a bridle, and a saddle of the same frail mate- 
rial — all informed me that the election day was 
come. I lost no further time, but proceeded to 
dress with all possible despatch. When I appeared 
in the breakfast- room, it v as already filled with 
some seventy or eighty ])ersons of all ranks and 
ages, mingled confusedly together, and enjoying 
the hospitable fare of my uncle's house, while they 
discussed all the details and prosjjects of the elec- 
tion. In the hall — the library — the huge drawing- 
ing room, too, similar parlies were also assembled,, 
and, as new comers arrived, the servants were busy 
in preparing the tables before the door, and up 
the large terrace that ran the entire length of the 
building. Nothing could be more amusing than 
the incongruous mixture of the guests, who, with 
every variety of eatable that chance or inclination 
provided, were thus thrown into close contact, hav- 
ing only this in common, the success of the cause 
they were engaged in. Here was the Galway squire, 
with an ancestry that rem hed to Noah, sitting side 
by side witli the poor cottier, whose whole earthly 
possession was what, in Irish phrase, is called 
a "potato garden," meaning the exactly smallest 
possible patch of ground cut of which a very 
Indian-rubber conscience could presume to vote. 
Here sat the old, simple-minded, farmer-like man, 
in close conversation with a little white-foreheaded, 
keen-eyed personage, in a black coat and eye- 
glass — a flash attorney from Dublin, learned in 
laws of the registry, and deep in the subtleties of 
-lection law. 'J'here was an Athlone horse-dealer, 
whose habitual daily practices in inqjosing the 
'lalt, the lame, and the blind upon the unsuspect- 
ing, for beasts of blood and mettle, well qualified 
him for the trickery of a county contest. Then 
Lhere were some scores of squireen gentry, easily 
recognized on ccmmon occasions by a green coat, 
brass buttons, dirty cords, and dirtier top-boots, 
a lash-whip, and a half-bred fox-hound; but now, 
fresh- washed for the day, they presented some- 
thing of the appearance of a swell mob, adjusted to 
the meridian of Galway. A mass of frieze-coated, 
brown-faced, bullet-headed peasantry filling up 
the large spaces, dotted here and there with a sleek, 
roguish-eyed priest, or some low electioneering 
agent, detailing, for the amusement of the com- 
pany, some of those cunning practices of former 
times, which, if known to the proper authorities, 
would, in all likelihood, cause the talented narrator 
to be improving the soil of Sydney, or fishing on 
the banks of the Swan River; while, at the head 
and foot of each table, sat some personal friend of 
my uncle, whose ready tongue, and still readier 
pistol, made him a personage of some consequence, 
not more to his own people than to the enemy. 
While of such material were the company, the 
fare before them was no less varied; here some 
rubicund squire was deep in amalgamating the 
contents of a venison pasty with some of Sneyd's 
oldest claret; his neighbor, less ambitious, and 
less erudite in such matters, was devouring rashers 



220 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



of bacon, with liberal potations of poteen; some 
pale-cheeked scion of the law, with all the dust of 
the Four Courts in his throat, was sipping his 
humble beverage of black tea beside four sturdy 
cattle-dealers from Ballinasloe, who were discuss- 
ing hot whiskey punch and spotcaion (boiled beef) 
at the very primitive hour of eight in the morning. 
Amid the clank of decanters, the crash of knives 
and plates, the jingling of glasses, the laughter and 
voices of the guests were audibly increasing, and 
the various modes of " running a buck" (anglic'c 
substituting a vote), or hunting a badger, were 
talked over on all sides, while the price of a veal 
(a calf) or a voter was disputed with all the energy 
of debate. 

Refusing many an offered place, I went through 
the different rooms in search of Considine, to 
whom circumstances of late had somehow greatly 
attached me. 

" Here, Charley," cried a voice I was very 
familiar with — " here's a place I've been keeping 
for you." 

"Ah, Sir Harry, how do you do? Any of that 
grouse-pie to spare?" 

"Abundance, my boy; but I'm afraid I can't 
say as much for the liquor: I have been shouting 
for claret this half hour in vain — do get us some 
nutriment down here, and the Lord will reward 
you. What a pity it is," he added, in a lower tone, 
to his neighbor — " what a pity a quart bottle won't 
hold a quart; but I'll bring it before the house 
one of these days." That he kept his word in this 
ri.spect, a motion on the books of the Honorable 
House will bear me witness. 

" Is this it?" said he, turning towards a farmer- 
like old man, who had put some question to him 
across the table; "is it the apple-pie you'll 
have?" 

" Many thanks to your honor — I'd like it, av it 
was wholesome." 

"And why shouldn't it be wholesome?" said Sir 
Harry. 

"Troth, then, myself does not know; but my 
father, I heerd tell, died of an apple-plexy, and 
I'm afeerd of it." 

I at length found Considine, and learned that, 
as a very good account of Bodkin had arrived, 
there was no reason why I should not proceed to 
the hustings; but I was secretly charged not to 
take any prominent part in the day's proceedings. 
My uncle I only saw for an instant; — he begged 
me to be careful, avoid all scrapes, and not to 
quit Considine. It was past ten o'clock when 
our formidable procession got under way, and 
headed towards the town of Galway. The road 
was, for miles, crowded with our followers; ban- 
ners flying and music playing, we presented some- 
thing of the spectacle of a very ragged army on 
its march. At every cross-road a mountain-path 
reinforcement awaited us, and, as we wended 
along, our numbers were momentarily increasing; 
here and there along the line, some energetic and 
not over-sober adherent was regaling his auditory 
with a speech in laudation of tlie O'Malleys since 
the days of Moses, and more than one priest was 
heard threatening the terrors of his Church in aid 
of a cause to whose success he was pledged and 
bound. I rode beside the count, who, sur- 



rounded by a group of choice spirits, recounted 
the various happy inventions by which he had, 
on divers occasions, substituted a personal quar- 
rel for a contest. Boyle also contributed his 
share of election anecdote, and one incident he 
related, which, I remember, amused me much at 
the time. 

" Do you remember Billy Calvert, that came 
down to contest Kilkenny?" inquired Sir Harry. 
What! ever forget him!" said Considine, 
"with his well-powdered wig, and his hessians. 
There never was his equal for lace ruffles and 
rings." 

" You never heard, maybe, how he lost the 
election?" 

"He resigned, I believe, or something of that 
sort." 

"No, no," said another; "he never came for- 
ward at all; there's some secret in it, for Tom 
Butler was elected without a contest." 

"Jack, I'll tell you how it happened. I was 
on my way up from Cork, having finished my 
own business, and just carried the day, not with- 
out a push for it. When we reached — Lady Mary 
was with me — when we reached Kilkenny, the 
night before the election, I was not ten minutes 
in town till Butler heard of it, and sent off ex- 
press to see me; I was at my dinner when the 
messenger came, and promised to go over when 
I'd done; but, faith, Tom didn't wait, but came 
rushing up-stairs himself, and dashed into the 
room in the greatest hurry. 

" ' Harry,' says he, ' I'm done for; the corpora- 
tion of free smiths, that were always above bribe- 
ry, having voted for myself and my tather before, 
for four pounds ten a man, won't come forward 
under six guineas and whiskev. Calvert has the 
money; they know it. The devil a farthing we 
have; and we've been paying all our fellows that 
can't read in Hennessy's notes, and you know the 
bank's broke these three weeks.' 

"On he went, giving me a most disastrous pic- 
ture of his cause, and concluded by asking if 
I could suggest anything under tiie circum- 
stances. 

" 'You couldn't get a decent mob and clear the 
poll ?■ 

" 'I am afraid not,' said he, despondingly. 

" ' Then I don't see what's to be done, if you 
can't pick a fight with himself. Will he go out?' 

" ' Lord knows; they say lie's so afraid of that, 
that it has prevented him coming down till the 
very day. But he is arrived now; he came in 
the evening, and is stopping at Walsh's, in Pat- 
rick street.' 

"'Then I'll see what can be done,' said I. 

"'Is that Calvert, the little man that blushes 
wheti the Lady-Lieutenant speaks to him?' said 
Lady Mary. 

" ' The very man.' 

" ' Would it be of any use to you if he could 
not come on the hustings to-morrow?' said she 



again 
ft 1 1 



Twould gain iis the day; half the voters 
don't believe he's here at all, and his chief agent 
cheated all the people on the last election, and 
if Calvert didn't appear, he wouldn't have ten 
votes to register. But why do you ask?' 




u. 



'M (ff/rn 



'<///>//. 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



221 



"'Why, that, if you like, I'll bet you a pair of 
diamond earrings he shan't show.' 

'■'Done,' said Butler; 'and I promise a neck- 
lace into the bargain, if yoti win, but I'm afraid 
you're only tpiizzing me.' 

■"Here's my hand on it,' said she; 'and now 
let's talk of something else.' 

'"As Lady Mary never asked my assistance, 
and as I knew she was very well able to perform 
whatever she undertook, you may be sure I gave 
myself very little trouble aboui the whole affair, 
and, when they came, I went off to breakfast with 
'I'om's committee, not knowing anything that was 
to be done. 

"Calvert had given orders that he was to be 
called at eight o'clock, and so a few minutes 
before that time a gentle knock came to the 
door. 

■' ■ Come in,' said he, thinking it was the waiter, 
and covering himself up in the clothes, for he was 
the most bashful creature ever was seen — 'come 
in.' 

" The door opened, and what was his horror 
to find that a lady entered in her dressing-gown, 
her hair on her shoulders, very much tossed and 
dishevelled! The moment she came in she closed 
the door, and locked it, and then sat leisurely 
down upon a chair. 

"Billy's teeth chattered, and his limbs trem- 
bled, for this was an adventure of a very novel 
kind for him. At last he took courage to 
speak. 

" ' I am afraid, madam,' said he, 'that you are 
under some unhappy mistake, and that you sup- 
pose this chamber is ' 

" 'Mr. Calvert's,' said the lady, with a solemn 
voice, ' is it not?' 

" ' Yes, madam, I ain that person.' 

" 'Thank God,' said the lady, with a very im- 
pressive tone, 'here I am safe.' 

"Billy grew very much puzzled at these 
words; but hoping that, by his silence, the lady 
would proceed to sume explanation, he said no 
more. She, however, seemed to think that noth- 
ing further was necessary, and sat still and motion- 
less, with her hands before her, and her eyes fixed 
on Billy. 

" 'You seem to forget me, sir,' said she, with a 
faint smile. 

"'I do, indeed, madam; the half-light, the 
novelty of your cos;u ne, and the strangeness of 
the circumstance altogether, must plead for me — 
if I appear rude enough.' 

" ' I am Lady Mary Boyle,' said she. 

"'I do remember you, madame; but may I 
ask ' 

'' 'Yes yes, I know what you would ask; you 
would say, why are you here? how comes it that 
you have so far outstepped the propriety of which 
your whole life is an example, that alone, at such 
a time, you appear in the chamber of a man 
whose character for gallantry ' 

" ' Oh, indeed — indeed, my lady, nothing of the 
kind.' 

" 'Ah, alas! poor defenceless women learn, too 
late, how constantly associated is the retiring 
modesty which decries, with the pleasing powers 
which ensure success ' 



" Here she sobbed, Billy blushed, and the 
clock struck nine. 

" ' May I then beg, madam ' 

" 'Yes, ye.«, you shall hear it all; but my poor 
scattered faculties will not be the clearer by your 
hurrying me. You know, perhaps,' continued 
she, ' that my maiden name was Rogers.' He 
of the blankets bowed, and she resumed. 'It is 
now eighteen years since, that a young, unsus- 
pecting, fond creature, reared in all the care and 
fondness of doting partrits. tempted her first 
step in life, and trusted her fate to another's 
keeping. I am that unhappy person; the other, 
that monster in human guise, that smiled but to 
betrav, that won but to ruin and destroy, is he 
whom you know as Sir Harry Boyle.' 

" Here she sobbed for some minutes, wiped her 
eyes, and resumed her narrative. Beginning at 
the period of her marriage, she detailed a num- 
ber of circumstances, which poor Calvert, in 
all his anxiety to come au fond at matters, could 
never perceive bore upon the question in any 
way; but, as she recounted them all with great 
force and precision, entreating him to bear in 
mind certain circumstances to which she should 
recur by-and-by, his attention was kept on the 
stretch, and it was only when the clock struck 
ten that he was fully aware how his morning was 
passing, and what surmises his absence might 
originate. 

"'May I interrupt you for a moment, dear 
madam? Was it nine or ten o'clock which struck 
last?' 

" ' How should I know?' said she, frantically. 
'What are hours and minutes to her who has 
passed long years of misery?' 

"'Very true — very true,' replied he, timidly, 
and rather fearing for the intellect of his fair 
companion. 

" She continued. 

" The narrative, however, so far from becom- 
ing clearer, grew gradual!)* more contused and 
intricate, and, as frequent references were made 
by the lady to some ])revious statement, Calvtrt 
was more than once rebuked for forgetfulness 
and inattention, where, in reality, nothing less 
than shorthand could have borne him through. 

'■ ' Was it in '93 I said that Sir Harry left me 
at Tuam?' 

" ' LTpon my life, madam, I am afraid to aver; 
but it strikes me ' 

"'Gracious powers! and this is he whom I 
fondly trusted to make the depository of my 
woes — cruel, cruel man.' Here she sobbed con- 
siderably for several minutes, and sjioke not. 

"Aloud cheer of 'Butler forever!' from the 
mob without, now burst u])on their hearing, and 
recalled poor Calvert at once to the thought that 
the hours were speeding fast, and no prospect of 
the everlasting tale coming to an end. 

" ' I am deeply, most deeply grieved, my dear 
madam,' said the little man, sitting up in a pyra- 
mid of blankets, 'but hours, minutes, are most 
precious to me this morning. I am about to be 
proposed as member for Kilkenny.' 

"At these words the lady straightened her fig- 
ure out, threw her arms at either side, and burst 
into a fit of laughter, which poor Calvert knew 



222 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



at once to be hysterics. Here was a pretty situ- 
ation; the bell-rope lay against the opposite wall, 
and, even if it did not, would he be exactly war- 
ranted in pulling it? 

"'May the devil and all his angels take Sir 
Harry Boyle and his whole connection to the fifth 
generation,' was his sincere prayer, as he sat, like 
a Chinese juggler, under his canopy. 

" At length the violence of the paroxysm 
seemed to subside, the sobs became less frequent, 
the kicking less forcible, and the lady's eyes 
closed, and she appeared to have fallen asleep. 

" ' Now is the moment,' said Billy, ' if I could 
only get as far as my dressing-gown.' So saying, 
he worked himself down noiselessly to the foot 
of his bed, looked fixedly at the fallen lids of the 
sleeping lady, and essayed one leg from the 
blankets. ' Now or never,' said he, pushing aside 
the curtain, and preparing for a spring. One 
more look he cast at his companion, and then 
leaped forth; but just as he lit upon the floor, she 
again roused herself, screaming with horror. 
Billy fell upon the bed, and rolling himself in 
the bedclothes, vowed never to rise again till she 
was out of the visible horizon. 

■"What is all this? what do you mean, sir?' 
said the lady, reddening w-ith indignation. 

" ' Nothing, upon my soul, madam; it was only 
my dressing-gown!' 

" 'Your dressing-gown!' said she, with an em- 
phasis worthy of Siddons; 'a likely story for Sir 
Harry to believe, sir; fie, fie. ':ir.' 

"This last allusion seemed a settler; for the 
luckless Calvert heaved a profound sigh, and sunk 
down as if all hope had left him. ' Butler for- 
ever!' roared the mob; 'Calvert forever!' cried a 
boy's voice from without; 'Three groans for the 
runaway!' answered this announcement; and a 
very tender inquiry of, 'Where is he?' was raised 
by some hundred moufhs. 

"'Madam,' said the almost frantic listener — 
'madam, I must get up; I must dress. I beg of 
you to permit me." 

'"I have nothing to refuse, sir. Alas! disdain 
has long been my only portion. Get up, if you 
will.' 

" ' But,' said the astonished man, who was well- 
nigh deranged at the coolness of this reply — 'but 
how am I to do so if you sit there?' 

"'Sorry for any inconvenience I may cause 
you; but, in the crowded state of the hotel, I hope 
you see the impropriety of my walking about the 
passages in this costume.' 

"'And, great God! madam, why did you come 
out in it?" 

" A cheer from the mob prevented her reply 
being audible. One o'clock tolled out from the 
great bell of the cathedral. 

"'There's one o'clock, as I live.' 

'"I heard it,' said the lady. 

"'The shouts are increasing. What is that I 
hear? Butler is in. Gracious mercy, is the elec- 
tion over?' 

" The lady stepped to the window, drew aside 
the curtain, and said, ' Indeed, it would appear so. 
The mob are chairing Mr. Butler.' (.\ deafen- 
ing shout burst from tiie street.) ' Perhaps you'd 
like to see the fun, so I'll not detain you ary 



longer. So, good-by, Mr. Calvert; and as your 
breakfast will be cold, in all likelihood, come 
down to No. 4, for Sir Harry's a late man, and 
will be glad to see you.' " 



CHAPTER XI. 



AN ADVENTURE. 



As thus we lightened the road with chatting, 
the increasingconcourse of people, and ih.e greater 
throng of carriages that filled the road, announced 
that we had nearly reached our destination. 

" Considine," said my uncle, riding up to where 
we were, " I have just got a few lines from Davern. 
It seems Bodkin's people are afraid to come in; 
they know what they must expect, and if so, 
more than half of that barony is lost to our 
opponent." 

"Then he has no chance whatever." 

" He never had, in my opinion," said Sir Harry. 

" ^Ve'll see soon," said my uncle, cheerfully, 
and rode to the post. 

The remainder of the way was occupied in dis- 
cussing the various possibilities of the election, 
into which I was rejoiced to find that defeat never 
entered. 

In the goodly days I speak of, a county contest 
was a very different thing indeed from the tame 
and insipid farce that now passes under that name; 
where a briefless barrister, bullied by both sides, 
sits as assessor — a few drunken voters — a radi- 
cal O'Connellite grocer — a demagogue priest — a 
deputy grand purple something from the Trinity 
College lodge, with some half-dozen followers, 
shouting, "To the devil with Peel!" or "Down 
with Dens!" form the whole corps i/e ballet. No. 
no; in the times I refer to the voters were some 
thousands in number, ar.d the adverse parties took 
the field, far less dependent for success upon 
previous pledge or promise made them, than upon 
the actual stratagem of the day. Each went forth 
like a genera! to battle, surrounded by a numerous 
and well-chosen staff, one party of friends, acting 
as commissariat, attended to the victualling of 
the voters — that they obtained a due, cr rather 
undue allowance of liquor, and came properly 
drunk to the poll, others, again broke into skir- 
mishing parties, and, scattered over the country, 
cut off the enemy's supj-lies, breaking down their 
post-chaises, upsetting their jaunting-cars, steal- 
ing their poll books, and kidnapping their agents. 
Then there were secret service people, bribing the 
enemy and enticing them to desert, and lastly 
there was a species of sapper and miner force 
who invented false documents, denied the identify 
of the opposite party's people, and, when hard 
pushed, provided persons who took bribes from 
the enemy, and .gave evidence afterwards on a 
petition. Amid all these encoiniters of wit and 
ingenuity the personal friends of the candidates 
formed a species of rifle brigade, picking out the 
enemy s officers and doing sore damage to theii 
tactics by shooting a proposer, or wounding a 
se onder — a considerable portion of every lead- 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



223 



ififi; agent's fee being intended as compensation 
for the duels he might, could, would, should, or 
ought to light during the election. Such, in brief, 
wns a contest in the olden time; and, when it is 
taken into consideration that it usually lasted a 
fortnight or three weeks, that a considerable mili- 
tary force was always engaged ^for our Irish law- 
permits this), and which, when nothing pressing 
was doing, was regularly assailed by both parties 
— that f;ir more dependence was placed in a blud- 
geon than a pistol — and that the man who regis- 
tered a vote without a cracked pate was regarded 
as a kind of natural phenomena, some faint idea 
may be formed how much such a scene must have 
contiibuted to the peace of the country, and the 
happiness and welfare of all concerned in it. 

As we rode along, a loud cheer from a road 
that ran parallel to the one we were pursuing at- 
tracted our attention, and we perceived that the 
cortege of the opposite party was hastening on 
to the hustings. I could distinguish the Blakes' 
girls on horseback among a crowd of officers in 
undress, and saw something like a bonnet in the 
carriage-and-four which headed the procession, 
and which I judged to be that of Sir George 
IJashwood. My heart beat strongly as I strained 
iny eyes to see if Miss Dashwood was there; but 
I could not discern her, and it was with a sense 
of relief that I reflected on the possibility of 
our not meeting under circumstances wherein 
our feelings and interests were so completely op- 
posed. While I was engaged in making this 
survey, I had accidentally dropped behind my 
companions; my eyes were firmly fixed upon that 
carriage, and, in the faint hope that it contained 
the object of all my wishes, I forgot everything 
else. At length the cortege entered the town, 
and, passing beneath a heavy stone gateway, was 
lost to my view. I was still lost in reverie, when 
an under-agent of my uncle's rode up. 

"Oh! Master Charles," said he, "what's to be 
done? Tiiey've forgotten Mr. Holmes at Wood- 
ford, and we haven't a carriage, chaise, or even a 
car left to send for him," 

" Have you told Mr. Considine?" inquired I. 

" And sure you know yourself how little Mr. 
Considine thinks of a lawyer. It's small comfort 
he'd give me if I went to tell him; if it was a case 
of pistols or a bullet-mould, he'd ride back the 
whole way himself for them." 

"Try Sir Harry Boyle, then." 

" He's making a speech this minute before the 
Court-house." 

This had sufficed to show me how far behind 
my companions I had been loitering, when a cheer 
from the distant road again turned my eyes in 
that direction; it was the Dashwood carriage 
returning after leaving Sir George at the hustings. 
The head of the britska, before thrown open, 
was now closed, and I could not make out if any 
one were inside. 

"Devil a doubt of it," said the agent, in 
answer to some question of a farmer who rode 
beside him; "will you stand to me?" 

"Troth, to be sure I will." 

" Here goes, then," said he, gathering up his 
reins and turning liis horse towards the fence at 
the roadside; " follow me now, boys." 



The order was well obeyed, for, when he had 
cleared the ditch, a dozen stout country fellows, 
well mounted, were beside him. Away they went 
at a hunting pace, taking every leap before them, 
and heading towards the road before us. 

Without thinking further of the matter, I was 
laughing at the droll effect the line of frieze coals 
presentetl as they rode side by sideover the stone 
walls, when an observation near me aroused my 
attention. 

"Ah, then, av they know anything of 'I'im 
Finucane, they'll give it up jieaceably: it's little 
he'd think of taking the conch from under the 
judge himself." 

" What are they about, boys?" said I. 

"Coin' to take the chaise-and-four forninst ye, 
yer honor," said the man. 

I waited not to hear more, but darling spurs 
into my horse's sides, cleared the fence in one 
bound. My horse, a strong-knit half-bred, was 
as fast as a racer for a short distance; so that 
when the agent and his party had come up with 
the carriage, I was only a few hundred yards be- 
hind. I shouted out with all my might, but they 
either heard not or heeded not, for scarcely was 
the first man over the fence into the road, when 
the postilion on the leader was felled to the ground, 
and his place supplied by his slayer; the boy on 
the wheeler shared the same fate, and, in an in- 
stant, so well managed was the attack, the car- 
riage Mas in possession of the assailants. Four 
stout fellows had climbed into the box and the 
rumble, and six others were climbing to the 
interior, regardless of the aid of steps. By this 
time the Dashwood party had got tne alarm, and 
returned in full force- — not, however, before il.e 
other had laid whip to the horses, and set out in 
full gallop; and now commenced the most terrific 
race I ever witnessed. 

The four carriage horses, which were the prop- 
erty of Sir George, -were English thorough- 
breds of great value, and, totally unaccustomed 
to the treatment they experienced, dashtd for- 
ward at a pace that threatened annihilation to the 
carriage at every bound. The pursuers, though 
well mounted, were speedily distanced, but fol- 
lowed at a pace that, in the end, was certain to 
overtake the carriage. As for myself, I rode on 
beside the road, at the full speed of my horse, 
shouting, cursing, imploring, execrating and be- 
seeching at turns, but all in vain — the yells and 
shouts of the pursuers and jjursued drowned all 
other sounds, except when the thundering crash 
of the horses' feet rose above all. The road, 
like most western Irish roads until the present 
century, lay straight as an arrow for miles, regard- 
less of every opposing barrier, and, in the in- 
stance in question, crossed a mountain at its very 
highest point. Towards this pinnacle the pace 
had been tremendous; but, owing to the higher 
breeding of the cattle, the carriage party had 
still the ad\-ance, and when they reached the top 
they proclaimed the victory by a cheer of triumph 
and derision. The carriage disappeared be- 
neath the crest of the mountain, and the 
pursuers halted, as if disposed to relinqui.sh the 
chase. 

"Ccnv: on, boys. Xevcr g;ve up," cried I, 



224 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



springing over into the road, and heading the 
]>arty to which by every right I was opposed. 

It was no time for dehberation, and they fol- 
lowed me with a hearty cheer that convinced me 
I was unknown. The next instant we were on 
the mountain top, and beheld the carriage half 
way down beneath us, still galloping at full 
stretch. 

"We have them now," said a voice behind me; 
"they'll never turn Lurra Bridge, if we only press 
on." 

The speaker was right; the road at the moun- 
tain foot turned at a perfect right angle, and then 
crossed a lofty one-arched bridge, over a moun- 
tain torrent that ran deep and boisterously be- 
neath. On we went, gaining at every stride, for 
the fellows who rode postilion well knew what 
was before them, and slackened their pace to 
sicure a safe turning. A yell of victory arose 
from the pursuers, but was answered by the oth- 
ers with a cheer of defiance. The space was now 
scarcely two hundred yards between us, when the 
head of the britska was flung down, and a figure 
that I at once recognized as the redoubted Tim 
Finucane, one of the boldest and most reckless 
fellows in the county, was seen standing on the 
seat, holding — gracious Heavens! it was true — • 
holding in his arms the apparently lifeless figure 
of Miss Dashvvood. 

"Hold in!" shouted the ruffian, with a voice 
that rose high above all the other sounds. " Hold 
in! or, by the Eternal, I'll throw her, body and 
bones, into the Lurra Gash!" for such was the 
torrent called, that boiled and foamed a few 
yards before us. 

He had by this time got firmly planted on the 
hind seat, and held the drooping form on one 
arm, with all the ease of a giant's grasp. 

"For the love of God!" said I, "pull up. I 
know him well — he'll do it to a certainty if you 
press on." 

"And we know you, too," said a ruffianly fellow, 
with a dark whisker meeting beneath his chin, 
"and have some scores to settle ere we part " 

But I heard no more. With one tremendous 
effort I dashed my horse forvyard. The carriage 
turned an angle of the road — for an instant was 
out of sight — another moment I was behind it. 

"Stop!" I shouted, with a last effort, but in 
vain. The horses, maddened and infuriated, 
sprang forward, and, heedless of all efforts to 
turn them, the leaders sprang over the low para- 
pet of the bridge, and hanging for a second by 
the traces, fell with a crash into the swollen tor- 
rent beneath. By this time I was beside the 
carriage. Finucane had now clambered to the 
box, and, regardless of the death and ruin 
around, bent upon his murderous object, he 
lifted the light and girlish form above his head, 
bent backwards, as if to give greater impulse to 
his effort, when, twining my lash around my 
wrist, I levelled my heavy and loaded hunting 
whip at his head; the weighted ball of lead struck 
him exactly beneath his hat, he staggered, his 
Iiands relaxed, and he fell lifeless to the ground; 
the same instant I was felled to the earth by a 
blow from behind, and saw no more. 



CHAPTER XII 



MICKEY FREE. 



Nearly three weeks followed the event I have 
just narrated ere I was again restored to con- 
sciousness. The blow by which I was felled — 
from what hand coming it was never after dis- 
covered — had brought on concussion of the 
brain, and for several days my life was despaired 
of. As by slow steps I advanced towards recov- 
ery, I learned from Considine that Miss Dash- 
wood, whose life was saved by my interference, 
had testified, in the warmest manner, her grati- 
tude, and that Sir George had, up to the period 
of his leaving the country, never omitted a sin- 
gle day to ride over and inquire for me. 

"You know, of course," said the count, sup- 
posing such news was the most likely to interest 
me — -"you know we beat them?" 

"No. Pray tell me all. They've net let me 
hear anything hitherto." 

" One day finished the whole affair. AVe polled 
man for man till past two o'clock, when our fel- 
lows lost all patience, and beat their tallies out 
of the town. The police came up, but they beat 
the police; then they got soldiers, hut, begad, 
they were too strong for them, too. Sir George 
witnessed it all, and, knowintr besides how little 
chance he had of success, deemed it best lo give 
in; so that a little before five o'clock he resigned. 
I must say no man could behave better. He 
came across the hustings and shook hands with 
Godfrey; and, as the news of the sciimmage \\\l\\ 
his daughter had just arrived, said that he was 
sorry his prospect of success had not been greater, 
that, in resigning, he might testify how deeply he 
felt the debt the O'Malleys had laid him under." 

" And my uncle, how did he receive his ad- 
vances?" 

" Like his own honest self; grasped his hand 
firmly; and upon my soul, I think he was half 
sorry that he gained the day. Ho you know, he 
took a mighty fancy to that blue-eyed daughter 
of the old general's. Faith, Charley, if he was 
some twenty years younger, 1 would not say 

but Come, come, I didn't mean to hurt 

your feelings; but I have been staying here too 
long. I'll stnd up Mickey lo sit with you. Mind 
and don't be talking too much to him." 

So saying, the worthy count left the room, fully 
impressed that, in hinting at the possibility of my 
uncle's marrying again, he had said something to 
ruftie my temper. 

For the next two or three weeks my life was 
one of the most tiresome monotony. Strict in- 
junctions had been given by the doctors to avoid 
exciting me; and, consequently, every one that 
came in walked on tiptoe, spoke in whispers, and 
left me in five minutes. Reading was absolutely 
forbidden; and. with a sombre half-light to sit in, 
and chicken broth to support nature, I dragged 
out as dreary an existence as any gentleman wes| 
of Athlone. 

Whenever my uncle or Considine were not ii 
the room, my companion was my own servant, 
Michael, or, as he was better known, " Mickey 
Free." Now, had Mickev been left to his owa 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



S2,'5 



free and unrestricted devices, tlie time would not 
have hung so heavily; for, among Mike's mani- 
fold gifts, he was possessed of a very great flow 
o'f gossiping conversation; he knew all that was 
doing in the county, and never was barren in his 
information wherever his imagination could come 
into play. Mickey was the best hurler in the 
barony, no mean performer on the violin, could 
dance the national bolero of "Tatter Jack Walsh" 
in a way that charmed more than one soft heart 
beneath a red woolsey bodice, and had, withal, 
the peculiar free-and-easy devil-may-care kind of 
off-hand Irish way, that never deterted him in 
the midst of his wiliest and most subtle moments, 
giving to a very deep and cunning fellow all the 
apparent frankness and openness of a country lad. 

He had attached himself to me as a kind of 
sporting companion; and, growing daily more 
and more useful, had been gradually admitted to 
the honors of the kitchen and the prerogatives of 
cast clothes, without ever having been actually 
engaged as a servant; and while thus no warrant 
officer, as, in fact, he discharged all his duties 
well and punctually, was rated among the ship's 
company, though no one could say at what pre- 
cise period he changed his catterpillar existence 
and became the gay butterfly, with cords and 
tops, a striped vest, and a most knowing jerry 
hat, who stalked about the stable-yard and bul- 
lied the helpers. Such was Mike. He had made 
his fortune, such as it was, and had a most be- 
coming pride in the fact that he made himself 
indispensable to an establishment which, before 
he entered it, never knew the want of him. As 
for me, he was everything to me. Mike informed 
me what horse was wrong, why the chestnut mare 
couldn't go out, and why the black horse could. 
He knew the arrival of a new covey of partridges 
quicker than the Morning Post does of a noble 
family from the Continent, and could tell their 
whereabouts twice as accurately; but his talents 
took a wider range than field sports afford, and 
he was the faithful chronicler of every wake, 
station, wedding, or christening for miles around; 
and as I took no small pleasure in those very 
national pastimes, the information was of great 
value to me. To conclude this brief sketch, 
Mike was a devout Catholic, in the same sense 
that he was enthusiastic about anything; that is, 
he believed and obeyed exactly as far as suited 
his own peculiar notions of comfort and happi- 
ness. Beyond that, his scepticism stepped, in 
and saved him from inconvenience; and though 
he might have been somewhat puzzled to reduce 
his faith to a rubric, still it answered his j)urpose, 
and that was all he wanted. Such, in short, was 
my valet, Mickey Free, and who, had not heavy 
injunctions been laid on him as to silence and 
discretion, would well have lightened my weary 
hours. 

"Ah! then, Misther Charles," said he, with a 
half-suppressed yawn at the long period of pro- 
bation his tongue had been undergoing in silence 
^-"ah! then, but ye were mighty near it." 

" Near what?" said I. 

" Faith, then, myself doesn't well know. Some 
Bay it's purgathory; but it's hard to tell." 

" I thought yoa were too good a Catholic, 



Mickey, to show any doubts on the matter?" 

"Maybe I am — maybe I ain't," was the cau- 
tious reply. 

"Wouldn't Father Roach explain any of your 
difficulties for you, if you went over to him?" 

" Faix, it's little I'd mind his e.xplainings." 

" And why not?" 

" Easy enough. If you ax ould Miles there, 
without, what does he be doing with all the pow- 
ther and shot, wouldn't he tell you he's shooting 
the rooks, and the magpies, and some otiier 
varmints? but myself knows he sells it to the 
Widow Casey, at two-and-fourpence a pound; so 
belikes. Father Roach may be shooting away at 
the poor souls in purgathory, that all this time- 
are enjoying the hoith of fine living in heaven, ye 
understand." 

"And you think that's the way of it, Mickey?" 

"Troth, it's likely. Anyhow, I know it's not 
the place they make it out." 

" Why, how do you mean?" 

"Well, then, I'll tell you, Mislher Charles; 
but you must not be saying anything about it 
afther; for I don't like to talk about these kind 
of things." 

Having pledged myself to the requisite silence- 
and secrecy, Mickey began: 

" Maybe you heard tell of the way my father,, 
rest his soul, wherever he is, came to his end?' 
Well, I needn't mind particulars, but, in short, he- 
was murdered in Ballinasloe one night, when he- 
was baitin' the whole town with a blackthorn, 
stick he had, more by token, a piece of a scythe 
was stuck at the end of it; a nate weapon, and' 
one he was mighty partial to; but these murder- 
ing thieves, the cattle dealers, that never cared' 
for diversion of any kind, fell on him and broke 
his skull. 

" Well, we had a very agreeable wake, andl 
plenty of the best of everything, and to spare,, 
and I thought it was all over; but somehow,, 
though I paid Father Roach fifteen shillings, and: 
made him mighty drunk, he always gave me a.' 
black look wherever I met him, and when L took 
off my hat, he'd turn away his head displeased' 
like. 

"' Murder and ages,' says I, 'what's this for?' 
but as I've a light heart, I bore up, and didn't 
think more about it. One day, however, I was 
coming home from Athlone market, by myself 
on the road, when Father Roach overtook me. 
' Devil a one o' me 'ill take any notice of you now,' 
says I, 'and we'll see what'll come out of it.' So- 
the priest rid up, and looked me straight in the 
face. 

" ' Mickey,' says he — ' Mickey.' 

" ' Father,' says I. 

" ' Is it that way you salute your clargy,* says- 
he, 'with your caubeen on your head?' 

" ' Faix," says I, ' it's little ye mind whether it's 
an or aff, for you never take the trouble to say, 
" By your leave," or " Damn your soul," or any 
other politeness, when we meet.' 

" ' You're an ungrateful creature, 'says he; ' and' 
if you only knew, you'd be trembling in your skin; 
before me, this minute.' 

"' Devil a tremble,' says 1, 'afther walking six 
miles this way.' 



226 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



'"You're an obstinate, hard-hearted sinner,' 
savs he, 'and it's no use in telling you.' 

" ' TelUng me what?' says I, for I was getting 
curious to make out what he meant. 

" ' Miclcey,' says ha, changing his voice, and 
putting his head down close to me — 'Mickey, I 
saw your father last night.' 

"'The saints be merciful to us!" says J, 'did 
ye?' 

" ' I did,' says he. 

"'Tear and ages,' says I, ' did he tell you what 
he did with the new corduroys he bought in the 
fair?' 

"'Oh! then, you are a could-hearted creature,' 
says he, 'and I'll not lose time with you.' With 
that he was going to ride away, when I took hold 
of the bridle. 

'"Father, darling,' says I, ' God pardon me, 
but them breeciies is goin' between me an' my 
night's rest; but tell me about my father?' 

"'Oh! then, he's in a melancholy state!' 

"'Whereabouts is he?' says I. 

'"In purgathory,' says he; 'but he won't be 
there long.' 

" ' Well,' says I, 'that's a comfort, anyhow.' 

" ' I am glad you think so,' says he; ' but there's 
more of the other opinion.' 

"'What's that 7' says I. 

"'That hell's worse.' 

"'Oh! melia-murther,' says I, 'is that it?' 

'" Ay, that's it.' 

"Well, I was so terrified and frightened, I said 
nothing for some time, but trotted along beside 
the priest's horse. 

"'Father,' says I, 'how long will it be before 
they send him where you know?' 

'"It will not be long now.' says he, 'for they're 
tired entirely with him; they've no peace night 
or day,' says he. ' Mickey, your father is a mighty 
hard man.' 

" ' True for you. Father Roach,' says I, to my- 
■self; ' av he had only the ould stick with the 
scythe in it, I wish them joy of his company.' 

"'Mickey,' says he, 'I see you're grieved, and 
I don't wonder; sure, it's a great disgrace to a 
decent family.' 

"'Troth, it is,' says I, 'but my father always 
liked low company. Could notliing be done for 
him now, Father Roach?' says I, looking up in the 
priest's face. 

"'I'm greatly afraid, Mickey, he was a bad 
man, a very bad man.' 

"'And ye think he'll go there?' says I. 

"'Indeed, Mickey, I have my fears.' 

Upon my conscience,' says I, ' I believe 
you're right; he was always a restless crayture.' 
But it doesn't depind on him,' says the priest, 
crossly. 

" ' And, then, who then?' says I. 

" * Upon yourself, Mickey Free,' says he; ' God 
pardon you for it, too." 

" ' Upon me?' says I. 

" 'Troth, no less,' says he; 'how many masses 
was said for your father's soul? — how many aves? 
— how many jiaters? — answer me.' 

" 'Devil a one of me knows! — maybe twenty.' 

"'Twenty, twenty — no, nor one.' 

"'And why not?' says I; 'what for wouldn't 



you be helping a poor crayture out of trouble, 
when it wouldn't cost you more nor a handful oi 
prayers?' 

" ' Mickey, I see,' says he, in a solemn tone, 
'you're worse nor a haythen, but ye couldn't be 
other; ye never come to yer duties.' 

Well, father,' says I, looking very penitent, 
' how many masses would get him out?" 

Now you talk like a sensible man," says he. 
'Now, Mickey, I've hopes for vou. Let me see'/ 
— here he went coiiniin' upon his fingers, anq 
numberin' to himself for five minutes — ' Mickey,' 
says he, ' I've a batch ccming out on Tuesday 
week, and if you were to make great exertions^ 
perhaps your father could come with them; that 
is, av they have made no objections.' 

" 'And what for would they?' says I; 'he was 
alw.ays the hoith of company, and av singings 
allowed in them parts ' 

" ' God forgive you, Mickey, but yer in a be- 
nighted state,' says he, sighing. 

" ' Well, says I, ' how'll we get him out on 
Tuesday week? for that's bringing things to a 
focus.' 

" ' Two masses in the morning, fastin,' says 
Father Roach, half loud, ' is two, and two in the 
afternoon is four, and two at vespers is six,' sa\s 
he; ' si.x masses a day for nine days is close by 
sixty masses — say sixty,' says he; 'and they'll 
cost you — mind, Mickey, and don't be telling it 
again, for it's only to yourself I'd make them so 
cheap — a matter of three pounds. 

"'Three pounds!' says I; 'be-gorra ye might 
as well ax me to give you the rock of Cashel.' 

" 'I'm sorry for ye, Mickey,' says he, gatherin' 
up the reins to ride off — 'I'm sorry for ye; and 
the time will come when the neglect of your poor 
father will be a sore stroke agin yourself.' 

"' Wait a bit, your reverence,' says I — 'wait a 
bit. Would forty shillings get him out?" 

" ' Av course it wouldn't,' says he. 

"'Maybe,' says I, coaxing — 'maybe, av you 
said that his son was a poor boy that lived by his 
industhry, and the times was bad ' 

" ' Not the least use,' says he. 

" ' Arrah, but it's hard-hearted they are,' thinks 
I. ' Well, see now, I'll give you the money, but 
I can't afford it all at onst; but I'll pay five shil- 
lings a week — will that do?' 

" 'I'll do my endeayvors,' says Father Roach; 
' and I'll speak to them to treat him peaceably in 
the meantime.' 

" ' Long life to yer reverence, and do. Well, 
here now, here's five hogs to begin with; and, 
musha, but I never thought I'd be spending my 
loose change that way.' 

" Father Roach put the six tinpinnies in the 
pocket of his black leather breeches, said some- 
thing in Latin, bid me gocd-morning, and rode 
off. 

" Well, to make my story short, I worked late 
and early to pay five shillings a week, and I did 
do it for three weeks regular; then I brought four 
and fourpence — then it came down to one and 
tenpence halfpenny — then ninepence — and, at 
last, I had nothing at all to firing. 

" ' Mickey Free,' says the priest, ' ye must stir 
yourself; your father is mighty displeased at the 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



22; 



way you've been doing of late; and av ye kept 
yer word, he'd be near out by this time.' 

" ' Troth,' says I, ' it's a very expensive place.' 

" ' By coorsc it is,' says- he; ' sure all the quality 
of the land's there. But, Micke)', my man, with 
a little exertion, your father's business is done. 
What are you jingling in your i)ocket there?' 

" 'It's ten shillings, your reverence, I have to 
buy seed potatoes.' 

" ' Hand it here, my son. Isn't it better your 
father would be enjoying himself in paradise, 
than if ye were to have all the potatoes in Ire- 
land ?• 

" ' And how do ye know,' says I, ' he's so near 
out?" 

"'How do I know — how do I know, is it? — 
didn't I see him?' 

" ' See him? tear an ages, was you down there 
acain?' 

■' ' I was,' says he; ' I was down there for three- 
quarters of an hour yesterday evening, getting 
out Luke Kennedy's mother. Decent people the 
Kennedys — never spared expense.' 

" ' And ye seen my father?' says I. 

"'I did,' says he; 'he had an ould flannel 
waistcoat on, and a pipe sticking out of the pocket 
av it.' 

" 'That's him,' says I. ' Had he a hairy cap?' 

"'I didn't mind the cap,' says he, ' but av 
coorse he wouldn't have it on his head in that 
place.' 

" ' Thrue for you,' says I. ' Did he speak to 
you?' 

" ' He did,' says Father Roach; ' he spoke very 
hard about the way he was treated down there, 
that they was always jibin' and jeerin' him about 
drink, and fightin,' and the coorse he led up here, 
and that it was a queer thing, for the matter of 
ten shillings, he was to be kept there so long.' 

"' Well,' says I, taking out the ten shillings 
and counting it with one hand, 'we must do our 
best, anyhow; and ye think this '11 get him out 
surely?' 

"'I know it will,' says he; 'for when Luke's 
mother wa-; Leaving the place, and yer father saw 
the door open, he made a rush at it, and, be- 
gorra, before it was shut he got his head and one 
shoulder outside av it, so that, ye see, a thrifle 
more'll do it.' 

" 'Faix, and yer reverence,' says I, 'you've 
lightened my heart this morning.' And I put my 
money back again in my pocket. 

" 'Why, what do you mean?' says he, growing 
very red, for he was angry. 

Just this,' says I, ' that I've saved my money; 
for av it was my father you seen, and that he got 
his head and one shoulder outside the door, oh, 
then, by the powers!' says I, 'the devil a gaol or 
gaoler, from hell to Connaught id hould him; so, 
\ Father Roach, I wish you the top of the morning.' 
And I went away laughing; and from that day to 
this I never heard mor,- of purgathory;andye see. 
Master Chirles, I think I was right." 

Scarcely had Mike concluded when my door 
was suddenly burst open, and Sir Harry Boyle, 
without assuming any of his usual precautions 
respecting silence and (piiet, ruslied into the 
room, a broad grin upon his honest features, and 



his eyes twinkling in a way that evidentl)- showid 
me something had occurred to amuse him. 

" By Jove, Charley, I mustn't keep it from you, 
it's too good a thing not to tell you; do you 
remember that very essenced young gentleman 
who accompanied Sir George Dashwood from 
Dublin, as a kind of electioneering friend?" 

"Do you mean Mr. Prettyman?" 

"The very man; he was, 50U are aware, an 
under-secretary in some government department. 
Well, it seems that he had come down among uf 
poor savages as much from motives of learned 
research and scientific inquiry, as though we had 
been South Sea Islanders; report had gifted us 
humble Galwayans with some very peculiar traits, 
and this gifted individual resolved to record 
them. Whether the election week might have 
sufficed his appetite for wonders I know not, but 
he was peaceably taking his departure from the 
west on Saturday last, when Phil Macnaniara met 
him, and pressed him to dine that day with a few 
friends at his house. You know Phil; so that 
when I tell you Sam Burke, of Greenmount, and 
Roger Doolan were of the party, I need ijot say 
that the English traveller was not left to his own 
unassisted imagination for his facts; such anec- 
dotes of our habits and customs as they crammed 
him with, it would appear, never were heard 
before — nothing was too hot or too heavy for the 
luckless cockney, who, when not sipjjing his claret, 
was faithfully recording in bis tablet the mems. for 
a very brilliant and very original work on Ireland. 

"'Fine country — splendid country — glorious 
people — gifted — brave — intelligent — but not hap- 
j.iy — alas! Mr. Macnamara, not happy. But we 
don't know you, gentlemen — we don't, indeed; at 
the other side of the Channel our notions regard- 
ing you are far, very far from just.' 

"'I hope and trust,' said old Burke, 'you'll 
help them to abetter understandmg ere long.' 

"'Such, my dear sir, will be the proudest task 
of my life. The facts I have heard here this 
evening have made so profound an impression 
upon me, that I burn for the moment when I can 
make them known to the world at large. 'Po 
think — just to think, that a portion of this beau- 
tiful island should be steejied in povert) — that 
the people not only live upon the mere potatoes, 
but are absolutely obliged to wear the skins for 
raiment, as Mr. Doolan has just mentioned to 
me.' 

"'Which accounts for our cultivation of 
lumpers,' added Mr. Doolan, 'they being the 
largest species of the root, and best adapted for 
wearing apparel.' 

" ' I should deem myself culpable, indeed I 
sboidd, did I not inform my countrymen upon 
the real condition of this great country.' 

"'Why, after your great opportunities for 
judging,' said Phil, 'you ought to speak out. 
You've seen us in a way, I may fairly affirm, few 
Englishmen have, and heard more.' 

"'That's it — that's the very thing, Mr. Mac- 
namara. I've looked at you more closely, I've 
watched \ou more narrowly, I've witnessed what 
the French call your " rvi' intiine." ' 

'"Begad you have,' said old Burke, with a 
grin, 'and profited by it to tb.e utmost.' 



223 



CHARLES OMALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



" ' I've been a spectator of your election con- 
tests—I've partaken of your hospitality — I've 
witnessed your popular and national sports — I've 
been present at your weddings, your fairs, your 
ivakes; but no, I was forgetting, I never saw a 
ivake.' 

" ' Never saw a wake?' repeated each of the 
company in turn, as though tlie gentleman was 
littering a sentiment of very dubious veracity. 

"' Never,' said Mr. Prettyman, rather abashed 
at this proof of his incapacity to instruct his 
EngHsh friends upon (/// matters of Irish interest. 

" ' Well, then,' said Macnamara, ' with a bles- 
sing, we'll show you one. Lord forbid that we 
shouldn't do the honors of our poor country to 
an intelligent foreigner when he's good enough to 
come amongst us.' 

" ' Peter,' said he, turning to the servant behind 
him, ' who's dead hereabouts?' 

" ' Sorra one, yer honor. Since the scrimmage 
at Portumna the place is peaceable.' 

" ' Who died lately in the neighborhood?' 

" ' The widow Macbride, yer honor.' 

"'Couldn't they take her up again, Peter? My 
friend here never saw a wake.' 

" ' I'm afeered not, for it was the boys roasted 
her, and she wouldn't be a decent corpse for to 
show a stranger,' said Peter, in a whisper. 

" Mr. Prettyman shuddered at these peaceful 
indications of tTie neighborhood, and said nothing. 

'■' Well, then, Peter, tell Jemmy Devine to take 
the old musket in my bedroom, and go over to 
the Clunagh bog — he can't go wrong — there's 
twelve families there that never pay a halfpenny 
rent, and i^'hen it's done, let him give notice to the 
neighborhood, and we'll have a rousing wake.' 

'" You don't mean, Mr. Macnamara — you don't 

mean to say ,' stammered out the cockney, 

with a face like a ghost. 

"'I only mean to say,' said Phil, laughing, 
'that you're keeping the decanter very long at 
your right hand.' 

" Burke contrived to interpose before the 
Englishman could ask any explanation of what 
he had just heard — and for some minutes he 
could only wait in impatient an.xiety — when a 
loud report of a gun close beside the house at- 
tracted the attention of the guests; the next 
moment old Peter entered, his face radiant with 
smiles. 

" 'Well, what's that?' said Macnamara. 

'"'Twas Jimmy, yer honor. As the evening 
was rainy, he said lie'd take one of the neighbors, 
and he hadn't to go far, for Andy Moore was 
going home, and he brought him down at once." 

"'Did he shoot him?' said Mr. Prettyman, 
while cold perspiration broke over his forehead. 
' Did he murder the man?' 

'" Sorra murder,' said Peter, disdainfully; 'but 
why wouldn't he shoot him when the master bid 
him?' 

"I needn't tell you more, Charley; but in ten 
rfiinutes after, feigning some excuse to leave the 
room, the terrified cockney took flight, and of- 
fering twenty guineas for a horse to convey him 
to Athlone, he left Galway, fully convinced that 
they don't yet know us on the other side of the 
'Jhannel." 



CHAPTER XIII. 



THE JOURNEY. 



The election concluded — the turmoil and ex- 
citement of the contest over — all was fast resum- 
ing its accustomed routine around us, when one 
morning my uncle informed me that I was at 
length to leave my native county, and enter upon 
the great world as a student of Trinity College, 
Dublin. Although long since in expectation of 
this eventful change, it was with no slight feeling of 
emotion I contemplated the step, wliich, remov- 
ing me at once from all my early friends and as- 
sociations, was to surround me with new compan- 
ions and new influences, and place before me 
very different objects of ambition from those 1 
had hitherto been regarding. 

My destiny had been long ago decided; the 
army had had its share of the family, who 
brought little more back with them from the 
wars than a short allowance of members and 
shattered constitutions; the navy had proved, on 
more than one occa.sion, that the fate of the 
O'Malleysdid not incline to hanging; so that, in 
Irish estimation, but one alternative remained, and 
that was the bar. Besides, as my uncle remarked, 
with great truth and foresight, "Charley will be 
tolerably independent of the public, at all events; 
for, even if they never send him a brief, there's 
law enough in the family to last /lis time" — a 
rather novel reason, by-the-by, for making a man 
a lawyer, and which induced Sir Harry, with his 
usual clearness, to observe to me: 

"Upon my conscience, boy, you are in luck. 
If there had been a Bible in the house, I firmly 
believe he'd have made you a parson." 

Considine alone, of all my uncle's advisers, did 
not concur in this determination respecting me. 
He set forth, with an eloquence that certainly 
converted me, that my head was better calcu- 
lated for bearing hard knocks than unravelling 
knotty points; that a shako would become it in- 
finitely better than a wig; and declared roundly, 
that a boy who began so well, and had such very 
pretty notions about shooting, was positively 
thrown away in the Four Courts. My uncle, 
however, was firm, and, as old Sir Harry sup- 
ported him, the day was decided against us, 
Considine murmuring, as he left the room, some- 
thing that did not seem quite a brilliant antici- 
pation of the success awaiting me in my legal 
career. As for myself, though only a silent spec- 
tator of the debate, all my wishes were with the 
count. From my earliest boyhood a military life 
had been my strongest desire; the roll of the 
drum, and the shrill fife that played through the 
little village, with its ragged troop of recruits fol- 
lowing, had charms for me I cannot describe; and 
had a choice been allowed me, I would infinitely 
rather have been a sergeant in the dragoons than 
one of his Majesty's learned in the law. If, then, 
such had been the cherished feeling of many a 
year, how much more strongly were my aspira- 
tions heightened by the events of the last few 
days. The tone of superiority I had witnessed 
in f^amraersley, whose conduct to me at parting 
had placed him high in my esltem — the quiet 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



229 



contempt of civilians, implied in a thousand sly 
ways — the exalted estimate of liisown profession, 
at once wounded my pride and stimulated my 
ambition; and, lastly, more than all, the avowed 
preference that Lucy Dashwood evinced for a 
military life, were stronger allies than my own 
conviction needed to make me long for the army. 
So completely did the thougiit possess me, that 1 
felt if I were not a soldier I cared not what 
became of me. Life had no other object of 
ambition for me than military renown, no other 
success for which I cared to struggle, or would 
value when obtained. "Aut Ccesar, au't iwUus," 
thought I; and when my uncle determined I 
should be a lawyer, I neither murmured nor ob- 
jected, but hugged myself in the prophecy of 
Considine, that hinted pretty broadly, " the devil a 
stupider fellow ever opened a brief; but he'd 
made have a slashing light dragoon." 

The preliminaries were not long in arranging. 
It was settled that I should be immediately de- 
spatched to Dublin to the care of Doctor Mooney, 
tlien a junior fellow in tlie University, who would 
take me into his especial charge; while Sir Harry 
was to furnish me with a letter to his old friend. 
Doctor Barret, whose advice and assistance he 
estimated at a very high price. Provided with 
such documents, I was informed that the gates of 
knowledge were more than half ajar for me, with- 
out an effort upon my part. One only portion of 
all the arrangements I lieard with anything like 
pleasure; it was decided that my man Mickey was 
to accompany me to Dublin, and remain with me 
during my stay. 

It was upon a clear, sharp morning in January, 
of the year i8 — , that I took my place upon tjie 
bo.\-seat of the old Galway mail, and set out on 
my journey. My heart was depressed and my 
spirits were miserably low. I had all that feeling 
of sadness which leave-taking inspires, and no 
s istaining prospect to cheer me in the distance. 
Fir ti^j first time in my life, I had seen a tear 
gli n in my pooruncle's eye, andheard his voice 
lalter as he said " Farewell!" Notwithstanding 
the difference of age, we had been perfectly com- 
panions together; and, as I thought now over all 
the thousand kindnesses and affectionate instances 
of his love I had received, my heart gave way, 
and the tears coursed slowly down my cheeks. I 
turned to give one last look at the tall chimneys 
and the old woods, my earliest friends, but a turn 
of the road had shut out the prospect, and thus I 
took my leave of Galway. 

My friend Mickey, who sat behind with the 
guard, participated but little in my feelings of re- 
gret. The potatoes in the metropolis could 
scarcely be as wet as the lumpers in Scariff, he 
had heard the whiskey was not dearer, and looked 
forward to the other delights of the capital witli 
a longing heart. Meanwhile, resolved that no 
portion of his career should be lost, he was light- 
ening the road by anecdote and song, and held 
an audience of four people, a very crusty-looking 
old guard included, in roars of laughter. Mike 
had contrived, with his usual J'tjiwr/iwr, to make 
himself very agreeable to an extremely pretty- 
looking country girl, around whose waist he had 
most 'ovingly passed his arm, under pretence of 



keeping her from falling, and to whom, in the 
midst of all his attentions fo the party at large, 
he devoted himself considerably, pressing his sail 
with all the aid of his native minstrelsy. 
" Hould me tight, Miss Matilda, dear." 
" My name's Mary Brady, av ye plase." 
"Ay, and I do plase." 

"Oh, Mary Brady, yoii are my darlin'. 
You are my looliing i^lass, from ni^httill morning; 
I'd raylher have ye wilhoiu one farlliLn, 
Nor Shusey Gallagher and her house and garden. 

May I never av I wouldn't, then; and ye needn't 
be laughing." 

" Is his honor at home?" 

This speech was addressed to a gaping country 
fellow, that leaned on his spade to see the coach 
pass. 

" Is his honor at home? I've something for 
him from Mr Davern." 

Mickey well knew that few western gentlemen 
were without constant intercourse with the Ath- 
lone attorney The poor countryman accordingly 
hastened through the fence, and pursued the 
coach with all speed for above a mile, Mike pre- 
tending all the time to be in the greatest anxiety 
for his overtaking thtni; until at last, as he 
stopped in despair, a hearty roar of laughter told 
him that, in Mickey's /i2;7(7«ir<', he was " sould." 

" Taste it, my dear; devil a harm it'll do ye; 
it never paid the king sixpence." 

Here he filled a little horn vessel from a black 
bottle he carried, accompanying the action with 
a song, the air to which, if any of my readers feel 
disposed to sing it, I may observe bore a resem- 
blance to the well-known " A Fig for St. Denis 
of France." 

" POTEEN, GOOD LUCK TO YE, DE.\R. 

** Av I was a monarch in state. 

Like Romulus or Julius Ciysar, 
With the best of fine victuals to eat, 

And drink like great Nebuchadnezzar, 
A rasher ot bacon I'd liave, 

And potatoes the finest was seen, sir; 
And for drink, it's no claret I'd crave. 
But a keg of ould Mullens' poteen, sir. 

With the smell of the smoke on it still. 

*' They talk of the Romans of ould, 

Whom they s.iy in their own times was frisky; 
But trust me, to keep out the could, 

The Romans at home here like whiskey. 
Sure it warms both llie head and the heart. 

It's the soul of all re.-idiu' and writin". 
It teaches both science ar.d art. 

And disposes for love or for fightin'. 

Oh, poteen, good luck to ye, dear." 

This very classic production, and the black 
bottle which accompanied it, completely estab- 
lished the singer's pre-eminence in the company; 
and I heard sundry sounds resembling drinking, 
with frequent good wishes to the provider of the 
feast. "Long life to ye, Mr. Free," "Your 
health and inclinations, Mr. Free," etc.; to which 
Mr. Free responded by drinking those of the 
company, "av they were vartuous." The amica- 
ble relations thus happily established, promised a 
very lasting reign, and would, doubtless, have en- 



230 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



joyed such, had not a slight incident occurred, 
which for a brief season interrupted them. At 
the village where we stopped to breakfast, three 
very venerable figures presented themselves for 
places in the inside of the coach: they were 
habited in black coats, breeches, and gaiters, wore 
hats of a very ecclesiastical breadth in their brim, 
and had altogether the peculiar air and bearing 
which distinguishes their calling, being no less 
than three Roman Catholic prelates on their way 
to Dublin to attend a convocation. While Mickey 
and his friends, with the ready tact which every 
low Irishman possesses, immediately perceived 
who and what these worshipful individuals were, 
another traveller, who had just assumed his place 
on the outside, participated but little in the feel- 
ings of reverence so manifestly displayed, but 
gave a sneer of a very ominous kind, as the skirt 
of the last black coat disappeared within the 
coach. This latter individual was a short, thick- 
set, bandy-legged man, of about fifty, with an 
enormous nose, which, whatever its habitual col- 
oring, on the morning in question was of a bril- 
liant purple. He wore a blue coat, with bright 
buttons, upon which some letters were inscribed, 
and around his neck was fastened a ribbon of 
the same color, to which a medal was attached. 
This he displayed with something of ostentation, 
whenever an opportunity occurred, and seemed 
altogether a person who possessed a most satis- 
f ictory impression of his own importance. In 
let, had not this feeling been participated in by 
others, Mr. Billy Crow would never iiave been de- 
puted by No. 13,476 to carry their warrant down 
to the west country, and establish the nucleus of 
an Orange Lodge in the town of Fo-xleigh; such 
being, in brief, the reason why he, a very well- 
known manufacturer of " leather continuations" 
in Dublin, had ventured upon the perilous journey 
from which he was now returning. Billy was go- 
ing on his way to town rejoicing, for he had had 
most brilliant success: the brethren had feasted 
and feted him; he had made several splendid 
orations, with the usual number of projjhecies 
about the speedy downfall of Romanism; the in- 
evitable return of Protestant ascendancy; the 
pleasing prospect that, vvfith increased effort and 
improved organization, they should soon be able 
to have everything their own way, and clear the 
Green Isle of the horrible vermin St. Patrick for- 
got when banishing the others; and that, if 
l)aniel O'Connell (whom might the Lord con- 
found!) could only be hanged, and Sir Harcourt 
Lees made Primate of all Ireland, there were still 
some hopes of peace and prosperity to the 
country. 

Mr. Crow had no sooner assumed his place 
upon tlie coach than he saw that he was in the 
camp of the enemy. Happily for all parties, in- 
deed, in Ireland, political differences have so 
completely stamped the externals of each party, 
that he must be a man of small penetration who 
cannot, in the first five minutes he is thrown 
among strangers, calculate with considerable cer- 
tainty, whether it wiil be more conducive to his 
happiness to sing " Croppies Lie Down," or " The 
Battle of Ross." As for Billy Crow, long life to 
him! you might as well attempt to pass a turkey 



upon M. .\udubon for a giraffe, as endeavor to 
impose a Papist upon him for a true follower of 
of King William. He could have give'n you more 
generic distinctions to guide you in the decision, 
than ever did Cuvierto designate an antediluvian 
mammoth; so that no sooner had he seated him- 
self upon the coach, than he buttoned up his 
great-coat, stuck his hands firmly in his side- 
pockets, pursed up liis lips, and looked altogether 
like a man that, feeling himself out of his element, 
resolves to "bide his lime" in patience, until 
chance may throw him among more congenial as- 
sociates. Mickey Free, who was himself no mean 
proficient in reading a character, at one glance 
saw his man, and began hammering his brains to 
see if he could not overreach him. The small 
portmanteau which contained Billy's wardrobe 
bore the conspicuous announcement of his name; 
and, as Mickey could read, this was one import- 
ant step already gained 

He accordingly took the first opportunity of 
seating himself beside him, and opened tne con- 
versation by some very polite observation upon 
the other's wearing apparel, which ii always, in 
the west, considered a piece of very courteous 
attention. By degrees the dialogue prospered, 
and Mickey began to make some very important 
revelations about himself and his master, intimat- 
ing that the "state of the country" was such that 
a man of his way of thinking had no peace or 
quiet in it. 

" That's hirn there, forenint ye," said Mickey, 
" and a better Protestant never hated mass. Ye 
understand ?" 

"What!" said Billy, unbuttoning the collar of 
his coat to get a fairer view of his companion; 
" why, I thought you were " 

Here he made some resemblance of the usual 
manner of blessing oneself. 

"Me? devil a more nor yourself, Mr. Crow." 

"Why, do you know me, too?" 

" Troth, more knows you than you think." 

Billy looked very mucli puzzled at all this; at 
last he said: 

" And ye tell me that your master there's the 
right sort?" 

" Thrue blue," said Mike, with a wink, " and so 
is his uncles." 

" And where are they, when they are at home?" 

" In Gahvay, no less; but they're here now." 

" Where?" 

" Here." 

At these words he gave a knock of his heel 'n 
the coach, as if to intimate their "whereabouts. ' 

"You don't mean in the coach — do ye?" 

" To be sure I do; and troth, you can't know 
much of the west, av ye don't know the three Mr. 
Trenches of Tally bash! them's they." 

" You don't say so?" 

" Faix, but I do." 

" May I never drink the 12th of July if I didn't 
think they were priests." 

" Priests!" said Mickey, in a roar of laughter — 
" priests'" 

" Just priests." 

" Be-gorra, though, ye had better keep that to 
yourself, for they're not the men to have the sanu 
said to them." 



CHARLES OMAI.LEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



231 



"Of course, I wouldn't offend them," said Mr. 
Crow; "faitli, it's not me would cast reflections 
upon such real out-and-outers as they are. And 
where are they going now?" 

"To Dublin straight; there's to be a grand 
lodge next week; but sure Mr. Crow knows better 
than me." 

Billy after this became silent. A moody reverie 
seemed to steal over him, and lie was evidently 
displeased with himself for his want of tact in 
not discovering the three Mr. Trenches of Tally- 
bash, though he only caught sight of their backs. 

Mickey Free interrupted not the frame of mind 
in which he saw conviction was slowly working 
its way, but, by gently humming in an undertone 
the loyal melody of " Cro]ipies Lie Down," fanned 
the flame he had so dexterously kindled. At 
length they reached the small town of Kinnegad. 
While the coach changed horses, Mr. Crow lost 
not a moment in descending from the top, and, 
rushing into the little inn, disappeared for a few 
moments. When he again issued forth, he carried 
a smoking tumbler of whisky punch, which he 
continued to stir with a spoon. As he approached 
the coach-door he tapped gently with liis knuckles, 
upon which the reverend prelate of Maronia, or 
Mesopotamia, I forget which, inquired what he 
wanted. 

"I ask your pardon, gentlemen," said Billy, 
"but I thought I'd make bold to ask you to take 
something warm this cold day." 

" Many thanks, my good friend; but we never 
do," said a bland voice from within. 

" I understand," said Billy, with a sly wink; 
"but there are circumstances now and then — and 
one might for tlie honor of the cause, you know. 
Just put it to your lips, won't you?" 

" Excuse me," said a very rosy-cheeked little 
prelate, "but nothing stronger than water " 

" Botheration," thought Billy, as he I'egardcd 
the speaker's nose. " But I thought," said he, 
aloud, "that you would not refuse this." 

Here he inade a peculiar manifestation in the 
air, which, whatever respect and reverence it 
might carry to the honest brethren of 13,476, 
seemed only to increase the wonder and astonish- 
ment of the bishops. 

" What does he mean?" said one. 

" Is he mad?" said another. 

"Tear ami ages," said Mr. Crow, getting quite 
impatient at the slowness of his friends' percep- 
tion, "tear and ages, I'm one of yourselves." 

"One of us," said the three in chorus — "one 
of us?" 

" Ay, to be sure" — here he took a long pull at 
the punch — "to be sure I am; here's 'No sur- 
render,' your souls! whoop" — a loud yell accom- 
panving the toast as he drank it. 

" Do you mean to insult ns?" said Father P . 

" (luard, take that fellow." 

" Are we to be outraged in this manner?" cho- 
ru'ssed the priests. 

"'July the ist, in Oldbridge town,'" sang 
Billy, "and here it is, 'The glorious, pious, and 
immortal memory of the great, and good ' " 

"Guard! Where is the guard?" 

And good King William, that saved us from 
Popery ' " 



" Coaclimari! — guard!" screamed Father . 

" ' Brass money ' " 

" Policeman! policeman!" shouted the priests. 

"'Brass money and wooden shoes;' devil may 
care who hears me," said Billy, who, supposing 
that tlie three Mr. Trenches were skulking the 
avowal of their principles, resolved to assert the 
pre-eminence of the great cause single-handed 
and alone. 

"' Here's the Pope in the pillory, and the devil 
pelting him with priests.' " 

At these words a kick from behind apprised ihr 
loyal champion that a very ragged auditory, who 
for some time past had not well understood the 
gist of his eloquence, had at length comprehended 
enough to be angry. Cen'estque le premier pas 
qui codte, certainly, in an Irish row. "The 
merest urchin may light the train; one handful of 
mud often ignites a shindy that ends in a most 
bloody battle." And here, no sooner did the ris 
a tcrgo impel Billy forward tlian a severe rap of a 
closed fist in the eye drove him back, and in one 
in.stant he becarne the centre to a periphery of 
kicks, cuffs, pullings, and haulings, that left the 
poor Deputy-Grand not only orange, but blue. 

He fought manfully, but numbers carried the 
day; and, when the coach drove off, which it did 
at last without him, the last thing visible to the 
outsides was the figure of Mr. Crow, whose hai, 
minus the crown, had been driven over his herd 
down upon his neck, where it remained like a 
dress cravat, buffeting a mob of ragged vagabonds 
who had so completly metamorjiliosed the unfoi- 
tunate man with mud and bruites, that a com- 
mittee of the grand lodge might actually have 
been unable to identify him. 

As for Mickey and his friends behind, their 
mirth knew no bounds; and, ex( ejit the respect- 
able insides, there was not an individual about 
the coach who ceased to think of and laugh at 
the incident till we arrived in Dublin, and drew 
up at the Hibernian, in Dawson street. 



CHAPTER XIV. 



DUBLIN. " 

No sooner had I arrived in Dublin than my first 
care was to present myself to Dr. Mooney, by 
whom I was received in the most cordial man- 
ner. In fact, in my utter ignorance of such per- 
sons, I had imagined a College fellow to be a 
character necessarily severe and unbending; and, 
as the only two very great people 1 had ever seen 
in my life were the Archbishop of Tuam, and 
the Chief Baron, when on circuit, I pictured to 
myself that a University fellow was, in all prob- 
ability, a cross between the two, and feared him 
accordingly. 

I'he doctor read over my uncle's letter atten- 
tively, invited me to partake of his breakfast, and 
then entered upon something like an account of 
the life before me, for which Sir Harry Boyle 
had, however, in some degree prepared me. 

" Your uncle, I find, wishes you to live in 
college; perhaps it is better, too; so that I must 



S32 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



look out for chambers for you. Let me see: it 
will be rather difficult, just now, to find them." 
Here he fell for some moments into a musing fit, 
and merely muttered a few broken sentences, as, 
" To be sure, if other chambers could be had — 
but then — and, after all, perhaps, as he is young 
— besides, Frank will certainly be expelled before 
long, and then he will have them all to himself, 
I say, O'Malley, I believe I must quarter you for 
the present with a rather wild companion; but as 
your uncle says you're a prudent fellow" — here 
he smiled very much, as if my uncle had not said 
any such thing — •" why, you must only take the 
better care of yourself, until we can make some 
better arrangement. My pupil, Frank Webber, is 
at this moment in want of a 'chum,' as the phrase 
is, his last three having only been domesticated 
with him for as inany weeks; so that, until we find 
you a more quiet resting-place, you may take up 
your abode with him." 

During breakfast, the doctor proceeded to in- 
form me that my destined companion was a young 
man of excellent family and good fortune, who, 
witli very considerable talents and acquirements, 
preferred a life of rackety and careless dissipa- 
tion to prospects of great success in public life, 
which his connection and family might have se- 
cured for him; that he had been originally entered 
at Oxford, which he was obliged to leave; then 
tried Cambridge, from which he escaped expul- 
sion by being rusticated, that is, having in- 
curred a sentence of temporary banishment; and, 
lastly, was endeavoring, with what he himself 
believed to be a total reformation, to stumble on 
to a degree in the " silent sister." 

" Tins is his third year," said the doctor, " and 
he is only a freshman, having lost every examina- 
tion, with abilities enough to sweep the University 
of its prizes. But come over now, and I'll pre- 
sent you to him." 

I followed him down-stairs, across the court, to 
an angle of the old square, whe^re, up the first 
floor left, to use the college direction, stood the 
name of Mr. Webber, a large No 2 being con- 
spicuously painted in the middle of the door, and 
not over it, as is usually the custom. As we 
reached the spot, the observations of my compan- 
ion were lost to me in the tremendous noise and 
uproar that resounded from within. It seemed 
as if a number of people were fighting, pretty 
much as banditti in a melodrama do, with con- 
siderable more of confusion than requisite; a 
fiddle and a French horn also lent their assistance 
to shouts and cries, which, to say the best, were 
not exactly the aids to study I expected in such a 
place. 

Three times was the bell pulled, with a vigor 
that threatened its downfall when, at last, as the 
jingle of it rose above all other noises, suddenly all 
became hushed and still; a momentary pause suc- 
ceeded, and the door was o]iened by a very re- 
spectable-looking servant, wlio, recognizing the 
doctor, at once introduced us into the apartment 
where Mr. Webber was sitting. 

In a large and very handsomely furnished 
room, where Brussels carpeting and softly-cush- 
ioned sofas contrasted strangely with the meagre 
and comfortless chambers of the doctor, sat a 



young man at a small breakfast-table, beside the 
fire. He was attired in a silk dressing-gown and 
black velvet slippers, and supported his forehead 
upon a hand of most lady-like whiteness, whose 
fingers were absolutely covered with rings of 
great beauty and price. His long silky brown 
hair fell in rich profusion u))on the back of his 
neck, and over his arm, and the wbole air and atti- 
tude was one which a painter might have copied. 
So intent was he upon the volume before him, 
that he never raised his head at our approach, 
but continued to read aloud,, totally unaware of 
our presence. 

" Dr. Mooney, sir," said the servant. 

" Ton dapatucy bomiiws, prosep/ie, crione Agamem- 
non" repeated the student, in an ecstasy, and not 
paying the slightest attention to the announce- 
ment. 

" Dr. Mooney, sir," repeated the servant in a 
louder tone, while the doctor looked around on 
every side for an explanation of the late uproar, 
with a face of the most puzzled astonishment. 

'^Be dakioivn para thina dolckoshion eiikos," said 
Mr. Webber, finishing a cup of coffee at a 
draught. 

" Well, Webber, hard at work, I see," said the 
doctor. 

"Ah, doctor, I beg pardon' Have you been 
long here?" said the most soft and insinuating 
voice, while the speaker passed his taper fingers 
across his brow, as if to dissipate the traces of 
deep thouglit and study. 

While the doctor presented me to my future 
companion, I could perceive, in the restless and 
searching look he threw around, that the fracas 
he had so lately heard was still an unexplained 
and vexata qucstio in his mind. 

" May I offer you a cup of coffee, Mr. O'Mal- 
ley?" said the youth, with an air of almost timid 
bashfulness. " The doctor, I know, breakfasts 
at a very early hour." 

" I say, Webber," said the doctor, who could 
no longer restrain his curiosity, "what an awful 
row I heard here as I came up to the door. I 
thought Bedlam was broken loose. What could it 
have been?" 

"Ah, you heard it too, sir," said Mr. Webber, 
smiling most benignly. 

" Heard it? to be sure I did. O'Malley and I 
could not hear ourselves talking with the up- 
roar." 

" Yes, indeed, it is very provoking; but, then, 
what's to be done? One can't complain, undei 
the circumstances." 

" Why, what do you mean?" said Mooney, 
anxiously. 

" Nothing, sir; nothing. I'd much rather you'd 
not ask me; for, after all, I'll change my 
chambers." 

" But why? Explain this at once. I insist 
upon it." 

" Can I depend upon the discretion of your 
young friend?" said Mr. Webber, gravely. 

" Perfectly," said the doctor, now wound up 
to the greatest anxiety to learn a secret. 

" And you'll promise not to mention the thing 
except among your friends?" 

" I do," said the doctor. 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



233 



"Well, then," said he, in a low and confident 
whisper, "it's the dean." 

" The dean!" said Mooney, with a start. 
"The dean! Why, how can it be the dean?" 

" Too true," said Mr. Webber, making a sign 
of drinking; "too true, doctor. And, then, tlie 
moment he is so, he begins smasliiiig the furni- 
ture. Never was anything heard like it. As for 
nie, as I am now become a reading man, I must 
go elsewhere." 

Now, it so chanced that the worthy dean, who, 
albeit a man of most abstemious habits, possessed 
a nose which, in color and development, was a 
most unfortunate witness to call to character, and 
as iMooney heard Webber narrate circumstantially 
the frightful excesses of the great functionary, I 
saw tiiat something like conviction was stealing 
over him. 

" You'll, of course, never speak of this, except 
to your most intimate friends," said Webber. 

'■ Of course not," said the doctor, as he shook 
his hand warmly, and prepared to leave the room. 
" O'Mallev, I leave you here," said he; "Webber 
and you can talk over your arrangements." 

Webber followed the doctor to the door, 
whispered something in his ear, to which the 
other replied, " Very well, I will write; but if 

your father sends the money, I must insist " 

The rest was lost in protestations and professions 
of the most fervent kind, amid which tlie dour 
was shut, and Mr. Webber returned to the room. 

Short as was the interspace from tlie door with- 
out to the room within, it was still ample enough 
to effect a very thorough and remarkable change 
in the whole external appearance of Mr. Frank 
Webber; for, scarcely had the oaken panel shut 
out the doctor, when he appeared no longer the 
shy, timid, and silvery-toned gentleman of five 
min ites before, but, dashing boldly forward, he 
seiz 'd a key-bugle that lay hid beneath a sofa- 
cus lion, and blew a tremendous blast. 

" Come forth, ye demons of the lower world," 
said h;, drawing a cloth from a large table, and 
discovering the figures r f three young men, coiled 
up beneath. " Come forth, and fear not, most 
timorous freshmen that ye are," said he, unlock- 
ing a pantry, and liberating two others. "Gen- 
tlemen, let me introduce to your acquaintance 
Mr. O'Malley. My chur.i, gentlemen. Mr. 
O'Malley, this is Harry Nesbitt, who has been in 
college since the days of Old Perpendicular, and 
numbers more cautions than any man who ever 
had his name on the books. Here is my partic- 
ular friend, Cecil Cavendish, the only man who 
could ever devil kidneys. Captain Power, Mr. 
O'Malley; a dashing dragoon, as you see; aide- 
(I'-'-amp to his Excellency the Lord-Lieutenant, 
and love-maker-general to Merrion square West. 
These," said he, pointing to the late denizens of 
the pantry, " are jibs, whose names are neither 
known to the proctor nor the police-officer; but, 
with due regard to their education and morals, 
we don't despair." 

" By no means," said Power; " but come, let 
us resume our game." At these words he took a 
folio atlas of maps from a small table, and dis- 
played beneath a pack of cards, dealt as if for 
whist. The twio gentlemen to whom 1 was intro- 



duced by name, returned to their places; the 
unknown two put on their boxing-gloves, and all 
resumed the hilarity which Dr. Mooney's advent 
had so suddenly interrupted. 

" Where's Moore?" said Webber, as he once 
more seated himself at his breakfast. 

" Making a spatch-cock, sir," said the servant. 

At the same instant, a little, dapper, jovial- 
looking personage appeared with the dish in 
question. 

" Mr. O'Malley, Mr. Moore, the gentleman 
who, by repeated remonstrances to the board, 
has succeeded in getting eatable food for the in- 
habitants of this penitentiary, and has the hon- 
ored reputation of reforming the commons of 
college." 

" Anything to Godfrey O'Malley, may I ask, 
sir?" said Moore. 

"His nephew," I replied. 

"Which of you winged the gentleman the 
other day for not passing the decanter, or some- 
thing of that sort?" 

" If you mean the affair with Mr. Bodkin, it 
was I." 

"Glorious, that; begad, I thouglit you were 
one of us. I say. Power, it was he pinked 
Bodkin." 

"Ah, indeed," said Power, not turning his head 
from his game; " a pretty shot, I heard — two by 
honors — and hit him fairly — the odd trick. Ham- 
mersley mentioned the thing to me." 

"Oh! is he in town?" said I. 

" No; he sailed for Portsmouth yesterday. 
He is to join the nth — game — I say, Webber, 
you've lost the rubber." 

" Double or quit, and a dinner at Dunleary," 
said Webber. " We must show O'Malley — con- 
found the Mister — sometliing of the place." 

" Agreed." 

The whist was resumed; the boxcr.s. now re- 
freshed by a leg of the spatch-cock, returned to 
their gloves, Mr. Moore took up his violin, Mr. 
Webber his French horn, and I was left the only 
unemployed man in the company. 

" I say. Power, you'd better bring the drag over 
here for us; we can all go down together." 

"I must inform you," said Cavendish, "that, 
thanks to your philanthro])ic efforts of last night, 
the passage from Grafton street to Stephen's 
Green is impracticable." A tremendous roar of 
laughter followed this announcement; and, though 
at the time the cause was unknown to me, I may 
as well mention it here, as I subsequently learned 
it from my companions. 

Among the many peculiar tastes which distin- 
guished Mr. Francis Webber, was an extraordi- 
nary fancy for street-begging; he had, over and 
over, won large sums upon his success in that 
difficult walk; and so perfect were his disguises, 
both of dress, voice, and manner, that he actu- 
ally, at one time, succeeded in obtaining charity 
from his very opponent in the wager. He wrote 
ballads with the greatest facility, and sang them 
with infinite pathos and humor; and the old 
woman at the corner of College green was cer- 
tain of an audience when tjie severity of the 
night would leave all other minstrelsy deserted. 
As these feats of jongUrie usually terminated in 



234 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



a row, it was a most amusing part of tlie trans- 
action to see the singer's part tai<en by the mob 
against tlie college men, who, growing impatient 
to carry him off to supper somewhere, would in- 
variably be obliged to have a fight for the booty. 

Now, it chanced that a few evenings before, 
Mr. Webber was returning with a pocket well 
lined with copper, from a musical reiunon he had 
held at the corner of York street, when the idea 
struck him to stop at the end of Grafton street, 
where a huge stone grating at that time exhib- 
ited, perhaps it exhibits still, the descent to one 
of the great main seivers of the city. 

The light was shining brightly from a pastry- 
cook's shop, and showed the large bars of stone 
between which the muddy water was rushing 
rapidly down, and plashing in the torrent that 
ran boisterously several feet beneath. 

To stop in the street of any crowded city is, 
under any circumstances, an invitation to others 
to do likewise, which is rarely unaccepted; but 
when in addition to this, you stand fixedly in one 
spot, and regard with stern intensity any object 
near you, the chances are ten to one that you 
have several companions in your curiosity before 
a minute expires. 

Now, Webber, who had at first stood still, 
without any peculiar thought in view, no sooner 
perceived that he was joined by others, than the 
idea of making something out of it immediately 
occurred to him. 

"What is it, agra?" inquired an old woman, 
very much in his own style of dress, pulling at 
the hood of his cloak. 

"And can't you see for vourself, darling?" re- 
plied he, sharply, as he knelt down, and looked 
niost intensely at the sewer. 

"Are ye long there, avick?" inquired he of an 
imaginary individual below, and then waiting as 
if for a reply, said, " Two hours! Blessed Virgin! 
he's two hours in the drain!" 

By this time the crowd had reached entirely 
across the street, and the crushing and squeezing 
to get near the important siiot was awful. 

"Where did he come from?" "Who is he?" 
" How did he get there?" were questions on every 
side, and various surmises were afloat, till Web- 
ber, rising from his knees, said, in a mysterious 
whisper to those nearest him. " He's made his es- 
cape to-night out o' Newgate by the big drain, 
and lost his way; he was looking for the Liffey, 
and took the wrong turn." 

To an Irish mob, what appeal could equal this? 
A culprit, at any time, has his claim upon their 
sympathy; but let him be caught in the very act 
of cheating the authorities and evading the law, 
and his popularity knows no bounds. Webber 
knew this well, and, as the mob thickened around 
him, sustained an imaginary conversation that 
Savage Landor might have envied, imparting now 
and then such hints concerning the runaway as 
r.iised their interest to the highest pitch, and fifty 
different versions were related on all sides — of 
the crime he was guilty — the sentence that was 
passed on him — and the day he was to suffer. 

" Do you see the light, dear?" said Webber, as 
some ingeniously benevolent individual had low- 
ered down a candle with a string — '' do ye see 



the light? Oil! he's fainted, the creature." A 
cry of horror from the crowd burst forth at these 
words followed by a universal shout of " Break 
open the street." 

Pickaxes, shovels, spades, and crowbars seemed 
absolutely the walking accompaniments of the 
crowd, so suddenly did they ap|)ear upon the field 
of action, and the work of exhumation was begun 
with a vigor that speedily covered nearly half of 
the street with mud and paving-stones. Parties 
relieved each other at the task, and, ere half an 
hour, a hole capable of containing a mail coach 
was yawning in one of the most frequented 
thoroughfares of Dublin. Meanwhile, as no ap- 
pearance of the culprit could be had, dreadful 
conjectures as to his fate began to gain ground. 
By this time the authorities had received intima- 
tion of what was going forward, and attempted 
to disperse the crowd; but Webber, who still con- 
tinued to conduct the prosecution, called on them 
to resist the police, and save the poor creature. 
And now began a most terrific fray; the stones, 
forming a ready weapon, were hurled at the un- 
prepared constables, who, on their side, fought 
manfully, but against superior numbers; so that, 
at last, it was only by the aid of a military force 
the mob could be dispersed, and a riot, which 
had assumed a very serious character, got under. 
Meanwhile, Webber had reached his chambers, 
changed his costume, and was relating over a 
supper-table the narrative of his philanthropy to 
a very admiring circle of his friends. 

Such was my chum, P'rank Webber; and as 
this was the first anecdote I had heard of him, I 
relate it here, that my readers may be in posses- 
sion of the grounds upon which my opinion of 
that celebrated character was founded, while yet 
our acquaintance was in its infancy. 



CHAPTER XV. 



CAPTAIN POWER. 



Within a few weeks after my arrival in town 
I had become a matriculated student of the Uni- 
versity, and the possessor of chambers within its 
walls, in conjunction with the sage and prudent 
gentleman I have introduced to my readers in the 
last chapter. Had my intentions on entering col- 
lege been of the most studious and regular kind, 
the companion into whose society I was then im- 
mediately thrown would have quickly dissipated 
them. He voted morning chapels a bore. Greek 
lectures a humbug, examinations a farce, and 
|5ronounced the statute-book, with its attendant 
train of fines and punishment, an " unclean thing." 
With all my country habits and predilections 
fresh upon me, that I was an easily won disciple 
to his code need not be wondered at, and, indeed, 
ere many days had passed over, my thorough in- 
difference to all college rules and regulations had 
given me a high place in the esteem of Webber 
and his friends. As for inyself, I was most 
agreeably surprised to find that what I had looked 
forward to as a very melancholy banishment, was 
likely to prove a most agreeable sojourn. Under 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



'2X) 



Webber's directions, there was no hour of the 
day that hung heavily upon our hands. We rose 
about eleven, and breakfasted; after which suc- 
ceeded fencing, sparring, billiards, or tennis in 
the park; about three, got on horseback, and 
either cantered in the Phoenix or about the 
squares till visiting time; after which, made our 
calls, and then dressed for dinner, which we 
never thought of taking at commons, but had it 
from Morrison's, we both being reported sick in 
tiie dean's list, and thereby exempt from the 
routine fare of the fellows' table. In the evening 
our occupations became still more pressing; there 
were b.ills, suppers, whist-parties, rows at the 
theatre, shindies in the street, devilled drumsticks 
at Hayes's, select oyster parties at the Carling- 
ford; in fact, every known method of remaining 
up all night, and appearing both pale and peni- 
tent the following morning. 

Webber had a large acquaintance in Dublin, 
and soon made me known to them all. Among 
others, the officers rif the — th Light Dragoons, 
in which regiment Power was captain, were his 
particular friends, and we had frequent invita- 
tions to dine at their mess. There it was first 
that military life presented itself to me in its most 
attractive possible form, and heightened the 
passion 1 had already so strongly conceived for the 
army. Power, above all others, took my fancy. 
He was a gay, dashing-looking, handsome fellow 
of about eight-and-twenty, who had already seen 
some service, having joined while his regiment 
was in Portugal; was in heart and soul a soldier, 
and had that species of pride and enthusiasm in 
all that regarded a military career that form no 
small part of the charm in the character of a young 
officer. 

I sat near him the second day we dined at the 
mess, and was much pleased at many slight atten- 
tions in his manner towards me. 

■' I called on you to-day, Mr. O'Malley," said he, 
'"in company with a friend, who is most anxious 
to see you." 

" Indeed," said I; " I did not hear of it." 

"We left no cards, either of us, as we were de- 
termined to make you out on another day; my 
companion has most urgent reasons for seeing 
you. I see you are puzzled," said he, " and, 
although I promised to keep his secret, I must 
blab: it was Sir George Dashwood was with me; 
he told us of your most romantic adventure in the 
west, and, faith, there is no doubt you saved the 
lady's life." 

" Was she worth the trouble of it?" said the old 
major, whose conjugal experiences imparted a 
very crusty tone to the question. 

"I think," said I, "I need only tell her name 
to convince you of it." 

"Here's a bumper to her," said Power, filling 
his glass; "and every true man will follow my 
example." 

When the hip, hipping which followed the toast 
was over, 1 found myself enjoying no small share 
of the attention of the party as the deliverer of 
Lucy Dashwood. 

" Sir George is cudgelling his brain to show his 
gratitude to you," said Power. 

" What a pity, for tiie sak(# of his peace of mind. 



that you're not in the army," said another; "it's 
so easy to show a man a delicate regard by a quick 
promotion." 

" A devil of a pity for his own sake, too," said 
Power, again; "they're going to make a lawyer of 
as strapping a fellow as ever carried a sabretasche." 

"A lawyer!" cried out half a dozen together, 
pretty much with the same tone and emphasis as 
though he had said a twopenny postman — "the 
devil they are." 

" Cut the service at once: you'll get no promo- 
tion in it," said the colonel; " a fellow with a black 
eye like you would look much better at the head 
of a squadron than a string of witnesses. Trust 
me, you'd shine more in conducting a picket than 
a prosecution." 

" But if I can't?" said I. 

" Then take my plan," said Power, "and mnke 
it cnt you." 

" Yours?" said two or three in a breath — 
" yours?" 

" Ay, mine; did you never know that I was 
bred to the bar ? Come, come, if it was only for 
O'Malley's use and benefit — as we say in the 
parchments — I must tell you the story." 

The claret was pushed briskly round, chairs 
drawn up to fill any vacant spaces, and Power 
began his story. 

"As I am not over long-winded, don't be scared 
at my beginning my liislm' somewhat far back. 
I began life that most unluiky of all earthly con- 
trivances for supi)lying casualties in case anything 
may befall the heir of the house — a species of do- 
mestic jury-mast, only lugged out in a gale of 
wind — a younger son. My brother Tom, a thick- 
skulled, pudding-headed dog, that had no taste 
for anything save his dinner, took it into his wise 
head one morning that he would go into the army, 
and, although I had been originally destined for 
a soldier, no sooner was his choice made, than all 
regard for my taste and inclination was forgotten; 
and, as the family interest was only enough for 
one, it was decided that I should be put in what 
is called a 'learned profession,' and let push my 
fortune. 'Take your choice, Dick,' said my 
father, with a most benign smile — 'take your 
choice, boy: will you be a lawyer, a parson, or a 
doctoV?' 

'■ Had he said, 'Will you be pnt in the stocks, 
the pillory, or publicly whipped?' I could not 
have looked more blank than at the question. 

" As a decent Protestant, he should have grudged 
me to the church; as a philanthropist, he might 
have scrupled at making me a physician; but, as 
he had lost deeply by lawsuits, there looked some- 
thing very like a lurking malice in sending me to 
the bar. Now, so far I concurred with him, for 
having no gift for enduring either sermons or 
senna, I thought I'd make a bad administrator of 
either, and as I was ever regarded in the family 
as rather of a shrewd and quick turn, with a- very 
natural taste for roguery, I began to believe he 
was right, and that nature intended me for the 
circuit. 

" From the hour my vocation was pronounced, 
it had been happy for the family that they could 
have got rid of me. A certain ambition to rise in 
my profession laid hold on me, and I meditated 



236 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



all day and night how I was to get on. Every 
trick, every subtle invention to cheat the enemy 
that I could read of, I treasured up carefully, 
being fully impressed with the notion that roguery 
meant law, and equity was only another name for 
odd and even. 

" My-days were spent haranguing special juries 
of housemaids and laundresses, cross-examining 
the cook, charging the under butler, and passing 
sentence of death upon the pantry boy, who, I 
may add, was in\ariably hanged when the court 
rose. 

"If the mutton were overdone, or the turkey 
burned, I drew up an indictment against old 
Margaret, and against the kitchen-maid as accom- 
plice; and the family hungered while I harangued; 
and, in fact, into such disrepute did I bring the 
legal profession, by the score of annoyances of 
which I made it the vehicle, that my father got 
a kind of holy horror of law courts, judges, and 
crown solicitors, and absented himself from the 
assizes the same year, for which, being a high 
sheriff, he paid a penalty of 500/. 

"The next day I was sent off in disgrace to 
Dublin to begin my career in college, and eat the 
usual quartos and folios of beef and mutton 
which qualify a man for the woolsack. 

" Years rolled over, in which, after an inef- 
fectual effort to get through college, the only 
examination I ever got being a jubilee for the 
king's birthday, I was at length called to the 
Irish bar, and saluted by my friends as Coun- 
sellor Power. The whole thing was so like ajoke 
to me, that it kept me in laughter for three terms, 
and, in fact, it was the best thing could ha|)pen 
me, for I had nothing else to do. The hall of the 
Four Courts was a very pleasant lounge, plenty 
of agreeable fellows that never earned sixpence, 
or were likely to do so. Then the circuits were 
so many country excursions, that supplied fun of 
one kind or other, but no profit. As for me, 1 
was what was called a good junior; I knew how 
to look after the waiters, to inspect the decanting 
of the wine, and the airing of the claret, and 
was always attentive to the father of the circuit, 
the crossest old villain that ever was a king's 
counsel. These eminent qualities, and my being 
able to sing a song in honor of our own bar, were 
recommendations enough to make me a favorite, 
and I was one. 

" Now the reputation I obtained was pleasant 
enough at first, but I began to wonder that I 
never got a brief. Somehow, if it rained civil 
bills or declarations, devil a one would fall upon 
my head, and it seemed as if the only object I 
had in life was to accompany the circuit, a kind 
of deputy-assistant commissary-general, never 
expected to come into action. To be sure, I was 
not alone in misfortune; there were several promis- 
ing youths who cut great figures in Trinity, in 
the same predicament, the only difference being, 
that they attributed to jealousy what I suspected 
was forgetfulness, for I don't think a single at- 
torn.-y in Dublin knew one of us. 

" Two years passed over, and then I walked 
the hall with a bag filled with newspapers, to look 
like briefs, and was regularly called by two or 
three criers from one court to the other. It 



never took; even when I used to seduce a country 
friend to visit the courts, and get him into an 
animated conversation in a corner between two 
pillars, devil a one would believe him 10 be a 
client, and I was fairly nonplussec'. 

" ■ How is a man ever to distinguish himself in 
such a walk as this?' was my eternal question to 
myself every morning as I put on my wig. 'My 
face is as well known here as Lord Manners's;' 
every one says, ' How are you, Uick?' ' How goes 
it. Power?' but, except Holmes, that said one 
morning as he passed me, 'Eh, always busy?' no 
one alludes to the possibility of my ha\ing any- 
thing to do. 

" ' If I could only get a footing,' thought 1, 
'Lord, how I'd astonish them! As the song 
says, 

*' ' Perhaps a recruit 

Might chance to shoot 

Great General Uoiiaparle.' 

So,' said I to myself, ' I'll make these halls ring 
for it some day or other, if the occasion ev«r 
present itself.' But, faith, it seemed as if some 
cunning solicitor cverluard me, and told his as- 
sociates, for they avoided nie like a Itjirosy. The 
home circuit I had adopted for some time ])ast. 
for the very palpable reason that, being near 
town, it was least costly, and it had all the advan- 
tages of any other for me, in getting me nothing 
to do. Weil, one morning we were in Philips- 
town; I was lying awake in bed, thinking iiow 
long it would be before I'd sum up resolution to 
cut the bar, where certainly my prospects were 
not the most cheering, when seme one tapped 
gently at my door. 

" ' Come in,' said I. 

" The waiter opened gently, and held out his 
hand with a large roll of paper tied round with 
a piece of red tape. 

■' ' Counsellor,' said he, ' handsel.' 

"'What do you mean?' said I, jumping out of 
bed; ' what is it, you villain?' 

■"A brief.' 

" 'A brief; so I see, but it's for Counsellor 
Kinshella, below stairs.' That was the first name 
written on it. 

" ' Bethershin,' said he, ' Mr. M'Grath bid me 
give it to )ou carefully.' 

"By this time I had opened the envelope, and 
read my own name at full length as junior counsel 
in the important case of Monaghan I's. M'Shean, 
to be tried in the Record Court at Bailinasloe. 
' That will do,' said I, flinging it on the bed with 
a careless air, as if it were a very every-day 
matter with me. 

" ' But counsellor, darlin', give us a trifle to 
dhrink your health with your first cause, and the 
Lord send you plenty of them.' 

" ' My first,' said I, with a smile of ineffable 
compassion at his simplicity, 'I'm worn out with 
them; do you know, Peter, I was thinking seri- 
ously of leaving the bar, when you came into the 
room. Upon my conscience, it's in earnest I am.' 

" Peter believed me, I think, for I saw him give 
a very peculiar look as he pocketed his half-crown 
and left the room. 

"The door was scarcely closed when 1 gave 
I way to the free transport of my ecstasy ; there it 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



287 



lay at last, the long looked-for, long wished-for 
object of all my happiness, and, though I well 
knew that a junior counsel has about as much to 
do in the conducting of a case as a rusty hand- 
spike has in a naval engagement, yet I suffered 
not such thoughts to mar the current of my happi- 
ness. There was my name in conjunction with the 
two mighty leaders on the circuit, and though tliey 
each pocketed a hundred, I doubt very much if they 
received their briefs with one-half the satisfaction. 
My joy at length a little subdued, I opened the 
roll of paper and began carefully to peruse about 
fifty pages of narrative regarding a water-course 
that once had turned a mill; but, for some reasons 
doubtless known to itself or its friends, would do 
so no longer, and thus set two respectable neigh- 
bors at loggerheads, and involved them in a record 
that had been now heard three several times. 

" Quite forgetting the subordinate part I was 
destined to fill, I opened the case in a most flowery 
oration, in which I descanted upon the benefits 
accruing to mankind from water communication 
since the days of Noah; remarked upon the an- 
tiquity of mills, and especially of millers, and con- 
sumed half an hour in a preamble of generalities 
that I hoped would make a very considerable im- 
pression upon the court. Just at tlie critical 
moment when I was about to enter more particu- 
larly into the case, three or four of the great un- 
briefed came rattling into n^y room, and broke in 
upon the oration. 

'"I say. Power,' said one, 'come and have an 
hour's skating on the canal; the courts are filled, 
and we shan't be missed.' 

" ' Skate my dear friend,' said I, in a most dol- 
orous tone, ' out of the question; see, lam chained 
to a devilish knotty case with Kinshella and Mills.' 

"'Confound your humbugging,' said another: 
' that may do very well in Dublin for the attorneys, 
but not with us. 

"' I don't well understand you,' I replied; 'there 
is the brief. Hennesy expects me to report upon 
it this evening, and I am so hurried.' 

■'Here a very chorus of laughing broke forth, 
in which, after several vain efforts to resist, I was 
forced to join, and kept it up with the others. 

" When our mirth was over, my friends scru- 
tinized the red tape-tied packet, and pronounced 
It a real brief, with a degree of surprise that cer- 
tainly augured little for their familiarity with such 
objects of natural history. 

■' When they had left the room, I leisurely ex- 
amined the all-important document, si)reading it 
out before me upon the table, and surveying it as a 
newly anointed sovereign might be supposed to 
contemplate a map of his dominions. 

" 'At last,' said I to myself — 'at last, and here 
is the footstep to the .woolsack.' For more than 
an hour I sat motionless, my eyes fi.xed upon the 
outspread paper, lost in a very maze of reverie. 
The ambition which disappointments had crushed, 
and delay had chilled, came suddenly back, and 
all my day-dreains of legal success, my clierished 
aspirations after silk gowns, and patents of prece- 
dence rushed once more upon me, and I resolved 
to do or die. Alas! a very little reflection showed 
me that the latter was perfectly practicable; but 
th.xt, as a junior counsel, five minutes of very 



common-place recitation was all my province, and 
with the main business of the day I had about as 
much to do as the call-boy of a playhouse has 
with the success of a tragedy. 

" ' My Lord, this is an action brought by Tim- 
othy Higgin,' etc., and down I go, no more to be 
remembered and thought of than if I had never ex- 
isted. How different it would be were I the leader! 
Zounds, how I would worry the witnesses, browbeat 
the evidence, cajole the jury, ard soften tha 
judges! If the Lord were, in his mercy, to remove 
Old Mills and Kinshella before Tuesday, who knovvs 
but my fortune might be made? This supposition 
oixe started, set me speculating upon all the pos- 
sible chances that might cut off two king's conns..! 
in three days, and left me fairly convinced that 
my own elevation was certain, were they only re- 
moved from my path. 

" For two whole days the thought never left my 
mind, and, on the evening of the second day I sat 
moodily over my pint of port, in the Clonbrock 
Arms, with my friend, Timotliy Casey, captain 
in the North Cork Militia, for my companion. 

"' Fred,' said Tim, 'take off your wine, man. 
When does this confounded trial come on?' 
" ' To-morrow,' said I, with a deep groan. 
" 'Well, well, and if it does, what matter?" he said; 
'you'll do well enough, never be afraid.' 

" ' Alas!' said I, ' you don't understand tlie 
cause of my depression.' I here entered upon 
an account of my sorrow^s, ■which lasted for above 
an hour, and only concluded just as a tremendous 
noise in the street without announced an arrival. 
For several minutes, such was the excitement in 
tlie house, such running hither and thither, such 
confusion, and such hubbub, that we could not 
make out who had arrived. 

"At last a door opened quite near us, and we 
saw the waiter assisting a very portly-looking gen- 
tleman off with his great coat, assuring him the 
while, that if he would only walk into the coffee- 
room for ten minutes, the fire in his apartment 
should be got ready. The stranger accordingly 
entered and seated himself at the fireplace, having 
never noticed that Casey and myself — the only 
persons there — were in the room. 

" ' I say, Phil, who is he?' inquired Casey of 
the waiter. 

" ' Counsellor Mills, captain,' said the waiter, 
and left the room. 

" ' That's your friend,' said Casey. 
"'I see,' said I; 'and I wish with all my heart 
he was at home with liis pretty wife, in Leeson 
street.' 

'" Is she good-looking?' inquired Tim. 
'"Devil a better,' :aid I; 'and he's as jealous 
as Old Nick." 

"' Hem,' said Tim; 'mind your cue, and I'll 
give him a start.' Here he suddenly changed his 
whispering tone for one in a louder key and re- 
sumed : 'I say, Power, it will make some work 
for vou lawyers. But who can she be? that's the 
question.' Here he took a much crumpled letter 
from his pocket, and pretended to read: ' " A 
great sensation was created in the neighborhood 
of Merrion square, yesterday, by the sudden dis- 
appearance from her house of the handsome 
Mrs. " Confound it — what's the name? — 



238 



CHARLES 0"MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



what a hand he writes! — Hill or Miles, or some- 
thing like that — " the lady of an eminent barris- 
ter, now on circuit. The gay Lothario is, they 
say, the Hon. George " ' I was so thunder- 
struck at the rashness of the stroke, I could say 
nothing; while the old gentleman started as if he 
had sat down on a pin. Casey, meanwhile, went 
on. 

'"Hell and fury!' said the king's counsel, rush- 
ing over, 'what is it you're saying?' 

" ' You appear warm, old gentleman,' said Casey, 
putting up the letter, and rising from the table. 

'"Show me that letter — show me that infernal 
letter, sir, this instant!' 

" ' Show you my letter,' said Casey; ' cool, 
that, anyhow. You are, certainly, a good one.' 

" ' Do you know me, sir.' answer me that,' said 
the lawyer, bursting with passion. 

'"Not at present,' said Tim, quietly; 'but I 
hope to do so in the morning, in explanation of 
your language and conduct.' A tremendous 
ringing of the bell here summoned the waiter to 
the room. 

" ' Who is that — — ?' inquired the lawyer. The 
epitliet he judged it safe to leave unsaid, as he 
pointed to Casey. 

. '"Captain Casey, sir; the commanding officer 
here.' 

'"Just so,' said Casey; 'and very much at 
your service, any hour after five in the morning.' 

" ' Then you refuse, sir, to explain the para- 
graph I have just heard you read?' 

'"Well d)!!.', old gentlemm; so you have 
been listening to a private conversation 1 held 
with my friend here. In that case we had better 
rehire to our room.' So saying, he ordered the 
waiter to send a fresh bottle and glasses to No. 
14, and, taking my arm, very poHtely wished Mr. 
Mills good-night, and left the coffee-room. 

"Before we had reached the top of the stairs 
the house was once more in commotion. The 
new arrival had ordered out fresh horses, and was 
hurrying every one in his impatience to getaway. 
In ten minutes the chaise rolled off from the 
door, aid Casey, putting his head out of the 
window, wished him a pleasant journey; while 
turning to me, he said, — 

" ' There's one of th_'m out of the way for you, 
if we are even obliged to fight the other.' 

" The port was soon despatched, and with it 
went all the scruples of conscience I had at first 
felt for the cruel ruse we had just practised. 
Scarcely was the other bottle called for, when we 
heard the landlord calling out in a stentorian 
voice, — 

" ' Two horses, for Goran-bridge, to meet 
Counsellor Kinshella.' 

"'That's the other fellow?' said Casey. 

"'It is,' said I. 

"' Then we must bestirring,' said he. ' Waiter, 
chaise and pair in five minutes — d'\ehear? Power, 
my boy, I don't want you; stay here, .nnd study 
your brief. It's little trouble Counsellor Kinshella 
will give you in the morning.' 

"All he would tell me of his plan was, that he 
didn't mean any serious bodily harm for the coun- 
sellor, but that certainly he was not likely to be 
heard of for twenty- four hours. 



" ' Meanwhile, Power, go in and win, my boy,' 
said he; 'such another walk-over may never 
occur.' 

" I must not make my story longer. The next 
morning, the great recoid of Monaghan f.c 
M'Shean was called on, and, as the senior coun- 
sel were not present, the attorney wi^htd a po^t- 
ponement. I, however, was firm; told the court 
1 was quite prepared, and with such an air of as- 
surance that 1 actually puzzled the attorney. 
The case was accordingly opened by me in a very 
brilliant speech, and the witnesses called; but 
such was my unlucky ignorance of the whole 
matter, that I actually broke down the testimony 
of our own, and fought like a Trojan for the 
credit and character of the perjurers against us! 
The judge n^bLtd his tyes — the jury lookid 
amazed — and the whole bar laughed outright. 
However, on I went, blundering, floundering, and 
foundering at every sitp, and, at half-past four, 
amid the greatest and most uproarious mirth of 
the whole court, htaid the jury deliver a verdict 
against us, just as old Kinshella rushed into the 
court, covered with mud and spattered with clay. 
He had been sent for twenty miles to make a will 
for Mr. Daly of Daly's Mount, who was supposed 
to be at the point of death, but who, on his ar- 
rival, threatened to shoot liim for causing an 
alarm to his family by such an imputation. 

"The rest is soon told. They moved fora new 
trial, and I moved out of the profession. I cut 
the bar, for it cut me. I joined the gallant 14th 
as a volunteer, and here I am without a single 
regret, I must confess that I didn't succeed in 
the great record of Monnghan fj-. M'Shean." 

Once more the claret went briskly round, and 
while we canvassed Power's story, many an anec- 
dote of military life was told, as every instant in- 
creased the charm of that career I longed for. 

"Another cooper, major," said Power. 

" With all my heart," said the rosy little officer, 
as he touched the bell behind him; "and now let's 
have a song." 

" Yes, Power," said three or four together, 
"let us have 'The Irish Dragoon,' if it's only to 
convert your friend O'Malley there." 

"Here goes, then," said Dick, taking off a 
bumper, as he began the following chant to the 
air of " Love is the soul of a gay Irishman." 

"THE TRI.SII DRAGOON. 

" Oh, love is tl e 'soul of an Irish Dragoon, 
In liatlle, in l.ivcniac, or in s:iloon — 

From the tip of his spur lo his blight .^ahretasche. 
With his soldierly gait ontl his bearing so high. 
His gav laughing look, and his light speaking eye, 
He fiowns at his rival, he ogles his wench, 
He springs m his saddle, and c/inssfs the French — 

With his jingling spur and hjs bright sabretasche. 

' His spirits are high, and he little knows care, 
Whether sipping liis claret, or charging a square^ 

With his jingling spur and his blight sabret.asche- 
As leady to sing or to skirmish he's found. 
To talic off his wine, or to take uji his ground; 
When the bugle may call him, how little he fears, 
To ch.Trge forth in column, and beat the Mounsecr« — • 

With his jingling spur and his bright sabretasche 

" When the battle is over, he gaily rides back 
To cheer every soul in the night bivouac — 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



2C9 



With his jingling spur and his bright s.-ibietasche. 
Oh! there you may see him in full i;lory crown'd, 
As he sits 'mid his friends on the hardly-won ground, 
And hear with what feeling the toast he will give, 
As he drinks to the land where all Irishmen live— 

With his jingling spur and his bright sabretasche." 

It wns late when we broke up; but among all 
the recollections of that pleasant evening, none 
cln.14 to me so forcibly, none sank so deeply in 
my heart as the gay and careless tone of Power's 
manly voice; and as I fell asleep towards morn- 
ing, the words of "The Irish Dragoon" were 
floating through my mind, and followed ine in my 
dreams. 



CHAPTER XVI. 



THE VICE-PROVOST. 



I HAD now been for some weeks a resident 
within the walls of the University, and yet had 
never presented my letter of introduction to Dr. 
Barret. Somehow, my thoughts and occupations 
had left me little leisure to reflect upon my 
college course, and I had not felt the necessity 
suggested by my friend Sir Harry, of having 
a supporter in the very learned and gifted indi- 
vidual to whom t was accredited. How long 1 
might have continued in this state of indifference, 
it is hard to say, when chance brotight about ni) 
acquaintance with the doctor. 

Were I not inditing a true history in this narra- 
tive of my life, to the events and characters of 
which so many are living witnesses, I should cer- 
tainly fear to attempt anything like a description 
of this very remarkable man, so liable would any 
sketch, however faint and imperfect, be, to the 
accusation of caricature, when all was so singular 
and so eccentric. 

Dr. Barret was, at the time I speak of, close 
upon seventy years of age, scarcely five feet in 
height, and even that diminutive stature lessened 
by a stoop. His face was thin, pointed, and 
russjt-colored; his nose so aquiline as nearly to 
meet his projecting chin, and his small grey 
eyes, red and bleary, ])eered beneath his well- 
worn cap, with a glance of mingled fear and sus- 
picion. His dress was a suit of the rustiest 
black, threadbare, and patched in several places, 
while a pair of large brown leather slijipers, far 
too big for his feet, imparted a sliding motion to 
his walk, that added an air of indescribable mean- 
ness to his appearance; a gown that had been 
worn for twenty years, browned and coated with 
the learned dust of the Faf;cl, covered his rusty 
habiliments, and cotnpleted the equipments of a 
figure that it was somewhat difficult for the 
the young student to recognize as the Vice-Pro- 
vost of the University. Such was he in externals. 
Within, a greater or more profound scholar never 
graced the walls of the college; a distinguished 
Grecian, learned in all the refinements of a hun- 
dred dialects; a deep Orientalist, cunning in all 
the varieties of Eastern languages, and able to 
reason with a Moonshee, or chat with a Persian 
ambassador. With a mind that never ceased ac- 
quiring, he possessed a memory ridiculous for its 



retentiveness even of trifles; no character in his- 
tory, no event in chronology, was unknown to 
him, and he was referred to by his contempora- 
ries for information in doubtful and disputed 
cases, as men consult a lexicon or dictionary. 
With an intellect thus stored with deep and far- 
sought knowledge, in the affairs of the world he 
was a child. Without the walls of the college, for 
above forty years, he had not ventured half as 
many times, and knew absolutely nothing of the 
busy, active world that fussed and fumed so near 
him; his farthest excursion was to the Bank of 
Ireland, to which he made occasional visits to 
fund the ample income of his office, and add to 
the wealth which already had acquired for him a 
well-merited repute of being the richest man in 
college. 

His little intercourse with the world had left 
him, in all his habits and manners, in every re- 
spect exactly as when he entered college, nearly 
half a century before; and as he had literally 
risen from the ranks in the University, all the 
peculiarities of voice, accent, and pronunciation 
which distinguished him as a }outh, adhered to 
him in old age. This was singuhir enough, and 
formed a very ludicrous contrast with the learnetl 
and deep-read tone of his conversation; but an- 
other peculiarity, still more striking, belonged 10 
him. When he became a fellow, he was obliged, 
by the rules of the college, to take holy orders as 
a sini: qud non to his holding his fellowship; this 
he did, as he would have assumed a red \\<•^^\ or 
blue one, as bachelor of laws, or doctor of medi- 
cine, and thought no more of it; but, frequently, 
in his moments of passionate excitement, the 
venerable character with which lie was invested 
was quite forgotten, and he would utter some 
sudden and terrific oath, more productive of mirth 
to his auditors than was seemly, and for which, 
once spoken, the poor doctor felt the greatest 
shame and contrition. These oaths were no less 
singular than forcible, and many a trick was 
practised, and many a plan devised, that the 
learned vice-provost might be entrapped into his 
favorite exclamation of " May the devil admire 
me!" which no place or presence could restrain. 

My servant, Mike, who had not been long in 
making himself acquainted with all the originals 
about him, was the cause of my first meeting the 
doctor, before whom I received a summons to 
appear, on the very serious charge of treating 
with disrespect the heads of the college. 

The circumstances were shortly these: — Mike 
had, among the other gossip of the place, heard" 
frequent tales of the itT]mense wealth and great 
parsimony of the doctor; of his anxiety to am.-ss 
money on all occasions, and the avidity with 
which even the smallest triHe was added to his 
gains. He accordingly resolved to amuse him- 
self at the expense of this trait, and proceeded 
thus: — Boring a hole in a halfpenny, he attached 
a long string to it, and, having dropped it on the 
doctor's step, stationed liimself on the o] posiic 
side of the court, concealed from view by the 
angle of the Commons' wall. He waited patient- 
ly for the chapel bell, at the first toll of which 
the door opened, and the doctor issued forth. 
Scarcely was his foot upon the step, when he saw 



a-10 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



the piece of money, and as quickly stooped to 
seize it; but just as iiis finger had nearly touched 
it, it evaded his grasp, and slowly retreated. He 
tried again, but with the like success. At last, 
tliinking he miscalculated the distance, he knelt 
leisurely down, and put forth his hand, but lo! it 
again escaped him; on which, slowly rising from 
his posture, he shambled on towards the chapel, 
where, meeting the senior lecturer at the door, he 
cried out, '" H — • to my soul, Wall, but I saw the 
halfpenny walk away!"- 

For the sake of the grave character whom he 
addressed, I need not recount how such a speech 
was received; suffice it to say, that Mike had 
been seen by a college porter, who reported him 
as my servant. 

I was in the very act of relating the anecdote 
to a large party at breakfast in my rooms, when 
a sunimons arrived, requiring my immediate at- 
tendance at the Board, then sitting in solemn 
conclave at the e.xamination-hall. 

I accordingly assumed my academic costume 
as speedily as possible, and, escorted by that most 
august functionary, Mr. M'Alister, presented my- 
self before the seniors. 

The members of the Board, with the provost 
at their head, were seated at a long oak table, 
covered with books, papers, etc., and from the 
silence they maintained, as I walked up the hall, 
I augured that a very solemn scene was before 
me. 

" Mr. O'Malley,", said the dean, reading my 
name from a paper he held in his hand, " you 
have been summoned here at the desire of the 
vice-provost, whose questions you will reply to," 

I bowed. A silence of a few minutes followed, 
when, at length, the learned doctor, hitching up 
his nether garments with both hands, put his old 
and bleary eyes close to my face, while he croaked 
out, with an accent that no hackney-coachman 
could have exceeded in vulgarity, — 

" Eh, O'Malley; you're t///ar/us, I believe; a'n't 
yoii?" 

"I believe not. I think I am the only person 
of that name now on the books." 

"That's true; but there were three O'Malleys 
before you. Godfrey O'Malley, that construed 
Ca/-,if Neroki to Nero the Calvinist — ha! ha! ha! 
— was cautioned in 17S8." 

" My uncle, I believe, sir." 

" More than likely, from what I hear of you — 
Ex urto, etc. I see your name every day on the 
punishment roll. Late hours, never at chapel, 
seldom at morning lecture. Here ye are, si.vteen 
shillings, wearing a red coat." 

" Never knew any harm in that, doctor." 

"Ay, but dy'e see me now? 'Grave raiment,' 
says the statute. And then, you keep numerous 
beasts of prey, dangerous in their habits, and un- 
seemly to behold." 

".\ bull terrier, sir, and two game-cocks are, I 
assure you, the onlv animals in mv household." 

" Well, I'll fine you for it." 

"I believe, doctor," said the dean, interrupt- 
ing, in ail undertone, that you cannot impose a 
penalty in this matter." 

"Ay, but I can. 'Singing-birds,' says the 
statute, 'are forbidden within walls.' " 



"And, then, ye dazzled my eyes at Commons, 
with a bit of looking-glass, on Friday. I saw 
you. May the devil — ahem! As I was say- 
ing, that's casting reflections on the heads of the 
college; and your servant \\.via.?,, Mic/iaclis Lilier, 
Mickey Free — may the flames' of — ahem! — an 
insolent varlet, called me a sweep." 

"You, doctor? impossible!" said I, with pre- 
tended horror. 

"Ay, but d'ye see me, now? It's thrue, for I 
looked about me at the time, and there wasn't 
another sweep in the place but myself. Hell to 
— I mean — God forgive me for swearing! but I'll 
fine you a pound for this." 

As I saw the doctor was getting on at such a 
pace, I resolved, notwithstanding the august 
presence of the Board, to try the efficacy of Sir 
Harry's letter of introduction, which I had taken 
in my pocket, in the event of its being wanted. 

" I beg your pardon, sir, if the time lie an un- 
suitable one; but may I take the opportunity of 
presenting this letter to you?" 

"Ha! I know the hand — Boyle's. Boyle seeitn- 
dus. Hem, ha, ay! ' My young friend; and as- 
sist him by your advice.' To be sure! Oh! of 
course. Eh, tell me, young man, did Boyle say 
nothing to you about the copy of Erasmus, 
bound in vellum, that I sold him in Trinity term, 
1782?" 

" I rather think not, sir," said I, doubtfully. 

" Well, then, he might. He owes me two-and 
fourpence of the balance." 

"Oil! I beg pardon sir; I now remember he 
desired me to repay you that sum; but he had 
just sealed the letter when he recollected it." 

" Better late than never," said the doctor, 
smiling graciously. "Where's the money? Ay, 
half a crown. I ha^■en't twopence — nevermind. 
Go away, young man; the case is dismissed. 
Vcheiiienter miror qitare Inic ve7iisti. You're more 
fit for anything than a college life. Keep good 
hours; mind the terms; and dismiss Michaelis 
Liber. Ha, ha, ha! May the devil! — ^hem! — 

that is, go " So saying, the little doctor's 

hand pushed me from the hall, his mind evidently 
relieved of all the griefs from which he had been 
suffering, by the recovery of his long-lost two- 
and-fourpence. 

Such was my first and last interview with the 
vice-provost, and it made an impression on me 
that all the intervening years have neither 
dimmed nor erased. 



CHAPTER XVIL 

TRINITY COLLEGE — A LECTURE. 

I HAD not been many weeks a resident of Old 
Trinity ere the flattering reputation my chum, 
Mr. Francis Webber, had acquired, extended 
also to myself; and, by universal consent, we 
were acknowledged the most riotous, ill-con- 
ducted, disorderly men on the books of the 
University. Were the lamps of the squares ex- 
tinguished, and the college left in total darkness, 
we were summoned before the dean; was the 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON 



241 



vice-provost serenaded with a chorus of trom- 
bones and French horns, to our taste in music 
was the attention ascribed; did a sudden alarm 
of fire disturb the congregation at morning 
chapel, Messrs. VVebber and O'Malley were 
brought before the Board; and I must do them 
the justice to sa^' that the most trifling circum- 
stantial evidence was ever sufficient to bring a 
conviction. Reading men avoided the building 
where we resided as they would have done the 
plague. Our doors, like those of a certain classic 
precinct commemorated by a Latin writer, lay 
open night and day; while moustached dragoons, 
knowingly-dressed four-in-hand men, fox-hunters 
in pink issuing forth to the Diibber, or returning 
splashed from a run with the Kildare hounds, 
were everlastingly seen passing and repassing. 
Within, the noise and confusion resembled rather 
the mess-room of a regiment towards eleven at 
night than the chambers of a college student; 
while, with the double object of affecting to be 
in ill-health, and to avoid the reflections that 
daylight occasionally inspires, the shutters were 
never opened, but lamps and candles kept always 
burning. Such was No. 2, Old square, in the 
goodly days I write of. All the terrors of fines 
and punishments fell scathless on the head of my 
worthy chum. In fact, like a well-known politi- 
cal character, whose pleasure and amusement it has 
been for some years past to drive through acts of 
parliament and deride the powers of the law, so 
did Mr. Webber tread his way, serpenting through 
the statute-book, ever grazing, but rarely trespass- 
ing, upon some forbidden ground, which might 
involve the great punishment of expulsion. So 
expert, too, had he become in his special plead- 
ings, so dexterous in the law of the University, 
tli.u it was no easy matter to bring crime home 
to hiiTi; and even when this was done, his plea 
of mitigation rarely failed of success. 

There was a sweetness of demeanor, a mild, 
subdued tone about him, that constantly puzzled 
tiie worthy heads of the college how the accusa- 
tions ever brought against him could be founded 
on truth; that the pale, delicate-looking student, 
whose harsh, hacking cough terrified the hearers, 
could be the boisterous performer upon a key- 
bugle, or the terrific assailant of watchmen, was 
something too absurd for belief; and when Mr. 
\V'ebber, with his hand upon his heart, and in his 
most dulcet accents, assured tliem tliat the hours 
he was not engaged in reading for the medal were 
p issed in the soothing society of a few select and 
intimate friends of literary tastes and refined 
minds, who, knowing the delicacy of his health — 
here he would cough — were kind enough to sit 
with him for an hour or so in the evening, the 
delusion was perfect; and tl e story of the dean's 
riotous habits having got abroad, the charge was 
usually suppressed. 

Like most idle men, Webber never had a mo- 
ment to spare. Except read, there was nothing 
he did not do; training a hack for a race in the 
I'hoenix — arranging a rowing-match — getting up 
a mock duel between two while-feather ai:qiiaint- 
ances, were his almost daily avocations. Besides 
that, he was at the head of many organized socie- 
ties, instituted for various benevolent purposes. 



One was called " The Association for Discounten- 
ancing Watchmen;" another, "The Board of 
Works," whose object was principally devoted to 
the embellishment of the University, in which, to 
do them justice, their labors were unceasing, and 
what with the assistance of some black paint, a 
ladder, and a few pounds of gunpowder, they cer- 
tainly contrived to effect many important changes. 
Upon an examination morning, some hundred 
luckless "jibs" might be seen perambulating 
the courts, in the vain effort to discover their 
tutors' chambers, the names having undergone an 
alteration that left all trace of their original pro- 
prietors unattainable; Doctor Francis Moom y 
having become Doctor Full Moon — Doctor Hare 
being, by the change of two letters. Doctor Ajie 
— Romney Robinson, Romulus and Remus, etc. 
While, upon occasions like these, there could be 
but little doubt of Master Frank's intentions, 
upon many other, so subtle were his inventions, 
so well-contrived his plots, it became a matter of 
considerable difficulty to say whether the mishap 
which befell some luckless acquaintance were the 
result of design or mere accident; and not unfre- 
quently well-disposed individuals were found con- 
doling with "Poor Frank!" upon his ignorance 
of some college rule or etiquette, his breach of 
which had been long and deliberately planned. 
Of this latter description was a circumstance which 
occurred about this time, and which some who 
may throw an eye over these pages will perhaps 
remember. 

The dean having heard (and, indeed, the pre- 
parations were not intended to secure secrecy) 
that Webber destined to entertain a party of his 
friends at dinner on a certain day, sent a most 
peremptory order for his appearance at Commons, 
his name being erased from the sick list, and a 
pretty strong hint conveyed to him that any eva- 
sion upon his part would be certainly followed 
by an inquiry into the real reasons for his absence. 
What was to be done? That was the very day he 
had destined for his dinner. To be sure, the 
majority of his guests were college men, who 
would understand the difficulty at once; but still 
there were some others, officers of the 14th, with 
whom he was constantly dining, and whom he 
could not so easily put off. The affair was diffi- 
cult, but still Webber was the man for a difficultv; 
in fact, he rather liked one. A very brief consid- 
eration accordingly sufficed, and he sat down 
and wrote to his friends at the Royal Barracks 
thus: 

" Dear Power, — I have a better plan for Tues- 
day than that I had proposed. Lunch here at 
three — (we'll call it dinner)^m the hall with the 
great guns: I can't say much for the grub, but 
the company — glorious! After that we'll start 
for Lucan in the drag — take our coffee, straw- 
berries, etc., and return to No. 2, for supper at 
ten. Advertise your fellows of this change, and 
believe me, 

"Most unchangeably yours, 

„„, , „ " Frank Webber." 

Saturday. 

Accordingly, as three o'clock struck, six dash- 
ing-looking light dragoons were seen slowly saun- 



242 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



tering up the middle of the dining-hall, escorted 
by Webber, who, in full aciidemic costume, was 
leisurely ciceroning his friends, and expatiating 
upon the excellences of the vtry remarkable por- 
traits which graced the walls. 

The porters looked on with some surprise at 
the singular hour selected for sight-seeing, but 
vi-hat was their astonishment to find that the party, 
having arrived at the end of the hall, instead of 
turning back again, very composedly unbuckled 
their belts, and having disposed of their sabres 
in a corner, took their ])laces at the Fellows' 
table, and sat down amid the collective wisdom 
of Greek Lecturers and Regius Professors, as 
though they had been mere mortals like them- 
selves. 

Scarcely was the long Latin grace concluded, 
when Webber, leaning forward, enjoined his 
friends, in a very audible whisper, that if they in- 
tended to dine, no time was to be lost. 

" We have but little ceremony here, gentlemen, 
and all we ask is a fair start," said he, as he 
drew over the soup, and proceeded to help 
himself. 

The advice was not thrown away, for each 
man, witii an alacrity a campaign usually teaches, 
made himself master ot some neighboring dish — 
a very quick interchange of good things speedily 
following the approi)riation. It was in vain that 
the senior lecturer looked aghast — that the pro- 
fessor of astronomy frowned — the whole table, 
indeed, were thunderstruck, even to the poor 
vice-provost himself, who, albeit given to the 
comforts of the table, could not lift a morsel to 
his mouth, but muttered between his teeth: 

" May the devil admire me, but they're dra- 
goons!" The first shock of surprise over, the 
porters proceeded to inform them that except 
Fellows of the University or Fellow-commoners, 
)ione were admitted to the table. Webber, how- 
ever, assured them that it was a mistake, there 
being nothing in the statute to exclude the 14th 
Light Dragoons, as he was prepared to prove. 
Meanwhile dinner )iroceeded, Power and his 
jiarty performing with great self-satisfaction upon 
the sirloins and saddles about them; regretting 
only, from time to time, that there was a most 
unaccountable absence of wine, and suggesting 
the propriety of napkins whenever they should 
diwe there again. Whatever chagrin these un- 
expected guests caused among their entertainers 
of the upper table, in the lower part of the hall 
the laughter was loud and unceasing, and long 
before the hour concluded, the Fellows took their 
departure, leaving to Master Frank Webber the 
task of doing the honors alone and unassisted. 
When sumuioned before the Board for the ofl'ence 
on the following morning, Webber excused him- 
self by throwing the blame upon his friends, 
with whom, he said, nothing short of a personal 
quarrel — a thing for a reading man not to be 
thought of — could have prevented intruding 
in the manner related. Nothing less than his 
tact could have saved him on this occasion, and 
at last he carried the day; while, by an act of 
the Board, the 14th Light Dragoons were pro- 
nounced the most insolent corps in the service. 

An adventure of his, however, got wind about 



this time, and served to enlighten many persons 
as to his real character, w^ho had hitherto been 
most lenient in their expressions about him. Our 
worthy tutor, with a zeal for our welfare far more 
praiseworthy than successful, was in the habit cv 
summoning to his chambers, on certain mornings 
of the week, his various pupils whom he lectured 
in the books for the approaching examinations. 
Now, as these seances were held at six o'clock in 
winter as well as summer, in a cold, tireless cham- 
ber — the lecturer lying snug amid his blankets, 
while we stood shivering around the walls — ihe 
ardor of learning must, indeed, have proved 
strong that prompted a regular attendance. As 
to Prank, he would have as soon thought of at- 
tending chapel as of , presenting himself on such 
an occasion. Not so with me. I had not)et 
grown hackneyed enough to fly in the face of 
authority, and 1 frequently left the whist-table, 
or broke off in a song, to hurry over to the 
doctor's chambers, and spout Homer and Hesiod. 
I suffered on in patience, till at last the bore 
became so insupportable that I told my sorrows 
to my friend, who listened to me out, and prom- 
ised me succor. 

It so chanced that upon some evening in each 
week Dr. Mooney was in the habit of visiting 
some friends who resided a short distance from 
town, and spending the night at their house. He, 
of course, did not lecture the following morning — 
a paper placard, announcing no lecture, being 
affixed to the door on such occasions. Frank 
waited patiently till he perceived the doctor 
affixing this announcement upon his door one 
evening; and no sooner had he left the college, 
than he withdrew the paper and departed. 

On the next morning he rose early, and, con- 
cealing himself on the staircase, waited the arrival 
of the venerable damsel v\ho acted as servant to 
the docnor. No sooner had she opened the door 
and groped her way into the sitting-room, than 
Frank crept forward, and, stealing gently into 
the bed-room, sprung into the bed, and wrapjied 
himself up in the blankets. The great bell 
boomed forth at six o'clock, and soon after the 
sounds of the feet were heard upon the stairs — 
one by one they came along — and gradually the 
room was filled with cold and shi\ ering wretches, 
more than half asleep, and trying to arouse 
themselves into an appioach to attention. 

"Who's there?" said Frank, mimicking the 
doctor's voice, as he yawned three or four times 
in succession, and turned in the bed. 

"Collisson, O'Malley, Nesbitt," etc., said a 
number of voices, anxious to have all the merit 
such a penance could confer. 

" Where's Webber?" 

"Absent, sir," chorussed the whole party. 

" Sorry for it," said the mock doctor. " Web- 
ber is a man of first-rate capacity, and were he 
only to apply, I am not certain to what eminence 
his abilities might raise him. Come, Collisson — 
any three angles of a triangle are equal to — are 
equal to — what are they equal to?" Here he 
yawned as though he would dislocate his jaw. 

"Any three angles of a triangle are ec[ual to 
two right angles," said Collisson in the usual 
sing-song tone of a freshman. 



CHARLES OMALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



243 



As ho proceeded to prove the proposition, liis 
monotonous tone seemed to have lulled tht- 
doctor into a doze, for in a few minutes a deep 
long-drawn snore announced from tiie closed 
curtains that he listened no longer. After a little 
time, however, a short snort from the sleeper 
awoke him suddenly, and he called out, 

"Go on; I'm waiting. Do you think I can 
arouse at this Jiour of the morning for nothing 
but to listen to your bungling? Can no one give 
me a free translation of the passage.'" 

This digression from mathematics to classics 
did not surprise the hearers, though it somewhat 
confused them, no one being precisely aware 
wliat the line in question might be. 

" Try it, Nesbitt — you, O'Malley — silent all — 
really this is too bad!" An indistinct muttering 
here from the crowd was followed by an an 
nounceinent from the doctor that " the speaker 
WIS an ass, and his head a turnip! Not one of 
you capable of translating a chorus from Euri- 
pides — 'Ou, ou, papai, papai.' etc.; which after 
all, means no more tlian— ' Oh, willeleu, murder, 
why did you die?' etc. What are you laughing 
at, gentlemen? May I ask, does it become a set 
of ignorant, ill-informed savages — yes, savages, 
I repeat the word — to behave in this manner? 
Webber is the only man I have with common in- 
tellect — the only man. among you capable of dis- 
tinguishing himself. But as for you — I'll bring 
you before the Board-^I'll write to your friends — 
I'll stop your college indulgences — I'll confine you 
to the walls — I'll be damned, eh " 

This 1 I ise confused him; he stanmiered, stut- 
tered, endjavored to recover himself ; but by this 
time we had approached the bed, just at the 
moment when Master Frank, well knowing what 
he might expect if detected, had bolted from the 
blankets and rushed from the room. In an in- 
stant we were in pursuit; but he regained his 
chambers, and double-locked the door before we 
could overtake him, leaving us to ponder over the 
insolent tirade we had so patiently submitted to. 

That morning the affair got wind all over col- 
lege. As for us, we were scarcely so much 
laughed at as the doctor; the world wisely remem- 
bering, if such were the nature of our morning's 
orisons, we might nearly as profitably have 
remained snug in our quarters. 

Such was our life in Old l\inity; and strange 
enough it is that one should feel tempted to the 
confession, but I really must acknowledge these 
were, after all, happy times, and I look back upon 
them with mingled pleasure and sadness. The 
noble lord who so pathetically lamented that the 
devil was not so strong in him as he used to be 
forty years before, has an echo in mv regrets, 
that the student is not so young in me as when 
these scenes were enacting of which I write. 



CHAPTER XVIII. 



THE INVITATION THE WAGER. 

I WAS sitting at breakfast with Webber, a few 



mornings after the mess dinner I have spoken of, 
when Power came in hastil}'. 

" Ha, the very man!" said he. "I say O'Mal- 
ley, here's an invitation for you from Sir George, 
to dine on Friday. He desired me to say a thou- 
sand civil things about his not having m;ide you 
out, regrets that he was not at heme when )ou 
called yesterday, and all that. By Jo\e, I know 
nothing like the favor you stand in; and, as for 
Miss Dash wood, faith! the fair Lucy blushed, and 
tore her glove in most approved style, when the 
old general began his laudation of you." 

" Pooh, nonsense," said I; " that silly affair in 
the west." 

" Oh, very probably; there's reason the less for 
your looking so excessively conscious. But I 
must tell you, in all fairness, that you have no 
chance; nothing short of a dragoon will go down." 

"Be assured," said I, somewhat nettled, "my 
pretensions do not aspire to the fair Miss Dash- 
wood." 

''^Tant niieux et tarii pis, man cher. I wish to 
Heaven mine did; and, by St. Patrick, if I only 
played the knight-errant half so gallantly as your- 
self, I would not relinquish my claims to the sec- 
retaiy at war himself." 

" What the devil brought the old general down 
to your wild regions?" inquired Webber. 

" To contest the county." 

''A bright thought, truly. When a man was 
looking for a seat, why not try a place where the 
law is occasionally heard of?" 

" I'm sure I can give you no information on 
that head; nor have I ever heard how .Sir George 
came to learn that such a place as Galway ex- 
isted." 

'"I believe I can enlighten you," said Power. 
" Lady Dashwood- — rest her soul! — came west of 
the Shannon; she had a large property somewhere 
in Mayo, and owned some hundred acres of 
swamp, with some thousand starving tenantry 
thereupon, that people dignified as an estate in 
Connaught. This first suggested to him the no- 
tion of setting up for the county; probably sup- 
posing that the peo|)Ie who never paid in rent 
might like to do so in gratitude. How he was 
undeceived, O'Malley there can inform us. In- 
deed, I believe the worthy general, who was most 
confoundedly hard up when he married, expected 
to have got a fortune, and little anticipated the 
three chancery suits he succeeded to, nor the 
fourteen rent-charges to his wife's relatives that 
made up the bulk of the dower. It was an un- 
lucky hit for him when he fell in with the old 
maid at Bath; and, had she lived, he must have 
gone to the colonies. But the Lord took her one 
day, and Major Dashwood was himself again. 
The Duke of York, the story goes, saw him at 
Hounslow during a review — was much struck 
with his air and ajipearance — made some inquiries 
— found him to be of excellent family and irre- 
proachable conduct — made him an aide-de-camp 
— and, in fact, made his fortune. I do not be- 
lieve that, while doing so kind, he could by pos- 
sibility have done a more popular thing. Every 
man in the army rejoiced at his good fortune; so 
that, after all, though he has had some hard rubs, 
he has come well through, the only vestige of his 



244 



CHARLES OMALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



unfortunate matrimonial connection being a cor- 
respondence kept up by a maiden sister of his 
late wife's with iiim. She insists upon claiming 
the ties of kindred upon about twenty family eras 
during the year, when she regularly writes 
a most loving find ill-spelled epistle, containing 
the latest information from Mayo, witli all par- 
ticulars of the Macan family, of which she is a 
worthy member. To her constant hints of 
the acceptable nature of certain small remit- 
tances, the poor general is never inattentive; 
but to the pleasing prospect of a visit in the flesh 
from Miss Judy Macan, the good man is dead. 
In fact, nothing short of being broken by a gen- 
eral court-martial could at all complete his sensa- 
tions of horror at such a stroke of fortune; and 
I am not certain, if choice were allowed him, that 
he would not prefer the latter." 

" Then he has never yet seen her?" said Web- 
ber. 

"Never," replied Power; "and he hopes to 
leave Ireland without that blessing, the prospect 
of which, however remote and unlikely, has, I 
know well, more than once terrified him since his 
arrival." 

" I say. Power, and has your worthy general 
sent me a card for his ball?" 

"Not through me, Master Frank." 

" Well, now, I call that devilish shabby, do you 
know. He asks O'Malley there from iiiy chambers, 
and never notices the other man, the superior in 
the firm. E'l. O'Malley, what say you?" 

"Why, I (.lidii't know you were acquainted." 

"And who said we were? It was his fault, 
though, entirely, that we were not. I am, as I 
have ever been, the most easy fellow in the world 
on that score — never give myself aiis to military 
people — endure anything, everything — and you 
see the result— hard, ain't it?" 

" But, Webber, Sir G:orge must really be ex- 
cused in this matter. He has a daughter, a most 
attractive, lovely daughter, just at that budding, 
unsuspecting age when the heart is most suscepti- 
ble of impressions; and where, let me ask, could 
she run such a risk as in the chance of a casual 
meeting v/ith the redoubted lady-killer, Master 
Frank Webber? If he has not sought you out, 
tiien here be his apology." 

"Avery strong case, ceitainly," said Frank; 
" but, still, had he confided his critical position 
to my honor and secrecy, he might have de- 
jjended on me; now, having taken the other 
line — — " 

"Well, what then?" 

" Why, he must a!)ide the consequences. I'll 
make fierce love to Louisa; isn't that the name?" 

" I.ucy, so please you." 

" Well, be it so — to Lucy — talk the little girl 
into a most deplorable attachment for me." 

" But how, may I ask, and when?" 

" I'll begin at the ball, man." 

" Why, I thought you said you were not going?" 

" There you mistake seriously. I merely said 
that I had not been invited." 

" Then, of course," said I, " Webber, you can't 
think of going, in any case, on my account." 

"My very dear friend, I go entirely upon my 
own. I not only shall go, but I intend to have 



most particular notice and attention paid me. I 
shall be prime /avorite with Sir George — kiss 
Lucy " 

"Come, come, this is too strong." 

"What do you bet I don't? There, now, I'll 
give you a pony apiece, do. Do you say, done?" 

"That you kiss Miss Dashwood, and are not 
kicked down-stairs for your pains; are those the 
terms of the wager?' inquired Power. 

" With all my heart. That I kiss Miss Dash- 
wood, and am not kicked down-stairs for my 
pains." 

" Then I say, done." 

"And with you too, O'Malley?" 

"I thank you," said I, coldly; " I'm not dis- 
posed to make such a return for Sir George Dash- 
wood's hospitality as to make an insult to his 
family a subject of a bet." 

" VVhy, man, what are you dreaming of? Miss 
Dashwood will not refuse my chaste salute. 
Come, Power, I'll give you the other pony." 

"Agreed!" said he. "At the same time, un- 
derstand me distinctly — that I hold myself per- 
fectly eligible to winning the wager by my own 
interference; for, if you do kiss her, by Jove! 
I'll perform the remainder of the compact." 

" So I understand the agreement," said Web- 
ber, arranging his curls betore the looking-glass. 
" Well, now, who's for Howth? the drag will be 
here in half an hour." 

"Not I," said Power; "I must return to the 
barracks." 

"Nor I," said I, "for I shall take this oppor- 
tunity of leaving my card at Sir George Dash- 
wood's." 

" I have won my fifty, however," said Power, 
as we walked out in the courts. 

" I am not quite certain " 

" Why, the devil, he would not risk a broken 
neck for that sum; besides, if he did, he loses the 
bet." 

"He's a devilish keen fellow." 

" Let him be. In any case I am determined 
to be on my guard here." 

So chatting, we strolled along to the Royal 
Hos])ital, when, having dropped my pasteboard. 
I returned to the college. 



CHAPTER XIX. 



THE BALL. 



I HAVE often dressed for a storming party with 
less of trepidation than I felt on the evening ol 
Sir George Dashwood's ball. Since the eventful 
day of the election I had never seen Miss Dash- 
wood; therefore, as to what precise position I 
might occupy in her favor was a matter of great 
doubt in my mind, and great import to my hap- 
piness. That I myself loved her was a matter of 
which all the badinage of my friends regarding 
her made me painfully conscious; but that, in 
our relative positions, such an attachment was all 
but hopeless, I could not disguise from myself. 
Young as I was, I well knew to what a heritage 
of debt, lawsuit, and difificulty I was born to sue- 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



245 



ceed. In my own resources and means of ad- 
vancement I had no conlldence wiiatever, had 
even the pntfession to which I was destined been 
n:ore of my choice. I daily felt that it demanded 
greater exertions, if not far greater abilities, than 
I could command, to make success at all likely; 
and then, even if such a result were in store, 
years, at least, must elapse before it could happen, 
and where would she then be, and where should 
I? — where the ardent affection I now felt and 
gloried in^perha, j all the more for its desperate 
hopelessness — when the sanguine and buoyant 
spirit to combat with difficulties vvhi'li youth sug- 
gests, and which later manhood refuses, shoidd 
have passed away? And, even if all these sur- 
vived the toil and labor of anxious days and 
painful nights, what of her? Alas! I now reflected 
that, although only of my own age, her manner 
to me had taken all that tone of superiprity and 
patronage which an elder assumes towards one 
younger, an 1 which, in the spirit of protection it 
proceeds upon, essentially bars up every inlet to 
a dearer or warmer feeling — at least, when the 
lady plays the former part. " What, then, is to 
be dene?" thought I. " Forget her? — but how? 
How shall I renounce all my plans, and unweave 
the web of life I have been spreading around mt 
for many a day, without that one golden thread 
that lent it more than half its brilliancy and all 
its attraction? But then, the alternative is even 
worse, if I encourage expectations and nurture 
hopes never to be realized. Well, we meet to- 
night, after a long and eventful absence; let m\ 
future fate be ruled by the results of this meet 
ing. If Lucy Uashwood does care for me — if ] 
can detect in her manner enough to show nie that 
my affection may meet a return, the whole effors 
of ray life shall be to make her mine; if not — it 
my own feelings be all that [ have to depend 
upon to extort a reciprocal affection — then shall 
I take mv last look at her and with it the first 
and brightest dream of happiness my life has 
hitherto presented." 



It need not be wondered at if the brilliant coKp 
d xil of the ball-ro n, as I entered, struck me 
with astonishment, accustomed as I had hitherto 
been to nothing more magnificent than an even- 
ing party of squires and their squiresses, or the 
annual garrison ball at the barracks. The glare 
of wax-lights, the well-furnished saloons, the glit- 
ter of uniforms, and the blaze of jjlumed and 
jewelled dames, with the clang of military music, 
was a species of enchanted atmc sphere which, 
breathing for the first time, rarely fails to intoxi- 
cate. Never before had I seen so much beauty; 
lovely faces, dressed in all the seductive flattery 
of smiles, were on every side; and, as I walked 
from room to room, I felt how much more fatal 
to a man's peace and heart's ease the whispered 
words and silent glances of those fair damsels, 
than all the loud gayety and boisterous freedom 
of our country belles, who sought to take the 
\ heart by storm and escalade. 

As yet I had seen neither Sir George nor his 
|l daughter, and, while I looked on every side for 
\ Lucy Dashwood, it was with a beating and anx- 



ious heart I longed to see how she would bear 
comparison wiih the blaze of beauty arour.d. 

Just at this moment a very gorgeously-dre.ssed 
hussar stepped from a doorway beside me, as if 
to make a passage for some one, and the next 
moment she appeared, leaning upon the arm of 
another lady. One look was all that 1 had time 
for, when she recognized me. 

"Ah, Mr. O'Malley ^ — how happy — lias Sir 
George — has ray father seen you?" 

" I have only arrived this moment; I trust he 
is quite well ?" 

" Oh, yes, thank you " 

"I beg your pardon with all humility. Miss 
Dashwood," said the hussar in a lone of the 
most knightly courtesy, "but they are waiting 
for us." 

" But, Captain Fortescue, you must excuse me 
one moment more. Mr. Lechniere, will you do 
me the kindness to find out Sir George? Mr. 
O'Malley — Mr. Lechmere." Here she said some- 
thing in French to her companion, but so rapidly 
that I could not detect what it was, but merely 
heard the reply- — "Fasmal!" — which, as the Ir.dy 
continued to canvass me most deliberately through 
her eye-glass, I supposed referred to me. "And 

now Captain Fortescue " And with a look 

of most courteous kindness to me she disap- 
peared in the crowd. 

The gentleman to whose guidance I was en- 
trusted was one of the aides-de-camp, and was 
not long in finding Sir George. No sooner had 
the good old general heard my name, than he 
held out both his hands and shook mine most 
heartily. 

"At last, O'Malley — at last I am able to thank 
you for the greatest service ever man rendered 
me. He saved Lucy, my Lord; rescued her 
under circumstances where anything short of his 
courage and determination must have cost her 
her life." 

" Ah! very pretty indeed," said the stiff old gen- 
tleman addressed, as he bowed a most superbly- 
powdered scalp before me; " most happy to make 
your acquaintance." 

" Who is he?" added he, in nearly as loud a 
tone to Sir George. 

" Mr. O'Malley, of O'Malley Castle." 

" True, I forgot — why is he not in uniform?" 

"Because, unfortunately, my Lord, we don't 
own him; he's not in the army." 

" Hal ha! thought he was." 

" You dance, O'Malley, I suppose? I'm sure 
you'd rather be over there than hearing all my 
protestations of gratitude, sincere and heartfelt 
as they really are." 

" Lechmere, introduce my friend Mr. O'Malley; 
get him a partner." 

I had not followed my new acquaintance many 
steps, when Power came up to me. " I say, 
Charley," cried he, "I have been tormented to 
death by half the ladies In the room to present 
you to them, and have been m quest of you this 
iialf hour. Your brilliant exploit in savage land 
has made you a regular preux chevalier ; and if 
vou don't trade on that adventure to your most 
lasting profit, you deserve to be — a lawyer. Come 
along here! Lady Muckleman, the adjutant- 



246 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



general's lady and chief, lias four Scotch daugh- 
ters you are to dance with; then, I am to intro- 
duce you in all form to the dean of something's 
niece; she is a good-looking girl, and has two 
livings in a safe county. Tlien there's the town- 
major's wife; and, in fact, I have several engage- 
ments from this to supper-time." 

■'A thousand thanks for all your kindness in 
])rospective, but I think, perhaps, it were right I 
should ask Miss Dashwood to dance, if only as a 
matter of form — you understand?" 

"And, if Miss Dashwood should say, 'With 
pleasure, sir,' only as a matter of form — you un- 
derstand ?" said a silvery voice beside me. ] 
turned, and saw Lucy Dashwood, who, having 
overheard my very free-and-easy suggestion, re- 
plied to me in that manner. 

I here blundered out my excuses. What I 
said, and what I did not say, I do not now remem- 
ber; but, certainly, it was her turn now to blush, 
and her arm trembled within mine as 1 led her to 
the top of the room. In the little opportunity 
which our quadrille presented for conversation, I 
could not iielp remarking that, after the surprise 
of her first meetmg with me. Miss Dashwood's 
manner became gradually more and more reserved, 
and that there was an evident struggle between 
her wish to appear grateful for what had occurred, 
with a sense of the necessity of not incurring a 
greater degree of intimacy. Such was my im- 
pression, at least, and such the conclusion I drew 
from a certain cjuiet tone in her manner, that 
went further to wound my feelini;s and mar my 
happiness than any other line of conduct towards 
me could possibly have effected. 

Our quadrille over, I was about to conduct her 
to a seat, when Sir George came hurriedly up, his 
face greatly flushed, and betraying every sem- 
blance of high e.xcitement. 

" Dear papa, has anything occurred ? pray what 
is it?" inquired she. 

He smiled faintly, and replied, " Nothing very 
serious, my dear, that I should alarm you in this 
way ; but, certainly, a more disagreeable contre- 
temps could scarcely occur." 

" Do tell me ; what can it be ?" 

" Read this," said he, presenting a very dirty- 
looking note, which bore the mark of a red wafer 
most infernally plain upon its outside. 

Miss Dashwood unfolded the billet, and, after 
a moment's silence, instead of participating, as 
he expected, in her father's feeling of distress, 
burst out a-laughing, while slie said, " Why, really, 
papa, I do not see why this should put you out 
much, after all. Aunt may be somewhat of a 
character, as her note evinces, but after a few- 
days -" 

" Nonsense, child ; there's nothing in this world 
I have such a dread of as that confounded 
woman — and to come at such a time." 

"\Vhen does she speak of paying her visit?" 

"I knew you had not read the note," said Sir 
George, hastily ; "she's coming hereto-night — is 
on her way this instant, perhaps. What is to be 
done? If she forces her way in here, I shall go 
deranged outright. O'Malley, my boy, read this 
rote, and you will not feel surprised if I appear 
in the humor you see me." 



I took the billet from the hands of Miss Dash- 
wood, and read as follows. 

" Dear Brother, — When this reaches your 

hands, I'll not be far off. I'm on my way up to 

town, to be under Dr. Dease for the ould com- 

jilaint. Cowley mistakes my case entirely; he 

says it's nothing but religion and wind. Father 

Magrath, who understands a good deal about 

females, thinks otherwise — but God knows who's 

right. Expect me to tea, and, with love to Lucy^ 

believe me yours, in haste, ,i t ,, 

•' ' ' Judith Macan. 

" Let the sheets be well aired in my room; and 
if you have a spare bed, perhaps we could prevail 
upon Father Magrath to stop too." 

I scarcely could contain my laughter till I got 
to the end of this very free-and-easy epistle; when 
at last I burst forth in a hearty fit, in which I was 
joined by Miss Dashwood. 

J"rom the account Power had given me in the 
morning, 1 had no difficulty in guessing that tl.e 
writer was the maiden sister of the lale Lady 
Dashwood, and for whose relationship Sir George 
had ever testified the greatest dread, even at the 
distance of two hundred miles, and for ^\hom, in 
anv nearer intimacy, he was in no vise prepared. 

" I say, Lucy," said he, " there's only one thing 
to be done; if this horrid woman dots arrive, let 
her be shown to her room, and for the few da\s 
of her stay in town, we'll neither see nor be seen 
by any one." 

Without waiting for a reply. Sir George was 
turning away to give the necessary instructions, 
when the door of the drawing-room was flurg 
open, and the servant announced, in his loudest 
voice, "Miss Macan." Never shall 1 lorget the 
poor general's look of horror as the words i cached 
him; for, as yet, he was too far to catch even a 
glimpse of its fair owner. As for me, 1 was al- 
ready so much interested in seeing what she was 
like, that I made my way through the crowd 
towards the door. It is no common occurrence 
that can distract the various occupations of a 
crowded ball-room, where, amid the crash of 
music and the din of conversation, goes on the 
soft, low voice of insinuating flattery, or the light 
flirtation of a first acquaintance; every clique, 
every coterie, every little group of three or four, 
has its ©wn separate and private interests, form- 
ing a little world of its own, and caring for and 
heeding nothing that goes on around; and even 
when some striking character or illustrious per- 
sonage makes his entree, the attention he attracts 
is so momentary, that the buzz of conversation is 
scarcely, if at all, interrupted, and the business of 
pleasure continues to flow on. Not so now, how- 
ever. No sooner had the servant pronounced the 
magical name of Miss Macan, than all seemed to 
stand still. The spell thus exercised over the 
luckless general seemed to have extended to his 
company, for it was with difficidty tliat any one 
could continue his train of conversation, while 
every eye was directed towards the door. About 
two stei)s in advance of the servant, who still stood 
door in hand, was a tall, elderly lady, dressed in 
an antique brocade silk, with enormous flowers 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



247 



gaudily embroidered upoti it. Her liair was pow- 
dered, and turned back, in the fashion of filty 
years before; while her iiigh-pointed and hee'ed 
shoes completed a costume that had not been 
seen for nearly a century. Her short, skinny 
arms were bare and partly covered by a falling 
flower of old point lace, while on her liands she 
wore black silk mittens; a pair of green spectacles 
scarcely dimmed the lustre of a most piercing pair 
of eyes, to whose effect a very jjalpable touch of 
rouge on the cheeks certainly added brilliancy. 
There stood this most singular ap])arilion, holding 
before her a fan about the size of a modern tea- 
tray, while, at each repetition of her name by the 
servant, she curtseyed deeply, bestowing tlie wiiile 
upon the gay crowd before her a very curious 
look of maidenly modesty at her solitary and un- 
protected position 

As no one had ever heard of the fair Judith 
save one or two of Sir George's most intimate 
friends, the greater part of the company were dis- 
posed to regard Miss Macan as some one who 
had mistaken the character of the invitation, and 
had come in a fancy dress. But this delusion 
was but momentary, as Sir George, armed with 
the courage of despair, forced his way through 
the crowd, and taking her hand affectionately, bid 
her welcome to Dublin. The fair Judy, at this, 
threw her arms about his neck, and saluted him 
with a hearty smack, that was heard all over the 
room. 

" Where's Lucy, brother' let me embrace my 
little darling," said the lady, in an accent that 
told more of Miss Macan than a three-volume 
biography could have done " There she is, I'm 
sure, kiss me, my honey." 

This office Miss Dashwood performed with an 
effort of courtesy really admirable, while, taking 
her aunt s arm, she led her to a sofa. 

It needed all the poor general's tact to get 
over the sensation of this most ma I a propos addi- 
tion to his party, but, by degrees, the various 
groups renewed their occupations, although many 
a smile, and more than one sarcastic glance at 
the sofa, betrayed that the maiden aunt had not 
escaped criticism. 

Power, whose propensity for fun very consid- 
erably outstrijjped his sense of decorum to his 
commanding officer, had already made his way 
towards Miss Dashwood, and succeeded in ob- 
taining a formal introduction to Miss Macan. 

" I iiope you will dome the favor to dance next 
set with me, Miss Macan?" 

"Really, captain, it's very polite of you, but 
you must excuse me. I was never anything great 
in quadrilles; but if a reel or a jig " 

" Oil, dear aunt, don't think of it, I beg of you." 

"Or even Sir Roger de Coverley," resumed 
Miss Macan. 

" I assure you, quite equally impossible." 

"Then I'm certain you waltz," said Power. 

" What do you take me for, young man? I hope 
I know better. I wish Father Magrath heard you 
aik me that question, and for all your laced 
jacket " 

" Dearest aunt. Captain Power didn't mean to 
offend you; I'm certain he " 

" Well, why did he dare to — sob, sob — did he 



see anything light about me, that he — sob, sob, sob 
— oh dear' oh dear! is it for this I came up from 
my little peaceful place in the west? — sob, sob, sob 
— General, George, dear, Lucy, my love, I'm 
taken bad. Oh dear! oh dear, is there any whiskey 
negus?" 

Whatever sympathy Miss Macau's sufferings 
might have excited in the crowd about her before, 
this last question totally routed them, and a most 
hearty fit of laughter broke forth from more than 
one of the bystanders. 

At length, however, she was comforted, and her 
pacification completely effected by Sir George 
setting her down to a whist-table. From this 
moment I lost sight of her for above two hours. 
Meanwhile, I had litlle opportunity of following 
u]) my intimacy wilh Miss Dashwood, and, as I 
rather suspected that, on more than one occasion, 
she seemed to avoid our meeting, I took especial 
care, on my part, to spare her tlie annoyance. 

For one instant only bad I any opportunity of 
addressing her, and then there was such an evi- 
dent embarrassment in her manner that I readily 
perceived how she felt circumstanced, and that 
the sense of gratitude to one whose further ad- 
vances she might have feared rendered her con- 
strained and awkward. "Too true," said I: "she 
avoids me. My being here is only a source of 
discomfort and pain to her: therefore, I'll take 
my leave, and whatever it may cost me, never to 
return." With this intention, resolving to wish 
Sir George a very good-night, I sought him out 
for some minutes. At length I saw him in a 
corner, conversing with the old nobleman to whom 
he had presented me early in the evening. 

"True, upon my honor, Sir George," said he, 
" I saw it myself, and she did it just as dexter- 
ously as the oldest blackleg in Paris." 

" Why, you don't mean to say that she clieated ?" 

" Yes, but I do, though — turned the ace every 
time Lady Herbert said to me, ' Very extraor- 
dinary it is — four by honors again.' So I looked, 
and then I perceived it — a very old trick it is, but 
she did it beautifully. What's her name?" 

" Some western name; I forget it," said the 
poor general, ready to die with shame. 

" Clever old woman, very!" said the old lord, 
taking a pinch of snuff; " but revokes too often." 

Supper was announced at this critical moment, 
and before I had further thought of my deter- 
mination to escape, I felt myself hurried along in 
the crowd towards the staircase. The party im- 
mediately in front of me were Power and Miss 
Macan, who now appeared reconciled, and cer- 
tainly testified most openly their mutual feelings 
of good-will 

" I say, Charley," whispered Power, as I came 
along '' It is capital fun — never met anything 
equal to her; but the poor general will never live 
through it, and I'm certain of ten days' arrest for 
this night's proceeding." 

" Any news of Webber?" I inquired. 

"Oh, yes, I fancy I can tell something of him; 
for I heard of some one presenting himself, and 
being refused the entire, so that Master Frank 
has lost his money. Sit near us, I pray you, at 
supper. We must take care of the dear aunt for 
the niece's sake, eh?" 



248 



CHARLES 0"MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



Not seeing the force of this reasoning, I soon 
separated mvself from them, and secured a corner 
at a side table. Every supper, on such an occa- 
sion as this, is the same scene of soiled white 
muslin, faded flowers, flushed faces, torn gloves, 
blushes, blanc-mange, cold chicken, jelly, sponge- 
cakes, spooney young gentlemen doing tlie atten- 
tive, and watchful mammas calculating what pre- 
cise degree of propinquity in the crush is safe or 
reasonable for their daughters, to the nioustached 
and unmarrying' lo^ers beside them. There are 
always the same set of gratified elders, like the 
benchers in King's Inn, marched up to the head 
of the table, to eat, drink, and be ha]3]jiy — removed 
from the more profane looks and soft speeches of 
the younger part of tlie creation. Then there are 
the oi polloi of outcasts, younger sons of younger 
brothers, tutors, governesses, portionless cousins, 
and curates, all formed in a phalanx round the 
side tables, whose primitive habits and simple 
tastes are evinced by their all eating off the same 
plate and drinking from nearly the same wine- 
glass — too happy if some better-off acq\iaintance 
at the long table invites them to "wine," though 
the ceremony on their part is limited to the pan- 
tomime of drinking. To this miserable tiers e'tat 
I belonged, and bore my fate with unccmcern; 
for, alas! my spirits were depressed and my heart 
heavy. Lucy's treatment of me was every mo- 
ment before me, contrasted with her gay and 
courteous demeanor to all save myself, and I 
longed for the moment to get away. 

Never had I seen her looking so beautiful; her 
brilliant eyes were lit with pleasure, and her smile 
was enchantment itself. What would I not have 
given for one moment's explanation, as I took my 
leave forever! — one brief avowal of my love, my 
unalterable, devoted love; for which I sought not 
or expected return, but merely that I might not 
be forgotten. 

Such were my thoughts, when a dialogue quite 
near me aroused me from my reverie. I was not 
long in detecting the speakers, who with their backs 
turned to us, were seated at a great table, discus- 
sing a very liberal allowance of pigeon pie, a flask 
of champagne standing between them. 

" Don't, now! don't, I tell ye; it's little ye know 
Galway, or ye wouldn't think to make up to me, 
squeezing my foot." 

"Upon my soul, you're an angel, a regular 
angel. I never saw a woman suit my fancy before." 

" Oh, behave now. Father Magrath says " 

" Who's he'" 

"The priest; no less." 

"Oh! confound him." 

"Confound Father Magrath, young man?" 

" Well, then, Judy, don't be angry; I only meant 
that a dragoon knows rather more of these matters 
than a priest." 

" Well, then, I'm not so sure of that. But, any- 
how, I'd have you to remember it ain't a Widow 
Malone you have beside you " 

" Never heard of the lady," said Power. 

" Sure it's a song — poor creature — it's a song 
they made about her in the North Cork, when 
they were quartered down in our county." 

" I wish to Heaven you'd sing it." 

" What will you give me, then, if I do?" 



"Anything — everything — my heart, my life." 

" I wouldn't give a traunten for all of thim. 
Give me that old green ring on your finger, then." 

" It's yours," said Power, placing it gracefully 
upon Miss Macan's finger, "and now for your 
promise." 

" Maybe my brother might not like it." 

"He'd be delighted," said Power; "he dotes 
on music." 

" Does he, now?" 

" On my honor, he does." 

"Well, mind you get up a good chorus, for the 
song has one, and here it is." 

" Miss Macan's song!" said Power, tapping the 
table with his knife. 

"Miss Macan's song!" was re-echoed on all 
sides; and before the luckless general could in- 
terfere, she. had begun. How to explain the air I 
know not, for I never heard its name; but at the 
end of each verse a species of echo followed the 
last word that rendered it irresistibly ridiculous. 

"THE WIDOW MALONE. 

" Did ye hear of the Widow Malone, 

Ohone: 

Who lived in ihe town of Alhlone 

Alone. 

Oh! she melted the hearts 

Of the swains in them parts, 

So lovely the Widow Malone, 

Ohone. 

So lovely the widow Malone. 

" Of lovers she had a full score, 

Or more. 

And fortunes they all had galore, 

In store; 

From the minister down 

To the clerk of the crown. 

All were courting the Widow Malone, 

Ohone! 

All were courting the widow Malone. 



' But so modest was Mrs. Malone, 



No one ever could see her alone, 



'Twas known 



Let them ogle and sigh, 
They coulii ne'er caich her eye, 
So bashful the Widow Malone, 

I 
So bashful the Widow Malone. 



Ohone! 



Ohone t 



" Till one Mister O'Brien from Clare, 

How quare! 

It's little for blushin' they care 

Down there; 

Pnt his arm round her waist, 

Gave ten kisses at laste, 

' Oh,' says he, ' you're my Molly Malone, 

My own;' 

'Oh,' says he, 'you're my Molly Malone. 

" And the widow they all thought so shy 

My eye! 
Ne'er thought of a simper or.sigli. 

For why? 
But ' Lucius,' says she, 
' Since you've now made so free. 
You may marry your Mary Malone 
Ohone! 
You may marry your Mary Malone.' 

" There's a moral contained in my song, 
Not wrong. 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



249 



And one comfort it's not very long, 

Bui strong: 

If for widows yovi die, 

Larn to kiss^ not to sii^h. 

For they're all like sweet Mistress Malone, 
Olione! 

Oil! they're very like Mistress Malone." 

Never did song create such a sensation as Miss 
Macan's; and certainly her desires as to the 
chorus were followed to the letter, for "The 
Widow Malone, ohone!" resounded from one end 
of the table to the other, amid one universal shout 
of laughter. None could resist the ludicrous ef- 
fect of her melody; and even poor Sir George, 
sinking under the disgrace of his relationship, 
which she had contrived to make public by fre- 
q.ient allusions to her " dear brother, the general," 
yielded at last, and joined in the mirth around 
him. 

"I insist upon a copy of ' The Widow,' Miss 
Macan," said Power. 

"To be sure; give me a call to-morrow— let me 
see — about two. Father Magrath won't be at 
home," said she, with a coquettish look. 

" Where, JJray, may I pay my respects?" 

"No. 22 South .\nne street — very respectable 
lodgings. I'll write the address in your pocket- 
book." 

Power produced a card and pencil, while Miss 
Macan wrote a few lines, saying, as she handed 
it:— 

"There, now, don't read it here before the 
people; they'll think it mighty indelicate in me to 
make an appointment." 

Power pocketed the card, and the next minute 
Miss Macan's carriage was announced. 

Sir George Dashwood, who little flattered him- 
self that his lair guest had any intention of depart- 
ure, became now most considerately attentive — re- 
minded her of the necessity of muffling against 
the night air — hoped she would escape cold — 
and wished her a most cordial good night, with a 
promise of seeing her early the following day. 

Notwithstanding Power's ambition to engross 
the attention of the lady. Sir George himself saw 
her to her carriac^e, and only returned to the 
room, as a group was collecting around the gal- 
lant captain, to whom lie was relating some cap- 
ital traits of his late conquest — for such he 
dreamed she was. 

" Dotibt it who will," said he, "she has invited 
me to call on her to-morrow — written her address 
on my card — told me the hour she is certain of 
being alone. See here!" At these words he 
pulled forth the card, and handed it to Lechmere. 

Scarcely were the eyes of the other thrown 
upon the writing, when he said, " So, this isn't it. 
Power." 

"To be sure it is, man," said Power. " Anne 
street is devilish seedy — but that's the quarter." 

" Why, confound it, man," said the other, 
"there's not a word of that here." 

" Read it out," said Power. "Proclaim aloud 
my victory." 

Thus urged, Lechmere read: 

" Dear P.,— Please pay to my credit — and soon, 
mark ye — the two ponies lost this evening. I 



have done myself the pleasure of enjoying your 
ball, kissed the lady, quizzed th(- papa, and 
walked into the cunning Fred Power. 
" Yours, 

"Frank Webber. 
"'The Widow Malone, ohone I' is at your 
service." 

Had a thunderbolt fallen at his feet, his astonish- 
ment could not have equalled the result of this 
revelation. He stamped, swore, raved, laughed, 
and almost went deranged. The joke was soon 
spread through the room, and from Sir George lo 
poor Lucy, now covered with blushes at her 
part in the transaction, all was laughter and 
astonishment. 

" Who is he? that is the question," said Sir 
George, who, with all the ridicule of the affair 
hanging over him, lelt no common relief at the 
discovery of the imposition. 

" A friend of O'Malley's," said Power, delighted 
in his defeat, to involve another with himself. 

" Indeed!" said the general, regarding me with 
a look of a very mingled cast. 

"Quite true, sir," said I, replyirg to the ar- 
cusation that his manner implied; "but equally 
so, that I neither knew of his plot, nor recog- 
nized him when here." 

"I am perfectly sure of it, my boy," said the 
general; "and, after all, it was an excellent joke 
— carried a little too far, it's true; eh, Lucy?" 

But Lucy either heard not, or affected not to 
hear; and, after some little further assurance that 
he felt not the least annoyed, the general turned 
to converse with sorne other friends; while I, 
burning with indignation against Webber, took a 
cold farewell of Miss Dashwood, and retired. 



CHAPTER XX. 

THE LAST NIGHT IN TRINITY. 

How I might have met Master Webber after 
his impersonation of Miss Macan, I cannot ])os- 
sibly figure to myself. Fortunately, indeed for 
all parties, he left town early the next morning 
and it was some weeks ere he returned. In the 
meanwhile, I became a daily visitor at the gen- 
eral's, dined there usually three or four times a 
week, rode out with Lucy constantly, andaccom 
p.anied her every evening either to the theatre or 
into society. Sir George, possibly from my youth, 
seemed to pay little attention to an intimacy 
which he perceived every hour growing closer, 
and frequently gave his daughter into my chrige 
in our morning excursions on hoiseback. As lor 
me, my happiness was all but perfect. I lo\ed, 
and already began to hope that I was not re- 
garded with indifference; for, although Lucy's 
manner never absolutely evinced any decided 
preference towards me, yet many slight and cas- 
ual circumstances served to show me that my at- 
tentions to her were neither unnoticed nor un- 
cared for. Among the many gay and dashing 
companions of our rides, I remarked that, how- 
ever anxious for such a distinction, none ever 



250 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



seemed to make any way in her good graces; and 
I had already gone far in my selt'-deception that 
I was destined for good fortune, when a circum- 
stance which occurred one morning at length 
served to open my eyes to the truth, and blast, 
by one fatal breath, the whole harvest of my 
hopes. 

We were about to set out one morning on a 
long ride, when Sir George's presence was re- 
quired by the arrival of an officer who had been 
sent from the Horse Guards on official business. 
After half an hour's delay, Colonel Cameron, the 
officer in question, was introduced, and entered 
into conversation with our party. He had only 
landed in England from the Peninsula a few days 
before, and had abundant information of the 
stirring events enacting there. At the conclusion 
of an anecdote — I forget what — he turned sud- 
denly round to Miss Dashwood, who was stand- 
ing beside me, and said in a low voice. 

" And now, Miss Dashwood, I am reminded of 
a commission I promised a very old brother of- 
ficer to perform. Can I have one moment's con- 
versation with you in the window?" 

As he spoke, I perceived that he crumpled be- 
neath his glove something like a letier. 

"To me?" said Lucy, with a look of surprise 
that sadly puzzled me whether to ascribe it to 
coquetry or innocence — " to me!" 

"To you," said the colonel, bowing; "and I 
am sadly deceived by my friend Hammers- 
ley " 

" Captain Hammersley?" said she, blushing 
deeply as she spoke. 

I heard no more. She turned towards the 
window with the colonel, and all I saw was, that 
he handed her a letter, which, having hastily 
broken open, and thrown her eyes over, she grew 
at first deadly pale — then red — and, while her 
eyes filled with tears, I heard her say, " How 
like him! — how truly generous this is!" I lis- 
tened for no more — -my brain was wheeling 
round, and my senses reeling — I turned and left 
the room — in another moment I was on my horse, 
galloping from the spot, despair, in all its black- 
ness, in my heart — and, in my broken-hearted 
misery, wishing for death. 

I was miles away from Dublin ere I remem- 
bered well what had occurred, and even then not 
over-clearly; the fact that Lucy Dashwood, whom 
I imagined to be my own in heart, loved another, 
was all that I really knew. That one thought was 
all my mind was capable of, and in it my misery, 
my wretchedness were centred. 

Of all the griefs my life has known, I have had 
no moments like the long hours of that dreary 
night. My sorrow, in turn, took every shape and 
assumed every guise: now I remembered how the 
Dashwoods had courted my intimacy and encour- 
aged my visits; how Lucy herself had evinced, in 
a thousand ways, that she felt a preference for 
me. I called to mind the many unequivocal 
proofs I had given her that my feeling, at least, 
was no common one; and yet, how had she sported 
with my affections, and jested with my happiness? 
That she loved Hammersley I had now a palpable 
proof; that this affection must have been mutual, 
and prosecuted at the very moment I was not 



only professing my own love for her, but actually 
receiving all but an avowal of its return- — oh! it 
was too, too base; and, in my deepest heart, I 
cursed my folly, and vowed never to see her 
more. 

It was late on the ne.xt day e: e I retraced my steps 
towards town, my heart sad and heavy, careless 
what became of me for the future, and ponder- 
ing whether I should not at once give up my col- i 
lege career, and return to my uncle. When I 1 
reached my chambers, all was silent and com- 
fortless; Webber had not returned; my servant 
was from home; and I felt myself more than ever 
wretched in the solitude of what had been so oft 
the scene of noisy and festive gayety. 1 sat some 
hours in a half-musing state, every sad, depres- 
sing thought that blighted hopes can conjure up 
rising in turn before me. A loud knocking at 
the door at length aroused me. I got up and 
opened it. No one was there; I looked around, 
as well as the coming gloom of evening would 
permit, but saw nothing. I listened, and heard, 
at some distance off, my friend Power's manly 
voice, as he sang, 

" Oh, love is the soul of an Irish dragoon!" 

I hallooed out, "Power!" 

"Eh, O'Malley, is that you?" inquired he. 
" Why, then, it seems it required some delibera- 
tion whether you opened your door or not. Why, 
man, you can have no great gift of prophecy, oi 
you wouldn't have kept me so long there." 

" And have you been so?" 

"Only twenty minutes; for, as I saw the key 
in the lock, I had determined to succeed, if noise 
would do it." 

" How strange! I never heard it." 

" Glorious sleeper you must be; but come, my 
dear fellow, you don't appear altogether awake 
yet." 

" I have not been quite well these few days." 

"Oh, indeed. The Dashwoods thought there 
must have been something of that kind the mat- 
ter by your brisk retreat. They sent me after 
you yesterday; but, wherever you went, heaven 
knows. I never could come up with you; so 
that your great news has been keeping these 
twenty-four hours longer than need be." 

" I am not aware what you allude to." 

" Well, you are not over-likely to be the wiser 
when you hear it, if you can assume no more 
intelligent look than that. Why, man, there's 
great luck in store for you." 

"As how, pray? Come, Power, out with it, 
though I can't pledge myself to feel half as 
grateful for my good fortune as I should do. 
What is it?" 

" You know Cameron?" 

" I have seen him," said I, reddening 

"Well, Old Camy, as we used to call him, has 
brought over, among other news, your gazette." 

" My gazette! What do you mean?" 

" Confound your uncommon stupidity this 
evening. I mean, man, that you are one of us — 
gazetted to the 14th Light — the best fellows foi 
iove, war, and whiskey that ever s])orted a sabre- 
tasche. ' O, love is the soul of an Irish dragoon.' 
By Jove! I am as delighted to have rescued you 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



251 



from tlie black harness of the King's Bench as 
though you had been a prisoner there. Know, 
tlien, friend Charley, that on Wednesday we pro- 
ceed to Fermoy, join some score of gallant fel- 
lows — all food for powder — and, with the aid of 
a rotten transport and the stormy winds that 
blow, will be bronzing our beautiful faces in 
Portugal before the month's out. But come, now, 
let's see about supper. Some of ours are com- 
ing over here at eleven, and I promised them a 
devilled bone; and, as it's your last night among 
these classic precincts, let us have a shindy of it." 

"While I despatched Mike to Morrison's to 
provide supper, I heard from Power that Sir 
George Dashwood had interested himself so 
strongly for me that I had obtained my cornetcy 
in the 14th; that, fearful lest any disappointment 
might arise, he had never mentioned the matter 
to me, but that he had previously obtained my 
uncle's promise to concur in the arrangement if 
his negotiation succeeded. It had so done, and 
now tiie long sought-for object of many days was 
within my grasp; but, alas! the circumstance 
which lent it all its fascinations was a vanished 
dream; and what, but two days before, had ren- 
dered my happiness perfect, I listened to listlessly 
and almost without interest. Indeed, my first im- 
pulse at finding that I owed my promotion to Sir 
George, was to return a positive refusal of the 
cornetcy; but then I remembered how deeply 
such conduct would hurt my poor uncle, to whom 
I never could give an adequate explanation. So 
I heard Power in silence to the end, thanked him 
sincerely for his own good-natured kindness in 
the matter, which already, by the interest he had 
taken in me, went far to heal the wounds that my 
own solitary musings were deepening in my heart. 
At eighteen, fortunately, consolations are attain- 
able that become more difficult at eight-and- 
twenly, and impossible at eight-and- thirty. 

While Power continued to dilate upon the de- 
lights of a soldier's life — a theme which many a 
boyish dream had long since made hallowed to my 
thoughts — I gradually felt my enthusiasm rising, 
and a certain throbbing at my heart betrayed to 
me that, sad and dispirited as I felt, there was 
still within that buoyant spirit which youth pos- 
sesses as its privilege, and which answers to the 
call of enterprise as the war-horse to the trumpet. 
That a career worthy of manhood, great, glori- 
ous, and inspiriting, opened before me, coming so 
soon after the late downfall of my hopes, was, in 
itself, a source of such true pleasure, that ere 
long I listened to my friend, and heard his nar- 
rative with breathless interest. A lingering sense 
of pique, too, had its share in all this. I longed 
to come forward in some manly and dashing part, 
where my youth might not be e\er remembered 
against me, and when, having brought myself to 
the test, I might no longer be looked upon and 
treated as a boy. 

We were joined at length by the other officers 
of the 14th, and, to the number of twelve, sat 
down to supper. 

It was to be my last night in Old Trinity, and 
we resolved that the farewell should be a solemn 
one. Mansfield, one of the wildest young fellows 
in the regiment, had vowed that the leave-taking 



should be commemorated by some very decisive 
and open expression of our feelings, and had al- 
ready made some progress in arrangements for 
blowing up the great bell, which had more than 
once obtruded upon our morning convivialities; 
but he was overruled by his more discreet asso- 
ciates, and we at length assumed our places at 
table, in the midst of which stood a hecatomb of 
all ray college equipmmts, cap, gown, bands, 
etc. A funeral pile of classics was anayed upon 
the hearth, surmounted by my "Book on the 
Cellar," and a punishment-roll waxed its length, 
like a banner, over the doomed heroes of Gieece 
and Rome. 

It is seldom that any very determined attempt 
to be gay par exielUiice has a perfect success, but 
certainly upon this evening ours had. Sengs, 
good stories, speeches, toasts, blight visions of 
tiie campaign before us, the wild excitement 
which such a meeting cannot be free from, 
gradually, as the wine passed from hand to hand, 
seized upon all, and about four in the morning, 
such was the uproar we caused, and so terrific 
the noise of our proceedings, that the accumu- 
lated force of porters, sent one by one to demand 
admission, was now a formidable body at the 
door; and Mike at last crime in to assure us that 
the bursar, the most dread official of all collegians, 
was without, and insisted, with a threat of his 
heaviest displeasure, in case of refusal, that the 
door should be opened. 

A committee of the whole house immediately 
sat upon the question, and it was at length re- 
solved, tiemiiie conti adicente, that the request 
should be complied with. A fresh bowl of punch, 
in honor of our expected guest, was immediately 
concocttd, a new broil put on the gridiron, and, 
having seated ourselves with as great a semblance 
of decorum as four bottles a man admits of, 
Curtis, the junior captain, being most drunk, was 
deputed to receive the bursar at the door, and 
introduce him to our august presence. 

Mike's instructions were, that immediately on 
Dr. Stone, the bursar's entering, the door was to 
be slamnitd to, and none of his followers admit- 
ted. This done, the doctor was to be ushered 
in, and left to our own polite attentions. 

A fresh thundering from without scarcely left 
time for further deliberation; and at last Curtis 
moved towards the door, in execution of his 
mission. 

" Is there any one there?" said Mike, in a tone 
of most unsophisticated innocence, to a rapping 
that, having lasted three-quarters of an hour, 
threatened now to break in the panel. " Is there 
any one there.'" 

"Open the door this instant — the senior bursar 
desires you — this instant." 

" Sure it's night, and we're all in bed," said 
Mike. 

" Mr. Webber — Mr. O'Malley," said the bursar, 
now boiling with indignation, " I summon you, 
in the name of the Board, to admit me." 

" Let the gemman in," hiccupped Curtis, and, 
at the same instant, the heavy bars were with- 
drawn, and the door opened, but so sparingly as 
with difficulty to permit the passage of the burly 
figure of the bursar. 



252 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



Forcing liis way through, and regnrdless of 
what became of the rest, he pushed on vigorously 
through the antechamber, and before Curtis 
could perform his functions of usher, stood in 
the midst of us. What were his feelings at the 
scene before him. Heaven knows. The number 
of figures in uniform at once betrayed how little 
his jurisdiction e.xtended to the great mass of the 
conipanv, and he immediately turned towards me. 

" Mr.'Webber " 

"O'Malley, if you please, Mr. Bursar," said I, 
bowing with most ceremonious politeness. 

" No matter, sir; arcades umbo, I believe." 

" Both archdeacons," said Melville, translating, 
with a look of withering contempt upon the 
speaker. 

The doctor continued, addressing me: 

"May I ask, sir, if you believe yourself pos- 
sessed of any privilege for converting this Univer- 
sity into a common tavern?" 

" I wish to Heaven he did," said Curtis; 
"capital tap your old Commons would make." 

" Really, Mr. Bursar," replied I, modestly, " I 
had begun to flatter mvself that our little innocent 
gayety had inspired you with the idea of joining 
our party." 

" I humbly move that the old cove in the gown 
do take the chair," sang out one. "All who are 
of this opinion say 'Ay.' " A perfect yell of 
ayes followed this. "All who are of the contrary 
say ' No.' The ayes have it." 

Before the luckless doctor had a moment for 
thought, his legs were lifted from under him, 
and lie was jerked, rather than placed, upon a 
chair, and put sitting at the table. 

" Mr. O'Malley, your expulsion within twenty- 
four hours " 

" Hip, hip, hurra, hurra, hurra!" drowned the 
rest, while Power, taking off the doctor's cap, 
replaced it by a foraging cap, very much to the 
amusement of the partv. 

" There no penalty the law permits of, that I 
shall not — — " 

" Help the doctor," said Melville, placing a 
glass of punch in his unconscious hand. 

" Now for a 'Viva la Compagnie!' " said Tel- 
ford, seating himself at the piano, and playing 
the first bars of that well-known air, to which, in 
our meetings, we were accustomed to improvise 
a doggerel in turn. 

•' I dimk to the graces, Law, Physic, Divinity, 

Viva la Compagnie! 
And here's to the worthy old bursar of Trinity, 

Viva la Compagnie!" 

" Viva, viva la va!" etc., were chorussed with 
a shout that shook the old walls, while Power 
took up the strain: 

" Though with lace caps and gowns they look so like asses, 

Viva la Compagnie! 
They'd rather have punch than the springs of Parnassus, 

\^iva la Compagnie! 

" What a nose the old gentleman has, I)y the way. 

Viva la Compagnie! 
Since he smelt out the devil from Botany Bay.* 

Viva la Compagnie!" 

* Hotany Bay was the slanp; name jjiven by college men to n new 
square rather remotely situated from the remainder of the college. 



Words cannot give even the faintest idea of 
the poor bursar's feelings while these demoniacal 
orgies were enacting around him. Held fast in 
his chair by Lechmere and another, he glowered on 
the riotous mob around like a maniac, and aston- 
ishment that such liberties could be taken with 
one in his situation seemed to have surpassed 
even his rage and resentment; and every now 
and then a stray thought would flash across his 
mind that we were mad, — a sentiment, which, 
unfortunately, our conduct was but too well cal- 
culated to inspire. 

"So you're the morning lecturer, old gentle- 
man, and have just dropped in here in the way of 
business; pleasant life you must have of it," 
said Casey, now by far the most tipsy man 
present. 

" If you think, Mr. O'Malley, that the events 
of this evening are to end here " 

"Very far from it, doctor," said Power; "I'll 
draw up a little account of the affair for 'Saunders.' 
They shall hear of it in every corner and nook of 
the kingdom." 

"The bursar of Trinity shall be a proverb for 
a good fellow that loveth his lush," hiccupped 
out Fegan. 

"And if you believe that such conduct is 
academical," said the doctor, with a withering 
sneer. 

"Perhaps not," lisped Melville, tightening, his 
belt; "but it's devilish convivial — eh, doctor?" 

" Is that like him?" said Moreton, producing a 
caricature, which he had just sketched. 

"Capital — very good — perfect. M'Cleary shall 
have it in his window by noon to-day," said 
Power. 

At this instant some of the combustibles dis- 
posed among the rejected habiliments of my late 
vocation caught fire, and squibs, crackers, and 
detonating shots went off on all sides. The 
bursar, who had not been deaf to several hints 
and friendly suggestions about setting fire to him, 
blowing him up, etc., with one vigorous spring 
burst from his antagonists, and, clearing the table 
at a bound, reached the floor. Before he could 
be seized, he had gained the door, opened it, and 
away. We gave chase, yelling like so many 
devils; but wine and punch, songs and speeches, 
had done their work, and more than one among 
the pursuers measured his length upon the pave- 
ment; while the terrified bursar, with the speed 
of terror, held on his way, and gained his (ham- 
bers, by about twenty yards in advance of Power 
and Melville, whose pursuit only ended «hen 
the oaken panel of the door shut them out from 
their victim. One loud cheer beneath iiis win- 
dow served for our farewell to otir friend, and 
we returned to my rooms. By this time a regi- 
ment of those classic functionaries, yclefit por- 
ters, had assembled around the door, and seemed 
bent upon giving battle in honor of their mal- 
treated ruler; but Power explained to them, in a 
neat speech, replete with Latin quotations, that 
their cause was a weak one, that we were more 
than their match, and, finally proposed to them 
to finish the punch-bowl — to which we were 
really incompetent — a inotion that met immediate 
acceptance; and old Duncan, with his helmet in 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



253 



one hand, and a goblet in the other, wished me 
many happy days, and every hick in this life, as 
I steppt'd from the missive archway, and took my 
last farewell of Old Trinity. 

Should any kind reader feel interested as to 
the ulterior course assumed by the bursar, I have 
only to say that the terrors of the " Board "were 
never fulminated against me, harmless and inno- 
cent as I should have esteemed them. The threat of 
giving publicity to tlie entire proceedings by the 
papers, and the dread of figuring in a sixpenny 
caricature in M'Cleary's window, were too much 
for the worthy doctor, and he took the wiser 
course, under the circumstances, and held his 
peace about the matter. I, too, have done so for 
many a year, and only now recall the scene among 
the wild transactions of early days and boyish 
follies. 



CHAPTER XXI. 



THE PHCENIX P.\RK. 



What a glorious thing it is, when our first 
waking thoughts not only dispel some dark de- 
pressing dream, hut arouse us to the conscious- 
ness of a new and bright career suddenly open- 
ing before us, buoyant in hope, rich in promise 
for the future! Life has nothing better than 
this. The bold spring by which the mind clears 
the depth that separates misery from happiness, 
is ecstasy itself; and, then what a world of bright 
visions come teeming before us — what plans we 
form — what promises we make to ourselves in 
our own hearts — how prolific is the dullest imag- 
ination — iiow excursive the tamest fancy, at such 
a moment! In a few slurt and fleeting seconds, 
the ev-nts of a whole life are planned and 
pictured before us. Dreams of happiness and 
visions of bliss, of which all our after-years are 
insufficient to eradicate the prestige, come in 
myriads about us; and from that narrow aperture 
through which this new hope pierces into our 
I'.eart, a flood of light is poured that illumines our 
[Kith to the very verge of the grave. How many 
a success in after days is reckoned but as one 
step in that ladder of ambition some boyish re- 
view has framed: perhaps, after all, destined to be 
the first and only one! With what triumph we 
hail some goal attained, some object of our 
wishes gained, less for its present benefit, than as 
the accomplishment of some youthful prophecy, 
when, picturing to our hearts all that we would 
hive in life, we whispered within us the flattery 
of success. 

Who is there who has not had some such mo- 
ment.' and who would exchange it, with all the 
delusive and deceptive influences by which it 
comes surroufided, for the greatest actual happi- 
ness he has partaken of? Alas! alas! it is only 
in the boundless expanse of such imaginations, 
unreal and fictitious as they are, that we are truly 
blessed. Our choicest blessings in life come ever 
so associated with some sources of care, that the 
cup of cnjoyiTient is not pure, but dregged in 
bitterness. 

To such a world of bright anticipation did I 



awake on the morning after the events I have de- 
tailed in my last chapter. The first thing my 
eyes fell upon was an official letter from the Horse 
Guards: 

"The Commander of the Forces desires that 
Mr. O'Maliey will report himself, immediately on 
the receipt of this letter, at the headquarters of 
the regiment to which he is gazetted." 

Few and simple as the lines were, how brimful 
of pleasure they scunded to my ears. The regi- 
ment to which I was gazetted! And so I was a 
soldier at last! the first wish of my boyhood was 
then really accomplished. And my uncle — what 
will he say.? — what will he think? 

"A letter, sir, by the post," said Mike, at the 
moment. 

I seized it eagerly; it came from home, but 
was in Considine's handwriting. How my heart 
failed me as I turned to look at the seal. " Thank 
God!" said I, aloud, on perceiving that it ■was a 
red one. I now tore it open and read: 

"My dear Charley, — Godfrey being laid up 
witli the gout, has desired me to wiite to )ou by 
this day's post. Your ap] ointment to the 14th, 
notwithstanding all his prejudices about the army, 
has given him sincere pleasure. I belie\e, be- 
tween ourselves, that your college career, of which 
he had heard something, convinced him that )Our 
forte did not lie in the classics; you know I said 
so always, but nobody minded me. Your new 
prospects are all that your best friends could wish 
for you; you begin early; your corps is a crack 
one; you are ordered for service. What could 
you have more? 

" Your uncle hopes, if you can get a few days' 
leave, that you will ccme dc\\n here before you 
join, and I hope so, too; for he is unusually low- 
spirited, and talks about his never seeing you 
again, and all that sort of thing. 

"I have written to Merivale, your colonel, on 
this subject, as well as generally on your behalf; 
we were cornets together forty years ago; a strict 
fellow you'll find him, but a trump on service. 
If you can't manage the leave, write a long letter 
home at all events; and so, Gcd bless you, and 
all success! " Yours, sincerely, 

"W. CONSIDINE. 

" I had thought of writing you a long letter of 
advice for your new career, and, indeed, half ac- 
complished one. After all, however, I can tell 
you little that your own good sense will not teach 
you as you go on, and experience is ever better than 
precept. I know of but one rule in life which 
admits of scarcely any exception, and having lol- 
lowed it upwards of sixty years, approve of it 
only the more. Never quarrel when you can 
help it; but meet any man — your tailor, your 
hairdresser — if he wishes to have you out. 

"W. C." 

I had scarcely come to the end of this very 
characteristic epistle, when two more letters were 
placed upon my table. One was from Sir George 
Dashwood, inviting me to dinner, to meet some of 
my " brother officers." How my heart beat at the 
expression. I'he other was a short note, marked 



254 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



" Private," from my late tutor. Dr. Mooney, say- 
ing, "that if I made a suitable apology to the 
bursar for the late affair at my room, he might 
probably be induced to abandon any further step; 
otherwise" — then followed innumerable threats 
about fines, penalties, expulsion, etc., that fell 
most harmlessly upon my ears. I accepted the 
invitation; declined the apology; and, having 
ordered my horse, cantered off to the barracks 
to consult my friend Power as to all the minor 
details of my career. 

As tne dinner hour drew near, my thoughts be- 
came again fixed upon Miss Uashwood, and a 
thousand misgivings crossed my mind, as to 
whether I should have nerve enough to meet her, 
without disclosing in my manner the altered 
state of my feelings, a possibility which I now 
dreaded fully as much as I had longed some 
days before to avow my affection for her, how- 
ever slight its prospects of return. All my valiant 
resolves, and well-contrived plans for appearing 
unmoved and indifferent in her presence, with 
which I stored my mind while dressing, and when 
on the way to dinner, were, however, needless, 
for it was a party exclusively of men; and, as the 
coffee was served in the dinner-room, no move 
was made to the drawing-room by any of the 
company. "Q lite as well as it isl" was my mut- 
tered opinion, as I got into my rab at the door. 
" All is at an end as regards me in her esteem, 
and I must not spend my days sighing for a 
young lady that cares for another." Very reas- 
onable, very proper resolutions, these; but, alas! 
I went home to bed, only to think half the night 
long of the fair Lucy, and dream of her the re- 
mainder of it. 

When morning dawned, mv first thought was, 
shall I see her once more? shall I leave her for- 
ever thus abruptly, or, rather, shall I not unbur- 
then my bosom of its secret, confess my love, and 
say farewell? I felt such a course much more in 
unison with my wishes than the day before; and, 
as Power had told me that, before a week, we 
should present ourselves at Fermoy, I knew that 
no time was to be lost. 

My determination was taken. I ordered my 
horse, and, early as it was, rode out to the Royal 
Hospital. My heart beat so strongly as I rode 
up to the door, that I half resolved to return. I 
rang the bell. Sir George was in town. Miss 
Dashwood had just gone five minutes before to 
spend soine days at Carton. "It is fate!" thought 
I, as I turned from the spot, and walked slowly 
beside my horse towards Dublin. 

In the few days that intervened before my 
leaving town, my time was occupied from morning 
to night; the various details of my uniform, out- 
fit, etc., were undertaken for me by Power. My 
horses were sent for to Galway, and I myself, with 
innumerable persons to see, and a mass of busi- 
ness to transact, contrived, at least three times a 
day, to ride out to the Royal Hospital, always to 
make some trifling inquiry for Sir George, and al- 
ways to hear repeated that Miss Dashwood had 
not returned. 

Thus passed five of my last six days in Dublin, 
and, as the morning of the last opened, it was 
with a sorrowing spirit that I felt my hour of de- 



parture approach, without one only opportunity 
of seeing Lucy, even to say good-by. 

While Mike was packing in one corner, and 1 
in another was concluding a long letter to mj 
poor uncle, my door opened and ^^ ebbei 
entered. 

" Eh, O'Malley, I'm only in time to say adieu, 
it seems? To my surprise this morning I iourd 
you had cut the ' Silent Sister.' I feared I should 
be too late to catch one glim; se of )ou ere you 
started for the wars." 

"You are quite right. Master Frank, and I 
scarcely expected to have seen )ou. Your last 
brilliant r.(hievtment at Sir George's very nearly 
involved me in a serious scrape." 

"A mere trifle. How ccnfourdedly sillv Power 
must have looked, eh? Should like so nun h to 
have seen his face. He booked up next d: ) — very 
proper fellow. By-the-by, O'Malley, I rather like 
the little girl; she is decidedly pretty; and her 
foot — did you rtmark her fcot? — capital." 

"Yes, she's very good-looking," said I, 
carelessly. 

" I'm thinking of cultivating her a little," said 
Webber, pulling up his cravat and adjusting his 
hair at the glass. "She's spoiled by all the tin- 
sel vaporing of her hussar and aide-de-camp ac- 
quaintances; but scmething may be done for her, 
eh?" 

"With your most able assistance and kind in- 
tentions." 

"That's what I mean exactly. Sorry }cu're 
going — devilish sorry. You served out Sttne 
gloriously; perhaps it's as well, ihci'<.h; you knew 
they'd have expelled you; but still scmething 
might turn up; soldiering is a b;d style of thirg, 
eh? How the old general did take his sister-in- 
law's presence to heart. But he must forgive ard 
forget, for I'm going to be very great friends with 
him and Lucy. Where are you going now?" 

"I'm about to try a new horse before troops," 
said I. "He's staunch enough with the cry of 
the fox-pack in his ears, but I don't know how 
he'll stand a peal of artillery." 

"Well, come along, " said \\'ebber; "I'll ride 
with vou." So saying, we mounted ard set cff to 
the Park, where two regiments of cavalry srd 
some horse artillery were ordered for inspecticn. 

The review was over when we reached the ex- 
ercising ground, and we slowly walked our liorses 
towards the end of the Park, intending to return 
to Dublin by the road. We had not proceeded 
far, when, some hundred yards in advance, we 
perceived an officer riding with a lady, followed 
by an orderly dragoon. 

" There he goes," said Webber; " I wonder if 
he'd ask me to dinner, if I were to throw myself 
in his way?" 

"Who do you mean?" said I. 

"Sir George Dashwood, to be sure, and, la 
Toila, Miss Lucy. The little darling rides well, 
too; how squarely she sits her horse. O'Malley, 
I've a weakness there; upon my soul, 1 have." 

"Very possible," said I; ''I am aware of 
another friend of mine participating in the senti- 
ment." 

" One Charles O'Malley, of his Majesty's " 

" Nonsense, man — no, r.o. I mean a \-er\- differ- 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



255 



ent person, and, for all I can see, with some 
reason to hope for success." 

" Oh, as to that, we flatter ourselves the thing 
does not present any very considerable diffi- 
culties." 

" As how, pray ?" 

" Why, of course, like all such matters, a very 
decisive determination to be, to do, and to suffer, 
as Lindley Murray says, carries the day. Tell 
her she's an angel every day for three weeks. 
She may laugh a Httle at first, but she'll believe 
it in the end. Tell her that you have not the 
slightest prospect of obtaining her affection, but 
still persist in loving her. That, finally, you must 
die from the effects of despair, etc., but rather 
like the notion of it than otherwise. That you 
know she has no fortune; that you haven't six- 
pence; and who should marry, if people whose 
position in the world was similar did not.'" 

" Hut halt; pray, how are you to get time and 
place for all such interesting conversations?" 

"Time and place! Good heavens, what a ques- 
tion! Is not every hour of the twenty-four the 
fittest? Is not every place the most suitable? 
A sudden pause in the organ of St. Patrick's did, 
it is true, catch me once in a declaration of love, 
but the choir came to my aid, and drowned the 
lady's answer. My dear O'Malley, what could 
prevent you this instant, if you are so disposed, 
from doing the amiable to the darling Lucy, 
there?" 

" With the father for an umpire, in case we dis- 
agreed," said I. 

" Not at all. I should soon get rid of him." 

" Impossible, my dear friend." 

"Come now, just for the sake of convincing 
your obstinacy. If you like to say good- by to the 
little girl without a witness, I'll take off the he- 
dragon." 

" You don't mean " 

"I do, man — I do mean it." So saying, he 
drew a crimson silk handkerchief from his pocket, 
and fastened it round his waist like an officer's 
sash. Tliis done, and telling me to keep in their 
wake for some minutes, he turned from me, and 
was soon concealed by a copse of whitethorn near 
us. 

I had not gone above a hundred vards farther 
when I heard Sir George's voice calling for the 
orderly. I looked, and saw Webber at a consid- 
erable distance in front, curvetting and playing 
all species of antics. The distance between the 
general and myself was now so short, that I over- 
heard the following dialogue with his sentry: 

"He's not in uniform, then?" 

" No, sir; he has a round hat." 

" A round hat?" 

" His sash " 

" A sword and sash. This is too bad. I'm de- 
termined to find him out." 

" How d'ye do, general?" cried Webber, as he 
rode towards the trees. 

" Stop, sir !" shouted Sir George. 

" Good-day, Sir George," replied Webber, re- 
tiring. 

" Stay where you are, Lucy," said the general, 
as. d.Tshing spurs into his horse, he sprang for- 
ward at a gallop, incensed beyond endurance that 



his most strict orders should be so openly and in- 
sultingly transgressed. 

Webber led on to a deep hollow, where the 
road passed between two smooth slopes, covered 
with furze trees, and from which it emerged after- 
wards in the thickest and most intricate part of 
tlie Park. Sir George dashed boldly after, and 
in less than half a minute both were lost to my 
view, leavmg me in breathless amazement at Mas- 
ter Frank's ingenuity, and some puzzle as to my 
own future movements. 

" Now then, or never!" said I, as I pushed 
boldly forward, and in an instant was alongside 
of Miss Dashwood. 

Her astonishment at seeing me so suddenly, in- 
creased the confusion from which I felt myself 
suffering, and, for some minutes, I could scarcely 
speak. At last, I plucked up courage a little, and 
said: 

" Miss Dashwood, I have looked most anxiously, 
for the last four days, for the moment which 
chance has now given me. I wished, before I 
parted forever with those to whom I owe already 
so much, that I should, at least, sjaeak my gratitude 
ere I said good-by." 

" But when do you think of going?" 

" To-morrow. Captain Power, under whose 
command I am, has received orders to embark 
immediately for Portugal." 

I thought — perhaps it was but a thought — that 
her cheek grew somewhat paler as 1 s]ioke; but 
siie remained silent; and I, scarcely ki. owing what 
I had said, or whether 1 had finished, spoke not 
either. 

" Papa, I'm sure, is not aware," said she, after 
a long pause, "of your intention of leaving so 
soon; for, only last night, bespoke of some letters 
he meant to give you to some friends in the Pen- 
insula; besides, I know" — here she smiled faintly 
— " that he destined some excellent advice for your 
ears, as to your new path in life, for he lias an 
immense opinion of the value of such to a young 
officer." 

" I am, indeed, most grateful to Sir George, and 
truly never did any one stand more in need of 
counsel than I do." This was said half musingly, 
and not intended to be heard. 

" Then, pray, consult papa," said she, eagerly; 
"he is much attached to you, and will, I'm cer- 
tain, do all in his power " 

" Alas ! I fear not, Miss Dashwood." 

" Why, what can you mean? Has anything so 
serious occurred ?" 

" No, no; I'm but misleading you, and exciting 
your sympathy with false pretences. Should I 
tell you all the truth, you would not pardon, per- 
haps not hear me." 

" You have, indeed, puzzled me; but if there is 
anything in which my father " 

"Less him than his daughter," said I, fixing 
my eyes full upon her as I spoke. "Yes, Lucy, 
I feel I must confess it, cost what it may. I love 
you; stay, hear me out: I know the fruitlessness, 
the utter despair, that awaits such a sentiment. 
My own heart tells me that I am not, cannot be, 
loved in return; yet, would I rather cherish in 
its core my affection slighted and unblessed, such 
as it is, than own another heart. I ask fornoth- 



256 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



ing, I hope for nothing; I merely entreat that, 
for my truth, I may meet belief, and, for my 
heart's worship of her whom alone 1 can love, 
compassion. I see that you at least pity me. 
Nay, one word more; I have one favor more to 
ask; it is my last, my only one. Do not, when 
time and distance may have separated us — per- 
haps forever — think that the expressions I now 
use are prompted by a mere sudden ebullition of 
boyish feeling — -do not attribute to the circum- 
stance of my youth alone the warmth of the at- 
tachment I profess; for I swear to you, by every 
hope I have, that, in my heart of hearts, my love 
to ycu is the source and sjiring of every action 
in my life, of every aspiration in my heart; and, 
when I cease to love you, I shall cease to feel. 
"And now, farewell — farewell forever." I 
pressed her hand to my lips, gave one long, 
last look, turned my horse rapidly away, and, ere 
a minute, was far out of sight of where 1 had left 
her. 



CHAPTER XXII. 



THE ROAD. 



Power was detained in town by some orders 
from the adjutant-general, so that I started 
for Cork thj next morning, with no other com- 
])anion than my servant Mike. For the first few 
stages upon tlu road, my own thoughts sufficient- 
ly occupied me, to render me insensible or in- 
different to all else. My opening career — the 
prospects my new life as a soldier held out — my 
hopes of distinction — my love of Lucy, with all 
its train of doubts and fears — passed in review 
before me, and I took no note of time till far 
past noon. I now looked to the back ]jart of 
the coach, where Mike's voice had been, as usual, 
in the ascendant for some time, and perceived 
that he was surrounded by an eager auditory of 
four raw recruits, who, under the care of a ser- 
geant, were proceeding to Cork to be enrolled 
in their regiment. The sergeant, whose minutes 
of wakefiiln 'ss were only those when the coach 
stopped to change horses and when he got down 
to mixa"summat hot," paid little attention to 
his followers, leaving them perfectly free in all 
their movements, to listen to Mike's eloquence, 
and profit by his suggestions, should they deem 
fit. Master Michael's services to his new ac- 
quaintances, I began to perceive, were not ex- 
actly of the same nature as Dibdin is reported to 
have rendered to our navy in the late war. Far 
from it — his theme was no contemptuous disdain 
of danger — no patriotic enthusiasm to fight for 
home and country — no proud consciousness of 
British valor, mingled with the appropriate hatred 
of our mutual enemies, on the contrary, Mike's 
eloquence was enlisted for the defendant. He 
detailed, and in no unimpressive way either, the 
hardships of a soldier's life its dangers, its vicis- 
situdes, its chances, its possible penalties, its in- 
evitably small rewards, and, in fact, so completely 
did he work on the feelings of his hearers, that I 
perceived more than one glance exchanged be- 



tween the victims, that certainly betokened any- 
thing save the resolve to fight for King George. 
It was at the close of a long and most poweiful ap- 
peal upon the superiority of any other line of life, 
petty larceny and small felony inclusive, that he 
concluded with the following quotation: 
" True for ye, boys'. 

** ' With your red scarlet coat. 
You're as prnud as a goat, 

And your long cap and feather.' 

But, by the piper that played before Moses! it's 
more whipping nor giiigcrbread is going on 
amongst them, av ye knew but all, and heerd the 
misfortune that happened to my father." 

"And was he a sodger?" inquired one. 

" Troth was he, more sorrow to hini, and wasn't 
he a'most whipped one day, for doing what he 
was bid." 

" Musha, but that was hard." 

"To be sure it was hard; but, faix, when my 
father seen that they didn't know their own minds, 
he thought, anyhow, he knew his, so he ran away, 
and divil a bit of him they ever cotch afther. 
Maybe ye might like to hear the story, and there's 
instruction in it for yez, too." 

A general request to this end being preferred 
by the company, Mike took a shrewd look at the 
sergeant, to be sure that he was sleeping, settled 
his coat comfortably across his knees, and began: 

" Well, it's a good many years ago my father 
'listed in the North Cork, just to oblige Mr. Barry, 
the landlord there; ' for,' says h.e, ' Phil,' says he, 
' it's not a soldier ye'U be at all, but my own man, 
to brush my clothes and go errands, and the like 
o' that, and the King, long life to him! will help 
to pay ye for your trouble. Ye understand me?' 
Well, my father agreed, and Mr. Barry was as 
good as his word. Never a guard did my fatlier 
mount, nor as much as a drill had he, nor a roll- 
call, nor anything at all, save and except wait on 
the captain, his master, just as pleasant as need 
be, and no inconvenience in life. 

"Well, for three years this went on as I am 
telling, and the regiment was ordered down to 
Bantry, because of a report that the ' boys' was 
rising down there; and the second evening there 
was a night party patrolling with Captain Barry 
for six hours in the rain, and the captain, God be 
marcifui to him. tuk could and died; more by 
token, they said it was drink, but my father says 
it wasn't; 'for,' says he, 'after he tuk eight tum- 
blers comfortable,' my father mixed the ninth, 
and the captain waved his hand, this way, as 
much as to say he'd have no more. ' Is it that 
ye mean?' says my father. And the captain 
nodded. ' Musha, but it's sorry I am,' says my 
father, ' to see you this way, for ye must be bad 
entirely to leave off in the beginning of the even- 
ing ' And thrue for him, the captain was dead 
in the morning 

"A sorrowful r'av it was for my father when he 
died. It was tl.e finest place in the world; little 
to do; plenty of divarsion; and a kind man he 
was — when he was drunk. Well, then, when the 
captain was buried and all was over, my father 
hoped they'd be for letting him away, as he said, 
'Sure, I'm no use in life to anybody, save the 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON". 



257 



man that's gone, for his ways are all I know, and 
1 never was a sodger.' But, upon my conscience, 
they had other thoughts in their heads; for they 
ordered him into the ranks to be drilled just like 
the recruits they took the day before. 

"'Musha, isn't this hard.'' said my father. 
' Here I am, an ould vitrin that ought to be dis- 
charged on a pension with two-and-sixpence a 
day, obliged to go capering about the barrack- 
yard, practising the ;oose-step, or some other non- 
sense not becoming my age nor my habits.' But 
so it was. Well, this went on for some time, and, 
sure, if they were hard on my father, hadn't he 
his revenge, for he nigh broke their hearts with 
his stupidity. Oh ! nothing in life could equal 
him; devil a thing, no matter how easy, he could 
learn at all, and so far from caring for being in 
confinement, it was that he liked best. Every 
sergeant in the regiment had a trial of him, but 
all to no good ; and he seemed striving so hard 
to learn all the while that they were loath to pun- 
ish him, the ould rogue ! 

" This was going on for some time, when, one 
day, news came in that a body of the rebels, as 
they called them, was coming down from the Gap 
of Mulnavick to storm the town and burn all be- 
fore them. The whole regiment was of coorse 
under arms, and great preparations was made for 
a battle. Meanwhile, patrols were ordered to 
scour the roads, and sentries posted at every turn 
of the way and every lising ground, to give warn- 
ing when the boys cams in sight ; and my father 
was placed at the Bridge of Drumsnag, in the 
wildest and bleakest part of the whole country, 
with nothing but furze mountains on every side, 
and a straight road going over the top of 
them. 

'■'This is pleasant,' says my father, as soon as 
they left him there alone by himself, with no hu- 
man creature to speak to, nor a whiskey-shop with- 
in ten miles of him ; ' could conif nt,' says he, 
'on a winter's day, and fai.x, but I have a mind 
to give ye the slip.' 

" Well, he put his gun down on the bridge, and 
he lit his pipe, and he sat down under an ould 
tree and began to ruminate upon his affairs. 

'"Oh, then, it's wishing it well I am.' says he, 
'for sodgering ; and bad lack to the hammer that 
struck the shilling that listed me, that's alt,' for 
he was mighty low in his heart. 

" Just then a noise came rattling down near him. 
He listened, and, before he could get on his legs, 
down comes the general, ould Cohoon, with an 
orderly after h.im. 

"' Who goes that?' says my father. 

" ' The round,' says the general, looking about 
all the time to see where was the sentry, for my 
father was snug under the tree. 

'' ' What round ?' says my father. 

" The grand round,' says the general, more 
puzzled than afore. 

" ' Pass on, grand round, and God save you 
kindly!' s.ays my father, putting his pipe in his 
mouth again, for he thought all was over. 

" ' D — n your soul, where are you?' says the 
general, for sorrow bit of my father could he see 

yet. 

" ' It's here I am,' says he, ' and a could place 



I have of it; and if it wasn't for the pipe I'd be 
lost entirely.' 

" The words wasn't well out of his mruth when 
the general began laughing till ye'd think he'd 
fall off his horse; and the dragoon behind him — 
more by token, they say it wasn't right for him — 
laushed as loud as himself. 

" ' Yer a droll sentry,' says the general, as soon 
as he could sjjeak. 

" ' Be-gorra, it's little fun there's left in me,' 
says my father, ' with this drilling, and parading, 
and blackguarding about the roads all night.' 

" ' And is this the way you salute your officer?' 
says the general. 

"'Just so,' says my father^ 'devil a more po- 
liteness ever they taught me.' 

" ' What regiment do you belong to?' says the 
general. 

"'The North Cork, bad luck to them!' says 
my father, with a sigh 

" ' They ought to be proud of ye,' says the' 
general. 

" ' I'm sorry for it,' says my father, sorrowfully, 
' for maybe they'll keep me the longer.' 

" ' Well, my good fellow,' says the general, ' I 
haven't more time to waste here ; but let me teach 
you something before I go. Wlienever your ofii' 
cer pas;e^ it's your duty to present to him.' 

" ' Arrah, it's jokin' ye are,' says my father. 

" ' No, I'm in earnest,' says he, ' as ye might 
learn, to your cost, if I brought you to a court-mar- 
tial.' 

" Well, there's no knowing,' says my father, 
"what they'd be up to; but sure, if that's all, I'll 
do it, and with all " the veins," whenever yer com- 
ing this way again.' 

"The general began to laugh again here; but 
said, — 

'"I'm coming back in the evening,' says he, 
'and mind you don't forget your respect to your 
officer.' 

"'Never fear, sir,' says my father; 'and many 
thanks to you for your Idndness for telling me.' 

" Away went the general, and the orderly after 
him, and, in ten minutes, they were out of sight. 

" The night was' falling fast, and one-lialf of 
the mountain was quite dark already, when my 
father began to think they were forgetting him 
entirely. He looked one way, and he looked 
another, but sorra bit of a sergeant's guard was 
coming to relieve him. There he was, fresh and 
fasting, and daren't go for the bare life. ' I'll give 
you a quarter of an hour more,' says my father, 
' till the light leaves that rock up there; after that,' 
says he, 'by the mass! I'll be off, av it cost me 
what it may.' 

" Well, sure enough, his courage was not needed' 
this time; for what did he see at the same mo- 
ment, but a shadow of something coming down 
the road opposite the bridge He looked again; 
and then he made out the general himself, that 
was walking his horse down the steep part of the 
mountain, followed by the orderly. My father 
immediately took up his musket off the wall,, 
settled his belts, shook the ashes out of his pipe,- 
and put it into his pocket, making himself aS 
smart and neat-looking as he could be, determin- 
ing, when ould Cohoon came up, to ask him for 



SiiS 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



leave to go home, at least for the night. Well, 
by this time the general was turning a sharp part 
of the cliff that looks down upon the bridge, from 
wliere you might look five miles round on every 
side. 'He sees me,' says my father; 'but I'll be 
just as quick as himself.' No sooner said than 
done; for, coming forward to the parapet of the 
bridge, he up with his musket to his shoulder, and 
presented it straight at the general. It wasn't 
well there, when the officer pulled up his horse 
quite short, and shouted out, 'Sentry! sentry!' 

"'Anan?' says my father, still covering him. 

" ' Down with your musket, you rascal. Don't 
you see it's the grand round .'' 

" ' To be sure I do," says my father, never chang- 
ing for a minute. 

" 'The ruffian will shoot me,' says the general. 

" ' Devil a fear,' says my father, ' av it doesn't go 
off of itself.' 

" ' What do you mean by that, you villain?' says 
the general, scarcely able to speak with fright, for. 
every turn he gave on his horse, my father fol- 
lowed with the gun — ^'what do you mean?' 

"'Sure, ain't I presenting?' says my father. 
'Blood an ages! do you want me to fire next?" 

" With that the general drew a pistol from his 
holster, and took deliberate aim at my father; and 
tliere they botii stood for five minutes, looking at 
each other, the orderly all tlie w-hile breaking his 
heart laughing behind a rock; for, ye see, the 
general knesv av he retreated tiiat my father might 
fire on purpose, and, av he came on, that he miglii 
fire by chance; and sorra bit he knew what was 
best to be done. 

"'Are ye going to pass the evening up there, 
grand round?' says my father; 'for it's tired I'm 
gettin' houldiii" tliis so long.' 

'"Port arms!" shouted the general, as if on 
parade. 

" ' Sure I can't, till yer past,' says my father, 
angrily; 'and my hands trembling already.' 

" ' By Heavens! I shall be shot,' says the general. 

"'Be-gorra, it's what I'm afraid of,' says my 
father; and the words wasn't out of his mouth 
before off went the musket — bang — and down 
fell the general, smack on -the ground sense- 
less. Well, the orderly ran out at this, and took 
him up and examined his wound; but it wasn't a 
wound at all, only the wadding of tlie gun; for 
my father — God be kind to him! — ye see, could 
do nothing right; and so he bit off the wrong end 
of the cartridge when he put it in the gun, and, by 
reason, there was no bullet in it. Well, from that 
day after they never got a sight of him; for, the 
instant that the general dropped, he sprang over 
th? bridge-wall and got away; and what, between 
living in a lime-kiln for two months, eating noth- 
ing but blackberries and sloes, and other disguises, 
he never returned to the army, but ever after took 
to a civil situation, and driv a hearse for many 
years." 

How far Mike's narrative might have contrib- 
uted to the support of his theory, I am unable 
to pronounce; for his auditory were, at some dis- 
tance from Cork, made to descend from their lofty 
position, and join a larger body of recruits, all 
proceeding to the same destination, under a strong 
escort of infantry. For ourselves, we reached the 



"beautiful city" in due time, and took up oui 
quarters at the Old George Hotel. 



CHAPTER XXIII. 



CORK. 



The undress rehearsal of a new piece, with its! 
dirty-booted actors, its cloaked and hooded ac- 
tresses en papillotc, bears about the same relation 
to the gala, wax-lit, and bespangled ballet, as the 
raw young gentleman of yesterday to the epaul- 
eited, belted, and sabretasched dragoon, whose 
transformation is due to a few hours of head- 
quarters, and a few interviews with the adjutant. 

So, at least, I felt it; and it was with a very 
perfect concurrence in his Majesty's taste in a 
uniform, and the most entire ap|)roval of the 
regimental tailor, that I strutted down Geoige's 
street a few days after my arrival in Cork. 'Ihe 
transports had not as yet come round; there was 
a great doubt of their doing so for a week or stj 
longer; and I found myself, as the dashing cor- 
net, the centre of a thousand polite attentions 
and most kind civilities. 

The officer under whose orders I was placed 
for the time was a great friend of Sir George 
Dasluvood's, and paid me, in consequence, mi:(h 
attention. Major Dalrymple had been on the 
staff for the commencement of his military career 
— had served in the commissariat for seme time 
— was much on foreign stations; but never, I y 
any of the many casualties of his life, had seen 
what could be called service. His ideas of the 
soldier's profession were, tlierefore, what might 
almost be as readily picked up by a commission 
in the battle-axe guards, as one in his Majesty s 
Fiftieth. He was now a species of district pay; 
master, employed in a thousand ways, eitlier in- 
specting recruits, examining accounts, revising 
sick certificates, or receiving contracts for mess 
beef. Whether the nature of his manifold occu- 
pations had enlarged the sphere of his talents and 
ambition, or whether the abilities had suggested 
the variety of his duties, I know not; but truly, 
the major was a man of all woik. No sooner 
did a young ensign join his regiment at Cork, 
than Major I)alrymi)le's card was left at his quar- 
ters; the next day came the major himself; the 
third brought an invitation to dinner; on the 
fourth he was told to drop in, in the evening; 
and, from thenceforward, he was the ami de la 
maison, in company with numerous others as newly 
fledged and inexperienced as himself. 

One singular feature of the society at the house 
was that, although the major was as well known 
as the flag on Spike Island, yet, somehow, no 
officer above the rank of an ensign was ever to 
be met with there. It was not that he had not a 
large acquaintance; in fact, the " How are you, 
major?" — "How goes it, Dalrymple?" that kc]-.t 
everlastingly going on as he walked the streets, 
proved the reverse; but, strange enough, his 
predilections leaned towards the newly-gazetted, 
far before the bronzed and seared campaigners 
who had seen the world, and knew more about 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



259 



it. The reasons for this line of conduct were 
twofold; in the first place, there was not an arti- 
cle of ou'.fit, from a stock to a sword-belt, that 
he coidd not and did not supply to the young 
officer; from the gorget of the infantry to the 
shako of the grenadier, all came within his prov- 
ince; not that he actually kept a iiias^asin of 
these articles, but he had so completely inter- 
woven his interests with those of numerous shop- 
keepers in Cork, that he rarely entered a shop 
over w'lose door Dalrymple and Co. might not 
have figured on the signboard. His stables were 
filled with a perfect infirmary of superannuated 
chargers, fattened and conditioned up to a mira- 
cle, and groomed to perfection. He could get 
you — only you — about three dozen of sherry, to 
take out with you as sea-store; he knew of such 
a servant; he chanced upon such a camp-furni- 
ture yesterday in his walks; in fact, why want 
for anything? His resources were inexhaustible 
— his kindness unbounded. 

Then, money was no object — hang it, )'ou could 
pay when you liked — what signified it? In other 
words, a bill at thirty-one days, cashed and dis- 
counted by a friend of the major's, would always 
do. While such were the unlimited advantages 
his acquaintance conferred, the sphere of his 
benefits took another range. The major had two 
daughters; Matilda and Fanny were as well 
known in the army as Lord Fitzroy Somerset or 
Picton, from the Isle of Wight to Halifax, from 
Cape Coast to Chatham, from Belfast to the Ber- 
mudas. Where was the subaltern who had not 
knelt at the shrine of one or the other, if not of 
both, and vowed eternal love until a change of 
quarters? In plain words, the major's solicitude 
for the service was such, that, not content with 
providing the young officer with all the necessary 
outfit of his profession, he longed also to supply 
him with a comforter of his woes, a charmer for 
his solitary hours, in the person of one of his 
amiable daughters. Unluckily, however, the ne- 
cessity for a wife is not enforced by " general 
orders," as is the cut of your coat, or the length 
of your sabre; consequently, the major's success 
in the homa department of his diplomacy was 
not destined for the same ha|)py results that 
awaited it when engaged about drill trousers and 
camp kettles, and the Misses Dalrymple remained 
misses through every clime and every campaign. 
And yet, why was it so? It is hard to say. What 
would men have? Matilda was a dark-haired, 
dark-eyed, romantic-looking girl, with a tall fig- 
ure and a slender waist, with m jre poetry in her 
head than would have turned any ordinary brain; 
always unhapiiy; in need of consolation; never 
meeting with the kindred spirit that understood 
her; destined to walk the world alone, her fair 
thoughts smothered in the recesses of her own 
heart. Devilish hard to stand this, when you 
began in a kind of platonic fiiendship on both 
sides. More than one poor fellow nearly suc- 
cumbed, particularly when she came to quote 
Cowley, and told him, with tears in her eyes, 

"There are hearts that live and love alone," etc. 

I'm assured that this coup dc- grace rarely failed 
in being follow :d by a downright avowal of open 



love, which, somehow, what between the route 
coming, what with waiting for leave from home, 
etc., never got further than a most tender scene, 
and exchange of love tokens; and, in fact, such 
became so often the termination, that Power 
swears Matty had to make a firm resolve about 
cutting off any more hair, fearing a premature 
baldness during the recruiting season. 

Now, Fanny had selected another arm of the 
service. Her hair was fair; her eyes blue, laugh- 
ing, languishing — mischief-loving blue, with long 
lashes, and a look in them that was wont to leave 
its impression rather longer than you exactly 
knew of; then, her figure was/c///c', but perfect; 
her feet Canova might have copied; and her hand 
was a study for Titian; her voice, too, was soft 
and musical, but full of that gah'/c ife ca'tir that 
never fails to charm. While her sister's style was 
il penseroso, hers was Pallfgro; every imaginable 
thing, place, or person supjilied food for her 
mirth, and her sister's lovers all came in for their 
share. She hunted with Smith Barry's hound-p; 
she yachted with the Cove Club; she coursed, 
practised at a mark with a pistol, and ])layed 
chicken hazard with all the cavalry; for, let it be 
remarked as a physiological fact, Matilda's ad- 
mirers were almost invariably taken frcm the in- 
fantry, while Fanny's adorers were as regularly 
dragoons. Whether the former be the romantic 
arm of the service, and the latter be more adapted 
to dull realities, or whether the phencmenon had 
any other explanation, I leave to the curious. 
Now this arrangement, proceeding upcn that 
principle which has wrought such wonders in 
Manchester and Sheffield- — the division of labcr 
— was a most wise and equitable one; each |ja\- 
ing her own separate and distinct field of actior, 
interference was impossible; not but that when, 
as in the present instance, cavalry was in the as- 
cendant, Fanny would willingly spare a dragoon 
or two to her sister, who likewise would lepay 
the debt when occasion offered. 

The mamma — for it is time I should say 
something of the head of the family — was an ex- 
cessively fat, coarse.-looking, dark-skinned person- 
age, of some fifty years, with a voice like a boat- 
swain in a quinsy. Heaven can tell, peihaps, 
why the worthy major allied his fortunes with 
hers, for she was evidently of a very inferior rank 
in society; could ne\er have been aujht than 
downright ugly; and I never heard that she 
brought him any money. " Spoiled five," the 
national amusement of her age and sex in Cork, 
scandal, the changes in the army list, the failures 
in speculation of her luckless husband, the for- 
lorn fortunes of the girls, her daughters, kept her 
in occupation; and her days were passed in one 
])erpetual unceasing current of dissatisfaction and 
ill-temper with all around, that formed a heavy 
counterpoise to the fascination of the young ladies. 
The repeated jiltings to which they had been sub- 
ject had blunted any delicacy, upon the ;coreof 
their marriage, and if the newly-introduced ( ornet 
I or ensign was not coming forward, as became him, 
at the end of the requisite number of days, he 
was sure of receiving a very palpable admonition 
from Mrs. Dalrymple. Hints, at first dimly 
shadowed, that Matilda was not in spirits this 



260 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



morning; that Fanny, poor child, had a headache 
— directed especially at tlie cul|nit in question, 
grew gradually into those little motherly fond- 
nesses in mamma, that, like the fascinations of 
the rattlesnake, only lure on to ruin. The doomed 
man was pressed to dinner when all others were 
permitted to take their leave; he was treated like 
one of the family, (}od help him! After dinner, 
the major would keep him an hour over his wine, 
discussing the misery of an ill-assorted marriage; 
detailing his own happiness in marrying a woman 
like the Tonga Islander I have mentioned; hint- 
ing that girls should be brought up, not only to 
become companions to their husbands, but with 
ideas fitting their station; if his auditor were a 
military man, that none but an old officer (like 
himl could know how to educate girls (like his); 
and that, feeling he possessed two such treasures, 
his whole aim in life was to guard and keep them, 
— a difficult task, when proposals of the most 
flattering kind were coming constantly before 
him. Then followed a fresh bottle, during which 
the major would consult his young friend upon a 
very delicate affair, no less than a proposition 
for the hand of Miss Matilda, or Fanny, which- 
ever he was supposed to be soft upon. This was 
generally a coup de inaitre; should he still resist, 
he was handed over to Mrs. Dalrymple, witli a 
strong indictment against him, and rarely did he 
escape a heavy sentence. Now, is it not strange, 
that two really pretty girls, with fully enough of 
amiable and pleasing qualities to have excited 
the attention and won the affections of many a 
man, should have gone on for years — for, alas I 
they did so in every climate, under every sun — 
to waste their sweetness in this miserable career 
of intrigue and mantrap, and yet nothing come of 
it? But so it was: the first question a newly- 
landed regiment was aisked, if coming from where 
they resided, was, " Well, how are the girls?" 
" Oh, gloriously. Matty is there." "Ah, indeed! 
jjoor thing." " Has Fan sported a new habit?" 
"Is it the old grey with the hussar braiding? 
confound it, that was seedy when I saw them in 
Corfu. And mother Dal, as fat and vulgar as 
ever?" " Dawson of ours was the last, and was 
called up for sentence when we were ordered 
away; of course, he bolted," etc. Such was the 
invariable style of question and answer concern- 
ing them; and, although some few, either from 
good feeling or fastidiousness, relished but little 
the mode in which it had become habitual to 
treat them, I grieve to say that, generally, they 
were pronounced fair game for every species of 
flirtation and love-making without any "inten- 
tions" for the future. I should not have tres- 
passed so far upon my readers' patience, were I 
not, in recounting these traits of my friends 
above, narrating matters of history. How many 
are there who may cast their eyes upon these 
pages, that will say, " Poor Matilda, I knew her 
at Gibraltar. Little Fanny was the life and soul 
af us all in Quebec." 

" Mr. O'Malley," .said the adjutant, as I pre- 
sented myself in the afternoon of my arrival in 
vAirk, to a short, punchy, little red-faced gentle- 
man, in a short jacket and ducks, " you are, I 
[crceive, appointed to the i4ih; you will have 



the goodness to appear on parade to-morrow 

morning. The riding-school hours are 

. The morning drill is ; 

evening drill . Mr. Minchin, you 

are a 14th man, I believe: no, I beg pardon, a 
carbineer, but no matter — Mr. O'Malley, Mr. Min- 
chin; Captain Dounie, Mr. O'Malley: you'll dine 
with us to-day, and to-morrow you shall Le 
entered at the mess." 

" Yours are at Santarem, I believe?" said an old 
weather-beaten looking officer with one arm. 

" I'm ashamed to say, I know nothing what- 
ever of them — I received my gazette unexpected- 
ly enough." 

" Ever in Cork before, Mr. O'Malley?" 

"Never," said I. 

" Glorious place," lisped a white-eyelashed, 
knock-kneed ensign; " splendid ,i;"(7A, eh?" 

"Ah, Burton," said Minchin, "you may boast 
a little, but we poor devils " 

" Know the Dais?" said the hero of the lisp, 
addressing me. 

"I haven't that honor," I replied, scarcely able 
to guess whether what he alluded to were objects 
of the picturesque, or a private family. 

" Introduce him, then, at once," said the adju- 
tant; "we'll all go in the evening. What will the 
old squaw think?" 

"Not I." said Minchin. "She wrote to the 
Duke of York about my helping Matilda at sup- 
per, and not having any honorable intentions after- 
wards." 

" We dine at ' The George' to-day, Mr. O'Mal- 
ley, sharp seven. Until then " 

So saying, the little man bustled back to his 
accounts, and I took my leave with the rest, to 
stroll about the town till dinner-time. 



CHAPTER XXIV, 

THE adjutant's DINNER. 

The adjutant's dinner was as professional an 
affair as need be. A circuit or a learned society 
could not have been more exclusively devoted to 
their own separate and immediate topics than 
were we. Pipe-clay in all its varieties came on 
the tapis ; the last regulation cap — the new but- 
ton — the promotions — the general orders — the 
colonel, and the colonel's wife — stoppages, and 
the mess fund, were all well and ably discussed; 
and, strange enough, while the converfation took 
this wide range, not a chance allusion, not one 
stray hint, ever wandered to the brave fellows 
who were covering the army with glory in the 
Peninsula, nor one souvenir of him that was even 
then enjoying a fame, as a leader, second to none 
in Europe. This surprised me not a little at the 
time; but I have, since that, learned how little 
interest the real services of an army possess for 
the ears of certain officials, who, stationed at 
home quarters, pass their inglorious li\es in the 
details of drill, parade, mess-room gossip, and 
barrack scandal. Such, in fact, were the dons of 
the present dinner. We had a commissary-general, 
an inspecting brigade-major of something, a 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



261 



physician to tlie forces, the adjutant himself, and 
Major Dalrymple; the oi /if/A^/ consisting of tlie 
raw ensign, a newly-fledged cornet (Mr. Sparks), 
and myself. 

The commissary told some very pointless stories 
about his own department, the doctor read a dis- 
sertation upon \Valchercn fever, the adjutant got 
very stupidly tipsy, and Major Dalrymple suc- 
ceeded in engaging the three juniors of the party 
to tea, having previously pledged us to purchase 
nothing whatever of outfit without his advice, he 
well knowing (which he did) how )oung fellows 
like us were cheated, and resolving to be a father 
to us (which he certainly tried to be). 

As we rose from the table about ten o'clock, I 
ftit how soon a few such dinners would succeed 
in disenchanting me of all my military illusions; 
for, young as I ua^, I saw that the commissary 
was a vulgar bore, the doctor a humbug, the 
adjutant a sot, and the major himseif I greatly 
suspected to be an old rogue. 

" You are coming with us. Sparks?" said Major 
Dalrymple, as he took me by one arm and the 
ensign by the other. " We are going to have a 
little tea witli the ladies; not five minutes' 
walk." 

" Most happy, sir," said Mr. Sparks, with a very 
flattered expression of countenance. 

" O'Malley, you know Sparks, and Burton, 
too." 

This served for a species of triple introduc- 
tion, at which we all bowed, simpered, ami bowed 
again. We were very happy to have the pleasure, 
etc. 

" How pleasant to get away from these fellows!" 
said the major, " they are so uncommonly prosy: 
that commissary with his mess-beef, and old 
Pritchard, with black doses and rigors; nothing 
so insufferable. Besides, in reality, a young 
officer never needs all that nonsense; a little 
medicine chest — I'll get you one each to-morrow 
for five pounds; no, five pounds ten; the same 
thing — that will see you all through the Peninsula. 
Remind me of it in the morning." This we all 
promised to do, and the major resumed: " I say, 
Sparks, you've got a real prize in that grey horse, 
such a trooper as he is. O'Malley, you'll be 
wanting something of that kind, if we can find 
it out for you." 

"Many thanks, major, but my cattle are on 
the way here already. I've only three horses, 
but I think they are tolerably good ones." 

The major now turned to Burton, and said 
something in a low tone, to which the other 
replied. 

"Well, if you say so, I'll get it, but it's devilish 
dear." 

" Dear! my young friend; cheap, dog cheap." 

"Only think, O'Malley, a v.-hole brass bed, 
camp-stool, basin-stand, all complete, for sixty 
pounds! If it was not that a widow was dispos- 
ing of it in great distress, one hundred could not 
buy it. Here we are; come along — no ceremony. 
Mind the two steps; that's it. Mrs. Dalrvmple, 
Mr. O'Malley; Mr. Sparks, Mr. Bi.rtoii, my 
daughters. Is tea over, girls?" 

" Why, papa, it's near eleven o'clock," said 
Fanny, as she rose to ring the bell, displaying, in 



so doing, the least possible portion of a very well- 
turned ankle. 

Miss Matilda Dal laid down her. book, but, 
seemingly lost in abstraction, did L-ot deign to 
look at us. Mrs. Dalrymple, however, did the 
honors with much politeness, and having, by a 
few adroit and well-]Hit queries, ascertained every- 
thing concerning our rank and position, seemed 
perfectly satisfied that our intiusion was justifi- 
able. 

While my confrere, Mr. Sparks, was under- 
going his examination, I had time to look at the 
ladies, whom I was much surprised at finding so 
very well-looking; and as the ensign had opened 
a conversation with Fanny, I approached my chair 
towards the other, and having carelessly turned 
over the leaves of the book she had been read- 
ing, drew her on to talk of it. As my acquaint- 
ance with young ladies hitherto had been limited 
to those who had " no soul," I felt some difficulty 
at first in keeping up with the exalted tone cf 
my fair companion, but, by letting her take the 
lead for some time, I got to know more of the 
ground. We went on tolerably together, every 
moment increasing my stock of ttclinicals, which 
were all that was needed to sustain the conversa- 
tion. How often have I found the same plan 
succeed — whether discussing a question of law 
or medicine — with a learned prcfestor of either; 
or, what is still more difficult, canvassing the 
merits of a preacher, or a doctrine, with a serious 
young lady, whose " blessed privileges" were at 
first a little puzzling to comprehend. 

I so contrived it, too, that Miss Matilda should 
seem as much to be making a convert to her 
views as to have found a person capable of sympa- 
thizing with her, and thus long before the little 
supper, with which it was the major's practice to 
regale his friends every evening, made its appear- 
ance, we had established a perfect understanding 
together — a circumstance that, a bystander might 
have remarked, was productive of a more widely 
diffused satisfaction than I could have myself 
seen any just cause for. Mr. Burton was also 
progressing, as the Yankees say, with the sister. 
Sparks had booked himself as purchaser of mili- 
tary stores enough to make the campaign of the 
whole globe, and we were thus all evidently ful- 
filling our various vocations, and affording per- 
fect satisfaction to our entertainers. 

Then came the spatch-cock, and the sand- 
wiches, and the negus, which Fanny first mixed 
for papa, and, subse(|uently, with some little press- 
ing, for Mr. Burton; Matilt'a the romantic assisted 
me. Sparks helped himself; then we laughed, 
and told stories, pressed Sparks to sing, which, as 
he declined, we only pressed him the more. 
How invariably, by-the-by, is it the custom to 
show one's ajiprtciation of an)thing like a butt, 
by pressing him for a song. The major was in 
great spirits, told us anecdotes of his early life 
in India, and how he once contracted to supply 
the troops with milk, and made a purchase, in 
consequence, of some score of cattle, which 
turned out to be bullocks. Matilda recited some 
lines from Pope in my ear. Fanny challenged 
Burton to a rowing-match. Sparks listened to 
all around him, and Mrs. Dalrymple mixed a very 



262 



CHARLES 0"MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



little weak punch, which Dr. Lucas had recom- 
mended to her, to take the last thing at niglit — 

Nodes catifeque Say what you will, these were 

very jovial little reunions. The girls were decid- 
edly very pretty. We were in high favor, and 
when we took leave at the door, with a very 
cordial shake hands, it was with no a> rihe pcnse'e 
we promised to see them in the morning. 



CHAPTER XXV. 



THE ENTANGLEMENT. 



When we think for a moment over all the 
toils, all the anxieties, all the fevered excitement 
of a. granJe passion, it is not a little singular that 
love should so frequently be elicited by a state 
of mere idleness; and yet nothing, after all, is so 
predisposing a cause as this. Where is the man 
between eighteen and eight-and-thirty — might 1 
not say forty— who, without any very pressing 
duns, and having no taste for strong liquor and 
rouge et noir, can possibly lounge through the long 
hours of the day, without, at least, fancying him- 
self in love? The thousand little occupations it 
suggests become a necessity of existence; its veiy 
worries are like the wholesome oppositio:! that 
])urifies and strengthens the frame of a free state. 
Then, what is tiiere half so stt'eet as the reflec- 
tive flattery which results from our appreciation 
of an object who, in return deems us the ne plus 
ultra of perfection? There it is, in fact — that 
confounded bump of self-esteem does it all, and 
has more imprudent matches to answer for than 
all the occipital protuberances that ever scared 
poor Harriet Martineau. 

Now, to apply my moralizing. I very soon, to 
use the mess phrase, got " devilish spooney" about 
the " Dais." The morning drill, the riding-school, 
and the parade, were all most fervently consigned 
to a certain military character that shall be name- 
less, as detaining me from some appointment 
made the evening before; for, as I supped there 
each night, a party of one kind or another was 
always planned for the day following. Sometimes 
we had a boating excursion to Cove; sometimes 
a pic-nic at Foaty; now, a rowing party to Glan- 
mire, or a ride, at which I furnished the cavalry. 
These doings were all under my especial direc- 
tion, and I thus became speedily the organ of the 
Dalrymple family; and the simple phrase, "It 
was Mr. O'Malley's arrangement," " Mr. O'Malley 
wished it," was like the ^'Aloi le roi," of Louis 
XIV. 

Though all this while we continued to carry on 
most pleasantly, Mrs, Dalrymple, I could per- 
ceive, did not entirely sympathize with our pro- 
jects of amusement. As an experienced engineer 
might feel, when watching the course of some 
storming projectile — some brilliant congreve — 
flying over a besieged fortress, yet never touch- 
ing the walls nor harming the inhabitants, so she 
looked on at all these demonstrations of attack 
with no small impatience, and wondered when 
would the breach be reported practicable. An- 
other puzzle also contributed its share of anxiety 



— which of the girls was it? To be sure, he spent 
three hours every morning with Fanny; but, then, 
he never left Matilda the whole evening. He had 
given his miniature to one; a locket with his hair 
was a present to the sister. The major thinks he 
saw his arm around Matilda's waist in the garden; 
the housemaid swears she saw him kiss Fanny in 
the pantry. Matilda smiles when we talk of his 
name with her sister's; F.Tnny huighs outright, 
and says, " Poor Matilda, the man never di tamed 
of her." This is becoming uncomfortable; the 
major must ask his intentions — it is, certainly, 
one or the other; but, then, we have a right to 
know which. Such was a very condensed view 
of Mrs. Dalrymple's reflections on this important 
topic — a view taken with her usual tact and clear- 
sightedness. 

Matters were in this state, when Power at length 
arrived in Cork, to take command of our detach- 
ment, and made the final preparations for our de- 
parture. I had been, as usual, <-] ending the even- 
ing at the major's, and had just reached my 
quarters, when I found my friend sitting at my 
fire, smoking his cigar and solacing himself with 
a little brandy-and-water. 

■'At last," said he, as I entered — "at last! 
Why, where the deuce have you been till this 
hour — past two o'clock? There is no ball, no as- 
sembly going on, eh?" 

"No," said 1, half blushing at the eagerness of 
the inquiry; "I've been spending the evening 
with a friend." 

" Spending the evening! say, rather, the night. 
Why, confound you, man, what is there in Cork 
to keep you out of bed till near three?" 

" Well, if you must know, I've been supping at 
a Major Dalrymple's — a devilish good fellow — 
with two such daughters!" 

" Ahem!" said Power, shutting one eye know- 
ingly, and giving a look like a Yorkshire horse- 
dealer. " Go on." 

" VVhy, what do you mean?" 

" Go on — continue." 

"I've finished — I've nothing more to tell." 

" So, they're here, are they?" said he, reflect- 
ingly. 

" Who?" said I. 

"Matilda and Fanny, to be sure." 

" Why, you know them, then?" 

" I should think 1 do." | 

" Where kave you met them?" 

" Where have I not? When I was in the Rifles, 
they were quartered at Zante. Matilda was just 
then coming it rather strong with Villiers, of 
ours, a regular greenhorn. Fanny, also, nearly 
did for Harry Nesbitt, by riding a hurdle-race. 
Then they left for Gibraltar, in the year — what 
year was it?" 

" Come, come," said I, " this is a humbug; the 
girls are quite young; you just have heard their 
names." 

" Well, perhaps so; only tell me which is your 
peculiar weakness, as they say in the west, and 
maybe I'll convince you." 

"Oh! as to that," said I, laughing, "I'm not 
very far gone on either side." 

" Then Matilda, probably, has not tried you 
with Cowley, eh? — you look a little pink— •' There 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



263 



are hearts that live and love alone.' Oh! poor 
fellow, you've got it. By Jove! how you've been 
coming it, though, in tsn days! She ought not 
to have got to that for a month, at least, and 
how like a young one it was, to be caught by the 
poetry. Oh! Master Charley, I thought that the 
steeple-chaser miglit have done most witli your 
Gahvay heart — the girl in the grey habit, that 
sings ' Moddirederoo,' ought to have been the 
prize. Halt! by St. George, but that tickles you 
also! Why, zounds, if I go on, probably, at this 
rate, I'll find a tender spot occupied by the 
' black lady herself.' " 

It was no use concealing, or attempting to con- 
ceal, anything from my inquisitive friend, so I 
mixed my grog, and opened my whole heart, told 
how I had been conducting myself for the entire 
preceding fortnight; and, when I concluded, sat 
silently awaiting Power's verdict, as though a jury 
were about to pronounce upon my life. 

" Have you ever written.'" 

" Never; except, perhaps, a few lines, with 
tickets for the theatre, or something of that kind." 

"Have you copies of your correspondence?" 

"Of course not. Why, what do you mean.'" 

" Has Mrs. Dal been ever present, or, as the 
J'rench say, has she assisted, at any of your ten- 
der interviews with the young ladies?" 

" I'm not aware that one kisses a girl before 
mamma." 

"I'm not speaking of that; I merely allude to 
flirtation." 

"Oh! I suppose she has seen me attentive." 

"Very awkward, indeed! There is only one 
point in your favor; for, as your attentions were 
not decided, and as the law does not, as yet, per- 
mit polygamy " 

"Come, come, you know I never thought of 
marrying." 

"Ah! but they did." 

"Not a bit of it." 

" Ay, but they did. What do you wager but 
that the major asks your intentions, as he calls it, 
the moment he hears the transport has arrived ?" 

"By Jove! now you remind me, he asked this 
evening when he could have a few minutes' pri- 
vate conversation with me to-morrow, and I 
thought it was about some confounded military 
chest or sea-store, or one of his infernal contriv- 
ances that he every day assures me are indispens- 
able; though, if every officer had only as much 
baggage as I have got, under his directions, it 
would take two armies, at least, to carry the 
effects of the fighting one." 

"Poor fellow!" said he, starting upon his legs; 
"what a burst you've made of it!" So saying, 
he began, in a nasal twang, 

" I publish the banns of marriage between 
Charles O'Malley, late of his Majesty's 14th 

Dragoons, and Dalrymple, spinster, of this 

citv " 

" I'll be hanged if you do, though," said I, see- 
ing pretty clearly, by this time, something of the 
estimation my friends were held in. "Come 
Power, pull me through, like a dear fellow — pull 
nie through, without doing anything to hurt the 
girls' feelings." 

" Well, we'll see about it," said he — " we'll see 



about it in the morning But, at the same time, 
let me assure you, the affair is not so easy as you 
may, at first blush, suppose. These worthy peo- 
|)le have been so ofttn 'done' — to use the cant 
phrase — before, that scarcely a rnse remains un- 
tried. It is of no use pleading that your family 
won't consent — that your prospects are null — 
that you are ordered for India — that you are en- 
gaged elsewhere — that you have nothing but )our 
pay — that you are too young or too old — all such 
reasons, good and valid witii any other family, 
will avail you little here. Neither viill it serve 
your cause that you may be warranted by a 
doctor as subject to jieriodical fits of insanity; 
monomaniacal tendencies to cut somebody's 
throat, etc. Bless your heart, man, they iiave a 
soul above such littlenesses. They care nothing 
for consent of friends, means, age, health, cli- 
mate, prospects, or temper. Firmly believing 
matrimony to be a lottery, they are not supersti- 
tious about the number they pitch upon; pro- 
vided only that they get a ticket, they are con- 
tent." 

" Then it strikes me, if what you say is cor- 
rect, that I have no earthly chance of escape, ex- 
cept some kind friend will undertake to shoot me." 

"That has been also tried." 

" Why, how do you mean?" 

" A mock duel, got up at mess — we had one at 
Malta. Poor Vickers was the hero of that affair. 
It was right well planned, too. One of the let- 
ters was suffered, by mere accident, to fall into 
Mrs. Dai's hands, and she was quite prepared 
for the event, when he was reported shot, the 
next morning. Then the young lady, of course, 
whether she cared or not, was obliged to be per- 
fectly unconcerned, lest the story of engaged 
affections might get wind, and spoil another 
market. The thing went on adn i ably, till one 
day, some few months later, they saw, in a con- 
founded army-list, that the late George Vickers 
was promoted to the 18th Dragoons, so that the 
trick was discovered, and is of course, stale at 
present. 

"Then could I not have a wife already, and a 
large family of interesting babes?" 

" No go — only swell the damages, when they 
come to prosecute. Besides, your age and looks 
forbid the assumption of such a fact. No, no; 
we must go deeper to work." 

" But where shall we go?" said I, impatiently; 
" for it appears to me these good people have 
been treated to every trick and subterfuge that 
ever ingenuity suggested." 

" Come, I think I have it; but it will need 3 
little more reflection. So, now, let us to bed. I'll 
give you the result of my lucubrations at breakfast; 
and, if I mistake not, we may get you through 
this without any ill consequences. Good-night, 
then, old boy; and now dream away of your lady 
love till our next meeting." 



CHAPTER XXVI. 

THE PREPARATION. 



To prevent needless repetitions in my story, \ 



264 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



shall not record here the conversation which 
passed between my friend Power and myself on 
the morning following at breakfast. Suffice it to 
say, that the plan proposed by him for my rescue 
was one I agreed to adopt, reserving tt) myself, in 
case of failure, a pis alter of which I knew not 
the meaning, but of whose efficacy Power assured 
me I need not doubt. 

"If all fail," said he — "if every bridge break 
down beneath you, and no road of escape be left, 
why, thtn, I believe you must have recourse to 
another alternative. Still I should wish to avoid 
it, if possible, and I put it to you, in honor, not 
to employ it unless as a last e.xpedient. You pro- 
mise me this?" 

" Of course," said I, with great anxiety for the 
dread final measure. " What is it?" 

He paused, smiled dubiously, and resmncd; 

"And, after all — but, to be sure, there will not 
be need for it — the other plan will do — must do. 
Come, come, O'Malley, the admiralty say that 
nothing encourages drowning in the navy like a 
life-buoy. Tiie men have such a prospect of 
being picked up, that they don't mind falling over- 
board; so, if I give you this life-preserver of mine, 
you'll not swim an inch. Is it not so, eh?" 

" Far froai it," said I. " I shall feel in honor 
bound to e.Kert myself the more, because I now 
see how much it costs you to part with it." 

" Well, then, hear it. When everything fails — 
when all your resources are exhausted — when you 
have totally lost your memory, in fact, and your 
ingenuity in excuses, say — but mind, Charley, not 
till then — say that you must consult your friend. 
Captain Power, of the 14th, that's all." 

"And is this it?" said I, quite disappointed at 
the lame and impotent conclusion to all the high- 
sounding exordium; " is this all ?" 

" Yes," said he, " that is all. But stop, Charley; 
is not that the major crossing the street there? 
Yes, to be sure it is, and, by Jove! he has got on 
the old braided frock this morning. Had you not 
told me one word of your critical position, I 
should liave guessed there was something in the 
wind from that That same vestment has caused 
many a stout heart to tremble that never quailed 
before a shot or shell." 

"How can that be? I should like to hear." 

" Why, my dear boy, that's his explanation coat, 
as we called it at Gibraltar. He was never known 
to wear it except when asking some poor fellow's 
' intentions.' He would no more think of sporting 
it as an every-day affair, than the chief justice 
would go cock shooting in his black cap and er- 
mine. Come, he is bound for your quarters, and, 
as it will not answer our plans to let him see you 
now, you had better hasten down stairs, and get 
round by the back way into George's street, and 
you'll be at his house before he can return." 

Following Power's direction, I seized my for- 
aging-cap, and got clear out of the premises before 
the major had readied them. It was exactly noon 
as I sounded my loud and now well-known sum- 
mons at the major's knocker. The door was 
(juickly opened; but, instead of dashing up-stairs, 
four steps at a tune, as was my wont, to the draw- 
ing-room, I turned short into the dingy-looking 
little parlor on the right, and desired Matthew, 



the venerable servitor of the house, to say that I 
wished particularly to see Mrs. Ualrymple for a 
few minutes, if the hour were not inconvenient. 

There was something perhaps of excitement in 
my manner — some flurry in my look, or some 
trepidation in my voice — or perhaps it was the 
unusual hour — or the still more remarkable cir- 
cumstance of my not going at once to the draw- 
ing-room, that raised some doubts in Matthew '.s 
mind as to the object of my visit; and, instead of 
at once complying with my request to inform 
Mrs. Dalrymple that I was there, he cautiously 
closed the door, and, taking a quick but satisfac- 
tory glance round the apartment to assure him- 
self that we were alone, he placed his back against 
it, and heaved a deep sigh. 

We were both perfectly silent; I in total amaze- 
ment at what the old man could possibly mean; 
he, following up the train of his own thoughts, 
comprehended little or nothing of my surprise, 
and evidently was so engrossed by his reflections 
that he had neither ears nor eyes for aught 
around him. There was a most singular serai- 
comic expression in the old withered face, thai 
nearly made me laugh at first; but, as I continued 
to look steadily at it, I perceived that, despite 
the long-worn wrinkles that low Irish drollery and 
fun had furrowed around the angles of his mouth, 
the real character of his look was one of sorrowful 
compassion. 

Doubtless, my readers have read many interest- 
ing narratives, wherein the unconscious travellei 
in some remote land has been warned of a plan to 
murder him, by some mere passing wink, a look, 
a sign, which some one, less steeped in crime, less 
hardened in iniquity than his fellows, has ven- 
tured for his rescue. Sometimes, according to 
the taste of the narrator, the interesting individ- 
ual is an old woman, sometimes a yoimg one, 
sometimes a black-bearded bandit, sometimes a 
child, and, not unfrcquently, a dog is humane 
enough to do this service. One thing, however, 
never varies; be the agent biped or quadruped, 
dumb or speechful, young or old, the stranger in- 
variably takes the hint, and gets off scot free, for 
his sharpness. This never varying trick on the 
doomed man, I had often been sceptical enough 
to suspect; however, I had not been many min- 
utes a spectator of the old man's countenance, 
when I most thoroughly recanted my errors, and 
acknowledged myself wrong. If ever the look of 
a man conveyed a warning, his did; but there was 
more in it than even that; there was a tone of sad 
and pitiful compassion, such as an old grey-bearded 
rat might be supposed to put on at seeing a young 
and inexperienced one opening the hinge of 
an iron trap, to try its efficacy upon his neck. 
Many a little occasion had jiresented itself, duriny 
my intimacy with the family, of doing Matthew 
some small services, of making him some trifling 
presents; so that, when he assumed before me the 
gesture and look I have mentioned, I was not 
long in deciphering his intentions. 

"Matthew!" screamed a shar]) voice, which I 
recognized at once for that of Mrs. Dalrymple. 
" Matthew! where is the old fool ?" 

Rut Matthew heard not, or heeded not. 

"Matthew! Matthew! 1 say." 



I 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



265 



" I'm comin' ma'am," said he, with a sigh, as 
opening the parlor door, he turned upon me one 
look of such import, that only the circumstances of 
my story can explain its force, or my reader's own 
ingenious imagination can supply. 

" Never fear, my good old friend," said I, grasp- 
ing his hand warmly, and leaving a guinea in the 
palm — " never fear." 

"God grant it, sir!" said he, settling on his wig 
in preparation for his appearance in the drawing- 
room. 

"Matthew; the old wretch!" 

" Mr. O'Malley," said the often-called Matthew, 
as, opening the door, he announced me unex- 
pectedly among tiie ladies there assembled, who, 
not hearing of my approach, were evidently not a 
little surprised and astonished. 

Had I really been the enamored swain that the 
Dalrymple family were willing to believe, I half 
suspect that the prospect before me might have 
cured me of my passion. A round bullet-head, 
fafillotc with the Cork Observer, where still-born 
babes and maids of all work were descanted upon 
in very legible type, was now the substitute for 
the classic front and Italian ringlets of la belle Ma- 
tilda, while the chaste Fanny herself, whose feet 
had been a fortune for a statuary, was, in the most 
slatternly and slipshod attire, pacing the room in 
a towjring rage, at some thing, place, or person, 
urknj'.vn (tome). If a ballet-master at the Acad- 
/line could only learn to get his imps, demons, 
angels and goblins "off" half as rapidly as the 
two young ladies retreated on my being announced, 
I answer for the piece so brought out having a run 
for half the season. Before my eyes had regained 
their position parallel to the plane of the horizon, 
they were gone, and I found myself alone with 
Mrs. Dalrymple. Now, she stood her ground, 
partly to cover the retreat of the main body, 
partly, too, because — representing the baggage- 
waggons, ammunition stores, hospital staff, etc. — 
her retirement from the field demanded more time 
and circumspection than the light brigade. 

Let not my readers suppose that the mere Dal- 
rymple was so perfectly faultless in costume that 
her remaining was a matter of actual indifference; 
far from it. She evidently had a struggle for it; 
but a sense of duty decided her, and, as Ney dog- 
gedly held back to cover the retreating forces on 
the march from Moscow, so did she resolutely lurk 
behind till the last flutter of the last petticoat assur- 
ed her that the fugitives were safe. Then did she 
hesitate for a moment what course to take; but, 
as I assumed my chair beside her, she composedly 
sat down, and, crossing her hands before her. 
waited for an explanation of this ill-timed visit. 

Had the Horse Guards, in the plenitude of 
their power and the perfection of their taste, or- 
dained that the 79th and 42nd regiments should 
in future, in lieu of their respective tartans, wear 
flannel kilts and black worsted hose, I could read- 
ily have fallen into the error of mistaking Mrs. 
Dalrymple for a field-officer in the new regulation- 
dress; the philabeg finding no mean representation 
in a capacious pincushion that hung down from 
her girdle, while a pair of shears, not scissors, 
corresponded to the dirk. After several ineffect- 
ual efforts upon her part to make her vestment 



(I know not its fitting designation) cover more of 
her legs than its length could possibly effect, and, 
after some most bland smiles and half blushes at 
dishabille, etc., were over, and that I had apolo- 
gized most humbly for the unusually early hour 
of my call, I proceeded to open my negotiations, 
and unfurl my banner for the fray. 

"The old Racehorse has arrived at last," said 
I, with a half sigh, " and I believe that we shall 
not obtain a very long time for our leave-taking; 
so that, trespassing upon your very great kindness, 
I have ventured upon an early call." 

" The Racehorse, surely, can't sail to-morrow," 
said Mrs. Dalrymple, whose experience of such 
matters made her a very competent judge; " her 
stores " 

"Are taken in already," said I; "and an order 
fiom the Horse Guards, commands us to embark 
in twenty-four hours; so that, in fact, we scarcely 
have time to look about us." 

■' Have you seen the major?" inquired Mrs. 
Dalrymple, eagerly. 

"Not to-day," I replied, carelessly; "but, of 
course, during the morning we are sure to meet. 
1 have many thanks yet to give him for all his 
most kind attentions." 

" I know he is most anxious to see you," said 
Mrs. Dalrymple, with a very peculiar emphasis, 
and evidently desiring that I should inquire the 
reasons of this anxiety. I, however, most heroic- 
ally forbore indulging my curiosity, and added 
that I should endeavor to find him on my way to 
the barracks; and then, hastily looking at my 
watch, I pronounced it a full hour later than it 
really was, and, promising to spend the evening— 
my last evening — with them, I took my leave, and 
hurried away, in no small flurry, to be once more 
out of reach of Mrs. Dalrymple's fire, which I 
every moment expected to open upon me. 



CHAPTER XXVn. 



THE SUPPER. 



Power and I dined together tete-a-tete at the 
hotel, and sat chatting over my adventures with 
the Dalryniples till nearly nine o'clock. 

" Come, Charley," said he, at length, " I see 
your eye wandering \ery often towards the time- 
piece; another bumper, and I'll let you off. What 
shall it be?" 

"What you like," said I, upon whom a share 
of tliree bottles of strong claret had already 
made a very satisfactory impression. 

" Then champagne for the coup de grace. 
Nothing like your viii mousseux for a critical mo- 
ment — every bubble tha't rises sparkling to the 
surface, prompts some bright thought, or elicits 
some brilliant idea, that would only have been 
drowned in your more sober fluids. Here's to 
the girl you love, whoever she be." 

" To her bright eyes, then, be it," said I, clear- 
ing off a brimming goblet of nearly ha'f t' e 
bottle, while my friend Power seemed mul'.'p ;ed 
into any given number of gen;;emen star.ding 



266 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



amid something like a glass manufactory of 
decanters. 

" I hope you feel steady enough for this busi- 
ness," said my old friend examining me closely 
with the candle. 

" I'm an archdeacon," muttered I, with one 
eye invokintarily closing. 

" You'll not let them double on you?" 

"Trust me, old boy," said I, endeavoring to 
look knowing. 

"I think you'll do," said he; "so now march; 
I'll wait for you here, and we'll go on board to- 
gether; for old Bloater, the skipper, says he'll 
certainly weigh by day-break." 

"Till then," said I, as opening the door, I pro- 
ceeded very cautiously to descend the stairs, af- 
fecting all the time considerable nonchalance^ and 
endeavoring, as well aS' my thickened utterance 
would permit, to hum, 

" Oh, love is the soul of an Irish dragoon!" 

If I was not in the most perfect possession of 
my faculties in the house, the change to the open 
air, certainly, but little contributed to their res- 
toration, and I scarcely felt myself in the street 
when my brain became absolutely one whirl of 
maddened and confused excitement. Time and 
space are nothing to a man thus enlightened, and 
so they appeared to me; scarcely a second had 
elapsed when I found myself standing in the 
Dalrymples' drawing-room. 

If a few hours had done much to metamorphose 
vie, certes, they had done something for my fair 
friends also — anything more unlike what they ap- 
peared in the morning can scarcely be imagined. 
Matilda in black, with her hair in heavy madonna 
bands upon her fair cheek, now paler even than 
usual, never seemed so handsome; while Fanny, 
in a light blue dress, with blue flowers in her hair, 
and a blue sash, looked the most lovely piece of 
coquetry ever man set his eyes upon. The old 
major, too, was smartened up, and put into 
an old regimental coat that he had worn during 
the siege of Gibraltar; and lastly, Mrs. Dalrymple 
herself was attired in a very imposing costume, 
that made her, to my not over-accurate judgment, 
look very like an elderly bishop in a flame-colored 
cassock. Sparks was the only stranger, and wore 
upon his countenance, as I entered, a look of very 
considerable embarrassment, that even my thick- 
sightedness could not fail of detecting. 

Parlez-moi de /' ainitic, my friends. Talk to 
me of the warm embrace of your earliest friend, 
after years of absence; the cordial and heartfelt 
shake-hands of your old school companion, ^'hen, 
in after-years, a chance meeting has brought you 
together, and you have had time and opportunity 
for becoming distinguished and in repute, and are 
rather a good hit to be known to than otherwise; 
of the close grip you give your second when he 
comes up to say, that the gentleman with the 
loaded detonator opposite won't fire — that he feels 
he's in the wrong. Any or all of these together. 
very effective and powerful though they be, 
are light in the balance, when compared with the 
two-handed coinpression you receive from the 
gentleman that expects you to marry one of his 
daughters. 



" My dear O'Malley, how goes it? Thought 
you'd never come," said he, still holding me fast 
and looking me full in the face, to calculate the 
extent to which my potations rendered his flattery 
feasible. 

" Hurried to death with preparations, I sup- ' 

pose," said Mrs. Dalrymple, smiling blandly. 
" Fanny, dear, some tea for him." 

" Oh, mamma, he does not like all that sugar; 
surely not," said she, looking up with a most sweet 
expression: as though to say, " I at least know his 
tastes." 

" I believed you were going without seeing us," 
whispered Matilda, with a very glassy look about 
the corner of her eyes. 

Eloquence was not just then my forte, so that 
I contented myself with a very intelligible look 
at Fanny, and a tender squeeze of Matilda's hand, 
as I seated myself at the table. 

Scarcely had I placed myself at the tea-table, 
with Matilda beside, and Fanny opposite me, 
each vying with the other in their delicate and 
kind attentions, when I totally forgot all my poor 
friend Power's injunctions and directions for my 
management. It is true, I remembered that there 
was a scrape of some kind or other to be got out 
of, and one requiring some dexterity too, but what, 
or with whom, I could not for the life of me de- 
termine. What the wine had begun the bright 
eyes completed; and, amid the witchcraft of silky 
tresses and sweet looks, I lost all my reflection; 
still the impression of an impending difficulty re- 
mained fixed in my mind, and I tortured my 
poor, weak, and erring intellect to detect it. At 
last, and by r. mere chance, my eyes fell upon 
Sparks, and, by what mechanism I contrived it, I 
know not, but I immediately saddled him with the 
whole of my annoyances, and attributed to him and 
to his fault any embarrassment I labored under. 

The physiological reason of the fact I'm very 
ignorant of, but for the truth and frequency 1 can 
well vouch, that there are certain people, certain 
faces, certain voices, certain whiskers, legs, waist- 
coats, and guard-chains, that inevitably produce 
the most striking effects upon the brain of a gen- 
tleman already excited by wine, and not exactly 
cognizant of his own peculiar fallacies. 

'i'hese effects are not produced merely among 
those who are quarrelsome in their cups, for I 
call the whole 14th to witness that I am not such, 
but, to any person so disguised, the inoffensiveness 
of the object is no security on the other hand, for 
I once knew an eight-day clock kicked down a 
barrack stairs by an old Scotch major, because 
he thought it was laughing at him. To this source 
alone, whatever it be, can I attribute the feeling 
of rising indignation with which I contemplated 
the luckless cornet, who, seated at the fire, un- 
noticed and uncared for, seemed a very unworthy 
object to vent anger or ill-temper upon. 

" Mr. Sparks, I fear," said I, endeavoring at 
the time to call up a look of very sovereign con- 
tempt — " Mr. Sparks, I fear, regards my visit here 
in the liglit of an intrusion." ■ 

Had poor Mr. Sparks been told to proceed in- ^ 
continently up the chimney before hmi, he could 
not have looked more agb.ast. Reply was quite 
out of his power; so sudden and unexpectedly 



A 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



267 



was this charge of mine made, that he could only 
jtare vacantly from one to the other, while I, 
warming with my subject, and perhaps — but I'll 
not svear it — stimulated by a gentle pressure from 
a soft hand near me, continued: 

"If he thinks, for one moment, that my atten- 
tions in this family are in any way to be ques- 
tioned by him, I can only say " 

" My dear O'Malley, my dear boy!" said the 
major, with the look of a father-in-law in his 
eye. 

" The spirit of an officer and a gentleman spoke 
there," said Mrs. Dalrymple, now carried beyond 
all prudence, by the hope that my attack might 
arouse my dormant friend into a counter-declara- 
tion; nothing, however, was further from poor 
Sparks, who began to think he had been uncon- 
sciously drinking tea with five lunatics. 

"If he supposes," said I, rising from my chair, 
" that his silence will pass with me as any pallia- 
tion " 

" Oh, dear — oh, dear ! there will will be a duel. 
Papa, dear, why won't you speak to Mr. 
O'Malley?" 

" There now, O'Malley, sit down. Don't you 
see he is quite in error.?" 

" Then, let him say so," said I, fiercely. 

" Ah, yes, to be sure," said Fanny ; " do say 
it; say anything he likes, Mr. Sparks." 

" I must say," said Mrs. Dalrymple, "however 
sorry I may feel in my own house to condemn 
any one, that Mr. Sparks is very much in the 
wrong." 

Poor Sparks looked like a man in a dream. 

" If he will tell Charles— Mr. O'Malley, 1 mean," 
said Matilda, blushing scarlet, " that he meant 
nothing by what he said " 

" But I never spoke — never opened my lips!" 
cried out the wretched man, at length sufficiently 
recovered to defend himself. 

" Oh, Mr. Sparks!" 

"Oh, Mr. Sparks!" 

"Oh, Mr. Sparks!" chorussed the three ladies. 

While the old major brought up the rear with 
an "Oh! Sparks, I must say " 

" Then, by all the saints in the calendar, I must 
be mad," said he ; " but if I have said anything 
to offend you, O'Malley, I am sincerely sorry for 
it." 

" That will do, sir," said I, with a look of royal 
condescension at the amende I considered as some- 
what late in coming, and resumed my seat. 

This little intermezzo, it might be supposed, 
was rather calculated to interrupt the harmony of 
our evening; not so, however. I had apparently 
acquitted myself like a hero, and was evidently 
in a white heat, in which I could be fashioned 
into any shape. Sparks was humbled so far that 
he would probably feel it a relief to make any 
proposition; so that, by our opposite courses, we 
had both arrived at a point at which all the 
dexterity and address of the family had been 
long since aiming without succces. Conversation 
then resumed its flow, and, in a few minutes, every 
trace of our late fracas had disappeared. 

By degrees, I felt myself more and more dis- 
posed to turn my attention towards Matilda, and, 
dropping my voice into a lower tone, opened a 



flirtation of a most determined kind. Fanny had, 
meanwhile, assumed a place beside Sparks, and, 
by the nnitteied tones that passed between them, 
I could plainly perceive they were similarly 
occupied. The major took up the Soutlieni Re- 
porter, of which he appeared deep in the con- 
templation, while Mrs. Dal herself buried her 
head in her embroidery, and neither heard nor 
saw anything around her. 

I know, unfortunately, but very little of what 
passed between myself and my fair companion; 
I can only say that, when supper was announced 
at twelve (an hour later than usual), I was sitting 
upon the sofa, with my arm round her waist, my 
cheek so close, that already her lovely tresses 
brushed my forehead, and her breath fanned my 
burning brow. 

" Supper, at last," said the major, with a loud 
voice, to arouse us from our trance of happiness, 
without taking any mean opportunity of looking 
unobserved. " Supper, Sparks; O'Malley, come 
now — it will be some time before we all meet this 
way again." 

" Perhaps not so long, after all," said I, know- 
ingly. 

" Very likely not," echoed Sparks, in the same 
key. 

"I've proposed for Fanny," said he, whisper- 
ing in my ear. 

" Matilda's mine," replied I, with the look of 
an emperor. 

" A word with you, major," said Sparks, his 
eye flashing with enthusiasm, and his chetk 
scarlet — "one word; I'll not detain you." 

They withdrew into a corner for a few seconds, 
during which Mrs. Dalrymple amused herself by 
wondering what the secret could be; why Mr. 
Sparks couldn't tell her; and Fanny, meanwhile, 
pretended to look for something at a side-table, 
and never turned her head round. 

" Then give me your hand," said the major, as 
he shook Sparks's with a warmth of w hose sincerity 
there could be no question. " Bess, my love," 
said he, addressing his wife; the remainder was 
lost in a whisper; but, whatever it was, it evi- 
dently redounded to Sparks's credit, for, the next 
moment, a repetition of the hand-shaking took 
place, and Sparks locked the happiest of men. 

"A vion tour," thought I, "now," as I touched 
the major's arm, and led him towards the win- 
dow. What I said may be one day matter for 
Major Dalrymple's memoirs, if he ever writes 
them; but, for my part, I have not the least idea. 
I only know that, while I was yet speaking, he 
called over Mrs. Dal, who, in a frenzy of joy, 
seized me in her arms and embraced me. After 
which, I kissed her, shook hands with the major, 
kissed Matilda's hand, and laughed prodigiously, 
as though I had done something confoundedly 
droll — a sentiment evidently participated in by 
Sparks, who laughed too, as did the others, snd 
a merrier, happier party never sat down to 
supper. 

"Make your company pleased with them- 
selves," says Mr. Walker, in his Orighial work 
upon dinner-giving, "and everything goes well." 
Now, Major Dalrymple, without having read the 
authority in question, probably because it was 



268 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



not written at that time, understood the principle 
fully as well as the police-magistrate, and cer- 
tainly was a proficient in the practice of it. 

To be sure he possessed one grand requisite 
for success — he seemed -most perfectly happy him- 
self. There was that air degage about him which, 
when an old man puts it on among his juniors, is 
so very attractve. Then the ladies, too, were 
evidently well pleased; and the usually austere 
mamma had relaxed her " rigid front" into a 
smile, in which any habilud of the house could 
have read our fate. 

We ate, we drank, we ogled, smiled, squeezed 
hands beneath the table, and, in fact, so jjleas- 
ant a party had rarely assembled round the major's 
mahogany. As for me, I made a full disclosure 
of the most burning love, backed by a resolve to 
marry my fair neighbor, and settle upon her a 
considerably larger part of my native county 
than I had ever even rode over. Sparks, on the 
other side, had opened his fire more cautiously; 
but, whether taking courage from my boldness, 
or perceiving with envy the greater estimation I 
was held in, was now going the pace fully as fast 
as myself, and had commenced explanations of 
his intentions with regard to Fanny that evidently 
satisfied her friends. Meanwhile, the wine was 
passing very freely, and the hints half uttered an 
liour before began now to be more openly s[)oken 
and canvassed. 

Sparks and I hob-nobbed across the table, and 
looked unspeakable things at each other; the 
girls held down their heads; Mrs. Dal wiped her 
eyes, and the major pronounced himself the hap- 
piest father in Europe. 

It was now wearing late, or rather early; some 
grey streaks of dubious light were faintly forcing 
their way through the half-closed curtains, and 
the dread thought of parting first presented itself. 
A cavalry trumpet, too, at this moment sounded 
a call that aroused us from our trance of pleasure 
and warned us that our moments were few. A 
dead silence crept over all, the solemn feeling 
which leave-taking eifer inspires was uppermost, 
and none spoke. The major was the first to 
break it. 

"O'Malley, my friend; and you, Mr. Sparks; 
I must have a word v/ith you, boys, before we 
part." 

"Here let it be, then, major," said I, holding 
his arm as he turned to leave the room; " here, 
now; we are all so deeply interested, no place is 
so fit." 

" Well, then," said the major, " as you desire 
it, now that I'm to regard you both in the light 
of my sons-in-law — at least, as pledged to become 
so — it is only fair as respects " 

" I see — I understand perfectly," interrupted 
I, whose passion for conducting the whole affair 
myself was gradually gaining upon me. " What 
you mean is, that we should make known our 
intentions before some mutual friends ere we 
part — eh, Sparks? eh, major?" 

" Right, my boy — right on every point." 

'■ Well, then, I thought of all that; and if you'll 
just send your servant over to my quarters for 
our captain — he's the fittest person, you know, at 
such a time " 



"How considerate!" said Mrs. Dalrymple. 

" How perfectly just his idea is!" said the 
major. 

" We'll then, in his presence, avow our present 
and unalterable determination as regards your 
fair daughters; and as the time is short " 

Here I turned towards Matilda, who placed 
her arm within mine; Sparks possessed himself 
of Fanny's hand, while the major and his wife 
consulted for a few seconds. 

" Well, O'Malley, all you propose is perfect. 
Now, then, for the captain. Who shall he in- 
quire for?" 

"Oh, an old friend of yours," said I, jocularly; 
" you'll be glad to see him." 

"Indeed!" said all together. 

"Oh yes, quite a surprise, I'll warrant it." 

" Who can it be? who on earth is it?" 

"You can't guess," added I, with a very know- 
ing look; "knew you at Corfu: a very intimate 
friend indeed, if he tell the truth." 

A look of something like embarrassment passed 
around the circle at these words, while I, wishing 
to end the mystery, resumed; 

" Come, then, who can be so proper for all par- 
ties, at a moment like this, as our mutual friend. 
Captain Power?" 

Had a shell fallen into the cold grouse pie in 
the midst of us, scattering death and destruction 
on every side, the tffecl could scarcely have been 
more frightful than that my last words ]iroduced. 
Mrs. Dalrymple fell with a sough upon the floor, 
motionless as a corpse; Fanny threw herself, 
screaming, upon a sofa; Matilda went off into 
strong hysterics upon the hearth-rug; while the 
major, after giving me a look a maniac might 
have envied, rushed from the room in search of 
his pistols, with a most terrific oaih to shoot some- 
body, whether Sparks or myself, or both of us, 
on his return, I cannot say. Fanny's sobs and 
Matilda's cries, assisted by a drumming process 
by Mrs. Dai's heels ujjon the floor, made a most 
infernal concert, and effectually prevented any- 
thing like thought or reflection; and, in all prob- 
ability, so overwhelmed was I at the sudden 
catastrophe I had so innocently caused, I should 
have waited in due patience for \he major's re- 
turn, had not Sparks seized my arm, and cried 
out: 

"Run for it, O'Malley; cut like fun, my boy, 
or we're done for." 

" Run — why? — what for?— where?" said I, stu- 
pefied by the scene before me. 

" Here he is!" called out Sparks, as, throwing 
up the window, he sprang out upon the stone sill, 
and leaped into the street. I followed mechani- 
cally, and jumped after him, just as the major 
had reached the window. A ball whizzed by me, 
that soon determined my further movements; so, 
putting on all speed, I flew down the street, 
turned the corner, and reg.Tined the hotel breath- 
less and without a hat, while Sparks arrived a 
moment later, pale as a gliost, and trembling like 
an aspen-leaf. 

"Safe, by Jove!" "Said Sparks, throwing him- 
self into a chair, and panting for breath. 

"Safe, at last," said I, without well knowing 
whv, or for what. 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



2G9 



"You've had a sliarp run of it. apparently," said 
Power, coollv, and without any ( uriosity as to the 
cause; "and, now, let us on board; tliere goes 
the trumpet again. The skipper is a surly old 
fellow, and we must not lose his tide for him." 
So saying, he proceeded to collect his cloaks, cane, 
etc., and get ready for departure. 



CHAPTER XXVIII. 

THE VOYAGE. 



Whev I awoke from the long, sound sleep which 
succeeded my last adventure, I had some diffi- 
culty in remembering where I was, or how I had 
come there. From my narrow berth I looked out 
upon the now empty cabin, and, at length, some 
misty and confused sense of my situation crept 
slowly over me. I opened the little shutter be- 
side me, and looked out. The bold headlands of 
the southern coast were frowning, in sullen and 
dark masses, about a couple of miles distant, and 
I perceived that we were going fast through the 
water, vv'htch was beautifully calm and still. 1 
now looked at my watch; it was past eiglit o'clock; 
and, as it must evidently be evening, from the 
appearance of the sky, I felt that I had slept 
soundly for above twelve hours. 

In the hurry of departure, the cabin had not 
been set to rights, and there lay every species of 
lumber and luggage in all imaginable confusion. 
Trunks, gun-cases, baskets of eggs, umbrellas, 
hampers of sea-store, cloaks, foraging-caps, maps, 
and sword-belts, were scattered on every side — 
while the debris of a dinner, not over-remarkable 
for its propriety in table equipage, added to the 
ludicrous effect. The heavy tramp of a foot over- 
head denoted the step of some one taking his 
short walk of exercise; while the rough voice of 
the skipper, as he gave the word to "Go about!" 
all convinced me that we were at last under weigh, 
and off to "the wars." 

The confusion our last evening on shore pro- 
duced in my brain was such, that every effort I 
made to remember anything about it only increased 
my difficulty, and I felt myself in a web so tangled 
and inextricable, that all endeavor to escape free 
was impossible. Sometimes I thought that I had 
really married Matilda Dalrymple; then, I sup- 
posed that the father had called me out, and 
wounded me in a duel; and, finally, I had some 
confused notion about a quarrel with Sparks, but 
what for, when, and how it ended, I knew not. 
How tremendously tipsy I must have been! was 
the only conclusion I could draw from all these 
conflicting doubts; and, after all, it was the only 
thing like fact that beamed upon my mind. How 
I had come on board and reached my berth, was 
a matter I reserved for future inquiry; resolving 
that, about the real history of mv last night on 
shore, I would ask no questions, if others were 
equally disposed to let it pass in silence. 

I next began to wonder if Mike had looked 
after all my luggage, trunks, etc., and M'hether he 
himself had been forgotten in our hasty depart- 
ure. About this latter point I was not destined 



for much doubt; for a well-known voice, from 
the foot of the companion-ladder, at once pro- 
claimed my faithful follower, and evinced his feel- 
ings at his departure from his home and country. 
Mr. Free was, at the time I mention, gathered 
up like a bail opposite a small, low window, that 
looked upon the bluff headlands, now fast becom- 
ing dim and misty as the night approached. He 
was apparently in low spirits; and hummed in a 
species of low, droning voice, the following ballad, 
at the end of each verse of whicn came an Irish 
chorus, which, to the erudite in such matters, will 
suggest the air of Moddirederoo: 

"MICKEY FREE'S LAMENT. 

" Then f.ire ye well, ould Erin, dear; 
To part — my heart does ache well; 
From Canickfergus to Cape Clear, 

I'll never see your equal. 
And, though to foreign jjarts we're bound. 

Where cannibals may ate us. 
We'll ne'er forget the holy ground 
Of poteen and potatoes. 

Moddirederoo, aroo, aroo, etc. 

" When good St. Patrick banished frogs. 
And shook them from his garment. 
He never thought we'd go abroad. 

To live upon such varmint, 
Nor quit the land where ^\hiskey grew, 

To wear King George's button, 
Take vinegar for mountain dew, 
And loads for mouiUain mutton. 

Moddirederoo, aroo, aroo," etc. 

" I say, Mike, stop that counfoundedkeen, and 
tell me where are we?" 

"Off the ould head of Kinsale, sir." 

" Where is Captain Power?" 

" Smoking a cigar on deck, with the captain, 
sir." 

"And Mr. Sparks?" 

" Mighty sick in his own state-room. Oh! but 
it's himself has enough of glory — bad luck to 
it!— by this time. He'd make your heart break 
to look at him." 

"Who have you got on board besides?" 

" The adjutant's here sir; and an old gentle- 
man they call the major." 

" Not Major Dalrymple?" said I, starting up 
with terror at the thought, "eh, Mike?" 

" No, sir, another major; his name is Mulroon. 
or Mundoon, or something like that." 

" Monsoon, you son of a lumper potato," 
cried out a -surly, gruff voice from a berth oppo- 
site, " Monsoon. Who's at the other side?" 

"Mr. O'Malley, 14th," said I, by way of intro- 
duction. 

" My service to you, then," said the voice. 
"Cxoing to join your regiment?" 

"Yes; and you — are you bound on a similar 
errand ?" 

"No, Heaven be praised! I'm attached to 
the commissariat, and only going to Lisbon. 
Have you had any dinner?" 

" Not a morsel; have you?" 

" No more than yourself; but I always lie by 
for three or four days this way, till I get used to 
the confounded rocking and pitching; and, with 
a little grog and some sleep, get over the time 
gayly enough. Steward, another tumbler like 



270 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



the last; there — very good — that will do. Your 
good health, Mr. what was it you said.'" 

"O'Malley." 

"O'Malley — your good health — good-night." 
And so ended our brief colloquy, and, in a few 
minutes more, a very decisive snore pronounced 
my friend to be fulfilling his precept for killing 
the hours. 

I now made the effort to emancipate myself 
from my crib, and at last succeeded in getting on 
the floor, where after one chassez at a small look- 
ing-glass opposite, followed by a very impetuous 
rush at a little brass stove, in which I was inter- 
rupted by a trunk, and laid prostrate, I finally got 
my clothes on, and made my way to the deck. 
Little attuned as was my mind at the moment to 
aduiiie anything like scenery, it was impossible to 
be unmoved by the magnificent prospect before 
me. It was a beautiful evening in summer; the 
sun had set above an hour before, leaving behind 
him in the west one vast arch of rich and burn- 
ished gold, stretching along the whole horizon, 
and tipping all the summits of the heavy rolling 
sea, as it rolled on, unbroken by foam or ri]^ple, 
in vast moving mountams from the far coast of 
Labrador. We were already in blue water, 
though the bold cliffs that were to form our de- 
parting point were but a few miles to leeward. 
There l.iy the lofty bluff of Old Kinsale, whose 
crest, overhanging, peered from a summit of 
some hundred feet into iliedeep water that swept 
its rocky base, many a tangled lichen and strag- 
gling bough trailing in the flood beneath. Here 
and there, upon the coast, a twinkling gleam pro- 
claimed the hut of the fisherman, whose swift 
hookers had more than once shot by us, and dis- 
appeared in a moment. The wind, which began 
to fall at sunset, freshened as the moon rose; and 
the good ship, bending to the breeze, lay gently 
over, and rushed through the waters with a somid 
of gladness. I was alone upon the deck; I'ower 
and the captain, whom I e.xpected to have found, 
had disappeared somehow, and I was, after all, 
not sorry to be left to my own reflections unin- 
terrupted. 

My thoughts turned once more to my home- 
to my first, my best, earliest friend, whose hearth 
I had rendered lonely and desolate, and my heart 
sunk within me as I remembered it. How deeply 
I reproached myself for the selfish impetuosity 
with which I had ever followed any rising fancy, 
any new and sudden desire, and never thought 
of him whose every hope was in, whose every 
wish was for me. Alas! alas! my poor uncle! 
how gladly would I resign every prospect my 
soldier's life may hold out, with all its glittering 
l)romise, and all the flattery of success, to be once 
more beside you; to feel your warm and manly 
grasp; to see your smile; to hear your voice; to 
be again where all our best feelings are born and 
nurtured, our cares assuaged, our joys more joyed 
in, and our griefs more wept — at home! These 
very words have more music to my ears than all 
the softest strains that ever syren sung. They 
bring us l)ack to all we have loved; by ties that 
are never felt but through such simple associa- 
tions. And in the earlier memories called up, 
our childish feelings come back once more to 



visit us. like better spirits, as we walk amid the 
dreary desolation that years of care and uneasi- 
ness have spread around us. 

Wretched must he be who ne'er has felt such 
bliss; and ihrice hajjpy he, who, feeling it, knows 
that still there lives for him tliat same early honu', 
with all its loved inmates, its every dear and 
devoted object waiting his coming, and longing 
for his approach. 

Such were my thoughts as I stood gazing .it 
the bold line of coast now gradually growing 
more and more dim while evening fell, and we 
continued to stand farther out to sea. ^'o 
absorbed was I all this lime in my reflection---, 
that I never heard the voices which now suddenly 
burst upon my ears quite close beside me. I 
turned, and saw for the first time that, at the end 
of the quarter-deck, stood what is called a round- 
house, a small cabin, from which the sounds in 
question proceeded. I walked gently forward, 
and peeped in, and certainly anything more in 
contrast with my late reverie need not be con- 
ceived. There sat the skijjper, a bluff, rotmd- 
faced, jolly-looking little tar, mixing a bcwl of 
punch at a table, at which sat my friend Power; 
the adjutant, and a tall, meagre-looking Scotch- 
man, whom I once met in Cork, and heard that 
he was the doctor of feme infantry regiment. 
Two or three black bottles, a ])aper of cigars, 
and a tallow candle were all the table equipage, 
but, certainly, the party seemed not to want fcr 
spirits and fun, to judge from the hearty bursts 
of laughing that every moment jjealed forth, and 
shook the little building that held them. Power, 
as usual with him, seemed to be taking the ler.d, 
and was evidently amusing himself with the 
peculiarities of his com] anions. 

"Come, adjutant, fill up; here's to the cam- 
paign before us; we, at least, have nothing but 
pleasure in the antici])ation; no lovely wife be- 
hind; no charming babes to fret, and be fretted 
for, eh?" 

"Vara true," said the doctor, who was mated 
with a taiiar; "ye maun ha\e less legiets at 
leaving hame; but a married man is no' entirely 
denied his ain consolations." 

"Good sense in that," said the skipper; "a 
wide berth and plenty of sea-rocm are not bad 
things now and then." 

" Is that your experience also?" said Power, 
with a knowing look. " Ccme, ccme, adjutant, 
we're not so ill off, you see; but, by Jove, I can't 
imagine how it is a man ever comes to thirty 
without having at least one wife; without count- 
ing his colonial possessions, of course." 

" Yes," said the adjutant, with a sigh, as he 
drained his glass to the bottom. "It is devil- 
ish strange — woman, lovely woman!" Here he 
filled and drank again, as though he had been 
proposing a toast for his own peculiar drinking. 

" I say, now," resumed Power, catching at 
once that there was something working in his 
mind — "I say. now, how happened it that yon, 
a right good-looking, soldier-like fellow, that al- 
ways made his way among the fair ones, with that 
confounded roguish eye and slippery tongue — 
how the deuce did it come to pass that you never 
married ?" 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



271 



" I've been more than once on the verge of it," 
said the adjutant, smiling blandly at the flattery. 

"And nae bad notion yours just to stay there," 
said the doctor with a very peculiar contortion 
of countenance. 

" No pleasing you — no contenting a fellow like 
you," said Power, returning to the charge; " that's 
the thing; you get a certain ascendancy: you 
have a kind of success that renders you, as the 
French say, tete montce, and you think no woman 
rich enough, or gjod-looking enough, or high 
enough." 

"No; by Jove, you're wrong," said the Adju- 
tant, swallowing the bait, hook and all — "quite 
wrong there; for, somehow, all my life, I was de- 
cidedly susceptible. Not that I cared much for 
your blushing sixteen, or budding beauties in white 
muslin, fresh from a back-board and a governess; 
no, my taste inclined rather to the more sober 
charms of two or three-and-thirty, \\\t. embonpoint, 
a good foot and ankle, a sensible breadth about 
the shoulders " 

"Somewhat Dutch-like, I take it," said the 
skipper, puffing out a volume of smoke; "a little 
bluff in the bows, and great stowage, eh?" 

" You leaned, then, towards the widows?" said 
Power. 

''Exactly; I confess, a widow always was my 
weakness. There was something I ever liked in 
the notion of a woman who had got over all the 
awkward girlishness of early years, and had that 
self-possession which habit and knowledge of the 
world confer, and knew enough of herself to 
understand what she really wished, and where 
she would really go." 

" I.ike the trade winds," puffed the skipper. 

"Then, as regards fortune, they have a decided 
superiority over the s[)inster class. I defy any 
man breathing — let him be half police-magistrate, 
half chancellor — to find out the figure of a young 
lady's dower. On your first introduction to the 
house, some kind friend whispers, ' Go it, old boy; 
forty thousand, not a p;uny less.' A few weeks 
later, as the siege progresses, a maiden aunt, dis- 
posed to puffing, comes down to twenty; this 
diminishes again one-half, but then 'the money 
is in bank stock, hard three-and-a-half.' You 
go a little farther, and, as you sit one day over 
your wine with papa, he certainly promulgates the 
fact that his daughter has five tliousand pounds, 
two of which turn out to be in Mexican bonds, 
and three in an Irish mortgage." 

"Happy for you," interrupted Power, "that it 
be not in Galway, where a proposal to foreclose 
would be a signal for your being called out, and 
shot without benefit of clergy." 

" Bad luck to it, for Galway," said the adju- 
tant. " I was nearly taken in there once to marry 
1 girl that her brother-in-law swore had eight hun- 
dred a year, and it came out afterwards that so 
she had, but it was for one year only; and he 
:hallenged me for doubling his word too." 

■' There's an old formula for finding out an Irish 
fortune," says Power, " worth all the algebra they 
:ver taught in Trinity. Take the half of the as- 
sumed sum, and divide it by three; the quotient 
will be a flattering representative of the figure 
sought for." 



" Not in the north," said the adjutant, firmly — 
"not in the north, Power; they are all well off 
there. There's a race of canny, thrifty, half- 
Scotch niggers — your pardon, doctor, they are all 
Irish — linen-weaving, Presbyterian, yarn-factor- 
ing, long-nosed, hard-drinking fellows, that lay 
by rather a snug thing now and then. Do you 
know, I was very near it once in the north. I've 
half a mind to tell you the story; though, per- 
haps, you'll laugh at me." 

The whole party at once protested that nothing 
could induce them to deviate so widely from the 
line of propriety; and the skipper having mixed a 
fresh bowl, and filled the glasses round, the 
cigars were lighted, and the adjutant began. 



CHAPTER XXIX. 

THE adjutant's STORY — LIFE IN DERRY. 

" It is now about eight, maybe ten, years sini e 
we were ordered to march from Belfast and take 
up our quarters in Londonderry. We had not 
been more than a few weeks altogether in Ulster, 
when the order came; and, as we had been, for 
the preceding two years, doing duty in the south 
and west, we concluded that the island was toler- 
ably the same in all parts. We opened our campaign 
in the maiden city, exactly as we had been doing 
with ' unparalleled success' in Cashel, Fermoy, 
Tuam, etc. — that is to say, weannounced garrison 
balls and private theatricals; offered a cup to be 
run for in steeple-chase; turned out a four-in- 
hand drag, with mottled greys; and brought over 
two Deal boats to challenge the north." 

"The i8th found the place stupid," said his 
companions. 

"To be sure they did; slow fellows like them 
must find any place stupid. No dinners; but 
they gave none. No fun; but they had none in 
themselves. In fact, we knew better; we under- 
stood how the thing was to be done; and re- 
solved that, as a mine of rich ore lay unworked, 
it was reserved for us to produce the shining 
metal that others, less discernirg, had failed lo 
discover. Little we knew of the matter; never 
was there a blunder like ours. Were you ever in 
Derry?" 

" Never," said the three listeners. 

"Well, then, let me inform you, that the pljice 
has its own peculiar features. In the first place, 
all the large towns in the south and west have, 
besides the country neighborhood that surrounds 
them, a certain sprinkling of gentlefolk, who, 
though with small fortunes and not much usage 
of the world, are still a great accession to society, 
and make up the blank which, even in the most 
thickly-peopled country, would be sadly felt 
without them. Now, in Derry, there is none of 
this. After the great guns — and, pei- Baedio: 
what great guns they are! — you have nothing but 
the men engaged in commerce — sharp, clever, 
shrewd, well-informed fellows; they are deep in 
flax-seed, cunning in molasses, and not to be ex- 
celled in all that pertains to coffee, sassafras, cin- 
namon, gum, oakum, and elephants' teeth. The 



272 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



place is a rich one, and the spirit of commerce is 
felt throughout it. Nothing is cared for, nothing 
is talked of, nothing alluded to, that does not 
bear upon this; and, in fact, if you haven't a ven- 
ture in Smyrna figs, Memel timber, Dutch dolls, 
or some such commodity, you are absolutely 
nothing, and might as well be at a ball with a 
cork leg, or go deaf to the Opera. 

Now, when I've told thus much, I leave vou to 
guess what impression our triumphal entry into 
the city produced. Instead of the admiring 
crowds that awaited us elsewhere, as we marched 
gayly into quarters, here we saw nothing but 
grave, sober- looking, and, I confess it, intelligent- 
looking faces, that scrutinized our appearance 
( losely enough, but evidently with no great ap- 
proval, and less enthusiasm. The men passed 
on hurriedly to the counting-houses and the 
wharfs; the women, with almost as little interest, 
peeped at us from the windows, and walked away 
again. Oh! how we wished for Galway — glorious 
(lalway, that paradise of the infantry, that lies 
west of the Shannon. Little we knew, as we 
ordered the band, in lively anticipation of the 
gayeties before us, to strike up, ' Payne's first set,' 
that, to the ears of the fair listeners in Ship 
Ouay street, the rumble of a sugar hogshead, or 
ihe crank of a weighing crane, were more de- 
lightful music." 

'■ By Jove," interrupted Power, " you are quite 
right. Women are strongly imitative in their 
tastes. The lovely Italian, whose very costume 
is a natural following of a Raphael, is no more 
like the pretty Liverpool damsel than Genoa is 
to Glasnevin; and yet, what the deuce have they, 
dear souls! with their feet upon a soft carpet, 
and their eyes upon the pages of Scott or Byron, 
to do with all the cotton or dimity that ever was 
printed? But let us not repine: that very plastic 
character is our greatest blessing." 

" I'm not so sure that it always exists," said the 
doctor, dubiously, as though his own experience 
l)ointed otherwise. 

"Well, go ahead!" said the skipper, who evi- 
dently disliked the digression thus interrupting 
the adjutant's story. 

" Well, we inarched along, looking right and 
left at the pretty faces — and there were plenty 
of them, too — that a momentary curiosity drew 
to the windows; but, although we smiled, and 
ogled, and leered, as only a newly-arrived regi- 
metit can smile, ogle, or leer, by all that's pro- 
voking, we might as well have wasted our bland- 
ishments upon the Presbyterian meeting-house 
that frowned upon us with its high-pitched roof 
and round windows. 

" ' Droll people, these,' said one; ' Rayther rum 
ones,' cried another; 'The black north, by Jove!' 
saidathird: and so we went along to the barracks, 
somewhat displeased to think that, though the 
i8th were slow, they might have met their match. 

" Disappointed, as we undoubtedly felt, at the 
little enthusiasm that marked our entree, we still 
resolved to persist in our original jilan, and, ac- 
cordingly, early the following morning, announced 
our intention of giving amateur theatricals. The 
mayor, who called upon our colonel, was the 
first to learn this, and received the information 



with pretty much the same kind of look the arch- 
bishop of Canterbury might be supposed to as- 
sume, if requested by a friend to ride "a Derby." 
The iricredulous expression of the poor man's 
face, as he turned from one of us to the other, 
evidently canvassing in his mind whether we 
might not, by some special dispensation of 
Providence, be all insane, I shall never forget. 

" His vi.sit was a very short one; whether con- 
cluding that we were not quite safe company, or 
whether our notification was too much for his 
nerves, I know not. 

" We were not to be balked, however; our 
plans for gayety, long planned and conned over, 
were soon announced in all form; and though we 
made efforts almost superhuman in the cause, 
our plays were performed to empty benches, our 
balls were unattended, ourpic-nic invitations were 
politely declined, and, in a word, all our advances 
treated with a cold and chilling politeness, that 
plainly said, 'We'll none of you.' 

" Eacb day brought some new discomfiture, and, 
as we met at mess, instead of having, as hereto- 
fore, some prospect of pleasure and amusement 
to chac over, it was only to talk gloomily over our 
miserable failures, and lament the dreary quarters 
that our fates had doomed us to. 

" Some months wore on in this fashion, and at 
length — what will not time do? — we began by de- 
grees to forget our woes. Some of us took to late 
hours and brandy-and-water; others got sentimen- 
tal, and wrote journals, novels, and poetry; some 
made acquaintances among the townspeople, and 
cut into a quiet rubber to pass the evening; while 
another detachment, among which I was, got up a 
little love affair to while away the tedious hours, 
and cheat the lazy sun. 

" I have already said something of my taste in 
beauty; now, Mrs. Boggs was exactly the style of 
woman I fancied. She was a widow; she had 
black eyes — not your jet-black, sparkling, Dutch- 
doll eyes, that roll about and twinkle, but mean 
nothing — no; hers had a soft, subdued, downcast, 
pensive look about them, and were fully as melt- 
ing a pair of orbs as any blue eyes you ever 
looked at. 

" Then, she had a short upper lip, and sweet 
teeth; by Jove! they were pearls, and she 
showed them, too, pretty often. Her figure \^•as 
well rounded, plump, and what the French call 
nctte. To complete all, her instep and ankle were 
unexceptional; and, lastly, her jointure was seven 
hundred pounds per annum, with a trifle of eight 
thousand more, that the late lamented Boggs be- 
queathed, when, after four months of uninter- 
rupted bliss, he left Derry for another world. 

" When chance first threw me in the way of the 
fair widow, some casual coincidence of opinion 
happened to raise me in her estimation, and I 
soon afterwards received an invitation to a small 
evening party at her house, to which I alone of 
the regiment was asked. 

" I shall not weary yon with the details of my 
intimacy; it is enough that I tell you I fell des- 
perately in love. I began by visiting twice or 
thrice a week, and, in less than two months, spent 
every morning at her house, and rarely left it till 
the ' roast beef announced mess. 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



273 



"I soon discovered the widow's cue; she was 
serious. Now, I had conducted all manner of 
flirtations in my previous life; timid young la- 
dies, manly young ladies, musical, artistical, poet- 
ical, and hysterical. Bless you, I knew them 
all by heart; but never before had I to deal with 
a serious one, and a widow to boot. The case 
was a trying one. For some weeks it was all very 
up-hill work; all the red shot of warm affection 
I used to pour in on other occasions was of no 
use here. The language of love, in which I was 
no mean proficient, availed me not. Compli- 
ments and flattery, those rare skirmishers before 
tiie engagement, were denied me; and I verily 
think that a tender squeeze of the hand would 
have cost me my dismissal. 

" ' How very slow, all this!' thought I, as, at 
the end of two months' siege, I still found myself 
seated in the trenches, and not a single breach in 
the fortress; 'but, to be sure, it's the way they 
have in the north, and one must be patient.' 

" While thus I was in no very sanguine frame 
of mind as to my prospects, in reality my pro- 
gress was very considerable. Having l)ecome a 
member of Mr. MThun's congregation, I vai 
gradually rising in the estimation of the widow 
and her friends, whom my constant attendance 
at meeting, and my very serious demeanor, had 
so far impressed, that very grave deliberation was 
held whether I should not be made an elder at 
the ne.xt brevet. 

'■ If the widow Boggs had not been a very 
lovely and wealthy widow — had she not possessed 
the eyes, lips, hips, ankles, and jointure aforesaid 
— I honestly avow that neither the charms of tiiat 
sweet man Mr. M'Phun's eloquence, nor even the 
flattering distinction in store for me, would have 
induced me to prolong rny suit. However, I was 
not going to despair when in sight of land. The 
widow was evidently softened. A little time 
longer, and the most scrupulous moralist, the 
most rigid advocate for employing time wisely, 
could not have objected to my daily system of 
courtship. It was none of your sighing, dying, 
ogling, hand-squeezing, waist-pressing, oath- 
swearing, everlasting-adoring affairs, with an in- 
terchange of rings and lockets; not a bit of it. 
It was confoundedly like a controversial meeting 
at the Rotundo, and I myself had a far greater 
resemblance to Father Tom Maguire than a gay 
Lothario. 

" After all, when mess-time came, when the 
'roast beef played, and we assembled at dinner, 
and the soup and fish had gone round, with two 
glasses of sherry in, my spirits rallied, and a very 
jolly evening consoled me for all my fatigues and 
exertions, and supplied me with energy for the 
morrow; for, let me observe here, that I only 
made love before dinner. The evenings I reserved 
for myself, assuring Mrs. Boggs that my regi- 
mental duties required all my time after mess 
hour, in which I was perfectly correct; for at six 
we dined; at seven I opened the claret No. i; 
at eight I had uncorked my second bottle; bv 
half-past eight I was returning to the sherry; and 
at ten, punctual to the moment, I was repairing 
to my (piarters on the back of my servant, Tim 
Daly, who had carried me safelv for eight vears, 



without a single mistake, as the fox-hunters say. 

I'his was a way we had in the — th. Every man 
was carried away from mess, some sooner, some 
later. I was always an early riser, and went be- 
times. 

'■ Now, although I had very abundant jiroof, 
from circumstantial evidence, that I was nightly 
removed from the mess-room to my bed in the 
mode I mention, it would have puzzled me sorely 
to prove the fact in any direct way; inasmuch 
as, by half-past nine, as the clock chimed, and 
Tim entered to take me, I was very innocent of 
all that was going on, and, except a certain vague 
sense of regret at leaving the decanter, felt noth- 
ing whatever. 

" It so chanced — what mere trifles are we ruled 
by in our destiny! — that just as my suit with the 
widow had assumed its most fa\oralile footing, 
old General Hinks, that commanded the district, 
announced his coming over to inspect our regi- 
ment. Over he came accordingly, and, to be 
sure, we had a day of it. We were paraded for 
six mortal hours; then we were marching and 
countermarching; moving into line; back again 
into column; now forming open column, then 
into square; till, at last, we began to think that 
the old general was like the FIjing Dutchman, ■ 
and was probably condemned to kec]) on drilling 
us to the day of judgment. To be sure, he en- 
livened the proceeding to me by pronoimcing the 
regiment the worst-drilled and appointed corps 
in the service, and the adjutant (me!) the stupid- 
est dunderhead — these were his words — he had 
ever met with. 

" ' Never mind,' thought I; ' a few days more, 
and it's little I'll care for the eighteen manoeuvres. 
It's small trouble your eyes right, or your left 
shoulders forward, will give me. I'll sell out, and 
with the Widow Boggs and seven hundred a year 
— but no matter.' 

" This confounded inspection lasted till half- 
past five in the afternoon; so that our mess was 
delayed a full hour in consequence, and it was 
past seven as we sat down to dinner. Our faces 
were grim enough as we met together at first; but 
what will not a good dinner and good wine do 
for the surliest party? By eight o'clock we be- 
gan to feel somewhat more convivially disposed; 
and, before nine, the decanters were performing 
a quickstep round the table, in a fashion very 
exhilarating and very jovial to look at. 

No flinching to-night,' said the senior major. 
' We've had a severe day; let us also have a merry 
evening.' 

" ■ By Jove! Orniond,' cried another, ' we must 
not leave this to-night. Confound the old hum- 
luigs and their musty whist party; throw them 
over.' 

" ' I say, adjutant,' said Forbes, addressing 
me, 'you've nothing particidar to say to the fair 
widow this evening? You'll not bolt, I ho]'e?' 

"'That he shan't,' said one near me; 'he must 
make up for his absence to-morrow, for to-night 
we all stand fast.' 

"'Besides,' said another, 'she's at meeting by 
this. Old — what-d'ye-call-him? — is at fourteenth- 
ly before now.' 

'"A note for you, sir,' said the mess waiter, 



2^4 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



presenting me with a rose-colored three-cornered 
billet. It was from la chere Boggs herself, and 
ran thus: 

" ' Dear Sir, — Mr. M'Phun and a few friends 
are coming to tea at my house after meeting; 
perhaps you will also favor us with your com- 
pany. 

" ' Yours truly, 

" ' Eliza Boggs.' 

"What was to be done? Quit the mess — leave 
a jolly party at the joUiest moment — exchange 
Lafitte and red hermitage for a soiree of elders, 
presided over by that sweet man, Mr. M'Phun! 
It was too bad! — but then, how much was in the 
scale? What would the widow say if I declined? 
What would she think? I well knew that the in- 
vitation meant nothing less than a full-dress 
parade of me before her friends, and that to de- 
cline was perhaps to forfeit all my hopes in that 
quarter forever. 

" ' Any answer, sir?' said the waiter. 

"'Yes,' said I, in a half whisper, 'I'll go — tell 
the servant, I'll go.' 

"At this moment my tender epistle was sub- 
tracted from before me, and, ere I had turned 
round, h id made the tour of half the table. I 
never perceived the circumstance, however, and 
filling my glass, professed my resolve to sit to tiie 
last, with a mental reserve to take my departure 
at the very first opportunity. Ormond and the 
paymaster quitted the room for a moment, as if 
to give orders for a broil at twelve, and now all 
seemed to promise a very conV^N ial and well-sus- 
tained party for the night. 

" Is that all arranged ?' inquired the major, as 
Ormond entered. 

"'All right,' said he; 'and now let us have a 
bumper and a song; adjutant, old boy, give us a 
chant.' 

'"What shall it be. then?' inquired I, anxious 
to cover my intended retreat by an appearance 
of joviality. 

" ' Give us— 

' " When I was in the Fusileers 
Some fourteen years ago." ' 

"'No, no; confound it! I've heard nothing 
else since I joined the regiment. Let us have the 
"Paymaster's Daughter." ' 

'"Ah! that's pathetic; I like that," lisped a 
young ensign. 

" ' If I'm to have a vote,' grunted out the senior 
major, ' I pronounce for " \Vest India Quarters." ' 

'"Yes, yes,' said half a dozen voices together, 
'let's have "West India Quarters." "Come, 
give him a glass of sherry, and let him begin.' 

"I had scarcely finished off my glass, and 
cleared my throat for my song, when the clock 
on the chnnney-piece chimed half-past nine, and 
the same instant I felt a heavy hand fall upon 
my shoulder. I turned, and beheld my servant, 
Tim. This, as I have already mentioned, was 
the hour at which Tim was in the habit of taking 
me home to my quarters; and, though we had 
dined an hour later, he took no notice of the cir- 
cumstance, but, true to his custom, he was behind 



my chair A very cursory glance at my ' familiar' 
was quite sufficient to show me that we had 
somehow changed sides; for Tim, who was habit- 
ually the most sober of mankind, was, on the 
present occasion, exceedingly drunk, while I, a 
full hour before that consummation, was perfectly 
sober. 

" 'What d'ye want, sir?' inquired I, with some- 
thing of se\erity in my manner. 

"'Come home,' said Tim, with a hiccup that 
set the whole table in a roar. 

" ' Leave the room this instant,' said I, feeling 
wroth at being thus made a butt of for his offences. 
' Leave the room, or I'll kick you out of it.' Now, 
this, let me add, in a parenthesis, was somew-hat 
of a boast, for Tim was six, feet three, and strong 
in ))roportion, and, when in liquor, fearless as a 
tiger. 

"'You'll kick me out of the room — eh! will 
you? Try — only try it, that's all.' Here a new 
roar of laughter burst forth, while Tim, again 
placing an enormous paw upon my shoulder, 
continued, 'Don't be sitting there, making a baste 
of yourself, when you've got enough. Don't you 
see you're drunk?' 

" I sprang to my legs on this, and made a rush 
to the fireplace, to secure the poker; but Tim 
wus beforehand with me, and seizing me by the 
waist with both hands, flung me across his shoul- 
ders, as though I were a baby, saying, at the same 
time, 'I'll take you away at half-past eight, to- 
morrow, av you're as rampageous again.' I 
kicked, I plunged, I swore, I threatened, I even 
begged and implored to be set down; but, whether 
my voice was lost in the uproar around me, or 
that Tim only regarded my denunciations in the 
light of cursing, I know not, but he carried me 
bodily down the stairs, steadying himself by one 
hand on the banisters, while with the other he 
held me as in a vice. I had but one consolation 
all this while; it was this, that, as my quarters 
lay immediately behind the mess-room, Tim's 
excursion would soon come to an end. and I 
should be free once more; but guess my terror to 
find that the drunken scoundrel, instead of going, 
as usual, to the left, turned short to the right 
hand, and marched boldly into Ship Quay street. 
Every window in the mess-room was filled with 
our fellows, absolutely shouting with laughter. 
'Go it, Tim!— that's the fellow! — hold him tight! 
— never let go!' cried a dozen voices; wliile 
the wretch, with the tenacity of drunkenness, 
gripped me still harder, and took his way down 
tlie middle of the street. 

" It was a beautiful evening in July, a soft sum- 
mer night, as I made this pleasing excursion down 
the iii'ost frequented thoroughfare in the maiden 
city; my struggles every moment exciting roars 
of laughter from an increasing crowd of spec- 
tators, who seemed scarcely less amused than 
puzzled at the exhibition. In the midst of a tor- 
rent of imprecations against my tormentor, a 
loud noise attracted me. I turned my head, and 
saw — horror of horrors! — the door of the meet- 
ing-house just flung open, and the congregation 
issuing forth en masse. Is it any wonder if I re- 
member no more? There I was, the chosen one 
of the Widow Boggs — the elder elect — the favored 









I ■■•-. 







■'^^r 



fOV^' 



.9.^' 



J//f" ( '^^///AW/^/^/^J r////'f - ^/////ry y/^//' 



CHARLES O'M ALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



275 



friend and admired associate of Mr. M'Phun, 
taking an airing on a summer's evening on the 
bacic of a drunken Irislunan. Oh! the thought 
was horrible; and, certainly, the short and pithy 
epithets bv which I was characterized in the 
crowd, neither imjjroved my temper nor assuaged 
my wrath; and I feel bound to confess that my 
own language was neither serious nor becoming. 
Tim, however, cared little for all this, and pur- 
sued the even tenor of his way through the whole 
crowd, nor stopped till, having made lialf the 
circuit of the w:ill, he deposited me safe at my 
own door, adding, as he set me down, ' Oh! av 
you're as throublesonie every evening, it's a 
wheelbarrow I'll be obliged to bring for you.' 

"The next day I obtained a short leave of ab- 
sence, and, ere a fortnight expired, exchanged 
into the — th, preferring Halifax itself to the ridi- 
cule that awaited me in Londonderry." 



CHAPTER XXX. 



FRED POWEI.; S ADVENTURE IN PHILIPSTOWN. 

The lazy hours of the long summer day crept 
slowly over. The sea, unbroken by foam or rip- 
ple, shone like a broad blue mirror, reflecting 
here and there some fleecy patches of snow-white 
cloud as they stood unmoved in the sky. The 
good ship rocked to and fro with a heavy and 
lumbering motion; the cordage rattled, the bulk- 
heads creaked; the sails flipped lazily against the 
masts; the very sea-gulls seemed to sleep as they 
rested on the long swell that bore them along; 
and everything in sea and sky bespoke the calm. 
No sailor trod the deck; no watch was stirring; 
the very tiller ropes were deserted; and, as they 
traversed backwards and forwards with every roll 
of the vessel, told that we had no steerage-way, 
and lay a mere log upon the water. 

I sat alone in the bow, and fell into a musing 
fit upon the past and the future. How happily 
for us is it ordained that, in the most stirring 
existences, there are every here and there such 
little resting-spots of reflection, from which, as 
from some eminence, we look back upon the road 
we have been treading in life, and cast a wistful 
glance at the dark vista before us! When first 
we set out upon our worldly pilgrimage, there are, 
indeed, precious moments, when, with buoyant 
heart and spirit high, believing all things, trust- 
ing all things, our very youth comes back to us, 
retlected from every object we meet; and, like 
Narcissus, we are but worshipping our own image 
in tlie water. .\s we go on in life, the cares, the 
anxieties, and the business of the world, engross 
us more and more; and such moments become 
fewer and snorter. Many a bright dream has 
been dissolved, many a fairy vision replaced, by 
some dark reality; blighted hopes, false friend- 
ships, have gradually worn callous the heart once 
alive to every gentle feeling, and time begins to 
tell upon us; yet still, as tlie well-remembered 
melody to which we listened with delight in in- 
fancy brings to our mature age a touch of early 
years, so will the very association of these happy 



moments recur to us in our reverie, and make us 
young again in thought. Then it is that, as we 
look back upon our w orldly career, we become con- 
vinced how truly is the child the falhtr of the 
man, how frequently are the projects of our man- 
hood the fruit of some boyish predilection; and 
that, in the emulative ardor that stirs the school- 
boy's heart, we may read the prestige of that high 
daring that makes a hero of its possessor. 

These moments, too, are scarcely more pleasur- 
able tiian thev are salutary to us. Disengaged, 
for the time, from every worldly anxiety, we pass 
in review before our own selves, and in tlie soli- 
tude of our own hearts are we judged. That still 
small voice of conscience, unheard and unlistentd 
to amid the din and bustle of life, speaks audibly 
to us now; and, while chastened on one side by 
regrets, we are sustained on the other by some 
approving thought, and, with many a sorrow for 
the past, and many a promise for the future, we 
begin to feel " how good it is for us to be here." 

The evening wore later; the red sun sank down 
upon the sea, growing larger and larger; the long 
line of mellow gold that s-iieeted along the distant 
horizon, grew first of a dark ruddy tinge, tlm 
paler and paler, till it became almost grey, a 
single star shone faintly in the east, and darkness 
soon set in. With night came the wind, for 
almost imperceptibly the sails swelled slowly out, 
a slight rustle at the bow followed, the ship lay 
gently over, and we were once more in motion. 
It struck four bells; some casual resemblance in 
the sound to the old pendulum that marked the 
hour at my uncle's house, startled me so that I 
actually knew not where I was. With lightning 
speed my once home rose up before me with its 
happy hearts; the old familiar faces were there; 
the gay laugh was in my ears; there sat my dear 
old uncle, as with bright eye and mellow voice he 
looked a very welcome to his guests; there Poyle; 
there Considine; there the grim-visaged ] ortraits 
that graced the old walls, whose black cak wain- 
scot stood in broad light and shadow, as the 
blazing turf fire shone upon it; there was my own 
place, now vacant; methought my uncle's eye 
was turned towards it, and that I heard him say, 
"My po,or boy! I wonder where is 'he now!" 
My heart swelled; my chest heaved; the tears 
coursed slowly down my cheeks, as I asked my- 
self, "Shall I ever see them more?" Oh! how 
little, how very little to us are the accustomed 
blessings of our life, till some change has robbed 
us of them; and how dear are thej- when lost to 
us. My uncle's dark foreboding that we should 
never meet again on earth came, for the first 
time, forcibly to my mind, and my heart was full 
to bursting. What could repay me for the agony 
of that moment, as I thought of him — my first, 
my best, my only friend — whom I had deserted! 
and how gladly would I have resigned my bright 
day-dawn of ambition to be once more beside 
his chair; to hear his voice; to see his smile; to 
feel his love for me! A loud laugh from the cabin 
roused me from my sad, depressing reverie; and, 
at the same instant, Mike's -well-known vo'ce in- 
formed me that the captain was looking for me 
everywhere, as supper was on. the table. T>itile 
as I'felt disposed to join the party at suJi a 



276 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



moment, as I knew there was no escaping Power, 
I resolved to make the best of matters; so, after 
a few minutes, I followed Mickey down thecom- 
panion, and entered the cabin. 

The scene before me was certainly not calcu- 
lated to perpetuate depressing thoughts. At the 
head of a rude old-fashioned table, upon which 
figured several black bottles, and various ill- 
loolxing drinking vessels of every shape and 
material, sat Fred Power; on his right was placed 
the skipi^er; on his left, the doctor; the bronzed, 
merry-looking, weather-beaten features of the 
one, contrasting ludicrously with the pale, ascetic, 
acute- looking expression of the other. Sparks, 
more than half-drunk, with the mark of a red-hot 
cigar upon his nether lip, was lower down; while 
Major Monsoon, to preserve the symmetry of 
the party, had protruded his head, surmounted 
by a huge red night-cap, from the berth opposite, 
and held out his goblet to be replenished from 
the punch-bowl. 

" Welcome, thrice welcome, thou man of Gal- 
way!" cried out Power, as he pointed to a seat, and 
])ushed a wine glass towards me. " Just in time, 
too, to pronounce upon a new brewery! taste 
that: a little more of the lemon you would say, 
perhaps? Well, I agree with you; rum and 
brandy; glenlivet and guava jelly; limes, green 
tea, and a slight suspicion of preserved ginger — 
nothing else, upon hoaor — and the most simple 
mixture for the cure, the radical cure, of blue 
devils and debt I know of; eh, doctor? you ad- 
vise it yourself, to be taken before bed-time; 
nothing inflammatory in it; nothing pugnacious; a 
mere circulation of the better juices and more 
genial spirits of the m.irly clay, without arousing 
any of the baser passions-; whiskey is the devil 
for that." 

" I cannasay that I dinna like whiskey-toddy," 
said the doctor; " in the cauld winter nights it's 
no sae bad." 

■'Ah! that's it," said Power; " there's the pull 
you Scotch have upon us poor Patlanders; cool, 
calculating, long-headed fellows, you only come 
up to the mark after fifteen tumblers; whereas we 
hot-brained devils, with a blood at 212 degrees of 
Fahrenheit, and a high-pressure engine of good 
spirits always ready for an explosion, we go clean 
mad when tipsy; not but I am fully convinced 
that a mad Irishman is worth two sane people of 
any other country under heaven." 

" If you mean bv that insin — insin — sinuation 
to imply any disrespect to the English," stuttered 
out Sparks, '' I am bound to say that I for one, 
a:id the doctor, I am sure, for another " 

'■ Na, na," interrupted the doctor, "ye mun.ia 
coont upon me; I'm no disposed to fecht ower 
our liquor." 

"' Then, Major Monsoon. I'm certain ■" 

"Are ye, faith?" said the major, with a grin; 
" blessed are they who expect nothing — of which 
number you are not — formost decidedly you shall 
be disap])ointcd." 

" Never mind. Sparks, take the whole fight to 
your own proper self, and do battle like a man; 
and here I stand: ready at all arms to prove my 
position — that we drink better, sing better, court 
better, fight better, and make better punch than 



every John Bull from Benvick to the Land's End." 
Sparks, however, who seemed not exactly sure 
how far his antagonist was disposed to quiz, re- 
lapsed into a half-tipsy expression of contemptu- 
ous silence, and sipped his liquc r without reply. 
"Yes," said Power, after a pause, "bad luck 
to it for whiskey, it nearly got me broke once, 
and poor Tom O'Reilly of the 5th, too, the best- 
tempered fellow in the service; we were as cear 
it as touch and go; and all for some confounded 
Loughrea spirits, that we believed to be perfectly 
innocent, and used to swill away freely, without 
suspicion of any kind." 

"Let's hear the story," said I, "by all means." 
"It's not a long one," said Power; "so 1 don't 
care if I tell it; and besides, if I make a clean 
breast of my own sins, I'll insist upon Monscon's 
telling you afterwards how he stocked his cellar 
in Cadiz; eh, major? there's worse tipple than 
the king of Spain's sherry?" 

"You shall judge for yourself, old boy," said 
Monsoon, good-humortdly; " and, as for the 
narrative, it is equally at your service. Of course, 
it goes no further. The Commander-in-Chief, 
long life to him! is a glorious fellow; but he has 
no more idea of a joke llian the archbishop of 
Canterbury, and it might chance to reach him." 

"Recount, and fear not!" cried Power, "we 
are discreet as the worshipful company of apothe- 
caries." 

" But you forget you are to lead the way." 
"Here goes, then," said the jolly captain; 
" not that the story has any merit in it, but the 
moral is beautiful. 

" Ireland, to be sure, is a beautiful country, 
but somehow it would pro^ea very dull one to be 
quartered in, if it were not that the people seem 
to have a natural taste for the army. From the 
belle of Merrion square down to the innkieper's 
daughter in Tralee, the loveliest jiart of the i rea- 
tion seem to have a jjerfect appreciation < f our 
high acquirements and advantages; and, in no 
other part of the globe, the 'i'onga Islands in- 
cluded, is a red coat more in favor. To be sure, 
they would be very ungrateful if it were rot the 
case; for we, upon our sides, leave no stone un- 
turned to make ourselves agreeable. We ride, 
drink, play, and make love to the ladies, from 
Fairhead to Killarney, in a way greatly calculated 
to render us popular: and, as far as making the 
time pass pleasantly, we are the boys for the 
'greatest happiness,' principle. I repeat it; we 
deserve our popularity. \Vhich of us dees not 
get head and ear's in debt with garrison balls and 
steeple-chases, pic-nics, regattas, and the thou- 
sand-and-one inventions to get rid of one's spare 
cash, so called for being so sparingly dealt out 
by our governors? Now and then, too, when all 
else fails, we take a newly-joined ensign, and 
make him marry some pretty but ptnniless lass, 
in a country town, just to show the rest that we 
are not joking, but have serious ideas of matri- 
mony, in the midst of all our flirtations. If it 
were all like this, the Green Isle would be a 
paradise; but, unluckily, e\ery now and then, one 
is condemned to some infernal place, where 
there is neither a pretty face nor tight ankle; 
where the priest himself is not a good fellow; 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



277 



and long, ill-paved, straggling streets, filled, on 
market days, with booths of striped calico, and 
soapvclieese, is theonl}' promenade; and a ruinous 
barrack, with mould v ivails and a tumbling 
chimney, the only quarters. 

" In vain, on your return from your raorning 
stroll or afternoon canter, you look on the chim- 
nev-piece for a shower of visiting cards, and pink 
notes of invitation; in vain vou isk vour servant 
has any one called. Alas! your only visitor has 
been the gauger, to demand a parly to assist in 
still-hunting, amid that interesting class of the 
population, who, having nothing to eat, are en- 
gaged in devising drink, and care as much for the 
life of a red-coat as you do for thai of a crow or 
a curlew. This may seem overdrawn; but I would 
ask you, were you ever for your sins riuartered in 
that capital city of the Bog of Allen they call 
Piiilipstown? Oh, but it is a romantic spot! They 
tell us somewhere that much of the expression of 
the human face divine depends upon the objects 
which constantly surround us. Thus the inhabit- 
ants of mountain districts imbibe, as it were, a 
certain bold and daring character of expression 
from the scenery, very different from the placid 
and monotonous look of those who dwell in plains 
and valleys; and I can certainly credit the theory 
in this instance, for every man, woman, and child 
you meet has a brown, baked, scruffy, turf-like 
face, that fully satisfies you that, if Adam were 
formed of cla}', the Philipstown people were worse 
treated, and only made of bog mould. 

" Well, one fine morning, poor Tom and my- 
self were marched off from Birr, where one might 
'live and love forever,' to take up our quarters 
at this sweet spot. Little we knew of Philips- 
town, and, like my friend the adjutant there, 
when he laid siege to Derry, we made our entree 
with all the pomp we could muster, and though 
we had no band, our drums and fifes did duty for 
it; and we brushed along through turf-creels and 
wicker-baskets of new brogues t.iat obstructed 
the street till we reached the barrack, the onl)- 
testimony of admiration we met with being, I feel 
bound to admit, from a ragged urchin of ten 
years, who, with a wattle in his hand, imitated 
me as I marched along, and, when I cried halt, 
took his leave of us by dexterously fixing his 
thumb to the side of his nose and outstretching 
his fingers, as if thus to convey a very strong hint 
that we were not half so fine fellows as we thought 
ourselves. Well, four mortal summer months of 
hot sun and cloudless sky went over, and still we 
lingered in that vile village, the everlasting mo- 
notony of our days being marked bv the same 
brief morning drill, the same blue-legged chicken 
dinner, the same smoky Loughrea whiskey, and 
the same evening stroll along the canal bank to 
watch for the Dublin packet-boat, with its never- 
varying cargo of cattle-dealers, priests, and peel- 
ers on their way to the west country, as though 
the demand for such colonial productions in these 
parts was insatiable. This was pleasant, you 
will say; but what was to be done? We had 
nothing else. Now, nothing saps a man's temper 
like ennui. The cranky, peevish people one meets 
with would be excellent folk, if they only had 
something to do. As for us, I'll venture to say 



two men more disposed to go pleasantly down 
the current of life it \\t:.vi: hard to meet with; and 
yet, such was the consequence of tiiese con- 
founded four months' seijuestration from all other 
society, we became sour and cross-grained; ever- 
lastingly disputing about trifles, and continually 
arguing about matters which neither were inter- 
ested in, nor, iu' --d, knew anything about. 
There were, it is true, few topics to di.scuss, 
newspapers we never saw; sporting there was 
none; but, then, the drill, the return of duty, the 
probable chances of our being ordered for ser- 
vice, were ail daily subjects to be talked over, 
and usually with considerable asperity and bit- 
terness. One point, however, always served us 
when hard pushed for a bone of contention, and 
which, begun by a mere accident at first, gradu- 
ally increased to a .sore and (leevish subject, and 
finally led to the consequences which I have 
hinted at in the beginning. This was no less 
than the respective merits of our mutual servants; 
each everlastingly indulging in a tirade against 
the other for awkwardness, inci\ility, unhandi- 
ness — charges, I am bound to confess, most amply 
proved on either side. 

" ' W^ell, I am sure, O'Reilly, if you can stand 
that fellow — it's no affair of mine, but such an 
ungainlv savage I never met,' I would say. 

"To which he would reply, 'Bad enough be 
is, certainly; but, by Jove! when I only think of 
your Hottentot, I feel grateful for what I've 
got' 

" Then ensued a discussion, viith attack, re- 
joinder, charge, and recrimination, till we retired 
for the night, wearied with our exertions, and not 
a little ashamed of ourselves at boltcm for ( i r 
a!>surd warmth and t-xcitenunt. In the morning 
tile matter would be rigidly avoided by each 
party until some chance occasion had brought it 
on the tdpis, when hostilities would be in.medi- 
ately renewed, and carried on with the same 
vigor, to end as before. 

" In this agreeable state of matters we sat, one 
warm summer evening, before the mess-iccm, 
under the shade of a canvas awning, discussing, 
by way of refrigerant, our eighth tumbler of whis- 
key punch. We had, as usual, been jarring away 
about everything under heaven. A lately-arrived 
post-cliaise, with an old, stiff-iookirg gentkman 
in a queue, bad formed a kind of 'godsend' for 
debate, as to who he was, whither he was going, 
whether he really had intended to spend the 
night tiiere, or that he only put up because the 
chaise was broken; each, as was customary, mam- 
taining his own opinion with an obstinacy we 
have ciften since laughed at, though, at the time, 
we had few mirthful thougtits about the matter. 

"As the debate waxed warm, O'Reilly asserted 
that he positively knew the individual in ques- 
tion to be a United Irishman, travelling with in- 
structions from the French government, while I 
laughed him to scorn by swearing that he was the 
rector of Tyrrell's Pass; that I kntw him 
well; and moreover, that he was the worst 
I^reacher in Ireland. Singular enough it was, 
that all this while the disputed identity was him- 
self standing coolly at the inn wir-dow, with his 
snuff-box in his hand, leisurely surveying us as 



278 



CHARLES O'MALLEV, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



we sat, appearing, at least, to take a very lively 
interest in our debate. 

'"Come now,' said O'Reilly, 'there's only one 
way to conclude this, and make you pay for 
your obstinacy. What will you bet that he's the 
rector of Tyrrell's Pass?' 

"'What odds will you take that he's Wolfe 
Tone?' inquired I, sneeringly. 

" ' Five to one against the rector,' said he, 
e.xultingly. 

"'An elephant's molar to a toothpick against 
Wolfe Tone,' cried I. 

Ten pounds even that I'm nearer the mark 
than you,' said Tom, with a smash of his fist 
upon the table. 

" ' Done,' said I— 'done. But how are we to 
decide the wager?' 

" ' That's soon done," said he. At the same in- 
stant he sprang to his legs, and called out, ' Pat 
— I say, Pat — I want you to present my respects 
to •' 

'"No, no, I bar that — no ex parte statements. 
Here, Jem, do you simply tell that ' 

"'That fellow can't deliver a message. Do 
come here, Pat. Just beg of ' 

" ' He'll blunder it, the confounded fool; so, 
Jem, do you go.' 

"The two individuals thus addressed were just 
in the act of conveying a tray of glasses and a 
spiced round of beef for supper into the mess- 
room; and, as I may remark that they fully en- 
tered into the feelings of jealousy their respective 
masters professed, each eyed the other with a 
look of very unequivocal dislike. 

" 'Arrah! you needn't be pushing me that way,' 
said Pat, 'an' the round o' beef in my hands.' 

" ' Devil's luck to ye! it's the glasses you'll be 
breaking with your awkward elbow.' 

" ' Then why don't ye leave the way? ain't I 
your suparior ?' 

"Ain't I the captain's own man?' 

" 'Ay, and if you war. Don't I belong to his 
betters? Isn't my master the two liftenants?' 

" This, strange as it may sound, was so far 
true, as I held a commission in an African corps, 
with my lieutenancy in the 5th. 

" 'Be-gorra, av he was six there now, you 

done it!' 

"At the same moment a tremendous crash 
took place, and the large dish fell in a thousand 
pieces on the pavement, while the spiced round 
rolled pensively down the yard. 

" Scarcely was the noise heard, vvhen, with one 
vigorous kick, the tray of glasses was sent spin- 
ning into the air, and the ne.xt moment the dis- 
putants were engaged in bloody battle. It was 
at this moment that our attention was first drawn 
towards them, and I need not say with what 
feelings of interest we looked on. 

"Hit him, Pat — there. Jem, under the guard — 
that's it — go in — well done, left hand — by Jove, 
that was a facer — his eye's closed — he's down — 
not a bit of it — how do you like that? — unfair, 
unfair — no such thing — I say it was — not at all 
^I deny it.' 

" By this time we had approached the combat- 
ants, each man patting his own fellow on the 
back, and encouraging him bv the most lavish 



promises. Now it was, but in what way I never 
could exactly tell, that I threw out my right hand 
to stop a blow that I saw coming rather too 
near me, when, by some unhappy mischance, 
my doubled fist lighted upon Tom O'Reilly's 
nose. Before I could express my sincere regret 
for the accident, the blow was returned with 
double force, and the next moment we were at it 
harder than the others. After five minutes' sharp 
work, we both stopped for breath, and incon^ 
tinently burst out a laughing. There was Tomj^ 
with a nose as large as three; a huge check on' 
one side, and the whole head swinging round like 
a harlequin's; while I, with one eye closed, and 
the other like a half-shut cockle-shell, looked 
scarcely less rueful. We had not much time for 
mirth, for at the same instant a sharp, full voice 
called out close beside us; 

" ' To your quarters, sirs I put you both under 
arrest, from which you are not to be released 
until the sentence of a court-martial decide if 
conduct such as this becomes officers and gen- 
tlemen.' 

" I looked round, and saw the old fellow in the 
queue. 

" Wolfe Tone, by all that's unlucky!' said I, 
with an attempt at a smile. 

"'The rector of Tyrrell's Pass,' cried out 
Tom, with a snuffle; 'the worst preacher in Ire- 
land — eh, Fred?' 

" We had not much time for further commen- 
taries upon our friend, for he at once opened his 
frock coat, and dis])layed to our horrified gaze the 
uniform of a general officer. 

" ' Yes, sir. General Johnston, if you will allow 
me to present him to your acquaintance; and 
now, guard, turn out.' 

" In a few minutes more the orders were issued, 
and poor Tom and myself found ourselves fast 
confined to our quarters, with a sentinel at the 
door, and the pleasant prospect that, in the 
space of about ten days, we should be broke, and 
dismissed the service; which verdict, as the gen- 
eral order would say, the Commander of the 
Forces has been graciously pleased to approve. 

" However, when morning came, the old gen- 
eral, who was really a trump, inquired a little 
further into the matter, saw it was partly acci- 
dental, and, after a severe reprimand, and a 
caution about Loughrea whiskey after the sixth 
tumbler, released us from arrest, and forgave the 
whole affair." 



CHAPTER XXXI. 



THE VOYAGE. 



Ugh! what a miserable thing is a voyage! 
Here we are now, eight days at sea; the eternal 
sameness ot all around growing every hour less 
supportable. Sea and sky are beautiful things 
when seen from the dark woods and waving , 
meadows on shore; but their picturesque effect 
is sadly marred from want of contrast; besides 
that, the '' ioiijoiirs pork," with crystals of salt as 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



279 



long as your wife's fingers; tlie potatoes, that 
seemed varnislied in French polish; the tea, sea- 
soned with geoh)gical specimens from the basin 
of London, yclept maple sugar; and the butter 
— ye gods! — the butter! But why enumerate 
these smaller features of discomfort, and omit 
the more glaring ones? The utter selfishness 
which blue water suggests, as inevitably as the 
cold fit follows the ague; the good fellow that 
shares his knapsack or his last guinea on land, 
here forages out the best corner to hang his liam- 
mock, jockeys you into a comfortless crib, where 
the uncaulked deck-butt filters every rain from 
heaven on your head; he votes you the corner at 
dinner, not only that he may place you with your 
back to the thorough draught of the gangway 
ladder, but that he may eat, drink, and lie down, 
before you have even begun to feel the qualmish- 
ness that the dinner of a troop ship is well cal- 
culated to suggest; cuts his pencil with your best 
razor; wears your shirts, as washing is scarce; 
and winds up all by having a good story of you 
every evening for the edification of the other 
''sharp gentlemen," who, being too wide awake 
to be humbugged themselves, enjoy his success 
prodigiously. This, gentle reader, is neither 
confessiorr nor avowal of mine. The passage I 
have here presented to you I have taken from 
the journal of my brother officer, Mr. Sparks, 
who, when not otherwise occupied, usually em- 
ployed his time in committing to paper his 
thoughts upon men, manners, and things at sea 
in general; though, sooth to say, his was not an 
idle life; being voted by unanimous consent "a 
junior," he was condemned to offices that the 
veriest fag in Eton or Harrow had rebelled 
against. In the morning, under the pseudonym 
of Mrs. Sparks, he presided at breakfast, having 
previously made tea, coffee, and chocolate for 
the whole cabin, besides boiling about twenty 
eggs at various degrees of hardness; he was un- 
der heavy recognisances to provide a plate of 
buttered toast of very alarming magnitude, fried 
ham, kidneys, etc., to no end. Later on, when 
others sauntered about the deck, vainly endeav- 
oring to fix their attention upon a novel or a 
review, tlie poor cornet might be seen with a 
white apron tucked gracefully round his sjjare 
proportions, whipping eggs for pancakes, or with 
up-turned shirt sleeves fashioning dough for a 
pudding As the day waned, the cook's galley 
became his haunt, where, e.xposed to a roasting 
fire, he inspected the details of a cuisine, for 
which, whatever his demerits, he was sure of an 
ainple remuneration in abuse at dinner. Then 
came the dinner itself, that dread ordeal, where 
nothing was praised, and everything censured. 
This was followed by the punch-making, where 
the tastes of six different and differing individ- 
uals were to be exclusively consulted in the self- 
same beverage; and lastly, the supper at night, 
when Sparkle, as he was familiarly called, towards 
evening, grown quite exhausted, became the sub- 
ject of unmitigated wrath and most unmeasured 
reprobation. 

'■ I say, Sparks, it's getting late; the spatch- 
cock, old boy; don't be slumbering." 

" By-the-by, Sparkle, what a mess you made 



of that pea-soup to-day! By Jove! I never felt 
so ill in my life." 

'■ Na, na, it was na the soup; it was something 
he [)it in the punch, that's burning me ever since 
I tuk it. Ou, man, but ye're an awfu' creture 
wi' vittals." 

" He'll improve, doctor, he'll improve; don't 
discourage him; the boy's young; be alive now, 
there; where's the toast — confound you- — where's 
the toast?" 

" There, Sparks, you like a drumstick, I know 
— mustn't muzzle the ox, eh? Scripture for you, 
old boy; eat away; hang the expense; hand 
him over the jug — empty — eh, Charley? Come, 
Si)arkie, bear a hand, the liquor's out." 

" But won't you let me eat?" 

" Eat! heavens, what a fellow for eating! By 
George! such an appetite is clean against the ar- 
ticles of war. Come, man, it's drink we're 
thinking of; there's the rum, sugar, limes; see to 
the hot water. Well, skipper, how are we getting 
on?" 

" Lying on our course; eight knots off the log; 
pass the rum. Why, Mister Sparks?" 

" Eh, Sparks, what's this?" 

" Sparks, my man, confound it." And then, 
omnes chorussing, " Sparks!" in every key of the 
gamut, the luckless fellow would be obliged to 
jump up from his meagre fare, and set to work 
at a fresh brewage of j unch for the others. The 
bowl and the glasses filled, by some little manage- 
ment on Power's part, our friend the cornet 
would be d>-awn end, as the phrase is, into some 
confession of his early years, which seemed to 
have been exclusively spent in love-making — de- 
votion to the fair being as integral a portion of 
his character as tijipling was of the worthy 
major's. 

Like most men who pass their lives in over 
studious efforts to please — however ungallant the 
confession be — -the amiable Sparks had had little 
success; his love, if not, as it generally hap- 
pened, totally unrequited, was invariably the 
source of some awkward catastrophe, there being 
no imaginable error he had not, at some time or 
other, fallen into, nor any conceivable mischance 
to which he had not been exposed. Inconsolable 
widows, attached wives, fond mothers, newly- 
married biides, engaged joung ladies, were, by 
some contretemps, continually the subject of his 
attachments; and the least mishap which followed 
the avowal of his passion vas to be heartily 
laughed at, and obliged to leave the neighborhood. 
Duels, apologies, actions at law, compensations, 
&c., were of every-day occurrence; and to such 
an extent, too, that any man blessed with a smaller 
bump upon the occiput, would eventually have 
long since abandoned the pursuit, and taken to 
some less expensive pleasure ; but pcor Sparks, 
in the true spirit of a martyr, only gloried the 
more, the more he suffered ; and, like the worthy 
man who continued to purchase tickets in the 
lottery for thirty years, with nothing but a suc- 
cession of blanks, he ever imagined that Fortune 
was only trying his patience, and had some cool 
fortv thousand pounds of happiness waiting his 
perseverance in the end. Whetlier this prize ever 
did turn up in the course of years, I am unable 



280 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



to say; but, certainly, up to the period of his 
history I now speak of, all had been as gloomy 
and unreqiiiting as need l)e. Power, who knew 
something of every man's adventures, was aware 
of so much of poor Sparks's career, and usually 
contrived to lay a trap for a confession that gen- 
erally served to amuse us during an evening, as 
much, I acknowledge, from the manner of the re- 
cital, as anything contained in the story. There 
was a species of serious matter-of fact simplicity 
in his detail of the most ridiculous scenes, thai 
left you convinced that his bearing upon the 
affair in cpiestion must have greatly heightened 
the absurdity ; nothing, however comic or droll 
in itself, ever exciting in him the least approach 
to a smile. He sat with his large light-blue eyes, 
light hair, long upper lip, and retreating chin, lisp- 
ing out an account of an adventure, with a look 
of Liston about him that was inconceivably 
amusing. 

"Come, Sparks," said Power, " I claim a prom- 
ise you made me the other night, on condition we 
let you off making the oyster-patties at ten 
o'clock; you can't forget what I mean." Here 
the captain knowingly touched the tip of his ear, 
at which signal the cornet colored slightly, anil 
drank off his wine in a hurried, confused way. 
■' He promised to tell us, major, how he lost the 
tip of his left ear. I have myself heard hints of 
the circumstance, but would much rather hear 
Sparks's own version of it." 

" Another love story," said the doctor, with a 
grin, 'Til be bound." 

"Shot off in a duel?" said I, inquiringly. 
" close work, too." 

" No such thing," replied Power; "but Sparks 
will enlighten you. It is, without exception, tht 
most touching and beautiful thing I ever heard; 
as a simple story, it beats the 'Vicar of Wake- 
field' to sticks." 

" You don't say so?" said poor Sparks, blush- 

" Ay, that I do, and maintain it, too. I'd rather 
be the hero of that little adventure, and be able 
to recount it as you do — for, mark me, that's no 
small part of the effect — -than I'd be full colonel 
of the regiment. Well, I am sure I always 
thought it affecting; but, somehow, my dear 
friend, you don't know your powers; you have 
that within you would make the fortune of half 
the periodicals going. Ask Monsoon or O'Mallev 
there if I did not say so at breakfast, when you 
were grilling the old hen — -which, bv-the-by, lei 
me remark, was not one of your chffs-J'a-iivre." 

" A tougher beastie I never put a tooth in." 

" But the story; the story," said I. 

" Yes," said Power, with a tone of command, 
" the story, Sparks. " 

" Well, if you really think it worth telling, as I 
have always felt it a very remarkable incident, 
here goes. 



CHAPTER XXXII. 

MR. sparks's story. 

"I SAT at breakfast one beautiful morning at 



the Goat Inn at Barmouth, looking out of a win- 
dow ujjon the lovely vale of Barmouth, with its 
tall trees and brown trout-stream struggling 
through the woods, then turning to take a view 
of the calm sea, that, speckled over with white- 
sailed fishing-boats, stretched away in the distance. 
The eggs were fresh; the trout newly caught; the 
cream delicious; before me lay the Fhi>iiwddlu'it 
Advertiser, which, among the fashionable arrivals 
at the sea-side, set forth Mr. Sparks, nephew of 
Sir Toby Sparks, of Manchester — a paragraph, 
by the way, I always inserted. The English are 
naturally an aristocratic people, and set a due 
value upon a title." 

"A very just observation," remarked Power, 
seriously, while Sparks continued. 

" However, as far as any result from the an- 
nouncement, I might as well have spared myself 
the trouble, for not a single person called, not 
one solitary invitation to dinner; not a pic-nic; 
not a breakfast; no, nor even a tea-party was 
heard of. Barmouth, at the time I speak of, was 
just in that transition state at which the cater- 
pillar may be imagined, when, having abandoned 
his reptile habits, he still has not succeeded in 
becoming a butterfly. In fact, it had ceased to 
he a fishing-village, but had not arrived at the 
dignity of a watering-place. Now, I know noth- 
ing as bad as this. You have not, on one hand, 
the quiet retirement of a little peaceful hamlet, 
with its humble dwellings and cheap pleasures, 
nor have you the gay and animated tableau of 
fashion in miniature on the other; but you have 
noise, din, bustle, confusion, beautiful scenery, 
and lovely points of view, marred and ruined by 
vulgar associations. Every bold rock and jutting 
promontory has its citizen occupants; every sandy 
cove or tide-washed bay has its myriads of squall- 
ing babes and red baize-clad bathing-women, 
those veritable descendants of the nymphs of old. 
Pink parasols, donkey-carts, baskets of bread-and- 
butter, reticules, guides to Barmouth, specimens 
of ore. fragments of gypsum, meet you at every 
step, and destroy every illusion of the picturesque. 

" ' I shall leave this,' thought I. ' My dreams, 
my long-cherished dreams of romantic walks upon 
ihe sea-shore, of evening strolls by moonlight, 
through dell and dingle, are reduced to a short 
promenade through an alley of bathing-boxes, 
amid a screaming population of nursery-maids 
:ind sick children, with a thorough-bass of " Fresh 
shrimps!" discordant enough to frighten the very 
fish from the shores. There is no peace, no quiet, 
no romance, no poetry, no love.' AlasI that most 
nf all was wanting; for, after all, what is it which 
lights up the heart, save the flame of a mutual at- 
tachment? what gilds the fair stream of life, save 
the bright rav of warm affection? what — — " 

"In a word," said Power, "it is the sugar in 
the punch-bowl of our existence. -Perge, Sparks; 
push on." 

"I was not long in making up my mind. I 
called for my bill; I packed my clothes; 1 ordered 
)X)st-horses; I was ready to start; one item in the 
i)ill alone detained me. The frequent occurrence 
of the enigmatical word 'crw' following my ser- 
vant's name, demanded an explanation, which I 
was in the act of receiving, when a chaise and 



i 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



281 



four drove rapidly up to the Iiouse. In a moment 
the bUnds were drawn up, and such a head ap- 
peared at tlie window! Let me pause for one 
moment to drink in the remembrance of that 
lovely bein<;; eyes, where heaven's own blue 
seemed concentrated, were shaded by long, deep 
lashes of the darkest brown; a brow fair, noble, 
and expansive, at each side of which masses of 
dark-brown hair waved half in ringlets, half in 
loose falling bands, shadowing her pale and downy 
cheek, where one faint rosebud tinge seemed 
lingering; lips slightly parted, as though to speak, 
gave to the features all the play of animation 
which completed this intellectual character, and 
made up " 

"What I should say was a devilish pretty girl," 
interru]ited Power. 

" Back the widow against her at long odds, any 
day," murmured the adjutant. 

"She was an angel! an angel!" cried Sparks, 
with enthusiasm. 

"So was the widow, if you go to that," said the 
adjutant, hastily. 

"And so is Matilda Dalrymple," said Power, 
with a sly look at me. "We are all honorable 
men — eh, Charley?" 

"Go ahead with the story," said the skipper; 
"I'm beginning to feel an interest in it." 

" ' Isabella,' said a man's voice, as a large, well- 
dressed personage assisted her to alight — 'Isabella, 
love, you must take a little rest here before we 
proceed farther.' 

"'I think she had better, sir,' said a matronly- 
looking woman, with a plaid cloak and a black 
bonnet. 

"I'hey disappeared within the house, and I was 
left alone. The bright dream was passed; she 
was there no longer; but in my heart her image 
lived, and I almost felt she was before me. I 
thought I heard her voice; I saw her move; my 
limbs trembled; my hands tingled; I rang the bell, 
ordered my trunks back again to No. 5, and, as I 
sank upon the sofa, murmured to myself, ' This 
is indeed love at first sight.' " 

" How devilish sudden it was," said the skipper 

" Exactly like camp fever," responded the 
doctor. " One moment ye are vara well; the 
next ye are seized wi' a kind of shivering, then 
comes a kind of mandering, dandering, travelling 
a'overness " 

" D — the camp fever," interrupted Power. 

"Well, as I observed, I fell in love; and here 
let me take the opportunity of observing that all 
that we are in the habit of hearing about single 
or only attachments is mere nonsense. No man 
is so capable of feeling deeply as he who is in 
the daily practice of it. Love, like everything 
else in this world, demands a species of cultiva- 
tion. The mere tyro in an affair of the heart 
thinks he has exhausted all its pleasures and- 
pains; but only he who has made it his daily 
study for years, familiarizing his mind with every 
phase of the passion, can properly or adequately 
appreciate it. Thus, the more you love, the 
better you love; the more frequently has your 
heart yielded " 

"It's vara like the mucous membrane," said 
the doctor. 






"I'll break your neck with the decanter if you 
interrupt him again!" exclaimed Power. 

" For days I scarcely ever left the house," 
resumed Sparks, "watching to catch one glance 
of the lovely Isabella. My farthest excursion 
was to the little garden of the inn, where I used 
to set every imaginable species of snare, in the 
event of her venturing to walk there. One day 
I would leave a volume of poetry; another, a 
copy of Paul and Virginia with a marked page; 
sometimes my guitar, with a broad, blue ribbon, 
would hang pensively from a tree; but, alas! all 
in vain; she never appeared. At length, I took 
courage to ask the \\aiter about her. For seme 
minutes he could not comprehend what I meant; 
but, at last, discovering n,y c-bjcct, he cried out, 
'Oh! No. 8, sir; it is No. 8 you mean.' 

"'It may be,' said I. 'What of her, tl en.?' 

" ' Oh, sir, she's gone these three days.' 
Gone?' said I, with a groan. 
Yes, sir; she left this early on Tuesday with 
the same old gentleman and the old woman in a 
chaise and four. They ordered horses at Dol- 
gelly to meet them; but I don't know which road 
they took afterwards.' 

" I fell back on my chair unable to speak. 
Here was I enacting Romeo for three mortal 
days to a mere company of Welsh waiters and 
chambermaids, sighing, serenading, reciting, atti- 
tudinizing, rose-plucking, soliloquizing, half-su- 
iciding, and all for the edification of a set of 
savages, with about as much civilization as their 
own goats. 

"'The bill,' cried I, in a voice of thunder; 
' my bill, this instant. 

" I had been imposed upon shamefully; grossly 
imposed upon, and would not remain another 
hour in the house. Such were my feelings at 
least, and so thinking, I sent for my servant, 
abused him for not having my clothes ready 
packed; he replied; I reiterated; and, as my 
temper mounted, vented every imaginable epithet 
upon his head, and concluded by paying him his 
wages and sending him about his business. In 
one hour more I was upon the road. 

"'What road, sir?' said the postilion, r.s he 
mounted into the saddle. 

" ' To the devil, if you please,' said I, throwing 
myself back in the carriage. 

"'Very well, sir,' rejjlied the boy, putting 
spurs to his horse. 

" That evening I arrived in Bedgellert. 

"The little humble inn of Bedgellert, with its 
thatched roof and earthern floor, was a most 
welcome sight to me, after eleven hours' travel- 
ling on a broiling July day. Behind the very 
house itself rose the mighty Snowdon, towering 
high above the other mountains, whose lofty 
peaks were lost amid the clouds; before me was 
the narrow valley " 

" Wake me up when he's under way again," said 
the skipper, yawning fearfully. 

"Go, on. Sparks," said Power, encouragingly; 
" I was never more interested in my life; eh, 
O'Malley?" 

" Quite thrilling," responded I, and Sparks 
resumed. 

" Three weeks did I loiter about that sweet 



282 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



spot, my mind filled with images of the past and 
dreams of the future, my fishing-rod my only 
companion; not, indeed, that I ever caught any- 
thing; for. somehow, my tackle was always getting 
foul of some willow-tree or water-lily, and, at 
last, 1 gave up even the pretence of whipping 
the streams. Well, one day — I remember it as 
well as though it were but yesterday — it was the 
4th of August — I had set off upon an excursion 
to Llanberris. I had crossed Snowdon early, and 
reached the little lake on the opposite side by 
breakfast time. There I sat down near the 
ruined tower of Dolbadern, and, opening my 
knapsack, made a hearty meal. I have ever 
been a day-dreamer; and there are few things I 
like better than to lie, upon some hot and sunny 
day, in the tall grass beneath tlie shade of some 
deep boughs, with running water murmuring 
near, hearing the summer bee buzzing monot- 
onously, and in the distance, the clear, sharp 
tinkle of the sheep-bell. In such a place, at 
such a time, one's fancy strays playfully, like 
some happy child, and none but pleasant thoughts 
present themselves. Fatigued by my long walk, 
and overcome by heat, I fell asleep. How long 
I lay there I cannot tell, but the deep shadows 
were half-way down the tall mountain when I 
avvoke. A sound had startled me; I thought I 
heard a voice speaking close to me. I looked 
up, and for some seconds I could not believe 
that I was not dreaming. Beside me, within a 
few paces, stood Isabella, the beautiful vision that 
I had seen at B.irmjuth, but far, a thousand 
times, more beautiful. She was dressed in some- 
thing like a peasant's dress, and wore the round 
hat which, in Wales at least, seems to suit the 
character of the female face so well; her long and 
waving ringlets fell carelessly upon her shoulders, 
and her cheek flushed from walking. Before I 
had a moment's notice to recover my roving 
thought, she spoke: her voice was full and round, 
but soft and thrilling, as she said, 

"'I beg pardon, sir, for having disturbed you 
unconsciously; but, having done so, may I request 
you will assist me to fill this pitcher with water?' 
. " She pointed at the same time to a small stream 
which trickled down a fissure in the rock, and 
formed a little well of clear water beneath. I 
bowed deeply, and murmuring something — I know 
not what — took the pircher from her hand,' and 
scaling the rocky cliff, mounted to the clear source 
abovt, where, having filled the vessel, I descended. 
When I reached the ground beneath, I discovered 
that she was joined by another person, whom, in 
an instant, I recognized to be the old gentleman 
I had seen with her at Barmouth, and who in the 
most courteous manner apologized for the trouble 
I had been caused, and informed me that a party 
of his friends were enjoying a little pic-nic quite 
near, and invited me to make one of them. 

" I need not say that I accepted the invitation, 
nor that with delight I seized the opportunity of 
forming an acquaintance with Isabella, who, I 
must confess, upon her part, showed no disin- 
clination to the prospect of my joining the party. 

"After a few minutes' walking, we came to a 
small rocky point which projected for some dis- 
tance into the lake, and offered a view for several 



miles of the vale of Llanberris. Upon this lovely 
spot we found the party assembled; they consisted 
of about fourteen or fifteen persons, all busily 
engaged in the arrangement of a very excellent 
cold dinner, each individual having some peculiar 
province allotted to him or her, to be performed 
by their own hands. Thus, one elderly gentle- 
man was whipping cream under a chestnut- 
tree, while a very fashionably-dressed young 
man was washing radishes in the lake; an old' 
lady with spectacles was frying salmon over a 
wood fire, opposite to a short, pursy man with a 
bald head and drab shorts, deep in the mystery 
of a chicken salad, from which he never lifted his 
eyes when I came up. It was thus I found how 
the fair Isabella's lot had been cast, as a drawer 
of water; she, with the others, contributing her 
share of exertion for the common good. The 
old gentleman who accompanied her seemed the 
only unoccupied person, and appeared to be re- 
garded as the ruler of the feast, at least, they all 
called him general, and impliciily followed every 
suggestion he threw out. He was a man of a 
certain grave and quiet manner, blended with a 
degree of mild good-nature and courtesy, that 
struck me much at first, and gained greatly on 
me, even in the few minutes I conversed with him 
as we came along. Just before he presented me 
to his friends, he gently touched my arm, and 
drawing me aside, whispered in my ear. 

" ' Don't be surprised at anything you may 
hear to-day here; for I must inform you this is a 
kind of club, as I may call it, where every one as- 
sumes a certain character, and is bound to sustain 
it under a penalty. We have these little meetings 
every now and then; and, as strangers are never 
present, I feel some explanation necessary, that 
you may be able to enjoy the thing — you 
understand ?' 

"'Oh, perfectly,' said I, overjoyed at the 
novelty of the scene, and anticipating much pleas- 
ure from my chance meeting with such very 
original characters. 

" ' Mr. Sparks, Mrs. Winterbottom. Allow me 
to present Mr. Sparks.'' 

"' Any news from Batavia, young gentleman?' 
said the sallow old lady addressed. 'How is 
coffee?' 

" The general passed on, introducing me 
rapidly as he went. 

" ' Mr. Doolittle, Mr. Sparks.' 

" ' Ah, how do you do, old boy?' said Mr. 
Doolittle; 'sit down beside me. We have forty 
thousand acres of pickled cabbage spoiling for 
want of a little vinegar.' 

" ' Fie, fie, Mr. Doolittle,' said the general, and 
passed on to another. 

"'Mr. Sparks, Captain Crosstree.' 

'"Ah, Sparks, Sparks! son of Old Blazes! ha, 
ha, ha!' and the captain fell back into an im- 
moderate fit of laughter. 

" ' Le Roi est scrvi,' said the thin, meagre figure 
in nankeens, bowing, cap in hand, before the 
general; and, accordingly, we all assumed our 
places upon the grass. 

"'Say it again! say it again! and I'll plunge 
this dagger in your heart!' said a hollow voice, 
tremulous with agitation and rage, close beside 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



283 



me. I turned my head, and saw an old gentle- 
man, with a wart on his nose, sitting opposite a 
meat-pie, which he was contemplating with a look 
of fiery indignation. Before I could witness the 
sequel of the scene, I felt a soft hand pressed 
upon mine. I turned. It was Isabella herself, 
who, looking at me with an expression I shall never 
forget, said: 

"'Don't mind poor Faddy; he never hurts any 
one.' 

"Meanwhile the business of dinner went on 
rapidly. The servants, of whom-enormous numbers 
were now present, ran hither and thither; and 
duck, ham, pigeon-pie, cold veal, apple tarts, 
cheese, pickled salmon, melon and rice pudding 
flourished on every side, .^s for me, whatever I 
might have gleaned from the conversation around, 
under other circumstances, I was too much oc- 
cupied with Isabella to think of any one else. My 
suit — for such it was — progressed rapidly. There 
was evidently something favorable in tlie circum- 
stances we last met under; for her manner had all 
the warmth and cordiality of old friendship. It 
is true that, more than once, I caught the gen- 
eral's eye fixed upon us, with anything but an ex- 
pression of pleasure, and I thought that Isabella 
blushed and seemed confused also. ' What care 
I, however,' was my reflection; 'my views are 
honorable; and the nephew and heir of Sir Toby 

Sparks ' Just in the very a:t of making this 

reflection, the old man in the shorts hit me in the 
eye with a roasted apple, calling out at the 
moment, — 

" ' When did you join, thou child of the pale- 
faces?' 

" ' Mr. Murdocks!' cried the general, in a voice 
of thunder, and the little man hung down his 
head, and spoke not. 

"'A word with you, young gentleman,' said a 
fat old lady, pinching my arm above the elbow. 

" ' Nevermind her,' said Isabella, smiling; ' poor 
dear old Dorking, she thinks she's an hour-glass. 
How droll, isn't it?' 

" ' Young man, have you any feelings of hu- 
manity?' inquired the old lady, with tears in her 
eyes as she s[)oke; 'will you — dare you assist a 
fellow-creature under my sad circumstances?' 

'■ ' What can I do for you, madam?' said I, really 
feeling for her distress. 

'"Just, like a good, dear soul, just turn me up, 
for I'm nearly run out.' 

" Isabella burst out a-laughing at the strange re- 
quest — an excess which, I confess, I was unable 
myself to repress; upon which the old lady, put- 
ting on a frown of the most ominous blackness, 
said: 

" ' You may laugh, madam; but first, before you 
ridicule the misfortunes of others, ask yourself are 
you, too, free from infirmity? When did you see 
the ace of spades, madam? answer me that.' 

"Isabella became suddenly pale as death, her 
very lips blanched, and her voice, almost inau- 
dible, muttered: 

" ' Am I, then, deceived ? Is not this he?' So 
saying, she placed her hand upon my shoulder. 

"'That the ace of spades!' exclaimed the old 
lady, with a sneer — 'that the ace of spades'' 

" ' Are you, or are you not, sir?' said Isabella, 



fixing her deep and languid eyes upon me. ' An- 
swer, as you are honest; are you the ace of 
spades?' 

'"He is the king of Tuscarora. Look at his 
war paint!' cried an elderly gentleman, putting a 
streak of must'ard across my nose and cheek. 

'"Then am I deceived,' said Isabella. And, 
flying at me, she plucked a handful of hair out of 
my whiskers. 

"'Cuckoo, cuckoo!' shouted one; ' Bow, wow, 
wow!' roared another; ' Phiz!' wentathird; and, 
in an instant, such a scene of commotion and riot 
ensued! Plates, dishes, knives, forks, and decan- 
ters flew right and left; every one pitched into liis 
neighbor with the most fearful cries, and hell itself 
seemed broken loose. The hour-glass and the 
Moulah of Oude had got me down, and were pum- 
meling me to death, when a short, thickset man 
came on all fours slap down upon thtm, shouting 
out, ' Way, make way for the royal Bengal tiger,' 
at which they both fled like lightning, leaving me 
to the encounter single-handed. Fortunately, 
however, this was not of very long duration, for 
some well-disposed Christian pulled him from off 
me, not, however, before he had seized me in his 
grasp, and bitten off a portion of my right ear, 
leaving me, as you see, thus mutilated for the rest 
of my days." 

"What an extraordinary club!" broke in the 
doi'tor. 

"Club! sir, club! it was a lunatic asylum. The 
general was no other than the famous Doctor 
Andrew Moorville, that had the great madhouse 
at Bangor, and who was in the habit of giving his 
patients every now and then a kind of country 
party; it being one remarkable feature of their 
malady that, when one takes to his peculiar flight, 
whatever it be, the others immediately take the 
hint, and go off at score. Hence my agreeable 
adventure; the Bengal tiger being a Liverpool 
merchant, and the most vivacious madman in 
England; while the hour-glass and the Moulah 
were both on an experimental tour, to see whether 
they should not be pronounced totally incurable 
for life." 

" And Isabella?" inquired Power. 

"Ah! poor Isabella had been driven mad by a 
card-playing aunt at Bath, and was, in fact, the 
most hopeless case there. The last words I heard 
her speak confirmed my mournful impression of 
her case: 

" ' Yes,' said she, as they removed her to her 
carriage, ' I must, indeed, have but weak intellects, 
when I could have taken the nephew of a Man- 
chester cotton-spinner, with a face like a printed 
calico, for a trump card, and the best in the 
pack!' " 

Poor Sparks uttered these last words with a fal- 
tering accent, and, finishing his glass at one 
draught, withdrew without wishing us good-night. 



CHAPTER XXXIIL 

THE SKIPPER. 

In such like gossipings passed our days away, 



284 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



for our voyage itself had nothing of adventure or 
incident to break its dull monotony; save some 
few hours of cahn, we had been steadily following 
our seaward track with a fair breeze, and the long 
pennant pointed ever to the land where our ardent 
expectations were hurrying before it. 

The latest accounts which had reached us from 
the Peninsula, told that our regiment was almost 
daily engaged; and we burned with impatience to 
share with the others the glory they were reaping. 
Power, who had seen service, felt less on this 
score than we who had not "fleshed our maiden 
swords;" but even he sometimes gave way; and, 
when the wind fell towards sunset, lie would lireak 
into some exclamation of discontent, half fear- 
ing we should be too late; "for," said he, "if we 
go on in this way, the regiment will be relieved, 
and ordered home before we reach it." 

" Never fear, my boys, you'll have enough of it. 
Both sides like the work too well to give in; they've 
got a capital ground, and plenty of spare tmie," 
said the major. 

"Only to think," cried Power, "that we should 
be lounging away our idle hours, when these gal- 
lant fellows are in the saddle late and early. It 
is too bad; eh, O'Malley? jou'U not be pleased to 
go back with the polish on your sabre? What will 
Lucy Dashwood say?" 

This was the first allusion Power had ever made 
to her, and I became red to the very forehead. 

" By-the-by," added he, " I have a letter for 
Hammersley, which should rather have been en- 
trusted to your keeping." 

At these words I felt cold as death, while he 
continued: 

" Poor fellow! certainly he is most desperately 
smitten; for, mark me, when a man at his age takes 
the malady, it is forty times as severe as with a 
younger fellow, like you. But then, to be sure, he 
began at the wrong end in the matter; why com- 
mence with i)apa? When a man has his own 
consent for liking a girl, he must be a contempti- 
ble fellow if he can't get her; and, as to anything 
else being wanting, I don't understand it. But 
the moment you begin by influencing the heads 
of the house, good- by to your chances with the 
dear thing herself, if she have any spirit whatever. 
It is, in fact, calling on her to surrender without 
the honors of war; and what girl would stand 
that?" 

" It's vara true," said the doctor; " there's a 
strong speerit of opposition in the sex, from physi- 
ological causes." 

"Curse your physiology, old Galen: what you 
call opposition, is that piquant resistance to op- 
pression that makes half the charm of the sex. It 
is with them — with reverence be it spoken — as 
with horses: the dull, heavy-shouldered ones, that 
bore away with the bit in their teeth, never caring 
whether you arc pulling to the right or to the left, 
are worth nothing; the real luxury is in the man- 
agement of your arching-necked curvetter, spring- 
ing from side to side with every motion of your 
wrist, madly bounding at restraint; yet, to the 
practised hand, held in check with a silk thread; 
eh, skipper — am I not right?" 

" Well, I can't say I've had much to do with 
horse-beasts, but I believe you're not far wrong. 



The lively craft that answers the helm quick, goes 
round well in stays, luffs up close within a point 
or two, wiien you want her, is always a good sea- 
boat, even though she pitches and rolls a bit; but 
the heavy lugger that never knows whether your 
helm is up or down, whether she's off the wind or 
on it, is only fit for firewood — you can do nothing 
with a ship or woman, if she hasn't got steerage 
way on her." 

" Come, skipper, we've all been telling our 
stories: let us hear one of yours?" 

"My yarn won't come so well after your sky- 
scrapers of love and courting, and all that. But, 
if you like to hear what happened to me once, I 
have no objection to tell you. 

"I often think how little we know what's going j 
to happen to us any minute of our lives. To-day j 
we have the breeze fair in our favor; we are 
going seven knots, studding-sails set, smooth 
water, and plenty of sea-room; to-morrow the 
wind freshens to half a gale, the sea gets up, a 
rocky coast is seen from the lee bow, and maybe, 
to add to all — we spring a leak forward; but then, 
after all, bad as it looks, mayhap, we rub through 
even this, and, with the next day, the ]irospect is 
as bright and cheering as ever. V'ou'll perhaps 
ask me what has all this moralizing to do witli 
women and ships at sea? Nothing at all with them, 
except that I was a going to say, that when mat- 
ters looked worst, very often the best is in store 
for us and we should never say strike while there 
is a timber together. Now for my story: 

"It's about four years ago, I was strolling one 
evening down the side of the harbor at Cote, with 
my hands in my pockets, having nothing to do, 
nor no prospect of it, for my last ship had been 
wrecked off the Bermudas, and nearly all the crew 
lost; and, somehow, when a man is in misfortune, 
the underwriters won't have him at no price^ 
Well, there I was, looking about me at the crafts 
that lay on every side waiting for a fair wind to 
run down channel. All was active and busy; 
every one getting his vessel ship-shape and tidy, 
tarring, painting, mending sails, stretching new 
bunting, and getting in sea-sloie; boats were ply- 
ing on every side, signals flying, guns firing from 
the men-of-war, and everything was lively as might 
be; S.11 but me. There I was, like an old water- 
logged timber-ship, never moving a spar, but look- 
ing for the world as though I were settling fast to 
go down stern foremost; maybe as how I had no 
objection to that same; but that's neither here nor 
there. Well, I sat down on the fluke of an anchor, 
and began a thinking if it wasn't better to go before 
the mast than live on that way. Just before 
me, where I sat down, there was an old schooner 
that lay moored in the same place for as long as I 
could remember; she was there when I was a boy, 
and never looked a bit the fresher or newer as 
long as I recollected; her old bluff bows, her high 
poop, her round stern, her flush deck, all Dutcli- 
like, I knew them well, and many a time I de- _ 
lighted to think what a queer kind of a chap he ■ 
was that first set heron the stocks, and pondered ■ 
in what trade she ever could have been. All 
the sailors about the port used to call her Noah's 
.\rk, and swear she was the identical craft that 
he stowed away all the wild beasts in during the 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



285 



rainy season. Be that as it niiglit, since I fell 
into misfortune 1 got to feel a liking for the old 
schooner; she was like an old friend; she never 
changed to me, fair weather or foul; there she 
was, just the same as thirty years before, when all 
the world were forgetting and steering wide away 
from me. Every morning I used to go down to 
the harbor and have a look at her, just to see 
that all was right, and nothing stirred; and, il it 
blew very hard at night, I'd get up and go down 
to look how she weathered it, just as if I was at 
sea in her. Now and then I'd get some of the 
watermen to row me aboard of her, and leave me 
there for a few hours: when I used to be quite 
happy walking the deck, holding the old worm- 
eaten wheel, looking out ahead, and going down 
below, just as though I was in command of her. 
Day after day this habit grew on me, and at last 
my whole life was spent in watching her and 
looking after her — there was something so much 
ahke in our fortunes, that I always thought of 
her. Like myself, she had had her day of life 
and activity; we had both braved the storm and 
the breeze; her shattered bulwarks and worn cut- 
water attested that she had, like myself, not 
escaped' her calamities. We both had survived 
our dangers, to be neglected and forgotten, and 
to lie rotting on the stream of life till the crumb- 
hng hand of Time should break us up, timber by 
timber. Is it any wonder if I loved the old craft? 
nor if, by any chance, the idle boys would venture 
aboard of her to play and amuse themselves, that 
I hallooed them away? or, when a newly-arrived 
ship, not caring for the old boat, would run foul 
of her, and carry away some spar or piece of 
running rigging, I would suddenly call out to 
them to sheer off and not damage us? By degrees, 
they came all to notice this; and I found that 
they thought me out of my senses, and many a 
trick was played off upon old Noah, for that was 
the name the sailors gave me. 

"Well, this evening, as I was saving, I sat upon 
the fluke of the anchor, waiting for a chance boat 
to put me aboard. It was past sunset, the tide 
was ebbing, and the old craft was surging to the 
fast current that ran by with a short, impatient 
jerk, as though she were well weary, and wished 
to be at rest ; iier loose stays creaked mourn- 
fully, and, as she yawed over, the sea ran from 
many a breach in her worn sides, like blood 
trickling from a wound. 'Ay, ay,' thought I, 
' the hour is not far off ; another stiff gale and 
all that remains of you will be found high and 
dry upon the shore.' My heart was very heavy 
as I thought of this, for, in my loneliness, the 
old Ark — though that was not her name, as I'll 
tell you presently — was all the companion I had. 
I've heard of a poor prisoner who, for many 
and many years, watched a spider that M'ove his 
web within his window, and never lost sight of 
hiui from morning till night ; and somehow, I 
can believe it well ; the heart will cling to some- 
thing, and, if it has no living object to press to, 
it will find a lifeless one — it can no more stand 
alone than the shrouds can without the mast. 
The evening wore on, as I was thinking thus ; the 
ni.)on shone out, but no boat came, and I was 
just determining to go home again for the night, 



when I saw two men standing on the steps of the 
wharf below me, and looking straight at the Ark. 
Now, 1 must tell you I always felt uneasy when 
any one came to look at her, for I began to fear 
that some ship-owner or other would buy her to 
break up, though, except the copper fastenings, 
there was little of any value about her. Now, 
the moment I saw the two figures stop sliort, and 
point to her, I said to-myself, 'Ah! my old girl, 
so they won't even let the blue water finish you, 
but they must set their carpenters and dock- 
yard people to work upon you.' This thought 
grieved me more and more. Had a stiff sou'wester 
laid her over, I should have felt it more natural, 
for her sand was run out ; but, just as this passed 
through my mind, I heard a voice from one of 
the ])ersons, that I at once knew to be the Port 
Admiral's : 

"'Well, Da^Tkins,' said he to the other, 'if 
you think she'll hold together, I'm sure I've no 
objection. I don't like the job, I confess : but 
still the Admiralty must be obeyed.' 

"'Oh, my lord,' said the other, 'she's the 
very thing ; she's a rakish-looking craft, and will 
do admirably; any repair we want, a few days 
will effect; secrecy is the great thing.' 

"'Yes,' said the admiral, after a pause, 'as 
you observed, secrecy is the great thing.' 

'"Ho! ho!' thought I, 'tiiere's something in 
the wind here;' so I laid myself out upon the 
anchor stock, to listen better, unobserved. 

" ' We must find a crew for her, give iier a few 
carronades, make her as ship-shape as we can, 
and, if the skipper ' 

" ' Ay, but there is the real difficulty,' said the 
admiral, hastily; ' where are we to find a fellow 
that will suit us? We can't every day find a man 
willing to jeopardize himself in such a cause as 
this, even though the reward be a great one.' 

" 'Very true, my lord; but I don't think there 
is any necessity for our explaining to him the 
exact nature of the service.' 

" 'Come, come, Dawkins, you can't mean that 
you'll lead a poor fellow into such a scrape 
blindfolded ?' 

" 'Why, my lord, you never think it requisite 
to give a plan of your cruise to your ship's crew 
before clearing out of harbor.' 

" 'This may be perfectly just, but I don't like 
it,' said the admiral. 

" 'In that case, my lord, you are imparting the 
secrets of the Admiralty to a party who may be- 
tray the whole plot.' 

"'I wish, with all my soul, they'd given the 
order to any one else,' said the admiral, with a 
sigh; and, for a few moments, neither spoke a 
word. 

" ' Well, then, Dawkins, I believe there is 
nothing for it but what you say; meanwhile, let 
the repairs be got m hand, and see after a crew.' 

"'Oh, as to that," said the other, 'there are 
plenty of scoundrels in the fleet here fit for 
nothing else. Any fellow who has been thrice 
up for punishment in six months, we'll draft on 
board of her: the fellows who have only been 
once to the gangway, we'll make the officers.' 

"'A pleasant ship's company,' thought I. if 
the devil would only take the command.' 



286 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



"'And with a skipper proportionate to their 
merit,' said Dawkins. 

" ' Begad, I'll wish the French joy of them,' 
said the admiral. 

" ' Ho, ho!' thought I, ' I've found you out, at 
last; so this is a secret expedition; I see it all; 
they're fitting her out as a fire-ship, and going to 
send her slap in among the French fleet at Brest. 
Well,' thought I, ■ even that's better; that, at least, 
is a glorious end, though the poor fellows have 
no chance of escape.' 

"'Now, then,' said the admiral, 'to-morrow 
you'll look out for the fellow to take the com- 
mand. He must be a smart seaman, a bold fel- 
low, too, otherwise the ruffianly crew will be too 
much for him; he may bid high; we'll come to 
his price.' 

'■ ' So you may,' thought I, ' when you are buy- 
ing his life.' 

"'I hope sincerely,' continued the admiral, 
'that we may light upon some one without wife 
or child; I could never forgive myself ' 

"'Never fear, my lord,' said the other; 'my 
care shall be to pitch upon one whose loss no one 
would feel; some one without friend or home, 
who, setting his life for nought, cares less for the 
gain than the very recklessness of the adventure,' 

"'That's me,' said I, springing up from the 
anchor-stock, and springing between them, 'I'm 
that man.' 

" Had the very devil himself appeared at the 
moment, I doubt if they would have been more 
scared. The admiral started a pace or two 
backwards, whilst Hawkins, the first surprise 
over, seized me by the collar, and held me fast. 

"'Who are you, scoundrel, and what brings 
you here?' said he, in a voice hoarse with passion. 

'"I'm old Noah,' said I; for, somehow, I had 
been called by no other name for so long, I 
never thought of my real one. 

" ' Noah!' said the admiral — ' Noah! Well, but 
Noah, what were you doing down here at this 
time of night?' 

" ' I was a-watching the .\rk, my lord,' said I, 
bowing, as I took off my hat. 

" ' I've heard of this fellow before, my lord,' 
said Dawkins; 'he's a poor lunatic that is always 
wandering about the harbor, and, I believe, has 
no harm in him.' 

"'Yes, but he has been listening, doubtless, 
to our conversation,' said the admiral. 'Eh, 
have you heard all we have been saying?' 

" ' Every word of it, my lord.' 

"At this the admiral and Dawkins looked 
steadfastly at each other for some minutes, but 
neither spoke; at last Dawkins said, ' Well, Noah, 
I've been told you are a man to be depended on; 
may we rely upon your not repeating anything 
you overheard this evening — at least, for a year 
to comi?' 

" ' You may,' said I. 

" ' But, Dawkins,' said the admiral, in a half 
whisper, ' if the poor fellow be mad ?' 

" ' My lord,' said I, boldly, ' I am not mad. 
Misfortune and calamity I have had enough of 
to make me so; but, thank God, my brain has 
been tougher than my poor heart. I was once 
the part owner and commander of a goodly 



craft, that swept the sea, if not with a broad 
pennon at her masthead, with as light a spirit as 
ever lived beneath one. I was rich; I had a 
home and a child; I am now poor, hnuseles.s, 
childless, friendless, and an outcast. If, in my 
solitary wretchedness. I have loved to look upon 
that old bark, it is because its fortune seemed 
like my own. It had outlived all that needed or 
cared for it; for this reason they have thought 
me mad, though there are those, and not few 
either, who can well bear testimony if stain or 
reproach lie at my door, and if I can be re- 
proached with aught save bad luck. I have 
heard, by chance, what you have said this night; 
I know that you are fitting out a secret expedi- 
tion; I know its dangers, its inevitable dangers, 
and I here offer myself to lead it; I ask no re- 
ward, I look for no price. Alas! who is left to 
me for whom I could labor now? Give me but 
the opportunity to -end my days with honor on 
board the old craft, where my heart still clings; 
give me but that. Well, if you will not do so 
much, let me serve among the crew; put me be- 
fore the mast. My lord, you'll not refuse this; 
it is an old man asks, one whose grey hai;-s have 
floated many a year ago before the breeze." 

"'My poor fellow, you know not what you 
ask; this is no common case of danger.' 

" ' I know it all, my lord; I have heard it all' 

" ' Dawkins, what is to be done here?' inquired 
the admiral. 

"'I say, friend,' inquired Dawkins, laying his 
hand upon my arm, 'what is your real name? 
Are you he who commanded the Divarf priva- 
teer in the Isle of France?' 

" ' The same.' 

" ' Then you are known to Lord Collingwood ?' 

" ' He knows me well, and can speak to my 
character.' 

"'What he says of himself is all true, my 
lord.' 

"'True,' said I, 'true! you did not doubt it, 
did you?' 

" ' We,' said the admiral, 'must speak together 
again; be here to-morrow night at this hour; 
keep your own counsel of what has passed; and 
now, good-night.' So saying, the admiral took 
Dawkins by the arm, and returned slowly towards 
the town, leaving me where I stood, mtditating 
on this singular meeting, and its probable conse- 
quences. 

" The whole of the following day was passed 
by me in a state of feverish excitement, ^\llich I 
cannot describe; this strange adventure breaking 
in so suddenly upon the dull monotony of my 
daily existence, had so aroused and stimulated 
me, that I could neither rest nor eat. How I 
longed for night to come; for, sometimes, as the 
day wore later, I began to fear that the whole 
scene of my meeting with the admiral had been 
merely some excited dream of a tortured and 
fretted mind; and, as I stood examining the 
ground where I believed the interview to have 
occurred, I endeavored to recall the position of 
different objects as they stood around, to corrob- 
orate my own failing remembrance. 

"At last the evening closed in; but, unlike the 
rreceding one, the sky was covered with masses 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



287 



of dark and watery cloud, that drifted hurriedly 
across; the air felt heavy and thick, and unnat- 
urally still and calm; the water of the harbor 
looked of a dull, leaden hue, and all the Vessels 
seemed larger than they were, and stood out 
from the landscape more clearly than usual; now 
and then a low, rumbling noise was heard, some- 
what alike in sound, but far too faint for distant 
thunder; while, occasionally, the boats and 
smaller craft rocked to and fro, as though some 
ground-swell stirred them, without breaking th^ 
languid surface of the sea above. 

" A few drops of thick, heavy rain fell just as 
the darkness came on, and then all felt still and 
calm as before. I sat upon the anchor-stock, 
my eyes fixed upon the old Ark, until gradually 
her outline grew fainter and fainter against the 
dark sky, and her black hull could scarcely be 
distinguished from the water beneath. I felt 
that I was looking towards her; for, long after I 
had lost sight of the tall mast and high-pitched 
bowsprit, I feared to turn away my head, lest I 
should lose the place where she lay. 

" The time went slowly on, and, although in 
reality I had not been long there, I felt as if 
years themselves had passed over my head. Since 
I had come there, mv mind brooded over all the 
misfortunes of my life; as I contrasted its out- 
set, bright with hope and rich in promise, with 
the sad reality, my heart grew heavy and my 
chest heaved painfully; so sunk was I in my re- 
flections, so lost in thought, that I never knew 
that the storm had broken loose, and that the 
heavy rain was falling in torrents. The very 
ground, parched with long drought, smoked as it 
pattered upon it; while the low, wailing cry of 
the sea-gull, mingled with the deep growl of far- 
off thunder, told that the night was a fearful one 
for those at sea. Wet through and shivering, I 
sat still; now listening, amid the noise of the 
hurricane and the creaking of the cordage, for 
any footstep to approach, and now relapsing back 
into a half-despairing dread, that my heated 
brain alone had conjured up the scene of the 
day before. Such were my dreary reflections, 
when a loud crash aboard the schooner told me 
that some old spar had given way. I strained 
my eyes through the dark to see what had hap- 
pened, but in vain; the black vapor, thick with 
falling rain, obscured everything, and all was hid 
from view. I could hear that she worked vio- 
lently as the waves beat against her worn sides, 
and her iron cable creaked as she pitched to the 
breaking sea. The wind was momentarily in- 
creasing, and I began to fear lest I should have 
taken my last look at the old craft, when my at- 
tention was called off by hearing a loud voice 
cry out, 'Halloo there! Where are you?' 

"'Ay, ay, sir, I'm here.' In a moment the 
admiral and his friend were beside me. 

" ' What a night!' exclaimed the admiral, as he 
shook the rain from the heavy boat-cloak, and 
cowered in beneath some tall blocks of granite 
near. ' I began half to hope that you might not 
have been here, my poor fellow,' said the admi- 
ral ; 'it's a dreadful night for one so poorly clad 
fc a storm ; I say, Dawkins, let him have a 
jmII at your flask.' The brandy rallied me a 



little, and I felt that it cheered my drooping 
courage. 

" ' This is not a time, nor is it a place for much 
parley,' said the admiral; 'so that we must even 
make short work of it. Since we met here last 
night, I have satisfied myself that you are to be 
trusted, that your character and re])Utation have 
nothing heavier against them than misfortune, 
which, certainly, if I have been rightly informed, 
has been largely dealt out to you. Now, then, I 
am willing to accept of your offer of service, i'f 
you are still of the same mind as when you made 
it, and if you are willing to undertake what we 
have to do, without any question and inquiry, as 
to points on which we must not and dare not in- 
form you. Whatever you may have overheard 
last night, may, or may not, have put you in pos- 
session of our secret. If the former, your de- 
termination can be made at once; if the latter, 
vou have only to decide whether you are ready 
to go blindfolded in the business.' 

" ' I am ready, my lord,' said I. 

" ' You perhaps are then aware what is the na- 
ture of the service?' 

" ' I know it not,' said I. ' All that I heard, sir, 
leads me to suppose it one of danger, but that's 
all.' 

"'I think, my lord," said Dawkins, 'that no 
more need now be said. Cupples is ready to en- 
gage, we are ecjually so to accept; the thing is 
pressing. When can you sail ?' 

" 'To-night,' said I, 'if you will.' 

" ' Really, Dawkins,' said the admiral, 'I don't 
see why ' 

" ' My lord, I beg of you,' said the other, inter- 
rupting, ' let me now complete the arrangement. 
This is the j)lan,' said he, turning towards me as 
he spoke; 'As soon as that old craft can be got 
ready for sea, or some other, if she be not worth it, 
you will sail from this port with a strong crew, 
well armed and supplied with ammunition. Your 
destination is Malta, your object to deliver to the 
admiral stationed there the despatches with which 
you will be entrusted; they contain information 
of immense importance, which, for certain reasons, 
cannot be sent through a ship-of-war, but must be 
forwarded by a vessel that may not attract pe- 
culiar notice. If you be attacked, your orders 
are to resist; if you be taken, on no account de- 
stroy the papers, for the French vessel can 
scarcely escape recapture from our frigates, and 
it is of great consequence these papers should re- 
main. Such is a brief sketch of our plan; the 
details can be made known to you hereafter.' 

"'I am quite ready, my lord; I ask for no 
terms; I make no stipulations. If the result be 
favorable, it will be time enough to speak of that. 
When am I to sail ?" 

"As I spoke the admiral turned suddenly 
round, and said something in a whisper to Daw- 
kins, who appeared to overrule it, whatever it 
might be, and finally brought him over to his own 
opinion. 

"'Come, Cupples,' said Dawkins, 'the affair is 
now settled; to-morrow a boat will be in waiting 
for you opjjosite Spike Island to convey you on 
board the Seiniramis, where every step in the 
whole business shall be explained to you; mean- 



288 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



while, you have only to keep your own counsel, 
and trust the secret to no one.' 

"'Yes, Cupples,' said the admiral, 'we rely 
upon you for that, so good-night.' As he spoke, 
he placed within my hands a crumpled note for 
ten pounds, and, squeezing my fingers, departed. 

" My yarn is spinning out to a far greater 
length than I intended, so I'll try and shorten it 
a bit. The ne.ict day I went aboard the Semiramis, 
where, when I appeared upon the quarter-deck, I 
found myself an object of some interest. The 
report that I was the man about to command the 
BricDi — that was the real name of the old craft — 
had caused some curiosity among the officers, and 
they all spoke to me with great courtesy. After 
waiting a short time, I was ordered to go below, 
where the admiral, his Flag-Captain Dawkins, and 
others were seated. They repeated at greater 
length tlie conversation of the night before, and 
finally decided that I was to sail in three weeks; for, 
although the old schooner was sadly damaged, they 
had lost no time, but had her already high in dock, 
with two hundred ship carpenters at work upon her. 

" I do not shorten sail here to tell you wliat re- 
ports were circulated about Cove as to my extra- 
ordinary change in circumstances, nor how I bore 
my altered fortunes. It is enough if I say that, in 
less than three weeks I weighed anchor, and stood 
out to stfa one beautiful morning in autumn, and 
set out upon my e.xpedition. 

" I have already told you something of the craft. 
Let ine complete the picture by informing you 
that, before twenty-four hours passed over, I dis- 
covered that so ungainly, so avvkward, so unman- 
ageable a vessel never put to sea; in light winds 
she scarcely stirred or moved, as if she were 
water-logged; if it came to blow upon the quar- 
ter she fell olf from her helm at a fearful rate; in 
wearing, she endangered every spar she had ; 
and when you put her in stays, when half round she 
would fall back, and nearly carry away every 
stitch of canvas with the shock. If the ship was 
bad the crew was ten times worse. What Dawkins 
said turned out to be literally true: every ill-con- 
ducted, disorderly fellow who had been up the 
gangway once a week or so, every unreclaimed 
landsman of bad character and no seamanship, 
was sent on board of us; and, in fact, except that 
there was scarcely any discipline and no restraint, 
we appeared like a floating penitentiary of con- 
victed felons. 

■' So long as we ran down channel, with a slack 
sea and fair wind, so long all went on tolerably 
well; to be sure, they only kept watch when they 
were tired below, when they came up, reeled about 
the deck, did all just as they pleased, and treated 
me with no manner of respect. After some vajn 
efforts to repress their excesses — vain, for I had but 
one to second me — I appeared to take no notice 
of their misconduct, and contented myself with 
waiting for the time when, my dreary voyage over, 
I should quit the command, and part company 
with such associates forever. At last, however, 
it came on to blow, and the night we passed the 
Lizard was indeed a fearful one. As morning 
broke, a sea running mountains high, a wind strong 
from the north-west was hurrying the old craft 
along at a rate I believed imjiossillc. I shall not 



stop to recount tlie frightful scenes of anarchy, 
contusion,drunkenness,and in subordination. which 
our crew exhibited; the recollection is too bad 
already, and I would spare you and myself the 
recital; but, on the fourtii day from the setling- 
in of the gale, as we entered the Bay of Biscav, 
some one aloft descried a strange sail to wind- 
ward, bearing down as if in pursuit of us. Scarcely 
did the news reach the deck, when, bad as it was 
before, matters became now ten times worse, some 
resolving to give themselves up, if the chase hap- 
pened to be French, and vowing that, before sur- 
rendering, the spirit-room should be forced, and 
every man let drink as he pleased. Others pro- 
posed, if there were anything like equality in the 
force, to attack, and convert the captured vessel, 
if they succeeded, into a slaver, and sail at once 
for Africa. Some were for blowing up the old 
Brian with all on board; and, in fact, every coun- 
sel that drunkenness, insanity, and crime com- 
bined could suggest was offered and descanted 
on. Meanwhile the chase gained rapidly upon 
us, and before noon we discovered her to be a 
French letter-of-marque, with four guns, and a 
long brass swivel upon the poop deck. As 
for us, every sheet of canvas we could crowd 
was crammed on, but in vain; and, as we 
labored through the heavy sea, our riotous crew 
grew every moment worse, and, sitting down 
sulkily in groups upon tlie deck, declared that, 
come what might, they would neither work the 
ship nor fight her; that they had been sent to 
sea in a rotten craft, merely to effect their de- 
struction, and that they cared little for the dis- 
grace of a flag they detested. Half furious with 
the taunting sarcasm 1 heard on every side, and 
nearly mad from passion, and bewildered, mv first 
impulse was to rush amongst them with my drawn 
cutlass, and ere I fell their victim, take heavy 
vengeance upon the ring-leaders, when suddenly 
a sharp booming noise came thundering along, 
and a round^hot went fl)ing over our heads. 

"' Down with the ensign; strike at once!' cried 
eight or ten voices together, as the ball whizzed 
through the rigging. Anticipating this, and re- 
solving, whatever might happen, to fight her to 
the last, I had made the mate, a staunch-hearted, 
resolute fellow, to make fast the signal sailyard 
aloft, so that it "was impossible for any one on 
deck to lower the bunting. Bang went another 
gun, and. before the smoke cleared away, a third, 
which truer in its aim than the rest, went clean 
through the lower part of our mainsail. 

" ' Steady, then, boys, and clear for action,' 
said the mate. 'She's a French smuggling craft 
that will sheer off when we show fight, so that we 
must not fire a shot till she come alongside.' 

" ' And liarkee, lads,' said I, taking up the tone 
of encouragement he spoke with, ' if we take her, 
I promise to claim nothing of the prize. What- 
ever we capture you shall divide amongst your- 
selves.' 

' ' It's very easy to divide what we never had,' 
said one; ' Nearly as easy as to give it,' cried an- 
other; "I'll never light match or draw cutlass in 
the cause,' said a third. 

" ' Surrender!' ' Strike the flag!' ' Down with 
the colors!' roarsd se\-eral \'oices together. 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



289 



"By this time the Frenchman was close up, 
and ranging his long gun to sweep our decks; 
his crew were quite perceptible — about twenty 
bronzed, stout-looking fellows, stripped to the 
waist, and carrying pistols in broad, flat belts, 
slung over the shoulder. 

'"Come, my lads,' said I, raising my voice, as 
I drew a pistol from my side and cocked it, ' our 
time is short now; I may as well tell you that the 
first shot tliat strikes us amidships blows up the 
whole craft and every man ou board. We are 
nothing less than a lire-sliip, destined for Brest 
harbor to blow up the French fleet. If you are 
willing to make an effort for your lives, follow 
me!' 

" The men looked aghast. Whatever reckless- 
ness crime and drunkenness had given them, the 
awful feehng of inevitable death at once repelled. 
.Short as was the time for reflection, they felt that 
there were many circumstances to encourage the 
assertion; the nature of the vessel, her riotous, 
disorderly crew, the secret nature of the service, 
all confirmed it, and they answered with a shout 
of despairing vengeance, ' We'll board her; lead 
us on.' As the cry rose up> the long swivel from 
the chase rang sharply in our ears, and a tremen- 
dous discharge of grape flew through our rigging; 
none of our men, however, fell; and, animated 
now with the desire for battle, they sprang to the 
binnacle, and seized their arms. 

" III an instant the whole deck became a scene 
of excited bustle; and scarcely was the ammuni- 
tion dealt out, and the boarding party drawn up, 
when the Frenchman biroached to, and lashed his 
bowsprit to our own. 

" One terrific yell burst from our fellows as 
they sprang from the rigging and the poop upon 
the astonished Frenchman, who thought that the 
victory was already their own; with death and 
ruin behind, their only hope before, they dashed 
forward like madmen to the fray. 

" The conflict was bloody and terrific, though 
not a long one; nearly equal in number, but far 
superior in personal strength, and stimulated by 
their sense of dan'.<er, our fellows rushed onward, 
carrying all before them to the quarter-deck. 
Here the Frenchmen rallied, and, for some min- 
utes, had rather the advantage, until the mate, 
turning one of their guns against them, prepared 
to sweep them down m a mass. Then it was that 
they ceased their fire and cried out for quarter- 
all, save their captain, a short, thick-set fellow, 
with a grizzly beard and moustache, who, seeing 
his men fall back, turned on them one glance of 
scowling indignation, and, rushing forward, clove 
our boatswain to the deck with one blow. Be- 
fore the exami)le could have been followed, he 
lay a bloody corpse upon the deck, while our 
people, roused to madness by the loss of a fav- 
orite among the men, dashed impetuously for- 
ward, and, dealing death on every side, left not 
one man living among their unresisting enemies. 
My story is soon told now. We brought our 
prize safe into Malta, which we reached in five 
days. In less than a week our men were drafted 
into different men-of-war on the station. I was 
' appointed a warrant officer in the Shecrwater, 
' forty-four guns; and, as the admiral opened the 



despatch, the only words he spoke puzzled me 
for many a day after. 

"'You have accomplislied your orders too 
well,' said lie; 'that privateer is but a poor com- 
pensation for the whole French navy.'" 

"Well," inquired Power, "and did you never 
hear the meaning of the words?" 

"Yes," said he; "many years after, I found out 
that our despatches were false ones, intended to 
have fallen into the hands of the French, and 
mislead them as to Lord Nelson's fleet, which at 
that time was cruising to the southward to catch 
them. This, of course, explained what fate was 
destined for us — a French prison, if not death: 
and, after all, either was fully good enough for 
the crew that sailed in the old Brian." 



CHAPTER XXXIV. 



THE LAND. 



It was late when we separated for the night,, 
and the morning was already far advanced ere I 
awoke; the monotonous tramp overhead showed 
me that tlie others were stiiring, and I gently 
moved the shutter of the narrow window beside 
me to look out. 

The sea, slightly rippled upon its surface,, 
shone like a plate of fretted gold; not a wave, 
not a breaker appeared; but tlie rushing sound' 
close by showed that we were moving fast 
through the water. 

" Always calm, hereabouts," said a gruff voice 
on deck, which I soon recognized as the skip- 
per's; " no sea whatever." 

" I can make nothing of it," cried out Power,, 
from the forepart of the vessel, " it appears tc 
me all cloud." 

" No, no, sir, believe me, it's no fog bank, that 
large dark mass to leeward there; that's Cintra." 

" Land!" cried I, springing up, and rushing 
upon deck; "where, skipper, — where is the 
land?" 

" I say, Charley," said Power, '' I hope yoii 
mean to adopt a little more clothing on reaching: 
Lisbon; for though the climate is a warm one — " 

" Never mind, O'Malley," said the major, "the- 
Portuguese will only be flattered by the attention, 
if you land as you are." 

" Why, how so?" 

"Surely, you remember what the niggers said' 
when they saw the 79th Highlanders landing at 
St. Lucie. They had never seen a Scotch regi- 
ment before, and were consequently somewhat 
puzzled at the costume; till, at last, one more 
cunning than the rest explained it by saying,. 
' They are in such a hurry to kill the poor black, 
men, that they came away without their 
breeches.' " 

" Now, what say you?" cried the skipper, as he 
pointed with his telescope to a dark blue mass in 
the distance; "see there!" 

"Ah, true enough, that's Cintra!" 

"Then we shall probably be in the Tagus before 
morninff?" ■ 



290 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



''Before midnight, if the wind holds," said 
the skipper. 

We breakfasted on deck, beneath an awning, 
the vessel scarcely seemed to move as she cut her 
way through the calm water. 

The misty outline of the coast grew gradually 
more defined, and at length the blue mountains 
could be seen, at first but dimly; but, as the day 
wore on, their many-colored hues shone forth, 
and patches of green verdure, dotted with sheep, 
or sheltered by dark foliage, met the eye. The 
bulwarks were crowded with anxious faces; each 
looked pointedly towards the shore, and many a 
stout heart beat high as the land drew near, 
fated to cover with its earth more than one 
amongst us. 

"And that's Portingale, Mister Charles," said 
a voice beliind me. I turned, and saw my man 
Mike, as with an.xious joy, lie fi.\ed his eyes upon 
the shore. 

" They tell me it's a beautiful place, with wine 
for nothing, and spirits for less. Isn't it a pity 
they won't be raisonable, and make peace with us?" 

" Why, my good fellow, we are excellent friends; 
it's the French who want to beat us all." 

" Upon my conscience, that's not right. There's 
an ould saying in Connaught — it's not fair for 
one to fall upon twenty. Sergeant Haggarty says 
that I'll see none of the divarsion at all." 

" I don't well understand " 

" He does be telling me that, as I'm only your 
footboy, he'll send me away to the rear, where 
there's nothing but wounded, and wagons, find 
women." 

" I believe the sergeant is right there ; but, 
after all, Mike, it's a safe place." 

"Ah! then, musha for the safety; I don't 
think much of it; sure they might circumvint us. 
And, av it wasn't displazing to you, I'd rather 
list." 

"Well, I've no objection, Mickey; would you 
like to join my regiment?" 

"By coorse, your honor. I'd like to be near 
yourself ; bekase, too, if any anything happens to 
you — the Lord be betune us and harm," — here 
he crossed himself piously — " sure I'd like to be 
able to tell the master how you died; and, sure, 
there's Mr. Considine — God pardon him! — he'll 
be beatin' my brains out av I couldn't explain it 
all." 

"Well, Mike, I'll speak to some of my friends 
here about you, and we'll settle it all properly; 
here's the doctor." 

"Arrah, Mr. Charles, don't mind him; he's a 
poor crature entirely; devil a thing he knows." 

"Why, what do you mean, man? he's physician 
to the forces." 

"Oh, be-gorra, and so he may be." said Mike, 
with a toss of his head ; " those army docthers 
isn't worth their salt. It's thruth I'm telling you; 
sure didn't he come see me when I was sick in the 
hould? 

" ' How do you feel?' says he. 

"'Terribly dliry in the mouth,' says I. 

" ' But your bones,' says he, ' how's them?' 

" ' As if cripples was kicking me,' says I. 

" Well, with that he wint away, and brought 
back two powders. 



" ' Take them, says he, ' and you'll be cured in 
no time.' 

" ' What's them?' says I. 

" ' They're emalics,' says he. 

" ' Blood and ages,' says I, ' are they?' 

" ' Devil a lie," says he ; ' take them imme- 
diately.' 

" And I tuk them — and, would you believe me. 
Mister Charles? — it's thruth I'm telling you — : 
devil a one o' them would stay on my stomach. 
So you see what a docther he is!" 

I could not help smiling at Mike's ideas of medi- 
cine, as I turned away to talk to the major, who 
was busily engaged beside me. His occupation 
consisted in furbishing up a very tarnished and 
faded uniform, whose white seams and threadbare 
lace betokened many years of service. 

"(letting up our traps, you see, O'Malley," 
said he, as he looked with no small pride at the 
faded glories of his old vestment; "astonish them 
at Lisbon, we flatter ourselves. I sa\'. Power, 
what a bad style of dress they've got into latterly, 
with their tight waists and strapped trousers — 
nothing free, nothing easy, nothing (/cVt?^^'/ about 
it. When in a campaign, a man owght to be able 
to stow prog for twenty-four hours about his per- 
son, and no one the wiser. A very good rule, I 
assure you, though it sometimes leads to awkward 
results. At Vimeira, I got into a sad scrape that 
way. Old Sir Harry, that commanded there, 
sent for the sick return. I was at dinner when 
the orderly came ; so I packed up the eatables 
about me, and rode off. Just, however, as I came 
up to the quarters, my horse stumbled and threw 
me slap on my head. 

" ' Is he killed ?' said Sir Harry. 

" ' Only stunned, your Excellency,' said some 
one. 

"'Then he'll come to, I suppose. Look for 
the papers in his ])ocket.' 

" So they turned me on my back, and plunged 
a hand into my side-|)ocket, but, the devil take it, 
they pulled out a roast hen. Well, the laugh was 
scarcely over at this, when another fellow dived 
into my coat behind; and lugged out three sausages; 
and so they went on, till the ground was 
covered with ham, pigeon-pie, veal, kidney, and 
potatoes, and the only thing like a jiaper was a 
mess roll of the 4th, with a droll song about Sir 
Harry, written in pencil on the back of it. Devil 
of a bad affair for me; I was nearly broke for it; 
but they only reprimanded me a little, and I was 
afterwards attached to the victualling depart- 
ment." 

What an anxious thing is the last day of a voy- 
age! how slowly creep the hours, teeming with 
memories of the past and expectations of the 
future! 

Every plan, every well devised expedient to 
cheat the long and weary days, is at once aban- 
doned; the chess-board and the new novel are 
alike forgotten, and the very (|uarter-deck walk, 
with its merry gossip and careless chit-chat be- 
comes distasteful. One blue and misty mountain, 
one faint outline of the far-off shore, has dispelled 
all thought of these, and, with straining eye and 
anxious heart, we watch for land. 

As the day wears on apace, the excitement in- 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



291 



creases; the faint and shadowy forms of distant 
objects grow gradually clearer. Where before 
some tall and misty mountain peak was seen, we 
now descry patches of deepest blue and sombre 
olive; the mellow corn and the waving woods, 
the village spire and the lowly cot, come out of 
the landscape; and, like some well-remembered 
voice, they speak of home. The objects we have 
seen, the sounds we have heard a hundred times 
before without interest, become to us now things 
that stir the heart. 

For a time, the bright glare of the noonday sun 
dazzles the view, and renders indistinct the pros- 
pect; but, as evening falls, once more is all fair, 
and bright, and rich before us. Rocked by the 
long and rolling swell, I lay beside the bowsprit, 
watching the shore-birds that came to rest upon 
the rigging, or following some long and tangled 
sea-weed as it floated by;- my thoughts now 
wandering back to the brown hills and the broad 
river of my early home — now straying off in dreary 
fancies of the future. 

How flat and unprofitable does all ambition 
seem at such moments as these! how valueless, 
how |)0or, in our estimation, those worldly distinc- 
tions we have so often longed and thirsted for, as 
with lowly heart and simple spirit we watch each 
humble cottage, weaving to ourselves some story 
of its inmates as we pass! 

The night at length closed in, but it was a bright 
and starry one — lending to the landscape a hue 
of sombre shadow, while the outline of the objects 
were still sharp and distinct as before. One soli- 
tary star twinkled near the horizon. I watched 
it as, at intervals disappearing, it would again 
shine out, marking the calm sea with a tall pillar 
of light. 

" Come down, Mr. O'Malley," cried the skipper's 
well-known voice; "come down below, and join 
us in a parting glass — that's the Lisbon light to 
leeward, and before two hours we drop our anchor 
in the Tagus." 



CHAPTER XXXV. 



M.^JOR MONSOON. 



Of my travelling companions I have already 
told my readers something. Power is now an old 
acquaintance; to Sparks I have alreadv presented 
them; of the adjutant they are not entirely ignor- 
ant; and it therefore only remains for me to in- 
troduce U> their notice Major Monsoon. I should 
have some scruple for the digression which this 
occasions in my narr.itive, were it not that with 
the worthy major I was destined to meet subse- 
quently, and indeed served under his orders for 
some months in the Peninsula. When Major 
Monsoon had entered the army, or in what pre- 
cise capacity. I never yet met the man who could 
tell. There were traditionary accounts of his 
having served in the Last Indies and in Canada, 
in times long past. His own peculiar reminis- 
cences extended to nearly every regiment in the 
service, "horse, foot, and dragoons." There was 
Hot a clime he had not basked in; not an engage- 



ment he had not witnessed. His memory, or, if 
you will, his invention, was never at fault; and 
from the siege of Seringapatam to the battle of 
Corunna he was perfect; besides this, he possessed 
a mind retentive of even the most trifling details 
of his profession; from the formation of a regi- 
ment to the introduction of a new button, from 
the laying down of a parallel to the price of a 
camp-kettle, he knew it all. To be sure he had 
served in the commissary-general's department 
for a number of years, and nothing instils such 
habits as this. 

" The commissaries are to the army what the 
special pleaders are to the bar," observed my friend 
Power — "dry dogs; not over-creditable on the 
whole, but devilish useful." 

The major had begun life a two-bottle man, 
but, by a studious cultivation of his natural gifts, 
and a steady determination to succeed, he had, 
at the time I knew him, attained to his fifth. It 
need not be wondered at, then, that his counten- 
ance bore some traces of his habits. It was of a 
deep, sunset purple, which, becoming tropical, at 
the tip of the nose verged almost upon a plum 
color; his mouth was large, thick-lipped, and good- 
humored; his voice rich, mellow, and racy, and 
contributed, with the aid of a certain dry, chuck- 
ling laugh, greatly to increase the effect of the 
stories which he was ever ready to recount; and, 
as they most frequently bore in some degree 
against some of what he called his little failings, 
they were ever well received, no man being so 
popular with the world as he who flatters its vanity 
at his own expense. To do this the major was 
ever ready, but at no time more so than when the 
evening wore late, and the last bottle of his series 
seemed to imply that any caution regarding the 
nature of his communication was perfectly un- 
necessary. Indeed, from the commencement of 
his evening to the close, he seemed to pass through 
a number of mental changes, all in a manner pre- 
paring him for his final consummation, when he 
confessed anything and everything; and so well- 
regulated had these stages become, that a friend 
dropping in upon him suddenly could at once 
pronounce, from the tone of his conversation, on 
what precise bottle the major was then engaged. 

Thus, in the outset he was gastronomic; dis- 
cussed the dinner, from the soup to the Stilton; 
criticized the cutlets; pronounced upon the mer- 
its of the mutton; and threw out certain vague 
hints that he would one day astonish the world 
by a little volume upon cookery. 

With bottle No. 2 he took leave of the cuisine, 
and opened his battery upon the wine. Bordeaux, 
Burgundy, hock, and hermitage, all passed in re- 
view before him; their flavor discussed, their 
treatment descanted upon, their virtues extolled: 
from humble port to imperial tokay, he was thor- 
oughly conversant with all; and not a vintage es- 
caped as to when the sun had suffered eclipse, 
or when a comet had wagged his tail over it. 

With No. 3 he became pipeclay; talked army 
list and eighteen manoeuvres; lamented the vari- 
ous changes in equipments which modern inno- 
vation had introduced; and feared the loss of 
pigtails might sap the military spirit of the na- 
tion. 



292 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



With No. 4 his anecdotic powers came into 
play; he recounted various incidents of the war, 
with liis own individual adventures and experi- 
ence, told with an honest naivc/e'lhd^i proved per- 
sonal vanity ; indeed, self-respect never marred 
the interest of the narrative ; besides, as he had 
ever regarded a campaign something in the light 
of a foray, and esteemed war as little else than a 
jjillage excursion, his sentiments were singularly 
amusing. 

With his last bottle, those feelings that seemed 
inevitably connected with whatever is last ap- 
])eared to steal over him; a tinge of sadness for 
l)leasures fast passing and nearlv' passed, a kind 
of retrospective glance at the fallacy of all our 
earthly enjoyments, insensibly suggesting moral 
and edifying reflections, led him by degrees to 
confess that he was not quite satisfied with him- 
self, though " not very bad for a commissary:" 
and, finally, as the decanter waxed low, he would 
interlard his meditations by passages of Scripture, 
singularly perverted by his misconception from 
their true meaning, and alternately throwing out 
])rospects of censure or approval. Such was 
Major Monsoon; and to conclude in his own 
words this brief sketch, he " would have been an 
excellent officer if Providence had not made him 
such a confounded drunken old scoundrel." 

"Now, then, for the king of Spain's story. Out 
with it, old boy; we are all good men and true 
here," cried Power, as we slowly came along 
upon the tide up the Tagus, "so you've nothing 
to fear " 

"Upon my life," replied the major, "I don't 
half like the tone of our conversation. There is 
a certain freedom young men affect now-a-days 
regarding morals that is not at all to my taste. 
When I was five or six and twenty " 

"You were the greatest scamp in the service," 
cried Power. 

" Fie, fie. Fred. If I was a little wild or so" — 
here the major's eyes twinkled maliciously — " it 
was the ladies that spoiled me; I was always 
something of a favorite, just like our friend Sparks 
there. Not that we fared very mucli alike in our 
little adventure?; for, somehow, I believe I was 
generally in fault in most of mine, as many a good 
man and many an excellent man has been Isefore." 
Here his voice dropped into a moralizirig key, as 
he added, " David, you know, didn't behave well 
to old Uriah. Upon my life he did not, and he 
was a very respectable man." 

"The king of Spain's sherry! the sherry!" 
cried I, fearing that the major's digression might 
lose us a good story. 

" You shall not have a drop of it," replied the 
m;ijor. 

" But the story, major, the story." 

" Nor the story, either." 

" What," said Power, " will you break faith 
w!tli us.'" 

" There's none to be kept with reprobates like 
you. Fill my glass." 

" Hold there! stop!" cried Power. " Not a 
spoonful till he redeems his pledge." 

" Well, then, if you must have a story — for 
most assuredly I must drink — I have no objection 
to give you a leaf from my early reminiscences; 



andj in compliment to Sparks there, my tale shall 
be of love." 

" I dinna like to lose the king's story. I have 
my thoughts it was nae a bad ane." 

" Nor I, either, doctor; but " 

" Come, come, you shall have that too, the first 
night we meet in a bivouac, and, as I fear the 
time tnay not be very far distant, don't be impa- 
tient; besides, a love-story " 

"Quite true," said Power; ''a love-story claims 
precedence: place aiix dames. There's a bum- 
per for you, old Wickedness; so go along." 

The major cleared cff his glass, refilled it, 
si|)ped twice, and ogled it as though he would 
have no peculiar objection to sip once more, took 
a long pinch of snuff frcm a box nearly as long 
as, and something the shape of a child's ccffin, 
looked around to see that we were all attention, 
and thus began: 

"When I have been in a moralizing mood, as 
I very frequently am about this hour in the 
morning, I have often felt surprised by ^^hat 
little, trivial, and insignificant circumstances our 
lot in life seems to be cast; I mean esi)eciaily as 
regards the fair sex. Ycu are prcFj^tring, as it 
were, to-day, to-morrow a new cut cf }Oiir >\hisk- 
ers, a novel tie of your cravat, mars your destiny 
and spoils your future, variuvi ct iruiali/c, as 
Horace has it. On the other hand, seme equally 
slight circumstance will do what all jour ingen- 
uity may have failed to effect. I knew a fellow 
who married the greatest fortune in Bath, frcm 
the mere habit he had of squeezing one's hard. 
The lady in question thought it j)articular, 
looked conscious, and all that; he followed i:p the 
blow; and, in a word, they were married in a 
week. So a friend of mine, who could not help 
winking his left eye, once opened a flirtation 
with a lively widow which cost him a special 
license and a settlement. In fact, you are ne\er 
safe. They are like the guerillas, and they pick 
you off when you least expect it, and when you 
think there is nothing to fear. Therefore, as 
young fellows beginning life, I would caution 
vou. On this head you can never be too cir- 
cumspect. Do you know, I was once nearly 
caught bv so slight a habit as sitting thus, with 
my legs across." 

Here the major rested his right foot on his 
left knee, in illustration, and continued: 

"We were quartered in Jamacia. I had not 
long joined, and was about as raw a young gen- 
tleman as you could see; the only very clear ideas 
in my head being, that we were monstrous fine 
fellows in the 50th, and that the planters' daugh- 
ters w-ere deplorably in love with us. Not that 
I was much wrong on either side. For brandy- 
and-water, sangaree, manilla cigars, and the 
ladies of color, I'd have backed the corps against 
the service. Proof was, of eighteen, only two 
ever left the island; for what with the seduc- 
tions of the coffee plantations, the sugar canes, 
the new rum, the brown skins, the rainy season 
and the yellow fever, most of us settled there. 

"It's very hard to leave the West Indies, if 
once you've been quartered there." 

"So I have heard," said Power. 

" In fine, if you don't knock under to the 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



293 



climate, you become soon totally unfit for living 
anywhere else. Preserved ginger, yams, flannel 
jackets, and grog won't bear exportation; and the 
free-and-easy chuck under the chin, cherishing, 
waist-pressing kind of way we get with the ladies, 
would be quite misunderstood in less favored 
regions, and lead to very unpleasant conse- 
quences. 

" It is a curious fact how much climate has to 
do with love-making. In our cold country the 
prouress is lamentably slow: fogs, east winds, sleet 
storms, and cutting March weather, nip many a 
budding flirtation; whereas warm, sunny days, 
a!id bright moonlight nights, with genial air and 
balmy zephyrs, open the heart, like the cup of a 
camel ia, and let us drink in the soft dew of " 

" Devilish poetical, that!" said Power, evolv- 
ing a long blue line of snuke from the corner of 
his mouth. 

"Isn't it, though?" said the major, smiling 
graciously. '"Porj my life, I thought so myself. 
• here was I ?" 

'Out '.)f my latitude altogether," said the poor 
skipoer. who often found it hard to follow the 
thread of a story. 

Yes, I remember. I was remarking that san- 
garee and calipash, mangoes and guava jelly, dis- 
pose the heart to love, and so they do. I was no 
more than six weeks in Jamaica, when I felt it 
myseli. Now, it was a very dangerous symptom, 
if you had it strong in you, for this reason. Our 
colonel, the nust cross-grained old crabstick that 
ever breathed, happened himself to be taken in 
when young, and resolving, like the fox who lost 
his tail, and said it was not the fashion to wear 
one, to pretend he did the thing for fun, resolved to 
make every fellow marry upon the slighest 
provocation. Begad, you might as well enter a 
powder magazine with a branch of candles in 
your hand, as go into society in the island with a 
leaning towards the fair sex. Very hard this was 
for me particularly; for, like poor Sparks there, 
my weakness was ever for the petticoats. I had, 
besides, no petty, contemptible prejudices as to 
nation, habits, language, color, or complexion; 
black, brown, or fair, from the Muscovite to the 
Malabar, from the voluptuous einbonpoiiit of the 
adjutant's widow — don't be angry, old boy — to 
the fairy form of Isabella herself, I loved them 
all round. But, were I to give a preference any- 
where, I should certainly do so to the West Indies, 
if it were only for the sake of the planters' 
daughters. I say it fearlessly, these colonies are 
the brighest jewels in the crown. Let's drink 
their health, for I'm as husky as a lime-kiln." 

This ceremony being performed with suitable 
enthusiasm, the major cried out, "Another cheer 
for Polly Hackett, the sweetest girl in Jamaica. 
By Jove, Power, if you only saw her, as I did. 
five-and-forty years ago, with eyes black as jet, 
twinkling, ogling, leering, teasing, and imploring 
all at once, do you mind, and a mouthful of down- 
right pearls, pouting and smiling at you, why, 
man, you'd have proposed for her in the first 
half-hour, and shot yourself the next, when she 
refused you. She was, indeed, a perfect little 
beauty; ravfh'r dark, to be sure; a little upon 
the rosewood tinge, but beautifully polished, and 



a very nice piece of furniture for a cottage or/ic, 
as the French call it. Alas, alas! how these vani- 
ties do catch hold of us! My recollections have 
made me quite feverish and thirsty: is there any 
cold punch in the bowl? Thank you, O'Malley, 
that will do — merely to touch my lips. Well, 
well, it's all passed and gone now. But I was 
very fond of Polly Hackett, and she was of me. 
We used to take our little evening walks together 
through the coffee plantation; very romantic little 
strolls they were: she in white muslin, with a 
blue sash and blue shoes; I in a flannel jacket 
and trousers,straw hat and cravat; a Virginia cigar, 
as long as a walking-stick, in my mouth, puffing 
and courting between times; then we'd take a 
turn to the refining house, look in at the big 
boilers, quiz the niggers, and come back to 
Twangberry Moss to supper, where old Hackett, 
the father, sported a glorious table at eleven 
o'clock. Great feeding it was. You were always 
sure of a preserved monkey, a baked land-crab, 
or some such delicacy. And such Madeira! It 
makes me dry to think of it! 

"Talk of VVest India sla\ery, indeed! It's the 
only land of liberty. There is nothing to com- 
pare with the perfect free-and-easy, devil-may 
care-kind-of-a-take-yourself way that every one 
has there. If it would be any peculiar comfort 
for you to sit in the saddle of muttcn, and put 
your legs in a soup tureen at dinner, there would 
be found very few to object to it. There is no 
nonsense of any kind about etiquette. You eat, 
drink, and are merry, or, if you prefer, are sad; 
just as you please. You may wear uniform, or 
you may not; it's your cwn affair; and, conse- 
quently, it may be imagined how insensibly such 
privileges gain upon one, and how very reluctant 
we become ever to resign or abandon them. 

" I was the man to appreciate it all. The whole 
course of proceeding setmed to ha\e been in- 
vented for my peculiar (cn\enience, and not a 
man in the island enjoyed a more luxurious ex- 
istence than myself, not knowing all the while 
how dearly I was destined to pay for my little 
comforts. Among my plenary after-dinner in- 
dulgences I had contracted an inveterate habit 
of sitting cross-legged, as I showed )0U. Now, 
this was become a perfect necessity of existence 
to me. I could have dispensed with cheese, with 
my glass of port, my pickled mango, my olive, 
my anchovy toast, my nutshell of curagoa, but 
not my favorite lounge. You may smile; but I've 
read of a man who could never dance except in 
a room with an old hair-brush. Now I'm cer- 
tain niv stomach would not digest if my legs were 
perpendicular. I don't mean to defend the thing. 
The attitude was not graceful; it was not impos- 
ing; but it suited me somehow', and I liked it. 

"From what I have already mentioned, you 
may suppose that West India habits exercised 
but little control over my favorite practice, which 
I indulged in every evening of my life. Well, 
one day, old Hackett gave us a great blow-out — 
a dinner of two-and-twenty souls; six days' no- 
tice; turtle from St. Lucie, guinea-fowl, claret of 
the year forty, Madeira a discretion, and all that. 
Very well done, the whole thing; nothing wrong; 
nothing wanting. As for me, I was in great 



294 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



feather. I took Polly in to dinner, greatly to the 
discomfiture of old Belson, our major, who was 
making up in that quarter; for, you must know,' 
she was an only daughter, and had a very nice 
thing of it in molasses and niggers. The papa 
preferred the major, but Polly looked sweetly 
upon me. Well, down we went, and really a most 
excellent feed we had. Now, I must mention 
here that Polly had a favorite Blenheim spaniel 
the old fellow detested; it was always tripping 
him up and snarling at him; for it was, except to 
herself, a beast of rather vicious inclinations. With 
a true Jamaica taste, it was her pleasure to bring 
the animal always into the dinner-room, where, 
if papa discovered him, there was sure to be a 
row. Servants sent in one direction to hunt him 
out; others endeavoring to hide him, and so on; 
in fact, a tremendous hubbub always followed his 
introduction and accompanied his exit, upon 
which occasions I invariably exercised my gal- 
lantry by protecting the beast, although I hated 
him like the devil all the time. 

"To return to our dinner. After two mortal 
hours of hard eating, the pace began to slacken, 
and, as evening closed in, a sense of peaceful re- 
])ose seemed to descend upon our labors. Pas- 
tilles shed an aromatic vapor through the room. 
The well-iced decanters went with measured pace 
along; conversation, subdued to the meridian of 
after-dinner comfort, just murmured; the open 
jalousies displayed upon the broad verandah the 
orange-trees in full blossom, slightly stirring with 
the cool sea-breeze." 

" And the piece of white muslin beside you, 
what of her?" 

"Looked twenty times more bewitching than 
ever. Well, it was just the hour when, opening 
the last two buttons of your white waistcoat (re- 
member, we were in Jamaica), you stretch your 
legs to the full extent, throw your arms carelessly 
over the back of your chair, look contemplatively 
towards the ceiling, and wonder, within yourself, 
why it is not all 'after dinner' in this same world 
of ours. Such, at least, were my reflections as I 
assumed my attitude of supreme comfort, and in- 
wardly ejaculated a health to Sneyd and Barton. 
Just at this moment I heard Polly's voice gently 
whisper, 

" ' Isn't he a love? isn't he a darling?' 

"'Zounds!' thought I, as a pang of jealousy 
shot through my heart, 'is it the major she 
means?' for old Belson, with his bag wig and 
rouged cheeks, was seated on the other side of her. 

" ' What a dear old thing it is!' said Polly. 

"'Worse and worse,' said I; 'it must be 
him.' 

" ' I do so love his muzzy face.' 

" ' It is him !' said I, throwing off a bumper, and 
almost boiling over with passion at the moment. 

" ' I wish I could take one look at him,' said 
she, laying down her head as she spoke. 

"The major whispered something in her ear, 
to which she replied: 

"'Oh! 1 dare not; papa will see me at once.' 

'"Don't be afraid, madam,' said I, fiercely; 
'your father perfectly approves of your taste.' 

" 'Are you sure of it?' said she, giving me such 
a look. 



" 'I know it,' said I, strugglin* violently with 
my agitation. 

" The major leaned over, as if to touch her 
hand beneath the cloth. I almost sprang from 
my chair, when Polly, in her sweetest accents, 
said: 

" ' You must be patient, dear thing, or you may 
be found out, and then there will be such a piece 
of work. Though I'm sure, major, you would 
not betray me.' 'J'he major smiled till he cracked 
the paint upon his cheeks. 'And I am sure that 
Mr. Monsoon ' 

" ' You may rely upon me,' said I, half sneer- 
ingly. 

"The major and I exchanged glances of defi- 
ance, while Polly continued, — 

" ' Now, come, don't be restless. You are very 
comfortable there. Isn't he, major?' The major 
smiled again more graciously than before, as he 
added, — 

" ' May I take a look?' 

"'Just one peep, then, no more!' said she, 
coquettishly; 'poor dear Wowski is so timid.' 

" Scarcely had these words borne balm and 
comfort to my heart — for I now knew that to the 
dog, and not to my rival, were all the flattering 
expressions applied — when a slight scream from 
Polly, and a tremendous oath from the major, 
raised me from my dream of happiness. 

"'Take your foot down, sir. Mr. Monsoon, 
how could you do so?' cried Polly. 

"'What the devil, sir, do you mean?' shouted 
the major. 

'"Oh! I shall die of shame,' sobbed she. 

"'I'll shoot him like a riddle,' muttered old 
Belson. 

" By this time the whole table had got at the 
story, and such peals of laughter, mingled with 
suggestions for my personal maltreatment, 1 never 
heard. All my attempts at explanation were in 
vain. I was not listened to, much less believed, 
and the old colonel finished the scene by order- 
ing me to my quarters, in a voice I shall never 
forget, the whole room being, at the time I made 
my exit, one scene of tumultuous laughter from 
one end to the other. Jamaica, after this, became 
too hot for me. The story was repeated on every 
side; for, it seems I had been sitting with my foot 
on Polly's lap; but, so occupied was I with my 
jealous vigilance of the major I was not aware of 
the fact until she herself discovered it. 

"I need not say how the following morning 
brought with it every possible offer of amende 
upon my part; anything, from a written apology 
to a proposition to marry the lady, I was ready 
for, and how the matter might have ended I 
know not; lor, in the middle of the negotiations, 
we were ordered off to Halifax, where, be assured, I 
abandoned my oriental attitude for many a long 
day after." 



CHAPTER XXXVI. 

THE LANDING. 

What a contrast to the dull monotony of our 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



295 



life at sea did the scene present which awaited 
us on landing at Lisbon. The whole quay was 
crowded with hundreds of people eagerly watch- 
ing the vessel which bore from her mast the broad 
ensign of Britain. Dark-featured, swarthy, mous- 
tached faces, with red caps rakishly set on one side, 
mingled with the Saxon faces and fair-haired na- 
tives of our own country. Men-of-war boats plied 
unceasingly to and fro across tlie tranquil river, 
some slender reefer in the stern sheets; while 
behind him trailed the red pennon of some "tall 
admiral." 

The din and clamor of a mighty city mingled 
with the far-off sounds of military music; and in 
the vistas of the opening street masses of troops 
might be seen, in marching order; and all be- 
tokened the near approach of war. 

Our anchor had scarcely been dropped, when 
an eight-oar gig, with a midshipman steering, 
came along. 

" Ship ahoy, there! You've troops on board?" 

"Ay, ay, sir." 

Before the answer could be spoken he was on 
deck. 

" May I ask," said he, touching his cap slightly, 
"who is the officer in command of the detach- 
ment?" 

"Captain Power; very much at your service," 
said Fred, returning the salute. 

"Rear-Admiral Sir Edward Douglas requests 
that you will do him the favor to come on board 
immediately, and bring your despatches with 
you." 

" I'm quite ready," said Power, as he placed 
his papers in his sabretasche; "but first tell us 
what's doing here. Anything new lately?" 

" I have heard nothing, except of some affair 
with the Portuguese; they've been drubbed 
again; but our people have not been engaged. I 
say, we had better get under way: there's our first 
lieutenant, with his telescope up; he's looking 
straight at us. So, come along. Good-evening, 
gentlemen." And in another moment the sharp 
craft was cutting the clear water, while Power gayly 
waved us a good-by. 

" Who's for shoie?" said the skipper, as half a 
dozen boats swarmed around the side, or held on 
by their boat-hooks to the rigging. 

"Who is not?" said Monsoon, who now ap- 
yjeared in his old blue frock covered with tar- 
nished braiding, and a cocked hat that might have 
roofed a pagoda. " Who is not, my old boy? Is 
not every man amongst us delighted with the 
prospecc of fresh prog, cool wine, and a bed some- 
what longer than four feet six? I say, O'Malley! 
Sparks! Where's the adjutant? Ah, there he is! 
We'll noi mind the doctor; he's a very jovial little 
fellow, but a damned bore, ciiire nous: and we'll 
have a cosy little supper at the Rua di Toledo. 
I know the place well. Whew, now! Get away 
boy. Sit steady, Sparks; she's only a cockle- 
shell. There — that's the Plaza de la Regna — • 
there, to the left. There's the great cathedral — 
you can't see it now. Another seventy-four! 
why, there's a whole fleet here! I wish old Power 
joy of his afternoon with old Douglas." 

" Do you know him, then, major?" 

" Do I ? — I should rather think I do. He was 



going to put me in irons here in this river once. 
A great shame it was; but I'll tell you the story 
another time. There — gently now; that's it. 
Thank God ! once more upon land. How I do 
hate a ship; upon my life, a sauce-boat is the only 
boat endurable in this world." 

We edged our way with difficulty through the 
dense crowd, and at last reached the Plaza. 
Here the numbers were still greater, but of a dif- 
ferent class; several pretty and well-dressed 
women, with their dark eyes twinkling above their 
black mantillas, as they held them across their 
faces, watched with an intense curiosity one ot the 
streets that opened upon the square. 

In a few moments the band of a regiment was 
heard, and very shortly after the regular tramp 
of troops followed, as the Eighty-seventh marched 
into the Plaza, and formed a line. 

The music ceased; the drums rolled along the 
line; and the next moment all was still. It was 
really an inspiriting sight to one whose heart was 
interested in the career, to see those gallant fel- 
lows, as, with their bronzed faces and stalwart 
frames, they stood motionless as a rock. All con- 
tinued to look, the band marched into the middle 
of the square, and struck up "Garryowen." 
Scarcely was the first part played, when a tremen- 
dous cheer burst from the troop-ship in the river. 
The welcome notes had reached the poor fellows 
there; the well-known sounds, that told of home 
and country, met their ears; and the loud cry of 
recognition bespoke their hearts' fulness. 

"There they go. Your wild countrymen have 
heard \\\€\r Ranz des vachcs, it seems. Lord! how 
they frightened the poor Portuguese! look how 
they're running!" 

Such was actually the case. The loud cheer 
uttereci from the river was taken up by others 
straggling on shore, and one universal shout be- 
tokened that fully one-third of the red-coats 
around came from the dear island, and in their 
enthusiasm had terrified the natives to no snialj 
extent; 

" Is not that Ferguson there?" cried the major, 
as an officer passed us with his arm in a sling. 
" I say, Joe — Ferguson' oh! knew it was." 

" Monsoon, my hearty, how goes it.' — only just 
arrived, I see, — delighted to meet you out here 
once more. Why, we've been dull as a veteran 
battalion without you. These your friends? pray 
t present me. ' The ceremony of introduction over, 
the m.ajor invited Ferguson to join our party at 
supper. " No, not to-night, major," said he, " you 
must be my guest this evening. My quarters are 
not five minutes' walk from this — I shall not 
premise you very luxurious fare." 

" A carbonade with olives, a roast duck, a bowl 
of bishop, and, if you will, a few bottles of Bur- 
gundy," said the major; " don't put yourself out 
for us — soldier's fare, eh?" 

I could not help smiling at the naive notion of 
simplicity so cunningly suggesfed by old Monsoon. 
As I followed the party through the streets, my 
step was light, my heart not less so; for what sen- 
sations are more delightful than those of landing 
after a voyage? — the escape from the durance vile 
of shipboard, with its monotonous days and dreary 
nights, its ill-regulated appointments, its cramped 



296 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



accommodation, its uncertain duration, its eternal 
round of unchanging amusements, for the freedom 
of tlie shore, with a land breeze, and a firm foot- 
ing to tread upon; and, certainly, not least of all, 
the sight of that brightest part of creation, whose 
soft eyes and tight ankles are, perhaps, the great- 
est of all imaginable pleasures to him who has 
been the dweller on blue water for several weeks 
long. 

" Here we are," cried out Ferguson, as we 
stopped at the door of a large and handsome 
house. We followed up a spacious stair into an 
ample room, sparingly, but not uncomfortably 
furnished; plans of sieges, maps of the seat of 
war, pistols, sabres, and belts, decorated the white 
walla, and a few books, and a stray army-list, be- 
tokened the habits of the occupant. 

While Ferguson disappeared to make some prep- 
arations for supper, Monsoon commenced a 
congratulation to the jiarty upon the good fortune 
that had befallen them. " Capital fellow is Joe — 
never without something good, and a rare one l^o 
])ass the bottle. Oh! here he comes. Be alive 
there. Sparks; take a corner of the cloth; how 
deliciously juicy that ham looks; pass the Madeira 
down there; what's under that cover — stewed kid- 
neys?" While Monsoon went on thus we took 
our places at table, and set to with an appetite 
which only a newly-landed traveller ever knows. 

"Another spoonful of the gravy? Thank you. 
And so they say we've not been farirg over well 
latterly?" said the major. — " Not a word of truth 
in the report. Our people have not been engaged. 
The only thing lately was a smart brush we had 
at the Tamega. Poor Patrick, a countryman of 
ours, and myself were serving with the Portuguese 
brigade, when Laborde drove us back into the 
town, and actually routed us. The Portuguese 
general, caring little for anything save his own 
safety, was making at once for the mountains, when 
Patrick called upon his battalion to face about and 
charge; and nobly they did it, too. Down they 
came upon the advancing masses of the French, 
and literally hurled them back upon the main body. 
The other regiments, seeing this gallant stand, 
wheeled about, and poured in a volley, and then, 
fixing bayonets, stormed a little mount beside the 
hedge which commanded the whole suburb of 
Villa Real. The French, who soon recovered their 
order, now prepared for a second attack, and came 
on in two dense columns, when Patrick, who had 
little confidence in the steadiness of bis people, 
for any lengthened resistance, resolved upon once 
more charging with the bayonet. The order was 
SL'arcely given when the French were upon us; 
their flank; defended by some of LaHoussaye's 
heavy dragoons. For an instant the conflict was 
doubtful, until poor Patrick fell mortally wounded 
upon the parapet; when the men, no longer hear- 
ing his bold cheer, nor seeing his noble figure in 
the advance, turned and fled, pell-mell, back upon 
the town. As for me, blocked up amid the 
mass, I was cut down from the shoulder to the 
elbow by a young fellow of about sixteen, who 
galloped about like a school-boy on a holiday. The 
wound was only dangerous from the loss of blood, 
and so I contrived to reach Amacante without 
much difficulty; from whence, with three or four 



others, I was Ordered here until fit for service.' 

"But what news from our own head-quarters?' 
inquired I. 

"All imaginable kinds of rumors are afloat. 
Some say that Craddock is retiring; others, that 
a part of the army is in motion upon Caldas." 

" Then we are not going to have a very long 
sojourn hereafter all, eh, major?" — " Donna Maria 
de Tormes will be inconsolable. By-the-by, their 
house is just opposite us. Have you never heard 
Monsoon mention his friends there?" 

" Come, come, Joe, how can you be so foolish?" 

" But, major, my dear friend, what signifies your 
modesty? there is not a man in the service does 
not know it, save those in the last Gazette." 

"Indeed, Joe, lam very angry with you." 

"Well then, by Jove! I must tell it myself; 
though, faith, lads, you lose not a little for want 
lof Monsoon's tact in the narrative." 

"Anything is better than trusting to such a 
biographer," cried the major; "so here goes: 

" When I was acting commissary-general to 
the Portuguese forces, some few years ago, I ob- 
tained great experience of the habits of the people; 
for though naturally of an unsuspecting tempera- 
ment myself, I generally contrive to pick out the 
little foibles of my associates, even upon a short 
acquaintance. Now, my appointment pleased me 
very much on this score; it gave me little oppor- 
tunities of examining the world. 'The greatest 
study of mankind is man' — Sparks would say 
woman — but no matter. 

"Now, I soon discovered that our ancient and 
very excellent allies, the Portuguese, with a beau- 
j tiful climate, delicious wines, and very delightful 
wives and daughters, were the most infernal rogues 
and scoundrels ever met with. 'Make yourself 
thoroughly acquainted with the leading features of 
the natives,' said old Sir Harry to me, in a de- 
spatch from head-quarters; and, faith, it was not 
difficult; such open, palpable, undisguised rascals 
never were heard of. I thought I knew a thing or 
two myself, when I landed; but. Lord love you! 
I was a babe; I was an infant in swaddling clothes, 
compared with them; and they humbugged me — 
ay, me! — till I began to suspect that I was walking 
in my sleep. 

" ' Why, Monsoon,' said the general, ' they told 
me you were a sharp fellow, and yet the people 
here seem to work round you every day. This 
will never do. You must brighten up a little, or 
I shall be obliged to send you back.' 

"' General,' said I, ' they used to call me no 
fool in England, but, somehow, here ' 

"'I understand,' said he, 'you don't know the 
Portuguese; there's but one way with them — 
strike quickly, and strike home. Never give them 
time for roguery; for, if they have a moment's re- 
flection, they'll cheat the devil himself; but, when 
you see the plot working, come slap down and de- 
cide the thing your own way.' 

" Well, now, there never was anything so true 
as this advice, and for the eightee.. months I acted 
upon it, I never knew it fail. 

" ' I want a thousand measures of wheat.' 

" ' Senhor Excellenza, the crops have been mis- 
erably deficient, and ' 

" ■ Sergeant-major,' I would say, ' these poor 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



207 



people have no corn; it's a wine country; let them 
make up their rations tiiat way.' 

"The wheat came in that evening. 

'' ' One hundred and twenty bullocks wanted 
for tlie reserve.' 

'"The cattle are all up the mountains.' 

" ' Let the alcalde catch them before night, or 
I'll catch ///;//.' 

"Lord bless you! I had beef enough to feed 
thii Peninsula, And in this way, wiiiie the forces 
were eating short allowance and half-rations else- 
where, our brigade were plump as aldermen. 

"When we lay in Andalusia this was easy enough. 
What a country to be sure! Such vineyards, such 
gardens, such delicious valleys, waving with corn, 
and fat with olives; actually it seemed a kind of 
dispensation of Providence to make war in. 
There was everything you could desire; and, then, 
the people, like all your wealthy ones, were so 
timid, and so easily frightened, you could get 
wliat you pleased out of them by a little terror. 
My scouts managed this very well. 

"'He is coming,' they would say, ' after to- 
morrow.' 

" ' Mddre de Dios !' 

"'I hope he won't burn the village.' 

" ' Questos infernales Ingleses ! how wicked 
they are.' 

"' You'd better try what a sack of moidores or 
doubloons might do with him; he may refuse them, 
but make the effort.' 

" Ha!" said the major, with a long-drawn sigh, 
"those were pleasant times; alas! that they should 
ever come to an end. Well, among the old hi 
dalgos I met there was one Don Emanuel Selvio 
de Tormes, an awful old miser, rich as Croesus, 
and suspicious as the arch-fiend himself. Lord, 
how I melted him down! I quartered two squad- 
rons of horse and a troop of flying artillery upon 
him. How the fellows did eat! such a consump- 
tion of wines was never heard of; and, as they 
began to slacken a little, I took care to replace 
them by fresh arrivals — fellows from the moun- 
tains — arfadares they call them. At last, my friend 
Don Emanuel could stand it no longer, and he 
sent me a diplomatic envoy to negotiate terms, 
which, upon the whole, I must say, were fair 
enough, and, in a few days after, the ca^adores 
were withdrawn, and I took up my quarters at 
the cliateau. I have had various chances and 
changes in this wicked world, but I am free to 
confess that I never passed a more agreeable time 
than the seven weeks I spent there. Don 
Emanuel, when properly managed, became a very 
pleasant little fellow: Donna Maria, his wife, was 
a sweet creature. You need not be winking that 
way. Upon my life, she was; rather fat, to be 
sure, and her age something verging upon the 
fifties; but she had such eyes, black as sloes, and 
luscious as ripe grapes; and she was ahvavs smil- 
ing, and ogling, and looking so sweet. Confound 
me, if I think she wasn't the most enchanting 
being in this world, with about ten thousand 
pounds' worth of jewels upon her fingers and in 
her ears. I have her before me at this instant, as 
she used to sit in the little arbor in the garden, with 
a Manilla cigar in her mouth, and a little brandy- 
and-water — quite weak, you know — beside her. 



"'Ah! general,' she used to say — she always 
called me general — ' what a glorious career youis 
is! A soldier is indeed a man.' 

" Then she would look at poor Emanuel, wlio 
used to sit in a corner, holding his hand to his 
face, for hours, calculating interest and cent, per 
cent., till he fell asleep. 

" Now, he labored under a very singular malady 
— not that I ever knew it at the time — a kind of 
luxation of the lower jaw, which, when it came 
on, happened somehow to press upon some vital 
nerve or other, and left him perfectly paralyzed 
till it was restored to its proper i)lace. In fact, 
during the time the agony lasted, he was like one 
in a trance; for though he could see and hear, 
he could neither speak nor move, and looked as 
if 1 e had done with both for many a day to 
come. 

" Well, as I was saying, I knew nothing of .nil 
this, till a slight circumstance made it known to 
me. I was seated one evening in the little arbor 
I mentioned with Donna Maria. Tiiere was a 
little table before us, covered with wines end 
fruits, a dish of olives, some Castile oranges, ar.d 
a fresh pine. I remember it well: my eye loved 
over the little dessert, stt out in old-fashioned, 
rich silver dishes, then turned towards tiie lady 
herself, with rings and brooches, earrings, and 
chains enough to reward one for sacking a town; 
and I said to myself, ' Monsoon, Monsoon, this is 
better than long marches in the Pyrenees, with a 
cork-tree for a bed-curtain, and wet grass for a 
mattress. How pleasantly one might jog on in this 
world with this little couHtry-house for his abode, 
and Donna Maria for a. companion!' 

" I tasted the port — it was delicious. Now, I 
knew very little Portuguese, but I made some 
effort to ask if there was much of it in the 
cellar. 

"She smiled, and said, 'Oh! yes.' 

"'What a luxurious life one might lead here!' 
thought I; 'and, after all, perhaps Providence 
might remove Don Emanuel.' 

" I finished the bottle as I thus meditated. The 
next was, if possible, more crusty. 

"'This is a delicious retreat, ' said I, solilo- 
quizing. 

" Donna Maria seemed to know what was pass- 
ing in my mind, for she smiled too. 

"'Yes,' said I, in broken Portuguese, 'one 
ought to be very happy here. Donna Maria.' 

"She blushed, and I continued: 

"'What can one want for more in this life? — 
all the charms that rendered Paradise what it was' 
— I took her hand here — ' and made Adam 
blessed.' 

"'Ah, general!' said she, with a sigh, 'you are 
such a flatterer.' 

'"Who could flatter,' said I, with enthusiasm, 
'when there are not words enough to express 
what he'feels?' This was true, for ujy Portuguese 
was fast failing me. ' But if I ever was happy, it 
is now.' 

" I took another pull at the port. 

" ' If I only thought,' said I, ' that my presence 
here was not thought unwelcome ' 

" ' Fie, general,' said she, ' how could you say 
such a thing?' 



298 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THfe IRISH DRAGOON. 



"'If I only thought I was not hated,' said I 
trembling. 

"'Oh!' said she again. 

" ' Despised.' 

"'Oh!' 

" ' Loathed.' 

" She pressed my hand — I kissed hers; she 
hurriedly snatched it from me, and pointed 
towards a lime-tree near, beneath which, in the 
cool enjoyment of his cigar, sat the spare and 
detested figure of Don Emanuel. 

"'Yes,' thought I, 'there he is — the only bar 
to my good fortune; were it not for him, I should 
not be long before I became possesser of this ex- 
cellent old chateau with an indiscietionary power 
over the cellar. Don Mauricius Monsoon would 
■speedily assume his place among the grandees 
of Portugal.' 

" I know not how long my reverie lasted, nor, 
indeed, how the evening passed ; but I remem- 
ber well the moon was up, and a sky bright with 
a thousand stars was shining, as I sat beside the 
fair Donna Maria, endeavoring, with such Por- 
tuguese as it had pleased fate to bestow on me, 
to instruct her touching my warlike services and 
deeds of arms. The fourth bottle of port was 
ebbing beneath my eloquence, as responsively her 
heart beat, when I heard a slight rustle in the 
branches near. I looked, and, heavens, what a 
sight did I behold! There was little Don Eman- 
uel stretched upon the grass, with his mouth wide 
open, his face pale as death, his arms stretched 
out at either side, and his legs stiffened straight 
out. I ran over and asked if he were ill, but no 
answer came. I lifted up an arm, but it fell 
heavily upon the ground as I let it go; the 
leg did likewise. I touched his nose — it was 
cold. 

" ' Hallo,' thought I, ' is it so? This comes of 
mixing water with your sherry. I saw where it 
would end.' 

" Now, upon my life, I felt sorry for the little 
fellow; but somehow, one gets so familiarized 
with this sort of thing in a campaign, that one only 
half feels in a case like this. 

"'Yes,' said I; ' man is but grass; but I, for 
one, must make liay when the sun shines. Now 
for the Donna Maria,' for the poor thing was 
asleep in the arbor all this while. 

" 'Donna,' said I, shaking her by the elbow — 
' Donna, don't be shocked at what I'm going to 
say.' 

"'Ah! general,' said she, with a sigh, ' say no 
more, I must not listen to you.' 

" 'You don't know that,' said I, with a know- 
ing look; — ' you don't know that.' 

" ' Why, what can you mean?' 

The little fellow is done for;' for the port 
was working strong now, and destroyed all my 
fine sensibility. 'Yes, Donna,' said I, 'you are 
free,' — here I threw myself upon my "knees — 
' free to make me the happiest of commissaries and 
the joUiest grandee of Portugal that ever ' 

" ' But Don Emanuel ?' 

Run out — dr) — empty,' inverting a finished 
decanter, to typify my words as I spoke. 

He is not dead ?' said she, with a scream. 

"'Even so,' said I, with a hiccup; 'ordered 



for service in a better world, where there are 
neither inspections nor arrears.' 

" Before the words were well out, she sprang 
from the bench, and rushed over to the spot 
where the little don lay. What she said or did 
I know not, but the next moment he sat bolt up- 
right on the grass, and, as he held his jaw with 
one hand, and supported himself on the other, 
vented such a torrent of abuse and insult at me, 
that, for want of Portuguese enough to reply, I 
rejoined in English, in which I swore pretty 
roundly for five minutes. Meanwhile, the donna 
had summoned the servants, who removed Don 
Emanuel to the house; where, on my return, I 
found my luggage displayed before the door, with 
a civil hint to deploy in orderly time, and take 
ground elsewhere. 

" In a few days, however, his anger cooled 
down, and I received a polite note from Donna 
Maria, that the don at length began to under- 
stand the joke, and begged that I would return 
to the chateau, and that he would expect me at 
dinner the same day." 

" With which, of course, you complied ?" 

" Which, of course, I did. Forgive your ene- 
mies, my dear boy; it is only Christian-like; and, 
really, we lived very happily ever after; the 
donna was a mighty clever woman, and a dear 
good soul besides." 

It was late when the major concluded his 
story; so, after wishing Ferguson a good-night, 
we took our leave, and retired for the night to 
our quarters. 



CHAPTER XXXVII. 



LISBON. 

The tramp of horses' feet and the sound of 
voices beneath my window roused me from a deep 
sleep. I sprang up, and drew aside the curtain. 
What a strange confusion beset me as I looked 
forth! Before me lay a broad and tranquil river, 
whose opposite shore, deeply wooded, and 
studded vvith villas and cottages, rose abruptly 
from the water's edge; vessels of war lay tran- 
quilly in the stream, their pennants trailing in the 
tide. The loud boom of a morning gun rolled 
along the surface, awaking a hundred echoes as 
it passed, and the lazy smoke rested for some 
minutes on the glassy water as it blended with 
the thin air of the morning. 

" Where am I ?" was my first question to my- 
self, as I continued to look from side to side, 
unable to collect my scattered senses. 

One word sufficed to recall me to myself, as I 
heard Power's voice from without, call out, — 

"Charley! O'Malley, I say! come down here." 

I hurriedly threw on my clothes, and went to 
the door. 

" Well, Charley, I've been )jut in harness rather 
sooner than I expected. Here's old Douglas has 
been sitting up all night, writing despatches; and 
I nmst hasten on to head-quarters, without a 
moment's delay. There's work before us, that's 
certain; but when, where, and how, of that I 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



299 



know nothing. You may expect the route every 
moment; the French are still advancing. Mean- 
while, I have a couple of commission? for you to 
execute. First, here's a packet for Hammersley; 
you are sure to meet him with the regiment, in a 
day or two. I have some scruples about asking 
you this — but, confound it! — you're too sensible 
a fellow to care " 

Here he hesitated; and, as I colored to the 
I yes, for some minutes he seemed uncertain how 
to proceed. At length, recovering himself, he 
went on: 

" Now for the other. This is a most loving 
epistle from a poor devil of a midshipman, writ- 
ten last night, by a tallow candle, in the cockpit, 
containing vows of eternal adoration and a lock 
of hair. I promised faithfully to deliver it my- 
self; for the Thunderer sails for Gibraltar next 
tide, and he cannot go ashore for an instant. 
However, as Sir Arthur's billet may be of more 
importance than the reefer's, I must entrust its 
safe keeping to your hands. Now, then, don't 
look so devilish sleepy: but seem to understand 
what I am saying. This is the address: — 'La 
Senhora Inez da Silviero, Rua Nuova, opposite 
the barber's;' you'll not neglect it. So now, my 
dear boy, till our next meetmg, adios!" 

"Stop! for heaven's sake, not so fast, I pray. 
Where's the street?" 

"The Rua Nuova. Remember ligaro, my 
boy. Cinque perruche." 

" But what am I to do?" 

"To do! what a question! Anything; every- 
thing. Be a good diplomate; speak of the tor- 
turing agony of the lover, for which I can vouch 
(the boy is only fifteen!; swear that he is to 
return in a month, first lieutenant of the Thun- 
der Bomb, with intentions that even Madame 
Dalrymple would approve." 

"What nonsense!" said I, blusliing to the eyes. 

" And if that suffice not, I know of but one 
resource." 

" Which is.'" 

" Make love to her yourself. Ay, even so. 
Don't look so confoundedly vinegar; the girl, I 
hear, is a devilish pretty one, the house pleasant, 
and I sincerely wish I could exchange duties 
with you, leaving you to make your bows to Ins 
Excellency the C. O. F., and myself free to make 
mine to La Senhora. And now, push along, old 
red-cap." 

So saying, he made a significant cut of his 
whip at the Portuguese guide, and in another 
moment was out of sight. 

My first thought was one of regret at Power's 
departure. For some time past we had Deen 
inseparable companions; and, notwithstandmg 
the reckless and wild gayety of his conduct, 
I had ever found him ready to assist me in every 
difficulty, and that with an address and dexter- 
ity a more calculating adviser might not have 
possessed. I was now utterly alone, for, though 
Monsoon and the adjutant were still in Lisbon, 
as was also Sparks, I never could make intimates 
of them. 

I ate my breakfast with a heavy heart; my 
solitary position again suggesting thoughts of 
home and kindred/ Just at this moment my eyes 



fell upon the packet destined for Hammersley; 
I took it up and weiglied it in my hand. " Alaj!" 
thought I, "how much of my destiny may lie 
within that envelope! how fatally may my after- 
life be influenced by it!" It felt heavy, as though 
there was something besides letters. True, too 
true; there was a picture; Lucy's portrait! The 
cold drops of perspiration stood upon my fore- 
head as my fingers traced the outline of a minia- 
ture-case in the parcel. I became deadly weak, 
and sank, half fainting, upon a chair. And such 
is the end of my first dream of happiness! How 
have I duped, how have I deceived myself ! For, 
alas! though Lucy had never responded to my 
proffered vows of affection, yet had 1 ever nur- 
tured in my heart a secret hope that I was not 
altogether uncared for. Every look she had 
given me, every word she had spoken, the tone 
of her voice, her step, her every gesture were 
before me, all confirming my delusion — and yet 
1 could bear no more, and burst into tears. 

The loud call of a cavalry trumpet aroused 
me. 

How long I had passed in this state of despond- 
ency I know not; but it was long past noon when 
I rallied myself. My charger was already await- 
ing me; and a second blast of the trumpet told 
that the inspection in the Plaza was about to 
commence. 

As I continued to dress, I gradually rallied 
from my depressing thoughts; and, ere I belted 
my sabretasche, the current of my ideas had 
turned from their train of sadness to one of 
hardihood and daring. Lucy Dashwood had 
treated me like a wilful schoolboy. Mayhap, I 
may prove myself as gallant a soldier as even 
him she has preferred before me. 

A third sound of the trumpet cut short my 
reflections, and I sprang into the saddle, and 
hastened toward the plaza. As I dashed along 
the streets, my horse, maddened with the im- 
pulse that stirred my own heart, curvetted and 
plunged unceasingly. As I reached the Plaza, 
the crowd became dense, and I was obliged to 
pull up. The sound of the music, the parade, 
the tramp of the infantry, and the neighing of 
the horses, were, liowever, too much for my met- 
tlesome steed, and he became nearly unmanage- 
able; he plunged fearfully, and twice reared as 
though he would nave fallen back. As I scat- 
tered the foot passengers right and left with 
terror, my eye fell upon one lovely girl, who, 
tearing herself from her companion, rushed 
wildly toward an o]3en doorway for shelter; sud- 
denly, however, changing her intention, she came 
forward a few paces, and then, as if overcome 
by fear, stood stock still, her hands clasped upon 
her bosom, her eyes upturned, her features deadly 
pale, whil her knees seemed bending beneath 
her. Never did I behold a more beautiful object. 
Her dark hair had fallen loose upon her shoulder, 
and she stood the very iue'al of the " Madonna 
Supplicating." My glance was short as a light- 
ning flash; for. the same instant, my horse 
swerved, and dashed forward right at the place 
where she was standing. One terrific cry rose 
from the crowd, who saw her danger. Beside 
her stood a muleteer, who had drawn up his mule 



300 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



and cart close beside the footway for safety; she 
made one effort to reach it, but her outstretched 
arms alone moved, and, paralyzed by terror, she 
sank motionless upon the jjavement. There was 
but one course open to me now; so, collecting 
myself for the effort, I threw my horse upon his 
haunches, and then, dashing the spurs into his 
flanks, breasted him at the mule cart. With one 
spring he rose, and cleared it at a bound, while 
the very air rang with the acclamations of the 
multitude, and a thousand bravos saluted me as 
I alighted upon the opposite side. 

'■ Well done, O'Malley!" sang out the little 
adjutant, as I flew past, and pulled up in the 
middle of the Plaza. 

"Something devilish like Galway in that leap," 
said a very musical voice beside me; at the same 
instant a tall, soldier-like man, in an undress 
dragoon frock, touched his cap, and said, "A 
Fourteenth man, I perceive, sir. May I intro- 
duce myself? — Major O'Shaughnessy." 

I bowed and shook the major's proffered hand, 
while he continued: 

"Old Monsoon mentioned your name to us 
this morning. You came out together, if I mis- 
take not?" 

"Yes; but, somehow, I've missed the major 
since my landing." 

"Oh, you'll see him presently; he'll be on pa- 
rade. By-the-by, he wishes particularly to meet 
you. We dine to-day at the ' Quai de Sodri,' and 

if you're not engaged yes, this is the person," 

said he, turning at the moment towards a ser- 
vant, who, with a card in his hand, seemed to 
searcli for some one in the crowd. 

The man approached and handed it to me. 

" What can this mean?" said I. " Don Eman- 
uel de Blacas y Silviero, Rua Nuova." 

" VVhy, that's the great Portuguese contractor, 
the intendant of half the army, the richest fel- 
low in Lisbon. Have you known him long?" 

" Never heard of him till now." 

" By Jove! you're in luck. No man gives 
such dinners; he has such a cellar. I'll wager a 
fifty it was his daughter you took in the flying 
leap a while ago. I hear she is a beautiful 
creature." 

"Yes," thought I, "that must be it; and yet, 
strange enough, I think the name and address 
are familiar to me." 

" Ten to one, you've heard Monsoon speak of 
him; he's most intimate there. But here comes 
the major." 

And, as he spoke, the illustrious commissarv 
came forward, holding a vast bundle of papers 
in one hand, and his snuff-box in the other, fol- 
lowed by a long string of clerks, contractors, 
assistant-surgeons, paymasters, etc., all eagerlv 
pressing forward to be heard. 

" It's quite impossible; I can't do it to-day. 
Victualling and physicking are very good things, 
but must be done in season. I have been up all 
night at the ^''counts — haven't I, O'Malley?" — 
here he win! ed at me most significantly; — "and 
then I have luc orage and stoppage fund to look 
through (we dine at six, sharp," said ne, sotto 
voce), "which will leave me without one minute 
unoccupied for the next twenty-four hours. Look 



to your toggery this evening; I've somelhins in 
my eye for you, O'Malley." 

"Officers unattached to their several corps will 
fall into the middle of the Plaza," said a deep 
voice among the crowd; and, in obedience to 
the order, I rode forward and placed myself with 
a number of others, apparently newly joined, in 
the open square. A short, grey-haired old 
colonel, with a dark, eagle look, proceeded to 
inspect us, reading from a paper as he came 
along: 

"Mr. Hepton, 6th Foot; commission bearing 
date nth January; drilled, proceed to Ovar, and 
join his regiment. 

" Mr. Gronow, Fusilier Guards, remains with 
the depot. 

"Captain Mortimer, ist Dragoons; appointed 
aide-de-camp to the general commanding the cav- 
alry brigade. 

" Mr. Sparks — where is Mr. Sparks? Mr. 
Sparks absent from parade; make a note of it. 

"Mr. O'Malley, 14th Light Dragoons. Mr. 
O'Malley — oh, I remember; 1 have received a let- 
ter from Sir George Dashwood concerning vou. 
You will hold yourself in readiness to march. 
Your friends desire that, before you may obtain 
any staff appointment, you shall have the opjior- 
tunity of seeing soine service. And I to under- 
stand such is your wish?" 

" Most certainly." 

" May I have the pleasure of your company at 
dinner to-day?" 

" I regret that I have already accepted an in- 
vitation to dine with Major Monsoon." 

"With Major Monsoon? ah, indeed! Perhaps 

it might be as well I should mention But no 

matter. I wish you good-morning." 

So saying, the little colonel rode off, leaving 
me to sujjpose that my dinner engagement had not 
raised me in his estimation, though why, I could 
not exactly determine. 



CHAPTER XXXVin. 



THE RUA NUOVA. 



Our dinner was a long and uninteresting one, 
and, as 1 found that the major was likely to pre- 
fer his seat, as chairman of the party, to the 
seductions of ladies' society, I took the first op- 
portunity of escaping, and left the room. 

It was a rich, moonlight night, as I found my- 
self in the street. My way, which led along the 
banks of the Tagus, was almost as light as in day- 
time, and crowded with walking parties, who 
sauntered carelessly along, in the enjoyment of 
the cool, refreshing night air. On inquiring, I 
discovered that the Rua Nuova was at the ex- 
tremity of the city; but, as the road led along by 
the river, I did not regret the distance, but walked 
on with increasing pleasure at the charms of so 
heavenlv a climate and country 

After three-quarters of an hour's walk, the streets 
became by degrees less and less crowded. .A 
solitary party passed me now and then: the buzz 
of distant voices succeeded to the gay laughter 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



301 



and merry tones of the passing groups, and, at 
length, my own footsteps alone awoke the echoes 
along the deserted pathway. I stopped every 
now and then to gaze upon the tranquil river, 
whose eddies were circling in the pale silver of 
the moonlight. I listened with attentive ear, as 
the night breeze wafted to me the far-off sounds 
of a guitar, and the deep tones of some lover's 
serenade: while again the tender warbling of the 
nightingale came borne across the stream, on a 
wind rich with the odor of the orange-tree. 

As thus I lingered on my way, the time stole 
on; and it was near midnight ere I had roused 
myself from the reverie surrounding objects had 
thrown about me. I stopped suddenly, and for 
some minutes I struggled with myself to discover 
if I was really awake. As I walked along, lost in 
my reflections, I had entered a little garden be- 
side the river; fragrant plants and lovely flowers 
bloomed on every side; the orange, the camelia, 
the cactus, and the rich laurel of Portugal were 
blending their green and golden hues around me, 
while the very air was filled with delicious music. 
" Was it a dream? Could such ecstasy be real ?" 
I asked myself, as the rich notes swelled upwards 
in their strength, and sank in soft cadence to 
■ tones of melting harmony, now burs1:ing forth in 
the full force of gladness, the voices blended to- 
gether in one stream of mellow music, and, sud- 
denly ceasing, the soft but thrilling shake of a 
female voice rose upon the air, and, in its plain- 
tive beauty, stirred the very heart! The proud 
tramp of martial music succeeded to the low wail- 
ing cry of agony; then came the crash of battle, 
the ciang of steel; — the thunder of the fight rolled 
on in all its majesty, increasing in its maddening 
excitement till it ended in one loud shout of vic- 
tory. 

All was still ; not a breath moved, not a leaf 
stirred, and again I was relapsing into my dreamy 
scepticism, when again the notes swelled upwards 
in concert. But now their accents were changed, 
and, in low, subdued tones, faintly and slowly 
uttered, the prayer of thanksgiving rose to heaven, 
and spoke their gratefulness. I almost fell upon 
my knees, and already the tears filled my eyes as 
I drank in the sounds. My heart was full to 
bursting, and even now as I write it, my pulse 
throbs as I remember the hymn of the Aben- 
cerrages. 

When I rallied from my trance of excited 
pleasure, my first thought was — where was I, and 
how came I there? Before I could resolve my 
doubt upon the question, my attention was turned 
in another direction, for close beside me the 
branches moved forward, and a pair of arms 
were thrown around my neck, while a delicious 
voice cried out, in an accent of childish delight, 
" Trovado!" At the same instant a lovely head 
sank upon my shoulder, covering it with tresses 
of long brown hair. The arms pressed me still 
more closely, till I felt her very heart beating 
against my side. 

^^ Miofradrc" said a soft, trembling voice, as 
her fingers played in my hair and patted my tem- 
ples. 

What a situation mine! I well knew that some 
mistaken identity had been the cause ; but, still, 



I could not repress my inclination to return the 
embrace, as I pressed my lips upon the fair fore- 
head that leaned upon my bosom ; at the same 
moment, she threw back her head, as if to look 
me more fully in the face. One glance sufficed ; 
blushing deeply over her cheeks and neck, she 
sprang from my arms, and, uttering a famt cry, 
staggered against a tree. In an instant I saw it 
was the lovely girl I had met in the morning; and 
without losing a second, I poured out apologies 
for my intrusion with all the eloquence I was 
master of, till she suddenly interru])ted me by 
asking if I spoke French. Scarcely had I recom- 
menced my excuses in that language, when a 
third party appeared upon the stage. This was 
a short, elderly man, in a green uniform, with 
several decorations upon his breast, and a cocked 
hat, with a most flowing plume, in his right hand. 

" May I beg to know whom I have the lionorof 
receiving ?" inquired lie, in very excellent English, 
as he advanced with a look of very ceremonious 
and distant politeness. 

I immediately explained that, presuming upon 
the card which his servant had presented me, I 
had resolved on paying my res])ects, when a mis- 
take had led me accidentally into his garden. 

My apologies had not come to an end, when he 
folded me in his arms and overwhelmed me with 
thanks, at the same time saying a few words in 
Portuguese to his daughter; she stooped down, 
and taking my hand gently within her own; 
touched it with her lips. 

This piece of touching courtesy — which I 
afterwards found meant little or nothing — affect- 
ed me deeply at the time, and I felt the blood 
rush to my face and forehead, half in pride, half 
in a sense of shame. My confusion was, however, 
of short duration, for, taking my arm, the old 
gentleman led me along a few paces, and turning 
round a small clump of olives, entered a little 
summer-house. Here a considerable party were 
assembled, which for their picturesque effect 
could scarcely have been better mar.aged on the 
stage. 

Beneath the mild lustre of a large lamp of 
stained glass, half hid in the over-hanging boughs, 
was spread a table covered with vessels of gold 
and silver plate of gorgeous richness; drinking 
cups and goblets of antique pattern shone among 
cups of Sevres china or Venetian glass; delicious 
fruit, looking a thousand times more tempting 
for being contained in baskets of silver foliage, 
peeped from amid a ])rofusion of fresh flowers, 
whose odor was continually shed around by a 
slight ji't d'eati that played among the leaves. 
Around, upon the grass, seated upon cushions or 
reclining on Genoa carpets, were several beauti- 
ful girls, in most becoming costumes, their dark 
locks and darker eyes speaking of ." the soft 
south," while their expressive gestures and ani- 
mated looks betokened a race whose temperament 
is glowing as their clime. There were several 
men also, the greater number of whom appeared 
in uniform — bronzed, soldier-like fellovvs, who 
had the jaunty air and easy carviage of their call- 
ing — among whom was one Englishman, or at 
least so I guessed from his wearing the uniform 
of a heavy dragoon regiment. 



302 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



" This is my daughter's fete" said Don 
Emanuel, as he ushered me into the assembly— 
" her birtiiday; a sad day it might have been for 
us, had it not been for your courage and fore- 
thought." So saying, he commenced a recital of 
my adventure to the bystanders, who overwhelmed 
me with civil speeches and a shower of soft looks 
that completed the fascination of the fairy scene. 
Meanwhile, the fair Inez had made room for me 
beside her, and I found myself at once the lion 
of the party, each vying with her neighbor who 
should show me most attention, la Senhora her- 
self directing her conversation exclusively to me; 
a circumstance which, considering the awkward- 
ness of our first meeting, I felt no small surprise 
at, and which led me, somewhat maliciously I 
confess, to maki a half allusion to it, feeling 
some interest in ascertaining for whom the flatter- 
ing reception was really intended. 

" I thought you were Charles," said she, blush- 
ing in answer to my question. 

"And you were right," said I, "I am 
Charles." 

"Nay, but I meant /;y Charles." 

There was something of touching softness in 
the tones of these few words that made me half 
wish I were her Charles. Whether my look evinced 
as much or not I cannot tell, but she speedily 
added: 

" He is my brother; he is a captam in the 
ca(adores, and I expected him here this evening. 
Some one saw a figure pass the gate and conceal 
himself in the trees, and I am sure it was he." 

" What a disappointment!" said I. 

"Yes; was it not.'" said she, hurriedly; and 
then, as if remembering how ungracious was the 
speech, she blushed more deeply and hung down 
her head. 

Just at this moment, as I looked up, I caught 
the eye of the English officer fixed steadfastly 
upon me. He was a tall, fine-looking fellow, of 
about two or three and thirty, with marked and 
handsome features, which, however, conveyed an 
expression of something sneering and sinister, that 
struck me the moment 1 saw him. His glass was 
fixed in his eye, and I perceived that lie regarded 
us both with a look of no common interest. My 
attention did not, however, dwell long upon the 
circumstance, for Don Emanuel, coming behind 
my shoulder, asked me if I would not take out 
his daughter in the bolero they were just form- 
ing. 

To my shame I was obliged to confess that I 
had not even seen the dance; and, while 1 con- 
tinued to express my resolve to correct the er- 
rors of my education, the Englishman came up 
and asked the senhora to be his partner. This 
put the very keystone upon my annoyance, and I 
half turned angrily away from the spot, when I 
heard her decline his invitation, and avow her de- 
termination not to dance. 

There was something which pleased me so 
much at this refusal, that I could not help turn- 
ing upon her a look of most grateful acknowl- 
edgement; but, as I did so, I once more encoun- 
tered the gaze of the Englishman, whose knitted! 
blows and compressed lips were bent upon me in 
a manner there was no mistaking. 'I'his was nei- 1 



ther the fitting time nor place to seek any expla- 
nation of the circumstance; so, wisely resolving 
to wait a better occasion, I turned away and 
resumed my attentions towards my fair com- 
panion. 

"Then you don't care for the bolero?" said I, 
as she re-seated herself upon the grass. 

" Oh! I delight in it," said she, enthusiastic- / 
ally. 

" But you refused to dance?" 

She hesitated, blushed, tried to mutter some- \ 
thing, and was silent. 

" I had determined to learn it," said I, half 
jeeringly; "but, if you will not dance with 
me " 

" Yes; that I will — indeed I will." 

"But you declined my countryman. Is it be- 
cause he is inexpert?" 

The senhora hesitated; looked confused for 
some minutes; at length, coloring slightly, she 
said, " I have already made one rude speech to 
you this evening; I fear lest I should make a 
second. Tell me, is Captain Trevyllian your 
friend ?" 

"If you mean that gentleman yonder, I never 
saw him before." 

" Nor heard of him?" 

" Nor that, either. We are total strangers to 
each other." 

" Well, then, I may confess it. I do not like 
him. My father prefers him to any one else, in- 
vites him daily here, and, in fact, installs him as 
his first favorite. But still, T cannot like him; 
and yet I have done mv best to do so." 

" Indeed!" said I, pointedly. "What are his 
chief demerits? Is he not agreeable? is he not 
clever?" 

"Oh! on the contrary, most agreeable; fascin- 
ating, I should say, in conversation; has trav- 
elled; seen a great deal of the world; is very ac- 
comi)lished, and has distinguished himself on sev- 
eral occasions; he wears, as you see, a Portu- 
guese order." 

"And, with all that " 

"And with all that, I cannot bear him. He is 
a duellist, a notorious duellist. My brother, too, 
knows more of him, and avoids him. But let us 
not speak further: I see his eyes are again fixed 
on us; and, somehow, I fear him, without well 
knowing wherefore." 

A movement among the party; shawls and 
mantillas were sought for on all sides; and the 
preparations for leave-taking appeared general. 
Before, however, I had time to express my thanks 
for my hospitable reception, ihe guests had as- 
sembled in a circle around the senhora, and, 
toasting her with a parting bumper, they com- 
menced in concert a little Portuguese song of 
farewell, each verse concluding with a good- 
night! which, as they separated and held their 
way homewards, might now and then be heard, 
rising upon the breeze, and wafting their last 
thoughts back to her. The concluding verse, 
which struck me much, I have essayed to trans- 
late. It ran somehow thus: 

" I'he nioiiiing hrceze.s cljill 

Now clo.sc uur joyous scene, 
Antl jci we linger .still, 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



303 



AVhere we've- so happy been. 
How blest were-it.to live 

"With hearts like ours so light, 
And only part to give 

One long and last good-night! 

Good-night!" 

With many an invitation to renew my visit, 
most kindly preferred by Don Emanuel, and 
warmly seconded by his daughter, I, too, wished 
my good-night! and turned my steps homeward. 



CHAPTER XXXIX. 



THE VILLA. 



The first object that presented itself to my eye, 
the next morning, was the midshipman's packet, 
entrusted to my care by Power. I turned it over 
to read the address more carefully, and what was 
my surprise to find that the name was tliat of my 
fair friend. Donna Inez! 

"This certainly thickens the plot," thought I; 
" and so I have now fallen upon the real Simon 
Pure, and the reefer has had the good fortune to 
distance the dragoon. Well, thus far, I cannot 
say that I regret it. Now, however, for the pa- 
rade, and then for the villa." 

" I say, O'Malley," cried out Monsoon, as I 
appeared on the Plaza, " I have accepted an invi- 
tation for you to-day. We dine across the river. 
Be at my quarters a little before si,x, and we'll go 
together." 

I should rather have declined the invitation, 
but, not well knowing why, and having no ready 
excuse, acceded, and promised to be punctual. 

"You were at Don Emanuel's last night; I 
heard of you!" 

" Yes; I spent a most delightful evening." 

"That's your ground, my boy; a million of 
moidores, and such a campagna in Valencia; a 
better thing than the Dalrymple affair. Don't 
blush. I know it all. But stay; liere they come." 

As he spoke, the general commanding, with a 
numerous staff, rode forward. As they passed, I 
recognized a face which I had certainly seen be- 
fore, and in a moment remembered it was that of 
the dragoon of the evening before. He passed 
quite close, and fixing his eyes steadfastly on me, 
evinced no sign of recognition. 

The parad • lasted above two hours, and it was 
with a feeling of impatience I mounted a fresh 
horse to canter out to the villa. When I arrived, 
the servant informed me that Don Emanuel was 
in the city, but that the senhora was in the gar- 
den, offering, at the same time, to escort me. 
Declining this honor, I entrusted my horse to his 
keeping and took my way towards the arbor 
where last 1 had seen her. 

I had not walked many paces, when the sound 
ot a guitar struck on my ear. I listened. It was 
the senhor^'s voice. She was singing a Venetian 
canzonetta in a low, soft, warbling tone, as one 
lost in a reverie; as though the music was a mere 
accoiTipaniment to some yileasant thought. I 
peeped through the dense leaves, and there she 
sat upon a low garden seat; an open book on the 
rustic table before her, beside her, embroidery, 



which seemed only lately abandoned. As I looked, 
she placed her guitar upon the ground, and began 
to play with a small spaniel, that seemed to have 
waited with impatience for some testimony of 
favor A. moment more, and she grew weary of 
this; then, heaving a long but genile sigh, leaned 
back upon her chair, and seemed lost in thought. 
I now had ample time to regard her, and, cer- 
tainly, never beheld anything more lovely. There 
was a character of classic beauty, and her brow, 
though fair and ample, was still strongly marked 
upon the temples; the eyes, being deep and 
squarely set, imparted a look of intensity to her 
features which their own softness alone subdued, 
while the short upper lip, which trembled with 
every passing thought, spoke of a nature tender 
and impressionable, and yet impassioned. Her 
foot and ankle peeped from beneath her dark 
robe, and certainly nothing could be more fault- 
less; while her hand, fair as marble, blue-veir.ed 
and dimpled, played amid the long tresses of her 
hair, that, as if in the wantonness of beauty, fell 
carelessly upon her shoulders. 

It was some time before I could tear myself 
away from the fascination of so much beauty, and 
it needed no common effort to leave the spot. As 
I made a short (UHoiir in the garden before ap- 
proaching the arbor, she saw me as I came 
forward, and, kissing her hand gayly, made room 
for me beside her. 

"I have been fortunate in finding you alone, 
senhora," said I, as I seated myself by her side, 
" for I am the bearer of a letter to you. How 
far it may interest you I know not, but to the 
writer's feelings I am bound to testify." 

"A letter to me? you jest surely?" 

"That I am in earnest, this will show," said I, 
producing the packet. 

She took it from my hands, turned it about 
and about, examined the seal, while, half doubt- 
ingly, she said: 

"The name is mine; but still " 

"You fear to open it: is it not so? But, after 
all, you need not Le surprised if it's from Howard; 
that's his name, I think." 

"Howard! from little Howard!" exclaimed she, 
enthusiastically; and, tearing open the letter, slie 
pressed it to her lips, her eyes sparkling with 
pleasure, and her cheeks glowing as she read. I 
watched her as she ran rapidly over the lines; 
and I confess that, more than on<e, a pang of dis- 
content shot through my heart that the midship- 
man's letter could call up such interest; not that 
I was in love with her myself, but vet, I know 
not how it was, I had fancied her affections un- 
engaged, and, without asking myself wherefore, I 
wished as much. 

" Poor, dear boy!" said she, as she came to the 
end. 

How these few and simple words sank into my 
heart as 1 remembered how they had once been 
uttered to myself, and in perhaps no very dissim- 
ilar circumstances. 

" But where is the souvenir he speaks of?" said 
she. 

"The souvenir. I'm not aware " 

"Oh, I hope you have not lost the lock of hair 
he sent me!" 



304 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



I was quite dumbfounded at this, and could 
not remember whether i had received it from 
Power or not; so answered, at random, 

"Yes; I must have left it on my table." 

" Promise me, then, to bring it to-morrow with 
you?" 

"Certainly," said I, with something of pique in 
my manner. "If I find such a means of making 
my visit an agreeable one, I shall certainly not 
omit it." 

"You are quite right," said she, either not 
noticing, or not caring for the tone of my reply; 
"you will, indeed, be a welcome messenger. Do 
you know he was one of my lovers?" 

" One of them! Indeedl Then pray how many 
do you number at this moment?" 

"What a question! as if I could possibly count 
them. Besides, there are so many absent; some 
on leave, some deserters, perhaps, that I might be 
reckoning among my troops, but vvho, possibly, 
form part of the forces of the enemy. Do you 
know little Howard ?" 

" I cannot say that we are personally acquainted, 
hut I am enabled, through the medium of a friend, 
to say that his sentiments are not strange to me. 
P«esides, I have really pledged myself to support 
the prayer of his petition." 

" How very good of you! For which reason 
you've forgotten, if not lost, the lock of hair." 

" That you shall have to-morrow," said I, press- 
ing my hand solemnly to my heart. 

"Well, then, don't forget it. But hush; here 
comes Captain Trevyllian. So you say Lisbon 
really pleases you?" said she, in a tone of voice 
totally changed, as the dragoon of the preceding 
evening approached. 

"Mr. O'Malley, Captain Trevyllian." 

We bowed stiffly and haughtily to each other, 
as two men salute who are unavoidably obliged 
to bow, with every wish on either side to avoid 
acquaintance. So, at least, I construed his bow; 
so I certainly intended my own. 

It requires' no common tact to give conversa- 
tion the appearance of unconstraint and ease when 
it is evident that each person opposite is labormg 
under excited feelings; so that, notwithstanding 
the senhora's efforts to engage our attention by 
the commonplaces of the day, we remained 
almost silent, and after a few observations of no 
interest, took our several leaves. Here again a 
new source of awkwardness arose; for, as we 
walked together towards the house, where our 
horses stood, neither party seemed disposed to 
speak. 

"You are probably returning to Lisbon?" said 
he, coldly. 

I assented by a bow; upon which, drawing his 
bridle within his arm, he bowed once more, and 
turned away in an opposite direction; while I, 
glad to be relieved of an unsought-for companion- 
ship, returned alone to the town. 



CHAPTER XL. 

THE DINNER. 

It was with no peculiar pleasure that I dressed 



for our dinner party. Major O'Shaughnessy, our 
host, was one of that class of my countrymen I 
cared least for — ^ riotous, good-natured, noisy, 
loud-swearing, punch-drinking western; full of 
stories of impossible fox hunts, and unimaginable 
duels, which all were acled either by himself or 
some member of his family. The coni[>any con- 
sisted of the adjutant, Monsoon, Ferguson, 
Trevyllian, and some eight or ten cfficers with 
whom I was unacquainted. As is usual on such 
occasions, the wine circulated freely, and, amid 
the din and clamor of excited conversation, the 
fumes of Burgundy, and the vajior of cigar 
smoke, we most of us became speedily mystified. 
As for rne, my evil destiny would have it that I 
was placed exactly opposite Trevyllian, with 
whom, upon more than one occasion,! happened 
to differ in opinion, and the question was in itself 
some trivial and unimportant one; yet the tone 
which he assumed, and of which I, too, could 
not divest myself in reply, boded anything rather 
than an amicable feeling between us. The 
noise and turmoil about prevented the others 
remarking the circumstances; but I could per- 
ceive in his manner what 1 deemed a studied de- 
termination to promote a quarrel, while I felt 
within myself a most unchristian-like desire to 
indulge his fancy. 

" Worse fellows at passing the bottle than 
Trevyllian and O'Malley, there, I have rarely 
sojourned with," cried the major; " look if they 
haven't got eight decanters between them, and 
here we are in a state of African thirst!" 

" How can you expect him to think of thirst 
when sucii perfumed billets as that come showering 
upon him?" said the adjutant, alluding to a rose- 
colored epistle a servant had placed within my 
hands. 

" Eight miles of a stone-wall country in fifteen 
minutes! — devil a lie in it!" said O'Shaughnessy, 
striking the table with his clenched fist; "show 
me the man would deny it!" 

"Why, my dear fellow " 

" Don't be dearing me. Is it no you'll be say- 
ing to me?" 

"Listen, now; there's O'Reillv, there " 

"Where is he?" 

" He's under the table!" 

" Well, it's the same thing. His mother had a 
fox — bad luck to you, don't scald me with the 
jug! — his mother had a fox-cover in Shinrohan." 

When O'Shaughnessy had got thus far in his 
narrative, I had the opportunity of opening my 
note, which merely contained the following 
words: "Come to the ball at the Casino, and 
bring the cadeau you promised." 

I had scarcely read this over once, when a 
roar of laughter at something said attracted my 
attention. I looked up, and perceived Trevyl- 
lian 's eyes bent upon me with the fierceness of a 
tiger; the veins in his forehead were swollen and 
distorted, and the whole expression of his face 
betokened rage and passion. Re;-ol\"ed no 
longer to submit to such evident determination 
to insult, I was rising from mv place at table, 
when, as if anticipating my intention, he pushed 
back his chair, and left the room. Fearful of at- 
tracting attention by immediately following him, 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



805 



I affected to join in the conversation around me, 
while my temples throbbed, and my hands tingled 
with impat ence to get away. 

"Poor M'Manus!" said O'Shaiighnessy. "rest 
his soul! he'd have puzzled the bench of bishojis 
tor hard words. Upon mv conscience, I believe 
he spent his mornings looking for them in the 
Old Testament. Sure ye niif^ht have heard what 
happened to him at Banagher, when he com- 
manded the Killkennys, — ye never heard the 
story? well, then, ye shall. Push the sherry 
along first, though — old Monsoon, there, always 
keeps it lingering beside his left- arm! 

" Well, when Peter was lieutenant-colo'nel of the 
Killkennys — -who, I may remark, en passant, as 
the French say, were the seediest-looking devils 
in the whole service — he never let them alone 
from morning till night, drilling and pipe-clay- 
ing, and polishing them up. ' Nothing will make 
soldiers of you,' said Peter; 'but, by the rock of 
Cashel, I'll keep you as clean as anew musket!' 
Now, poor Peter himself was not a very warlike 
figure; he measured five feet one in his tallest 
boots; but certainly, if Nature denied him 
length of stature, she compensated for it in an- 
other way, by giving him a taste for the longest 
words in the language. An e.xtra syllable or so 
in a word was always a strong recommendation; 
and, whenever he could not find one to his 
mind, he'd take some quaint, outlandish one, that 
more than once led to very awkward results. 
Well, the regiment was one day drawn up for 
parade in the town of Banagher, and as M'Manus 
came down the lines, he stopped opposite one of 
til:; men, whose face, hands, and accoutrements 
exhibited a most woful contempt of his orders. 
The fellow looked more like a turf stack than a 
light-company man' 

" ' Stand out, sir!' cried M'Manus, in a boiling 
])assion. 'Sergeant O'Toole, inspect this in- 
dividual' Now, the sergeant was rather a favorite 
with Mac; for he always pretended to understand 
his phraseology, and, in consequence, was pro- 
nounced by the colonel a very superior man for 
his station in life. 'Sergeant.' said he, 'we shall 
make an e.xemplary illustration of our system 
here!' 

"'Yes, sir,' said the sergeant, sorely puzzled 
at the meaning of what he spoke. 

'"Bear him to the Shannon, and lave him 
there!' This he said in a kind of Coriolanus tone, 
with a toss up of his head, and a wave of his right 
arm, signs, whenever he made them, incontestably 
showing that further parley was out of the ques- 
tion, and that he had summed up, and charged the 
] try for good and all. 

"'Zrti'c him in the river?' said O'Toole, his 
syes starting from the sockets, and his whole face 
working in strong anxiety; 'is it lave him in the 
river, yer honor means?' 

'"I have spoken!' said the little man, bending 
an ominous frown upon the sergeant which, what- 
ever construction he might have put upon his 
words, there was no mistaking. 

Well, well, av it's God's will he's drowned, 
it will not be on mv head,' savs O'Toole, as he 
niarchcd the fellow away, between two rank and 
file. 



" The parade was nearly over, wh.en Mac hao- 
pened to see the sergeant coming up, all splashed 
with water, and looking quite tired. 

" ' Have you obeyed my orders?' said he. 

"'Yes, yer honor; and tough work we had of 
it, tor he struggled hard !' 

" ' .'Vnd where is he now?' 

" ' Oh, troth, he's there safe! Divil a fear he'll 
get out'' 

"'Where?' said Mac. 

" ' In the river, yer honor.' 

" ' What have you done, you scoundrfl ?' 

"' Didn't I do as you bid me?' says he; didn't 
I throw him in, and lave (leave) him there?' 

" And faith so they did; and if he wasn't a 
good swimmer, and got over to Moystown, there's 
little doubt but he'd have been drowned, and all 
because Peter M' Manus could not express him- 
self like a Christian." 

In the laughter which followed O'Shaughnessy's 
story, I took the opportunity of making my escape 
from the party, and succeeded in gaining the 
street unobserved. Though the note I had just 
read was not signed, I had no doubt from whom 
it came; so I hastened at once to my quarters, to 
make search for the lock of Ned Howard's hair, 
to which the senhora alluded. What was my mor- 
tification, however, to discover that no such thing 
could be found anywhere! I searched all my 
drawers; I tossed about my papers and letters; I 
hunted every likely, every unlikely spot I could 
think of, but in vain; now cursing my carelessness 
for having lost it; now swearing most solemnly to 
myself that I never could have received it. What 
was to be done? It was already late; my only 
thought was how to replace it. If I only knew 
the color, any other lock of hair would, doubtless, 
do just as well. The chances were, as Howard 
was young, and an Englishman, that his hair was 
light; light-brown, probably; something like my 
own. Of course it was! why didn't that thought 
occur to me before? How stupid I was. So say- 
ing, I seized a pair of scissors, and cut a long 
lock beside my temple; this, in a calm moment, I 
might have hesitated about. " Yes," thought I, 
"she'll never discover the cheat; and, besides, I 
do feel — I know not exactly why — rather gratified 
to think that I shall have left this souvenir behind 
me, even though it call up other recollections than 
of me." So thinking, I wrapped my cloak about 
me, and hastened towards the Casino. 



CHAPTER XLI. 



THE ROUTE. 



I H.^n scarcely gone a hundred yards from my 
quarters, when a great tramp of horses' feet at- 
tracted my attention. I stopped to listen, and 
soon heard the jingle of dragoon accoutrements, 
as the noise came nearer. The night was dark, 
but perfectly still; and before I stood many 
minutes I heard the tones of a voice which I well 
knew could belong to but one, and. that, Fred 
Power. 



306 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



"Fred Power!" said I, shouting at. tlie same 
time at the top of my voice — " Power!" 

" Ah, Charley, is that you? come along to the 
adjutant-general's quarters. I'm charged with 
some important despatches, and can't stop till I've 
delivered them. Come along, I've glorious news 
for you!" So saying, he dashed spurs to his 
horse, and followed by two mounted dragoons, 
galloped past. Power's few and hurried words 
had so excited my curiosity, that I turned at 
once to follow him, questioning myself, as I 
walked along, to what he could possibly allude. 
He knew of my attachment to Lucy Dash wood — 
could he mean anything of her? But what could 
I expect there! by what flattery could I picture 
to myself any chance of success in that quarter? 
and yet, what other news could I care for or value, 
than what bore upon her fate upon whom my 
own depended ? Thus ruminating, I reached the 
door of the spacious building in which the adju- 
tant-general had taken uo his abode, and soon 
found myself among a crowd of persons whom the 
rumor of some important event had assembled 
there, though no one could tell what had occurred. 
Before many minutes the door opened, and Power 
came out; bowing hurriedly to a few, and whis- 
pering a word or two as he passed down the 
steps, he seized me by the arm and led me across 
the street. "Charley," said he, "the curtain's 
rising; the piece is about to begin; a new com- 
mander-in-chief is sent out; Sir Arthur Welleslcy, 
my boy, the finest fellow in England, is to head 
us on, and we march to-morrow. There's news 
for you!" A raw boy, unread, uninformed as I 
was, I knew but little of his career whose name 
had even then shed such lustre upon our army; 
but the buoyant tone of Power as he s|)oke, the 
kindling energy of his voice roused me, and I felt 
every inch a soldier. As I grasped his hand, in 
delightful enthusiasm, I lost all memory of my 
disappointment, and, in the beating throb that 
shook my head, I felt how deeply slept the ardor 
of military glory that first led me from my home 
to see a battle-field. 

"There goes the news!" said Frederick, point- 
ing, as he spoke, to a rocket that shot up into the 
sky, and, as it broke into ten thousand stars, illu- 
minated the broad stream where the ships of war 
lay darkly resting. In another moment the whole 
air shone with similar fires, while the deep roll of 
the drum sounded along the silent streets, and 
the city, so lately sunk in sleep, became, as if by 
magic, thronged with crowds of people; the sharp 
clang of the cavalry trumpet blended with the 
gay carol of the light-infantry bugle, and the 
heavy tramp of the march was heard in the dis- 
tance. All was excitement, all bustle; but in the 
joyous tone of every voice was spoken the long- 
ing anxiety to meet the enemy; the gay, reckless 
tone of an Irish song would occasionally reach 
us, as some Connaught Ranger, or soine Seventy- 
eighth man passed, his knapsack on his back; or 
the low monotonous pibroch of the Highlander, 
swelling into a war-cry, as some kilted corps drew 
up their ranks together. We turned to regain 
our quarters, when, at the corner of a street, we 
came suddenly upon a merry partv, seated around 
a table before a little inn; a large street lamp, 



unhung for the occasion, had been placed in thC' 
midst of them, and showed us the figures of sev- 
eral soldiers in undress; at the end, and, raised a 
little above his compeers, sat one whom, by the 
unfair proportion he assumed of the conversa- 
tion, not less than by the musical intonation of 
his voice, I soon recognized as my man, Mickey 
Free. 

"I'll be hanged if that's not your fellow there, 
Charley," said Power, as he came to a dead stop 
a few yards off. " What an impertinent varlet he 
is; only to think of him there, presiding among 
a set of fellows that have fought all the battles in 
the Peninsular war. At this moment, I'll be 
hanged, if he is not going to sing." 

Here a tremendous thumping upon the table 
announced the fact, and after a few preliminary 
observations from Mike, illustrative of his respect 
to the service in which he had so often distin- 
guished himself, he began, to the air of the " Young 
May Moon," a ditty of which I only recollect the, 
following verses-. 

" The pickets are fast retreating, boys. 
The last talloo is beating, boys; 

.So let every man 

Finish his can. 
And drink to our next merry meeting, boys! 

" The colonel .so gayly prancing, boys. 
Has a wonderful trick of advancing, boys; 

When he sings out so large, 

' Fix bayonets and charge,' 
He sets all the Frenchmen a dancing, boys 

" Let IMounseer look ever so big, my boys, 
\Vho cares for fighting a fig, my boys? 

When we play (jarryowen, 

}le\\ rather go home; 
For somehow, he's no taste for a jig, my boys!" 

This admirable lyric seemed to have a perfect 
success, if one were only to judge from tlie thun- 
dering of voices, hands, and drinking vessels which 
followed; while a venerable grey-haired sergeant 
rose to propose Mr. Free's health, and sjieedy pro- 
motion to him. 

We stood for several minutes in admiration of 
the party; when the loud roll of the drums beat- 
ing to arms awakened us to the thotight that our 
moments were numbered. 

" Good-night, Charley !" said Power, as he shook 
my hand warmly, "good-night! It will be your 
last night under a curtain for some months to 
come; make the most of it. Adieu!" 

So saying, we parted; he to his quarters, and 
I to all the confusion of my baggage, which lay 
in most admired disorder about my room. 



CHAPTER XLIL 



THE FAREWELL. 



The preparations for the march occupied me till 
near morning; and, indeed, had I been disposed 
to sleep, the din and clamor of the world with- 
out would have totally prevented it. Before day- 
break the advanced guard was already in motion, 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



307 



and some squadrons of heavy cavalry had begun 
thuir march. 

I looked around my now dismantled room as one 
does usually for the last time ere leaving, and be- 
thouglu me if I had not forgotten anything. Ap- 
parentlv all was remembered; but stay — what is 
this? To be sure, how forgetful I had become! 
It was the packtt I destined for Donna Inez, and 
which, in the confusion of the night before, I 
had omitted to bring to the Casino. 

I immediately despatched Mike to the com- 
missary, with my luggige, and orders to ascertain 
when we were expected to march. He soon re- 
turned, with the intelligence that our corps was 
not to move before noon; so that I had yet some 
hours to spare, and make my adieu-^c to the 
seiihora. 

I cannot exactly e.xplain the reason, but I cer- 
tainly did bestow a more than common attention 
upon my toilette that morning. The senhora 
was nothing to me. It is true, she had, as she 
lately most candidly informed me, a score of ad- 
mirers, among whom I was not even reckoned: 
she was evidently a coquette, whose greatest 
pleasure was to sport and amuse herself with the 
passion she excited in others. And, even if she 
were not, — if her heart were to be won to-morrow, 
what claim — what right had I to seek it? My af- 
fections were already pledged; promised, it is 
true, to one who gave nothing in return, and who, 
perhaps, even loved another. Ah! there was the 
rub: that one confounded suspicion, lurking in 
the rear, chilled my courage and wounded my 
spirit. 

If there be anytliing more disheartening to an 
Irishman, in his little affaires Je caiiir, than 
another, it is tiie sense of rivalry Tlie obstinacy 
of fathers, the ill-will of mothers, the coldness, 
the indifference of the lovely object herself — ob- 
stacles though they be — he has tact, spirit, and 
perseverance to overcome them; but, when a 
'more successful candidate for the fair presents 
himself; when the eye that remains downcast at 
his suit, lights up with animation at aiiathcr's 
coming; when the features, whose cold and chill- 
ing apathy to him have blended in one smile of 
welcome to another — it is all up with him; he 
sees the game lost, and throws his cards upon the 
tible. And yet, why is this? why is it that he, 
whose birthright it would seem to be sanguine 
wlien others despond — to be confident when all 
else are hopeless — should find his courage fail 

him here? The reason is, simply But, in good 

sooth, I am ashamed to confess it! 

Having jogged on so far with my reader, in all 
the sober seriousness which the matter-of-fact mat- 
erial of these memoirs demands, I fear lest a 
seeming paradox may cause me to lose my good 
name for veracity; and that, while merely man- 
taining a national trait of my country, I may ap- 
pear to be asserting some unheard-of and ab- 
surd proposition; so far have mere vulgar pre- 
judices gone to sap our character as a people. 

The reason, then, is this — for I have gone too 
far to retreat — the Irishman is essentially bash- 
ful. Well, laugh if you wish; fori conclude that, 
by this time, you have given way to a most im- 
moderate excess of risibility; but still, when you 



have perfectly recovered your composure, I beg 
to repeat, the Irishman is essentially a bashful 
man! 

Do not, for a moment, fancy that I would ty 
this imply that, in any new or unexpected situa- 
tion — that from any unforeseen conjuncture of 
events — the Irishman would feel confused or 
abashed, more than any other; far from it. The 
cold and habitual reserve of the Englishman, the 
studied caution of the North Tweider himself, 
would exhibit far stronger evidences of awkward- 
ness in such circumstances as these. But, on the 
other hand, when measuring his capacity, his 
means of success, his probabilities of being pre- 
ferred, with those of the na'iive of any other 
country, I back the Irishman against the world 
for distrust of his own jjowers, for an under-esti- 
mate of his real merits; in one word, for his bash- 
fulness. But let us return to Donna Inez. 

As I rode up to the villa, I found the family 
assembled at breakfast. Several officers were 
also present, among whom I was not torry to 
recognize my friend Monsoon. 

"Ah, Charley!" cried he, as I seated myself 
beside him, "what a pity all our fun is so soon 
to have an end! Here's this confounded Soult 
\\on't be quiet and peaceable; but he nnisl march 
upon Oporto, and heaven knows where besides, 
just as we were really beginning to enjoy life. I 
had got such a contract for blankets! and now 
they've ordered me to join Beresford's corps in 
the mountains; and you," — here be dropped his 
voice — " and you were getting on so devilish well 
in this quarter; upon my life, I think you'd have 
carried the day; old Don Emanuel — you know 
he's a friend of mine — likes you very much. 
And then, there's Sparks^ — " 

"Ay, major, what of him? I have not seen him 
for some days." 

"Why, they've been frightening the poor devil 
out of his life, O'.Shaughnessy and a set of them. 
They tried him by court-martial yesterday, and 
sentenced him to mount guard with a wooden 
sword and a shooting jacket, which he did. Old 
Colbourne, it seems, saw him; and, faith, there 
would be the devil to pay if the route had not come. 
Some of them would certainly have got a long leave 
to see their friends." 

"Why is not the senhora here, major? I don't 
see her at table." 

"A cold; a sore throat; a wet-feet affair of last 
night, I believe. Pass that cold pie down here. 
Sherry, if you please. You didn't see Power to- 
day?" 

" No; we parted late last night; I have not been 
to bed." 

"Very bad preparation for a march; take some 
burnt brandy in your coffee." 

"Then you don't think the senhora will 
appear?" 

" Very unlikely. But stay, you know her room 
— the small drawing-room that looks out upon the 
flower-garden ; she usually passes the morning there. 
Leap the little paling round the corner, and the 
chances are ten to one you find her." 

I saw from the occupied air of Don Antonio 
that there was little fear of interruption on his 
part; so, taking an early moment to escape unob- 



308 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



served, I rose and left the room. When I sprang 
(jver the oak-fence, I found myself in a delicious 
1 ttle garden, where roses, grown to a height nexer 
seen in our colder climate, formed a deep bower 
of rich blossom. 

The in.ijor was right. The senhora was in the 
room, and in one moment I was beside he.". 

" Nothing but my fears of not bidding you fare- 
well could palliate my thus intruding, Donna Inez; 
but as we are ordered away " 

"When? not so soon, surely?" 

" Even so; to-day, this very hour. But you see 
that, even in the hurry of departure, 1 have not 
forgotten my trust; this is the package 1 promised 
you." 

So saying, I placed the paper with the lock of 
hair williin her hand, and bending downwards, 
l)ressed my lips upon her taper fingers. She hur- 
riedly snatched her hand away, and, tearing open 
the enclosure, took out the lock. She looked 
steadily for a moment at it, then at me, and again 
at it, and, at length, bursting into a fit of laugh- 
ing, threw herself upon a chair in a very ecstasy of 
mirth. 

" Why, you don't mean to impose this auburn 
ringlet upon me for one of poor Howard's jetty 
curls? What downright folly to think of it! and 
then with how little taste the deception was prac- 
tised — upon your very temples, too! One comfort 
is, you are utterly spoiled by it." 

Here she again relapsed into a fit of laughter, 
leaving me perfectly puzzled what to think of her, 
as she resumed; 

" Well, tell me now, am I to reckon this as a 
l>ledge of your own allegiance, or am I still to 
believe it to be Edward Howard's? Speak, and 
truly." 

" Of my own, most certainly," said I, "if it will 
be accepted." 

"Why, after such treachery, perhaps it ought 
not; but, still, as you have already done your- 
self such injury, and look so very silly withal " 

"That you are even resolved to give me cause 
to look more so," added I. 

" Exactly," said she; "for here, now, I rein- 
state you among my true and faithful admirers. 
Kneel down, sir knight! in token of which you 
will wear this scarf " 

A sudden start which the donna gave at these 
words brought me to my feet. She was pale as 
death and trembling. 

"What means this?" said I. " \yhat has hap- 
jjened ?" 

She pointed with her finger towards the garden: 
bat, though her lips moved, no voice came forth. 
I sprang through the open window. I rushed into 
the copse, the only one which might afford con- 
('i."Alment for a figure, but no one was there. After 
a tew minutes' vain endeavor to discover any tr.ice 
of an intruder, I returned to the chamber. 'I'he 
donna was there sti'l; but how changed! hergayetv 
a. id animation were gone, her pale cheek and trem- 
bling lip bespoke fear and suffering, and her cold 
hand lay heavily beside her. 

"I thought — perhaps it was merely fancy — but 
I thought I saw Trevyllian beside the window." 

" Impossible!" said I. "I have searched every 
walk and alley. It was nothing but imagination 



— believe me, no more. There, be assured; think 
no more of it." 

While I endeavored thus to reassure her, I wa-. 
very far from feeling perfectly at ease myself; 
the whole bearing and conduct of this man had 
inspired me with a growing dislike of him, and I 
felt already half convinced that he had established 
himself as a spy upon my actions. 

"Then you really believe I was mistaken'" said 
the donna, as she placed her hand within mine. 

" Of course I do; but speak no more of it. You 
must not forget how few my moments are here. 
Already I have heard the tramp of horses with- 
out, ah! there they are; in a moment more I shall 
be missed; so, once more, fairest Inez — Nay, I 
beg pardon if J have dared to call you thus, but, 
think, if it be the first, it may also be the last time 
I shall ever speak it." 

Her head gently drooped as I said these words, 
till it sunk upon my shoulder, her long and heavy 
hair falling upon my neck, and across my bosom. 
I felt her heart almost beat against my side; I 
muttered some words, I know not what; I felt 
them like a prayer; I pressed her cold forehead 
to my lips; rushed from the room; cleared the 
fence at a spring, and was far upon the road to 
Lisbon ere I could sufficiently collect my senses 
to know whither I was going. Of little else was 
I conscious; my mind was full to bursting, and, 
in the confusion of my excited brain, fiction and 
reality were so inextricably mingled as to defy 
every endeavor at discrimination. But little time 
had I for reflection; as I reached the city, the 
brigade to which I was attached was already 
under arms, and Mike impatiently waiting my ar- 
rival with the horses. 



CHAPTER LXIIL 



THE M.-iRCH. 



Wh.^t a strange spectacle did the road to 
Oliveira present upon the morning of the 7th of 
May! A hurried or incautious observer might, at 
first sight, liave pronounced the long line of troojis 
which wended their way through the valley as 
the remains of a broken and routed army, had 
not the ardent expression and bright eye that 
beamed on every side assured him that men who 
looked thus could not be beaten ones. Horse, 
foot, baggage, artillery, dismounted dragoons, 
even the pale and scarcelv recovered inhabitants 
of the hospital, might have been seen hurrying 
on; for the order, " Forward!" had been given at 
Lisbon, and those whose wounds did not permit 
their joining, were more pitied for their loss than 
its cause. More than one officer was seen at the 
head of his troop with an arm in a sling, or a 
bandaged forehead; while, among the men, sim- 
ilar evidences of devotion were not unfrequent. 
.As for me, long years and many reverses have 
not obliterated — scarcely blunted — the impres- 
sion that sight made on me. The splendid sper - 
tacle ' f a review had often excited and delighted 
me; but here there was the glorious reality of 
war; the bronzed faces, the worn uniforms, the 



CHARLES 0"M ALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



3U9 



well tattered flags, the roll of tlie heav\' guns 
mingling with the wild pibroch of the Highlander, 
or scarcely less wild reckltstnoss of lire Irish 
quickstep; while the long line of cavalry, their 
helmets and accoutrements siiinnig in the morn- 
ing sun, brought back one's boyish dreams of 
joust and tournament, and made the heart beat 
high with chivalrous enthusiasm. 

" Yes," said I, half aloud, " this is indeed a 
realization of what I longed and thirsted for," the 
clang of the music and the tramp of cavalry re- 
sponding to my throbbing pulses as we moved 
along. 

"Close up, there; trot!" cried out a deep and 
manly voice; and immediately a general officer 
rode by, followed by an aide-de-camp. 

"There goes Cotton," said Power; "you may 
feel easy in your mind now, Charley; there's 
some work before us." 

''You have not heard our destination?" said L 

" Nothing is known for certam, yet. The re- 
port goes, that Soult is advancing upon Oporto; 
and the chances are, Sir Arthur intends to hasten 
on to its relief. Our fellows are at Ovar, wiih 
Cieneral Murray." 

" I say, Charley, old Monsoon is in a devil of a 
flurry. He expected to have been peaceably set- 
tled down in Lisbon for the ne.xt si.K months, and 
he has received orders to set out for Beresford's 
liead-(piarters immediately; and, from what I 
hear, they have no idle time." 

" Well, Sparks, how goes it, man? Better fun 
this, than the cook's galley, eh?" 

"Why, do you know, these hurried movements 
put me out confoundedly. I found Lisbon very 
interesting, the little I could see of it last night." 

" Ah! my dear fellow, think of the lovely An- 
dalusian lasses, with their brown transparent skins 
and liquid eyes; why, you'd have been over head 
and ears in love in twenty-four hours more, had 
we stayed." 

" Are they really so pretty?" 

"Pretty! — downright lovely, man. Why, they 
have a way of looking at you, over their fans — just 
one glance, short and fleeting, but so melting, by 

Jove Then their walk — it it be not profane 

to call that springing, elastic gesture by such a 
name — why, it's regular witchcraft. Sparks, my 
man, I tremble for you. Do you know, by-the- 
by, that same pace of theirs is a devilish hard 
thing to learn. I never could come it; and yet, 
somehow, I was formerly rather a crack fellow 
at. a ballet. Old Alberto used to select me for a 
pas de Z('phyr among a host; but there's a kind of 
a hop, and a slide, and a spring — in fact, you must 
have been wearing petticoats for eighteen years, 
and have an Andalusian instep, and an india- 
rubber sole to your foot, or it's no use trying it. 
How I used to make them laugh at the old San 
Josef convent, formerly, by my efforts in the 
cause!" 

" Why, how did it ever occur to you to prac- 
tise it?" 

" Many a man's legs have saved his head, 
Charley, and I put it_ to mine to do a similar 
oflfice for me." 

"True; but I never heard of a man that per- 
formed & pas seul before the enemy." 



" Not exactly; but still you're not very wide erf 
the mark. If you'll only wait till we reach Ponta- 
legue, I'll tell you the story; not that it is worth 
the delay, but talking at this brisk pace 1 don't 
admire." 

" You leave a detachment here, Captain Power," 
said an aide-de-camp, riding liastily up; "and 
General Cotton requests you will send a subaltern 
and two sergeants forward towards Berar, to 
reconnoitre the pass. Franche.sca's cavalry are 
reported in that quarter." So speaking, he dashed 
spurs to his horse, and was out of sight in an 
instant. 

Power, at the same moment, wheeled to the 
rear, from which he returned in f.n instant, ac- 
companied by three well-mounted light dragoons. 
" Sparks," said he, " now for an occasion of dis- 
tinguishing yourself. You heard the order— lose 
no time; and, as your horse is an able one, and 
fresh, lose not a second, but forward." 

No sooner was Sparks despatched on what it 
was evident he felt to be anything but a pleasant 
duty, than I turned towards Power, and said, 
with some tinge of disappointment in the tone, 
" Well, if you really felt there was anything worth 
doing there — I flattered myself — that " 

" Speak out, man. That I should have sent 
you, eh — is it not so?" 

"Yes, you've hit it." 

" Well, Charley, my peace is easily made on 
this head. Why, I selected Sparks sinqily to 
spare you one of the most unpleasant duties that 
can be imposed upon a man; a duty which, let 
him discharge it to the uttermost, will never be 
acknowledged, and the slightest failure in which 
will be remembered for many a day against hirn; 
besides the pleasant and very probable prospect 
of being selected as a bull's-eye for a French 
rifle, or carried off a prisoner; eh, Charley? there's 
no glory in that, devil a ray of it! Come, come, 
old fellow, Fred Power's not the man to keep his 
friend out of the luHe'e, if only anything can be 
made by being in it. Poor Sparks, I'd swear, is as 
little satisfied with the arrangement as yourself, 
if one knew but all." 

" I say. Power," said a tall, dashing-looking 
man of about five-and-forty, with a Portuguese 
order on his breast — " I say, Power, dine with us 
at the halt." 

" With pleasure, if I may bring my young friend 
here." 

" Of course; pray introduce us." 

"Major Hixley, Mr. O'Malley — a 14th man, 
Hixley." 

" Delighted to make your acquaintance, Mr. 
O'Malley. Knew a famous fellow in Ireland of 
your name, a certain Godfrey O'Malley, member 
for some county or other." 

" My uncle," said I, blushing deeply, with a 
pleasurable feeling, at even this slight praise of 
my oldest friend. 

"Your uncle! give me your hand. By Jove, 
his nephew has a right to good treatment at my 
hands; he saved my life in the year '98; and how 
is old Godfrey?" 

" Quite well, when I left him some months ago; 
a little gout, now and then." 

" To be sure he has; no man deserves it better; 



BIO 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



but it's a gentlemanlike gout, that merely jogs 
his memory in the morning of the good wine he 
has drank over-night. By-the-by, what became 
of a friend of liis, a devilish eccentric fellow, 
who held a command in the Austrian service?" 

" Oh, Considine— the count?" 

'"The same." 

"As eccentric as ever; I left him on a visit to 
my uncle. And Boyle — did you know Sir Harry 
Boyle?" 

"To be sure I did; shall I ever forget him, 
and his capital blunders, that kept me laughing 
the whole time I spent in Ireland ? I was in the 
house when he concluded a panegyric upon a 
friend, by calling him 'the father to the poor, 
and uncle to Lord Donoughm.ire.' " 

" He was the only man who could render by a 
bull w.iat it was impossible to convey more cor- 
rectly," said Power. " You've heard of his duel 
with Dick Toler?" 

" Never; let's hear it." 

" It was a bull from beginning to end. Boyle 
took it into his head that Dick was a person with 
whom he had a serious row in Cork. Dick, on 
the other hand, mistook Boyle for Old Caples, 
whom he had been pursuing with horse-whipping 
intentions for some months; they met in Kildare 
street Club, and very little colloquy satisfied them 
that they were right in their conjectures, each 
party being so eagerly ready to meet the views of 
the other. It never was a difficult matter to find 
a friend in Dublin; and to do them justice, Irish 
seconds, generally speaking, are perfectly free 
from any imputation on the score of mere delay. 
No men have less impertinent curiosity as 
to the cause of the quarrel; wisely supposing 
that the principals know their own affairs best, 
they cautiously abstain from indulging any pry- 
ing spirit, but proceed to discharge their func- 
tions as best they may. Accordingly, Sir Harry 
and Dick were 'set up,' as the phrase is, at twelve 
paces, and to use Boyle's own words, for I have 
heard liim relate the story — 

" We blazed away, sir, for three rounds. I put 
two in his hat, and one in his neckcloth; his shots 
went all through the skirt of my coat. 

"'We'll spend the day here,' said Considine, 
' at this rate. Couldn't you put them closer?' 

"'And give us a little more time in the word,' 
says I. 

" ' Exactly,' said Dick. 

" Well, they moved us forward two paces, and 
set to loading the pistols again. 

" By this time we were so near, that we had 
full opportunity to scan each other's faces; well 
sir, I stared at him, and he at me. 

"'What!' said I. 

" ' Eh!' said he. 

" ' How's this?' said I. 

"'You're not Billy Caples?' said he. 

" ' Devil a bit,' said I, ' nor I don't tiiink you're 
Archy Devine;' and, faith, sir, so it appeared, we 
were fighting away all the morning for nothing; 
for, somehow, it turned out // zcias iicitln'r of us.'" 

What amused me most in this anecdote was 
the hearing it at such a time and place. That 
poor Sir Harry's eccentricities should turn up for 
discussion on a march in Portugal was singular 



enough; but, after all, life is full of such incon- 
gruous accidents. I remember once supping with 
King Calzoo on the Blue Mountains, in Jamaica. 
By way of entertaining his guests, some English 
officers, he ordered one of his suite to sing. We 
were of course pleased at the opportunity of hear- 
ing an Indian war-chant, with a skull and thigh- 
bone accompaniment; but what was our astonish- 
ment to hear the Indian — a ferocious-looking 
dog, with an awful scalp-lock, and two streaks of 
red paint across his chest — clear his voice well 
for a few seconds, and then begin, without dis- 
composing a muscle of his gravity, ''The Laird 
of Cockpen!" I need not say that that the 
' Great Racoon" was a Dumfries man, who had 
quitted Scotland forty years before, and, with 
characteristic prosperity, had attained his present 
rank in a foreign service. 

"Halt, halt!" cried a deep-toned, manly voice 
in the leading column, and the word was repeated 
from mouth to mouth to the rear. 

We dismounted, and picketing our horses be- 
neath the broad-leaved foliage of the cork-trees, 
stretched ourselves out at full length upon the 
grass, while our messnien prepared the dinner. Our 
party at first consisted ot Hi.xley, Power, the ad- 
jutant, and myself; but our number was soon in- 
creased by three officers of the 6th Foot, about 
to join their regiment. 

"Barring the ladies, God bless them!" said 
Power, " there's no such pic-nics as. campaigning 
presents; the charms of scenery are greatly en- 
hanced by their coming unexpectedly on you. 
Your chance good fortur.e in the prog has an in- 
terest that no ham-and-cold-chickcn affair, pre- 
pared by your servants beforehand, and got 
ready with a degree of fuss and worry that con- 
verts the whole party into an assembly of cooks, 
can ever aflord; and, lastly, the excitement that 
this same life of ours is never without, gives a 
zest " 

"There you've hit it," cried Hixley; "it's that 
same feeling of uncertainty that those who meet 
now may ever do so again, full as it is of sorrow- 
ful reflection, that still teaches us, as we become 
inured to war. to economize our pleasures, and be 
happy when we may. Your health, O'Malley, 
and your uncle Godfrey's, too." 

"A little more of the pastry?" 

"What a capital guinea fowl this is!" 

" That's some of old Monsoon's own particular 
port." 

" Pass it round here; really, this is pleasant." 

" My blessing on the man who left that vista 
yonder; see what a glorious valley stretches out 
there, undulating in its richness; and look at those 
dark trees, where just one streak of soft sunlight 
is kissing their tops, giving them one chaste good- 
night " 

"Well done. Power!" 

"Confound yon, you've pulled me short, and 
I was about becoming downright pastoral. A 
propos of kissing, I understand Sir Arthur won't 
allow the convents to be occupied by troops." 

"And a propcs of convents," said I, "let's 
hear your story; you proriiised it awhile ago." 

" My dear, Charley, it's far too early in the 
evening for a story; I should rather indulj^e my 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



311 



•poetic fancies here, under the shade of melan- 
choly boughs. And, besides, 1 am not half screwed 
up yet!" 

"Come, adjutant, let's have a song." 

" I'll sing you a Portuguese serenade when the 
next bottle comes in. What capital ])ort! Have 
you much of it?" 

"Only three dozen. We got it late last night; 
forged an order from the commanding officer, and 
sent it up to old Monsoon — "for hospital use.' 
He gave it with a tear in his eye, saying, as the 
sergeant marched away, ' Only think of such wine 
for fellows that may be in the next world before 
morning. It's a downright sin!'" 

" I say, Power, there's something going on 
there." 

At this instant the trumpet sounded "boot and 
saddle," and, like one man, the whole mass rose 
up, when the scene, late so tranquil, became one 
of excited bustle and confusion. An aide-de-camp 
galloped past towards the river, followed by two 
sergeants; and the next moment Sparks rode up, 
his whole equipment giving evidence of a hur- 
ried ride, while his cheek was deadly pale and 
haggard. 

Power presented to him a goblet of sherry, 
which having emptied at a draught, he drew a 
long breath, and said, 

"They are coming — coming in force." 

" Who are coming?" said Power: "take time, 
man, and collect yourself'." 

" The French. I saw them a devilish deal 
closer than I liked; they wounded one of the 
orderlies, and took the other prisoner." 

" Forward!" cried out a hoarse voice in the 
front. " March — trot!" 

And before we could obtain any further in- 
formation from Sparks, whose faculties seemed 
to have receivei^ a terrific shock, we were once 
more in the saddle, and moving at a brisk pace 
■ onward. 

Sparks had barely time to tell us that a large 
body of French cavalry occupied the pass of 
Berar, when he was sent for by General Cotton 
to finish his report. 

" How frightened the fellow is!" said Hixley. 

"I don't think the worse of poor Sparks for 
all that," said Power; "he saw these fellows for 
the first time, and no bird's-eye view of them, 
either." 

"Then we are in for a skirmish, at least," 
said I. 

" It would appear not from that," said Hix- 
ley, pointing to the head of the column, which, 
leaving the high road upon the left, entered the 
forest by a deep cleft thr.t opened upon a valley 
traversed by a broad river. 

" That looks very like taking up a position, 
though," said Power. 

" Look — look down yonder!" cried Hixley, 
pointing to a dip in the plain beside the river; 
" is there not a cavalry picket there?" 

" Right, by Jove! I say, Fitzroy," said Power to 
an aide-de-camp, as he passed, " what's going on?" 

" Soult has carried Oporto," cried he, "and 
Franchesca's cavalry have escaped." 

" .\nd who are those fellows in the valley?" 

"Our own people coming up." 



In less than half an hour's brisk trotting we 
reached the stream, the banks of which were oc- 
cupied by two cavalry regiments advancing to the 
main army; and what was my delight to find 
that one of them was our own corps, the 14th 
Light Dragoons. 

"Hurra'" cried Power, waving his cap as he 
came up. " How are you, Sedgewick? Baker, 
my hearty, how goes it? How is Hampton and 
the colonel ?" 

In an instant we were surrounded by our 
brother officers, who all shook me cordially by 
the hand, and welcomed me to the regiment with 
most gratifying warmth. 

" One of us," said Power, with a knowing 
look, as he introduced me; and the freemasonry 
of these few words secured me a hearty greeting, 

"Halt, halt! Dismount!" sounded again from 
front to rear; and in a few minutes we were once 
more stretched upon the grass, beneath the deep 
and mellow moonlight, while the bright stream 
ran placidly beside us, reflecting on its calm sur- 
face the varied groiqis as they lounged or sat 
around the blazing tires of the bivouac. 



CHAPTER XLIV. 



THE BIVOUAC. 



When I contrasted the gay and lively tone of 
the conversation which ran on around our 
bivouac fire, with the dry monotony and prosaic 
tediousness of my first military dinner at Cork, 
I felt how much the spirit and adventure of a 
soldier's life can impart of chivalrous enthusiasm 
to even the dullest and least susceptible. I saw 
even many who, under common circumstances, 
would have possessed no interest, nor excited any 
curiosity, but now, connected as they were with 
the great events occurring around liiem, abso- 
lutely became heroes; and it was with a strange, 
wild throbbing of excitement, I listened to the 
details of movements and marches, whose objects 
I knew not, but in which the magical words, Co- 
runna, Vimeira, were mixed up, and gave to the 
circumstances an interest of the highest charac- 
ter. How proud, too, I felt, to be the compan- 
ion in arms of such fellows! Here they sat, the 
tried and proved soldiers of a hundred fights, 
treating me as their brother and their equal. 
Who need wonder if I felt a sense of excited 
pleasure? Had I needed such a stimulant, that 
night beneath the cork-trees had been enough to 
arouse a passion for the army in my heart, and 
an irresistible determination to seek for a soldier's 
glory. 

■' Fourteenth !" called out a voice from the wood 
behind; and, in a moment after, the aide-de-camp 
appeared with a mounted orderly. 

"Colonel Merivale?" said he, touching his cap 
to the stalwart, soldier-like figure before him. 

The colonel bowed. 

" Sir Stapleton Cotton desires me to request 
that at an earlv hour to-morrow you will occupy 
the pass, and cover the march of the troops. It 
is his wish that all the reinforcements should ar- 



312 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



rive at Oporto by noon. I need scarcely 
add that we expect to be engaged with the 
enemy." 

These few words were spoken hurriedly, and, 
again saluting our ])arty, he turned his horse's 
licad and continued his way towards the rear. 

" There's news for you, Charley," said Power, 
slapping nie on the shoulder. "Lucy Lashwood 
or Westminster Abbey!" 

"The regiment was never in finer condition, 
that's certain," said the colonel, " and most 
eager for a brush with the enemy." 

"How your old friend, the count, would have 
liked this work," said Hi.xley; "gallant fellow he 
was." 

" Come," cried Power, " here's a fresh bowl 
coming. Let's drink the ladies, wherever they be: 
we most of us have some soft spot on that score." 

"Yes," said the adjutant, singing; 

** ' Here's to the maiden oi blusiiing fifteen, 
Here's to the d.imsel that's merry, 
Here's to the flaunting, extravagant quean ' " 

"And," sang Power, interrupting, — 
" Here's to the ' Widow of Derry.'" 

"Come, come, Fred, no more quizzing on that 
score. It's the only thing ever gives me a dis- 
taste to the service, the souvenir of that adven- 
ture. When 1 reflect what I might have been, 
and think what I am; when I contrast a Brussels 
carpet with wet grass, silk hangings with a can- 
vass tent, Sneyd's claret with ration brandy, 
and Sir Arthur for a cotiimander-in-chief, via- 
Boggs, a widow " 

"Stop tliere," cried Hixley; "without dispar- 
aging the fair widow, there's nothing beats cam- 
paigning, after all; eh, Fred ?" 

" And to prove it," said the colonel, " Power 
will sing us a song." 

Power took a pencil from his pocket, and, 
placing the back of a letter across his shako, 
commenced inditing his lyric; saying as he did 
so, — 

"I'm your man in five minutes: just fill my 
glass in the mean time." 

"That fellow beats Dibdin hollow," whispered 
the adjutant. " I'll be hanged if he'll not knock 
you off a song like lightning." 

" I understand," said Hixley, " they have some 
intention at the Horse Guards of having all the 
general orders set to popular tunes, and sung at 
every mess in the service. You've heard that, I 
suppose. Sparks?" 

"I confess I had not before." 

" It will certainly come very hard upon the sub- 
alterns," continued Hixley, with much gravity; 
" they'll have to brush tip their so/ mi fas; all the 
solos are to be their part." 

" What rhymes with slaughter.'" said Power. 

" Brandy-and-water!" said the adjutant. 

"Now, then," said Power, "are you all ready?" 

" Ready!" 

"You must chorus, mind; and, mark me, take 
rare you give the hip, hip, hurrah! well, as that's 
the whole force of the chant. Take the time 



from me. Now for it. Air, ' Garryowen,' with 
spirit, but not too quick, — 

" Now that we'^■e pledged each eye of blue, 
And every maiden (air and true, 
And our green island home — to you 

The ocean's wave adorning, 
Let us give one hi]"), hip, hip, hurra! 
And drink e'en to the coming day, 
When, squadron square. 
We'll all be there. 
To meet the French in the morning. 

" May his bright laurels never fade. 
Who leads our fighting fifth brigade. 
Those lads so true in heart and blade. 

And famed for danger scorning: 
So join me in one hip. hurra! 
And drink e'en to the coming day. 
When, squadron square, 
We'll all be there, 
To meet the French in the morning. 

*' And, when with years and honors crowned. 
You sit some homeward hearth around, 
Aud hear no more the stirring sound 

That spoke the trumpet's warning, — 
You'll fill, and drink, one hip, hurral 
And pledge the memory of the day, 
When, sfpiadron square, 
They ail were there. 
To meet the French in the morning." 

" Gloriously done, Fred!" cried Hixley. " If 
I ever get my deserts in this world, I'll make 
you laureate to the forces, with a hogshead of 
your own native whiskey for every victory of the 
army." 

"A devilish good chant," said Merivale; "but 
the air surjjasses anything I ever heard: thorough- 
ly Irish, I take it." 

"Irish! upon my conscience, I believe you!" 
shouted O'Shaughntssy, with an energy of voiie 
and manner that created a hearty laugh on all 
sides. "It's few people ever took it for a Vene- 
tian'melody. Hand over the punch — the sherry, 
I mean. When I was in the Clare militia, we 
always went to dinner to 'Tatter Jack \\'alsh,' a 
sweet air, and had 'Garryowen' for a quickstep. 
Ould M'Manus, when he got the regiment, 
wanted to change; he said they were damned 
vulgar tunes, and wanted to have ' Rule Britannia,' 
or the ' Hundredth Psalm;' but we would not stand 
it; there would have been amutiny in the corps." 

"The same fellow, wasn't he, that you told tlie 
story of, the other evening, in Lisbon?" said I. 

"The same. Well, what a character he was! 
As pompous and conceited a little fellow as ever 
you met with: and then, he was so bullied by his 
wife, he always came down to revenge it on the 
regiment. She was a fine, showy, vulgar woman, 
with a most cherishing afl'ection for all the good 
things in this life, except her husband, whom she 
certainly held in due contempt. 'Ye little cray- 
ture,' she'd say to him, with a sneer, 'it ill be- 
comes you to drink and sing, and be making a 
inan of yourself. If you were like O'Shaughnessy 

there, six foot three in his stockings ' Well, 

well, it looks like boasting; but no matter; here's 
her health, anyway." 

" I knew vou were tender in that quarter," said 
Power. " I heard it when quartered in Liinerick." 

" Maybe you heard, too, how I paid off Mac, 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



313 



when he came down or a visit to that county?" 

"Never; let's liear it now." 

" Ay, O'Shauglinessy, novv's your time; tiie fire's 
a good one, the night line, and liquor plenty." 

"I'm cfliivanicnt," said O'Shaughnessy, as, de- 
positing his enormous legs one each side of the 
burning fagots, and placing a bottle between his 
knees, he began his story: 

"It was a cold, rainy night in January, in the 
year '98, I took my place in the Limerick mail, to 
go down for a few days to the west country. As 
the waiter of the Hibernian came to the door with 
a lantern, I just caught a glimpse of the other 
insides; none of whom were known to me, except 
Colonel M'Manus, that I met once in a boarding- 
house in Molesworth street. I did not, at the 
time, tliink him a very agreeable companion; but, 
when morning broke, and we began to pay our 
res]5ects to each other in the coach, I leaned over 
and said, ' I hope you're well. Colonel M'Manus,' 
just by way of civility like. He didn't hear me 
at first; so that I said it again, a little louder. 

" I wish you saw the look he gave me; he drew 
himself up to the height of his cotton umbrella, 
put his chin inside his cravat, pursed up his dry, 
shrivelled lips, and, with a voice he meant to be 
awful, replied: 

" ' You appear to have the advantage of me.' 

"'Upon my conscience, you're right,' said I, 
looking down at mvself, and then over at him, at 
which the other travellers burst out a-laughing — 
' I think tliere's few will dispute tliat point.' When 
the laugh was over, I resumed — for I was deter- 
mined not to let him off so easily. ' Sure I met 
you at Mrs. Cayle's,' said I; 'and, by the same 
token — it was a Friday, I remember it well — 
maybe you didn't pitch into the salt cod ? I hope 
it didn't disagree with you?' 

" ' I beg to repeat, sir, that you are under a mis- 
take,' said he. 

"'Maybe so, indeed,' said I. 'Maybe, you're 
not' Colonel M'Manus at all; maybe you wasn't 
in a passion for losing seven-and-sixpence at loo 
with Mrs. Moriarty; maybe you didn't break the 
lamp in the hall with your umbrella, pretending 
you touched it with your head, and wasn't within 
three foot of.it; maybe Counsellor Brady wasn't 
going to put you in the box of the Foundling 
Hospital, if you wouldn't behave quietly in the 
streets ' 

" Well, with this the others laughed so heartily 
that I could not go on; and the next stage the 
bold colonel got outside with the guard, and never 
came in till we reached Limerick. I'll never forget 
his face, as he got down at Swinburne's Hotel. 
'Good-by, colonel,' said I; but he wouldn't take 
the least notice of mv politeness, but with a frown 
of utter defiance, he turned on his heel and walked 
away. 

"'I haven't done with you yet,' -says I; and, 
faith, I kept mv word. 

" I hadn't gone ten yards down the street, when 
I met my old friend Uarby O'Grady. 

" Shaugh, my boy,' says he — he called me that 
way for shortness — 'dine with me to-day at 
Mosey's; a green goose and gooseberries; six to a 
minute.' 

"'Who have you?' says I. 



" ' Tom Keane and the Wallers, a counsellor or 
two, and one M'Manus, from Dublin.' 

"'The colonel?' 

"' The same,' said he. 

"'I'm there. Darby!' said I; 'but mind, you 
never saw me before.' 

■' ' What!' said he. 

"'You never set eyes on me before; mind 
that.' 

"'I understand,' said Darby, with a wink; and 
we parted. 

"I certainly was never very particular about 
dressing for dinner, but on this day I spent a con- 
siderable time at my toilet; and, when I looked 
in my glass at its completion, was well satisfied 
that I had done myself justice. A waistcoat of 
brown rabbit-skin with flaps, a red worsted com- 
forter round my neck, an old grey shooting jacket, 
with a brown patch on the arm, corduroys and 
leather gaiters, with a tremendous oak cudgel in 
my hand, made me a most presentable figure for 
a dinner party. 

" 'Will I do. Darby?' says I, as he came into 
my room before dinner. 

" ' If it's for robbing the mail you are,' says 
he, 'nothing could be better. Your father 
wouldn't know you!' 

" ' Would I be the better of a wig?' 

" ' Leave your hair alone,' says he. ' It's 
painting the lily to alter it.' 

" ' Well, God's will be done,' says I, ' so come 
now.' 

"Well, just as the clock struck six I saw the 
colonel come out of his room, in a suit of most 
accurate sable, stockings, and pumps. Down- 
stairs he went, and I heard the waiter announce 
him. 

" ' Now's my time,' thought I, as I followed 
slowly after. 

" When I reached the door I heard several 
voices within, among which I recognized some 
ladies. Darby had not told me about them; 
'But no matter,' said I; 'it's all as well;' so I 
gave a gentle tap at the door with my knuckles. 

" ' Come in,' said Darby. 

"I opened the door slowly, and, putting in 
only my head and shoulders took a cautious look 
roun'd the room. 

"'I beg pardon, gentlemen,' said I, 'but I 
was only looking for one Colonel M'Manus, and, 
as he is not here ' 

" ' Pray walk in. sir,' said O'Grady, with a po- 
lite bow. ' Colonel M'Manus is here. There's 
no intrusion whatever. I say, colonel,' said he, 
turning round, 'a gentleman here desires to ' 

" ' Never mind it now,' said I, as I stepped 
cautiously into the room; 'he's going to dinner; 
another time will do just as well.' 

" ' Pray come in.' 

" 'I could not tliink of intruding ' 

"'I must protest,' said M'Manus, coloring up, 
' that I cannot understand this gentleman's visit.' 

" ' It is a little affair I have to settle with him,' 
said I, with a fierce look, that I saw produced its 
effect. 

"'Then perhaps you would do me the very 
great favor to join him at dinner,' said O'Grady. 
'Any friend of Colonel M'Manus ' 



31-1 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



" ' You are really too good,' said I; but as an 
utter stranger ' 

'■ ' Never think of that for a moment. My 
friend's friend, as the adage says.' 

"'Upon my conscience, a good saying,' said 
I, 'but you see there's another difiticulty. I've 
ordered a chop and potatoes up in No 5.' 

" ' Let that be no obstacle,' said O'Grady. 
'The waiter shall put it in my bill; if you will 
only do me the pleasure.' 

"'You're a trump,' said I. 'What's your 
name?' 

" 'O'Grady, at your service.' 

" ' Any relation of the counsellor?" said I. 
'They're all one family, the O'Gradys. I'm Mr. 
O'Shaughnessy, from Ennis; won't you introduce 
mi to the ladies? 

" While the ceremony of presentation was go- 
ing on I caught one glance at M'Manus, ahd had 
hard work not to roar out laughing. Such an 
expression of surprise, amazement, indignation, 
rage, and misery, never was mixed up in one face 
before. Speak he could not; and I saw that, 
except for myself, he had neither eyes, ears, nor 
senses for anything around him. Just at this 
moment dinner was announced, and in we went. 
I never was in such spirits in my life; the trick 
upon M'Manus had succeeded perfectly; he be- 
lieved in his heart that I had never met O'Grady 
in my life before, that, upon the faith of our 
friendship, I had received my invitation. As for 
me, I spared him but little. I kept up a running 
fire of droll stories; had the ladies in fits of 
laughing, made everlasting allusions to the 
colonel; and, in a word, ere the soup had disap- 
peared, except himself, the company were en- 
tirely with me. 

" 'O'Grady,' said I, 'forgive the freedom, but 
I feel as if we were old acquaintances.' 

"'As Colonel M'Manus's friend,' said he, ' you 
can take no liberty here to which you are not 
perfectly welcome.' 

"'Just what I expected,' said I. 'Mac and 
I,' — I wish you saw his face when I called him 
Mac — ' Mac and I were schoolfellows five-and- 
thirty years ago; though he forgets me, I don't 
forget him; to be sure it would be hard for me. 
I'm just thinking of the day Bishop Oufahan 
came over to visit the college. M ic was coming 
in at the door of the refectory as the bishop was 
going out. " Take. off your c lubeen, you young 
scoundrel, and kneel down for his reverence to 
bless you," said one of the masters, giving his 
hat a blow at the same moment that sent it flying 
to the other end of the room, and, with it, about 
twenty ripe pears that Mac had just stolen in the 
orchard, and had in his hat. I wish you only 
saw the bishop; and Mac himself, he was a pic- 
ture. Well, well, you forget it all now, but I re- 
member it as if it was only yesterday. Any 
champagne, Mr. O'Grady? I'm mighty dry.' 

" ' Of course,' said Darby. ' Waiter, some 
champagne here.' 

" ' Ah, it's himself was the boy for every kind of 
fun and devilment, quiet and demure as he looks 
over there. Mac, your health. It's not every 
day of the vi'eek we get champagne.' 

" He laid down his knife and fork as I said 



this; his face and temples grew deep purple, his 
eyes started as if they would spring from his head, 
and he put both his hands to his forehead, as if 
trying to assure himself that it was not some 
horrid dream, 

" ' A little slice more of the turkey,' said I, 
' and then, O'Grady, I'll try your hock. It's a 
wine I'm mighty fond of, and so is Mac there. 
Oh! it's seldom, to tell you the truth, it troubles 
us. There, fill up the glass; that's it. Here 
now. Darby — that's your name I think — you'll 
not think I'm taking a liberty in giving a toast: 
here, then, I'll give M'Manus's liealth, with all 
the honors; though it's early yet, to be sure, but 
we'll do it again, by-and-by, when the whiskey 
comes. Here's M'Manus's good health! and 
though his wife, they say, does not treat him well, 
and keeps him down ' 

"The roar of laughing that interrui)ted me 
here, was produced by the expression of poor 
Mac's face. He had started u)) from the table, 
and, leaning with both his hands upon it, stared 
round upon the company like a maniac — his 
mouth and eyes wide open, and his hair actually 
bristling with amazement. Thus he remained for 
a full minute, gasping like a fish in a landing-net. 
It seemed a hard struggle for him to believe he 
was not deranged. At last his eyes fell upon me; 
he uttered a deep groan, and with a voice tremu- 
lous with rage, thundered out: 

" 'The scoundrel! I never saw hkn before.' 

" He rushed from the room and gained the 
street. Before our roar of laughter was over he 
had secured post-horses, and was galloping to- 
wards Ennis at the top speed of his cattle. 

" He exchanged at once into the line; but they 
say that he caught a glimpse of my name in the 
army list, and sold out the next morning ; be that 
as it may, we never met since." 

I have related O'Shaughnessy's story liere, rath- 
er from the memory I have of how we all laughed 
at it at the time, than from any feelings as to its 
real desert; but, when I think of the voice, look, 
accent, and gesture of the narrator, I can scarcely 
keep myself from again giving way to laughter. 



CHAPTER XLV. 



THE JDOURO. 



Never did \he morning brealc more beautifully 
than on the 12th of May, 1809. Huge masses of 
fog-like vapor had succeeded to the starry, cloud- 
less night, but, one by one, they moved onward 
towards the sea, disclosing as they passed, long 
tracts of lovely country, bathed in a rich golden 
glow. The broad Douro, with its transparent cur- 
rent, shone out like a bright colored ribbon, 
meandering through the deep garment of fairest 
green; the darkly shadowed mountains, which 
closed the background, loomed even larger than 
they were; while their summits were tipped with 
the yellow glory of the morning. The air was 
calm and still, and the very smoke that arose 
from the peasant's cot, labored as it ascended 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



815 



through the perfumed air, and, save the ripple of 
tlie stream, all was silent as the grave. 

The squadron of the 14th, with which I was, 
had diverged from the road beside the river, and, 
to obtain a shorter path, had entered the skirts 
of a dark pine wood: our pace was a sharp one; 
an orderly had been already despatched to hasten 
our arrival, and we pressed on at a brisk trot. 
In less than an hour we reached the verge of tlie 
wood, and, as we rode out upon the plain, what 
a spectacle met our eyes! Before us, in a narrow 
valley, separated from the river by a low ridge, 
were picketed three cavalry regiments; their noise- 
less gestures and perfect stillness bespeaking, at 
once, that they were intended for a surprise party. 
Further down the stream, and upon the opposite 
side, rose the massive towers and tall spires 
of Oporto, displaying from their summits 
the broad ensign of France; while, far as the eye 
could reach, the broad dark masses of troops 
might be seen ; the intervals between their col- 
umns glittering with the bright equipments of 
their cavalry, whose steel caps and lances were 
sparkling in the sunbeams. The bivouac fires 
were still smouldering, and marking where some 
part of the army had passed the night; for, early 
as it was, it was evident that their position 
had been changed; and, even now, the heavy 
masses of dark infantry might be seen moving 
from place to place, while the long line of the 
road to Vallonga was marked with a vast cloud 
of dust. The French drum and the light in- 
fantry bugle told, from time to lime, that orders 
were passing among the troops; while the glittering 
uniform of a staff officer as he galloped from the 
town, bespoke the note of preparation. 

'' Dismount. Steady: quietly, my lads," said 
the colonel, as he alighted upon the grass. ''Let 
the men have their breakfast." 

The little amphitheatre we occupied hid us en- 
tirely from all observation on the part of the 
enemy, but equally so e.xcluded us from perceiv- 
ing their movements It may readily be supposed 
then, with what impatience we waited here, while 
the din and clangor of the French force, as they 
marched and countermarched so near us, were 
clearly audible. The orders were, however, strict 
that none should approach the bank of the river, 
and we lay an.xiously awaiting the moment when 
this inactivity should cease. More than one or- 
derly had arrived among us, bearing despatches 
from head-quarters; but where our main body 
was, or what the nature of the orders, no one 
could guess. As for me, my e.xcitement was at 
its height, and I could not speak for the very ten- 
sion of my nerves. The officers stood in little 
groups of two and three, whispering anxiously 
together; but all I could collect was, that Soult 
h.id already begun his retreat upon Amarante, 
and that, with the broad stream of the Douro be- 
tween us, he defied our pursuit. 

"Well, Charley," said Power, laying his arm 
upon my shoulder, " the French have given us 
the slip this time; they are already in march, and, 
even if we dared force a pjssage, in the face of 
such an enemy, it seems theie is not a boat to be 
found. I have just seen Hammersley." 

"Indeed! Where is he?" said I. 



"He's gone back to Villa de Conde; he asked 
after you most particularly; don't blush, man; I'd 
rather back your chance than his, notwithstand- 
ing tiie long letter that Lucy sends him. Poor 
fellow! he has been badly wounded, but, it seems, 
declines going back to England." 

"Captain Power," said an orderly, touching his 
cap, " General Murray desires to see you." 

Power hastened away, but returned in a few 
moments. 

" I say, Charley, there's something in the wind 
here. I have just been ordered to try where the 
stream is fordable. I've mentioned your name to 
the general, and I think you'll be sent for soon. 
Good-bye." 

I buckled on my sword, and looking to my 
girths, stood watching the groups around me; 
when, suddenly, a dragoon pulled his horse short 
up, and asked a man near me if Mr. O'Malley 
was there? 

" Yes; I am he." 

" Orders from General Murray, sir," said the 
man, and rode off at a canter. 

I opened and saw that the despatch was ad- 
dressed to Sir Arthur Wellesley, with the mere 
words, "With haste!" on the envelope. 

Now which way to turn I knew not; so, spring- 
ing into the saddle, I galloped to where Colonel 
Merivale was standing talking to the colonel of a 
heavy dragoon regiment. 

" May I ask, sir, by which road I am to 
proceed with this despatch'" 

" Along the river, sir," said the heavy— a large, 
dark-browed man, with a most forbidding look. 
"You'll soon see the troops; you'd better stir 
yourself, sir, or Sir Arthur is not very likely to 
be pleased with you." 

Without venturing a reply to what I felt a some- 
what unnecessary taunt, I dashed spurs into my 
horse, and turned towards the river. I had not 
gained the bank above a minute, when the loud 
ringing of a rifle struck upon my ear; bang went 
another, and another. I hurried on, however, at 
\ the top of my speed, thinking only of my mission 
and its pressing haste. As I turned an angle of the 
stream, the vast column of the British came in 
sight, and scarcely had my eye rested upon them 
when my horse staggered forward, plunged twice 
with his head nearly to the earth, and then rear- 
ing madly up, fell backwards upon the ground. 
Crushed and bruised as I felt by my fall, I was 
soon aroused to the necessity of exertion; for, as 
I disengaged mvself from the poor beast, I dis- 
covered he had been killed by a bullet in the 
counter: and scarcely had I recovered my legs 
when a shot struck my shako and grazed my 
temples. I quickly threw myself to the ground, 
and, creeping on for some yards, reached at last 
some rising ground, from which I rolled gently 
downwards into a declivity, sheltered by the bank 
from the French fire. 

When I arrived at head-quarters, I was dread- 
fully fatigued and heated; but resolving not to 
rest till I had delivered my despatches, I hastened 
towards the convent of La Sierra, where I was 
told the commander-in-chief was. 

As I came into the court of the convent, filled 
with general officers and people of the staff, I was 



316 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



turning to ask how I should proceed, when 
Hixley caught my eye. 

"Well, O'Malley, what brings you here?" 

" Despatches from General Murray." 

"Indeed; oh, follow me." 

He hurried me rapidly through the buzzing 
crowd, and ascending a large gloomy stair, intro- 
duced me into a room, where about a dozen per- 
sons in uniform were writing at a long deal 
table. 

" Captain Gordon," said he, addressing one of 
them, " despatches requiring immediate attention 
have just been brought by this officer." 

Before the sentence was finished the door 
opened, and a short, slight man, in a grey un- 
dress coat, with a white cravat and a cocked hat; 
entered. The dead silence that ensued was not 
necessary to assure me that he was one in author- 
ity; the look of command his bold, stern features 
presented; the sharp piercing eye, the com- 
pressed lip, the impressive e.xpression of the whole 
face, told plainly that he was one who held 
equally himself and others in mastery. 

"Send General Sherbroke here," said he to an 
aide-de-camp. " Let the light brigade march into 
position;" and then turning suddenly to me, 
" Whose despatches are these?" 

"General Murray's, sir" 

I needed no more than that look to assure me 
that this was he of whom I had heard so much, 
and of whom the world was still to hear so much 
more. 

He opened thein quickly, and, glancing his eye 
across the contents, crushed the paper in his 
hand. Just as he did so, a spot of blood upon 
the envelope attracted his attention. 

" How's this — are you wounded ?" 

" No, sir; my horse was killed " 

" Very well, sir; join your brigade. But stay, 
I shall have orders for you. Well, Waters, what 
news?" 

This question was addressed to an officer in a 
staff uniform, who entered at the moment, fol- 
lowed by the short and bulky figure of a monk, 
his shaven crown and large cassock strongly con- 
trasting with the gorgeous glitter of the costumes 
around him. 

" I say, who have we here?" 

"The prior of Amarante, sir," replied Waters, 
"who has just come over. We have already, by 
his aid, secured three large barges " 

"Let the artillery take up position in the con- 
vent at once," said Sir Arthur, interrupting. " The 
boats will be brought round to the small creek 
beneath the orchard. You, sir," turning to me, 
" will convey to General Murray — but you appear 

weak You, Gordon, will desire Murray to 

effect a crossing at Avintas with the Germans 
and the 14th. Sherbroke's division will occupy 
the Villa Nuova. What number of men can that 
seminary take?" 

" From three to four hundred, sir. Tlie padre 
mentions that all the vigilance of the enemy is 
limited to the river below the town." 

"I perceive it," was the short reply of Sir 
Arthur, as, placing his hands carelessly behind his 
back, he walked towards the window, and looked 
out upon the river. 



All was still as death in the chamber; not a lip 
murmured. The feeling of respect for him in 
whose presence we were standing, checked every 
thought of utterance, while the stupendous gravity 
of the events before us engrossed every mind and 
occupied every heart. I was standing near the 
window; the effect of my fall had stunned me for 
a time, but I was gradually recovering, and 
watched with a thrilling heart the scene before 
me. Great and absorbing as was my interest in 
what was passing without, it was nothing com- 
pared with what I felt as I looked at him upon 
whom our destiny was then hanging. I had 
ample time to scan his features and canvass their 
every lineament. Never before did I look upon 
such perfect impassibility; the cold, determined 
expression was crossed bv no show of passion or 
impatience. All was rigid and motionless, and, 
whatever might have been the workings of the 
spirit within, certainly no external sign betrayed 
them; and yet what a moment for him must that 
have been! Before him, separated by a deep 
and rapid river, lay the conquering legions of 
France, led on by one, second alone to him whose 
very name had been \\\t prestige of victory. Un- 
provided with every regular means of transport, 
m the broad glare of day, in open defiance of 
their serried ranks and thundering artillery, he 
dared the deed. What must have been his con- 
fidence in the soldiers he commanded! what must 
have been his reliance upon his own genius! As 
such thoughts rushed through my mind, the 
door opened, and an officer entered hastily, and, 
whispering a few words to Colonel Waters, left 
the room. 

"One boat is already brought up to the cross- 
ing-place, and entirely concealed by the wall of 
the orchard." 

" Let the men cross," was the brief reply. 

No other word was spoken, as, turning from 
the window, he closed his telescope, and, fol- 
lowed by all the others, descended to the court- 
yard. 

This simple order was enough; an officer, with 
a company of the Buffs, embarked, and thus be- 
gan the passage of the Douro. 

So engrossed was I in my vigilant observation 
of our leader, that I would gladly have remained 
at the convent, when I received an order to join 
my brigade, to which a detachment of artillery 
was already proceeding. 

As I reached Avintas all was in motion. The 
cavalry was in readiness beside the river; but as 
yet no boat had been discovered, and, such was 
the impatience of the men to cross, it was with 
difficulty tliey were prevented trying the passage 
by swimming, when suddenly Power ap])eared, 
followed by several fishermen. Three or four 
small skiffs had been found, half sunk m mud, 
among the rushes, and with such frail assistance 
we commenced to cross. 

" There will be something to write home to 
Galway soon, Charley, or I'm terribly mistaken," 
said Fred, as he sprang into the boat beside me. 
"Was I not a true prophet when I told you 
'We'd meet the French in the morning'' " 

"They're at it already," said Hixley, as a 
wreath of blue smoke floated across the stream 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



317 



below us, and the loud boom of a large guu re- 
sounded through tlie air. 

Then came a deafening shout, followed by a 
rattling volley of small arms, gradually swelling 
into a hot sustained fire, through which the cannon 
pealed at intervals. Several large meadows lay 
along the riverside, where our brigade was drawn 
up as the detachments landed from the boats; and 
here, although nearly a league distant from the 
town, we now heard the din and crash of battle, 
which increased every moment. The cannonade 
from the Sierra convent, which at first was merely 
the fire of single guns, now thundered away in 
one long roll, amid which the sounds of falling 
walls and crashing roofs were mingled. It was 
evident to us, from the continual fire kept up, 
that the landing had been effected, while the 
swelling tide of musketry told that fresh troops 
were momentarily coming up. 

In less than twenty minutes our brigade was 
formed, and we now only waited for two light 
four-pounders to be landed, when an officer gal- 
loped up in haste, and called out: 

" The French are in retreat!" and, pointing at 
the same moment to the Vallonga road, we saw a 
long line of smoke and dust leading from the 
town, through which, as we gazed, the colors of 
the enemy might be seen as they defiled, while 
the unbroken lines of the wagons and heavy bag- 
gage proved that it was no partial movement, but 
the army itself retreating. 

'■ Fourteenth, threes about, close up, trot!" called 
out the loud and manly voice of our leader, and 
the heavy tramp of our squadrons shook the verv 
ground, as we advanced towards the road to 
Vallonga. 

As we came on, the scene became one of over- 
whelming excitement; the masses of the enemy 
that poured unceasingly from the town could now 
be distinguished more clearly; and, amid all the 
crash of gun-carriages and caissons, the voices of 
the staff officers rose high as they hurried along 
tlie retreating battalions. A troop of flying ar- 
tillery galloped forth at top speed, and, wheeling 
their guns into position with the speed of light- 
ning, prepared, by a flanking fire, to cover the re- 
tiring column. The gunners sprang from their 
seats, the guns were already unlimbered, when 
Sir George Murray, riding up at our left, called 
out. 

" Forward — close up — charge!" 

The word was scarcely spoken, when the loud 
cheer answered the welcome sound, and the same 
instant the long line of shining helmets passed 
With the speed of a v.-hirlwind, the pace increased 
at every stride, the ranks grew closer, and, like the 
dread force of some mighty engine, we fell upon the 
foe. I have felt all the glorious enthusiasm of a fox- 
hunt, when the loud cry of the hounds, answered 
by the cheer of the joyous huntsman, stirred the 
very heart within, but never till now did I know 
how far higher the excitement reaches, when, man 
to man, sabre to sabre, arm to arm, we ride for- 
ward to the battle-field. On we went, the loud 
shout of "Forward!" still ringing in our ears. 
One broken, irregular discharge from the French 
guns shook the head of our advancing column, 
but stayed us not as we galloped madly on. 



I remember no more. The din, the smoke, the 
crash — the cry for quarter, mingled with the 
shout of victory — the fl\ing enemy — the agonizing 
shrieks of the wounded — all are commingled in 
my mind, but leave no trace of clearness or con- 
nection between them; and it was only when the 
column wheeled to re-form, behind the advancing 
squadrons, that I awoke from my trance of mad- 
dening excitement, and perceived that we had 
carried the position, and cut off the guns of the 
enemy. 

'"Well done, 14th!" said an old grey-headed 
colonel, as he rode along our line — "gallantly 
done, lads!" The blood trickled from a sabre-cut 
on his temple, along his cheek, as he spoke; but 
he either knew it not, or heeded it not. 

"There go the Germans!" said Power, pointing 
to the remainder of our brigade, as they charged 
furiously upon the French infantry, and rode them 
down in masses. 

Our guns came up at this time, and a ])lunging 
fire was opened upon the thick and retreating 
ranks of the enemy. The carnage must have been 
terrific, for the long breaches in their lines showed 
where the squadrons of the cavalry had passed, 
or the most destructive tide of the artillery had 
swept through them. The speed of the fiying 
columns grew momentarily more, the road became 
blocked up, too, by broken carriages and 
wounded; and, to add to their discomfiture, a 
damaging fire now opened from the town upon 
the retreating column, while the brigade of guards 
and the 29th pressed hotly on their rear. 

The scene was now beyond anything madden- 
ing in its interest. From the walls of Oi)orto the 
English infantry poured forth in pursuit; while 
the whole river was covered with boats, as they 
still continued to cross over. The artillery thun- 
dered from the Sierra, to protect the landing, for 
it was even still contested in places; and the 
cavalry, charging in flank, swept the broken ranks, 
and bore down upon the squares. 

It was now, when the full tide of victory ran 
highest in our favor, that we were ordered to re- 
tire from the road. Column after column passed 
before us, unmolested and unassailed; and not 
even a cannon-shot arrested their steps. 

Some unaccountable timidity of our leader di- 
rected this movement; and, while before our very 
eyes the gallant infantry were charging the retir- 
ing columns, we remained still and inactive. 

How little did the sense of praise we had al- 
ready won repay us for the shame and indignation 
we experienced at this moment, as, with burning 
cheek and compressed lip, we watched the retreat- 
ing files. "What can he mean?" "Is there not 
some mistake?" "Are we never to charge?" were 
the muttered questions around, as a staff officer 
galloped up with the order to take ground still 
further back, and nearer to the river. 

The word was scarcely spoken, when a young 
officer, in the uniform of a general, dashed impet- 
uously up; beheld his plumed cap high above his 
head, as he called out, " Fourteenth, follow me! 
Left face — wheel — charge!" 

So, with the word, we were upon them. The 
French rear-guard was at this moment at the nar- 
rowest part of the road which opened by a bridge 



318 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



upon a large open space; so that, forming with a 
narrow front, and favored by a declivity in the 
ground, we actually rode them down. Twice the 
French formed, and twice were they broken. 
Meanwhile, the carnage was dreadful on both 
sides; our fellows dashing madly forward where 
the ranks were thickest — the enemy resisting 
with the stubborn courage of men fighting for 
their last spot of ground. So impetuous was 
the charge of our squadrons, that we stopped 
not till, piercing the dense column of the retreat- 
ing mass, we reached the open-ground beyond. 
Here we wheeled and prepared once more to meet 
them; when suddenly some squadrons of cuiras- 
siers debouched from the road, and, supported by 
a field-piece, sliowed front against us. This was 
the moment that the remainder of our brigade 
should have come to our aid; but not a man ap- 
peared. However, there was not an instant to 
be lost, already the plunging fire of the four- 
pounder had swept through our files, and every 
moment increased bur danger. 

"Once more, my lads, forward!" cried out our 
gallant leader. Sir Charles Stewart, as, waving his 
sabre, he dashed into the thickest of the fray. 

So sudden was our charge, that we were upon 
them before tliey were prepared. And here en- 
sued a terrific struggle; for, as the cavalry of the 
enemy gave way before lis, we came upon the 
close ranks of the infantry, at half pistol distance, 
who poured a withering volley into us as we ap- 
proached. But what could arrest the sweeping 
torrent of our brave fellows, though every moment 
falling in numbers? 

Harvey, our major, lost his arm near the shoul- 
der. Scarcely an officer was not wounded. Power 
received a deep sabre-cut in the cheek, from an 
aide-de-camp of General Foy, in return for a 
wound he gave the general; while I, in my en- 
deavor to save General Laborde, when unhorsed, 
was cut down through the helmet, and so stunned 
that I remembered no more around me. I kept my 
saddle, it is true, but I lost every sense of con- 
sciousness; my first glimmering of reason coming 
to my aid as I lay upon the river bank, and felt 
my faithful follower Mike bathing my temples 
with water, as he kept up a running fire of 'lamen- 
tations for my being murthcred so young. 

"Are you better. Mister Charles? Spake to 
me, alanah; say that you're not kilt, darling; do 
now. Oil, wirra! what'll I ever say to the mas- 
ter? and you doing so beautiful' Wouldn't he 
give the best baste in his stable to be looking at 
you to-day? There, take a sup; it's only water. 
Bad luck to them, but it's hard work beatin' them. 
They're only gone now. That's right; now 
you're coming to," 

"Where am I, Mike?" 

"It's here you are, darling, resting yourself." 

" Well, Charley, my poor fellow, you've got sore 
bones, too," cried Power, as, his face swathed in 
bandages and covered with blood, he lay down 
on the grass beside me. "It was a gallant thing 
while it lasted, but has cost us dearly. Poor 
Hixley " 

"What of him!" said I, an.\iously. 

" Poor fellow! he has seen his last battle-field. 
He fell across me as we came out upon the road. 



I lifted him up in my arms, and bore him along 
above fifty yards; but he was stone dead. Not 
a sigh, not a word escaped him; shot through the 
forehead." As he spoke, his lips trembled, and 
his voice sank to a mere whisper at the last words 
— " You remember wliat he said last night. Poor 
fellow! he was every inch a soldier." 

Such was his epitaph. 

I turned my head towards the scene of our late 
encounter. Some dismounted guns and broken 
wagons alone marked the spot, while, far in the 
distance, the dust of the retreating columns showed 
the beaten enemy, as they hurried towards the 
frontiers of Spain. 



CHAPTER XLVI. 



THE MORNING. 



There are few sadder things in life than the 
day after a battle. The high-beating hope, the 
bounding spirits, have passed away; and in iheir 
stead comes the depressing reaction by which 
every overwrought excitement is followed. With 
far different eyes do we look upon the compact 
ranks and glistening files, — 

" With helm arrayed, 
And lance and blade, 
And plumes in the gay wind dancing," 

and upon the cold and barren heath, whose only 
memory of the past is the blood-stained turf, a 
mangled corpse, the broken gun, the shattered 
wall, tlie well-trodden earth where columns stood, 
the cut-up ground wheie cavalry had charged — 
these are the sad relics of all the chivalry of 
yesterday. 

■»**** 
-If * * •* * 

* * * * * 

The morning which followed the battle of the 
Douro was one of the most beautiful I ever re- 
member. There was that kind of freshness and 
elasticity in the air which certain days possess, 
and communicate by some magic their [jroperties 
to ourselves. The thrush was singing gaily out 
from every grove and wooded dell; the very river 
had a sound of gladness, as it rippled on against 
its sedgy banks; the foliage, too, sparkled in the 
fresh dew, as in its robes of holiday, and all 
looked bright and happy. 

We were picketed near the river, upon a gently 
rising ground, from which the view extended fcr 
miles in every direction. Above us, the stream 
came winding down amid broad and fertile fields 
of tall grass and waving corn, backed by deep 
and mellow woods, which were lost to the view 
upon the distant hills; belov,', the river, widening 
as it went, pursued a straighter course, or turned 
with bolder curves, till, passing beneath the town, 
it spread into a large sheet of glassy water, as it 
opened to the sea. The sun was just rising as I 
looked upon this glorious scene; and already the 
tall spires of Oporto were tipped with a bright 
rosy hue, while the massive towers and dark 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



319 



walls threw their lengthened shadows far across 
the plain. 

The fires of the bivouac still burned, but all 
slept around them. Not a sound was heard, save 
the tramp of a patrol, or the short, quick cry of 
tlie sentry. I sat lost in meditation, or rather in 
that state of dreamy thoughtfulness in which the 
past and present are combined, and the absent 
are alike before us as are the things we look upon. 

One moment I fell as though I were describing 
to my uncle the battle of the day before, point- 
ing out where we stood, and how we charged; 
then again I was at home, beside the broad, bleak 
Shannon, and the brown hills of Scariff. I 
watched with beating heart the tall Sierra, where 
our path lay for the future; and then turned my 
thoughts to him whose name was so soon to be 
received in England with a nation's pride and 
gratitude, and panted for a soldier's glory. 

As thus I followed every rising fancy, I heard 
a step approach; it was a figure muffled in a cav- 
alry cloak, which I soon perceived to be Power. 

"Charley," said he, in a half- whisper, " get up 
and come with me. You are aware of the gen- 
eral order, that, while in pursuit of an enemy, all 
military honors to the dead are forbidden; but 
we wish to place our poor comrade in the earth 
before we leave." 

I followed down a little path, through a grove 
of tall beech-trees, that opened upon a little 
grassy terrace beside the river. A stunted olive- 
tree stood by itself in the midst, and there I 
found five of our brother officers standing, wrapped 
in their wide cloaks. As we pressed each other's 
hands not a word was spoken. Each heart was 
full; and hard features that never quailed before 
the foe were now shaken with the convulsive 
spasm of agony, or compressed with stern deter- 
mination to seem calm. 

A cavalry helmet and a large blue cloak lay 
upon the grass. The narrow grave was already 
duo; beside it; and in the deathlike stillness 
around the service for the dead was read. The 
last words were over. We stooped and placed 
the corpse, wrapped up in the broad mantle, in the 
earth; we replaced the mould, and stood silently 
around the spot. The trumpet of our regiment 
at this moment sounded the call; its clear notes 
rang sharply through the thin air; it was the 
soldier's requiem! and we turned away without 
speaking, and returned to our quarters. 

I had never known poor Hixley till a day or 
two before; but, somehow, my grief for him was 
deep and heartfelt. It was not that his frank 
and manly bearing, his bold and military air, had 
gained upon me. No; these were indeed quali- 
ties to attract and delight me, but he had ob- 
tained a stronger and faster hold upon my 
affections — he spoke to me of home. 

Of all the ties that bind us to the chance ac- 
quaintances we meet with in life, what can equal 
this one? What a claim upon your love has he 
n'ho can, by some passing word, some fast-fiitting 
thought, bring back the days of your youth! 
Wh.at interest can he not excite, by some anec- 
dote of your boyish days, some well-remembered 
trait of youthful daring, oi early enterprise! 
Manv a vear of sunsh'ne rnd of ;torm has 



passed above my head. I have not been without 
my moments of gratified pride and rewarded am- 
bition; but my heart has never responded so 
fully, so thankfully, so proudly to these, such as 
they were, as to the simple, touching words of 
one who knew my early home, and loved its 
inmates. 

" Well, Fitzroy, what news ?" inquired I, roused 
from my musing, as an aide-de-camp galloped up 
at full speed. 

" Tell Merivale to get the regiment under arms 
at once. Sir Arthur \Vellesley will be here in less 
than half an hour. You may look for the route 
inunediately. Where are the Germans quar- 
tered?" 

" Lower down; beside that grove of beech-trees, 
next the river." 

Scarcely was my reply spoken, when he dashed 
spurs into his horse, and was soon out of sight. 
Meanwhile, the plain beneath me presented an 
animated and splendid spectacle. The different 
corps were falling into position to the enli\ening 
sounds of their quickstep, the trumpets of the 
cavalry rang loudly through the valley, and the 
clatter of sabres and sabretasches, joined with the 
hollow tramp of the horses, as the squadron 
came up. 

1 had not a moment to lose, so, hastening 
back to my quarters, 1 found Mike wailing with 
my horse. 

" Captain Power's before you, sir," said he, 
"and you'll have to make liaste. The regiments 
are under arms already." 

From the little mound where I stood, I could 
see the long line of cavalry as they deployed into 
the plain, followed by the horse artillery, which 
brought up the rear. 

"This looks like a march," thought I, as I 
pressed forward to join my companions. 

I had not advanced above a hundred yards 
through a narrow ravine when the measured tread 
of infantry fell upon my ears. 1 pulled up to 
slacken my pace, just as the head of a column 
turned round the angle of the road, and came in 
view. The tall caps of a grenadier company 
were the first thing I beheld, as they came on 
without roll of drum and sound of fife. I watched 
with a soldier's pride the manly bearing and gal- 
lant step of the dense mass as they defiled be- 
fore me. I was struck no less by them than by a 
certain look of a steady but sombre cast which 
each man wore. 

" What can this mean?" thought I. 

My first impression was, that a military execu- 
tion was about to take place, the next moment 
solved my doubt; for, as the last files of the 
grenadiers wheeled round, a dense mass behind 
came in sight, whose unarmed hands, and down- 
cast air, at once bespoke them prisoners of war. 

What a sad sight it was! There was the old 
and weather-beaten grenadier, erect in frame and 
firm in step, his grey moustache scarcely con- 
cealing the scowl that curled his lip, side by side 
with the young and daring conscript, even yet a 
mere boy; their march was regular, their gaze 
steadfast; no look of flinching courage there. 
On they came, a long, unbroken line. They 
looked not less proudly than their captors around 



320 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



them. As I looked with heavy heart upon them, 
my attention was attracted to one who marched 
alone behind the rest. He was a middle-sized 
but handsome youth of some eighteen years at 
most; his light helmet and waving plume bespoke 
him a chasseur a c/utu/, and 1 could plainly per- 
ceive, in his careless, half-saucv air, how indig- 
nantly he felt the position to which the fate of 
war had reduced him. He caught my eyes fixed 
upon him, and, for an instant, turned upon me a 
gaze of ojien and palpable defiance, drawing 
liimself up to his full height, and crossing his 
arms upon his breast; but probably, perceiving 
in my look more of interest than of triumph, his 
countenance suddenly changed, a deep blush 
suffused his cheek, his eye beamed with a soft- 
ened and kindly e.xpression, and, carrying his 
hand to his helmet, he saluted me, saying, in a 
voice of singular sweetness. 

"/e 7't>s souhaitc iin mcilhur sort, camarade." 
I bowed, and, muttering something in return, 
was about to make some inquiry concerning him, 
when the loud call of the trumpet rang through 
the valley, and apprised me that, in my interest 
for the prisoners, I had forgotten all else, and 
was probably incurring censure for my absence. 



CHAPTER XLVir. 



THE REVIEW. 



When I joined the group of my brother offi- 
cers, who stood gayly chatting and laugliing to- 
gether before our lines, I was much surprised — 
nay, almost shocked — to find how little seeming 
impression had been made upon them by the sad 
duly we had performed that morning. 

When last we met, each eye was downcast, 
each heart was full; sorrow for him we had lost 
from amongst us forever, mingling with the awful 
sense of our own uncertain tenure here, had laid 
its impress on each brow; but now scarcely an 
hour elapsed, and all were cheerful and elated. 
The last shovelful of earth upon the grave seemed 
to have b.iried both the dead and the mourning. 
And such is war! and such the temperament it 
forms! Events so strikingly opposite in their char- 
acter and influences succeed so rapidly one upon 
another, that the mind is kept in one whirl of ex- 
citement, and at length accustoms itself to change 
with every phase of circumstances; and between 
joy and grief, hope and despondency, enthusiasm 
and depression, there is neither breath nor inter- 
val; they follow each other as naturally as morn- 
ing succeeds to night. 

I had not much time for such reflections; 
scarcely had I saluted the officers about me, when 
the loud prolonged roll of the drums along the 
l;ne of infantry in the valley, followed by the 
sharp clatter of muskets as they were raised to 
the shoulder, announced the troops were under 
arms, and the review begun. 

" Have you seen the general order this morn- 
ing. Power?" inquired an old officer beside me. 

" No; they say, however, that ours are men- 
tioned." 



" Harvey is going on favorably," cried a young 
cornet, as he galloped up to our party. 

" Take ground to the left!" sung out the clear 
voice of the colonel, as he rode along in front. 
" Fourteenth! I am happy to inform you that 
)'0ur conduct has met approval in the highest 
quarter. 1 have just received the general orders, 
in which this occurs: 

"' The timet. V passage of the Douro, and 

SUBSEQUENT MOVEMENTS UPON THE ENEMV's 
FLANK, BY LiEUTENANT-GeNERAL ShERBROKE 

WITH THE Guards and apiH Regiment, and 

THE bravery of THE TWO SQUADRONS OF THE 

14TH Light Dragoons under the command 
of Major Harvey, and led by the Honor- 
able Brigadier-General Charles Stewart, 
obtained the victory' — Mark that, my lads! — 
obtained the victory — 'which has contributed 
so much to the honor of the troops on this 
day.' " 

The words were hardly spoken, when a tre- 
mendous cheer burst from the whole line at once. 

"Steady, Fcurteenth! steady lads!" said the 
gallant old colonel, as he raised his hand gently; 
"the staff is approaching." 

At the same moment, the white plumes ap- 
peared rising above the brow of the hill. On 
they came, glittering in all the splendor of aiguil- 
lettes and orders; all, save one. He rode 
foremost, upon a small, compact, black horse; his 
dress, a plain grey frock, fastened at the waist by 
a red sash; his cocked-hat alone besjjoke, in its 
plume the general officer. He galloped rapidly 
on till he came to the centre of the line: then, 
turning short round, he scanned the ranks from 
end to end with an eagle glance." 

" Colonel Merivnie, you have made known to 
your regiment my opinion of them, as expressed 
in general orders?" 

The colonel bowed low in acquiescence. 

" Fitzroy, you have got the memorandum, I 
hope?" 

The aide-de-camp here presented to Sir Arthur 
a slip of paper, which he continued to regard at- 
tentively for some minutes. 

" Captain Powel — Power, I mean. Captain 
Power!" 

Power rode out from the line. 

"Your very distinguished conduct yesterday 
has been reported to me. I shall have sincere 
pleasure in forwarding your name for the vacant 
majority." 

" You have forgotten. Colonel Merivale, to 
send in the name of the officer who saved General 
Laborde's life." 

" I believe I have mentioned it, Sir Arthur. 
Mr. O'Malley." 

" True, I beg pardon; so you have — Mr. 
O'Malley; a very young officer, indeed — ha, an 
Irishman! the south of Ireland, eh?" 

" No, sir, the west." 

"Oh! yes. Well, Mr. O'Malley, you are pro- 
moted. You have the lieutenancy in your own 
regiment. By-the-by, Merivale," here his voice 
changed into a half-laughing tone — "ere I forget 
it, pray let me beg of you to look into this honest 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



321 



fellow's claim; he has given me no peace the 
entire morning." 

As lie spoice, I turned my eyes in the direction 
he pointed, and, to my utter consternation, be- 
held my man Mickey Free standing among the 
staff, tlie position he occupied, and the presence 
he stood in, having no more perceptible effect 
upon his nerves tlvin if he were assisting at an 
Irisli wake; but so completely was I overwhelmed 
with shame at the moment, that the staff were 
already far down the lines ere I recovered my 
self-possession, to which, certainly, I was in some 
degree recalled by Master Mike's addressing me 
in a somewhat imploring voice: 

" Arrah, spake for me. Master Charles, alanah; 
sure they might do something for me now, av it 
was only to make me a gauger." 

Mickey's ideas of promotion, thus insinuatingly 
put forward, threw the whole party around into 
one burst of laughter. 

" I have him down there," said he, pointing as 
he spoke to a thick grove of cork-trees at a little 
distance. 

" Who have you got there, Mike?" inquired 
Power. 

" Devil a one o' me knows his name," replied 
he; " maybe it's Bony himself." 

"And how do you know he's there still ?" 

"How do I know, is it.' Didn't I tie him last 
night?" 

Curiosity to find out what Mickey could possi- 
bly allude to, induced Power and myself to follow 
him down the slope to the clump of trees I have 
mentioned. .A.s we came near, the very distinct 
denunciations that issued from the tliicket, proved 
pretty clearly the nature of the affair. It was 
nothing less than a French officer of cavalry, that 
Mike had unhorsed in the melee, and wishing, 
probably, to preserve some testimony of his 
prowess, had made prisoner, and tied fast to a 
cork-tree the preceding evening. 

" Sacrehleu!" said the poor Frenchman, as we 
approached, " ce sont des sauvagcs!" 

" Av it's making your sowl, ye are," said Mike, 
"you're right; for, maybe, they won't let me keep 
you alive." 

Mike's idea of a tame prisoner threw me into a 
fit of laughing, while Power asked, 

" And what do you want to do with him, 
M ckey?" 

" The sorra one of me knows, for he spakes no 
dacent tongue. Thighum thu," said he, address- 
ing the prisoner, with a poke in the ribs at the 
same moment; " but sure, Master Charles, he 
might tache me French." 

■There was something so irresistibly ludicrous 
in his tone and look as he said these words, that 
both Power and myself absolutely roared with 
laughter. We began, however, to feel not a little 
ashamed of our position in the business, and ex- 
plained to the Frenchman, that our worthy coun- 
tryman had but little experience in the usages of 
war, while we proceeded to unbind him, and lib- 
erate him from his miserable bondage. 

"It's letting him loose, you are, captain? 
Master Charljs, take care; be-gorra, rv you had 
as much trouble in catching him as I had, you'd 
thmk twice about letting him out. Listen to me, 



now," — here he placed his closed fist within an 
inch of the poor prisoner's nose, — "listen to me; 
av you say peas, by the morteal, I'll not hue 
a whole bone in your skin." 

With some difficulty we persuaded Mike that 
his coiiduct, so far from leading to his promotion, 
might, if known in another cpiarter, procure him 
an acquaintance with the provost-marshal^ — a 
fact which, it was plain to perceive, gave him but 
a very poor impression of military gratitude. 

" Oh, then, if they were in swarms foment me, 
devil receave the prisoner I'll take again." 

So saying, he slowly returned to the regiment, 
while Power and I, having conducted the French- 
man to the rear, cantered towards the tow n to 
learn the news of the day. 

The city on that day presented a most singular 
aspect — the streets, filled with the town's-ptople 
and the soldiery, were decorated with flags and 
garlands — the cafes were crowded with merry 
groups, and the sounds of music and laughter 
resounded on all sides. The houses setmed to 
be quite inadequate to afford accommoda- 
tion to the numerous guests, and, in conse- 
quence, bullock cars and forage wagons were 
converted into temporary hotels, and many a 
jovial party were collected in both. Military 
music, church bells, drinking choruses, were all 
commingled in the din and turmoil; processions 
in honor of "Our Lady of Succor" were jammed 
up among bacchanalian orgies, afld their very 
chant hall-drowned in the cries of the wounded, 
as they jiassed on to the hospitals. With diffi- 
culty we pushed our way through the dense mob, 
as we turned our steps towards the seminary. 
We both felt naturally curious to see the place 
where our first detachment landed, and to ex- 
amine the opportunities of defence it presented. 
The building itself was a large and irregular one, 
of an oblong form, surrounded by a high wall of 
solid masonry, the only entrance being by a heavy 
iron gate. 

.\t this spot the battle appeared to have raged 
with violence; one side of the massive gate was 
torn from its hinges, and lay flat upon the ground, 
the walls were breached in many places; and 
pieces of torn uniforms, broken bayonets, and 
bruised shakos, attested that the conflict was a 
close one. The seminary itself was in a falling 
state; the roof, from which Paget had given his 
orders, and where he was wounded, had fallen in. 
The French cannon had fissured the building 
from top to bottom, and it seemed only awaiting 
the slightest impulse to crumble into ruin. When 
we regarded the spot, and examined the narrow 
doorway which, opening upon a flight of a few 
steps to the river, admitted our first party, we 
could not help feeling struck anew with the 
gallantry of that mere handful of brave fellows, 
who thus threw themselves amid the overwhelm- 
ing legions of the enemy, and at once without 
waiting for a single reinforcement, opened a fire 
upon their ranks. Bold as the enterprise unques- 
tionably was, we still felt with what consummate 
judgment it had been planned; — a bend of the 
river concealed entirely the passage of the troops, 
the guns of the Sierra covered their landing, and 
completely swept one approach to the seminary. 



322 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



The French, being thus obliged to attack by the 
gate, were compelled to make a considerable 
detour before they reached it, all of which gave 
time for our divisions to cross; while the brigade 
of Guards, under General Sherbroke, profiting by 
the confusion, passed the river below the town, 
and took the enemy unexpectedly in rear. 

Brief as was the struggle within the town, it 
must have been a terrific one: the artillery were 
firing at riiusket-range; cavalry and infantry 
were fighting hand to hand in narrow streets, a 
destructive musketry pouring all the while from 
windows and house-tops. 

At the Amarante gate, where the French de- 
filed, the carnage was also great; their light 
artillery unlimbered some guns here, to cover the 
columns as they deployed; but Murray's cavalry 
having carried these, the flank of the infantry 
became entirely exposed to the galling fire of 
suiall-arms from the seminary, and tlie far more 
destructive shower of grape that poured unceas- 
ingly from the Sierra. 

Our brigade did the rest; and, in less than one 
hour from the landing of the first man, the French 
were in full retreat upon Vallonga. 

" A glorious thing, Charley," said Power, after 
a pause, "and a proud souvenir for hereafter." 

A truth I felt deeply at the time, and one my 
heart responds to not less fully as 1 am writing. 



CHAPTER XLVIII. 



THE QUARREL. 



On the evening of the 12th, orders were re- 
ceived for the German brigade, and three 
squadrons of our regiment, to pursue the French 
upon the Terracinthe road by daybreak on the 
following morning. 

I was busily occupied in my preparations for 
a hurried march, when Mike came up to say that 
an officer desired to spe.ik with me; and the mo- 
ment after Captain Hammersley appeared. A 
sudden flush colored his pale and sickly fea- 
tures, as he held out his hand and said: 

" I've come to wish you joy, O'Malley. I just 
this instant heard of your promotion. I am sin- 
cerely glad of it; pray tell me the whole affair." 

"That is the very thing I am unable to do. I 
have some very vague, indistinct remembrance of 
warding off a sabre-cut from the head of a wounded 
and unhorsed officer in the melee of yester- 
day but more I know not. In fact, it was my 
■first day under fire; I've a tolerably clear recol- 
lection of all the events of the morning, but the 
word 'charge!' once given, I remember very little 
more. But you, where have you been? How 
have we not met before?" 

" I've exchanged into a heavy dragoon regi- 
ment, and am now employed upon the staff." 

"You are aware that I have letters for you?" 

" Power hinted, I think, something of the kind. 
I saw him very hurriedly." 

These words were spoken with an effort at 
nonchalance that evidently cost him much. 

As for me, my agitation was scarcely less, as, 



fumbling for some seconds in my portmanteau, 
I drew forth the long destined packet. As I 
]jlaced it in his hands he grew deadly pale, and a 
slight spasmodic twitch in his upper lip bespoke 
some unnatural struggle. He broke the seal 
suddenly, and, as he did so, the morocco case 
of a miniature fell upon the ground; his eyes ran 
rapidly across the letter; the livid color of his 
lifts, as the blood forced itself to them, added to 
the corpse-like hue of his countenance. 

" You, probably, are aware of the contents of 
this letter, Mr. O'Malley ?" said he, in an altered 
voice, whose tones, half in anger, half in sup- 
pressed irony, cut to my very heart. 

■' I am in complete ignorance of them," said I, 
calmly. 

"Indeed, sir!" replied he, with a sarcastic curl 
of his mouth as he spoke. "Then, perhaps, you 
will tell me, too, that your very success is a secret 
to you?" 

" I'm really not aware " 

" You think, probably, sir, that the pastime is 
an amusing one, to interfere where the affections 
of others are concerned. I've heard of you, 
sir. Your conduct at Lisbon is known to me; 
and, though Captain Trevyllian may bear " 

"Stop, Captain Hammersley!" said I, with a 
tremendous effort to be calm; "stop! you ha\e 
said enough, quite enough, to convince me of 
what your object was in seeking me here to-day. 
You shall not be disappointed. I trust that assur- 
ance will save you from any further display of 
temper." 

", I thank you; most humbly I thank you for 
the quickness of your apprehension; and I shall 
now take my leave. Good evening, Mr. O Ma!- 
ley. I wish you much joy; you have my veiy 
fullest congratulations upon all your good for- 
tune." 

The sneering emphasis the last words were 
spoken with remained fixed in my mind long 
after he took his departure; and, indeed, so com- 
pletely did the whole seem like a dream to me, 
that were it not for the fragments of the minia- 
ture that lay upon the ground, where he had 
crushed them with his heel, I could scarcely 
credit myself that I was awake. 

My first impulse was to seek Power, upon 
whose judgment and discretion I could with con- 
fidence rely. 

I had not long to wait; for, scarcely had I 
thrown my cloak around me, when he rode up. 
He had just seen Hammersley, and learned some- 
thing of our interview. 

"Why, Charley, my dear fellow! what is this? 
How have you treated poor Hammersley?" 

" Treated html say, rather, how has he treated 
meV 

I here entered into a short but accurate account 
of our meeting, during which Power listened with 
great composure; while I could perceive, from 
the questions he asked, that some very different 
impression had been previously made upon his 
mind. 

" And this was all that passed ?" 

"All." 

" But what of the business at Lisbon?" 

" 1- don't understand." 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



300 



"Why, he speaks — he has heard some foolish 
account of your having made some ridiculous 
speech there about your successful rivalry of him 
in Ireland — Lucy Dashwood, I suppose, is refer- 
red to. Some one has been good-natured enough 
to repeat the thing to him." 

" But it never occurred. I never did." 

" Are you sure, Charley?" 

" I am sure; I know I never did." 

"The poor fellow, he has been duped! Come, 
Charley, you must not take it ill. Poor Ham- 
mersley has never recovered a sabre-wound he 
received some months since upon the head; his 
intellects are really affected by it. Leave it all 
to me. Promise not to leave your quarters 
till I return; and I'll put everything right 
again." 

I gave the required pledge; while Power, 
springing into the saddle, left me to my own re- 
flections. 

My frame of mind, as Power left me, was by 
no means an enviable one. A quarrel is rarely a 
h q.py incident in a man's life, still less is it so 
when the difference arises with one we are dis- 
posed to like and respect. Such was Hammers 
ley; his manly, straightforward character had 
won my esteem and regard, and it was with no 
common scrutiny I ta.xed my memory to think 
what could have given rise to the impression he 
labored under of my having injured him. His 
chance mention of Trevyllian suggested to me 
some suspicion that his dislike of me, wherefore 
arising I knew not, might have its share in tlu 
matter; and in this state of doubt and uncer- 
tainty I paced impatiently up and don-n, an.Kioush 
watching for Power's return, in the hope of ai 
length getting some real insight into the diffi- 
culty. 

My patience was fast ebbing. Power had been 
absent about an hour, and no appearance of him 
could I detect, when suddenly the tramp of a 
horse came rapidly up the hill. I looked out, 
and saw a rider coming forward at a very fast 
pace. Before I had time for even a guess as to 
who it was, he drew up, and I recognized Cap- 
tain Trevyllian. There was a certain look of 
easy impertinence and half smiling satisfaction 
about his features I had never seen before, as he 
touched his cap in salute, and said, — 

" May I have the honor of a few words' con- 
versation with you?" 

I bowed silently, while he dismounted, and 
passing his bridle beneath his arm, walked on be- 
side me. 

" My friend. Captain Hammersley, has commis- 
sioned me to wait upon you about this unpleasant 
affair " 

"I beg pardon for the interruption. Captain 
Trevyllian, but as I have yet to learn to what 
you or your friend alludes, perhaps it may facili- 
tate matters if you will explicitly state your mean- 
ing." 

He grew crimson on the cheek as I said this, 
while, with a voice perfectly unmoved, he con- 
tinued, — 

" I am not sufficiently in my friend's confidence 
to know the whole of the affair in question, nor 
have I his permission to enter into any of it, h'e 



probably presuming, as I certainly did myself, 
that your sense of honor would have deemed 
further parley and discussion both unnecessary 
and unseasonable." 

"In fact, then, if I understand, it is expected 
that I should meet Captain Haramersley for some 
reason unknown " 

" He certainly desires a meeting with you," was 
the dry reply. 

"And as certainly I shall not give it, before 
understanding upon what grounds." 

" And such I am to report as your answer?" 
said he, looking at me at the moment with an ex- 
pression of ill-repressed triumph as he spoke. 

There was something in these few words, as well 
as in the tone in which they were spoken, that 
sunk deeply in my heart. Was it that by some 
trick of diplomacy he was endeavoring to com- 
promise my honor and character? was it possible 
that m> refusal might be construed into any other 
than the real cause? I was too young, too inex- 
perienced in the world to decide the question for 
myself, and no time was allowed me to seek 
another's counsel. What a trying moment was 
ihat for me! my temples throbbed, my heart beat 
almost audibly, and I stood afraid to speak; dread- 
ing, on the one hand, lest my compliance might 
involve me in an act to embitter my life forever, 
and fearful, on the other, that my refusal might be 
reported as a trait of cowardice. 

He saw, he read my difficulty at a glance, and, 
with a smile of most supercilious expression, re- 
peated coolly his former question. In an instant 
all thought of Hammersley was forgotten. I re- 
membered no more. I saw him before me, he 
who had, since my first meeting, continually con- 
trived to pass some inajipreciable slight upon me. 
My eyes flashed, my hands tingled with ill-re- 
pressed rage, as I said, — 

" With Captain Hammersley I am conscious of 
no quarrel, nor have I ever shown by any act or 
look an intention to provoke one. Indeed, such 
demonstrations are not always successful; there 
are persons most rigidly scrupulous for a friend's 
honor, little disposed to guard their own." 

"You mistake," said he, interrupting me, as I 
spoke these words with a look as insulting as I 
could make it; "you mistake. I have sworn a 
solemn oath never to se/iif a challenge." 

The emphasis upon the word " send," explained 
fully his meaning, when I said, 

" But you will not decline " 

"Most certainly not," said he, again interrupt- 
ing, while with sparkling eye and elated look he 
drew himself up to his full height. "Your friend 
is- 



" Captain Power; and yours " 

"Sir Harry Beaufort. I may observe that, as 
the troops are in marching order, the matter had 
better not be delayed." 

"There shall be none on my part." 

"Nor mine!" said he, as with a low bow, and 
a look of most ineffable triumph, he sprang into 
his saddle; then, " Au ;-rtw>, Mr. O'Malley," said 
he, gathering up his reins. " Beaufort is on the 
staff, and quartered at Oporto." So saying, he 
cantered easily down the slope, and once more I 
was alone. 



334 



CHARLES O'M ALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



CHAPTER XLIX. 



THE ROUTE. 



I WAS leisurely examining my pistols — poor 
Considine's last present to me on leaving home 
— when an orderly sergeant rode rapidly up, and 
delivered into my hands the following order: 

" Lieutenant O'Malley will hold himself in im- 
mediate readiness to proceed on a particular ser- 
vice. By order of his Excellency the Commander 
of the Forces. 

(Signed.) "S. Gordon, Military Secretary." 

"What can this mean?" thought I. "It is not 
possible that any rumor of my intended meeting 
could have got abroad, and that my present destin- 
ation could be intended as a punishment?" 

I walked hurriedly to the door of the little hut 
which formed my cjuarters; below me, in the plain, 
ail was activity and preparation; the infantry were 
drg.wn up in marching order; baggage wagons, 
ordnance stores and artillery seemed all in active 
preparation; and some cavalry squadrons might 
be already seen, with forage allowances behind 
the saddle, as if only waiting the order to set out. 
I strained my eyes to see if Power was coming, 
but no horseman approached in the direction. I 
stood, and I hesitated whether I should not rather 
seek him at once, than continue to wait on in my 
present uncertainty; but then, what if I should 
miss him? and I had pledged myself to rernain 
till he returned. 

While I deliberated thus with myself, weighing 
the various chances for and against each plan, I 
5aw two mounted officers coming towards me at 
a brisk trot. As they came nearer. I recognized 
one as my colonel; the other was an officer of 
the staff. 

Supposing that their mission had some rela- 
tion to the order I had so lately received, and 
which until now I had forgotten, I hastily re- 
turned, and ordered Mike to my presence. 

'"How are the horses, Mike?" said I. 

" Never better, sir. Badger was wounded 
slightly by a spent shot in the counter, but he's 
never the worse this morning, and the black 
horse is capering like a filly." 

" Get ready my pack, feed the cattle, and be 
prepared to set out a moment's warning." 

"Good advice, O'Malley," sa.i the colonel, as 
he overheard the last direction to my servant. 
" 1 hope the nags are in condition?" 

" Why, yes, sir, I believe they are " 

" All the better; you've a sharp ride before 
you. Meanwhile, let me introduce my friend; 
Captain Beaumont — Mr. O'Malley. I think we 
had better be seated." 

"These are your instructions, Mr. O'Malley," 
said Captain Beaumont, imfolding a map as he 
spoke. " You will proceed from Fhis, with half a 
troop of your regiment, by forced marches, 
towards the frontier, passing through the town of 
Calenco, and Guarda, and the Estrella Pass. On 
arriving at the headquarters of the Lusitanian 
Legion, which you will find there, you are to put 
yourself under the orders of Major Monsoon 



commanding that force. Any Portuguese cavalry 
he may have with him will be attached to yours, 
and under your command; your rank, for the 
time, being that of captain. You will, as far as 
possible, acquaint yourself with the habits and 
capabilities of the native cavalry, and make such 
report as you judge necessary thereupon to his 
E.xcellency the Commander of the Forces. I 
think it only fair to add, that you are indebted to 
my friend Colonel Merivale for the very flatter- 
ing position thus opened to your skill and en- 
terprise." 

" My dear colonel, let me assure you " 

"Not a word, my boy. I knew the thing 
would suit you, and I am sure I can count upon 
your not disappointing my expectations of you. 
Sir Arthur perfectly remembers your name. He 
only asked two questions — 

" ' Is he well mounted ?' 

Admirably,' was my answer. 

Can you depend upon his promptitude?' 

He'll leave in half an hour.' 

" ' So you see, O'Malley, I have already pledged 
myself for you. And now I must say adieu; the 
regiments are about to take up a more advanced 
position, so good-by. I hope you'll have a pleas- 
ant time of it till we meet again." 

" It is now twelve o'clock, Mr. O'Malley," said 
Beaumont: " we may rely upon your immediate 
departure. Y'our written instructions and de- 
spatches will be here within a quarter of an 
hour." 

I muttered something — what, I cannot remem- 
ber; I bowed my thanks to my worthy colonel, 
shook his hand warmly, and saw him ride down 
the hill, and disappear in the crowd of soldiery 
beneath, before I could recall my faculties and 
think over my situation. 

Then all at once did the full difficulty of my 
position break upon me. If I accepted my pres- 
ent employment, I must certainly fail in my en- 
gagement to Trevyllian. But I had already 
pledged myself to its acceptance. What was to 
be done? No time was left for deliberation. The 
very minutes i should nave spent in preparation 
were fast passing. Would that Power might ap- 
pear. Alas! he came not. My state of douljt 
and uncertainty increased every moment; I saw 
nothing but ruin before me, even at a moment 
when fortune promised most fairly for the future, 
and opened a field of enterprise my heart had so 
often and so ardently desired. Nothing was left 
me but to hasten to Colonel Merivale and decline 
my appointment-; to do so was to prejudice my 
character in his estimation forever, for I dartd 
not allege my reasons, and in all probability my 
conduct might require my leaving the army. 

"Be it so, then,"«aid I, in an accent of de- 
spair; " the die is cast." 

I ordered my horse round; I wrote a few words 
to Power, to explain my absence, should he come 
while I was away, and leaped into the saddle. As 
I reached the plain my pace became a gallop, and 
I pressed my horse with all the impatience my 
heart was burning with. I dashed along the lines 
towards Oporto, neither hearing nor seeing augin 
around me, when suddenly the clank of cavalry 
accoutrements behind induced me to turn my 



CHARLES 0"MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



325 



head, and I perceived an orderly dragoon at full 
gallop in pursuit. I pulled up till he came along- 
side. 

" Lieutenant O'Malle^', sir," said the man, sa- 
luting, '■ these despatches are for you." 

I took them hurriedly, and was about to con- 
tinue my route, when the attitude of the dragoon 
arrested my attention. He had reined in his 
horse to the side of the narrow causeway, and, 
holding him still and steadily, sat motionless as 
a statue. I looked behind, and saw the whole 
staff approaching at a brisk trot. Before I 
had a moment for thought they were beside 
me. 

"Ah! O'Malley," cried Merivale, "you have 
your orders; don't wait; his E.vcellency is com- 
ing up." 

"Get along, I advise you," said another, "or 
you'll catch it, as some of us have done this 
morning." 

"All is right, Charley; you can go in safety," 
said a whispering voice, as Power passed in a 
sharp canter. 

That one sentence was enough; my heart 
bounded like a deer, my cheek beamed with the 
glow of delighted pleasure, I closed my spurs 
upon my gallant grey, and dashed across the 
plain. 

When I arrived at my quarters the men were 
drawn up in waiting, and provided with rations 
for three days' march: Mike was also prepared 
for the road, and nothing more remained to de- 
lay ine. 

" Captain Power has been here, sir, and left a 
note." 

I took it and thrust it hastily into my sabretasche. 
I knew from the few words he had spoken, that 
my present step involved me in no ill conse- 
quences; so, giving the word to wheel into 
column, I rode to the front, and set out upon my 
march to Alcantara. 



CHAPTER L. 



THE WATCH-FIRE. 



There are few thing so inspiriting to a young 
soldier as the being employed with a separate 
command: the picket and out-post duty have a 
charm for him no other portion of his career 
possesses. The field seems open for individual 
boldness and heroism: success, if obtained, must 
redound to his own credit; and what can equal, 
in its spirit-stirring enthusiasm, that first moment 
when we become in any way the arbiter of our 
own fortunes? 

Such were my happy thoughts, as, with a proud 
and elated heart, I set forth upon my march. 
The notice the commander-in-chief had bestowed 
upon me had already done much: it had raised 
me in my own estimation, and implanted within 
me a longing desire for further distinction. I 
thought, too, of those far, far away, who were yet 
to hear of my successes. 

I fancied to myself how they would severally 
receive the news. My poor uncle, with tearful 



eye and quivering lip, was before me, as I saw 
him read the despatch, then wipe his glasses, ar.d 
read on, till at last, with one long drawn breath, 
his manly voice, tremulous with emotion, \\ould 
break forth — "My boy! my own Charley!" 
Then I pictured Considine, with port erect and 
stern features, listening silently; not a syllable, 
not a motion betraving that he felt interested in 
my fate, till, as if impatient, at length he would 
break in — " 1 knew it— I said so; and yet ycu 
thought to make him a lawyer!" And then old 
Sir Harry: his warm heart glowing with pleasure, 
and his good-humored face beaming with happi- 
ness. How many a blunder he would make in 
retailing the news, and how many a hearty laugh 
his version of it would give rise to! 

I passed in review before me the old servants, 
as they lingered in the room to hear the story. 
Poor old Matthew, the butler, fumbling with his 
corkscrew to gain a little time; then looking in 
my uncle's face, half entreatingly, as he asked — 
"Any news of Master Charles, sir, from the 
wars?" 

While thus my mind wandered back to the 
scenes and faces of my early home, I feared to 
ask myself how she would feel to whom my heart 
was now turning? Too deeply did 1 know how 
poor my chances were in that quarter to nourish 
hope, and yet I could not bring myself to abandon 
it altogether. Hammersley's strange conduct 
suggested to me that he, at least, could not be iiiy 
rival, while I plainly perceived that he regarded 
me as his. TlM;re was a mystery in all this 1 could 
not fathom, and I ardently longed for my next 
meeting with Power, to leam the nature of his 
interview, and also in what manner the affair had 
been arranged. 

Such were my passing thoughts as I pressed 
forward. My men, picked no less for themselves 
than their horses, came rapidly along; and, ere 
evening, we had accomplished twelve leagues of 
our journey. 

The country through which we journeyed, 
though wild and romantic in its character, was 
singularly rich and fertik — cultivation reaching 
to the very summits of the rugged mountains, and 
patches of wheat and Indian corn peeping amid 
masses of granite rock and tangled brushwood. 
The vine and the olive grew wild on every side; 
while the orange and the arbutus, loading the air 
with perfume, were mingled with prickly pear- 
trees and variegated hollies. We followed no 
regular track, but cantered along over hill and 
valley, through forest and prairie; now in long 
file through some tall field of waving corn, ncrwin 
open order upon some level plain; our Portu- 
guese guide riding a little in advance of us, upon 
a jet-black mule, carolling merrily some wild 
Galician melody as he went. 

As the sun was setting, we arrived beside a 
little stream, that, flowing along a rocky bed, 
skirted a vast forest of tall cork-trees. Here we 
called a halt; and, picketing our horses, pro- 
ceeded to make our arrangements for a bivouac. 

Never do I remember a more lovely night. 
The watch-fires sent up a delicious odor from 
the perfimied shrubs; while the glassy water re- 
flected on its still surface the starry sky that, 



326 



CHARLES OMALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



unshadowed and unclouded, stretched above us. 
I wrapped myself in my trooper's mantle, and lay 
down beneath a tree — -but not to sleep. There was 
something so exciting, and withal so tranquil- 
lizing, that I had no thought of slumber, but fell 
into a musing reverie. There was a character of 
adventure in my position that charmed me much. 
My men were gathered in little groups beside the 
fires; some sunk in slumber, others sat smoking si- 
lently, orchatting, in a low and undertone, of some 
bygone scene of battle or bivouac; here and there 
were picketed the horses; the heavy panoply and 
piled carbines flickering in the red glare of the 
watch-fires, which ever and anon threw a flitting 
glow upon the stern and swarthy faces of my 
bold troopers. Upon the trees around, sabres 
and helmets, holsters and cross-belts, were hung 
like armorial bearings in soin^ antique hall, the 
dark foliage spreading its heavy shadow around 
us. Farther off, upon a little rocky ledge, the 
erect figure of the sentry, with his short carbine 
resting in the hollow of his arm, was seen slowly 
pacmg in measured tread, or standing for a mo- 
ment silently, as he looked upon the fair and 
tranquil sky — liis thoughts doubtless far, far 
away, beyond the sea, to some humble home, 
where — 

" The hum of the spreading sycamore. 
That grew beside his cottage door," 

was again in his ears, while the merry laugh of 
his children stirred his bold heart. It was a Sal- 
vator-Rosa scene, and brought me back in fancy 
to the bandit legends I had read in boyhood. By 
the uncertain light of the wood embers I endeav- 
ored to sketch the grotip that lay before me. 

The night wore on. One by one the soldiers 
stretched themselves to sleep, and all was still. 
As the hours rolled by, a drowsy feeling crept 
gradually over me. I placed my pistols by my 
side, and, having replenished the fire by some 
fresh logs, disposed myself comfortably before it. 

It was during that half-dreamy state that inter- 
venes between waking and sleep, that a rustling 
sound of the branches behind attracted my at- 
tention. The air was too calm to attribute this 
to the wind, so I listened for some minutes; but 
sleep, too long deferred, was over-powerful, and 
my head sunk upon my grassy pillow, and I was 
soon sound asleep. How long I remained thus, 
I know not; but I awoke suddenly. I fancied 
some one had shaken me rudelvby the shoulder; 
but yet all was tranquil. My men were sleeping 
soundly, as I saw them last. The fires were be- 
coming low, and a grey streak in the sky, as well 
as a sharp cold feeling of the air, betokened the 
approach of day. Once more I heaped some 
dry branches together, and was about again to 
stretch myself to rest, when I felt a hand upon 
my shoulder. I turned quickly round, and, by 
the imperfect light of the fire, saw the figure of 
a man standing motionless beside me: his head 
was bare, and his hair fell in long curls upon his 
shoulders; one hand was pressed upon his 
bosom, and with the other he motioned me to 
silence. My first impression was that our party 
were surprised by some French patrol; but, as I 
looked again, I recognized, to my amazement, 



that the individual before me was the young 
French officer I had seen that morning a pris- 
oner beside the Douro. 

" How came you here?" said 1, in a low voice 
to him in French. 

"Escaped; one of my own men threw himself 
between me and the sentry; I swam the Douro, 
received a musket-ball through my arm, lost my 
shako — and here I am." 

" You are aware you are again a prisoner?" 

"If you desire it, of course I am," said he, in 
a voice full of feeling, that made my very heart 
creep. " I thought you were a party of Lorge's 
Dragoons, scouring the country for forage; 
tracked you the entire day, and have only now 
come up with you." 

The poor fellow, who had neither eaten nor 
drank since daybreak, wounded and footsore, 
had accomplished twelve leagues of a march, 
only once more to fall into the hands of his en- 
emies. His years could scarcely have numbered 
nineteen ; his countenance was singularly prepos- 
sessing; and, though bleeding and torn, with 
tattered uniform, and without a covering to his 
head, there was no mistaking for a moment that 
he was of gentle blood. Noiselessly and cau- 
tiously I made him sit down beside the fire, while 
I spread before him the sparing remnant of my 
last night's supper, and shared my solitary bottle 
of sherry with him. 

From the moment he spoke, I never enter- 
tained a thought of making him a prisoner; but, 
as I knew not how far I was culpable in permit- 
ting, if not actually facilitating, his escape, I 
resolved to keep the circumstance a secret from 
my party, and, if possible, get him away before 
daybreak. 

No sooner did he learn my intentions regard- 
ing him, than in an instant all memory of his past 
misfortune, all thoughts of his present destitute 
condition, seemed to have fled; and, while I 
dressed his wound and bound up his shattered 
arm, he chattered away as unconcernedly about 
the past and the future as though seated beside, 
the fire of his own bivouac, and surrounded by 
his own brother officers. 

" You took us by surprise the other day," said 
he. "Our marshal looked for the attack from 
the mouth of the river; we received information 
that your ships were expected there. In any 
case, our retreat was an orderly one, and must 
have been effected with slight loss " 

I smiled at the self-complacency of this rea- 
soning, but did not contradict him. 

" Your loss must indeed have been great; your 
men crossed under the fire of a whole battery." 

"Not exactly," said I; "our first party were 
quietly stationed in Oporto before you knew 
anything about it." 

"J/i/ sacre Dieu! Treachery!" cried he, strik- 
ing his forehead with his clenched fist. 

" Not so; mere daring — nothing more. But 
come, tell me something of your own adventures. 
How were you taken?" 

" Simply thus: I was sent to the rear with 
orders to the artillery to cut their traces, and 
leave the guns; and when coming back, my horse 
grew tired in the heavy ground, and I was spur- 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



327 



ring him to the utmost, when one of your heavy 
dragoons — an officer, too — clashed at me, and 
actually rode me down, horse and all. I lay for 
some time bruised by the fall, when an infantry 
soldier passing by, seized me by the collar, and 
brought me to the rear. No matter, however, 
here I am now. You will not give me up; and, 
perhaps, I may one day live to repay the kind- 
ness." 

" You have not long joined ?" 

"It was my first ballle; my epaulettes were 
vary smart things yesterday, though they do look 
a little passees to-day. You are advancing, 1 
suppose?" 

I smiled, without answering this question. 

"Ah, I see you don't wish to speak; never 
mind, your discretion is thrown away upon me; 
for, if I rejoined my regiment to-morrow, I 
should have forgotten all you told me — all but 
your great kindn.'ss." These last words he spoke, 
bowing slightly his head, and coloring as he said 
them. 

" You are a dragoon, I think?" said I, endeav- 
oring to change the lopic. 

" I was, two days ago, chasseur a cheval, a sous- 
lieutenant in the regiment of my father, the 
General St. Croix." 

" The name is familiar to me," I replied; " and 
I am sincerely happy to he in a position to serve 
the son of so distinguished an officer." 

" The son of so distinguished an officer is most 
deeply obliged; but wishes with all his hear: and 
soul he had never sought glory under such very 
excellent auspices. 

" You look surprised, mon cher ; but, let me 
tell you, my military ardor is considerably abated 
in the last three days; hunger, thirst, imprison- 
nunt, and this" — lifting his wounded limb as he 
spoke — ''are sharp lessons in so short a cam- 
paign, and for one, too, whose life hitherto had 
much more of ease than adventure to boast of. 
Shall I tell you how I became a soldier?" 

" By all means; give rae your glass first; and 
no.v, with a fresh log to the fire, I'm your man." 

" But stay; before I begin, look to this." 

The blood was flowing rapidly from his wound, 
which, with some difficulty, I succeeded in 
stanching. He drank off his wine hastily, held 
out his glass to be refilled, and then began his 
story. 

" You have never seen the Emperor?" 

" Never." 

^^Siurebleu! What a man he is! I'd rather 
stand under the fire of your grenadiers, than 
meet his eye. When in a passion, he does not 
say much, it is true; but what he does, comes 
with a kind of hissing, rushing sound, while the 
very fire seems to kindle in his look. I have 
him before me this instant, and, though you will 
confess that my present condition has nothing 
very pleasing in it, I sho\dd be sorry, indeed, to 
change it for the last time I stood in his presence." 

" Two months ago, I sported the gay light blue 
and silver of a page to the Emperor, and cer- 
tainly, what with balls, bonbons, flirtation, gossip, 
and champagne suppers, led a very gay, reckless, 
and indolent life of it. Somehow — I may tell 
you more accurately at another period, if we ever 



meet — I got myself into disgrace, and, as a pun- 
ishment, was ordered to absent myself from the 
Tuileries, and retire, for some weeks, to Fon- 
tainebleau. Siberia, to a Russian, would scarcely 
be a heavier infliction than was this banishment 
to me. There was no court, no levee, no mili- 
tary parade, no ball, no opera. A small house- 
hold of the Emperor's chosen servants quietly 
kept house there. The gloomy walls re-echoed 
to no music; the dark alleys or the dreary gar- 
den seemed the very impersonation of solitude 
and decay. Nothing broke the dull monotony 
of the tiresome day, except when occasionally, 
near sunset, the clash of the guard would be 
heard turning out, and the clank of presenting 
arms, followed by the roll of a heavy carriage 
into the gloomy court-yard. One lamp, shining 
like a star, in a small chamber on the second 
floor, would remain till near four, sometimes five 
o'clock in the morning. The same sounds of the 
guard and the same dull roll of the carriage 
would break the stillness of the early morning; 
and the Emperor — for it was he — would be on 
his road back to Paris. 

" We never saw him — I say we, for, like myself, 
some half-dozen others were also there, expiating 
their follies by a life of cheerless ennui. 

"It was upon a calm evening in April, we sat 
together chatting over the various misdeeds 
which had consigned us to exile, when seme one 
proposed, by way of passing the time, that we 
should visit the small flower-garden that was 
parted off from the resi, and reserved (or the 
emperor alone. It was already beyond the hour 
he usually came; besides that, even should he 
arrive, there was abundant time to get back be- 
fore he could possibly reath it. The garden we 
had often seen, but there was something in the 
fact that our {.oing there was a transgression that 
so pleased us all, that we agreed at once, and set 
forth. For above an hour we loitered about the 
lonely and deserted walks, where already the 
emperor's foot-tracks had worn a marked path- 
way, when we grew wtnry, and were about to 
return, just as one of the party suggested, half in 
ridicule of the sanctity of the spot, that we should 
have a game of leap-frog ere we left it. The idea 
pleased us, and was at once adopted. Our plan 
was this: each person stationed himself in some 
bye-walk or alley, and wailed till the other, 
whose turn it was, came and leaped over him; so 
that, besides the activity displayed, there was a 
knowledge of the loiale necessary; for, to any 
one passed over, a forfeit was to be paid. Our 
game began at once, and certainly I doubt if 
ever those green alleys and shady groves rang to 
such heartv laughter. Here would be seen a 
couple rolling over together on the grass; there 
some luckless wight counting out his pocket- 
money, to pay his penalty. The hours passed 
quickly over, and the moon rose, and at last it 
came to my turn to make the tour of the garden. 
As I was supposed to know all its intricacies 
better than the rest, a longer time was given for 
them to conceal themseUes; at length the word 
was given, and 1 started. 

"Anxious to acquit myself well, I hurried 
along at top speed, but guess my surprise tu dis- 



828 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



cover thnt nowhere could I find one of my com- 
panions; down one walk I scampered, up an- 
other, across a third, but all was still and silent; 
not a sound, not a brealh, could I detect. There 
-was still one part of the garden unexplored; it 
was a small open space before a little pond, 
which usually contained the gold fish the em- 
peror was so fond of. Thither I bent my steps, 
and had not gone far when, in the pale moon- 
light, I saw, at length, one of my companions 
waiting patiently for my coming, his head bent 
forward and his shoulders rounded. Anxious to 
repay him for my own disappointment, I crept 
silently forward on tip-toe till quite near him, 
when, rushing madly on, I sprang upon his back; 
just, however, as I rose to leap over, he raised 
his head, and, staggered by the impulse of my 
spring, he was thrown forward, and after an in- 
effectual effort to keep his legs, fell flat upon his 
face in the grass. Bursting with laughter, I fell 
over him to tire ground, and was turning to assist 
him, when suddenly he spr;;ng upon his feet, and 
— horror of horrors! — it was Napoleon himself; 
his usually pale features were purple with rage, 
but not a word, not a syllable escaped him. 

" ' Qui t'/es-T'ous ?' said he, at length. 

" ' St. Croix, sire,' said I, still kneeling before 
him, while my very heart leaped into my mouth. 

"'St. Croix! toujours St. Croix! Come here; 
approach me,' cried he, in a voice of stifled 
passion. 

" I rose, but before I could take a step for- 
ward he sprang at me, and, tearing off my epau- 
lettes, trampled them beneath his feet, and then 
he shouted out, rather than spoke, the word 
'AUez !' 

" I did not wait for a second intimation, but 
clearing the paling at a spring, was many a mile 
from Fontainebleau before daybreak. " 



CHAPTER LI. 



THE MARCH. 



Twice the rfyril sounded; the horses champed 
impatiently their heavy bits; my men stood wait- 
ing for the order to mount, ere I could arouse 
myself from the deep slee[) I had fallen into. 
The young Frenchman and his story were in my 
dreams, and, when I awoke, his figure, as he lay 
sleeping beside the wood embers, was the first 
object I perceived. There he lay, to all seeming 
as forgetful of his fate as though he inhabited the 
gorgeous halls and gilded saloons of the Tuil- 
eries, his pale and handsome features wore even 
a placid smile as, doubtless, some dream of other 
days flitted across him; his long hair waved in 
luxurious curls upon his neck, and his light brown 
moustache, slightly curled at the top, gave to his 
mild and youthful features an air of s^iwcy fierti' 
that heightened their effect. A narrow blue riband, 
which he wore round his throat, gently peeped 
from his open bosom. I could not resist the 
curiosity I felt to see what it meant, and, draw- 
ing it softly forth, I perceived that a small minia- 
ture was attached to it. It was beautifully 



painted, and surrounded with brflliants of some 
value. One glance showed mc — for I had seen 
more than one engraving before of her — that it 
was the portrait of the Empress Josephine. Poor 
boy! he, doubtles";, was a favorite at court; in- 
deed, everything in his air and manner bespoke 
him such. I gently replaced the precious locket, 
and turned from the spot, to think over what 
was best to be done for him. Knowing the vin- 
dictive feeling of the Portuguese towards their 
invaders, I feared to take Pietro, our guide, into 
my confidence. I accordingly summoned my 
man Mike to my aid, who, with all his country's 
readiness, soon found out an expedient. It was 
to pretend to Pietro that the prisoner was merely 
an English officer, who had made his escajie 
from the French army, in which, against his will, 
he had been serving for some time. 

This plan succeeded perfectly; and, when St. 
Croix, mounted upon one of my led horses, set 
out \\\)on his march beside me, none was more 
profuse of his attentions than the dark-brown 
guide, whose haired of a Frenchman was beyond 
belief. 

By thus giving him safe-conduct through 
Portugal, I knew that when we reached the front- 
ier he could easily manage to ccme up vilh some 
part of Marshal Victor's force, the advanced 
guard of which lay on the left bank of the Tagus. 

To me the companionship was the greatest 
boon; the gay and buoyant spirit that no reverse 
of fortune, no untoward event, could s\ibdiie, 
lightened many an hour of the journey; and 
though, at times, the gasconading tone of the 
Frenchman would peep through, there was still 
such a fund of good-tempered raillery in all he 
said, that it was imjiossible to feel angry with 
him. His implicit faith in the Emperor's invinci- 
bility also amused me. Of the unbounded con- 
fidence of the nation in general, and the army 
particularly, in Napoleon, 1 had till then no con- 
ception. It was not that in the profound skill 
and immense resources of the general they trusted, 
but they actually regarded him as one placed 
above ail the common accidents of fortune, and 
revered him as something more than human. 

"// viendra, el fuii " was the continued 

exclamation of the young Frenchman. Any no- 
tion of our successfully resisting the overwhelm- 
ing might of the emperor, he would have laughed 
to scorn, and so I let him go on prophesying 
our future misfortunes till the time when, driven 
back upon Lisbon, we should be compelled to 
evacuate the Peninsula, and, under fa\'or of a 
convention, be permitted to return to England. 
All this was sufficiently ridiculous, cciming from 
a youth of nineteen, wounded, in misery, a pris- 
oner; hut further experience of this nation has 
shown me that St. Croix was not the exceinion, 
but the rule. The conviction in the ultimate 
success of their army, whatever be the merely 
momentary mishap, is the one present thought of 
a Frenchman; a victory with them is a conquest; 
a defeat — if they are by any chance driven to 
acknowledge one — &/a/a!it/. 

I was too young a man, and, still more, too 
young a soldier, to bear with this absurd affecta- 
tion of superiority as I ought, and consequently 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



329 



was glad to wander, wlienever I could, from the 
contested point of our national superiority to other 
topics. St. Croix, although young, had seen much 
of the world, as a page in the splendid court of 
the Tuileries; the scenes passing before his eyes 
were calculated to make a strong impression; and, 
by many an anecdote of iiis former life, he light- 
ened the road as we passed along. 

" You promised, by-the-by, to tell me of your 
banishment. How did that occur, St. Croix?" 

"Ah! par Dieu! that was an unfortunate affair 
for me; then began all my mishaps; but for that, 
I should never have been sent to Fontainebleau; 
never have played leap-frog with tlie emjjeror; 
never have been sent a soldier into .Spain. True," 
said he, laughing, "I should never have had the 
happiness of your acquaintance. But still I'd 
much rather have met you first in the Place des 
Victoires than in the Estrella Mountains." 

"Who knows?" said I; "perhaps your good 
genius prevailed in all this?" 

"Perhaps," said he, interrupting me; "that's 
exactly what the empress said — she was my god- 
mother — ' Jules will be a Marc'clial dc Fiance yet.' 
But, certainly, it must be confessed, I have made 
a bad beginning. However, you wish to hear of 
my disgrace at court. Allans, done. But had we 
not better wait for a halt?" 

"Agreed," said I; "and so let us now press 
forward." 



CHAPTER LII. 



THE PAGE. 



Under the deep shade of some tall trees, shel- 
tered from the noonday sun, we lay down to rest 
ourselves, and enjoy a most patriarchal dinner 
' — some dry biscuits, a few bunches of grapes, 
and a little weak wine, savoring mcn'e of the 
boraccio-skin than the vine-juice, were all we 
boasted; yet they were not ungrateful at such a 
time and place. 

" Whose health did you pledge, then?" inquired 
St. Croix, with a half malicious smile, as I laisjd 
the glass silently to my lips. 

I blushed deeply and looked confused. 

"v4 ses beaux yeux! whoever she be," said he, 
gayly tossing off his wine; "and now, if you feel 
disposed, I'll tell you my story. In good truth, 
it is not worth relating, but it may serve to set 
you asleep, at all events. 

"I have already told you I was a page. Alas! 
the impressions you may feel oi that functionary, 
from having seen Cherubino, give but a faint 
notion of him when pertaining to the household 
of the Emperor Napoleon. 

" The farfallone amoroso basked in the soft 
smiles and sunny looks of the Countess Almaviva; 
we met but the cold, impassive look of Talleyrand 
— the piercing and penetrating stare of Savary — 
or the ambiguous smile, half menace, half mock- 
ery, of Monsieur Fouche. Wliile on service, our 
days were passed in the ante-chamber, beside the 
salle d' audience of the emperor — reclining against 



the closed door, watching attentively for the gen- 
tle tinkle of the little bell which summoned us to 
open for the exit of some haughty diplomate, or 
the entree of some redoubted general. Thus 
passed we the weary hours; the illustrious visitors 
by whom we were surrounded had no novelty, 
consequently no attraction for us, and the names 
already historical were but household words with 
us. 

"We often remarked too, the proud and dis- 
tant bearing the emperor assumed towards those 
of his generals who had been his former compan- 
ions in arms. Whether familiarity or freedom 
may have existed in the campaign or in the bat- 
tle-field, the air of the Tuileries certainly chilled 
it. I have often heard that the ceremonious ob- 
servances and rigid etiquette of the old Bourbon 
court were far preferable to the stern reserve and 
unbending stiffness of the imperial one. 

" The ante-chamber is but the reflection of the 
reception-room: and, whatever be the ^^hims, the 
caprices, the littleness of the Great Man, theyare 
speedily assumed by his inferiors, and the dark 
temper of one casts a lowering shadow on every 
menial by whom he is surrounded. 

" As for us we were certainly not long in catch- 
ing somewhat of the spirits of the emjieror; and 
I doubt much if the impertinence of the Avaiting- 
room was not more dreaded and detested than the 
abrupt speech and searching look of Napoleon 
himself. 

" What a malicious pleasure have I not felt in 
arresting the step of M. de Talleyrand, as he ap- 
proached the emperor's closet! with what easy 
insolence have I lisped out, ' Pardon, mon.sieur, but 
his majesty cannot receive you,' — or, 'Monsieur 
le Due, his Majesty has given no orders for your 
admission.' — How amusing it was to watch the 
baffled look of each, as he retired once more to 
his place among the crowd; tlie wily diplomate 
covering his chagrin with a practised smile, while 
the stern marshal would blush to his very eyes 
with his indignation. This was the great pleas- 
ure our position afforded us; and, with a boyish 
spirit of mischief, we cultivated it to perfection, 
and became at last the very horror and detest- 
ation of all who frequented the levies; and the 
ambassador, whose fearless voice was heard among 
the council of kings, became soft and conciliating 
in his approaches to us; and the hardy general, 
who would have charged upon a brigade of artil- 
lery, was timid as a girl in addressing us a mere 
question. 

"Among the amiable class thus characterized I 
was most conspicuou;-, preserving cautiously atone 
of civility that left nothing openly to complain of. 
I assumed an indifference and impartiality of 
manner, that no exigency of affairs, no pressing 
haste, could discompose or disturb: and my bow 
of recognition to Soult or Massena was as coolly 
measured, as my monosyllabic answer was accur- 
ately conned over. 

" Upon ordinary occasions, the emperor, at 
the close of each person's audience rang his little 
bell for the admission of the next in order as 
they arrived in the waiting-room; yet, when any- 
thing important was under consideration, a list 
was given us in the morning of the names to be 



330 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



presented in rotation, which no casual circumstance 
was ever suffered to interfere with. 

"It is now about four months since, one fine 
morning, such a list was placed within my hands. 
His majesty was just then occupied with an in- 
quiry into the naval force of the kingdom; and, 
as I cast my eyes carelessly over the names, I 
read little else than vice-admiral so-and-so, com- 
mander such-a-one, and chef d'escadron such 
another, and the levee presented accordingly, in- 
stead of its brilliant array of the gorgeous uni- 
form and aiguilletted marshals, the simple blue- 
and-gold of the naval service. 

" 'I'he marine was not in high favor with the 
emperor, and truly, my reception of these unfre- 
quent visitors was anything but flattering. The 
early part of the morning was, as usual, occupied 
by the audience of the minister of police, and ihe 
Due de Bassanno, who, evidently, from the length 
of time they remained, had matter of importance 
to communicate. Meanwhile the ante-cliamber 
filled rapidly, and, before noon, was actually 
crowded. It was just at this moment that the 
folding-doors slowly opened, and a figure entered, 
such as I had never seen in our brilliant saloon; 
he was a man of about five or six-and-fifty, short, 
thickset, and strongly-built, with a bronzed and 
weather-beaten face, and a broad, open forehead, 
deeply scarred with a sabre-cut; a shaggy grey 
moustache curled over and concealed his mouth, 
while eyebrows of the same color shaded his dark 
and piercing eyes. His dress was a coarse coat of 
blue cloth such as the fishermen wear in Bretagne, 
fastened at the waist by a broad belt of black 
leather, from which hung a short broad-bladed cut- 
lass; his loose trousers, of the same material, were 
turned up at the ankles, to show a pair of strong 
legs coarsely cased in blue stockings and thick- 
soled shoes— a broad-leaved oil-skin hat was held 
in one hand, and the other stuck carelessly into 
his pocket, as he entered; he came in with a care- 
less air, and, familiarly saluting one or two other 
officers in the room, he sat himself down near the 
door, appearing lost in his own reflections. 

'" Who can you be, my worthy friend?' was my 
question to myself, as I surveyed this singular ap- 
parition. At the same time casting my eyes down 
the list, I perceived that several pilots of the 
coast of Havre, Calais, and Boulogne had been 
summoned to Paris, to give some information 
upon the soundings and depth of water along 
the shore. 

" ' Ha,' thought I, ' I have it — the good man 
has mistaken his place, and instead of remaining 
without, has walked boldly forward to the ante- 
chamber.' There was somethini; so strange and 
so original in the grim look of the old fellow, as 
he sat there alone, that I suffered him to remain 
quietly in his delusion, rather than order him 
back to the waiting-room without; besides, I per- 
ceived that a kind of sensation was created among 
the others by his appearance there, which amused 
me greatly. 

"As the day wore on, the officers formed into 
little groups of three or four, chatting together in 
an undertone of voice; all, save the old pilot; 
he had taken a huge tobacco-box from his capa- 
cious breast-pocket, and inserting an immense 



piece of the bitter weed in his mouth, began to 
chew it as leisurely as though he were walking 
the quarter-deck. The cool insouciance of such 
a proceeding amused me much, and I resolved to 
draw him out a little. 

" His strong, broad Breton features, his deep 
voice, his dry, blunt manner, were all in admir- 
able keeping with his exterior, and amused me 
highly. 

"' Far Dieu! my lad,' said he, after chatting 
some time, 'had you net better tell the emperor 
that I am waiting? — It's now past noon, and I 
must eat something.' 

" ' Have a little patience,' said I; ' his majesty 
is going to invite you to dinner.' 

"'Be it so,' said lie, gravely; 'provided the 
hour be an early one, I'm his man.' 

" With difficulty did I keep down my laughter 
as he said this, and continued, • 

" ' So you know the emperor already, it seems?' 

"'Yes, that I do! I remember him when he 
was no higher than yourself.' 

"How delighted ht'll be to find you here — I 
hope you have brought up some of your family 
with you, as the empeior would be so flattered by 
it?' 

"' No, I've left them at home; this place don't 
suit us over well. We have plenty to do, besides 
spending our time and money among all you fine 
folks here.' 

"And not a bad life of it, either,' added I, 
'fishing for cod and herrings — stripping a wreck 
now and then.' 

" He stared at me, as I said this, like a tiger on 
the spring, but spoke not a word. 

" ' And how many young sea-wolves may you 
have in your den at home?' 

" 'Six; and all o' them able to carry you with 
one hand, at arm's length!' 

"'I have no doubt; I shall certainly not test 
their ability. But you yourself, how do you like 
the capital ?' 

" 'Not over well, and I'll tell you why ' 

"As he said this, the door of the audience- 
chamber opened, and the emperor appeared. His 
eyes flashed fire, as he looked hurriedly around the 
room. 

" ' Who is in waiting here?' 

" ' I am, please your majesty,' said I, bowing 
deeply, as I started from my seat. 

•■'And where is the Admiral Truguet? Why 
was he not admitted ?' 

" ' Not present, your majesty,' said I, trembling 
with fear. 

"' Hold there, young fellow. Not so fast; here 
he is.' 

" ' Ah, Truguet, vion ami!' cried the emperor, 
placing both hands on the old fellow's shoulders; 
' how long have you been in waiting?' 

" 'Two hours and a half,' said he; producing 
in evidence a watch like a saucer. 

"'What! two hours and a half, and I not 
know it?' 

" ' No matter; I am always happy to serve your 
majesty. But if that fine fellow had not told me 
that you were going to ask me to dinner ' 

" ' He! he said so, did he?' said Napoleon, 
turning on me a glance like a wild beast. ' Yes, 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



331 



Tr'.iguet, so I am; you shall dine with nie to-day. 
And you, sir,' said he, dropping his voice to a 
whisper, as he came closer towards me, ' and you 
have dared to speak tlius ? Call in a guard there; 
Capitaine, put this person under arrest; he is dis- 
graced; he is no longer page of the palace. Out 
of my presence! away, sir!' 

"The room wheeled round; my legs tottered, 
my senses reeled; and I saw no more. 

" Three weeks' bread and water in St. Pelagie, 
however, brought me to my recullection; and at 
last my kind, my more than kind friend, the em- 
press, obtained my pardon, and sent me to Fon- 
tainebleau, till the emperor should forget all 
about it. How I contrived again to refresii his 
memory I have already told you; and certainly 
you will acknowledge that I have not been fortu- 
nate in my interviews with Napoleon." 

I am conscious how much St. Croix's story 
loses in my telling. The simple expressions, the 
grace of the narrative, were its charm; and tliese, 
alas! I can neither translate nor imitate, no more 
than I can convey the strange mixture of deep 
feeling and levity, shrewdness and simplicity, 
that constituted the manner of the narrator. 

With many a story of his courtly career he 
amused me as we trotted along; when, towards 
nightfall of the third day, a peasant informed us 
that a body of French cavalry occupied the con- 
vent of San Cristoval, about thr«e leagues off. 
The opportunity of his return to his own army 
pleased him far less than I expected; he heard, 
without any show of satisfaction, that the time of 
his liberation had arrived, and wlien the moment 
of leave-taking drew near, he became deeply 
affected. 

"jfj/i bien, Charles," said he, smiling sadly 
through iiis dimmed and tearful eyes. "You've 
been a kind friend to me. Is the time never to 
come when I can repay you?" 

" Yes, yes; we'll meet again, be assured of it. 
Meanwhile, there is one way you can more than 
repay anything I have done for you." 

"Oh! name it at once." 

" Many a brave fellow of ours is now, and, 
doubtless, many more will be, prisoners with your 
army in this war. Whenever, therefore, your lot 
brings you in contact with such " 

"They shall be my brothers," said he, spring- 
ing towards me, and throwing his arms round my 
neck. Adieu, adieu!" With that he rushed from 
the sjiot, and, before I could speak again, was 
mounted upon the peasant's horse, and waving his 
hand to me in farewell. 

I looked after him as he rode at a fast gallop 
down the slope of the green mountain, the noise 
of the horse's feet echoing along the silent plain. 
I turned at length to leave the spot, and then per- 
ceived, for the first time, that when taking his 
farewell of me, he had hung around my neck his 
mmiature of the empress. Poor boy! how sor- 
rowful I felt thus to rob him of what he held so 
dear! How gladly would I have overtaken him 
to restore it! It was the only keepsake he pos- 
sessed; and, knowing that I would not accept it, 
if offered, he took this way of compelling me to 
keep it. 

Through the long hours of the summer's night I 



thought of him; and, when at last I slept, towards 
morning, my first thought on waking was of the 
solitary day before me. The miles no longer 
slipped imperceptibly along; no longer did the 
noon and night seem fast to follow. Alas! that 
one should grow old ! The very sorrows of our 
early years have something soft and touching in 
them. Arising less from dee]) wrong than slight 
mischances, the grief they cause comes ever with 
an alloy of pleasant thoughts, telling of the tender 
past, and, 'mid the tears called up, forming some 
bright rainbow of future hope. 

Poor St. Croix had already won greatly upon 
me; and I felt lonely and desolate when he de- 
paited. 



CHAPTER LIII. 



ALVAS. 



Nothing of incident marked our further pro- 
gress towards the frontier of Spain, and at length 
we reached the small town of Alvas It was past 
sunset as we arrived, and, instead of the usual 
quiet and repose of a little village, we found the 
streets crowded with people, on horseback and on 
foot; mules, bullocks, carts, and wagons blocked 
up the way, and the oaths of the drivers and the 
screaming of women and children resounded on 
all sides. 

With what little Spanish I possessed I ques- 
tioned some of those near me, and learned, in 
reply, that a dreadful engagement had taken place 
that day between the advanced guard of the 
French, under Victor, and the Lusitanian legion; 
that the Portuguese troops had been beaten and 
completely routed, losing all their artillery and 
baggage; that the French were rapidly advancing, 
and expected hourly to arrive at Alvas, in conse- 
quence of which the terror-stricken inhabitants 
were packing up their possessions and hurrying 
away. 

Here, then, was a point of considerable diffi- 
culty for me at once. My instructions had never 
provided for such a conjuncture, and I was totally 
unable to determine what was best to be done; 
both my men and their horses were completely 
tired by a march of fourteen leagues, and had a 
pressing need of some rest; on every side of me 
the preparations for flight were proceeding with 
all the speed that fear inspires; and to my urgent 
request for some information as to food and 
shelter, I could obtain no other reply than mut- 
tered menaces of the fate before me if I remained, 
and exaggerated accounts of French cruelty. 

Amid all this bustle and confusion a tremend- 
ous fall of heavy rain set in, which at once de- 
termined me, come what might, to house my party, 
and provide forage for our horses. 

As we inished our way slowly through the en- 
cumbered streets, looking on every side for some 
appearance of a village inn, a tremendous shout 
rose in our rear, and a rush of the people towards 
us induced us to suppose that the French were 
upon us. For some minutes the din and uproar 
were terrific— the clatter of horses' feet, the bray- 



332 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



ing of trumpets, the yelling of the mob, all 
mingling in one frightful concert. 

I formed my men in close column, and waited 
steadily for the attack, resolving, if possible, to 
charge through the advancing files; any retreat 
through the crowded and blocked-up thorough- 
fares being totally out of the question. The rain 
was falling in such torrents that nothing could be 
seen a few yards off, when suddenly a pause of a 
few seconds occurred, and, from the clash of ac- 
coutrements and the hoarse tones of a loud voice, 
I judged that the body of men before us were 
forming for attack. 

Resolving, therefore, to take them by surprise, 
I gave the word to charge, and, spurring our jaded 
cattle, onward we dashed. 'J'he mob fled right 
and left from us as we came on; and through the 
dense mist we could just perceive a body of cav- 
alry before us. 

In an instant we were among them; down they 
went on every side, men and horses rolling pell- 
mell over each other — not a blow, not a shot 
striking us as we pressed on. Never did I wit- 
ness such total consternation; some threw them- 
selves from their horses, and fled towards the 
houses; others turned and tried to fall b.ick, but 
the increasing pressure from behind held them, 
and finally succeeded in blocking us up amongst 
them. 

It was just at this critical moment that a sud- 
den gleam of light from the window fell upon the 
disordered mass, and lo my astonishment — I need 
not say, to my delight — I perceived that they 
were Portuguese troops. Before I had well time 
to halt my party, my convictions were pretty well 
strengthened by hearing a well-known voice in 
the rear of the mass call out: 

" Charge, ye devils' charge, will ye? illustrious 
hidalgos! cut them down; los infidelos, sacrijica- 
dos los — scatter them like chaff!" 

One roar of laugliter was my cmly answer to this 
energetic appeal for my destruction, and the mo- 
ment after, the dry features and pleasant face of 
old Monsoon beamed on me by the light ot a 
pine-torch he carried in his right hand. 

" Are they prisoners? — have they surrendered ?" 
inquired he, riding up. "It is well for them; 
we'd have made mincemeat of them otherwise; 
now they shall be well treated, and ransomed if 
they prefer." 

" Gracias excelhnze!" said I, in a feigned 
voice. 

"Give up your sword," said the major, in an 
undertone. " You behaved gallantly, but you 
fought against invincibles. Lord love them! but 
they are the most terrified invincibles." 

I nearly burst aloud at this. 

"It was a close thing which of us ran first," 
muttered the major, as he turned to give some 
directions to an aide-de-camp. " Ask them who 
they are," said he, in Spanish. 

By this time I came close alongside of him, 
and placing my mouth close to his ear, halloed 
out: 

" Monsoon, old fellow, how goes the king of 
Spain's sherry?" 

" Eh! — what — why — upon my life, and so it is 
^-Charley, my boy, so it's you, is it — egad, how 



good; and we were so near being the death of 
you! My poor fellow, how came you here?" 

A few words of explanation sufficed to inform 
the major why we were there, and still more to 
comfort him with the assurance that he had not 
been charging the general's staff, and the com- 
mander-in-chief himself. 

"Upon my life, you gave me a great start; 
though, as long as I thought you were French, it 
was very well." 

" True, major, but certainly the invincibles 
were merciful as they were strong." 

" They were tired, Charley, nothingmore; why, 
lad, we've been fighting since daybreak — beat 
Victor at six o'clock — drove him back behind the 
Tagus — took a cold dinner, and had at him again 
in the afternoon. Lord love you! we've immor- 
talized ourselves; but you must never speak of 
this little business here; it tells devilish ill for 
the discipline of your fellows, upon my life it 
does." 

This was rather an original turn to give the 
transaction, but I did not oppose; and thus chat- 
ting, we entered the little inn, where, confidence 
once restored, some setnblance of comfort al- 
ready appeared. 

" And so you're come to reinforce us?" said 
Monsoon; " there was never anything more op- 
portune; though we surprised ourselves to-day 
with valor, I don't think we could persevere." 

■' Yes, major, the appointment gave me sincere 
pleasure; I greatly desired to see a little service 
under your orders. Shall I present you witli my 
despatches?" 

"Not now, Charley — not now, my lad. Supper 
is the first thing at this moment; besides, now that 
you remind nie, I must send off a despatch my- 
self. Upon my life, it's a great piece of fortune 
that you're here; you shall be secretary at war, 
and write it for me; here now — how lucky that I 
thought of it, to be sure! and it was just a mere 
chance; one has so many things " Mutter- 
ing such broken, disjointed sentences, the major 
opened a large portfolio with writing materials, 
which he displayed bel'ore me as he rubbed his 
hands with satisfaction, and said, " Write away 
lad." 

" But, my dear major, you forget; I was not 
in the action. You must describe; I can only 
follow you." 

" Begin then thus: 

"'Head-Quarters, Ai.vas, June 26. 
"'Your Excellency, — Having learned from 
Don Alphonzo Xaviero da Minto, an officer upon 
my personal staff- 



Luckilv sober at the moment- 



" ' That the advance guard of the eighth corps 
of the French army ' 

" Stay, though, was it the eighth? — Upon my 
life, I'm not quite clear as to that; blot the v\ord 
a little and go on 

"'That the corps, inider Marshal Victor, 

liad commenced a forward movement lowaids 
.Alcantara, I immediately ordered a flank move- 
ment of the light infantry regiment to cover the 
bridge over the Tagus. After breakfast ' 

" I'm afraid, major, that is not precise enough." 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



333 



"Well, 'About eleven o'clock, tlie French 
skirmishers attacked, and drove in our pickets 
that were posted in front of our position, and 
following rapidly up with cavalry, they took a 
few prisoners, and killed old Alphonzo; he ran 
like a man, they say, but they caught him in the 
rear ' 

" You needn't put that in, if you don't like. 

" ' I now directed a charge of the cavalry brig- 
ade under Don Asturias y' Hajos, that cut them 
up in fine style. Our artillery, posted on the 
heights, mowing away at their columns like fun. 

'■ ' Victor didn't like this, and got into a wood, 
when we all went to dinner; it was about two 
o'clock then. 

" ' After dinner, the Portuguese light corps, 
under Silva da Onorha, having made an attack 
upon the enemy's left, without my orders, got 
devilishly well trounced, and served them right; 
but, coming up to their assistance, with tlie heavy 
brigade of gims, and the cavalry, we drove back 
the French, and took several prisoners, none of 
whom we put to death.' 

"Dash that — Sir Arthur likes respect for the 
usages of war. — Lord, how dry I'm getting! 

"'The French were soon seen to retire their 
heavy guns, and speedily afterwards retreated. 
We pursued them for some time, but they showed 
fight; and, as it was getting dark, I drew off my 
forces, and came here to supper. Your Excel- 
lency will perceive, by the enclosed return, that 
our loss has been considerable. 

" ' I send this despatch by Don Emmanuel 
Forgales, whose services ' 

" I back him for mutton hash with onions 
against the whole regiment 

" ' Have been of the most distinguished nature, 
and beg to recommend him to your E.xcellency's 
favor. 

" ' I have the honor, etc' 

'' Is it finished, Charley? Egad, I'm glad of it, 
for here comes supper." 

The door opened as he spoke, and displayed 
a tempting tray of smoking viands, flanked by 
several bottles — an officer of the major's staff 
accompanied it, and showed, by his attentions to 
the eticpiette of the table, and the proper arrange- 
ment of the meal, that his functions in his supe- 
rior's household were more than military. 

We were speedily joined by two others in rich 
uniform, whose names I now forget, but to whom 
the major presented me in all form; introducing 
me, as well as I could interpret his Spanish, as 
his most illustrious ally and friend, Don Carlos 
O'Malley. 



CHAPTER LIV. 



THE SUPPER. 



I HAVE often partaken of more luxurious 
cookery and rarer wines; but never do I remember 
enjoying a more welcome supper than on this 
occasion. 

Our Portuguese guests left us soon, and the 



major and myself were once more teie-ci-tete be- 
side a cheerful fire; a well-chosen array of bottles 
guaranteeing that for some time at least, no neces- 
sity of leave-tr.king should arise from any defi- 
ciency of wine. 

" 'I'liat sherry is very near the thing, Charley; 
a little, a very little siiarp, but the after-taste per- 
fect: and, now, my boy, how have you been doing 
since we parted?" 

" Not so badly, major. I have already got a 
step in promotion. The affair at the Douro gave 
me a lieutenancy." 

" I wish you joy with all my heart I'll call 
you captain always while you're with me. Upon 
my life I will. Why, man, they style me your 
Excellency here. Bless your heart! we are great 
folk among the Portuguese, and no bad service 
after all." 

"I should think not, major. You seem to have 
always made a good thing of it." 

" No, Charley; no, my boy. They overlook 
us greatly in general orders and despatches. Had 
the brilliant action of to-day been fought by the 
British — but no matter; they may behave well in 
England, after all; and, when I'm called to the 
Upper House as Baron Monsoon of the Tagus 
— is that better than Lord Alcantara?" 

" I prefer the latter." 

" Well, then, I'll have it. Lord ' what a treaty 
I'll move for with Portugal, to let us have wine 
cheap. Wine, you know, as David says, gives us 
a pleasant countenance; and oil, I forget what 
oil does — pass over the decanter. And how is 
Sir Arthur, Charley? A fine fellow, but sadly 
deficient in the knowledge of supplies. ^ — Never 
would have made any character in the commis- 
sariat. —Bless \our heart, he pays for everything 
here, as if he were in Cheapside." 

" How absurd, to be sure!" 

" Isn't it, though? that was not my way, when 
I was commissary-general about a year or two 
ago. To be sure, how I did puzzle them! They 
tried to audit my accounts; and what do you 
think I did? I brought them in three thousand 
pounds in my debt. They never tried on that 
game any more. 'No! no!' said the Junta; 
' Beresford and Monsoon are great men, and 
must be treated with great respect.' Do you 
think we'd let them search our pockets? But 
the rogues doubled on us, after all; they sent us 
to the northward — a poor country " 

" So that, except a little commonplace pillage 
of the convents and nunneries, you had little or 
nothing?" 

"Exactly so; and then I got a great shock 
about that time, that affected my spirits for a con- 
siderable while." 

" Indeed, major! some illness?" 

" No, I was quite well, but — Lord! how thirsty 
it makes me to think of it! my throat is abso- 
lutely parched— I was near being hanged !" 

"Hanged?" 

"Yes. Upon my life, it's true — very horrible, 
ain't it? — It had a great effect upon my nervous 
systern; and they never thought of any little pen- 
sion to me, as a recompense for my sufferings." 

" And who was barbarous enough to think of 
such a thing, major?" 



334 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



" Sir Arthur Wellesley, himself; none other, 
Charley." 

"Oh, it was a mistake, major, or a joke." 

"It was devilish near being a practical one, 
though. I'll tell you how it occurred. After the 
battle of Vimeira, the brigade to which I was at- 
tached had their head-quarters at San Pietro, a 
large convent where all the church plate for 
miles around was stored up for safety. A ser- 
geant's guard was accordingly stationed over the 
refectory, and every precaution taken to prevent 
pillage, Sir Arthur himself giving particular 
orders on the subject. Well, somehow — I never 
could find out how — but, in leaving the place, all 
the wagons of our brigade had got some trifling 
articles of small value scattered, as it might be, 
among their stores — gold cups, silver candle- 
sticks. Virgin Marys, ivory crucifixes, saints' 
eyes set in topazes, and martyrs toes in silver 
filagree, and a hundred other similar things. 

"One of these confounded bullock-carts broke 
down just at the angle of the road where the 
commander-in-chief was standing with his staff 
to watch the troops defile, and out rolled, among 
bread rations and salt beef, a whole avalanche of 
precious relics and church ornaments. Every 
one stood aghast! Never was there such a mis- 
fortune. No one endeavored to repair the 
mishap, hut all looked on in terrified amazement 
as to what was to follow. 

"'Who has the command of this detachment?' 
shouted out Sir Arthur, in a voice that made 
more than one of us tremble. 

" 'Monsoon, your Excellency — Major Monsoon, 
of the Portuguese brigade.' 

"'The d — d old roguel— I know him.' Upon 
my life, that's what he said. 'Hang him up 
on the spot,' pointingwith his finger as he spoke; 
'we shall see if this practice cannot be put a stop 
to.' And with these words he rode leisurely 
away, as if he had been merely ordering dinner 
for a small party. 

" When I came up to the place, the halberts 
were fixed, and Gronow, with a company of the 
Fusiliers, under arms beside them. 

" ' Devilish sorry for it, major,' said he. ' It's 
confoundedly unpleasant, but can't be helped. 
We've got orders to see you hanged!' 

"Faith it was just so he said it, tapping his 
snuff-box as he spoke, and looking carelessly 
about him. Now, had it not been for the fixed 
halberts and the provost-marshal, I'd not have 
believed him, but one glance at them, and 
another at the bullock-cart with all the holy 
images, told me at once what had happened. 

" 'He only means to frighten me a little. Isn't 
that all, Gronow?' cried I, in a supplicating 
voice. 

"'Very possibly, major,' said he; 'but I must 
execute my orders.' 

" ' You'll surely not ' Before I could finish, 

up came Dan Mackinnon, cantering smartly. 
'Going to hang old Monsoon, eh, Gronow? What 
fun!' 

" ' Ain't it, though!' said I, half blubbering. 

"'Well, if you're a good Catholic you may have 
your choice of a saint, for, by Jupiter! there's a 
strong muster of them here.' This cruel allusion 



was made in reference to the gold and silver 
effigies that lay scattered about the highway. 

'" Dan,' said I, in a whisper, 'intercede forme 
— do, like a good, kind fellow. You have in- 
fluence with Sir Arthur. 

" ' You old sinner,' said he, ' it's useless.' 

"'Dan, I'll forgive you the fifteen pounds.' 

'"That you owe me,' said Dan, laughing. 

" ' Who'll ever be the father to you I have been? 
Who'll mix your punch with burnt Madeira, when 
I'm gone?' said I. 

" ' Well, really, I am sorry for you. Monsoon. 
I say, Gronow, don't tuck him up for a few min- 
utes; I'll speak for the old villain, and, if I suc- 
ceed, I'll wave my handkerchief.' 

" Well, away went Dan at a full gallop. Gronow 
sat down on a bank, and I fidgeted about in no 
very enviable frame of mind, the confounded 
provost-marshal eyeing me all the while. 

" ' I can only give you five minutes more, ma- 
jor,' said Gronow, placing his watch beside him 
on the grass. I tried to pray a little, and said 
three or four of Solomon's proverbs, when he 
again called out — 'There, you see it won't do! 
Sir Arthur is shaking his head.' 

" ' What's that waving yonder?' 

" ' The colors of the 6th Foot. — Come, major, 
off with your stock.' 

" ' Where is Dan now — what is he doing?' — for 
I could see nothing myself. 

" ' He's riding beside Sir Arthur. They all 
seem laughing.' 

" ' God forgive them! what an awful retrospect 
this will prove to some of them.' 

" ' Time's up!' said Gronow, jumping up and 
replacing his watch in his pocket. 

" ' Provost-marshal, be quick now ' 

'"Eh! what's that? — there I see it waving! — 
there's a shout, too!' 

" ' .-^y, by Jove! so it is; well, you're saved 
this time, major — that's the signal' 

" So saying, Gronow formed his fellows in line 
and resumed his march quite coolly, leaving me 
alone on the roadside to meditate over martial 
law and my pernicious taste for relics. 

" Well, Charley, this gave me a great shock, 
and I think, too, it must have had a great effect 
upon Sir Arthur himself; but, upon my life, he 
has wonderful nerves. I met him one day after- 
wards at dinner at Lisbon; he looked at me very 
hard for a few seconds — 'Eh, Monsoon! Major 
Monsoon, I think?' ' 

"'Yes, your Excellency,' said I briefly; think- 
ing how painful it must be for him to meet me. 

" ' Thought I had hanged you — know I in- 
tended it — no matter — a glass of wine with 
you?' 

"Upon my life, that was all; how easily some 
people can forgive themselves! But, Charley, my 
hearty, we are getting on slowly with the tipple; 
are they all empty? so they are! let us make a 
sortie on the cellar; bring a candle with you, and 
come along." 

We had scarcely proceeded a few steps from the 
door, when a most vociferous sound of mirth, 
arising from a neighboring apartment, arrcKted 
our progress. 

"Are the dons so convivial, maj.or?" said I, 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



335 



as a hearty burst of laughter broke forth at the 
moment. 

" Upon my life, they surprise me; I begin to 
fear they have taken some of our wine." 

We now perceived that the sounds of merri- 
ment came from the kitchen, which opened upon a 
little court-yard. Into this we crept stealthily, and 
approaching noiselessly to the window, obtained 
a peep at the scene within. 

Around a blazing fire, over which hung by a 
chain a massive iron pot, sat a goodly party of 
some half-dozen people. One group lay in dark 
shadow, but the others were brilliantly lighted 
up by the cheerful blaze, and showed us a portly 
Dominican friar, with a beard down to his waist; 
a buxom, dark-eyed girl of some eighteen years; 
and between the two, most comfortably leaning 
back, with an arm round each, no less a person 
than my trusty man, Mickey Free. 

It was evident, from the alternate motion of 
his head, that his attentions were evenly divided 
between the church and the fair sex — although, 
to confess the truth, they seemed , much more 
favorably received by the latter than the former 
— a brown earthen flagon appearing to absorb all 
the worthy monk's thoughts that he could spare 
fro.n the contemplation of heavenly objects. 

"Mary, my darlin', don't be looking at me 
that way, through the corner of your eye; — ^I 
know you're fond of me— but the girls always 
was. You think I'm joking, but troth I wouldn't 
say a lie before the holy man beside me; sure I 
wouldn't, father?" 

The friar grunted out something in reply, not 
very unlike, in sound at least, a hearty anathema. 

" Ah, then, isn't it yourself has the illigant time 
of it, father, dear?" said he, tapping him familiarlv 
upon his ample paunch, ' and nothing to trouble 
you; the best of divarsion wherever you go, and 
whether its Badahos or Ballykilruddery, it's all 
one; the women is fond of ye. Father Murphy, 
the coadjutor in Scariff, was just such another as 
yourself, and he'd coa.^: the birds off the trees 
with the tongue of him Give us a pull at the 
pipkin before it's all gone, and I'll give you a 
chant." 

With tliis he seized the jar, and drained it to 
the bottom; the smack of his lips as he concluded, 
and the disappointed look of the friar, as he 
peered into the vessel, throwing the others, once 
more, into a loud burst of laughter. 

" And now, your rev'rence, a good chorus is 
all I'll ask, and you'll not refuse it for the honor 
of the Church." 

So saying, he turned a look of most droll ex- 
pression upon the monk, and began the following 
ditty, to the air of " St. Patrick was a Gentleman." 

" What nn illeg.int life a friar leads. 

With a fat round pauncli before him; 
He mutters a prayer and counts his beads, 

And all the woinen adore him. 
It's little he's troubled to work or think. 

Wherever devotion leads him, 
A ' pater' pays for his dinner and drink, 

For the Church — good luck to her! — feeds him. 

" From the cow in the field to the pig in the sty, 
From the maid to the lady in satin. 
They tremble wherever he turns an eye, 



He can talk to the devil in Latin! 
He's mighty severe to the ugly and ould, 

Antl curses like mad when he's near 'em; 
But one beautiful trait of him I've been tould, 

The innocent craytures don't fear him. 

'* It's little for spirits or ghosts he cares; 

For 'lis true, as the world supposes, 
With an ave he'd make them march down-stairs, 

Av they daretl to show their noses. 
The devil himself 's afraid, 'tis said, 

And dares not to deride him; 
For 'angels make each night his bed. 

And then lie down beside liim.' " 

A perfect burst of laughter from Monsoon pre- 
vented my hearing how Mike's minstrelsy suc- 
ceeded within doors; but, when I looked again, I 
found that the friar had decamped, leaving the 
field open to his rival — a circumstance I could 
plainly perceive not disliked by either party. 

"Come back, Charley — that villain of yours 
has given me the cramp, standing here on the 
cold pavement. We'll have a little wa»n posset 
— very small and thin, as they say in Tom Jones 
— and then to bed." 

Notwithstanding the abstemious intentions of 
the m.ajor, it was daybreak ere we separated, and 
neither party in a condition for performing upon 
the tight-rope. 



CHAPTER LV. 



THE LEGION. 



My services, while with the legion, were of no 
very distinguished character, and require no 
lengthened chronicle. Their great feat of arms, 
the repulse of an advanced guard of Victor's 
corps, had taken place the very morning I had 
joined them, and the ensuing month was passed 
in soft repose upon their laurels. 

For the first few days, indeed, a multiplicity of 
cares beset the worthy major There was a des- 
patch to be written to Beresford — another to the 
Supreme Junta — a letter to Wilson, at that time 
with a corps of observation to the eastward. 
There were some wounded to be looked after — 
a speech to be made to the conquering heroes 
themselves — and, lastly, a few prisoners were 
taken, whose fate seemed certainly to partake of 
the most uncertain of war's proverbial chances. 

The despatches gave little trouble, with some 
very slight alterations, the great original, already 
sent forward to Sir .Arthur, served as a basis for 
the rest. The wounded were forwarded to Al- 
cantara, with a medical staff, to whom Monsoon, 
at parting, pleasantly hinted, that he expected to 
see all the sick at their duty by an early day, or 
he would be compelled to report the doctors. 
The speech, which was intended as a kind ot 
general order, he deferred for some favorable 
afternoon, when he could get up Mis Portuguese; 
and, lastly, came the prisoners, by far the most 
difficult of all his cares. As for the fewcominon 
soldiers taken, they gave him little uneasiness; as 
Sir John has it, they were " mortal men, and food 
for powder;" but there was a staff-officer among 
them, nig'.iilletted and epauletted. The \ ery dec- 



336 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



orations he wore were no common temptation. 
Now tiie major deliberated a long time with him- 
selt. whether tlie usages of modern war might 
not admit of the ancient, time-honored practice 
of ransom. The battle, save in glory, had been 
singularly unproductive — plunder there was none 
— the few ammunition-wagons and gun-carriages 
were worth little or nothing; so that, save the 
prisoners, nothing remained. It was late in tlie 
evening — the mellow hour of the major's med- 
itations — when he ventured to open his heart to 
me upon the matter 

" I was just thinking, Charley, how very supe- 
rior they were in olden times, to us moderns, in 
many matters, and nothing more than in their 
treatment of prisoners They never took them 
away from their friends and country; they always 
ransomed them — if they had wherewithal to pay 
their way. So good natured — upon my life, it 
was a most excellent custom. They took any 
little valuables they found about them, and then 
put them up at auction. Moses and Eleazar, a 
priest, we are told, took every piece of gold, and 
their wrought jewels — meaning their watches and 
ear-rings. Y"ou needn't laugh, they all wore ear- 
rings, those fellows did. Now, why shouldn't I 
profit by their example? I have taken Agag, the 
king of the Amalekites — no, but, upon my life, I 
have gJt a French major,^ and I'd let him go for 
fifty doubloons," 

It was not without much laughing and soine 
eloquence that I could persuade Monsoon that 
Sir Arthur's military notions might not accept of 
even the authority of Moses; and, as our head- 
quarters were at no great distance, the danger of 
such a step as he meditated was too considerable 
at such a moment. 

As for ourselves, no fatiguing drills, no harass- 
ing field-days, and no provoking inspections inter- 
fered with the easy current of our lives. Forag- 
ing parties there were, it is true, and some occa- 
sional out post duty was performed; but theoffi- 
cers for both were selected with a tact that proved 
the major's appreciation of character; for while 
the gay joyous fellow that sung a jovial song and 
loved iiis liquor was certain of being entertained 
at head-quarters, the less-gifted and less-con- 
genial spirit had the happiness of scouring the 
country for forage, and presenting himself as a 
target to a French rifle. 

My own endeavors to fulfil my instructions met 
with but little encouragement or support; and, 
although I labored hard at my task, I must con- 
fess that the soil was a most ungrateful one. The 
cavalry were, it is true, composed mostly of young 
fellows well appointed, and in most cases well- 
mounted: but a more disorderly, careless, undis- 
ciplined set of good-humored fellows never formed 
a corps in the world. 

Monsoon's opinions were felt in every branch 
of the service, from the adjutant to the drumboy 
— the same reckless, indolent, plunder-loving 
spirit prevailed everywhere. And although, under 
fire, they showed no lack of gallantry or courage, 
the moment of danger passed, discipline departed 
with it, and their only conception of benefitting by 
a victory consisted in the amount of pillage that 
reiulted from it. 



From time to time the rumors of great 
events reached us. We heard that Soult, having 
succeeded in re-organizing his beaten army, was, 
in conjunction with Ney's corps, returning from 
the north; that the marshals were consolidating 
their forces in the neighborhood of Talavera, 
and that King Joseph himself, at the head of a 
large army, had marched for Madrid. 

Menacing as such an aspect of affairs was, it 
little disturbed the major's equanimity; and 
when our advanced posts reported daily the in- 
telligence that the French were in retreat, he 
cared little with what object of concentrating 
they retired, provided the interval between us 
grew gradually wider. His speculations upon 
the future were singularly prophetic. " You'll see, 
Charley, what will happen; old Cuesta will pur- 
sue them, and get thrashed. The English will 
come up, and, perhaps get thrashed, too; but we 
- — God bless us! — are only a small force, partially 
organized, and ill to depend on; we'll go up the 
mountains till all is over!" Thus did the major's 
discretion not only extend to the avoidance of 
danger, but he actually disqualified himself from 
even making its acquaintance. 

Meanwhile, our o])erations consisted in making 
easy marches to Almarez, halting wherever the 
commissariat reported a well-stocked cellar or 
well-furnished hen-roost; taking the primrose path 
in life, and being, in the words of the major, 
" contented and grateful, even amid great perilsl" 



CHAPTER LVI. 



THE DEPARTURE. 



On the morning of the lotb July, a despatch 
reached us announcing that Sir Arthur Wellesley 
had taken up his head-quarters at Placentia, for 
the purpose of communicating with Cuesta, then 
at Casa del Puerto, and ordering me immediately 
to repair to the Spanish head-quarters, and await 
Sir Arthur's arrival, to make my report upon the 
effective state of our corps. As for me, I was 
heartily tired of the inaction of my present life, 
and, much as I relished the eccentricities of my 
friend the major, longed ardently for a different 
sphere of action. 

Not so Monsoon; the prospect of active employ- 
ment, and the thoughts of being left once more 
alone — for his Portuguese staff afforded him 
little society — depressed him greatly, and, as the 
hour of my departure drew near, he appeared 
lower in spirit than I had ever seen him. 

" I shall be very lonely without you, Charley," 
said he, with a sigh, as we sat the last evening 
together beside our cheerful wood fire. " I have 
little intercourse with the dons; for my Port- 
uguese is none of the best, and only comes when 
the evening is far advanced; and, besides, the 
villains, I fear, may remember the sherry affair. 
Two of my present staff were with me then." 

" Is that the stcry Power alluded to, major, the 
king of Spain's ?" 

" There, Charley, hush — be cautious, my boy. 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



337 



I'd rather not speak about that till we get amongst 
our own fellows." 

" Just as you like, major; but, do you know, I 
have a strong curiosity to hear the narrative." 

" If I'm not mistaken, there is some one listen- 
ing at the door — gently--that's it, eh.?" 

"No, we are perfectly alone! the night's early 
— who knows when we shall have as quiet an 
hour again together? Let me hear it, by all means." 

" Well, I don't care; the thing. Heaven knows! 
is tolerably well known; so, if you'll amuse your- 
self making a devil of the turkey's legs there, I'll 
tell you the story. It's very short, Charley, and 
tliere's no moral; so you're not likely to repeat 
It." 

So saying, the major filled up his glass, drew a 
little closer to the fire, and began: 

" When the French troops under Laborde were 
marching upon Alcobaco, in concert with Loison's 
corps, I was ordered to convey a very valuable 
present of sherry the Due d'Albuquerque was 
making to the Supreme Junta — no less than ten 
hogsheads of the best sherry the royal cellars of 
Madrid had formerly contained. 

"It was stored in the San Vincento convent; 
and the Junta, knowing a little about monkish 
tastes and the wants of the church, prudently 
thought it would be quite as well at Lisbon. I was 
accordingly ordered with a sufficient force to pro- 
vide for its safe-conduct and secure arrival, and 
set out upon my march one lovely morning in 
April with my precious convoy. 

"I don't know, I never could understand, why 
temptations are thrown in our way in this life, ex- 
cept for the pleasure of yielding lo them. As for 
me, I'm a stoic when there's nothing to be 
had; but, let me get a scent of a well-kept haunch, 
the odor of a wine-bin once in my nose, I for- 
got everything except appropriation. — That bone 
smells deliciously, Charley; a little garlic would 
improve it vastly. 

"Our road lay through cross paths and moun- 
tain tracts — for the French were scouring the 
country on every side — and my fellows, only 
twenty altogether, trembled at the very name of 
them; so that our only chance was to avoid falling 
in with any forage parties. We journeyed along 
for several days, rarely making more than a few 
leagues between sunrise and sunset, a scout always 
in advance to assure us that all was safe. The 
road was a lonesome one, and the way weary — 
for I had no one to speak to or converse with — so 
I fell into a kind of musmgfit about the old wine 
in the great brown casks. I thought on its lus- 
cious flavor, its rich straw tint, its oily look as it 
flowed into the glass, the mellow after-taste, warm- 
ing the heart as it went down, and I absolutely 
thought I could smell it through the wood. 

" How I longed to broach one of them, if it 
were only to see if my dreams about it were cor- 
rect. ' Maybe it's brown sherry,' thought I, 'and 
I am all -.vrong.' This was a very distressing re- 
rieccion. I mentioned it to the Portuguese inten- 
dant, who travelled with us as a kind of super- 
cargo; but the villain only grinned, and said some- 
thing about the Junta and the galleys for life; so 
I did not recur to it afterwards. Well, it was 
upon the third evening of our march that the scout 



reported that at Merida, about a league distant, 
he had fallen in with an English cavalry regiment, 
who were on their march to the northern provinces, 
and remaining that night in the village. As soon, 
therefore, as I had made all my arrangements for 
the night, I took a fresh horse, and cantered over 
to have a look at my countrymen, and hear the 
news. When I arrived it was dark night; but I 
was not long in finding out our fellows. They 
were the nth Light Dragoons, commanded by my 
old friend Bowes, and with as jolly a mess as any 
in the service. 

" Before half an hour's time I was in the 
midst of them, hearing all about the camjiaign, and 
telling them in return about my convoy — dilating 
upon the qualities of the wine, as if I had been 
drinking it every day at dinner. 

"We had a very mellow night of it, and before 
four o'clock the senior major and four captains 
were under the table, and all the subs, in a state 
unprovided for by the articles of war. So I 
thought I'd be going, and wishing the sober ones 
a good-by, set out on my road to join my own 
party. 

" I had not gone above a hundred yards when 
I heard some one running after and calling out 
my name. 

"'I say, Monsoon; major, confound you, pull 
up.' 

" 'Well, what's the matter? has any more lush- 
turned up?' inquired I, for we drank the tap dry 
when I left. 

" ' Not a drop, old fellow!' said he; ' but I was. 
thinking of what you've been saying about that 
sherry.' 

'"Well! What then?' 

" ' Why, I want to know how we could get a. 
taste of it?' 

"You'd better get elected one of the Cortes,' 
said I, laughing; ' for it does not seem likely you'll 
do so in any other way.' 

" ' I'm not sure of that,' said he, smiling. 
' What road do you travel to-morrow?' 

" 'By Cavalhos and Reina.' 

" 'Whereabouts may you happen to be towards, 
sunset?' 

" 'I fear we shall be in the mountains,' said I 
with a knowing look, 'where ambuscades and 
surprise parties would be highly dangerous.' 

"'And your party consists of ?' 

" ' About twenty Portuguese, all ready to run- 
at the first shot.' 

"'I'll do it, Monsoon! I'll be hanged if I, 
don't.' 

"'But, Tom,' said I, 'don't make any blun-r 
der; only blank cartridge, my boy.' 

" 'Honor bright!' cried he; 'your fellows are,- 
armed, of course?' 

"' Never think of that; they may shoot each- 
other in the confusion, but, if you only make 
plenty of noise coming on, they'll never wait for, 
you.' 

"'What capital fellows they must be?' 

"'Crack troojjs, Tom; so don't hurt themv 
and now, good-night.' 

" As I cantered off, I began to think over 
O'Flaherty's idea, and, upon my life, I didn't half 
like it he was a reckless, devil-may-care fellow. 



338 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



and it was just as likely he would really put his 
scheme into practice. 

" When morning broke, however, we got under 
way again, and I amused myself all the forenoon 
in detailing stories of French cruelty; so that, 
before we had marched ten miles, there was not 
a man amongst us not ready to run at the slight- 
est sound of attack on any side. As evening was 
falling we reached Morento, a little mountain 
pass which follows the course of a small river, 
and where, in many places, the mule-carts had 
barely space enough to pass between the cliffs 
and tlie stream. ' What a place for Tom 
O'Flaiierty and his foragers!' thought I, as we 
entered the little mountain gorge; but all was 
silent as tlie grave; except the tramp of our party, 
not a sound was heard. There was something 
solemn and still in the great brown mountain, 
rising like vast walls on either side, with a narrow 
streak of grey sky at top, and in the dark slug- 
gish stream, that seemed to awe us, and no one 
spoke; the muleteer ceased his merry song, and 
did not crack or flourish his long whip as before, 
but ciiid his beasts in a half-muttered voice, and 
urged them faster, to reach the village before 
nightfall. 

'■ Egad, somehow, I felt uncommonly uncom- 
fortable; I could not divest my mind of the im- 
pression that some disaster was impending, and I 
wished O'Flaherty and his project in a very warm 
climate. ' He'll attack us,' thought I, ' where we 
can't run; fair play forever; but, if they are not 
able to get away, even the militia will fight.' 
However, the evening crept on, and no sign of 
his coming appeared on any side, and, to my sin- 
cere satisfacti3;i, I coLild see, about half a league 
distant, the twinkling light of the little village 
where we were to halt for the night. It was just 
at this time that a scout 1 had sent out some few 
hundred yards in advance came galloping up, al- 
most breathless. 

"' The French, captain; the French are upon 
ais!' said lie, with a face like a ghost. 

"'Whew! Which way? how many?' said I, 
not at all sure that he might not be telling the 
truth. 

" ' Coming in force!' said the fellow; ' dragoons! 
by this road.' 

" ' Dragoons? By this road ?' repeated every 
man of the party, looking at each other like men 
sentenced to be hanged. 

" Scarcely had they spoken, when we heard tlie 
distant noise of cavalry advancing at a brisk trot. 
Lord, what a scene ensued! the soldiers ran 
hither and thither like frightened sheep: some 
pulled out crucifixes and began to say their pray- 
ers; others fired off their muskets in a panic; the 
mule-drivers cut their traces, and endeavored to 
get away by riding; and the intendant took to 
his heels, screaming out to us, as he went, to fight 
manfully to the last, and that he'd report us fav- 
orably to the Junta. 

"Just at this moment the dragoons came in 
sight; they came galloping up shouting, like mad- 
men. One look was enough for my fellows; they 
sprang to their legs from their devotions; fired a 
volley straiglit at the new moon, and ran like men. 

" I was knocked down in the rush. As I re- 



gained my legs, Tom O'Flaherty was standing be- 
side me, laughing like mad. 

"'Eh, Monsoon? Lve kept my word, old fel- 
low! What legs they have! we shall make no 
prisoners, that's certain. — Now, lads, here it is! 
put the horses to, here. We shall take but one, 
Monsoon, so that your gallant defence of the 
rest will please tlie Junta. Good-night! good- 
night! I will drink your health every night these 
two months.' 

"So saying, Tom sprang to his saddle, and in 
less time than I've been telling it the whole was 
over, and I sitting by myself in the grey moonliglit, 
meditating on all 1 saw, and now and then shout- 
ing for my Poituguese friends to come back again. 
They came in time, by twos and threes, and at 
last the whole party reassembled, and we set forth 
again — every man from the intendant to the 
drummer, lauding my valor, and saying that Don 
Monsoon was a match for tlie Cid." 

"And how did the Junta behave?" 

" Like trumps, Charley. Made me a knight of 
Battalha, and kissed me on both cheeks, having 
sent twelve dozen of the rescued wine to my 
quarters, as a small testimony of their esteem. I 
have laughed very often at it since. But, hush! 
Charley. What's that I hear without tlierc?" 

" Oh, it's my fellow, Mike. He asked my lea\e 
to entertain his friends btfore parting, and ] per- 
ceive he is delighting thtm with a song." 

"But, what a confounded air it is! are the 
words Hebrew?" 

"Irish, major; most classical Irish, too, I'll be 
bound." 

"Irish! I've heard most tongues; but that cer- 
tainly surprises me. Call him in, Charley, and 
let us have the canticle." 

In a few minutes more, Mr. Free appeared in 
a state of very satisfactory elevation, his eyebrows 
alternately rising and falling, his mouth a little 
drawn to one side, and a side motion in his knee- 
joints that might puzzle a physiologist to account 
for. 

" A sweet little song of yours, Mike," said the 
major; " a very sweet thing, indeed. Wet your 
lips, Mickey." 

" Long life to your honor, and Mister Charles 
there, too, and them that belongs to both of yez. 
May a gooseberry skin make a nightcap for the 
man would harm either of ye." 

" Thank you, Mike. And now about that 
song." 

"It's the ouldest tune ever was sung," says 
Mike, with a hiccup, "barring Adam hatl a taste 
for music; but the words — the poethry is not so 
ould." 

" .'^nd how comes that?" 

"The poethry, ye see, was put to it by one of 
my ancesthors — he was a great inventhor in times 
past, and made beautiful songs — and ye'd never 
guess what it's all about." 

" Love, mayhap?" quote Monsoon. 

" Sorra taste of kissing from beginning to 
end." 

■' A drinking song ?." said I. 

"Whiskey is never mentioned." 

" Fighting is the only other national pastime. 
It must be in praise of sudden death?" 




fe J^^'S ^^ 



^ 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



339 



"You're out again; but sure you'd never guess 
it," said Mike. " Well, ye see, here's what it is. 
It's the praise and glory of ould Ireland in the 
great days that's gone, when we were all Phenay- 
cians and Armenians, and when we worked all 
manner of beautiful contrivances in goold and 
silver; bracelets, and collars, and teapots, illegant 
to look at; and read Roosian and Latin, and 
played the harp and the barrel-organ; and eat 
and drank of the best, for nothing but asking." 

" Blessed times, u|)on my life!" quoth the 
major; " I wish we had them back again." 

" There's more of your mind," said Mike, 
steadying himself. " My ancesthors was great 
people in them days; and sure it isn't in my 
present situation I'd be av we had them back 
again — sorra bit, faith! It isn't, 'Come here, 
Mickey, bad luck to you, Mike!' or, ' That black- 
guard, Mickey Free!' people 'd be calling me. 
But no matter; here's your health again. Major 
Monsoon " 

"Never mind vain regrets, Mike. Let us hear 
your song; the major has taken a great fancy 
to it." 

"Ah, then, it's joking you are. Mister Charles," 
said Mike, affecting an air of most bashful 
coyness. 
•'■ By no means; we want to hear you sing it." 

"To be sure we do. Sing it by all means; 
never be ashamed. King Da\id was very fond of 
singing — upon my life he was." 

" But you'd never understand a word of it, sir." 

"No matter; we know what it's about. That's 
the way with tlie Legion; they don't know much 
English, but they generally guess what I'm at." 

This argument seemed to satisfy all Mike's re- 
maining scruples, so, placing himself in an attitude 
of considerable pretension as to grace, he began, 
with a voice of no very measured compass, an 
air, of which, neither by name nor otherwise, can 
I give any conception: my principal amusement 
being derived from a tol-de-rol chorus of the 
major, which concluded each verse, and, indeed, 
in a lower key, accompanied the singer through- 
out. 

Since that I have succeeded in obtaining a free- 
and-easy translation of the lyric; but in ni) 
anxiety to preserve the metre and something of 
the spirit of the original, I have made several 
blunders and many anachronisms. Mr. Free, 
however, pronounces my version a good one; and 
the world must take his word till some more 
worthy translator shall have consigned it to im- 
mortal verse. 

With this apology, therefore, I present Mr. 
Free's song; Air— "Na guilloch y' goulen." 

"Oh! once we were illigant people, 

Thousjii we now live in cabins of mud" 
And Ihe l.Tiid lh.it ye see from the steeple 

Belonged to ns all from the Flood. 
My father was then king of Connanght, 

My grand-aunt Vice.oy of Tralee; 
But Ihe Sassenach came, and signs on it! 

The devil an acre have we. 

The least of us then were al! earls, 

And jewels we wore without name; 
We drank punch out of rubies and pearls — 

Mr. Petrie can tell you the same. 



But, except some turf mould and potatoes. 
There's nothing our own we can call; 

And the English — bad luck to them! — hate us. 
Because we've more fun than them all ! 

" My grand-aunt was niece to St. Kevin. 

That's the reason my name's Mickey Free! 
Priest's nieces — but sure he's in heaven, 

And his failin's is nothin' to me- 
And we still might get on without doctors. 

If they'd let llie ould island alone; 
And if purple men, priests, and lithe-proctors, 

Were crammed down the great gun of Athlone. " 

As Mike's melody proceeded, the major's 
thorough-bass waxed beautifully less — now and 
then, it's true, roused by some momentary strain, 
it swelled upwards in full chorus, but gradually 
these passing flights grew rarer, and finally all 
ceased, save a long, low, droning sound, like the 
expiring sigh of a weary bagpijjc. His fingers 
still continued mechanically to beat time upon 
the table, and still his head npdded sympathet- 
ically to the music; his eyelids closed in sleep, 
and, as the last verse concluded, a full-drawn 
snore announced that Monsoon, if not in the 
land of dreams, was, at least, in a hapjjy oblivion 
of all terrestrial concerns, and caring as little for 
the woes of green Erin and the altered fortunes 
of the Free family as any Saxon that ever op- 
pressed them. 

There he sat, the finished decanter and empty 
goblet testifying that his labors had only ceased 
from the pressure of necessity; but the broken, 
half-uttered words that fell from his lips evinced 
that he reposed on the last bottle of the series. 

"Oh, thin! he's a fine ould gentleman," said 
Mike, after a pause of some minutes, during 
wl-.ich he had been contem])lating the major with 
all the critical acumen Chantrey or Canova would 
have bestowed upon at. antique statue — "a fine 
ould gentleman, every inch of him; and it's the 
master would like to have him up at the castle." 

"Quite true, Mike; but let us not forget the 
road. Look to the cattle, and be ready to start 
within an hour." 

When he left the room for this purpose, I en- 
deavored to shake the major into momentary 
consciousness ere we parted. 

" Major, major," said I, " time is up. I must 
start." 

"Yes, it's all true, your Excellency; they pil- 
laged a little; and, if they did change their 
facings there was a great temptation. All the 
red velvet thev found in the churches " 

"Good-by, old fellow, good-by!" 

" Stand at ease!" 

" Can't, unfortunately, yet awhile; so farewell. 
I'll make a capital report of the Legion to Sir 
Arthur; shall I add anything particularly from 
yourself ?" 

This, and the shake that accompanied it, 
aroused him: he started up, and looked about 
him for a few seconds. 

"Eh, Ciiarley! You didn't say Sir Arthur was 
here, did you?" 

"No, major; don't be frightened; he's many a 
league off. I asked if you had, anything to say 
when I met him'" 

"Oh, yes, Charley. Tell him we're capital 



340 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



troops in our own little way in the mountains; 
would never do in pitched battles; skirmishing's 
our forte; and, for cutting off stragglers or sack- 
ing a town, back them at any odds." 

" Yes, yes, I know all that: you've nothing 
more?" 

'"Nothing," said he, once more closing his eyes 
and crossing his hands before him, while his lips 
continued to mutter on, " Nothing more, except 
you may say from me — he knows me. Sir Arthur 
does. Tell him to guard liimself from intemper- 
ance; a fine fellow if he wouldn't drink." 

"You horrid old humbug, what nonsense are 
you muttering there?" 

" Yes, yes; Solomon says, ' Who hath red eyes 
and carbuncles?' — they that mi.x their lush. Pure 
S'teyd never injured any one. Tell him so from 
me: it's an old man's advice, and I have drunk 
some hogsheads of it." 

With these words he ceased to speak, while his 
head, falling gently forward upon his chest, pro- 
claimed him sound asleep. 

''Adieu! then, tor the last time," said I, slap- 
ping him gently on the shoulder, " and now for 
the road." 



CHAPTER LVII. 



CUESTA. 

The second day of our journey was drawing 
to a close as we came in vievv of the Spanish 
army. 

The position they occupied was an undulating 
])lain beside the Teitar river: the country pre- 
sented no striking feature of picturesque 
beauty; but the scene before us needed no such 
aid to make it one of the most interesting kind. 
From the little mountain path vve travelled, we 
beheld beneath a force of thirty thousand men 
drawn up in battle array; dense columns of infan- 
try alternating with squadrons of horse or dark 
masses of artillery, dotted the wide plain, the 
bright steel glittering in the rich sunset of a July 
evening, when not a breath of air was stirring: 
the very banners hung down listlessly, and not a 
sound broke the solemn stillness of the hour. All 
was silent: so impressive and so strange was the 
spectacle of a vast army thus resting mutely 
under arms, that I reined in my horse, and 
almost doubted the reality of the scene as I gazed 
upon it. 'J'he dark shadows of the tall mountain 
were falling across the valley, and a starry sky 
was already rejjlacing the ruddy glow of sunset 
as vve reached the plain; but still no change took 
])lace in the position of the Spanish army. 

"Who goes there?" cried a hoarse voice as we 
issued from the mountain gorge, and in a 
moment we found ourselves surrounded by an out- 
])ost party. Having explained, as well as I was 
able, vvho I was and for what reason I was there, 
I proceeded to accompany the officer towards 
the camp. 

On my way thither I learned the reason of the 
singular display of troops which had been so 
puzzling to me. From an early hour of that day Sir 



Arthur Wellesley's arrival had been expected, and 
old Cuesta had drawn up his men for inspection, 
and remained thus for several hours patiently 
awaiting his coming; he himself, overwhtlmtd 
with years and infirmity, sitting upon his Lorse 
the entire time. 

As it was not necessary that I should be pre- 
sented to the general, my report being for the 
ear of Sir Arthur himself, I willingly availed my- 
self of the hospitality proffered by a Spanish 
officer of cavalry; and, having provided for the 
comforts of my tired cattle and taken a hasty 
supper, issued forth to look at the troops, which, 
although it was now growing late, were still in 
the same attitude. 

Scarcely had I been half an hour thus occu^ 
pied, when the stillness of the scene was sud- 
denly interrupted by the loud report of a large 
gun. immediately followed by a long roll of 
musketry, while, at the same moment, the bands of 
the different regiments struck up, and, as by 
magic, a blaze of red light streamed across the 
dark ranks; this was effected by jjine-torches 
held aloft at intervals, throwing a lurid glow 
upon the grim and swarthy features of the 
Spaniards, whose brown uniforms and slouching 
hats presented a most picturesque effect as the 
red light fell upon them. ' 

The swell of the thundering cannon grew 
louder and nearer; the shouldering of muskets, 
the clash of sabres, and the hoarse roll of the 
drum, mingling, in one common din. ] at once 
guessed that Sir Arthur had arrived, and, rs I 
turned the flank of a battalion, 1 saw the staff 
approaching. 

Nothing can be conceived more striking than 
their advance. In the front rode old Cuesta 
himself, clad in. the costume of a past century, 
his slashed doublet and trunk hose reminding one 
of a more chivalrous period; his heavy, unwieldy 
figure, looming trom side to side, and threaten- 
ing at each moment to fall from his saddle. On 
each side of hivii walked two figures gorgeously 
dressed, whose duty appeared to be to sustain 
the chief in his seat. At his side rode a far dif- 
ferent figure. Mounted upon a slight-made, 
active thorough-bred, whose drawn flanks be- 
spoke a long and weary journey, sat Sir Arthur 
Wellesley, a plain blue frock and grey trousers 
being his unpretending costume; but the eagle 
glance which lie threw around on every side, the 
quick motion of his hand as he pointed hither 
and thither among the dense battalions, bespoke 
him every inch a soldier. Behind them came a 
brilliant staff, glittering in aiguillettes and golden 
trappings, among whom I recognized some well- 
remembered faces, our gallant leader at the 
Douro, Sir Charles Stewart, among the number. 

As they passed the spot where I was standing, 
the torch of a foot soldier behind me flared sud- 
denly up, and threw a strong flash upon the 
party. Cuesta's horse grew frightened, and 
plunged so fearfully for a minute, that the poor 
old man could scarcely keep his seat. A smile 
shot across Sir Arthur's features at the moment, 
but the next instant he was grave and steadfast 
as before. 

A wretched hovel, thatched an<i in ruins, 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



341 



formed the head-quarters of the Spanish army, 
and thither the staff now bent their steps; 
a supper being provided there for our command- 
er-in-chief and the officers of his suite. Al- 
though not of the privileged party, I lingered 
round the spot for some time, anxiously expect- 
ing to find some friend or acquaintance, who 
might tell me the news of our people, and what 
events had occurred in my absence. 



CHAPTER LVIII. 



THE LETTER. 



The hours passed slowly over, and I at length 
grew weary of waiting. For some time I had 
amused myself with observing the slouching gait 
and unsoldier-like air of the Spaniards as they 
lounged carelessly about: looking in dress, gesture, 
and appointment, far more like a guerilla than a 
regular force. Then again, the strange contrast of 
the miserable hut, with falling chimney and 
ruined walls, to the glitter of the mounted guard 
of honor who sat motionless beside it, served to 
pass the time; but, as the niglit was already far 
advanced, I turned towards my quarters, hoping 
that the next morning might' gratify my curiosity 
about my friends. 

Beside the tent where I was billeted, I found 
Mike in waiting, who, the moment he saw me, 
caine hastily forward with a letter in his hand. 
An officer of Sir Arthur's staff had left it while I 
was absent, desiring Mike on no account to omit 
its delivery the first instant he met me. The 
hand — not a very legible one — was perfectly un- 
known to me, and the appearance of the billet 
such as betrayed no over-scrupulous care in the 
writer. 

I trimmed my lamp leisurely, threw a fresh log 
upon the fire, disposed myself completelv at full 
length beside it, and then proceeded to form ac- 
quaintance with my unknown correspondent. I 
will not attempt any description of the feelings 
which gradually filled me as I read on; the letter 
itself will suggest them to those who know my 
story. It ran thus: 

"Placentia, July 8, 1809. 
" DearO'Malley, — Although I'd rather march 
to Libson barefoot than write three lines, Fred 
Power insists upon my turning scribe, as he has 
a notion you'll be up at Cuesta's head-quarters 
about this time. You're in a nice scrape, devil a 
lie in it! Here has Fred been fighting that fel- 
low Trevyllian for you — all because you would 
not have patience and fight him yourself the 
morning you left the Douro — so much for haste! 
Let it be a lesson to you for life. 

" Poor Fred got the bail in his hip, and the 
devil a one of thi doctors can find it. But 
he's getting better anyway, and going to Lisbon 
for change of air. Meanwhile, since Power's 
been wounded, Trevyllian's speaking verv hardly 
of you, and they all say here vou must come back 
— no matter how — and put matters to rights. 



Fred has placed the thing in my hands, and I'm 
thinking we'd better call out the ' heavies' by 
turns; for most of them stand by Trevyllian. 
Maurice Quill and myself sat up considering it 
last night; but, somehow, we don't clearly re- 
member to-day a beautiful plan we hit upon. 
However, we'll have it again this evening. 
Meanwhile, come over here, and let us be doing 
something. We hear that old Monsoon has 
blown up a town, a bridge, and a big convent. 
They must have been hiding the plunder very 
closely, or he'd never have been reduced to such 
extremities. We'll have a brush with the French 

*°°"- " Yours most eagerly, 

"D. O'Shaughkessy." 

My first thought, as I ran my eye over these 
lines, was to seek for Power's note, written on 
the morning we parted. I opened it, and to my 
horror found that it only related to ray quarrel 
with Hammersley. My meeting with Trevyllian 
had been during Fred's absence, and — when he 
assured me that all was satisfactorily arranged 
and a full explanation tendered; that nothing in- 
terfered with my departure — I utterly foigotthat 
he was only aware cf one-half my troubles; and, 
in the haste and bustle of my departure, had not 
a moment left me to collect myself and think 
calmly on the matter. The two letters lay be- 
fore me, and, as I thought over the stain upon 
my character thus unwittingly incurred — the blast 
I had thrown upon my reputation, the wound 
of my poor friend, who exposed himself for 
my sake — I grew sick at heart, and the bitter 
tears of agony burst from my eyes. 

That weary night passed slowly over; the blight 
of all my prospects, when they seemed fairest and 
brightest, presented itself to me in a hundred 
shapes; and when, overcome by fatigue and ex- 
haustion, I closed my eyes to sleep, it was only 
to follow up in my dreams my waking thoughts. 
Morning came at length; but its bright sunshine 
and balmy air brought no comfort to me; I ab- 
solutely dreaded to meet my brother officers; I 
felt that, in such a position as I stood, no half or 
partial explanation could suffice to set me right 
in their estimation; and yet, what opportunity 
had I for aught else? Irresolute how to act, I 
sat leaning my head upon my hands,- when I 
heard a footstep approach; I looked up and 
saw before me no other than my poor friend 
Sparks, from whom I had been separated'so long. 
Any other adviser at such a moment would, I 
acknowledge, have been as welcome; for the poor 
fellow knew but little of the world, and still less 
of the service. However, one glance convinced 
me that his heart at least was true, and I 
shook his outstretched hand with delight. In a 
few words, he informed me that Merivale had 
secretly commissioned him to come over, in the 
hope of meeting me; that although all the 14th 
men were persuaded that I was not to blame in 
what had occurred, yet that reports so injurious 
had gone abroad, so many partial and imperfect 
statements were circulated, that nothing but my 
return to head-quarters would avail, and that I 
must not lose a moment in having Trevylliap 



342 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



U 



out, with whom all the misrepresentation had 

originated. 

" This, of course," said Sparks, "is tc be a secret; 
Merivale, being our colonel " 

"Of course," said I, "he cannot countenance, 
much less counsel, such a proceeding. Now, 
then, for the road." 

"Yes; but you cannot leave before making 
your report. Gordon expects to see you at eleven ; 
he told me so last night." 

"I cannot help it; I shall not wait; my mind is 
made up. My career here matters but little in 
comparison with this horrid charge. I shall be 
broke, but I shall be avenged." 

" Come, come, O'Malley ; you are in our hands 
now, and you must be guided. You shall wait; 
you shall see Gordon, half an hour will make 
your report, and I have relays of horses along the 
road, and we shall reach Placentia by nightfall." 

There was a tone of firmness in this, so unlike 
anything I ever looked for in the speaker, and 
withal so much of foresight and precaution, that 
I could scarcely credit my senses as he spoke. 
Having, at length, agreed to his proposal, Sparks 
left me to think over my return of the Legion, 
])romising that, immediately after my interview 
with the military secretary, we should start to- 
gether for head-quarters. 



CHAPTER LIX. 

MAJOR O'SHAUGHNESSY. 

"This is Major O'Shaughnessy's quarters, sir," 
said a sergeant, as he stopped short at the door 
of a small low house in the midst of an olive plant- 
ation; an Irish wolf-dog — the well-known com- 
panion of the major — lay stretched across the 
entrance, watching with eager and bloodshot eyes 
the process of cutting up a bullock, which two 
soldiers in undress jackets were performing within 
a few yards of the spot. 

Stepping cautiously across the savage-looking 
sentinel, I entered the little hall, and, finding no 
one near, passed into a small room, the door of 
which lay half open. 

A very palpable odor of cigars and brandy pro- 
claimed, even without his presence, that this was 
O'Shaughnessy's sitting-room; so I sat myself 
down upon an old-fashioned sofa to wait patiently 
for his return, which I heard would be immedi- 
ately after the evening parade. Sparks had be- 
come knocked up during our ride, so that for the 
last three leagues I was alone; and. like most men 
in such circumstances, pressed on only the harder. 
Completely worn out for want of rest, I had 
scarcely placed myself on the sofa when I fell 
sound asleep. When I awoke, all was dark around 
me, save the faint flickerings of the wood embers 
on the hearth, and for some moments I could not 
remember where I was; but by degrees recollec- 
tion came, and as I thought over my position and 
its possible consequences, I was again nearly drop- 
ping to sleep, when the door suddenly opened, 
and a heavy step sounded on the floor. 



I lay still and spoke not, as a large figure in a 
cloak approached the fiie-place, and stooping 
down endeavored to light a candle at the fast-ex- 
piring fire. 

I had little difficulty in detecting the major 
even by the half-light; a muttered execration upon 
the candle, given with an energy that only an 
Irishman ever bestows upon slight matters, soon 
satisfied me on this head. 

" May the devil fly away with the commissary 
and the chandler to the forces! Ay! you've lit 
at last." ^' 

With these words he stood up, and his eyts 
falling on me at the moment, he sprang a yard or 
two backwards, exclaiming, as he did so, "The 
blessed Virgin be near us, what's this?" a most 
energetic crossing of himself accompanying his 
words. My pale and haggard face, thus suddenly 
presented, having suggested to the worthy major 
the impression of a supernatural visitor, a hearty 
burst of laughter, which I could not resist, was 
my only answer; and the next moment O'Shaugh- 
nessy was wrenching my hand in a grasp like a 
steel vice. 

" Upon my conscience, I thought it was your 
ghost; and, if you kept quiet a little longer, I 
was going to promise you Christian burial, and as 
many masses for your soul as my uncle the 
bishop could say between this and Easter. How 
are you, my boy? a little thin, and something 
paler, I think, than when you left us." 

Having assured him tliat fatigue and hunger 
were in a great measure the cause of my sickly 
looks, the major proceeded to place before me the 
debris of his day's dinner, with a sufficiency of 
bottles to satisfy a mess-table, keeping up as he 
went a running fire of conversation. 

" I'm as glad as if the Lord took the senior 
major, to see you here this night. With the bless- 
ing of Providence we'll shoot Trevylliah in the 
morning, and any more of the heavies that like 
it. You are an ill-treated man, that's what it is, 
and Dan O'Shaughnessy says it. Help yourself, 
my boy; crusty old port in that bottle as ever 
you touched your -lips to. Power's getting all 
right; it was contract powder, warranted not to 
kill. Bad luck to the commissaries once more! 
With such ammunition Sir Arthur does right to 
trust most to the bayonet. And how is Mon- 
soon, the old rogue?" 

"Gloriously; living in the midst of wine and 
olives." 

" No fear of him, the old sinner; but he is a 
fine fellow, after all. Charley, you are eating 
nothing, boy." 

"To tell you the truth, I'm far more anxious 
to talk with you at this moment than nught else." 

" So'you shall; the night's young. Meanwhile, 
I had better not delay matters; you want to have 
Trevyllian out — is not that so?" 

"Of course; you are aware how it happened ?" 

" I know everything. Go on with your supper, 
and don't mind me; I'll be back in twenty min- 
utes or less." 

Without waiting for any reply, he threw his 
cloak around him, and strode out of the room. 
Once more I was alone; but already my frame 
of mind was altered — the cheering tone of my 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



343 



reckless, gallant countryman had raised my spirits, 
and I felt animated by his very manner. 

An hour elapsed before the major returned, and, 
when he did come, his appearance and gestures 
bespoke anger and disappointment. He threw 
himself hurriedly into a seat, and, for some min- 
utes never spoke. 

"The world's beautifully changed, anyhow, 
since I began it, O'Malley — when you thanked a 
man civilly that asked you to fight him. The 
devil take the cowards! say I." 

" What has happened ? Tell me, I beseech 
you!" 

" He won't fight," said the major, blurting out 
the words as if they would choke him. 

" He'll not fight! And why?" 

The major was silent; he seemed confused and 
embarrassed; he turned from the fire to the 
table, from tlie table to the fire, filled out a glass 
of wine, drank it hastily off, and, springing from 
his chair, paced the room with long, impatient 
strides. 

My dear O'Shaughnessy, explain, I beg of 
you. Does he refuse to meet me for any rea- 
son " 

" He does," said the major, turning on me a 
look of deep feeling as he spoke; "and he does 
it to ruin you, my boy; but, as sure as my name 
is Dan, he'll fail this time. He was sitting with 
his friend Beaufort when I reached his quarters, 
and received me with all the ceremonious polite- 
ness he well knows how to assume. I told him 
in a few words the object of my visit; upon which 
Trevyllian, standing up, referred me to liis friend 
for a reply, and left the room. I thought that 
all was right, and sat down to discuss, as I be- 
lieved, preliminaries, when the cool puppy, with 
his back to the fire, carelessly lisped out, 'It can't 
be, major; your friend is too late.' 

'"Too late! too late.'' said I. 

" 'Yes, precisely so. Not up to time; the af- 
fair should have come off some weeks since. We 
won't meet him now.' 

" ' This is really your answer?' 

" ' This is really my answer; and not only so, 
but the decision of our mess.' 

"What I said after this he may remember. 
Devil take me if / can; but I have a vague recol- 
lection of saying something that the aforesaid 
mess will never petition the Horse Guards to put 
on their regimental colors; and here I am " 

With these words the major gulped down a 
full goblet of wine, and once more resumed his 
walk through the room. I shall not attempt to 
record the feelings which agitated me during the 
major's recital. In one rapid glance I saw the 
aim of my vindictive enemy. My honor, not my 
life, was the object he sought for; and ten thou- 
sand times more than ever did I pant for the 
opportunity to confront him in a deadly combat. 

"Charley," said O'Shaughnessy, at length, 
placing his hand upon mv shoulder, "you must 
get to bed now — nothing more can be done to- 
night in any way. Be assured of one thing, my 
boy — I'll not desert you; and if that assurance 
can give you a sound sleep, you'll not need a 
lullaby." 



CHAPTER LX. 



PRELIMINARIES. 



I AWOKE refreshed on the following morning, 
and came down to breakfast with a lighter heart 
than I had even hoped for; a secret feeling that 
all would go well had somehow taken possession 
of me, and I longed for O'Shaughnessy's com- 
ing, trusting that he might be able to confirm my 
hopes. His servant informed me that the major 
had been absent since daybreak, and left orders 
that he was not to be waited for at breakfast. 

I was not destined, however, to pass a solitary 
time in his absence, for e\ery moment brought 
some new arrival to visit me, and during the 
morning the colonel and every officer of the reg- 
iment not on actual duty, came over. I soon 
learned that the feeling respecting Trevyllian's 
conduct' was one of unmi.\ed condemnation 
among my own corps; but that a kind of party 
spirit, which had subsisted for some months be- 
tween the regiment he belonged to and the 14th, 
had given a graver character to the affair, and 
induced many men to take up his views of the 
transaction; and, although I heard of none who 
attributed my absence to any dislike to a meet- 
ing, yet there were several who conceived that, 
by my going at the time, I had forfeited all claim 
to satisfaction at his hands. 

" Now that Merivale is gone," said an officer 
to me, as the colonel left the room, " I may con- 
fess to you that he sees nothing to blame in your 
conduct throughout; and, even had you been 
aware of how matters were circumstanced, your 
duty was too imperative to have preferred your 
personal considerations to it." 

" Does any one know where Conyers is?" said 
Baker. 

" The story goes that Conyers can assist us 
here. Conyers is at Zarza la Mayor, with the 
28th — but what can he do?" 

"That I'm notable to tell you; but I know 
O'Shaughnessy heard something at parade this 
morning, and has set off in search of him on 
every side." 

" Was Conyers ever out with Trevyllian?" 

" Not as a principal, I believe. The report is, 
however, that he knows more about him than 
other people, as Tom certainly does of every- 
body." 

"It is rather a new thing for Trevyllian to re- 
fuse a meeting. They say, O'Malley, he has 
heard of your shooting." 

" No, no," said another, " he cares very little 
for any man's pistol. If the story be true, he 
fires a second or two before his adversary; at 
least, it was in that way he killed Carysfort." 

" Here comes the great O'Shaughnessy!" cried 
some one at the window; and the next moment 
the heavy gallop of a horse was heard along the 
causeway. 

In an instant we all rushed to the door to re- 
ceive him. 

"It's all right, lads," cried he, as he came up; 
" we have him this time." 

" How? when? why? in what way have you 
managed ?" fell from a dozen voices, as the major 



344 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



elbowed his way through the crowd to the sitting- 
room. 

" In the first place," said O'Shaughnessy, 
drawing a long breath, " I have promised secrecy 
as to the steps of this transaction; secondly, if I 
hadn't, it would puzzle me to break it, for I'll be 
hanged if I know more than yourselves. Tom 
Conyers wrote me a few lines for Trevyllian; and 
Trevyllian pledges himself to meet our friend; 
and that's all we need know or care for." 

" Then you have seen Trevyllian tliis morning?" 

" No, Beaufort met me at the village; but even 
now it seems this affair is never to come off. 
Trevyllian has been sent with a forage party 
towards Lesco; however, that can't be a lowg ab- 
sence. But, for heaven's sake! let me have some 
breakfast." 

While O'Shaughnessy proceeded to the attack 
of the viands before him, the others chatted 
about in little groups; but all wore tlie pleased 
and happy looks of men who had rescued their 
friend from a menaced danger. As for myself, 
my heart svifelled with gratitude to the kind fel- 
lows around me. 

" How has Conyers assisted us at this junc- 
ture?" wTas my first question to O'Shaughnessy, 
when we were once more alone. 

"I am not at liberty to speak on that subject, 
Charley. But be satisfied, the reasons for which 
Trevyllian meets you are fair and honorable." 

" I am content." 

" The only thing now to be done is, to have 
the meeting as soon as possible." 

"We are all agreed upon that point," said I; 
" and the more so as the matter had better be 
decided before Sir Arthur's return." 

" Quite true; and now, O'Malley, you had bet- 
ter join your people as soon as may be, and it 
will put a stop to all talking about the matter." 

The advice was good, and I lost no time in 
complying with it, and, when I joined the reg- 
iment that day at mess, it was with a light heart 
and a cheerful spirit; for, come what might of 
the affair, one thing I was certain of — my char- 
acter was now put above any reach of aspersion, 
and my reputation beyond attack. 



CHAPTER LXI. 



ALL RIGHT. 



Some days after coming back to head-quarters, 
I was returning from a visit I had been making 
to a friend at one of the outposts, when an offi- 
cer, whom I knew slightly, overtook me and 
informed me that Major O'Shaughnessy had been 
to my quarters in search of me, and had sent 
persons in different directions to find me. 

Suspecting the object of the major's haste, I 
hurried on at once, and, as I rode up to the spot, 
found him in the midst of a group of officers 
engaged, to all appearance, in most eager con- 
versation. " O here he comes!" cried he, as I 
cantered up. " Come, my boy, doff the blue 
frock, as soon as you can, and turn out in your 
best-fitting black. Everything has been settled 



for this evening at seven o'clock, and we have 
no time to lose." 

" I understand you," said I, " and shall not 
keep you waiting." So saying, I sprang from my 
saddle and hastened to my quarters; as I en- 
tered the room I was followed by O'Shaughnessy, 
who closed the door after him as he came in, 
and, having turned the kev in it, sat down beside 
the table, and, folding his arms, seemed buried 
in reflection. As I proceeded with my toilet he 
returned no answers to the numerous questions 
I put to him, either as to the time of Trevyllian's 
return, the place of the meeting, or any other 
part of the transaction. 

His attention seemed to wander far from all 
around and about him; and, as he muttered in- 
distinctly to himself, the few words I could catch 
bore not in the remotest degree upon the matter 
before us. 

" I have written a letter or two here, major," 
said I, opening my writing-desk; " in case any- 
thing happens, you will look to a few things I 
have mentioned here. Somehow, I could not 
write to poor Fred Power; but you must tell him 
from me that his noble conduct towards me was 
the last thing I spoke of." 

"What confounded nonsense you are talking!" 
said O'Shaughnessy, springing from his seat and 
crossing the room with tremendous strides; 
"croaking away there as if the bullet was in your 
thora.x. Hang it, man, bear up!" 

" But, major, my dear friend, what the deuce 
are you thinking of ? The few things I men- 
tioned " 

"The devil! you are not going over it all 
again, are you?" said he, in a voice of no meas- 
ured tone. 

I now began to feel irritated in turn, and really 
looked at him for some seconds in considerable 
amazement. That he should have mistaken the 
directions I was giving him, and attributed them 
to any cowardice, was too insulting a thought to 
bear; and ) et how otherwise was I to understand 
the very coarse style of his interruption? 

At length, my temper got the victory, and, with 
a voice of most measured calmness, I said, " Ma- 
jor O'Shaughnessy, I am grateful, most deef.ly 
grateful, for the part you have acted towards me 
in this difficult business; at the same time, as you 
now appear to disapprove of my conduct and bear- 
ing, when I am most firmly determined to alter 
nothing, I shall beg to relieve you of the un- 
pleasant office of my friend." 

" Heaven grant that you could do so!" said 
he, interrupting me, while his clasped hands and 
eager look attested the vehemence of the wish. 
He paused for a moment; then, s]jringing frcm 
his chair, rushed towards me, and threw his arms 
around me. " No, my boy, I can't do it — I can't 
do it. I have tried to bully myself into insens- 
ibility for this evening's work — I have endeavored 
to be rude to you, that you might insult me, and 
steel my heart against what might happen; but 
it won't do, Charley; it won't do." 

With these words the big tears rolled down 
his stern cheeks, and his voice became thick with 
emotion. 

"But for me, all this need not have happened. 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE H^ISH DRAGOON. 



3'L5 



I know it — I feel it. I hurried on this meeting; 
your character stood fair and unblemished with- 
out that — at least, they tell me so no.v; and I 
still have to assure jou " 

'■ Come, my dear, kind friendj don't give way 
in this fashion. You "have stood manfully by me 
through every step of the road; don't desert me 
on the threshold of " 

"The grave, O'Malley?" 

" I don't think so, major; but see, half-past 
six! Look to these pistols for me. Are they 
likely to object to hair-triggers?" 

A knocking at the door turned off our atten- 
tion, and the next moment Baker's voice was 
heard. 

" O'Malley, you'll be close run for time; the 
meeting place is full three miles from this." 

I seized the key and opened the door. At the 
same instant, O'Shaughnessy rose iind turned 
towards the window, holding one of the pistols 
in his hand. 

'■ Look at that, Baker — what a sweet tool it is!" 
said he, in a voice that actually made me start. 
Not a trace of his late excitement remained; his 
usually dry, half-humorous manner had returned, 
and his droll features were as full of their own 
easy, devil-may-care fun as ever. 

" Here comes the drag," said Baker. " We 
can drive nearly all the way, unless you prefer 
riding " 

"Of course not. Keep your hand steady, 
Charley, and if you don't bring him down with 
that saw-handle, you're not your uncle's nephew." 

With these words we mounted into the tax- 
cart, and set off for the meeting place. 



CHAPTER LXII. 



THE DUEL. 



A SMALL and narrow ravine between two furze- 
covered dells led to the open space where the 
meeting had been arranged for. As we reached 
this, therefore, we were obliged to descend from 
the drag, and proceed the remainder of the way 
afoot. We had not gone many yards when a 
step was heard approaching, and the next mo- 
ment Beaufort appeared. His usually easy and 
</t-A'(?,^V air was certainly tinged with somewhat of 
constraint; and, though his soft voice and half 
smile were as perfect as ever, a slightly flurried 
expression about the lip, and a quick and nerv- 
ous motion of his eye-brow, bespoke a heart not 
completely at ease. He lifted his foraging cap 
most ceremoniously to salute us as we came up, 
and, casting an anxious look to see if any others 
were following, stood quite still. 

"I think it right to mention. Major O'Shaugh- 
nessy," said he, in a voice of most dulcet sweet- 
ness, " that I am the only friend of Captain Tre- 
vyllian on the ground; and, though I have not 
the slightest objection to Captain Baker being 
present, I hope you will see the propriety of 
limiting the witnesses to the three persons now 
here." 

" Upon my conscience, as far I am concerned, 



or my friend either, we are perfectly indifferent 
if we figlit before three or three thousand. In 
Ireland we rather like a crowd." 

" Of course, then, as you see no objection to my 
proposition, I may count upon your co-operation 
in the event of any intrusion; I mean, that while 
we, upon our sides, will not permit any of our 
friends to come forward, you will equally exert 
yourself with yours." 

" Here we are — Baker and myself — neither 
more nor less; we expect no one, and want no 
one; so that I humbly conceive all the prelim- 
inaries you are talking of will never be required." 

Beaufort tried to smile and bit his lips, while 
a small red spot upon his cheek spoke that some 
deeper feeling of irritation than the mere care- 
less manner of the major could account for, still 
rankled in his bosom. Me now walked on with- 
out speaking, except when occasionally seme 
passing observation of Beaufort lipon the fine- 
ness of the evening, or the rugged nature of the 
road, broke the silence. As we emerged from 
the little mountain pass into the open n^eadow 
land, the tall and soldier-like figure of Trewllian 
was the first object that presented itself. He 
was standing beside a little stone cross that stood 
above a holy well, and seemed occupied in 
deciphering the inscription. He turned at the 
noise of our approach, and calmly waited our 
coming. His eye glanced quickly from llie 
features of O'Shaughnessy to those of Baker, 
but, seeming rapidly reassured as he walked for- 
ward, his face at once recovered its usual severity 
and its cold, impassive look of sternness. 

"All right!" said Beaufort in a whisper, the 
tones of which I overheard, as he drew near to 
his friend. Trevyllian smiled in return, but did 
not s])eak. During the few moments which 
passed in conversation between the seconds, I 
turned from the spot with Baker, and had scarcely 
time to address a question to him, v hen O'Shaugh- 
nessy called out, "Hallo, Baker! — come here a 
moment!" The three seemed now in eager dis- 
cussion for some minutes, when Baker walked 
towards Trevyllian, and saying something, ap- 
peared to wait his reply. This being obtained, 
he jomed the others, and the moment afterwards 
came to where I was standing. " You are to toss 
for first shot, O'Malley. C)'Shaughnessy has 
made that proposition, and the others agree that 
with two crack marksmen, it is perhaps the fairest 
way. I suppose you have no objection?" 

"Of course, I shall make none. Whatever 
O'Shaughnessy decides for me I am ready to 
abide by." 

" Well, then, as to the distance?" said Beaufort, 
oud enough to be heard by me where 1 was 
standing. O'Shaughnessy's reply I could no^ 
catch, but It WH.S evident, from the tone of both 
parties, that some difference existed on the point. 

" Captain Baker shall decide between us," said 
Beaufort, at length, and they all walked away to 
some distance. During all the while I could per- 
ceive that Trevyllian 's uneasiness and impatience 
seemed extreme — he looked from the speakers to 
the little mountain pass, and strained his eyes in 
every direction. It was clear that he dreaded 
some interruption. At last, unable any longer to 



346 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



control his feelings, lie called out, " Beaufort, I say, 
what tlie devil are we waiting for now?" 

" Nothing at present," said Beaufort, as he 
came forward with a dollar in his hand. " Come, 
Major O'Shaughnessy, you shall call for your 
friend." 

He pitched the piece of money as he spoke 
high into the air, and watched it as it fell on the 
soft grass beneath. 

" Head! for a thousand," cried O'Shaughnessy, 
running over and stooping down; "and head it 
is!" 

"You've won the first shot," whispered Baker; 
"for Heaven's sake be cool!" 

Beaufort grew deadly pale as he bent over the 
crown piece, and seemed scarcely to have cour- 
age to look his friend in the face. Not so 
Trevyllian; he pulled off his gloves without the 
sliglitest semblance of emotion, buttoned up his 
weil-futing black frock to the throat, and throw- 
ing a rapid glance around, seemed only eager to 
begin the combat. 

"Fifteen paces, and the words 'One — two!'" 

"E.Kactly. My cane shall mark the spot." 

" Devilish long paces you make them," said 
O'Shaughnessy, who did not seem to approve of 
the distance. "They have some confounded 
advantage in this, depend upon it," said the 
major, in a whisper to Baker. 

" .^re you ready?" inquired Beaufort. 

"Ready — quite ready!" 

"Take your ground, then!" 

As Trevyllian moved forward to his place, he 
muttered something to his friend. I did not hear 
the first part, but the latter words which met me 
were ominous enough — " for as I intend to shoot 
him, 'tis just as well as it is." 

Whether this was meant to be overheard and 
intimidate me I knew not; but its effect proved 
directly opposite. My firm resolution to hit my 
antagonist was now confirmed, and no compunc- 
tious visitings unnerved my arm. As we took 
our places some little delay again took place, the 
flint of my pistol having fallen; and thus we re- 
mained full ten or twelve seconds steadily regard- 
ing each other. At length, O'Shaughnessy came 
forward, and, putting my weapon in my hand, 
whispered low, " Remember, you have but one 
chance." 

"You are both ready?" cried Beaufort. 

"Ready!" 

" Then, One — two " 

The last word was lost in the report of my 
pistol, which went off at the instant. For a sec- 
ond, the flash and smoke obstructed my view; 
but the moment after I saw Trevyllian stretched 
upon the ground, with his friend kneeling beside 
him. My first impulse was to rush over, for now 
all feeling of enmity was buried in most heartfelt 
anxiety for his fate; but as I was stepping for- 
ward, O'Shaughnessy called out, " Stand fast, 
boy, he's only wounded!" and the same moment 
he rose slowly from the ground, with the assist- 
ance of his friend, and looked with the same wild 
gaze around him. Such a look! I shall never 
forget it; there was that intense expression of 
searching anxiety, as if he sought to trace the 
outlines of some visionary spirit as it receded be- 



fore him; quickly reassured, as it seemed by the 
glance he threw on all sides, his countenance 
lighted up, not with pleasure, but with a fiendish 
expression of revengeful triumph, which even his 
voice evinced as he called out — "It's my turn 
now." 

I felt the words in their full force, as I stood 
silently awaiting my death wound. The pause 
was a long one. Twice did he interrupt his friend, 
as he was about to give the word, by an expres- 
sion of suffering, pressing his hand upon his side, 
and seeming to writhe with torture; and yet this 
was mere counterfeit. 

O'Shaughnessy was now coming forward to in- 
terfere and prevent these interruptions, when 
Trevyllian called out in a firm tone, " I'm ready!" 
The words "One — two!" the pistol slowly rose, 
his dark eye measured me coolly, steadily; his 
lip curled, and just as I felt that my last moment 
of life had arrived, a heavy sound of a horse gal- 
lo]3ing along the rocky causeway seemed to take 
off his attention. His frame trembled, his hand 
shook, and jerking upwards his weapon, the ball 
passed high above my head. 

" You bear me witness I fired in the air," said 
Trevyllian, while the large drops of perspiration 
rolled from his forehead, and his features worked, 
as if in a fit. 

" You saw it, sir; and you, Beaufort, my friend 
— you also. Speak! Why will you not speak?" 

"Be calm, Trevyllian; be calm, for Heaven's 
sake! What's the matter with you?" 

"The affair is then ended," said Baker, "and 
most happily so. You are, I hope, not danger- 
ously wounded." 

As he spoke, Trevyllian's features grew deadly 
livid; his half open mouth quivered slightly; his 
eyes became fixed, and his arms dropped heavily 
beside him, and with a low moan he fell fainting 
to the ground. 

As we bent over him I now perceived that 
another person had joined our party; he was a 
short, determined-looking man, of about forty, 
with black eyes and aquiline features. Before I 
had time to guess who it might be, I heard 
O'Shaughnessy address him as Colonel Conyers. 

" He is dying!" said Beaufort, still stooping 
over his friend, whose cold hand he grasped 
within his own. "Poor, poor fellow!" 

" He fired in the air," said Baker, as he spoke 
in reply to a question from Conyers. 

What he answered I heard not, but Baker 
rejoined, 

"Yes, I am certain of it. We all saw it." 

" Had you not better examine his wounds?" 
said Conyers, in a tone of sarcastic irony I could 
almost have struck him for. "Is your friend 
not hit? Perhaps he is bleeding." 

" Yes," said O'Shaughnessy, " let us look to 
the poor fellow now." So saying, with Beaufort's 
aid he unbuttoned his frock and succeeded in 
opening the waistcoat. There was no trace of 
blood anywhere, and the idea of internal hemorrh- 
age at once occurred to us; when Conyers, stoop- 
ing down, pushed me aside, saying at the same 
time, "Your fears for his safety need not distress 
you much — look here!" As he spoke, he tore 
open his shirt, and disclosed to our almost doubt- 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



347 



ing senses a vest of chain mail armor fitting close 
next the skin and completely pistol-proot. 

I cannot describe the effect this sight produced 
upon us. Beaufort sprang to his feet with a 
bound as he screamed out, rather than spoke, 
"No man believes me to have been aware " 

"No, no, Beaufort; your reputation is very far 
removed from such a stain," said Conyers. 

O'Shaughnessy was perfectly speechless. He 
looked from one to the other, as though some un- 
explained mystery still remained, and only seemed 
restored to any sense of consciousness as Baker 
said, "1 can feel no pulse at his wrist — his heart, 
too, does not beat." Conyers placed his hand 
upon his bosom, then felt along his tliroat, lifted 
up an arm, and, letting it fall heavily upon the 
ground, he muttered, " He is dead !" 

It was true. No wound had pierced him — the 
pistol bullet was found within his clothes. Some 
tremendous conflict of the spirit within had 
snapped the chords of life, and the strong man 
had perished in his agony. 



CHAPTER LXIII. 



NEWS FROM GALW.iY. 



I HAVE but a vague and most imperfect recol- 
lection of the events which followed this dreadful 
scene; for somedays my faculties seemed stunned 
and paralyzed, and my thoughts clung to the 
minute detail of the ground — the persons about 
— the mountain path — and, most of all, the half 
stifled cry that spoke the broken heart, with a 
tenacity that verged upon madness. 

A court-maitial was appointed to inquire into 
the affair; and although I have been since told 
that my deportment was calm, and my answers 
were firm and collected, yet I remember nothing 
of the proceedings 

The inquiry, through a feeling of delicacy for 
the friends of him who was no more, was made as 
brief and as private as possible. Beaufort proved 
the facts which exonerated me from any imputa- 
tion in the matter; and upon the same day the court 
delivered the decision, " that Lieutenant O'Malley 
was not guilty of the charges preferred against 
him, and that he should be released from arrest, 
and join his regiment." 

Nothing could be more kind and considerate 
than the conduct of my brother officers; a hun- 
dred little plans and devices for making me for- 
get the late unhappy events were suggested and 
practised: and I look back to that melanciioly 
period, marked, as it was, by the saddest circum- 
stance of my life, as one in which I received more 
of truly friendly companionship than even my 
palmiest days of prosperity boasted. 

While, therefore, I deeply felt the good part 
my friends were performing toward me, I was still 
totally unsuited to join in the happy current of 
their daily pleasures and amusements. The gay 
and unreflecting character of O'Shaughnessy — the 
careless merriment of mv brother officers — jarred 
upon my nerves, and rendered me irritable and 
excited; and I sought, in lonely rides and unfre- 



quented walks, the peace of spirit that calm re- 
flection, and a firm purpose for the future, rarely 
fail to lead to. 

There is in deep sorrow a touch of the pro- 
phetic. It is at seasons when the heart is 
bowed down with grief, and the spirit wasted 
with suffering, that the veil which conceals the 
future seems to be removed, and a glance, short 
and fleeting as the lightning flash, is permitted us 
into the gloomy valley before us. 

Misfortunes, too, come not singly — the seared 
heart is not suffered to heal from one affliction, 
ere another succeeds it; and this anticipation of 
the coming evil is, perhaps, one of the most 
poignant features of grief — the ever-watchful ap- 
prehension — the ever-rising question, "What 
next?" is a torture that never sleejis. 

This was the frame of my mind for several 
days after I returned to my duty — a morbid 
sense of some threatened danger being my last 
thought at night, and my first on awakening. I 
had not heard from home since my arrival in the 
Peninsula: a thousand vague fancies haunted me 
now that some brooding misfortune awaited me. 
My poor uncle never left my thoughts. Was he 
well — was he happy? W as he, as he ever used 
to be, surrounded by the friends he loved — the 
old familiar faces, around the hospitable hearth 
his kindness had hallowed in my memory as some- 
thing sacred? Oh! could 1 but see his manly 
smile, or hear his voice! Could I but feel his 
hand upon my head, as he was wont to press it, 
while words of comfort fell from his lips, and 
sunk into my heart! 

Such were my thoughts one morning as I 
sauntered, unaccompanied, from my quarters. I 
had not gone far, when my attention was aroused 
by the noise of a mule-cart, whose jingling bells 
and clattering timbers announced its approach by 
the road I was walking. Another turn of the 
way brought it into view; and I saw from the gay 
costume of the driver, as well as a small orange 
flag which decorated the conveyance, that it was 
the mail-cart, with letters from Lisbon. 

Full as my mind was with thoughts of home, I 
turned hastily back, and retraced my steps 
towards the camp. When I reached the adjutant- 
general's quarters, I found a considerable num- 
ber of officers assembled; the report that the post 
had come was a rumor of interest to all, and, 
accordingly, every moment brought fresh arrivals, 
pouring in from all sides, and eagerly inquiring 
"if the bags had been opened ?" The scene of 
riot, confusion, and excitement, when that event 
did take place, exceeded all belief, each man 
reading his letteV half aloud, as if his private 
affairs and domestic concerns must interest his 
neighbors, amid a volley of exclamations of sur- 
prise, pleasure, or occasionally anger, as the in- 
telligence severally suggested— the disappointed 
expectants cursing their idle correspondents, be- 
moaning their fate about remittances that never 
arrived, or drafts never honored; while here and 
there some public benefactor, with an outspread 
Times or Chronicle, was retailing the narrative of 
our own exploits in the Peninsula, or the more 
novel changes in the world of politics, since we 
left England. A cross-fire of news and London 



348 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



gossip ringing on every side, made up a perfect 
Babdl, most difficult to form an idea of. The 
jargon partook of every accent and intonation 
the empire boasts of, and, from the sharp pre- 
cision of the North Tvveeder to the broad Doric 
of Kerry, every portion, ahnost every county of 
Great Britain, had its representative. Here was a 
Scotch paymaster, in a lugubrious tone, detailing 
to his friend the apparently not over-welcome 
news, that Mistress M'Elwain had just been safely 
delivered of twins, which, with their mother, 
were doing as well as possible. Here an eager 
Irishman, turning over the pages rather than 
reading his letter, while he exclaimed to his 
friend, — 

"Oh, the devil a rap she's sent me. The old 
story about runaway tenants and distress notices 
— sorrovvelse tenants seem to do in Ireland than 
run away every half year." 

A little apart some sentimental-looking cockney 
was devouring a very crossed epistle, which he 
pressed to his lips whenever anyone looked at him; 
while a host of others satisfied themselves by read- 
ing in a kind of buzzing under-tone, every now and 
then interrupting themselves with some broken 
exclamation as commentary — such as " Of course 
she will I" — " Never knew him better!" — "That's 
the girl for my money!" — " Fifty per cent. — the 
devil !" — and so on. At last I was beginning to 
weary of the scene, and finding that there ap- 
peared to be nothing for me, was turning to 
leave the place, when I saw a group of two or 
three endeavoring to spell out the address of a 
letter. 

" That's an Irish post-mark I'll swear," said 
one; "but who can make anything of the name? 
It's devilish like Otaheite — isn't it.'" 

" I wish my tailor wrote as illegibly," said an- 
other; " I'd keep up a most animated corres- 
pondence with him." 

" Here, O'Shaughnessy, you know something 
of savage life — spell us this word here." 

" Show it here — what nonsense — it's as plain as 
the nose on my face! — 'Master Charles O'Mal- 
ley, in foreign parts!'" 

A roar of laughter followed this announce- 
ment, which, at any other time, perhaps, I should 
have joined in, but which now grated sadly on 
my ruffled feelings. 

"Here, Charley, this is for you," said the ma- 
jor; and added in a whisper — " and upon my 
conscience, between ourselves, your friend, who- 
ever h ■ is, has a strong action against his writing- 
master— devil such a fist ever I looked at!" 

One glance satisfied me as to my correspond- 
ent. It was from Father Rush, my old tutor. I 
hurried eagerly from the spot — and, regaining 
my quarters, locked the door, and with a beating 
heart broke the seal and began, as well as I was 
able, to decipher his letter. The hand was 
cramped and stiffened with age, and the bold 
upright letters were gnarled and twisted like a 
rustic fence, and demanded great patience and 
much time in unravelling. It ran thus: 

"The Priory, L.\dy-day, 1809. 
"My dear Master Charles, — Your uncle's 
feet are so big and so uneasy that he can't write, 



and I am obliged to take up the pen myself, to 
tell you how we are doing here since you left us. 
And, first of all, the master lost the law-suit in 
Dublin, all for the want of a Galway jury; but 
they don't go up to town for strong reasons they 
had; and the Curranolick property is gone to 
Ned M'Manus, and may the devil do him good 
with it! Peggy Maher left' this on Tuesday; she 
was complaining of a weakness; she's gone to 
consult the doctors. I'm sorry for poor Peggy. 

" Owen M'Neil beat the Slatterys out of Por- 
tumna on Saturday, and Jem, they say, is frac- 
tured. I trust it's true, for he never was good, 
root nor branch, and we've strong reasons to 
suspect him for drawing the river with a net at 
night. Sir Harry Boyle sjirained liis wrist, 
breaking open his bed-room, that he locked when 
he was inside. "I'he count and the master were 
laughing all tlie evening at him. Matters are 
going very hard in the country; the ])eople pay- 
ing their rents regularly, and not caring half as 
much as they used about the real gentry and Uit 
old f; milies. 

" W e kept your birthday at the Castle in great 
style, had the militia band from the town, and 
all the tenants. Mr. James Daly danced with 
your old friend Mary Green, and sang a beauti- 
ful song, and was going to raise the devil, but I 
interfered; he burnt down half the blue drawing- 
room the last night with his tricks; not that your 
uncle cares, God preserve him to us! — it's little 
anything like that would fret him. Tlie count 
quarreled with a young gentleman in the course 
of the evening, but found out he was only an at- 
torney from Dublin, so he didn't shcot him, but 
he was ducked in the pond by the jieojile, and 
your uncle says he hopes they have a true copy 
of him at home, as they'll never know the ori- 
ginal. 

" Peter died soon after you went away, but 
Tim hunts the dogs just as well; they had a beauti- 
ful run last Wednesday, and the Lord* sent for 
him and gave him a five-pound note; but he says 
he'd rather see yourself back again than twice as 
much. They killed near the big turnip field, and 
all went down to see where you lea])ed Badger 
ever the sunk fence; they call it ' Han.mersley's 
Nose' ever since. Bodkin was at Ballinasloe the 
last fair, limping about with a stick; he's twice 
as quiet as he used to be, and never beat any 
one since that morning. 

"Nelly Guire at the cross-roads, wants to 
send you four pair of stockings she knitted for 
you; and I have a keg of poteen of Barney's own 
making this two months, not knowing how to 
send it; maybe Sir Arthur himself would like a 
taste; he's an Irishman himself, and one we're 
proud of too! The Maynooth chaps are fixing 
all about the country, and making us .all uncom- 
fortable — God's will be done, but \ve- used to 
think ourselves good enough! Your foster- 
sister, Kitty Doolan had a fine boy; it's to be 
called after you, and your uncle's to give a 
christening. He bids me tell you to draw on him 
when you want money, and that there's 40c/. 



*Tn excuse F.itlier Rush for any apparent impiety, I mu.st 
add, that, by the " Lord," he means "Lord Clanricavde." 



CHARLES O'lMALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



349 



ready for 3'ou now somewhere in Dublin, I forget 
the name, and as he's asleep I don't Hke asking 
him. There was a droll devil down here in the 
summer that knew you well — a Mr. Webber. The 
master treated him like the lord lieutenant; had 
dinner parties for him, and gave him Oliver 
Cromwell to ride over to Meelish. He is 
expected again for the cock-shooting, for the 
master likes him greatly. I'm done at last, for 
my paper is finished and the candle just out; so 
with every good wish and every good thought, 
remember your own old friend, 

" Peter Rush. 

" P.S. — -It's Smart and Sykes, Fleet street, has 
the money. Father O'Shaughnessy, of Ennis, bids 
me ask if you ever met his nepliew. If you do, 
make him sing 'Larry M'Hale.' I hear it's treat. 

" How is Mickey Free going on? There are 
three decent young women in the parish he prom- 
ised to marry, and I suppose he's pursuing the 
same game with the Portuguese. But he was never 
remarkable for minding his duties. Tell him I 
am keeping my eye on him. 

"P. R." 

Here concluded this long epistle, and, though 
there were many parts I could not. hel]) smiling 
at, yet upon the whole, I felt sad and dispirited. 
What I had long foreseen and anticipated was 
gradually accomijlishing — the wreck of an old 
and honored house — the fall of a name once the 
watchword for all that was benevolent and hos- 
pitable in the land. The termination of the lawsuit 
I knew must have been a heavy blow to my poor 
uncle, who, every consideration of money apart, 
felt in a legal combat all the enthusiasm and ex- 
citement of a personal conflict. With him, there 
was less a question of to whom the broad acres 
reverted, so much as whether that " scoundrel 
Tom Basset, the attorney at Athlone, should 
triumph over us;" or " M'Manus live in the 
house as master, where his father had officiated as 
butler." It was at this his Irish pride took offence; 
and straitened circumstances and narrow for- 
tunes bore little upon him in comparison with 
this feeling. 

I could see, too, that with breaking fortunes, 
bad health was making heavy inroads upon him; 
and while, with the reckless desperation of ruin, 
he still kept open house, I could picture to my- 
self his cheerful eye and handsome smile, but ill 
concealing the slow but certain march of a broken 
heart. 

My position was doubly painful; for any ad- 
vice, had I been calculated to give it, would have 
seemed an act of indelicate interference from one 
who was to benefit by his own counsel; and, al- 
though I had been reared and educated as my 
uncle's heir, I had no title nor pretension to suc- 
ceed him other than his kind feelings respecting 
me. I could, therefore, only look on in silence, 
and watch the painful progress of our downfall, 
without power to arrest it. 

These were sad thoughts, and came when my 
heart was already bowed down with its affliction. 
That my poor uncle might be spared the misery 
which sooner or later seemed inevitable, was now 



my only wish; that he might go down lo the 
grave without the embittering feelings which a 
ruined fortune and a fallen house bring home to 
the heart, was all my prayer. Let him but close 
his eyes in the old wainscoted bedrccm, beneath 
the old roof where his fathers and grandfathers 
have done so for centuries. Let the faithful fol- 
lowers he has known since his childhood stand 
round his bed; while his fast-failing sight recog- 
nizes each old and well-remembered object, and 
the same bell which rang its farewell to the spirit 
of his ancestors, toll for him, the last of his race 
— and, as for me, there was the wide world before 
me, and a narrow resting-place would suffice for 
a soldier's sepulchre. 

As the mail cart was returning the next day to 
Lisbon, I immediately sat down and replied to 
the worthy Father's letter, speaking as encourag- 
ingly as I could of my own prospects. I dwelt 
much upon what was nearest my heart, and 
begged of the good priest to watch over my 
uncle's health, to cheer his spirits, and support 
his courage; and that I trusted the day was not 
far distant when I should be once more amongst 
them, with many a story of fray and battle-field 
to enliven their firesides. Pressing him to write 
frequently to me, I closed my hurried letter; 
and, having despatched it, sat sorrowfully down 
to muse over my fortunes. 



CHAPTER LXIV. 

AN ADVENTURE WITH SIR ARTHUR. 

The events of the last few days had impressed 
me with a weight of years. The awful circum- 
stances of that evening lay heavily at my heart, 
and though guiltless of Trevyllian's blood, the 
reproach that conscience ever carries, when one 
has been involved in a death-scene, never left my 
thoughts. 

For some time previously I had been depressed 
and dispirited, and the awful shock I had sus- 
tained broke my nerve and unmanned me greatly. 

There are times when our sorrows tinge all the 
colorings of our thoughts, and onepervadmg hue 
of melancholy spreads like a pall upon what we 
have of fairest and brightest on taith. So was 
it now; I had lost hope and ambition — a sad 
feeling that my career was destined to misfortune 
and mishap gained hourly upon me; and all the 
bright aspirations of a soldier's glory, all my en- 
thusiasm for the pomp and circumstance o( glo- 
rious war, fell coldly upon my heart, and I looked 
upon the chivalry of a soldier's life as the empty 
pageant of a dream. 

In this sad frame of mind I avoided all inter- 
course with my brother officers — their gay and. 
joyous spirits only jarred upon my brooding 
thoughts, and, feigning illness, I kept almost en- 
tirely to my quarters. 

The inactivity of our present life weighed also 
heavily upon me. The stirring events of a cam- 
paign — the march, the biouvac, the picket — call 
forth a certain physical exertion that never fails 
to react upon the torpid mind. 



350 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



Forgetting all around nie, I thought of home; 
I thought of tliose wliose hearts I felt were now 
turning towards me, and considered within myself 
how I could have exclianged that home — the days 
of peaceful happiness there, for the life of misery 
and disappointment I now endured. 

A brooding melancholy gained daily more 
and more upon me. A wish to return to Ireland, 
a vague and indistinct feeling that my career 
was not destined for aught of great and good, 
crept upon me, and I longed to sink into oblivion, 
forgotten and forgot. 

1 record this painful feeling here, while it is 
still a painful memory, as one of the dark shadows 
that cross the bright sky of our happiest 
days. 

Happy, indeed, are they, as we look back to 
them, and remember the times we have pronounced 
ourselves " the most miserable of mankind." This 
somehow is a confession we never make later on 
in life, when real troubles and true afflictions as- 
sail us. Whether we call in more philosophy to 
our aid, or that our senses become less acute and 
discerning, I'm sure I know not. 

As for me, I confess by far the greater portion 
of my sorrows seemed to come in that budding 
period of existence when life is ever fairest and 
most captivating. Not, perhaps, that the fact 
was really so, but the spoiled and numored child, 
whose caprices were a law, felt heavily the threaten- 
ing difficulties of his first voyage. While, as he 
continued to sail over the ocean of life, he braved 
the storm and the squall, and felt only gratitude 
for the favoring breeze that \yafted him upon his 
course. 

What an admirable remedy for misanthropy is 
the being placed in a subordinate condition in 
life! Had [, at the period that I write, been Sir 
Arthur Wellesley — had I even been Marshal 
Beresford, to all certainty I'd have played the very 
devil with his Majesty's forces. — I'd have brought 
my rascals to where they'd have been well peppered 
■ — that's certain. 

Bui as, luckily for the sake of humanity in 
general, and the well-being of the service in par- 
ticular, I was UK-rely Lieutenant O'Malley, 14th 
Light Dragoons, the case was very different. With 
what heavy censure did I condemn the commander 
of the forces in my own mind for his want of 
daring and enterprise! Whole nights did I pass 
in endeavoring to account for his inactivity and 
lethargy. Why he did not seriatim fall upon 
Soult, Ney, and Victor, annihilate the French 
forces, and sack Madrid, I looked upon as little 
less than a riddle; and yet there he waited, drill- 
ing, exercising, and foraging, as if we were at 
Hounslow. Now most fortunately here again I 
was not Sir Arthur. 

Something in this frame of mind, I was taking 
one evening a solitary ride, some miles from the 
camp. Without no icing the circumstance, I had 
entered a little mountain tract, when the ground 
b ing broken and uneven, I dismounted and pro- 
ceeded afoot, with the bridle within my arm. I 
had not gone far when the clatter of a horse's 
hoofs came rapidly towards me, and though there 
was something startling in the pace over such a 
piece of road, I never lifted my eyes as the horse- 



man came up, but continued my slow progress 
onwards, my head sunk upon my bosom. 

"Holloa, sir!" cried a sharp voice, whose tones 
seemed somehow not heard for the first time. I 
looked uj), saw a light figure closely buttoned up 
in a blue horseman's cloak, the collar of which 
almost entirely hid his features; he wore a plain 
cocked hat without a feather, and was mounted 
upon a sharp, wiry-looking hack. 

" Holloa, sir! What regiment do you belong 
to?" 

.\s I had nothing of the soldier about me, save 
a blue foraging cap, to denote my corps, the tone 
of the demand was little calculated to elicit a very 
polished reply; but ijrcferring as most impertinent 
to make no answer, I passed on without sjieaking. 

" Did you hear, sir.'" cried the same voice in a 
still louder key. "What's your regiment?" 

I now turned round, resolved to question the 
other in turn; when, to my inexpressible shame 
and confusion, he had lowered the collar of his 
cloak, and I saw the features of Sir Arthur Wel- 
lesley. 

" Fourteenth Light Dragoons, sir," said I, blush- 
ing as I spoke. 

"Have you not read the general order, sii? 
Why have you left the camp?" 

Now I had not read a general order nor even 
heard one for above a fortnight. So I stammered 
out some bungling answer. 

"To your quarters, sir, and report yourself 
under arrest. What's your name?" 

" Lieutenant O'Malley, sir." 

"Well, sir, your passion for rambling shall be 
indulged. You shall be sent to the rear uiih 
despatches; and, as the army is in advance, prob- 
ably the lesson may be serviceable." So saying 
he pressed spurs to his horse, and was out of sight 
in a moment. 



CHAPTER LXV. 



TALAVER.*. 



Having been despatched to the rear with or- 
ders for General Craufurd, I did not reach Tahi- 
vera till the morning of the 2Sth. 'I'wo days' 
hard fighting had left the contending armies still 
face to face, and without any decided advantage 
on either side. 

When I arrived upon the battle-field the combat 
of the morning was over. It was then ten o'clock, 
and the troops were at breakfast, if the few ounces 
of wheat, sparingly dealt out amongst them, could 
be dignified by that name. All was, however, 
life and animation on every side; the merry laugh, 
the ]iassing jest, the careless look, bespoke the 
free and daring character of the soldiery, as they 
sat in groups upon the grass; and, except when a 
fatigue party passed by, bearing some wounded 
comrade to the rear, no touch of seriousness rested 
upon their hardy features. The morning was 
indeed a glorious one; a sky of unclouded blue 
stretched above a landscape unsurjjassed in love- 
liness. Far to the right rolled on in ])lacid stream 
the broad Tagus, bathing in its eddies the very 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



351 



walls of Talavera, the ground from which, to our 
position, gently undulated across a plain of most 
fertile richness, and terminated on our extreme 
left in a bold height, protected in front by a 
ravine, and flanked by a deep and rugged valley 

'I'he Spaniards occupied the right of the line, 
connecting with our troops at a rising ground, upon 
which a strong redoubt had been hastily thrown 
up. The fourth division and the guards were 
stationed here, next to whom came Cameron's 
brigade and the Germans, Mackenzie and Hill 
liolding the extreme left of all, which might be 
called the key of our position. In the valley be- 
neath the latter, were picketed three cavalry regi- 
ments, among which I was not long in detecting 
my gallant friends of the Twenty-third. 

As 1 rode rapidly past, saluting some old fami- 
liar face at each moment, I could not help feeling 
struck at the evidence of the desperate battle that 
so lately had raged there. The whole surface of 
the hill was one mass of dead and dying, the bear- 
skin of the French grenadier lying side by side 
with the tartan of the Highlander. Deep furrows 
in the soil showed the track of the furious cannon- 
ade, and the terrible evidences of a bayonet charge 
were written in the mangled corpses around. 

The fight had been maintained without any in- 
termission from daybreak till near nine o'clock that 
morning, and the slaughter on both sides was 
dreadful; the mounds of fresh earth on every side 
told of the soldier's sepulchre, and the unceasing 
tramp of the pioneers struck sadly u|)on the ear, 
as the groans of the wounded blended with the 
funeral sounds around them. 

In front were drawn up the dark legions of 
France; massive columns of infantry, with dense 
bodies of artillery alternating along the line. They, 
too, occupied a gently rising ground, the valley 
between the two armies being crossed half 
way by a little rivulet, and here, during the sultry 
heat of the morning, the troops on both sides met 
and mingled to quench their thirst ere the trum- 
pet again called them to the slaughter. 

In a small ravine, near the centre of our line, 
were drawn up Cotton's brigade, of whom the 
F'usiliers formed a part. Directly in front of this 
were Campbell's brigade, to the left of which, 
upon a gentle slope, the staff were now assem- 
bled. Tliither, accordingly, I bent my steps, and. 
as I came up the little scarp, found myself among 
the generals of division hastily summoned by Sir 
Arthur to deliberate upon a forward movement. 
The council lasted scarcely a quarter of an hour, 
and when I presented myself to deliver my re- 
port, all the dispositions for the battle had been 
decided upon, and the commander of* the forces, 
seated upon the grass at his breakfast, looked by 
far the most unconcerned and uninterested man 
I had seen that morning. 

He turned his head rapidly as I came up, and, 
before the aide-de-camp could announce me, 
called out: 

"Well, sir, what news of the reinforcements?" 

" They cannot reach Talavera before to-mor- 
row, sir." 

"Then, before that we shall not want them. 
That will do, sir." 

So saying, he resumed his breakfast, and I re- 



tired, more than ever struck with the surprising 
coolness of the man uiion whom no disappoint- 
ment seemed to ha\e ti.L- slightest influence. 

I had scarcely rejoined my regiment, and w;' ; 
giving an account to my brother officers of \ •_■ 
journey, when an aide-de-camp came galloping at • 
tull speed down the line, and communicating with 
the several commanding officers as he passed. 

What might be the nature of the orders we 
could rot guess at; for no word to fall in followed, 
and yet it was evident something of importance 
was at hand. Upon the hill where the staff were 
assembled no unusual bustle appeared, and we 
could see the bay cob of Sir Arthur still being led 
up and down by the groom, with a dragoon's 
mantle thrown over him. The soldiers, overcome 
by the heat and fatigue of the morning, lay 
stretched around upon the grass, and everything 
bespoke a period of rest and refreshment. 

" We are going to advance, depend upon it!" 
said a young officer beside me, " the repulse of 
this morning has been a smart lesson to the 
French, and Sir Arthur won't leave them without 
impressing it upon them." 

"Hark, what's that?" cried Baker; "listen." 

As he spoke, a strain of most delicious music 
came wafted across the plain. It was from the 
band of a French regiment, and, mellowed by the 
distance, it seemed, in the calm stillness of the 
morning air, like something less of earth than of 
heaven. As we listened, the notes swelled up- 
wards yet fuller; and one by one the different 
bands seemed to join, till at last the whole air 
seemed full of the rich flood of melody. 

We could now perceive the stragglers were 
rapidly falling back, while high above all other 
sounds the clanging notes of the trumpet were 
heard along the line. The hoarse drum now beat 
to arms, and soon after a brilliant staff rode 
slowly from between two dense bodies of infan- 
try, and advancing some distance into the plain, 
seemed to reconnoitre lis. A cloud of Polish 
cavalry, distinguished by their long lances and 
floating banners, loitered in their rear. 

We had not time for further observation, when 
the drums on our side beat to arms, and the 
hoarse cry, " Fall in — fall in there, lads!" resound- 
ed along the line. 

It was now one o'clock, and before half an hour 
the troops had resumed the position of the morn- 
ing, and stood silent and anxious spectators of 
the scene before them. 

Upon the table land, to the rear of the French 
position, we could descry the gorgeous tent of 
King Joseph, around which a large and splen- 
didly accoutred staff were seen standing. Here, 
too, the bustle and excitement seemed consider- 
able, for to this point the dark masses of the infan- 
try seemed converging frcm the extreme right; 
and here we could perceive the royal guards and 
the reserve now forming in column of attack. 

From the crest of the hill down to the very 
valley, the dark, dense ranks extended, the flanks 
protected by a powerful artillery and deep masses 
of heavy cavalry. It was evident that the attack 
was not to commence on our side, and the great- 
est and most intense anxiety pervaded us as to 
what part of our line was first to be assailed. 



3^3 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



Meanwhile, Sir Arthur Wellesley, who from 
the heitjht had been patiently observing the field 
of battle, despatched an aide-de-camp at full gal- 
lop towards Campbell's brigade, posted directly 
in advance of us. As he passed swiftly along he 
called out, " You're in for it, Fourteenth; you'll 
have to open the ball to-day." 

Scarcely were the words spoken, when a signal 
gun from the French boomed heavily through the 
still air. The last echo was growing fainter, and 
the heavy smoke breaking into mist, when the 
most deafening thunder ever my ears heard came 
pealing around us; eighty pieces of artillery had 
opened upon us, sending a very tempest of balls 
upon our line, while midst the smoke and dust 
we could see the light troops advancing at a run, 
followed by the broad and massive columns in all 
the terror and m,ajesty of war. 

" What a splendid attack! How gallantly they 
come on!" cried an old veteran officer beside me, 
forgetting all rivalry in his noble admiration of 
our enemy. 

The intervening space was soon passed, and the 
tirailleurs falling back as the columns came on, the 
towering masses bore down upon Campbell's di- 
vision with a loud cry of defiance. Silently and 
steadily the English infantry awaited the attack, 
and returning the fire with one withering volley, 
were ordered to charge. Scarcely were the bayo- 
Bets lowered, when the head of the advancing 
column broke and fled, while Mackenzie's brig- 
ade, overlapping the flank, pushed boldly forward 
and a scene of frightful carnage followed; for a 
moment a hand-to-hand combat was sustained, 
but the unbroken files and impregnable bayonets 
of the English conquered, and the French fled, 
leaving six guns behind tliem. 

The gallant enemy were troops of tried and 
proved courage, and scarcely had they retreated 
when they again formed, but ]ust as they prepared 
to come forward, a tremendous shower of grape 
opened upon them from our batteries, while a 
cloud of Spanish horse assailed them in flank, and 
nearly cut them in pieces. 

While this was passing on the right, a tremen- 
dous attack menaced the hill upon which our left 
was posted. Two powerful columns of French 
infantry, supported by some regiments of light 
cavalry, came steadily forward to the attack; An- 
son's brigade were ordered to charge. 

Away they went at top speed, but had not gf)ne 
above a hundred yards when they were suddenly 
arrested by a deep chasm; here the German hus- 
sars pulled short up, but the Twenty-third dash- 
ing impetuously forward, a scene of terrific car- 
nage ensued, men and horses rolling indiscrimin- 
ately together under a withering fire from the 
French squares. Even here, however, British 
valor quailed not, for Major Francis Ponsonby, 
forming all who came up. rode boldlv upon a 
brigade of French chasseurs in the rear. Victor, 
who from the first had watched the movement, at 
once despatched a lancer regiment against them, 
and then these brave fellows were absolutely cut 
to atoms, the few who escaped having passed 
through the French columns and reached Basse- 
cour's Spanish division on the far right. 

During this time the hill was again assailed, 



and even more desperately than before, while 
Victor himself led on the fourth corps to an at- 
tack upon our right and centre. 

The guards waited without flinching the im- 
petuous rush of the advancing columns, and, when 
at length within a short distance, dashed forward 
with the bayonet, driving everything before them. • 
The French fell back upon their sustaining 
masses, and, rallying in an instant, again came 
forward, supported by a tremendous fire from 
their batteries. The guards drew back, and the 
German Legion, suddenly thrown into confusion, 
began to retire in disorder. 'I'his was the most 
critical moment of the day, for. although success- 
ful upon the extreme right and left of our line, 
our centre was absolutely broken. Just at this 
moment Gordon rode up to our brigade; his face 
was pale and his look flurried and excited. 

" The Forty-eighth are coming; here they are 
— support them. Fourteenth." 

These few words were all he spoke; and the 
next moment the measured tread of a column was 
heard behind us. On they came like one man, 
their compact and dense formation looking like 
some massive wall; wheeling by companies, they, 
suffered the Guards and Germans to retire behind 
them, and then re-forming into line, they rushed 
forward with the bayonet. Our artillery opened 
with a deafening thunder behind them, and then 
we were ordered to charge. 

We came on at a trot; the Guards, who had 
now recovered their formation, cheered us as we 
proceeded; the smoke of the cannonade obscured 
everything until vve had advanced some distance, 
but just as we emerged beyond the line of the 
gallant Forty-eighth, the splendid panorama of the 
battle-field broke suddenly upon us. 

"Charge! forward!" cried the hoarse voice of 
our colonel; and we were upon them. The 
French infantry, already broken by the withering 
musketry of our people, gave way before us, and, 
unable to form a square, retired fighting, but in 
confusion, and with tremendous loss, to their 
position. One glorious cheer from left to right 
of our line proclaimed the victory, while a deaf- 
ening discharge of artillery from the French re- 
plied to this defiance, and the battle was over. 
Had the Spanish army been capable of a forward 
movement, our successes at this moment would 
have been much more considerable; but they did. 
not dare to change their position, and the repulse 
of our enemy was destined to be all our glory. 
The French, however, suffered much more 
severely than we did; and, retiring during the 
night, fell back behind the Alberche, leaving us 
the victory and the battle-field. 



CHAPTER LXVL 

NIGHT AFTER TALAVERA. 

The night which followed the battle was a sad 
one. Through the darkness, and under a fast- 
falling rain, the hours were spent in searching for 
our wounded comrades amid the heap of slain 
upon the field; and the glimmering of the Ian- 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



353 



terns, as they flickered far and near across the 
wide plain, bespoke the track of the fatigue par- 
ties in their mournful round; while the groans of 
the wounded rose amid the silence with an accent 
ot heartrending anguish; so true was it, as our 
great comnuinder said, " there is nothing more sad 
than a victory, except a defeat." 

Around our bivouac fires, the feeling of sorrow- 
ful depression was also evident. We had gained 
a great victory, it was true; we had beaten the 
f.ir-famed legions of France upon a ground of 
liieir own choosing led by the most celebrated of 
their marshals and under the eyes of the emperor's 
own brother but still we felt all the hazardous 
daring of our position, and had no confidence 
whatever in the courage or discipline of our allies; 
and we saw that in the very melee of the battle the 
eflorts of the enemy were directed almost exclu- 
sively against our line, so confidently did they un- 
dervalue the eflorts of the Spanish troops. Morn- 
ing Ijroke at length, and scarcely was the heavy 
mist clearing away before the red sunlight, when 
the sounds of fife and drum were heard from a 
distant part of the field. The notes swelled or 
sank as the breeze rose or fell, and many a con- 
jecture was hazarded as to their meaning, for no 
obiect was well visible for more than a few hun- 
dred yards off; gradually, however, they grew 
nearer and nearer, and at length, as the air 
cleared, and the hazy vapor evaporated, the bright 
scarlet uniform of a British regiment was seen ad- 
vancing at a quick-step. 

As they came nearer, the well-known march of 
the gallant Forty-third was recognized by some 
of our people, and immediately the rumor fled 
like lightning. — -"It is Craufurd's brigade!" and 
so it was; tlie noble fellow had marched his 
division the unparalleled distance of sixty English 
miles in twenty-seven hours. Over a burning 
sandy soil, exposed to a raging sun, without 
rations, almost without water, these gallant troops 
pressed on in the unwearied hope of sharing the 
glory of the battle-field. One tremendous cheer 
welcomed the head of the column as they marched 
past and continued till the last file had deployed 
before us 

As these splendid regiments moved by we 
could not help feeling what signal service they 
might have rendered us but a few hours before; 
their soldier-like bearing, their high and effective 
state of discipline, their well-known reputation, 
were in every mouth; and I scarcely think that 
any corps who stood the brunt of the mighty 
battle were the subject of more encomium than 
the brave fellows who had just joined us. 

The mournful duties of the night were soon 
forgotten in the gay and buoyant sounds on every 
side. Congratulations, shaking of hands, kind 
inquiries went round; and, as we looked to the 
hilly ground where so lately were drawn up in 
battle array the dark columns of our enemy, and 
where not one sentinel now remained, the proud 
feeling of our victory came home to our nearts 
with the ever-thrilling thought, " What will they 
say at home?" 

I was standing amid a group of my brother offi- 
cers, wlien I received an order from the colonel 
lo ride down to 'i'alavera tor the return of our 



wounded, as the arrival of the commander-in- 
chief was momentarily looked for I threw my- 
self upon my iiorse, and setting out a brisk pace, 
soon reached the gates 

On entering the town. I was obliged to dis- 
mount and proceed on foot The streets were 
completely filled with people, treading their way 
among wagons, forage-carts, and sick-litters: here 
was a booth filled with all imaginable wares lor 
sale; there a temporary gin shop established 
beneath a broken baggage-wagon- here might be 
seen a merry party throwing dice for a turkey or 
a kid — there, a wounded man, with bloodless 
cheek and tottering step, inquiring the road to 
the hospital; the accents of agony mingled with 
the drunken chorus, and the sharp crack of the 
provost-marshal's whip was heard above the bois- 
terous revelling of the debauchee. All was con- 
fusion, bustle, and excitement The staff- officer, 
with his flowing plume and glittering epaulettes, 
wended his way on foot amid the din and bustle, 
unnoticed and uncared for: while the little drum- 
mer amused an admiring audience of simple 
country-folk by some wondrous tale of the great 
victory. 

My passage through this dense mass was neces- 
sarily a slow one. No one made way for 
another; discipline for the time was at an end, 
and with it all respect lor rank or position. It 
was what nothing oi mere vicissitude in the for- 
tune of war can equal — the wild orgie of an aimy 
the day after a battle 

On turning the corner of a narrow street, my 
attention was attracted by a crowd which, gath- 
ered round a small fountain, seemed, as well as 
I could ])eceive, to witness some proceeding with 
a more thiin ordinary interest. Exclamations in 
Portuguese, expressive of surprise and admira- 
tion, were mingled with English oaths and Irish 
ejaculations, while high above all rose other 
sounds — the cries of some one in pain and suf- 
fering; foicing my way through the dense group, 
I at length reached the interior of the crowd, 
when, to my astonishment, I perceived a short, 
fat, punchy-looking man, stripped of his coat rrd 
waistcoat, an J with his shirtsleeves rolled up to 
his shoulders busily employed in operating upon 
a wounded soldier. Amputation knives, tourni- 
quets, bandages, and all other imaginable instru- 
ments for giving or alleviating torture, were 
strewed about him, and, from tlie arrangement 
and preparation, it was clear that he had pitched 
upon this spot as an hospital for his patients. 
While he continued to perform his functions with 
a singular speed and dexterity, he never for a 
moment ceased a running fire of small talk, now 
addressed to the patient in particular, now to the 
crowd at large — sometimes a soliloquy to him- 
self, and not unfrequently, abstractedly, upo.i 
things in general. These little specimens of 
oratory, delivered in such a place, at such a time, 
and, not least of all, in tlie richest imaginable 
Cork accent, were sufficient to arrest' my steps, 
and I stopped for some time to observe him. 

The patient, who was a large, powerfully-built 
fellow, had been wounded in both legs by the ex- 
plosion of a shell, but yet not so severely as to 
require amputation. 



354 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON, 



" Does that plaze you, tlien?" said the doctor, 
as he applied some powerful caustic to a 
wounded vessel; " there's no satisfying the like 
of you. Quite warm and comfortable ye'll be 
this morning after that. I saw that same shell 
coming, and I called out to Maurice Blake, ' By 
your leave, Maurice, let that fellow pass, he's in 
a hurry!' and faith, I said to myself, ' there's more 
where you came from — you're not an only child, 
and I never liked the family.' What are ye grin- 
ning for. ye brown thieves?'' This was addressed 
to the Portuguese. "There, now, keep the limb 
quiet and easy. Upon my conscience if that 
shell fell into old Lundy Foot's shop this morning, 
there'd be plenty of sneezing in Sackville street. 
Who's next?" said he, looking round with an ex-' 
pression that seemed to threaten that, if no 
wounded man was ready, he was quite prepared 
to carve out a patient for himself. Not exactly 
lelishing the invitation and the searching;; that ac- 
companied it, I backed my way thr >ugh the 
crowd, and continued my path towards the 
hospital. 

Here the scene which presented itself wasi shock- 
ing beyond belief — frightful and ghastly wounds 
from shell and cannon-shot were seen on all 
sides, every imaginable species of suffering that 
man is capable of was presented to view, while, 
amid the dead and dying, operations the most 
painful were proceeding with a haste and bustle 
that plainly showed how many more waited their 
turn for similar offices. The stairs were blocked 
up with fresh arrivals of wounded men, and even 
upon the corridors and landing-places the sick 
were strewn on all sides. 

I hurried to that part of the building where 
my own people were, and soon learned that our 
loss was confined to about fourteen wounded; five 
of them were officers; but, fortunately, we lost 
not a man of our gallant fellovvs, and Talavera 
brought us no mourning for a comrade to damp 
the exultatioii we felt in our victory. 



CHAPTER LXVII. 



THE OUTPOST. 



During the three days which succeeded the 
battle, all things remained as they were before. 
The enemy had gradually withdrawn all his forces, 
and our most advanced pickets never came in 
sight of a French detachment. Still, although 
we had gained a great victory, our situation was 
anything but flattering. The most strenuous exer- 
tions of the commissariat were bareh' sufficient to 
provision the troops; and we had even already 
but too much experience of how little trust or 
reliance could be reposed in the most lavish 
promises of our allies. It was true, our spirits 
failed us not, but it was rather from an implicit 
and never-failing confidence in the resources of 
our great leader, than that any amongst us could 
see his way through the dense cloud of difficulty 
and danger that seemed to envelop us on every 
side. 

To add to the pressing emergency of our posi- 



tion, we learned on the evening of the 31st that 
Soult was advancing from the north, and at the 
head of fourteen thousand chosen troops in full 
march upon Placentia; thus threatening our rear, 
at the very moment, too, when any further ad- 
vance was evidently impossible. 

On the morning of the first of August, I was 
ordered with a small party to push forward in 
the direction of the Alberche, upon the left bank 
of which it was reported that the French were 
again concentrating their forces, and, if possible, 
to obtain information as to their future move- 
ments. Meanwhile, the army was about to fall 
back upon Oropesa, there to await Soult's ad- 
vance, and, if necessary, to give him battle — 
Cuesta engaging with his Spaniards to sei ure 
Talavera, with its stores and hospitals, ag;.inst 
any present movement from Victor. 

After a hearty breakfast, and a kind "good by !" 
from my brother officers, I set out. My road 
along the Tagus, for several miles of the way, 
was a narrow path scraped from the rocky ledge 
of the river, shaded by rich olive plantations that 
threw a friendly shade over us during the noon- 
day heat. 

We travelled along silently, sparing our cattle 
from time to time, but endeavoring ere nightfall 
to reach Torrijos, in which village we had heard 
several French soldiers were in hospital. Our 
information leading us to believe them very in- 
adequately guarded, we hoped to make some 
prisoners, from whom the information we sought 
could in. all likelihood be obtained. More than 
once during the day our road was crossed by 
parties similar to our own, sent forward to recon- 
noitre;, and towards evening a party of the 
Twenty-third Light Dragoons, returning towards 
Talavera, informed us that the French had re- 
tired from Torrijos, which was now occu])ied by 
an English detachment, under my old friend 
O'Shaughnessy. 

I need not say with what pleasure I heard this 
piece of news, and eagerly pressed forward, pre- 
ferring the warm shelter and hospitable board 
the major was certain of possessing, to the cold 
blast and dripping grass of a bi\ouac. Night, 
however, fell fast; darkness, without an interven- 
ing twilight, set in, and we lost our way. A bleak 
table-land, with here and there a stunted, leafless 
tree, was all that we could discern by the pale 
light of a new moon. An apparently intermina- 
ble heath, uncrossed by path or foot-track, was 
before us, and our jaded cattle seemed to feel the 
dreary uncertainty of the prospect as sensitively 
as ourselves — stumbling and overreaching at every 
step. 

Cursing my ill-luck for such a misadventure, 
and once more picturing to my mind the bright 
blazing hearth and smoking supper I had hoped 
to partake of, I called a halt, and pre])ared to 
pass the night. My decision was hastened by find- 
ing myself suddenly in a little grove of pine-trees, 
whose shelter was not to be despised; besides 
that, our bivouac fires were now sure of being 
supplied. 

It was fortunate the night was fine, though 
dark. In a calm, still atmosphere, when not a 
leaf moved nor a branch stirred, wc picketed our 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



365 



tired horses, and, shaking out their forage, heaped 
up in the midst a blazing fire of the fir-tree. 
Our hunible supper was produced, and even with 
tlie still lingering reverie of the major and his 
happier destiny, 1 began to feel comfortable. 

My troopers, who probably had not been flat- 
tering their imaginations with such gouriiuind re- 
flections and views, sat happily around their 
cheerful blaze, chatting over the great battle they 
had so lately witnessed, and mingling their stories 
of some comrade's prowess witii sorrows for the 
dead, and proud hopes for the future. In the 
midst, upon his knees beside the flame, was 
Mike, disputing, detailing, guessing, and occa- 
sionally inventing — all his arguments only tend- 
ing to one view of the late victory — "that it was 
the Lord's mercy the most of the Forty-eightii 
was Irish, or we wouldn't be sitting there 
now!" 

Despite Mr. Free's conversational gifts, how- 
ever, his audience one by one dropped off in 
sleep, leaving him sole monarch of the watch-fire, 
and — what he thought more of — a small brass 
kettle nearly full of brandy-and-water. This 
latter, I perceived, he produced when all was 
tranquil, and seemed, as he cast a furtive glance 
around, to assure himself that he was the only 
company present. 

Lying some yards off, I watched him for about 
an hour, as he sat rubbing his hands before the 
blaze; or lifting the little vessel to his lips; his droll 
features ever and anon seeming acted upon by 
some passing dream of former devilment, as he 
smiled and muttered some sentences in an under- 
voice. Sleep at length overpowered me; but my 
last waking thoughts were haunted with a' singu- 
lar ditty by which Mike accompanied himself as 
he kept burnishing the buttons of my jacket before 
the fire, now and then interrupting the melody by 
a recourse to the copper. 

"Well, well; you're clean enough now, and 
sure it's little good brightening you up, when 
you'll be as bad to-morrow. Like his father's 
son, devil a lie in \:\ Nothing would serve him 
but his best blue jacket to fight in, as if the French 
was particular what they killed us in. Pleasant 
trade, upon my conscience' Well, never mind. 
That's beautiful sperets, any how. Your health, 
Mickey Free; its yourself that stands to me. 

" * It's little for glory I care; 

Sure ambition is only a fable; 
I'd as soon be myself as Lord Mayor, 

With lashings of drinic on the table, 
I like to lie down in the sun 

And draiiie, when my faylures is scorchin' 
That when I'm too oul,l iox more fun. 

Why, I'll marry a wife with a fortune. 

" 'And, in winter, with bacon and eggs, 

And a place at the turf-fire basking. 
Sip my punch as I roasted my legs. 

Oh! the devil a more I'd be asking' 
For I haven't a. Junius for work. — 

It was never the gift of the Bradies, — 
But I'd make a most illignnt Turk, 

For I am fond of tobacco and ladies.'" 

This confounded rc/rain kept ringing through 
my dream, and " tobacco and ladies" mingled with 
my thoughts of storm and battlefield, long after 



their very gifted author had composed himself to 
slumber. 

Sleep, and sound sleep, came at length, and 
many hours elapsed ere I awoke. When I did 
so, my fire was reduced to its last embers. Mike, 
like the others, had sunk in slumber, and mid the 
grey dawn that precedes the morning, I could just 
perceive the dark shadows of my troopers as they 
lay in groups around. 

The fatigue of the previous day had so com- 
pletely overcome me, that it was with difticuliy I 
could arouse myself so far as to heap fresh logs 
upon the fire. This I did, with my eyes halt 
closed, and in that listless, dreamy state which 
seems the twilight of sleep. 

I managed so much, however, and was return- 
ing to my couch beneath a tree, when suddenly 
an object presented itself to my eyes that abso- 
lutely rooted me to the s[)Ot. At about twenty 
or thirty yards distant, where but the moment 
before the long line of. horizon terminated the 
view, there now stood a huge figure of some ten or 
twelve feet in height; two heads — which sur- 
mounted this colossal personage — moved alter- 
natelv from side to side, while several arms waved 
loosely to and fro in the most strange and uncouth 
manner. My first impression was that a dream had 
conjured up this distorted image; but when I 
had assured myself by repeated pinchings and 
shakings that I was really awake, still it rcmaintd 
there. I was never much given to believe in 
ghosts; but even had I been so, this strange ap- 
parition must have puzzled me as much as ever, 
for it could not have been the representative of 
anything I ever heard of before. 

A vague suspicion that some French trickery 
was concerned, induced me to challenge it in 
French, so without advancing a step, I halloed 
out, " Qui va /a ?" 

My voice aroused a sleeping soldier, who, 
springing up beside me, had his carbine at the 
cock; while, equally thunderstruck with myself, 
he gazed at the monster. 

" Quiva hi?" shouted I again, and no answer 
was returned, when suddenly the huge object 
wheeled rapidly around, and without waiting for 
any further parley, made for the thicket. 

The tramp of a horse's feet now assured me 
as to the nature of at least part of the spectacle, 
when click went the trigger behind me, and the 
trooper's ball rushed whistling through the brush- 
wood. In a moment the whole party were up 
and stirring. 

"This way, lads!" cried I, as, drawing my 
sabre, I dashed into the pine wood. 

For a few moments all was dark as midnight; 
but as we proceeded further, we came out upon 
a little open space which commanded the plain 
beneath for a great e.xtent. 

" There it goes!" said one of the men, pointing 
to a narrow, beaten path, pn which the tall figure 
moved at a slow and stately pace, while still the 
same wild gestures of heads and limbs continued. 

"Don't fire, men! don't fire!" I cried, "but 
follow me," as I set forward as hard as I could. 

As we neared it, the frantic gesticulations grew 
more and more remarkable, while some stray 
words which we half caught, sounded like Eng- 



356 



CHARLES OMALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



lish in our ears. We were now within pistol- 
shot distance, when sudtlenly the horse — for that 
much at least we were assured of — stumbled and 
fell forward, precipitating the remainder of the 
object headlong into the road. 

In a second we were upon the spot, when the 
first sounds which greeted me were the following, 
uttered in an accent by no means new to me: 

"Oh, lilessed Virgin' Wasn't it yourself that 
threw me in the mud, or my nose was done for' 
Shaugh, Shaugh, my boy' since we are taken, 
tip them the blarney, and say we're generals of 
division!" 

I need not say with what a burst of laughter I 
received this very original declaration. 

" I ought to know that laugh," cried a voice I 
at once knew to be my friend O'Shaughnessy's. 
" .\re yjou Charles O'Malley, by any chance in 
life?" 

'■ The same, major, and delighted to meet you; 
thougli, faith, we were near giving you a rather 
warm reception. What in the devil's name did 
)u.i represent just now?" 

"Ask Maurice, there, bad luck to him! I 
wish the devil had him when he persuaded me 
into it." 

■' Introduce me to your friend," replied the 
other, rubbing his shins as he spoke. " Mr. 
O'Mealey" — so he called me — "I think. Happy 
to meet you; my mother was a Ryan of Kildoo- 
ley, married to a first cousin of your father's, be- 
fore she took Mr. Quill, my respected progenitor. 
I'm Dr. Quill of the 48th. more commonly called 
Maurice Quill. Tear and ages! howsore my back 
is' It was all the fault of the baste, Mr. O'.Mealey. 
We set out in search of you this morning, to bring 
you back with us to Tonijos, but we fell in with 
a very pleasant funeral at Barcaventer, and jo ned 
them; they invited us, I may say, to spend the day; 
and a very jovial day it was. I was the chief 
mourner, and carried a very big candle through the 
village, in consideration of as fine a meat-pie, and 
as much lush as my grief permitted me to indulge 
in afterwards. But, my dear sir, when it was all 
finished, we found ourselves nine miles from our 
c|uarters, and as neither of us were in a very 
befitting condition for pedestrian exercise, we 
stole one of the leaders out of the hearse — velvet, 
[ilumes, and all — and set off home. 

" When we came upon your party, we were not 
over clear whether you were English, Portuguese, 
or French, and that was the reason I called out 
to you, ' God save all here!' in Irish. Your polite 
answer was a shot, which struck the old horse in 
the knee, and although we wheeled about in 
double (juick, we never could get him out of his 
professional habits on the ro.id. He had a strong 
notion he was engaged in another funeral — as he 
was very likely to be —and the devil a bit faster 
tlian a dead march could we get him to, with all 
oir thrashing. Orderly lime, for men in a hurry, 
with a whole platoon blazing away behind them! 
But long life to the cavalry, they never hit any- 
thing!" 

While he continued to run on in this manner, 
we reached our watch-fire, when what was my 
surprise to discover, in my newly-made acquaint- 
ance, the worthy doctor I liad seen a da)' or two 



before, operating at the fountain at Talavera' 

" Well, Mr. O'Mealey," said he, as he seated 
himself before the blaze, " what is the state of 
the larder! Anything savory — anything drink- 
inspiring to be had ■"" 

" I fear, doctor, my fare is of the very hum- 
blest; but, still " 

" What are the fluids, Charley?" cried the ma- 
jor; " the cruel performance I have been enact- 
ing on that cursed beast has left me in a fever." 

" This was a pigeon-pie, formerly," said Dr. 
Quill, investigating the ruined walls of a pasty; 
" and — but come, here's a duck; and if my nose 
deceive me not, a very tolerable ham. Peter — 
Larry — Patsy — What's the name of your familiar 
there?" 

"Mickey — Mickey Free." 

"Mickey Free, then; come here, avick! Devise 
a little drink, my son — none of the weakest — no 
lemon — hot! You uiiderstand, hot! That chap 
has an eye for punch; there's no mistaking an 
Irish fellow; nature has endowed them richly — 
fine features, and a beautiful absorbent system! 
That's the gift! Just look at him, blowing up 
the fire — isn't he a picture? Well, O'Mealey, I 
was fretting that we hadn't you up at Torrijos; 
we were enjoying life very respectably; we es- 
tablished a little system of small tithes upon 
fowl — sheep — pigs' heads and wine skins, that 
throve remarkably for the time. Here's the lush! 
Put it down there, Mickey, in the middle; that's 
right. Your health, Shaugh. O'Mealey, here's 
a troop to you; and in the mean time, I'll give 
you a chant: 

'* * Come, ye jovial souls, don't over the bowl be sleeping. 
Nor let the grog go round like a cripple creeping; 
If your care comes up — in the liquor sink it, 
Pass along the lush — I'm the boy can drink it. 

Isn't that so, Mrs. Mary CalLighan? 

Isn't that so, Mrs. Mary Callaghan?' 

" Shaugh, my hearty, this begins to feel com- 
fortable. 

"Your man, O'Mealey, has a most judicious 
notion of punch for a small party; and though 
one has prejudices about a table, chairs, and that 
sort of thing, take my word for it, it's better than 
lighting the French, any day." 

"Well, Charley, it certainly did look quite 
awkward enough the other day towards three 
o'clock, when the Legion fell back before that 
French column, and broke the Guards behind 
them." 

"Yes, you're quite right; but I think every one 
felt that the confusion was but momentary; the 
gallant Forty-eighth was up in an instant." 

"Faith! I can answer for their alacrity," said 
the doctor; " I was making my way to the rear 
with all convenient despatch, when an aide-de- 
camp called out, — 

" 'Cavalry coming! take care, Forty-eighth." 

" ' Left face, wheel! Fall in there, fall in 
there!' I heard on every side, and soon found my- 
self standing in a square, with Sir Arthur him- 
self, and Hill, and the rest of them all around 
me. 

" 'Steady, men! Steady, now!' said Hill, as he 
rode around the ranks, while we saw an awful 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



357 



column of cuirassiers forming on the rising 
ground to our left. 

"'Here they comei' said Sir Arthur, as the 
French came powdering along, making the very 
earth tremble beneath them. 

" My first thought was, 'The devils are mad! 
and they'll ride down into us, before they know 
they're kilt!' And sure enough, smasii into our 
first rank they pitched, sabring and cutting all 
before them; when at last the word 'Fire!' was 
given, and the whole head of the column broke 
like a shell, and rolled horse over man on the 
earth. 

"'Very well done! very weli, indeed!" said 
Sir Arthur, turning as coolly round to me as if he 
was asking for more gravy. 

" ' Mighty well done!' said I, in reply; and re- 
solving not to be outdone in coolness, I pulled 
out my snuff-box and offered him a pinch, say- 
ing, ' The real thing, Sir Arthur; our own coun- 
tryman — blackguard.' 

" He gave a little grim kind of a smile, took a 
pinch, and then called out, 

" * Let Sherbroke advance!* while turning 
again towards me, he said, ' Where are your 
people, colonel .'' 

"'Colonel!' thought I; 'is it possible he's go- 
ing to promote me?' But before I could answer, 
he was talking to another. Meanwhile, Hill came 
up, and, looking at me steadily, burst out with — 

"' Why the devil are you here, sir.> Why ain't 
you at the rear?' 

"'Upon my conscience,' said I, 'that's the 
very thing I'm puzzling myself about this minute! 
but if you think it's pride in me, you're greatly 
mistaken, for I'd rather the greatest scoundrel in 
Dublin was kicking me down Sackville street, 
than be here now!' 

"You'd think it was fun I was making, if you 
heard how they all laughed. Hill and Cameron 
and the others louder than any. 

" ' Who is he?' said Sir Arthur, quickly. 

" ' Dr. Quill, surgeon of the Thirty-third, 
where I exchanged, to be near my brother, sir, in 
the Thirty-fourth.' 

" 'A doctor — a surgeon! That fellow a sur- 
geon? Damn him, I took him for Colonel Gros- 
venor! I say, Gordon, these medical officers 
must be docked of their fine feathers, there's no 
knowing them from the staff; look to that in the 
next general order.' 

" .\nd sure enough they left us bare and naked 
the next morning; and if the French sharpshooters 
pick us down now, devil mend them for wasting 
powder, for if they look in the orderly books, 
tliey'll find their mistake.'' 

"Ah, Maurice, Maurice!" said Shaugh, with a 
sigh, "you'll never improve — you'll never im- 
prove!" 

"Why the devil would I?" said he; "ain't I at 
the top of my profession — full surgeon — with 
nothing to expect — nothing to hope for? Oh, if 
I onlv remained in the light company, what 
wouldn't I be now?" 

'■ Then you were not always a doctor?" said I. 

" Upon my conscience I wasn't," said he. 
''When Shaugh knew me first, I was the Adonis 
of the Roscommon militia, with more heiresses 



in my list than any man in the regiment; but 
Shaugh and myself were always urikicky. ' 

" Poor Mrs. Rogers!" said the major, patlieti- 
cally, drinking oJf his glass, and heaving a pro- 
found sigh. 

" Ah, the darling!" said the doctor; " if it 
wasn't for a jug of punch that lay on the hall 
table, our fortune in life would be very dif- 
ferent." 

" True for you, Maurice!" quoth O'Shaugh- 
nessy. 

" I should like much to hear that story," said I, 
pushing the jug briskly round. 

" He'll tell it yoa," said O'Shaughnessy, light- 
ing his cigar, and leaning pensively back agamst 
a tree — " he'll tell it you." 

" I will with pleasure," said Maurice. " Let 
Mr. Free meantime amuse himself with the punch- 
bowl, and I'll relate it." 



CHAPTER LXVIIL 



THE DOCTOR S TALE. 



" It is now some fifteen years since — if it wasn't 
for O'Shaughnessy 's wrinkles, I could not believe 
it five — we were quartered in Loughrea. There 
were, besides our regiment, the Fiftieth and the 
Seventy-third, and a troop or two of horse artil- 
lery, and the whole town was literally a barrack, 
and, as you may suppose, the pleasantest place 
imaginable. All the young ladies, and indeed all 
those that had got their brevet some jears before, 
came flocking into the town, not knowing but the 
devil might persuade a raw ensign or so to marry 
some of them. 

"Such dinner parties — such routs and balls — 
never were heard of west of Athlone. The gay- 
eties were incessant; and if good feeding, plenty 
of claret, short whist, country-dances, and kissing, 
could have done the thing, there wouldn't have 
been a bachelor with a red coat for six miles 
around. 

" You know the west, O'Mealey; so I needn't 
tell you what the Galway girls are like; fine, 
hearty, free-and-easy, talking, laughing devils; but 
as deep and as 'cute as a master in chancery — 
ready for any fun or merriment; but always keep- 
ing a sly look-out for a proposal or a tender ac- 
knowledgment, which — what between the heat of 
a ball-room, whiskey negus, white satin shoes, and 
a quarrel with your guardian — it's ten to one you 
fall into before you're a week in the same town 
with them. 

" As for the men, I don't admire them so much; 
pleasant and cheerful enough, when they're handi- 
capping the coat off your back, and your new 
tilbury for a spavined pony and a cotton umbrella; 



* I cannot permit the reader to fall into the same hluntler with re- 
card to the worlhv " Maurice," as my friend Charles O Mallev has 
done It IS onlv fair to state that the doctor in the following tale 
was iioaxing the - Dragoon." A braver and a better fellow than 
Ouill never existed, equally beloved bv his brother officers, as de- 
frghted m for his convivial talents. His favorite amusement was to 
invent some storv or adventure, in which, mixing up his own name 
with that of some friend nr companion, the ver.icity of the whole 
was never questioned. Of this nature was the pedigree he devised 
in the last chapter of Vol. I. to impose upon O'Malley, who beheved 
implicitly all he told him. 



358 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



Init regular devils if you come to cross them the 
least in life; nothing but ten paces — three shots 
apiece — to begin and end with something like 
Roger de Coverley, when every one has a pull at 
his neighbor. I'm not saying they're not agree- 
able, well-informed, and mild in their habits; but 
tiicy lean overmuch to corduroys and coroners' 
inquests for one's taste farther south. However, 
they're a fine people, take them all in all; and, 
if they were not interfered with, and their na- 
tional customs invaded with road-making, petty- 
sessions, grand jury laws and a ■stray commission 
now and then, tliey are capable of great things, 
and would astonish the world. 

" But, as I was saying, we were ordered to 
Loughrea, after being fifteen months in detach- 
ments about Birr, Tullamore, Kilbeggan, and 
all that country; the change was indeed a delight- 
ful one; and we soon found ourselves the centre 
of the most marked and determined civilities. I 
told you they were wise people in the west; this 
was their calculation: the line — ours was the 
Roscommon militia — are here to-day, there to- 
morrow; they maybe flirting in Tralee this week, 
and fighting on the Tagus the next; not that 
there was any fighting there in those times, but 
then there was always Nova Scotia and St. Johns, 
and a hundred other places that a Galway young 
lady knew nothing about, except the people never 
came back from them. Now, what good, what 
use was there in falling in love with them! mere 
transitory and passing pleasure that was. But as 
for us, there we were; if not in Kilkenny we were 
in Cork. Safe cut and come again; no getting 
awav under pretence of foreign service; no excuse 
for not marrying by any cruel pictures of the col- 
onies, where they make spatch-cocks of the offi- 
cers' wives, and scrape their infant families to 
death with a small toothcomb. In a word, my 
dear O'Mealey, we were at a high premium; and 
even O'Shaughnessy, with his red head and the 
legs you see, had his admirers — there now, don't 
be angry, Dan — the men, at least, were mighty 
partial to you. 

" Loughrea, if it was a pleasant, was a very ex- 
pensive place. White gloves and car hire — there 
wasn't a chaise in the town — short whist too (God 
forgive me if I wrong them, but I wonder were 
they honest?), cost money; and as our popularity 
rose, our purses fell, till at length, when the one 
was at the flood, the other was at something very 
like low water. 

" Now, the Roscommon was a beautiful corps — 
no petty jealousies, no little squabbling among 
the officers, no small spleen between the major's 
wife and the paymaster's sister — all was amiable, 
kind, brotherly, and affectionate. To proceed: 
I need only mention one fine trait of them — no 
man ever refused to endorse a brother officer's 
bill. To think of asking the amount, or even the 
date, would be taken personally; and thus we 
went on mutually aiding and assisting each other 
—the colonel drawing on me, I on the major, the 
senior captain on the surgeon, and so on — a regu- 
lar cross-fire of 'promises to pay,' all stamped 
and regular. 

" Not but the system had its inconveniences; 
for sometimes an obstinate tailor or bootmaker 



would make a row for his money, and then we'd 
be obliged to get up a little quarrel between the 
drawer and the acceptor of the bill; they couldn't 
speak for some days; and a mutual friend to 
both would tell the creditor that the slightest im- 
prudence on his part would lead to bloodshed; 
'and the Lord help him! if there was a duel, he'd 
prove the whole cause of it.' This and twenty 
other plans were employed, and, finally, the mat- 
ter would be left to arbitration among our brother 
officers; and, I need not say, they behaved like 
trumps. But, notwithstanding all this, we were 
frequently hard-pressed for cash; as the colonel 
said, 'It's a mighty expensive corps." Our dress 
was costly— not that it had much lace and 
gold on it, but that, what between falling on the 
road at night, shindies at mess, and other devil- 
ment, a coat lasted no time. Wine, too, was heavy 
on us; for, though we often changed our wine- 
merchant, and rarely paid him, there was an awful 
consumption at the mess! 

" Now, what I have mentioned may prepare you 
for the fact, that, before we were eight weeks in 
garrison, Shaugh and myself, upon an accurate 
calculation of our conjoint finances, discovered 
that, except some vague promises of discounting 
here and there through the town, and seven and 
fourpence in specie, we were innocent of any 
pecuniary treasures. This was embarrassing; we 
had both embarked in several small schemes of 
pleasurable amusement; had a couple of hunters 
each, a tandem, and a running account — 1 think 
it galloped — at every shop in the town. 

" Let me pause a moment here, O'Mealey, while 
I moralize a little, in a strain I hope may benefit 
you. Have you ever considered — of course you 
have not, you're too young and unreflecting — how 
beautifully every climate and every soil possesses 
some one antidote or another to its own noxious 
influences? The tropics have their succulent 
and juicy fruits, cooling and refreshing; the 
northern latitudes have their beasts with fur and 
warm skin to keep out the frost-bites; and so it 
is in Ireland — nowhere on the face of the habit- 
able globe does a man contract such habits of 
small debt, and nowhere, I'll be sworn, can he 
so easily get out of any scrape concerning them. 
They have their tigers in the east, their antelopes 
in the south, their white bears in Norway, their 
buffaloes in America; but we have an animal in 
Ireland that beats them all hollow — a country 
attorney! 

"Now, let me introduce you to Mr. Matthew 
Donevan. Mat, as he was familiarly called by 
his numerous acquaintances, was a short, florid, 
rosy little gentleman of some four or five-and- 
forty, with a well-curled wig of the fairest imagin- 
able auburn, the gentle wave of the front locks, 
which played in infantine loveliness upon his little 
bullet forehead, contrasting strongly enough with 
a cunning leer of his eye, and a certain niu 
/>r/«.y laugh that, however it miglit please a client, 
rarely brought pleasurable feelings to his oppo- 
nent in a cause. 

" Mat was a character in his way; deep, double, 
and tricky in ever)thing that concerned his pro- 
fession, he affected the gay fellow; liked a jolly 
dinner at Bro.vn's Hotel — would go twenty miles 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



359 



to see a steeple-chase and a coursing match — bet 
with anyone, when the odds were strong in his 
favor, with an easy indifference about money that 
made him seem, when winning, rather the victim 
of good kick than anything else. As he kept a 
rather pleasant bachelor's house, and liked the 
military much, we snon became acquainted. 
Upon him, therefore, for reasons I can't explain, 
both our hopes reposed; and Shaugh and myself 
at once agreed that, if Mat could not assist us in 
our distress, the case was a l)a4 one. 

" A pretty little epistle was accordingly con- 
cocted, inviting the worthy attorney to a small 
dinner at five o'clock the next day, intimating 
that we were to be perfectly alone, and had a little 
business to discuss. True to the hour, Mat was 
there; and, as if instantly guessing that ours was 
no regular party of pleasure, his look, dress, and 
manner were all in keeping with the occasion — 
quiet, subdued, and searching. 

"When the claret had been superseded by the 
whiskey, and the confidential hours were approach- 
ing, by an adroit allusion to some heavy wager 
then pending, we brought our finances upon the 
tapis. The thing was done beautifully; an easy 
ff^/i/^'W movement — no violent transition; but hang 
me if old Mat didn't catch the matter at 
once. 

" 'Oh! it's there ye are, captain,' said he, with 
liis peculiar grin; ' two-and-si.xpence in the pound, 
and no assets.' 

"'The last is nearer the mark, my old boy,' 
said Shaugh, blurting out the whole truth at once. 
The wilv attorney finished his tumbler slowly, as 
if giving himself time for reflection, and then, 
smacking his lips in a preparatory manner, took 
a quick survey of the room with his piercing 
green eye. 

" ' A very sweet mare of yours, that little mouse- 
colored one is; with the dip in the back; and she 
has a trifling curb — maybe it's a spavin, indeed — 
in the near hind-leg. You gave five-and-twenty 
for her, now, I'll be bound." 

'"Si.xty guineas, as sure as my name's Dan,' 
said Shaugh, not at all pleased at the value put 
upon his hackney; 'and, as to spavin and curb, 
I'll wager double the suit, she has neither the 
slightest trace of one nor the other.' 

"Til not take the bet,' said Mat, dryly; 
'money's scarce in these parts.' 

"This hit silenced us both; and our friend 
continued: 

" ' Then there's the bay horse — a great strap- 
ping, leggy beast he is, for a tilbury; and the 
hunters — worth nothing here, they don't know 
this country; them's neat pistols; and the tilbury 
is not bad ' 

"'Confound you!' said I, losing all patience, 
'we didn't ask you here to appraise our mova- 
bles; we want to raise the wind without that.' 

"'I see — I perceive,' said Mat, taking a ]iinch 
of snuff very leisurely as he spoke: ' I see. Well, 
that is difficult — very difficult, just now. I've 
mortgaged every acre of ground in the two coun- 
ties near us, and a sixpence more is not to be had 
that way. Are you lucky at the races.'' 
Never witf a sixpence.' 

" ' What can you do at whist?' 



" ' Revoke, and get cursed by my partner; devil 
a morel' 

'"That's mighty bad, for, otherwise, we might 
arrange something for you. Well, I only see one 
thing for it — you must marry; a wife with some 
money will get you out of your present difficulties, 
and we'll manage that easily enough." 

"'Come, Dan,' said I — for Shaugh was drop- 
ping asleep — ' cheer up, old fellow. Donevan has 
found the way to pull us through our misfortunes; 
a girl with forty thousand pounds, the best cock 
shuoting in Ireland; an old family, a capital 
cellar, all await ye — rouse up, there!' 

"'I'm convanient,' said Shaugh, with a look 
intended to be knowing, but really very tipsy. 

"'I didn't say much for her personal attrac- 
tions, captain,' said Mat; 'nor, indeed, did I 
specify the exact sum; but Mrs. Rogers Dooley, 
of Clonakilty, might be a princess ' 

"'And so she shall be. Mat; the O'Shaugh- 
nessys were kings of Ennis in the time of Nero; 
and I'm only waiting for a trifle of money to re- 
vive the title. What's her name?' 

"'Mrs. Rogers Dooley.' 

" ' Here's her health, and long life to her — 

' " And may the devil cut the toes 

Of all her foes, 
That we may know them by their limping.'" 

" This benovelent wish uttered, Dan fell flat 
upon the hearth-rug, and was soon sound asleep. 
I must hasten on; so need only say that, before 
we parted that night. Mat and myself had finished 
the half gallon bottle of Loughrea whiskey, and 
concluded a treaty for the hand and fortune of 
Mrs. Rogers Dooley; he being guaranteed a very 
handsome percentage on the property, and the 
lady being reserved — for choice between Dan and 
myself, which, however, I was determined should 
fall upon my more fortunate friend. 

" The first object which presented itself to 
my aching senses the following morning, \vas a 
very specious card of invitation from Mr. Jonas 
Malone, requesting me to favor him with the se- 
ductions of my society the next evening to a ball; 
at the bottom of which, in Mr. Donevan's hand, 
I read: 

"'Don't fail; you know who is to be there. 
I've not been idle since I saw you. Would the 
captain take twenty-five for the mare?' 

" ' So far so good,' thought I, as entering 
O'Shaughnessy's quarters, I discovered him en- 
deavoring to spell out his card, which, however, 
had no postscript. We soon agreed that Mat 
should have his price; so, sending a polite answer 
to the invitation, we despatched a still more civil 
note to the attorney, and begged of him, as a 
weak mark of esteem, to accept the mouse-colored 
mare as a present. 

'■ Here O'Sliaughnessy sighed deeply, and even 
seemed affected by the souvenir. 

" 'Come, Dan, we did it all for the best.' Oh! 
O'Mealey, he was a cunning fellow; but no matter. 
We went to the ball, and, to be sure, it was a 
great sight. Two hundred and fifty souls, where 
there was not good room for the odd fifty; such 
laughing, such squeezing, such i)ressing of hands 
and Vi'aists on the staircase! and then such a row 



360 



CHARLES 0"MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



and riot at the top — four fiddles, a key bugle, and 
a bagpipe, playing ' Haste to the wedding,' amid 
the crash of refreshment-trays, the tramp of feet, 
and the sounds of merriment on all sides! 

" It's only in Ireland, after all, people have 
fun; old and young, merry and morose, the gay 
and cross-grained, are crammed into a lively 
country-dance; and, ill-matched, ill-suited, go 
jigging away together to the blast of a bad band, 
till their heads, half-turned by the noise, the heat, 
the novelty, and the hubbub, they all get as tipsy 
as if they were really deep in liquor. 

" Then there is that particularly free-and-easy 
tone in every one about — here go a couple caper- 
ing daintily out of the ball-room to take a little 
fresh air on the stairs, where every step has its 
own separate flirtation party; there, a riotous old 
gentleman, with a boarding-school girl for his 
' partner, has plunged smack into a party at loo, 
upsetting cards and counters, and drawing down 
curses innumerable. Here are a merry knot 
round the refreshments, and well they may be; 
for the negus is strong punch, and the biscuit is 
tipsy cake — and all t lis with a running fire of 
good stories, jokes, and witticisms on all sides, in 
the laugliter for which even the droll-looking 
servants join as heartily as the rest. 

" VVe were not long in finding out Mrs. Rogers, 
who sat in the middle of a very high sofa, with 
her feet just touching the floor. She was short, 
fat, wore her hair in a crop, had a species of 
shining yellow skin, and a turned-up nose, all 
of which were by no means prepossessing. 
Shaugh and myself were too hard-up to be partic- 
ular, and so we invited her to dance alternately 
for two consecutive hours, jslying her assiduously 
with negus during the lulls in the music. 

Supper was at last announced, and enabled us 
to recrnit for new efforts; and so, after an awful 
consumption of fowl, pigeon-pie, ham, and 
brandy cherries, Mrs. Rogers brightened up con- 
siderably, and professed her willingness to join 
the dancers. As for us, partly from exhaustion, 
partly to stimulate our energies, and in some de- 
gree to drown reflection, we drank deep, and 
when we reached the drawing-room, not only 
tlie agreeable guests themselves, but even the 
fiirniture, the venerable chairs and the stiff old 
sofa, seemed performing 'Sir Roger de Coverley.' 
How we conducted ourselves till five in the 
morning, let our cramps confess, for we were 
b3th bed-ridden for ten days after. However, at 
list, Mrs. Rogers gave in; and, reclining grace- 
fully upon a window-seat, pronounced it a most 
elegant party, and asked me to look for her 
shawl. While I perambulated the staircase with 
her bonnet on my head, and more wearing ap- 
parel than would stock a magazine, Shaugh was 
roaring himself hoarse in the street, calling Mrs. 
Rogers's coach. 

'"Sure, Ciptain," said the lady, with a tender 
leer, ' it's only a chair.' 

"' Here it is," said I, surveying a very portly- 
looVing old sedan, newly painted and varnished, 
that blocked half the hall. 

" ' You'll catch cold, my angel," said Shaugh, in 
a whisper, for he was coming it very strong by 
this.- ' get into the chair. Maurice, can't you 



find those fellows?' said he to me; for the chair- 
men had gone down-stairs, and were making 
very merry among the servants. 

" 'She's fast now,' said I, shutting the door to. 
'Let us do the gallant thing, and carry her home 
ourselves.' Shaugh thought this a great notion; 
and, in a minute, we mounted the poles and 
sallied forth, amid a great chorus of laughing 
from all the footmen, maids, and teaboys that 
filled the passage. 

"'The big house, with the bow-window and 
the pillars, captain,' said a fellow, as we issued 
uj.-on our journey. 

'"I know it,' said I. 'Turn to the left after 
you pass the square.' 

'" Isn't she heavy?' said Shaugh, as he mean- 
dered across the narrow streets with a sidelong 
motion, that must have suggested to our fair in- 
side passenger some notions of a sea voyage. In 
truth, I must confess our progress was rather a 
devious one; now zig-zagging from side to side, 
now getting into a sharp trot, and then suddenly 
pulling u]3 at a dead stop, or running the machine 
chuck against a wall, to enable us to stand still 
and gain breath. 

■"Which way now?' cried he, as we swung 
round the angle of a street and entered the 
large market-place; 'I'm getting terribly tired.' 

"'Never give in, Dan; think of Clonnkilty, 
and the old lady herself;' and here 1 gave the chair 
a hoist that evidently astonished our fair friend, 
for a very imploring cry issued forth immediately 
after. 

" 'To the right, quick step, forward — charge!' 
cried 1; and we were off at a brisk trot down a 
steep narrow lane. 

"'Here it is, now: the light in the window; 
cheer up!' 

" As I said this, we came short up to a fine 
portly-looking doorway, with great stone pillars 
and cornice. 

'" Make yourself at home, Maurice,' said he; 
' bring her in;' and so saying we pushed forward 
— for the door was open — and passed boldly into 
a great flagged hall, silent and cold, and dark as 
the night itself. 

" 'Are you sure we're right?' said he. 

" 'AH right,' said I; 'go ahead. 

" And so we did, till we came in sight of a 
small candle that burned dimly at a distance 
from us. 

"' Make for the light,' said 1; but iust as I 
said so, Shaugh slipped and fell flat on the flag- 
way. The noise of his fall sent up a hundied 
echoes in the silent building, and terrified us 
both dreadfully; and, after a minute's pause, by 
one consent, we turned and made for the door, 
falling almost at every step; and frightened out 
of our senses, we came tumbling together into ihe 
porch, and out in the street, and never drew 
breath till we reached the barracks. Meanwhile, 
let me return to Mrs. Rogers. The dear old lady 
who had passed an awful time since she left the 
ball, had just rallied out of a fainting fit when 
we took to our heels; so, after screaming and 
crying her best, she at last managed to open the 
top of the chair, and by dint of great exertions 
succeeded in forcing the door, and at length 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



361 



freed herself from bondage. She was leisurely 
grojiing her way round it in the daik, when her 
lamentations being heard without, woke up the 
old sexton of the chapel — for it was there we 
placed her — who, entering cautiously with alight, 
no sooner caught a glimpse of the great black 
sedan and the figure beside it, than he also took 
to his heels, and ran like a madman to the priest's 
house. 

" ' Come, your reverence, come, for the love of 
marcy! sure didn't I see him myself! O wirra, 
wirra!' 

'• ' What is it, ye ould fool?" said M'Kenny. 

■' ' It's Father Con Doran, your reverence, that 
was buried last week, and there he is up now, 
coffin and all! saying a midnight mass as lively as 
ever.' 

" Poor Mrs. Rogers, God help her! It was a try- 
ing sight for her, when the priest and the two coad- 
jutors, and three little boys and the sexton, all came 
in to lay her spirit; and the shock she received 
that night, they say, she never got over. 

"Need I say, my dear O'Mealey, that our ac- 
quaintance with Mrs. Rogers was closed ? The 
dear woman had a hard struggle for it afterwards. 
Her character was assailed by all the elderly ladies 
in Loughrea for going off in our company, and her 
blue satin, piped witli scarlet, utterly ruined by a 
deluge of holy water bestowed on her by the pious 
sexton. It was in vain that she originated twenty 
different reports to mystify the world; and even 
ten pounds spent in masses for the eternal repose 
of Father Con Doran only increased the laughter 
this unfortunate affair gave rise to. As for us; 
we exchanged into the line, and foreign service 
took us out of the road of duns, debts, and devil- 
ment, and we soon reformed, and eschewed such 
.low company." 



* 

* 



* 
* 



The day was breaking ere we separated, and 
amid the rich and fragrant vapors that exhaled 
from the earth, the faint traces of sunlight dimly 
stealing, told of the morning. My two friends 
set out for Torrijos, and I pushed boldly forward 
in the direction of the Alberche. 

It was a strange thing, that although but two 
days before the roads we were then travelling had 
been the line of retreat of the whole French army, 
not a vestige of their equipment nor a trace of 
their maft'riel had been left behind. In vain we 
searched every thicket by the wayside for some 
straggling soldier, some wounded or wearied man 
— nothing of the kind was to be seen. Except 
the deeply-rutted road, torn by the heavy wheels 
of the artillery, and the white ashes of the wood 
fire, nothing marked their progress. 

Our journey was a lonely one. Not a man was 
to be met with. The houses stood untenanted, 
the doors lay open, no smoke wreathed from their 
deserted hearths, the peasantry had taken to the 
mountains, and although the plains were yellow 
with the ripe harvest, and the peaches hung tempt- 
ingly upon the trees, all was deserted and for- 
saken. I had often seen the blackened walls and 
broken rafters, the traces of the wild revenge and 
reckless pillage of a retiring army — the ruined 
castle, and the desecrated altar, are sad things to 



look upon; but, somehow, a far heavier depres- 
sion sunk into my heart as my eye ranged ov 
the wide valleys and broad hills, all redolent 
comfort, of beauty, and of happiness, and yet not 
one man to say, "This is my home; these are my 
household gods!" The birds carolled gayly in 
each leafy thicket, the bright stream sung merrily 
as it rippled through the rocks, the tall corn, 
gently stirred by the breeze, seemed to swell the 
concert of sweet sounds; but no human voice 
awoke the echoes there. It was as if the earth 
was speaking in thankfulness to its Maker; while 
man, ungrateful and unworthy man, pursuing his 
ruthless path of devastation and destruction, had 
left no being to say, " I thank Thee for all these." 

The day was closing as we drew near the 
Alberche, and came in sight of the watch-fires of 
the enemy. Far as the eye could reach their 
column extended; but in the dim twilight nothing 
could be seen w-ith accuracy. Yet from the posi- 
tion their artillery occupied, and the unceasing 
din of baggage-wagons and heavy carriages 
towards the rear, I came to the conclusion that a 
still further retreat was meditated. A picket of 
light cavalry was posted upon the river's bank, 
and seemed to watch with vigilance the approaches 
to the stream. 

Our bivouac was a dense copse of pine-trees, 
exactly opposite to the French advanced posts, 
and there we passed the night — fortunately, a 
calm and starlight one — for we dared not light 
fires, fearful of attracting attention. 

During the long hours, I lay patiently watching 
the movements of the enemy till the dark shaf ws 
hid all from my sight; and even then, as my ears 
caught the challenge of a sentry or the footsteps 
of some officer in his round, my thoughts were 
riveted upon them, and a hundred vague fancies 
as to the future were based upon no stronger 
foundation than the clink of a firelock or the low- 
muttered song of a patrol. 

Towards morning I slept, and when day broke 
my first glance was towards the river-side; but 
the French were gone — noiselessly — rapidly. Like 
one man, that vast arm;, had departed; and a 
dense column of dust towards the horizon alone 
marked the long line of march where the martial 
legions were retreating. 

My mission was thus ended; and, hastily par- 
taking of the humble breakfast my friend Mike 
provided for me, I once more set out, and took 
the road towards head-quarters. 



CHAPTER LXIX. 



THE SKIRMISH. 



For several months after the battle of Talavera 
mv life presented nothing which I feel worth re- 
cording. Our good fortune seemed to have de- 
serted us when our hopes were highest; for from 
the day of that splendid victory we began our re- 
trogade movement upon Portugal. Pressed hard 
by overv.'helming masses of the enemy, we saw 
the fortresses of Ciudad Rodrigo and Almeida 
fall successively into their hands. The Spaniards 



362 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



were defeated wherever they ventured upon a 
battle, and our own troops, thinned by sickness 
and desertion, presented but a shadow of that 
brilliant army which only a few months previous 
iiad followed the retiring French beyond the 
frontiers of Portugal. 

However willing I now am — and who is not? — to 
recognize the genius and foresight of that great 
man who then held the destinies of the Peninsula 
within his hands, I confess, at the time I speak 
of, I could ill comprehend and still less feel con- 
tented with the successive retieats our forces 
made; and while the words Torres Vedras brought 
nothing to my mind but the last resting place be- 
fore embarkation, tlie sad fortunes of Corunna 
were now before me, and it was with a gloomy 
and desponding spirit I followed the routine of 
my daily duty. 

During these weary months, if my life was de- 
void of stirring interest or adventure, it was not 
profitless. Constantly employed at the outposts, 
I became thoroughly inured to all the roughing 
of a soldier's life, and learned in the best of 
schools that tacit obedience which alone can 
form the subordinate, or ultimately fit its posses- 
sor for command himself. 

Humble and unobtrusive as such a career 
must ever be, it was not without its occasional re- 
wards. From General Craufurd I more than 
once obtained most kind mention in his de- 
spatches, and felt that I was not unknown or un- 
noticed by Sir Arthur Weiiesley himself. At 
that time, these testimonies, slight and passing as 
they were, contributed to the pride and glory of 
my existence; and even now— -shall I confess it? 
— when some grey hairs are mingling with the 
brown, and when my old dragoon swagger is tam- 
ing down into a kind of half-pay shamble, I feel 
my heart warm at the recollection of them. 

Be it so; I care not who smiles at the avowal. 
I know of little better worth remembering as we 
grow old than what pleased us while we were 
young. With the memory of the kind words 
once spoken, come back the still kinder looks of 
those who spoke them; and, better than all, that 
early feeling of budding manhood, when there was 
neither fear nor distrust. Alas! these are the 
things, and not weak eyes and tottering limbs, 
which form the burden of old age. Oh! if we 
could only go on believing, go on trusting, go on 
hoping to the last, who would shed tears for the 
by-gone feats of his youthful days, when the 
spirit that evoked them lived young and vivid as 
before? 

But to my story. While Ciudad Rodrigo still 
held out against the besieging French, its bat- 
tered walls and breached ramparts sadly foretel- 
ling the fate inevitably impending, we were or- 
dered, together with the i6th Light Dragoons, to 
proceed to Gallegos, to reinforce Craufurd's di- 
vision, then forming a corps of observation upon 
Massena's movements. 

The position he occupied was a most com- 
manding one — the crown of a long mountain 
ridge, studded with pine copse and cork-trees, 
presenting every facility for light infantry move- 
ments; and here and there, gently sloping to- 
wards the plain, offering a field for cavalry ma- 



noeuvres. Beneath, in the vast plain, were en- 
camped the dark legions of France, their heavy 
siege-artillery planted against the doomed fortress, 
while clouds of their cavalry caracoled |)roudly 
before us, as if in taunting sarcasm at our inac- 
tivity. 

Every artifice which his natural cunning could 
suggest, every taunt a Frenchman's vocabulary 
contains, had been used by Massena to induce 
Sir Arthur Weiiesley to come to the assistance of 
the beleaguered fortress, but in vain , in vain he re- 
laxed the energy of the siege, and affected careless- 
ness. In vain he asserted that the English were 
either afraid, or else traitors to their allies. The 
mind of him he thus assailed was neither acces- 
sible to menace nor to sarcasm. Patiently abid- 
ing his time, he watched the progress ot events, 
and provided for th.~t future, which was to crown 
his country's arms with success, and himself with 
undying glory. 

Of a far different mettle was the general formed 
under whose orders we were now placed. Hot, 
passionate, and impetuous, relying upon bold and 
headlong heroism, rather than upon cool judg- 
ment and well-matured plans, Craufurd felt in 
war all the asperity and bitterness of a personal 
conflict. Ill brooking the insulting tone of the 
wily Frenchman, he thirsted for any occasion of 
a battle; and his proud spirit chafed against the 
colder counsels ot his superior. 

On the very morning wc joined, the pickets 
brought in the intelligence that the French pa- 
trols were nightly in the habit of visiting the vil- 
lages at the outposts, and commiling every species 
of cruel indignity upon the wretched inhabi- 
tants. Fired at this daring insult, our general 
resolved to cut them off, and formed two am- 
buscades for the purpose. 

Six squadrons of the 14th were despatched lo 
Villa del Puerco, three of the i6th to Baguette, 
while some companies of the 95th, and the ca(a- 
dorcs, supported by irtillery, were ordered to 
hold themselves in reserve, for the enemy were in 
force at no great distance from us. 

The morning was just breaking as an aide-de- 
camp galloped up with the intelligence that the 
French had been seen near the Villa del Puerco, 
a body of infantry and some cavalry ha\ing 
crossed the plain and disappeared in that direc- 
tion. While our colonel was forming us, with 
the intention of getting between them and their 
main body, the tramp of horses was heard in the 
wood behind, and in a few moments two officers 
rode up. .The foremost, who was a short, stoutly- 
built man of about forty, with a bronzed face 
and eye of piercing black, shouted out as we 
wheeled into column: 

" Halt, there! Why, where the devil are you 
going? That's your ground !" So saying, and 
pointing straight towards the village with his 
hand, he would not listen to our colonel's ex- 
planation that several stone fences and enclos- 
ures would interfere with cavalry movements, 
but added, ''Forward, I say! Proceed!" 

Unfortunately, the nature of the ground sep- 
arated our squadron, as the colonel anticipated; 
and although we came on at a topping pace, the 
French had time to form in square upon a hill 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



363 



to await us, and when we charged, they stood 
firmly, and firing with a low and steady aim, sev- 
eral of our troopers fell. As we wheeled round, 
we found ourselves exactly in front of their cav- 
alry coming out of Baguilles; so, dashing straight 
at them, we revenged ourselves for our first re- 
pulse by capturing twenty-nine prisoners, and 
wounding several others. 

The French infantry were, however, still un- 
broken; and Colonel Talbot rode boldly up with 
five squadrons of the 14th, but the charge, 
pressed home with all its gallantry, failed also, 
and the colonel fell mortally wounded, and four- 
teen of his troopers around him. Twice we rode 
round the square, seeking for a weak point, but 
in vain, the gallant Frenchman who commanded. 
Captain Guache, stood fearlessly amid his brave 
followers, and we could hear him, as he called 
out from time to time: 

^'C'est (a, mes eiifans ! ties bie/i fait, mes 
braves! " 

And at length they made good their retreat, 
while we returned to the camp, leaving thirty- 
two troopers and our brave colonel dead upon 

the field in this disastrous affair. 

***** 

* * * * * 

The repulse we had met with, so contrary to 
all our hopes and expectations, made that a most 
gloomy day to all of us. The brave fellows we 
had left behind us, the taunting cheer of the 
French infantry, the unbroken ranks against 
which we rode time after time in vain, never left 
our minds; and a sense of shame of what might 
be thought of us at head-quarters, rendered the 
reflection still more painful. 

Our bivouac, notwithstanding all our efforts, 
was a sad one, and, when the moon rose, some 
drops of heavy rain falling at intervals in the 
still, unruffled air, threatened a night of storm; 
gradually the sky grew darker and darker, the 
clouds hung nearer to the earth, and a dense, 
thick mass of dark mist shrouded every object; 
the heavy cannonade of the siege was stilled, 
nothing betrayed that a vast army was encamped 
near us, their bivouac fires were even impercept- 
ible, and the only sound we heard was the great 
bell of Ciudad Rodrigo as it struck the hour, and 
seemed, in the mournful cadence of its chime, 
like the knell of the doomed citadel 

The patrol which I commanded had to visit 
on its rounds the most advanced post of our po- 
sition. This was a small farm-house, which, 
standing upon a little rising ledge of ground, was 
separated from the French lines by a little stream 
tributary to the Aguda. A party of the Four- 
teenth were picketed here, and beneath them, in 
the valley, scarce five hundred yards distant, was 
the detachment of cuirassiers which formed the 
French outpost. As we neared our picket, the 
deep voice of the sentry challenged us, and, 
while all else was silent as the grave, we could 
hear from the opposite side the merry chorus of 
a French chanson a boire, with its clattering ac- 
companim.-nt of glasses, as some gay compan- 
ions were making merry together. 

Within the little hut which contained our fel- 
lows, the scene was a different one; the three 



officers who commanded sat moodily over a 
wretched fire of wet wood; a solitary candle 
dimly lighted the dismantled room, where a ta- 
ble but ill supplied with cheer stood unminded 
and uncared lor. 

"Well, O'Malley," cried Baker, as I came in, 
" what is the night about? and what's Craufurd 
for next?" 

" We hear," cried another, "that he means to 
give battle to-morrow; but surely Sir Arthur's 
orders are positive enough. Gordon himself told 
me that he was forbid to fight beyond the Coa, 
but to retreat at the first advance of the enemy." 

" Fm afraid," replied I, "that retreating is his 
last thought just now. Ammunition has just 
been served out, and 1 know the horse artillery 
have orders to be in readiness by da)break." 

" All right," said Hampden, w ith a half-bitter 
tone. "Nothing like going through with it. If ' 
he is to be brought to court-martial for disobe- 
dience, he'll take good care we shan't be there 
to see it." 

"Why, the French are fifty thousand strong!" 
said Baker. Look there! What does that mean, 
now? That's a signal from the town." 

As he spoke, a rocket of great brilliancy shot up 
into the sky, and bursting, at length fell in mil- 
lions of red lustrous sparks on every side, showing 
forth the tall fortress, and the encamped army 
around it,with all the clearness of noonday. It was a 
most splendid sight, and though the next moment 
all was dark as before, we gazed still fixedly into the 
gloomy distance, straining our eyes to observe- 
what was hid fioni our view forever. 

".That must be a signal," repeated Baker. 

" Begad! if Craufurd sees it he'll interpret it as 
a reason for fighting. I trust he's asleep by this 
time," said Hampden " By-the-bye, O'Malley, 
did you see the fellows at work in the trenches? 
How beautifully clear it was towards the south- 
ward!" 

■'Yes, I remarked that! and what surprised me 
was the openness of their position in that direction. 
Towards the San Benito mole I could not see a 
man." 

"Ah! they'll not attack on that side; but if we 
really are " 

" Stay, Hampden!" said I, interrupting him; "a 
thought has just struck me. At sunset I saw, 
through my telescope, the French engineers mark- 
ing with their white tape the line of a new en- 
trenchment in that quarter. Would it not be a 
glorious thing to move the tape, and bring the fel- 
lows under the fire of San Benito !" 

" By Jove ! O'Malley, that is a thought worth 
a troop to you.' 

" Far more likely to forward his promotion in 
the next world than in this," said Baker, smiling 

"By no means," added I; "I marked the 
ground this evening, and have it perfectly in my 
mind. If we were to follow the bend of the river, 
I'll be bound to come riiiht upon the spot; by 
nearing the fortress we'll rsi ape the sentries ; and 
all this portion is open to us." 

The project thus loosely thrown out was now 
discussed in all its bearings. Whatever difficulties 
it presented were combated so much to our own 
. satisfaction, that at last its very facility damped 



364 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



our ardor. Meanwhile, the night wore on, and 
the storm of rain so long impending began to 
descendin very torrents: hissingalongtlie parched 
ground, it rose in a mist, while overhead the 
heavy thunder rolled in long unbroken peals, the 
crazy door threatened to give way at each moment, 
and the whole building trembled to its foundation. 
" Pass the brandy down here, Hampden, and 
thank your stars you're where you are. Eh, 
O'Malley? You'll defer your trip to San Benito 
tor finer weather." 

" Well, to come to the point." said Hampden. " I'd 
rather begin my engineering at a more favorable 

season ; but if O'Malley's for it " 

"And O'Malley ts for it," said I, suddenly. 
"Then, faith, I'm not the man to balk his fancy; 
and as Craufurd is so bent upon fighting to-mor- 
row, it don't make much difference. Is it a bar- 
gain.'" 

"It is; here's my hand on it." 
"Come, come, boys, I'll have none of this; 
we've been prettily cut up this morning already. 
You shall not go upon this foolish excursion." 

"Confound it, old fellow ' it's all very well for 
you to talk, with the majority before you, next 
step; but here we are, if peace came to-morrow, 
scarcely better than we left England. No, no,- 
if O'Malley's ready— and I see he is so before 
me — What have you got there? Oh! I see; 
that's our tape line ; capital fun, by George! The 
worst of it is, they'll make us colonels of engin- 
eers — Now then, what's your plan — on foot or 
mounted ?" 

"Mounted, and for this reason: the country is 
all open ; if we are to have a run for it, ourthor- 
ough-breds ought to distance them , and, as we 
must expect to pass some of their sentries, our 
only chance is on horseback." 

"My mind is relieved of a great load,' said 
Hampden ; " I was trembling in my skin lest you 
should make it a walking party. I'll do anything 
you like in the saddle, from robbing the mail to 
cutting out a frigate ; but I never was much of 
a footpad." 

" Well, Mike," said I, as I returned to the 
room with my trusty follower, " are the cattle to be 
depended on?" 

'' If we had a snaffle in Malachi Daly's mouth" 
(my brown horse\ "I'd be afeard of nothing, sir; 

but, if it comes t ) fencing, with that cruel bit but 

sure, you've a light hand, and let him have his 
head, if it's a wall." 

"By Jove, he thinks it a fox-chase!" said 
Hampden 

"Isn't it the same, sir?" said Mike, with a seri- 
ousness that made the whole party smile. 

" Well, I hope we shall not be earthed, anywav," 
said I. "Now, the next thing is, who has a lan- 
tern? — ah! the very thing; nothing better. Look 
to your pistols, Hampden; and, Mike, here's a 
glass of grog for you; we'll want vou. And now, 
one bumper for good luck. Eh, Baker, won't you 
l)ledge us?" 

"And spare a little for me," said Hampden. 

" How it does rain! If one didn't expect to be 

waterproofed before morning, one really wouldn't 

go out in such weather." 

While I busied myself in arranging my few prep- 



arations, Hampden proceeded gravely to inform 
Mike that we were going to the assistance of the 
besieged fortress, which could not possibly go on 
wi;hout us. 

"Tare and ages!" said Mike, "that's mighty 
quare; and the blue rocket was a letter of invita- 
tion, I suppose'" 

" Exactly," said Hampden; " and you see there's 
no ceremony between us. We'll just drop in, in 
the evening, in a friendly way." 

" Well, then, upon my conscience, I'd wait, if 
I was you, till the family wasn't in confusion. 
They have enough on their hands just now " 

"So you'll not be persuaded?" said Baker. 
" Well, I frankly tell you, that come what will of 
it, as your senior officer, I'll report you to-mor- 
row. I'll not risk myself for any such hair-brained 
expeditions.'' 

" A mighty pleasant lookout for me," said 
Mike; " if I'm not shot to-night, I may be flogged 
in the morning." 

This speech once more threw us into a hearty 
fit of laughter, amid which we took leave of our 
friends, and set forth upon our way. 



CHAPTER LXX. 

THE LINES OF CIUDAD RODRIGO. 

The small twinkling lights which shone from 
the ramparts of Ciudad Rodrigo were our only 
guide, as we issued forth upon our perilous expe- 
dition. The storm raged, if possible, even more 
violently than before, and gusts of wind swept 
along the ground with the force of a hurricane, 
so that at first, our horses could scarcelv face the 
tempest. Our path lay along the little stream tor 
a considerable way; after which, fording the riv- 
ulet, we entered upon the open plain, taking care 
to avoid the French outpost on the extreme left, 
which was marked by a bivouac fire, burning 
under the heavy downpour of rain, and looking 
larger through the dim atmosphere around it 

I rode foremost, followed closely by Hain])den 
,and Mike; not a word was spoken after we 
crossed the stream. Our plan was, if challenged 
by a patrol, to reply in French and press on. so 
small a jiarty could never suggest the idea of at- 
tack, and we hoped in tliis manner to escajie. 

The violence of the storm was sue h, that many of 
our precautions as to silence were (juite unneces- 
sary; and we had advanced to a considerable ex- 
tent into the plain before any appearance of the 
encampment struck us. At length, on mounting 
a little rising ground, we perceived several fires 
stretching far away to the northward: while, st:ll 
to our left, there blazed one larger and brighter 
than the others. We now found that we had not 
outflanked their position as we intended, and 
learning, from the situation of the fires, that we 
were still only at the outposts, we pressed sharply 
forward, directing our course by the twin stais 
that shone from the fortress. 

"How heavy the ground is here!" whispered 
Hampden, as our horses sunk above the fetlocks; 



CHARLES 0"MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



365 



"we had better stretch away to the right; tlie rise 
of the hill will favor us '' 

"Hark!" said I, "did you not hear something? 
Pull up; silence now; yes, there they come. It's 
a ]3atrol, I hear their tramp." As I spoke, the 
measured tread of infantry was heard above the 
storm, and soon after a lantern was seen coming 
along the causeway near us. The column passed 
within a few yards of where we stood. I could 
even recognize the black covering of the shakos 
as the light fell on them. " Let us follow them," 
whispered I; and the next moment we fell in 
upon their track, holding our cattle well in hand, 
and ready lo start at a moment. 

" Qui va la?" a sentry demanded. 

^'' La Jeuxibne diviswn," cried a, hoarse voice. 

" Halte la! la consigne ?" 

" IVagram.'" repeated the same voice as before, 
while his party resumed their march; and the 
ne.xt moment the patrol was again upon his post, 
silent and motionless as before. 

''.£'« ai'ant, messieurs!" said I, aloud, as soon 
as the infantry had proceeded some distance; "en 
avant!" 

" Quiva la!" demanded the sentry, as we came 
along at a sharp trot. 

"L'etat-inajor, Wagram!" responded I, press- 
ing on without drawing rein; and in a moment 
we had regained our former position behind the 
infantry. We had scarcely time to congratulate 
ourselves upon the success of our scheme, when 
a tremendous clattering noise in front, mingled 
with the galloping of horses and the cracking of 
whips, announced the approach of the artillery as 
they came along by a narrow road which bisected 
our path; and, as they passed between us and 
the column, we could hear the muttered sentences 
of the drivers, cursing the unseasonable time 
for an attack, and swearing at their cattle in no 
measured tones. 

"Did you hear that?" whispered Hampden; 
" the battery is about to be directed against the 
San Benito, which must be far away to the left. 
I heard one of the troops saying that they were 
to open their fire at daybreak " 

"All right, now," said I, " look there'" 

From the hill we now stood upon, a range of 
lanterns was distinctly visible, stretching away for 
nearly half a mile. 

" There are the trenches; they must be at work, 
too; see how the lights are moving from place to 
place! Straight now; forward'" 

So saying, I pressed my horse boldly on. 

We liad not proceeded many minutes, when 
the sounds of galloping were heard coming along 
behind us. 

'■To the right, in the hollow," cried I, "be 
still." 

Scarcely had we moved off when several horse- 
men galloped up, and, drawing their reins to 
breathe their horses up the hill, we could hear 
their \'oices as they conversed together. 

In the few broken words we could catch, we 
guessed that the attack upon San Benito was only 
a feint to induce Craufurd to hold his position, 
while the French, marching upon his flank and 
front, were to attack him with overwhelming 
masses and crush him. 



"You hear what's in store for us, O'Malley," 
whispered Hampden. "I think we could not pos- 
sibly do better than hasten back with the intelli- 
gence." 

" We must not forget what we came for, first," 
said I; and the next moment we were following 
the horsemen, who, from their he'mlets, seemed 
horse-artillery othcers. 

The pace our guides rode at showed us Ijiat 
they knew their ground. We passed several sen- 
tries, muttering something at each time, and 
seeming as if only anxious to keep up with our 
party. 

"They've halted," said I. " Now to the left 
there; gently here, for we must be in the midst 
of their lines. Ha! I knew we were right; see 
there!" 

Before lis, now, at a few hundred yards, we 
could perceive a number of men engaged upon 
the field. Lights were moving from place to place 
rapidly, while immediately in front a strong picket 
of cavalry were halted. 

" By Jove, there's sharp work of it to-night!" 
whispered Hampden, "they do intend to surprise 
us to-morrow." 

"Gently now, to the left," said I, as, cautiously 
skirting the little hill, 1 kept my eye firmly fixed 
upon the watch-fire. 

The storm, which for some time had abated 
considerably, was now nearly quelled, and the 
moon again peeped forth amid masses of black 
and watery clouds. 

"What good fortune for us!" thought I, at 
this moment, as I surveyed the plain before me. 

" I say, O'Malley, what are those fellows at, 
yonder, where the blue light is burning?" 

"Ah! the very people we want, these are the 
sappers. Now for it; that's our ground, we'll 
soon come upon their track now." 

\Ve pressed rapidly forward, passing an infantry 
party as we went. The blue light was scarcely a 
hundred yards off; we could even hear the shout- 
ing of the officers to their men in the trenches, 
when suddenly my horse came down upon his 
head, and rolling over, crushed me to the earth. 

" Not hurt, my boy," cried I, in a subdued 
tone, as Hampden jumped down beside me. 

It was the angle of a trench I had fallen into; 
and though both my horse and myself felt stunned 
for the moment, we rallied the next minute. 

" Here is the very spot," said I. " Now, Mike, 
catch the bridles and follow us closely." 

Guiding ourselves along the edge of the trench, 
we crept stealthily forward, the only watch-fire 
near was where the engineer party was halted, 
and our object was to gat outside of this. 

■■ My turn this time," said Hampden, as he 
tripped suddenly, and fell head foremost upon the 
grass. 

As I assisted him to rise, something caught my 
ankle; and, on stooping, I found it was a cord 
pegged fast into the ground, and lying only a 
few inches above it. 

" Now, steady! see here; this is their working 
line; pass your hand along it there, and let us 
follow it out." 

While Hampden accordingly crept along on one 
side, I tracked the cord upon the other, here .? 



366 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



found it terminating upon a small mound, where 
probably some battery was to be erected. I ac- 
cordingly gathered it carefully up, and was return- 
ing towards my friend, when what was my horror 
to hear Mike's voice, conversing, as it seemed to 
me, with some one in French. 

I stood fixed to the spot, my very heart beat- 
ing almost in my mouth as I listened. 

"Qui etcs-vottsdonc, monami?" inquired a hoarse 
deep voice, a few yards off. 

'^ Bon chtval, iiion beast, sacr^ nom de Die//.'" A 
hearty burst of laughter prevented my hearing 
the conclusion of Mike's French. 

I now crept forward upon my hands and knees, 
till I could catch the dark outline of the horses, 
one hand fixed upon my pistol trigger, and my 
sword drawn in the other. Meanwhile the dia- 
logue continued. 

'^Vo/is etes d' Alsace, n'cst ce pas?" asked the 
Frenchman, kindly supposing that Mike's French 
savored of Strasburg. 

"Oh, Blessed Virgin! av I might shoot him," 
was the muttered reply. 

Before I had time to see the effect of the last 
speech, I pressed forward with a bold spring, 
and felled the Frenchman to the earth; my hand 
had scarcely pressed upon his mouth, when 
Hampden was beside me. Snatching up the 
pistol I let fall, he held it to the man's chest, and 
commanded him to be silent. To unfasten his 
girdle, and bind the Frenchman's hands behind 
him, was the work of a moment; and, as the 
sharp click of the pistol-cock seemed to calm his 
efforts to escape, we soon succeeded in fastening 
a handkerchief tight across his mouth, and, the 
next minute, he was placed behind Mike's saddle, 
firmly attached to this worthy individual by his 
sword-belt. 

''Now,-a clear run home for it, and a fair 
start," said Hamjjden, as he sprang into tire 
saddle. 

" Now, then, for it,' I replied; as, turning mv 
horse's head towards our lines, I dashed madly 
forward. 

The moon was again obscured, but stilt the 
dark outline of the hill which formed ouf en- 
campment was discernible on the horizon Rid- 
ing side by side, on we hunied; now splashing 
through the deep and wet marshes, now plunging 
through small streams. Our horses were high in 
mettle, and we spared them not, by taking a wide 
dc'to/tr we had outflanked the French pickets, amd 
were almost out of all risk, when suddenlv, on 
coming to the verge of rather a steep hill, we 
perceived beneath us a strong cavalry picket 
standing around a watch-fire; their horses were 
ready saddled, the men accoutred, and quite 
prepared for the field. While we conversed to- 
gether in whispers as to the course to follow, our 
deliberations were very rapidly cut short. The 
French prisoner, who hitherto had given neither 
trouble nor resistance, had managed to free his 
mouth from the encumbrance of tht handker- 
chief, and, as we stood quietly discussing our 
plans, with one tremendous effort he endeavored 
to hurl himself and Mike from the saddle, shout- 
ing out as he did so, 

*'A moi, cainarades ! a moi!" 



Hampden's pistol leaped from the holster as 
he spoke, and, levelling it with a deadly aim, he 
pulled the trigger; but I threw up his arm, and 
the b.Tll passed high above his head. To have 
killed the Frenchman would have been to lose 
my faithful follower, who struggled manfully with 
his adversary, and, at length, by throwing him- 
self flatly forward upon the mane of his horse, 
completely disabled him. Meanwhile, the picket 
had sprung to their saddles, and looked wildly 
about on every side. 

Not a moment was to be lost; so, turning our 
horses' heads towards the plain, away we went. 
One loud cheer announced to us that we had 
been seen, and the next instant the clash of the 
pursuing cavalry was heard behind us. It was 
now entirely a question of speed, and little need 
we have feared had Mike's horse not been doubly 
weighted. However, as we still had considera- 
bly the start, and the grey dawn of day enabled 
us to see the ground, the odds were in our favor. 
" Never let your hi^rse's head go," was my often 
repeated direction to Mike, as he spurred with 
all the desperation of madness. Already the low 
meadow-land was in sight which flanked the 
stream we had crossed in the morning; but, un- 
fortunately, the heavy rains had swollen it now to 
a considerable depth, and the muddy current, 
choked with branches of trees and great stones, 
was hurrying down like a torrent, "Take the 
river; never flinch it!" was my cry to my com- 
panions, as I turned my nead and saw a French 
dragoon, followed by two others, gaining rapidly 
upon us. As I spoke, Mike dashed in, followed 
by Hampden, and the same moment the sharp 
ring of a carbine whizzed past me. To take off 
the pursuit from the others, I now wheeled my 
horse suddenly round, as if I feared to take the 
stream, and dashed along by the river's bank. 

Beneath me, in the foaming current, tlie two 
horsemen labored: now stemming the rush of 
water, now reeling almost beneath. A sharp cry 
burst from Mike as I looked; and I saw the poor 
fellow bend nearly to his saddle. I could see no 
more, for the chase was now hot upon myself: 
behind me rode a French dragoon, his carbine 
pressed tightly to his side, ready to fire as he 
pressed on in pursuit. I had but one chance; 
so, drawing my pistol, I wheeled suddenly in my 
saddle, and fired straight at him. The French- 
man fell, while a regular volley from his party 
rung around me; one ball striking my horse, and 
another lodging in the pommel of my saddle. 
The noble animal reeled nearly to the earth, but, 
as if rallying for a last effort, sprang forward 
with renewed energy, and plunged boldly into the 
river. 

For a moment, so sudden was my leap, my 
pursuers lost .sight of me, but the bank being 
sonrewhat steep, the efforts of my horse to climb 
nLtain discovered fne, and, befnre I reached the 
fvld, two pistol-balls took eff-ect upon me. one 
slightly grazed my side, but my bridle-arm was 
broken by the other, and my hand fell motion- 
less to my side. A cheer of defiance, was, how- 
ever, my reply, as I turned round m my saddle^ 
and the next moment I was far beyond the range 
of their fire. 




'■^oi^r\ 



(^ c$^^^6^^ 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



367 



Not a man durst follow, and the last sight I 
had of them was the dismounted group who 
stood around their dead comrade; before me 
rode Hampden and Mike, still at top speed, and 
never turning their heads backwards. I hastened 
afte/ them; but my poor wounded horse, nearly 
hamstrung by the shat, became dead lame; and 
it was past daybreak ere I reached the first out- 
posts of our lines. 



CHAPTER LXXI, 



THE DOCTOR. 



"And his wound? Is it a serious one?" said 
a round, full voice as the doctor left my room at 
the conclusion of his visit. 

"No, sir; a fractured bone is the worst of it, 
the bullet grazed, but did not cut the artery; 
and, as " 

" Well, how soon will he be about again?' 

"In a few weeks, if no fever sets in." 

" There is no objection to my seeing him'^ — a 
few minutes only — I'll be cautious." So saying, 
and, as it seemed to me, without waiting for a 
reply, the door was o[>ened by an aide-de-camp, 
who, announcing General Craufurd, closed it 
again and withdrew. 

The first glance I threw upon the general en- 
abled me to recognize the officer who, on the pre- 
vious morning, had rode up to the picket and 
given us the order to charge. I essayed to rise 
a little as he came forward, but he motioned me 
with his hand to lie still, while, placing his chair 
close beside my bed, he sat down. 

"Very sorry for your mishap, sir, but glad it is 
no worse. Moreton says that nothing of conse- 
quence is injured; there, you mustn't speak, ex- 
cept I ask you. Hampden has told me every- 
thing necessary; at least, as far as he knew. Is 
it your opinion, also, that any movement is in 
contemplation? and from what circumstance?" 

I immediately explained, and as briefly as I 
was able, the reasons for suspecting such, witli 
which he seemed quite satisfied. 1 detailed 
the various changes in the positions of the 
troops that were taking place during the night, 
the march of the artillery, and the strong bodies 
of cavalry that were posted in reserve along the 
river. 

" Very well, sir; they'll not move, your prisoner, 
quarter-master of an infantry battalion, says not, 
also. Yours was a bold stroke, but could not 
jjossibly have been of service, and the best thing 
I can do for you is not to mention it; a court- 
martial's but a poor recompense for a gun-shot 
wound. Meanwhile, when this blows over, I'll 
appoint you on my personal staff. There, not a 
word, I beg; and now, good-bye." 

So saying, and waving me an adieu with his 
hand, the gallant veteran withdrew before I could 
express my gratitude for his kindness. 

I had little time for reflecting over my past ad- 
venture, such numbers of my brother officers 
poured in upon me. All the doctor's cautions 
respecting fjuietness and rest were disregarded, 



and a perfect levee sat the entire morning in my 
bedroom. I was delighted to learn that Mike's 
wound, though painful at the moment, was of no 
consequence, and, indeed, Hampden, who escaped 
both steel and shot, was the worst off amongst 
us, his plunge in the river having brought on an 
ague he had labored under years before. 

" The illustrious Maurice has been twice here 
this morning, but they wouldn't admit him. Your 
Scotch physician is afraid of his Irish confrere, 
and they had a rare set-to about Galen and Hip- 
pocrates outside," said Baker. 

"By-the-by," said another, "did you see how 
Sparks looked when Quill joined us? Egad, I 
never saw a fellow in such a fright; he reddened 
up, and grew pale, turned his back, and slunk 
away at the very first moment." 

" Yes, I remember it. We must find out the 
reason, for Maurice, depend upon it, has been 
hoaxing the poor fellow." 

" Well, O'Malley," growled out the senior ma- 
jor, "you certainly did give Hampden a benefit. 
He'll not trust hmiself in such company again; 
and, begad, he says, tlie man is as bad as the mas- 
ter. That fellow of yours never let go his pris- 
oner till he reached the quartermaster-general, 
and they were both bathed in blood by that 
time." 

" Poor Mike! we miist do something for him." 
"Oh! he's as happy as a king. Maurice has 
been in to see him, and they've had a long cliat 
about Ireland, and all the national pastimes of 
whiskey drinking and smashing skulls. My very 
temples ache at the recollection." 

"Is Mister O'Mealey at home?" said a very 
rich Cork accent, as the well-known and most 
droll features of Dr. Maurice Quill appeared at 
the door. 

"Come in, Maurice," said the major; "and, 
for Heaven's sake, behave properly. The poor 
fellow must not have a row about his bedside." 
"A row, a row! Upon my conscience, 't is 
little you know about a row, and there's worse 
things going on than a row." 
" Which leg is it?" 

" It's an arm, doctor, I'm happy to say." 
" Not your punch hand, I hope. No; all's 
right. A neat fellow you have for a servant, that 
Mickey Free. 1 was asking him about a towns- 
man of his own — one Tim Delany— the very cut 
of himself; the best servant I ever had. I never 
could make out what became of him. Old Hob- 
son, of the 95th, gave him to me, saying, 'There 
he is for you, Maurice, and a bigger thief and a 
greater blackguard there's not in the 60th.' " 
"'Strong words,' said I. 

"'And true,' said he; 'he'd steal your molar 
tooth while you were laughing at him.' 

" ' Let me have him, and try my hand on him, 
anyway. I've got no one just now. Anything is 
better than nothing.' 

" Well, I took Tim, and sending for him to my 
room, I locked the door and sitting down gravely 
before him, explained in a few words that I was 
quite aware of his little propensities. 

" ' Now,' said I, ' if you like to behave well, I'll 
think you as honest as the chief justice; but, if 
I catch you stealing, if it be only the value of a 



368 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



brass snuff-box, I'll have you floErged before the 
regiment, as sure as my name's Maurice.' 

" Oh! I wish you heard the volley of protesta- 
tions that fell from him fast as hail. He was a 
calumniated man; the world conspired to wrong 
him; he was never a thief nor a rogue in his life. 
He had a weakness, he confessed, for the ladies; 
but, except that, he hoped he might die so thin 
that he could shave himself with his shin-bone if 
he ever so much as took a pinch of salt that 
wasn't his own. 

" However this might be, nothing could be 
better than the way Tim and I got on together. 
Everything was in its place — nothing missing; 
and, in fact, for upwards of a year, I went on 
wondering when he was to show out in his true 
colors — for hitherto he had been a phcenix. 

"At last — we were quartered in Limerick at 
the time — every morning used to bring accounts 
of all manner of petty thefts in the barrack; one 
fellow had lost his belt, another his shoes, a third 
had three-and-sixpence in his pocket when he 
went to bed, and awoke without a farthing, and so 
on. Everybody, save myself, was mulct of some- 
thing. At length some rumors of Tim's former 
propensities got abroad; suspicion was e.xcited; 
my friend Delany was rigidly watched, and some 
very dubious circumstances attached to the way 
he spent his evenings. 

" iMy brother officers called upon me about the 
nutter, and, although nothing had transpired like 
proof, I sent for Tim, and opened my mind on 
the subject. 

" You may talk of the look of conscious inno- 
cence, but I defy you to conceive anything finer 
than the stare of offended honor Tim gave me as 
I begun. 

"'They say it's me, doctor,' said he, 'do they? 
And you — you believe them? You allow them to 
revile me that way? Well, well, the world is come 
to a pretty pass, anyhow! Now, let me ask your 
honor a few questions? How many shirts had 
yourself when I entered your service? Two, and 
one was more like a fisliing-net! And how many 
have ye now? Eigliteen; ay, eighteen bran new 
cambric ones; devil a hole in one of them! How 
many pair of stockings had you? Three and an 
odd one. You have two dozen this minute. 
How many pocket-handkerchiefs? One; devil a 
more! You could only blow your nose two days 
in a week, and now you may every hour of the 
twenty-four! And, as to the trifling articles of 
small value, snuff-boxes, glove?, boot-jacks, night- 
caps and ' 



"'Stop, Tim, that's enough- 



No, sir, it is not,' said Tim, drawing himself 
up to his full height; 'you have wounded my 
feelmgs in a way I can't forget. It is impossible 
we can have that mutual respect our position de- 
mands. Farewell, farewell, doctor, and forever!' 

" Before I could say another word, the fellow 
had left the room, and closed the door after him; 
and from that hour to this I never set eyes on 
him." 

In this vein did the worthy doctor run on till 
some more discreet friend suggested that, how- 
ever well-intentioned the visit, I did not seem 
to be fully equal to it — my flushed cheek and anx- 



ious eye betraying that the fever of my wound 
had commenced; they left me, therefore, once 
more alone, and to my solitary musings over the 
vicissitudes of my fortune. 



CHAPTER LXXn. 



THE COA. 

^VITHIN a week from the occurrence of the 
events just mentioned, Ciudad Rodrigo sur- 
rendered, and Craufurd assumed another posi- 
tion beneath the walls of Almeida. The Spanish 
contingent having left us, we were reinfoictd ly 
the arrival of two battalions, renewed orders 
being sent not to ri.sk a battle, but, if the French 
should advance, to retire beyond the Coa. 

On the evening of the 21st July, a strong body 
of French cavalry advanced into the plain, sup- 
ported by some heavy guns; upon which Crau- 
furd retired upon the Coa, intending, as we sup- 
posed, to place that river between himself and 
the enemy. Three days, however, pafsed over 
without any movement upon either side, and we 
still continued, with a force of scarcely four thou- 
sand infantry and a thousand dragoons, to stand 
opposite to an army of nearly fifty thousand men. 
Such was our position as the night of the 24th set 
in. I was sitting alone in my quarters; Mike, 
whose wound had been severer than at first was 
supposed, had been sent to Almeida, and I was 
musing in solitude upon the events of the cam- 
paign, when the noise and bustle without excited 
my attention; the roll of artillery wagons, the 
clash of musketry, and the distant sounds of 
marching, all proved that the troops were effect- 
ing some new movement, and I burned with anx- 
iety to learn what it was. My brother officers, 
however, came not as usual to my quarters; and 
although I waited with impatience while the hours 
rolled by, no one appeared. 

Long, low moaning gusts of wind swept along 
the earth, carrying the leaves as they tore them 
from the trees, and mingling their sad sounds 
with the noises of the retiring troops; for I could 
perceive that gradually the sounds grew more 
and more remote, and only now and then could 
I trace their position as the roll of a distant drum 
swelled upon the breeze, or the more shrill cry of 
a pibroch broke upon my ear; a heavy down- 
pour of rain followed soon after, and in its un- 
ceasing Dlash drowned all other sounds. 

As the little building shook beneath the peals 
of loud thunder, the lightning flashed in broad 
sheets upon the rapid river, which swollen and 
foaming, dashed impetuously beside my window. 
By the uncertain but vivid glare of the flashes, I 
endeavored to ascertain where our force was 
posted; but in vain. Never did I witness such a 
night of storm; the deep booming of the thunder 
seeming never for a moment to cease, while the 
rush of the torrent grew gradually louder, till at 
length it swelled into one deep and sullen roar 
like that of distant artillery. 

Weak and nervous as I felt from the effects of 
my wound, feverish and exhausted by days of 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



369 



suffering and sleepless nights, I paced my little 
rooHi with tottering but impatient steps. The 
sense of my sad and imprisoned state impressed 
me deeply; and while from time to time I replen- 
ished my fire, and hoped to hear some friendly 
step upon the stair, my heart grew gradually 
heavier, and every gloomy and depressing 
thought suggested itself to my imagination. My 
most constant impression was, that the troops 
were retiring beyond the Coa, and that, forgotten 
in the haste and confusion of a night march, I 
had been left behind to fall a prisoner to the 
enemy. 

The sounds of the troops retiring gradually 
farther and farther favored the idea, in which I 
was still more strengthened on finding that the 
peasants who inhabited the little hut had de- 
parted, leaving me utterly alone. From the 
moment I ascertained this fact, my impatience 
knew no bounds: and in proportion as I began 
to feel some e.xertion necessary on my part, so 
much more did my nervousness increase my de- 
bility, and at last I sank exhausted upon my 
bed, while a cold perspiration broke out upon my 
temples. 

[ have mentioned that the Coa was imme- 
diately beneath th.e house; I must also add, that 
the little building occupied the angle of a steep 
but narrow gorge which descended from the plain 
to the bridge across the stream. This, as far as I 
knew, was the only means we possessed of pass- 
ing the river; so that, when the last retiring 
sounds of the troops were heard by me, I began 
to suspect that Craufurd, in compliance with his 
orders, was making a backward movement, leav- 
ing the bridge open to the French, to draw them 
on to his line of march, while he should cross 
over at some more distant point. 

As the night grew later, the storm seemed to 
increase; the waves of the foaming river dashed 
against the frail walls of the hut, while its roof, 
rent by the blast, fell in fragments upon tlie 
.stream, and all threatened a speedy and perfect 
ruin. 

How I longed for morning! The doubt and 
uncertainty 1 suffered nearly drove me distracted. 
Of all the casualties my career as a soldier 
opened, none had such terrors for me as impris- 
onment; the very thought of the long years of 
inaction and inglorious idleness was worse than 
any death. My wounds and the state of fever I 
was in, increased the morbid dread upon me, 
and had the French captured me at the time, I 
know not that madness of which I was not capa- 
ble. Day broke at last, but slowly and sullenly; 
the grey clouds hurried past upon the storm, 
pouring down the rain in torrents as they went, 
and the desolation and dreariness on all sides 
was scarcely preferable to the darkness and 
gloom of night. My eyes were turned ever 
towards the plain, across which the winter wind 
bore the plashing rain in vast sheets of water; 
the thunder crashed louder and louder; but ex- 
cept the sounds of the storm none others met my 
ear. Not a man, not a human figure could I 
see, as I strained my sight towards the distant 
horizon. 

The morning crept over, but the storm abated 



not, and the same unchanged aspect of dreary 
desolation prevailed without. At times I 
thought I could hear, amidst the noises of the 
tempest, something like the roll of distant ar- 
tillery; but the thunder swelled in sullen roar 
above all, and left me uncertain as before. 

At last, in a momentary pause of the storm, a 
tremendous peal of heavy guns craight my ear, 
followed by the long rattling of small arms. My 
heart bounded with ecstasy. The thought of the 
battle-field, with all its changirg fortunes, was 
better, a thousand times better, than the despair- 
ing sense of desertion I labored under. 1 lis- 
tened now with eagerness, but the rain bore down 
again in torrents, and the crumbling walls and 
falling timbers left no other sounds to be heard. 
Far as my eye could reach, nothing could still 
be seen save the dreary monotony of the vast 
plain, undulating slightly here and there, but un- 
marked by a sign of man. 

Far away towards the horizon I had remarked 
for some time past that the clouds resting upon 
the earth grew blacker and blacker, spreading 
out to either side in vast masses, and not broken, 
or wafted along like the rest. As I watched the- 
phenomenon with an anxious eye, I perceived 
the dense mass suddenly appear, as it were, rent 
asunder, while a volume of liquid flame rushed 
wildly out, throwing a lurid glare on every side.. 
One terrific clap, louder than any thunder, shook 
the air at this moment, while the very earth, 
trembled beneath the shock. 

As I hesitated what it might be, the heavy din. 
of great guns again was heard, and from the- 
midst of the black smoke rode forth a dark mass,, 
which I soon recognized as the horse-artillery at 
full gallop. They were directing their course- 
towards the bridge. 

As they mounted the little rising ground, they 
wheeled and unlimbered with the sj)eed of 
lightning, just as a strong column of cavalry 
showed above the ridge. One tremendous dis- 
charge again siiook the field, and ere the smoke- 
cleared away they were again far in retreat. 

So much was my attention occu])ied with this . 
movement, that I had not perceived the long line 
of infantry that came from the extreme left, and. 
were now advancing also towards the bridge at a., 
brisk, quick step; scattered bodies of cavalry 
came up from different parts, while from the little- 
valley, every now and then, a rifleman would^ 
mouiit the rising ground, turning to fire as he re-- 
treated. All this boded a rapid and disorderly 
retreat; and although as yet I could see nothing, 
of tlie ]iursuing enemy, I knew too well the rela- 
tive forces of each to have a doubt for the- . 
result. 

At last, the head of a French column appeared: 
above the mist, and I could plainly distinguish 
the gestures of the officers as they hurried their 
men onwards. Meanwhile, a loud hurra at- 
tracted my attention, and I turned my eyes to- 
wards the road which led to the river. Here ai 
small body of the 95th had hurriedly assembled; 
and, formed again, were standing to cover the 
retreat of the broken infantry as they passed oni 
eagerly to the bridge; in a second after the- 
French cuirassiers appeared. Little anticipating 



370 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



resistance from a flying and disordered mass, 
they rode headlong forward, and although the 
firm attitude and steady bearing of the High- 
landers might have appalled them, they rode 
heedlessly down upon the square, sabring the 
very men in the front rank. Till now not a 
trigger had been pulled, when suddenly the word 
"Fire!" was given, and a withering volley of 
balls sent' the cavalry column in shivers. One 
hearty cheer broke from the infantry in the rear, 
and I could hear "Gallant Ninety-fifth!" shouted 
on every side along the plain. 

The whole vast space before me was now one 
animated battle-ground. Our own troops retir- 
ing in haste before the overwhelming forces of 
the French, occupied every little vantage ground 
with their guns and light infantry, charges of 
cavalry coursing hither and thither; while, as the 
French pressed forward, the retreating columns 
again formed into squares to permit stragglers to 
come up. The rattle of small arms, the heavy 
peal of artillery, the earthquake crush of cavalry, 
rose on jvery side, while the cheers which alter- 
nately told of the vacillating fortune of the figlit 
rose amidst the wild pibroch of the Highlanders. 

A tremendous noise now took place on the 
floor beneath me; and, looking down, I perceived 
that a sergeant and party of sappers had 
taken possession of the little hut, and were busily 
engagi;d piercing the walls for musketry; and be- 
fore many minutes had elapsed, a company of the 
Rifles were thrown into the building, which, from 
its commanding position above the road, enfiladed 
the whole line of march. The officer in command 
^briefly informed me that we had been attacked 
that morning by the French in force, and "devil- 
ishly well thrashed;" that we were now in retreat 
ibeyond the Coa, where we ought to have been 
Ihree days previously, and desired me to cross 
the bridge and get myself out of the way as soon 
.as I possibly could. 

A twenty-four pounder from the French lines 
struck the angle of the house as he spoke, scat- 
tering the mortar and broken bricks about us 
on all sides. This was warning sufficient for me, 
wounded and disabled as I was; so, taking the 
few things I could save in my haste, I hurried 
from the hut, and descending the path, now slip- 
pery by the heavy rain, I took my way across the 
bridge, and established myself on a little rising 
knoll of ground beyond, from which a clear view 
could be obtained of the whole field. 

I had not been many minutes in my present 
position ere the pass which led down to the bridge 
became thronged with troops, wagons, ammuni- 
tion carts, and hospital stores, pressing thickly 
forward amid sliouting and uproar; the hills on 
either side of the way were crowded with troops, 
who formed as they came up, the artillery taking 
up their position on every rising ground. The 
firing had already begun, and the heavy booming 
of the large guns was heard at intervals amid the 
rattling crash of musketry; except the narrow 
road before me, and the high bank of the stream, 
1 could see nothing; but the tumult and din, 
whicii grew momentarily louder, told that the 
tide of battle raged nearer and nearer. Still the 
retreat continued; and at length the heavy artil- 



lery came thundering across the narrow bridge, 
followed by stragglers of all arms, and wounded 
hurrying to the rear; the sharpshooters and the 
Highlanders held the heights above the stream, 
thus covering the retiring columns; but I could 
plainly perceive that their fire was gradually 
slackening, and that the guns which flanked their 
position were withdrawn, and everything bespoke 
a speedy retreat. A tremendous discharge of 
musketry at this moment, accompanied by a deaf- 
ening cheer, announced the advance of the 
French, and soon the head of the Highland brig- 
ade was seen descending towards the bridge, 
followed by the Rifles and the 55ih: the cavalry, 
consisting of the nth and 14th Light Dragoons, 
were now formed in column of attack, and the 
infantry deployed into line; and, in an instant 
after, high above the din and crash of battle, 1 
heard the word " Charge!" The rising crest of 
the hill hid them from my sight, but my heart 
bounded with ecstasy as 1 listened to the clang- 
ing sound of the cavalry advance. Meanwhile, 
the infantry pressed on, and, forming upon the 
bank, took up a strong position in front of the 
bridge; the heavy guns were also unlimbered, 
riflemen scattered thrcuigh the low copse-wood, 
and every precaution taken to defend the jiass to 
the last. For a nicmtnt all my attention wr.s 
riveted to the movements upon our own side of 
the stream, when suddenly the cavalry bugle 
sounded the recall, and the same moment ti.e siaff 
came galloping across the bridge. One officer I 
could perceive, covered with orders and trap- 
pings; his head was bare, and his horse, splashed 
wiih blood and foam, moved lamely and wiih 
difficulty; he turned in the middle of the bridge, 
as if irresolute whether to retreat farther: one 
glance at him showed me the bronzed, manly 
features of our leader. Whate\er his resolve, the 
matter was soon decided for him, for the cavalry 
came galloping swiftly down the slope, and in an 
instant the bridge was blocked up by the retreat- 
ing forces, while the French, as suddenly ajiptar- 
ing above the height, opened a iilunging fire 
upon their defenceless enemies ; tlieir theer of 
triumph was answered by our fellows from the 
opposite bank, and a heavy cannonade thundered 
along the rocky valley, sending up a hundred 
echoes as it went. 

The scene now became one of overwhelming 
interest; the French, posting their guns ujjon the 
height, replied to our fire, while their line, break- 
ing into skirmishers, descended the bank to the 
river edge, and poured in one sheet of galling 
musketry. The road to the bridge, swept by our 
artillery, presented not a single file; and' although 
a movement among the French announced the 
threat of an attack, the der.dly service of the 
artillery seemed to pronounce it hopeless. 

A strong cavalry force stood inactively, spec- 
tators of the combat on the French side, among 
whom I now remarked some bustle and prepara- 
tion, and, as I looked, an officer rode boldly to 
the river edge, and spurring his horse foiward, 
plunged into the stream. The swollen and angry 
torrent, increased by the late rains, boiled like 
barm, and foamed around him as he advanced, 
when suddenly his horse appeared to have lost 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



371 



its footing, and the rapid current, circling around 
him, bore him along with it. He labored madly, 
but in vain, to retrace his steps; the rolling tor- 
rent rose above his saddle, and all that his gal- 
lant steed coidd do was barely sufficient to keep 
afloat; both man and horse were carried down 
between the contending armies. I could see him 
wave his hand to his comrades, as if in adieu. 
One deafening cheer of admiration rose from 
the French lines, and the ne.xt moment he was 
seen to fall from his seat, and his body, shat- 
tered with balls, floated mournfully upon the 
stream. 

This little incident, to which both armies were 
witnesses, seened to have called forth all the 
fiercer passio of the contending forces; a loud 
yell of tauntin;^ triumph rose from the Highland- 
ers, responded to by a cry of vengeance from the 
French, and at the same moment the head of a 
column was seen descending the narrow cause- 
way to the bridge, while an officer, with a whole 
blaze of decorations and crosses, sprang from 
his horse and took the lead. The little drummer, 
a child of scarcely ten years old, tripped gayly 
on, beating his Utile J>irs i/e' c/tar^r, seeming rather 
like the pby of infancy than tlie summons to 
death and carnage, as the heavy guns of the 
French opened a volume of fire and flame to 
cover the attacking column. For a moment all 
"i/as hid from our eyes; the moment after the 
grape-shot swept along the narrow causeway; 
and the bridge, which but a second before was 
crowded with the life and courage of a noble 
coluuin, was now one heap of dead and dying. 
The gallant fellow who led them on fell among 
the first rank, and the little child, as if kneeling, 
was struck dead beside the parapet; his fair hair 
floated across his cold features, and seemed in 
its motion to lend a look of life where the heart's 
throb had ceased forever. The artillery again 
re-opened upon us; and, when the smoke had 
cleared away, we discovered that the French had 
advanced to the middle of the bridge and car- 
ried off the body of their general. Twice they 
essayed to cross, and twice the death-dealing fire 
of our guns covered the narrow bridge witli 
slain, while by the wild pibroch of the 42nd, 
swelling madly into notes of exultation and tri- 
umph, the Highlanders could scarcely be pre- 
vented from advancing hand to hand with the 
foe. Gradually the French slackened their fire, 
their great guns were one by one withdrawn from 
the heights, and a dropping irregular musketry 
at intervals sustained the fight, which, ere sunset, 
ceased altogether; and thus ended " The Battle 
of the Coa!" 



CHAPTER LXXIII. 



THE NIGHT M.\RCH. 



Scarcely had the night fallen when our re- 
treat commenced. Tired and weary as our brave 
fellows felt, but little repose was allowed them; 
their bivouac fires were blazing brightly, and they 
had just thrown themselves in groups around 



them, when the word to fall in was passed from 
troop to troop, and from battalion to battalion — 
no trumpet, no bugle called them to their ranks. 
It was necessary that all should be done noise- 
lessly and speedily; while, therefore, the wounded 
were marched to the front, and the heavy artil- 
lery with them, a brigade of light four-pounders, 
and two squadrons of cavalry, held the heights 
above the bridge, and the infantry, forming into 
three columns, began theii march. 

My wound, forgotten in the heat and excite- 
ment of the conflict, was now becoming exces- 
sively painful, and I gladly availed myself of a 
place in a wagon, where, stretched upon some 
fresh straw, with no other covering save the starry 
sky, I soon fell sound asleep, and neither the 
heavy jolting of the rough conveyance, nor the 
deep and rutty road, were able to disturb my 
slumbers. Still through my sleep I heard the 
sounds around me, the heavy tramp of infantry, 
the clash of the moving squadrons, and the dull 
roll of artillery; and ever and anon the half- 
stifled cry of pain, mingling with the reckless 
carol of some drmking-song, all flitted through 
my dreams, lending to my thoughts of home and 
friends a memory of glorious war. 

All the vicissitudes of a soldier's life passed 
then in review before me, elicited in some mea- 
sure by the things about. The pomp and grand- 
eur, the misery and meanness, the triumph, the 
defeat, the moment of victory, and the hour of 
death were there, and in that vivid dream I lived 
a life long. 

I awoke at length, the cold and chilling air 
which follows midnight blew around me, and my 
wounded arm felt as though it were frozen. I 
tried to cover myself beneath the straw, but in 
vain, and as my limbs trembled and my teetn 
chattered, I thought again of home, where, at 
that moment, the poorest menial of my uncle's 
house was better lodged than I, and strange to 
say, something like pride mingled with the thought, 
and in my lonely heart a feeling of elation cheered 
me. 

These reflections were interrupted by the sound 
of a voice near me, which I at once knew to be 
O'Shaughnessy's; he was on foot, and speaking 
evidently in some excitement. 

"I tell you, Maurice, some confounded blun- 
der there must be: sure he was left in that cot- 
tage near the bridge, and no one ever saw him 
after." 

"The French took it from the Rifles before we 
crossed the river. By Jove! I'll wager my chances 
of promotion jgainst a pint of sherry, he'll turn 
up somewhere in the morning; those Galway 
chaps have as many lives as a cat." 

" See, now, Maurice, I wouldn't for a full 
colonelcy anything would happen to him — I like 
the boy." 

"So do I, myself; but I tell you there's no 
danger of him. Did you ask Sparks anything?" 

"Ask Sparks! God help you! Sparks would 
go off in a fit at the sight of me. No, no, poor 
creature! it's little use it would be my speaking 
to him." 

" Why so, doctor?" cried I, from my straw 
couch. 



372 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



"May I never, if it's not him! Charley, my 
son, I'm glad you're safe. 'Faith, I thought you 
were on your way to Verdun by this time." 

" Sure, I told you he'd find his way here — but, 
O'Mealey, dear — you're mighty could — a rigor, 
as old M'Lauchlan would call it." 

■'E'en sae, Maister Quill," said a broad Scotch 
accent behind him; "and I canna see ony objec- 
tion to giein' things their right names." 

"The top of the morning to you," said Quill, 
familiarly patting liim on the back; " how goes it, 
old Brimstone?" 

The conversation might not have taken a very 
amicable turn had M'Lauchlan heard the latter 
part of this speech; but, as happily he was en- 
gaged unpacking a small canteen which he had 
placed in the wagon, it passed unnoticed. 

'"Ye'll nae dislike a toothfu' of something 
warm, major," said he. presenting a glass to 
O'Shaughnessy; "and if ye'll permit me, Mr. 
O'Mealey, to help you " 

"A thousand thanks, doctor; but I fear a 
broken arm." 

" There's naething in the whiskey to prevent the 
proper formation of callous." 

"By the rock of Cashel, it never made any one 
callous," said O'Shaughnessy, mistaking the im- 
port of the phrase. 

"Ye are nae drinking frae the flask?" said the 
doctor, turning in some agitation towards Quill. 

"Devil a bit, my darling. I've a little horn 
convaniency here, that holds half a pint, nice 
measure." 

I don't imagine that our worthy friend partici- 
pated in Quill's admiration of the " convaniency," 
for he added, in a dry tone: 

■'Ye may as weel tak' your liquor frae a glass, 
like a Christian, as stick your nose in a coo's 
horn." 

"By my conscience, you're no small judge of 
spirits, wherever you learned it," said the major; 
" it's like Islay malt!" 

"I was aye reckoned a gude ane," said the 
doctor, " and my mither's brither, Caimbogie, 
had na his like in the north country. Ye maybe 
heerd tell what he aince said to the duchess of 
Argyle, when she sent for him to taste her 
claret." 

" Never heard of it," quoth Quill; " let's have 
it, by all means. I'd like to hear what the 
duchess said to him." 

" It was na what the duchess said to him, but 
what he said to the duchess, ye ken. The way of 
it was this: — My uncle, Caimbogie, was aye up at 
the castle, for, besides his knowledge of liquor, 
there was nae his match for deer-stalking, or 
spearing a salmon, in these parts. He was a 
great, rough carle, it's true, but ane ye'd rather 
crack wi' than fight wi'. 

" Weel, ae day they had a grand dinner at the 
duke's, and there were plenty o' great southern 
lords and braw leddies in velvets and satin; and 
vara muckle surprised they were at mv uncle, 
when he came in wi' his tartan kilt, in full High- 
land dress, as the head of a clan ought to do. 
Caimbogie, however, pe'd nae attention to them. 
but he eat his dinner and drank his wine, and 
talked away about fallow and red dcr, and at 



last the duchess, for she was aye fond o'him, ad- 
dressed him frae the head o' the table: 

" ' Caimbogie,' quoth she, ' I'd like to hae your 
opinion about that wine. It's some the duke 
has just received, and we should like to hear 
what vou think of it. 

"■ It's nae sae bad, my leddy,' said my uncle; 
for ye see he was a man of few words, and never 
flattered onybody. 

" ' Then you don't approve much of it?' said 
the duchess. 

" ' I've drank better, and I've drank waur,' quo' 
he. 

" I'm sorry you don't like it, Caimbogie," said 
the duchess, ' for it can never be popular now: 
we have such a dependence upon your taste.' 

"'I canna say ower muckle for my iasie, my 
leddy, but ae thing I jc/// say — I've a most dam- 
nable smell!' 

" I hear that never since the auld walls stood, 
was there ever the like o' the laughing that fol- 
lowed; the puir duke himsel' was carried away, 
and nearly had a fit, and a' the grand lords and 
leddies a'most died of it. But, see here, the 
carle has nae left a drap o' whiskey in the 
flask." 

"The last glass 1 drained to your respectable 
uncle's health," said Quill, with a most profes- 
sional gravity. " Now, Charley, make a little room 
for me in the straw." 

The doctor soon mounted beside me, and, 
giving me a share of his amjile cloak, consider- 
ably ameliorated my situation. 

"So you knew Sparks, doctor?" said I. with a 
strong curiosity to hear something of his early ac- 
quaintance. 

" That I did: I knew him w] en he was an ensign 
in the loth Foot; and, to say the truth, he is not 
much changed since that time; — the same lively 
look of a sick cod-fish about his grey eyes; the 
same disorderly wave of his yellow hair; tlie 
same whining voice, and that confounded apothe- 
cary's laugh." 

"Come, come, doctor. Sparks is a good fel- 
low at heart; I wouldn't have him abused. I never 
knew he had been in the infantry; I should think 
it must have been another of the same name." 

"Not at all; there's only one like him in the 
service, and that's himself. Confound it, man, 
I'd know his skin upon a bush; he was only three 
weeks in the loth, and, indeed, your humble 
servant has the whole merit of his leaving it so 
soon." 

" Do let us hear how that happened." 

"Simply thus; — The jolly loth were some 
four years ago the pleasantest corps in the army; 
from the lieutenant-colonel down to the last 
joined sub., all were out-and-outers — real gay 
fellows. The mess was, in fact, like a pleasant 
club, and if you did not suit it, the best thing 
you could do was to sell out or exchange into a 
slower regiment, and, indeed, this very wholesome 
truth was not very long in reaching your ears 
some way or other, and a man that could remain 
after being given this hint, was likely to go after- 
wards without one. " 

Just as Dr. Quill reached this part of his story, 
an orderly dragoon galloped furiously past, and 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



373 



the next moment an aide-de-camp rode by, call- 
ing, as he passed us, 

^" Close up, tliere---close up! Get forward, my 
lads — get forward!" 

It was evident, from the stir and bustle about, 
that some movement was being made, and, soon 
aiter, a dropping, irregular fire from the rear 
showed that our cavalry were engaged with the 
eneniv; the affair was scarcely of five minutes' 
duration, and our march resumed all its former 
regularity immediately after. 

I now turned to the doctor to resume his story, 
but he was gone; at what moment he left I coidd 
not say. But O'Shaughnessy was also absent, nor 
did I again meet with them for a considerable 
time after. 

Towards daybreak we halted at Bonares, when 
my wound demanding rest and attention, I was 
billeted in the village, and consigned to all the 
miseries of a sick-bed. 



CHAPTER LXXIV. 



THE JOURNEY. 



With that disastrous day my campaigning was 
destined, for some time at least, to conclude. 
My wound, which grew from hour to hour more 
threatening, at length began to menace the loss of 
the arm, and by the recommendation of the regi- 
mental surgeons, 1 was ordered back to Lisbon. 

Mike, by this time perfectly restored, i)repared 
everything for my departure, and on the third day 
after the battle of Coa, I began my journey, with 
down-cast spirit, and depressed heart. The poor 
fellow was, however, akind and affectionate nurse, 
and, unlike many others, his carjs were not lim- 
ited to the mere bodily wants of his patient: he 
sustained, as well as he was able, my drooping 
res ilution, rallied my spirits, and cheered my 
courage. With the very little Portuguese he pos- 
sessed, he contrived to make every imaginable 
species of bargain; always managed a good billet; 
kept every one in good humor, and rarely left his 
quarters in the morning without a most affecting 
leave-taking, and reiterated promises to renew his 
visit. 

Our journeys were usually short ones, and al- 
ready two days had elapsed, when, towards night- 
fall, we entered the little hamlet of Jaffra. Dur- 
ing the entire of that d ly, the pain of my wounded 
bmb had been excruciating; the fatigue of the 
road and the heat had brought back violent inflam- 
mation, and when at last the little village came 
in sight, my reason was fast yielding to the 
torturing agonies of my wound, but the tran- 
sports with which I greeted my resting-place 
were soon destined to change; for, as we 
drew near, not a light was to be seen, not a 
sound to be heard, not even a dog barked, as the 
heavy mule-cart rattled over the uneven road. 
No trace of any living thing was there: the little 
hamlet lay sleeping in the pale moonlight, its 
streets deserted, and its homes tenantless, our 
own footsteps alone echoed along the dreary 



causeway; here and there, as we advanced far- 
ther, we found some relics of broken furniture and 
house-gear; most of the doors lay open, but noth- 
ing remained within save bare walls; the embers 
still smoked in many jjlaces upon the hearth, and 
showed us that the flight of the inhabitants had 
been recent. Yet everything convinced us that 
the French had not been there; there was no 
trace of the reckless violence and wanton cruelty 
which marked their footsteps everywhere. 

All proved that the desertion had been volun- 
tary; perhaps in compliance with an order of our 
commander-in-chief, who frefpiently desired any 
intended line of march of the enemy to be left 
thus a desert. As we sauntered slowly on from 
street to street, half hoping that some one human 
being yet remained behind, and casting our eyes 
from side to side in search of quarters for the 
night. Mike suddenly came running up, saying: 

"I have it, sir — I've found it out — there's 
people living down that small street there — 1 saw a 
light this minute as I passed." 

I turned immediately, and, accompanied by the 
mule-driver, followed Mike across a little open 
square, into a small and narrow street, at the end 
of which a light was seen faintly twinkling; we 
hurried on, and in a few minutes reached a high 
wall of solid masonry, from a niche of which we 
now discovered, to our utter disappointment, the 
light proceeded. It was a small lamp placed be- 
fore a little waxen image of the Virgin, and was 
probably the last act of piety of some poor vil- 
lager ere he left his home and hearth forever; 
there it burned, brightly and tranquilly, throw- 
ing its mellow ray iqion the cold, deserted stones. 
Whatever impatience I might have given way to 
in a iTioment of chagrin, was soon repressed, as I 
saw my two followers, luicovering their heads in si- 
lent reverence, kneel down before the little shrine. 
There was something at once touchnigand solemn 
in this simultaneous feeling of homage from the 
hearts of those removed in country, language, and 
in blood; they bent meekly down; their heads 
bowed upon their bosoms, while with muttering 
voices each offered up his prayer, ."^ll sense of 
their disappointment, all memory of their forlorn 
state, seemed to have yielded to more powerful 
and absorbing thoughts as they opened their 
hearts in prayer. 

My eyes were still fixed upon them, when sud- 
denly Mike, whose devotion seemed of the brief- 
est, sprang to his legs, and with a spirit of levity 
but little in accordance with his late proceedings, 
commenced a series of kicking, rapping, and 
knocking at a small oak postt-rn sufficient to have 
aroused a whole convent from their cells. " House 
there!— good people within!"— bang, bang, bang: 
but the echoes alone responded to his call, and 
the sounds died away at length in the distant 
streets, leaving all as silent and dreary as before. 
Our Portuguese friend, who by this time had 
finished his orisons, now began a vigorous attack 
upon the small door, and, with the assistance of 
Mike, armed with a fragment of granite about the 
size of a man's head, at length separated the 
frame from the hinges and sent the whole mass 
prostrate before us. 
TheiRGon was just rising as we entered the little 



374 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



park, wliere gravelled walks, neatly kept and well 
trimmed, bespoke recent care and attention; 
following a handsome alley of lime-trees, we 
reached a little jet d'eau whose sparkling foun- 
tain shone, diamond-like, in the moonbeams; and, 
escaping from the edge of a vast shell, ran mur- 
muring amid mossy stones and water-lilies, that, 
however naturally they seemed thrown around, 
bespoke also the hand of taste in their position. 
On turning from the spot, we came directly in 
front of an old but handsome chateau, before 
which stretched a terrace of considerable extent. 
Its balustraded parapet, lined with orange-trees, 
now in full blossom, scented the still air with 
their delicious odor; marble statues peeped here 
and there amid the foliage, while a rich acacia, 
loaded with flowers, covered the walls of the 
building, and hung in vast masses of variegated 
blossom across the tall windows. 

As, leaning on Mike's arm, I slowly ascended 
the steps of the terrace, I was more than ever 
struck with the silence and death-like stillness 
aro'md, except the gentle plash of the fountain, 
all was at rest; the very plants seemed to sleep 
in the yellow moonlight, and not a trace of any 
living thinf^ %t'as there. 

The massive door lay open as we entered the 
spacious hall, flagged with marble, and surrounded 
with armorial bearings. We advanced further, 
and came to a broad and handsome stair, which 
led us to a long gallery, from which a suite of 
rooms opened, looking towards the front part of 
the building. Wherever we went, the furniture 
appeared perfectly untouched; nothing was re- 
moved; the very chairs were grouped around the 
■windows and the tables; books, as if suddenly 
dropped from their readers' hands, were scattered 
upon the sofas and the ottomans; and, in one 
small apartment, whose blue satin walls and da- 
mask drr.pery bespoke a boudoir, a rich mantilla 
of black velvet and a silk glove were thrown upon 
.. chair. It was clear the desertion had been 
most recent; and everything indicated that no 
time had been given to the fugitives to prepare 
for flight. What a sad picture of war was there! 
T^ think of those whose home, endeared to them 
by all the reflnements of cultivated life, and all 
the associations of years of happiness, sent out 
upon the wide world — wanderers and houseless, 
while their hearth, sacred by every tie that binds 
us to our kindred, was to be desecrated by the 
ruthless and savage hands of a ruffian soldiery. 
I thought of them; perhaps at that very hour their 
thoughts were clinging round the old walls; re- 
membering each well-beloved spot, while they 
took their lonely path through mountain and 
through valley; and felt ashamed and abashed at 
my own intrusion there. While thus my reverie 
ran on, I had not perceived that Mike, whose 
views were very practical upon all occasions, had 
lighted a most cheerful fire upon the hearth, and 
disposing a large sofa before it, had carefully 
closed the curtains, and was, in fact, making him- 
self and his master as much at home as though 
he had spent his life there. 

'■ Isn't it a beautiful place, Misther Charles? 
and this little room, doesn't it remind you of the 
blue bedroom in O'Malley Castle, barrin' the el- 



egant view out upon the Shannon and the moun- 
tain of Scariff .''" 

Nothing short of Mike's patriotism could for- 
give such a comparison; but, however, I did net 
contradict him, as h^ ran on: 

"Faith, I knew well there was luck in store 
for us this evening; and ye sec the handful of 
prayers I threw away outside wasn't lost. Josh's 
making the beasts comfortable in the stable, and 
I'm thinking we'll none of us complain of our 
quarters. But you're not eatinj your supper and 
the beautiful hare pie that I stol; this morning, 
won't you taste it? Well, a glass of Malaga! not 
a glass of Malaga? Oh, mother of Moses! what's 
this for?" 

Unfortunately, the fever produced by the long 
and toilsome journey, had gained considerably 
on me, and, except copious libations of cold 
water, I could touch nothing; my arm, too, was 
much more painful than before. Mike soon per- 
ceived that rest and quietness were most import- 
ant to me at the moment, and having with diffi- 
culty been prevailed upon to -swallow a few hur- 
ried mouthfuls, the poor fellow disposed cushions 
around me in every imaginable form for comfort; 
and then, placing my wounded limb in its easiest 
position, he extinguished the lamp, and sat 
silently down beside the hearth, without speaking 
another word. 

Fatigue and exhaustion, more powerful than 
pain, soon produced iheir eft'ects upon me, and I 
fell asleep, but it was no refreshing slumber 
which visited my heavy eyelids; the slow fever 
of suffering had been hour by hour increasing, 
and my dreams presented nothing but scenes of 
agony and torture. Now I thought that, un- 
horsed and wounded, I was trampled beneath the 
clanging hoofs of charging cavalry; now, I felt 
the sharp steel piercing my flesh, and heard the 
loud cry of a victorious enemy ; then, inethought 
I was stretched upon a litter, covered by gore 
and mangled by a grape-shot. I thought I saw 
my brother officers approach and look sadly upon 
me, while one, whose face I could not remember, 
muttered, "I should not have known him." The 
dreadful hospital of Talavera, and all its scenes 
of agony, came up before me, and I thought that 
I lay waiting my turn for amputation. This last 
impression, more horrible to me than all the rest, 
made me spring from my coiich, and I awoke; 
the cold drops of perspiration stood upon my 
brow, my mouth was parched and open, and my 
temples throbbed so, that I could count their 
beatings; for some seconds I could not throw oi. 
the frightful illusion I labored under, and it was 
only by degrees I recovered consciousness, and 
remembered where I was. Before me, and on 
me side of the bright wood fire, sat Mike, who, 
a])parently Jeep in thought, gazed fixedly at the 
blaze; the start I gave on awaking had not at- 
tracted his attention, and I could see, as the 
flickering glare fell upon his features, that he was 
pale and ghastly, while his eyes were riveted u])on 
the fire; his lips moved rapidly, as if in prayer, 
and his locked hands were pressed firmly upon 
his bosom; his voice, at first inaudible, I could 
gradually distinguish, and at length heard tha 
following mutteied sentences: 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



375 



"Oh, mother of mercy! so far from his home 
and his people, and so young, to die in a strange 

land there it is again." Here he appeared 

listening to some sounds from without. " Oh, 
wirra, wirra, I know it well! — the winding-sheet, 
the winding-sheet! there it is, my own eyes saw 
it!" The tears coursed fast upon Iiis pale cheeks, 
and his voice grew almost inaudible, as, rocking 
to and fro, for some time he seemed in a very 
stupor of grief; when at last, in a faint, subdued 
tone, he broke into one of those sad and i)laia- 
tive airs of his country, \vhich only need the mo- 
ment of depression to make thtm wring the very 
heart in agony. 

His song was that to which Moore has appended 
the beautiful lines "Come, rest on this bosom." 
The following imperfect translation may serve to 
convey some impression of the words, which in 
Mike's version were Irish. 

"The day was declining. 

The dark night drqw near. 
And the old lord grew sadder, 

And paler with fear: 
Come listen, my daughter. 

Come nearer — oh! neav; 
Is't the wind or the water 

That sighs in my ear?' 

"Not the wind nor the water 

Now stirr'd the night air, 
But a warning far sadder — 

The banshee was there! 
Kow rising, now swelling, 

On the night wind it bore 
One cadence, still telling, — 

' I want thee, Rossmore!' 

"And then fast came his breath. 

And more fix'd grew his eye; 
And the shadow of death 

Told his hour was nigh. 
Ere the dawn of that morning 

The struggle was o'er. 
For when thiice came the warning — 

A corpse was Rossmore!" 

The plaintive air to which these words were 
sung fell heavily upon my heart, and it needed 
but the low and nervous condition I was in to 
make me feel their application to myself. But so 
it is; the very superstition your reason rejects and 
your sense spurns, has, from old association, from 
habit, and froin mere nationality too, a hold upon 
your hopes and fears, that demands more firm- 
ness and courage than a sick-bed possesses to 
combat with success; and I now listened with an 
eager ear to mark if the banshee cried, rather 
than sought to fortify myself by any recurrence 
to my own convictions. Meanwhile, Mike's atti- 
tude became one of listening attention. Not a 
finger moved; he scarce seemed even to breathe; 
the state of suspense I suffered from was madden- 
ing; and at last, unable to bear it longer, I was 
about to speak, when suddenly, from the floor be- 
neath us, one long-sustained note swelled upon 
the air and died away again, and immediately 
after, to the cheerful sounds of a guitar, we heard 
the husky voice of our Portuguese guide, indulg- 
ing himself in a love-ditty. 

Ashamed of myself for iny fears, I kept silent; 
but Mike, who felt only one sensation — that of 
unmi.xed satisfaction at his mistake — rubbed his 



hands pleasantly, filled up his glass, drank it, and 
refilled; while with an accent of reassured courage, 
he briefly remarked: 

" Well, Mr. Jose, if that be singing, ujion my 
conscience I wonder what crying is like!" 

I could not forbear a laugh at the criticism; 
and, in a moment, the poor fellow, who up to 
that moment believed me sleeping, was beside me. 
I saw from his manner that he dreaded lest 1 had 
been listening to his melancholy song, and had 
overheard any of his gloom, forebodings; and as 
he cheered tny spirits and spoke encouragingly, I 
could remark that he made more than usual en- 
deavors to appear light-hearted and at ease. 
Determined, however, not to let him escape so 
easily, I questioned him about his belief in ghosts 
and spirits, at which he endeavored, as he ever 
did when the subject was an unpleasing one, to 
avoid the discussion; but rather perceiving that 
I indulged in no irreverent disrespect of these 
matters, he grew gradually more open, treating 
the affair with that strange mixture of credulity 
and mockery, which formed his estimate of most 
things: now seeming to suppose that any palpa- 
ble rejection of them might entail sad conse- 
quences, in future, now half ashamed to go the 
whole length in his credulity. 

"And so, Mike, you never saw a ghost your- 
self ? — that you acknowledge?" 

"No, sir, I never saw a real ghost; liut sure 
there's many a thing I never saw; but Mrs. Moore, 
the housekeeper, seen two. And your grandfather 
that's gone — the Lord be good to him — used to 
walk once a year in Lurra Abbey; and sure you 
know the story about Tim Clinchy, that was seen 
every Saturday night coming out of the cellar 
with a candle and a mug of wine, and a pipe in 
his mouth, till Mr. Barry laid him. It cost his 
honor your uncle ten pounds in masses to make 
him easy, not to speak of a new lock and two 
bolts on the cellar door." 

" I have heard all about that; but, as you never 
yourself saw any of these things " 

"But sure my father did, and that's the same, 
any day. My father seen the greatest ghost that 
ever*was seen in the county Cork, and spent the 
evening with hitn, that's more." 

"Spent the evening with him! — what do you 
mean?" 

"Just that, devil a more nor ess. If your 
honor wasn't so weak, and the story wasn't a try- 
ing one, I'd like to tell it to you. 

"Out with it by all means, Mike; I am not 
disposed to sleep; and, now that we are upon 
these matters, my curiosity is strongly excited by 
your worthy father's experience." 

Thus encouraged, having trimmed the fire, and 
reseated himself beside the blaze, Mike began; 
but, as a ghost is no every-day personage in our 
history, I must give hitn a chapter to himself. 



CHAPTER LXXV. 

THE GHOST. 

" Well, I believe your honor heard me tell 



376 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



long ago how my father left the army, and the 
way that he took to another line of life that was 
more to his liking. And so it was, he was happy 
as the day was long; he drove a hearse for Mr 
Callaghan of Cork, for many years, and a pleas- 
ant place it was; for ye see, my father was a 
'cute man, and knew something of the world; and 
though he was a droll devil, and could sing a 
funny song when he was aniqng the boys, no 
sooner had he the big black cloak on him and the 
weepers, and he seated on the high box with the 
six long-tailed blacks before him, you'd really 
think it was his own mother was inside, he looked 
so melancholy and miserable. The sexton and 
grave-digger was nothing to my father; and he 
had a look about his eye — to be sure there was a 
reason for it — that you'd think he was up all 
night crying; though it's little indulgence he 
took that way. 

"Well, of all Mr. Callaghan's men, there was 
none so great a favorite as my father. The neigh- 
bors were all fond of him. 

"'A kind crayture, every inch of him'' the 
women would say. ' Did ye see his face at Mrs. 
Delany's funeral.'' 

'"True f'or you,' another would remark; 'he 
mistook the road with grief, and stopped at a 
shebeen house instead of Kilmurry church.' 

"I need say no more, only one thing; that it 
was principally among the farmers and the coun- 
try people my father was liked so much. The 
great people and the quality — I ax your pardon; 
but sure isn't it true. Mister Charles? — they don't 
fret so much after their fathers and brothers, and 
they care little who's driving them, whether it 
was a dacent, respectable man like my father, or 
a chap with a grin on him like a rat-trap. And 
so it happened, that my father used to travel half 
the county; going here and tliere wherever there 
was trade stirring; and, faix, a man didn't think 
himself rightly buried if my father wasn't there; 
for you see, he knew all about it; he could tell 
to a quart of spirits what would be wanting for 
a wake; he knew all the good criers for miles 
round; and I've heard it was a beautiful sight to 
see him standing on a hill, arranging the proces- 
sion, as they walked into the cliurchyard, and 
giving the word like a captain. 

" ' Come on, the stiff — now the friends of the 
stiff— now the pop'lace.' 

" That's what he used to say, and troth he 
was always repeating it, when he was a little 
gone in drink — for that's the time his spirits 
would rise — and he'd think he was burying half 
Munster. 

"And sure it was a real pleasure and a pride 
to be buried in them times, for av it was only a 
small farmer witli a potato garden, my father 
would come down with the black cloak on him, 
and three yards of crape behind his hat, and set 
all the children crying and yelling for half a mile 
round, and then the way he'd walk before them 
with a spade on his shoulder, and sticking it 
down in the ground, clap hijS hat on the top of 
it, to make it look like a chief mourner. It was 
a beautiful sight'" 

" But, Mike, if you indulge much longer in 
this flattering recollection of your father, I'm 



afraid we shall lose sight of the ghost entirely." 
" No fear in life, your honor; I'm coming to 
him now. Well, it was this way it happened: In 
the winter of the great frost, about forty-two or 
forty-three years ago, the ould priest of Tul- 
loughmurry took ill and died; he was sixty years 
priest of the parish, and mightily beloved by all 
the people, and good reason for it; a pleasanter 
man, and a more social crayture, never lived — 
'twas himself was the life of the whole country- 
side. A wedding nor a christening wasn't lucky 
av he wasn't there, sitting at the top of the table, 
with maybe his arm round the bride herself, or 
the baby on his lap, a smoking jug of punch be- 
fore him, and as much kindness in his eye as 
would make the fortunes of twenty hypocrites if 
they had it among them. And then he was so 
good to the poor; the Priory was always full of 
ould men and ould women sitting around the big 
fire in the kitchen, that the cook could hardly 
get near it. There they were, eating their meals 
and burning their shins, till they were speckled 
like a trout's back, and grumbling all the time; 
but Father Dwyer liked them, and he would have 
them. 

"'Where have they to go,' he'd say, 'av it 
wasn't tome? Give Molly Kinshella a lock of 
that bacon. Tim, it's a could morning; will ye 
have a taste of the "dew?" ' 

" Ah! that's the way he'd spake to them; but 
sure goodness is no warrant for living, any more 
than devilment, and so he got could in his feet 
at a station, and he rode home in the heavy snow 
without his big coat — for he gave it away to a 
blind man on the road; in three days he was 
dead. 

" I see you're getting impatient, so I'll not stop 
to say what grief was in the parish when it was 
known; but troth, there never was seen the like 
before — not a crayture would lift a spade for two 
days, and there was more whiskey sold in that 
time than at the whole spring fair. Well, on the 
third day the funeral set out, and never was the 
equal of it in them parts; first, there was my father 
— he came special from Cork with the six horses 
all in new black, and jjlumes like little poplar- 
trees — then came Father Dwyer, followed by the 
two coadjutors in beautiful surplices, walking 
bare headed, with the little boys of the Priory 
school, two and two." 

"Well, Mike, I'm sure it was very fine; but, 
for Heaven's sake! spare me all these descrip- 
tions, and get on to the ghost." 

" 'Faith, your honor's in a great hurry for tke 
ghost — maybe ye won't like him when ye have 
him; but I'll go faster, if ye please. Well, Father 
Dwyer, ye see, was born at Aghan-li.'^h, of an ould 
family, and he left it in his will that he was to be 
buried in the family vault; and as Aghan-lish was 
eighteen miles up the mountains, it was getting 
late when they drew near. By that, time the great 
procession was all broke up and gone home. The 
coadjutors stopped to dine at thi- ' Blue Bellows' 
at the cross-roads, the little boys took to pelting 
snowballs, there was a fight or two on the way be- 
sides — and, in fact, except an ould deaf fellow 
that my father took to mind the horses, he was 
quite alone. Not that he minded that same; for 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



377 



when the crowd was gone, my father began to 
sing a droll song, and tould the deaf chap that it 
was a lamentation. At last they came in sight of 
Aglian-iish. It was a lonesome, melancholy-look- 
ing jjlace, with nothing near it except two or 
three ouid fir-trees, and a small slate house with 
one window, where the sexton lived, and even 
that was shut up, and a padlock on the door. 
Well, my father was not ovtr-niuch pleased at 
the look of matters, but as he was never hard put 
to what to do, he managed to get the coffin into 
the vestry, and then, when he unharnessed the 
horses, he sent the deaf fellow down to the vil- 
lage to tell the priest that the corpse was there, 
and to come up early in the morning and perform 
mass. The next thing to do was to make him- 
self comfortable for the night; and then he made 
a roaring fire on the ould hearth — for there was 
plenty of bog-fir there — closed the windows with 
the black cloaks, and, wrapping two round him- 
self, he sat down to cook a little supper he brought 
with him in case of need. 

" Well, you may think it was melancholy enough 
to pass the night up there alone, with a corpse in 
an ould ruined churciT in the middle of the moun- 
tains, the wind howling about on every side, and 
the snowdrift beating against the walls; but as the 
fire burned brightly, and the little plate of rash- 
ers and eggs smoked temptingly before him, my 
father mixed a jug of the strongest punch, and 
sat down as happ}' as a king. As long as he was 
eating away h had no time to be thinking of 
anything else; but, when all was done, and he 
looked about him, he began to feel very low and 
melancholy in hi: heart. There was the great 
black coffin on three chairs in one corner; and 
then the inourning cloaks that he had stuck up 
against the windows moved backward and forward 
like living things, and, outside, the wild cry of 
the plover as he flew past, and the night-owl sit- 
ting in a nook of the ould church. ' I wish it was 
morning, anyhow,' said my father, ' for this is a 
lonesome place to be in, and faix, lie'llbe a cun- 
ning fellow that catches me passing the night this 
way again.' Now, there was one thing distressed 
him most of all- my father used always to make 
fun of the ghosts r id sperits the neighbors would 
tell of, pretending there was no such thing; and 
now the thought came to him, ' Maybe they'll re- 
venge themselves on me to-night when they have 
me up here alone;' and with that he made another 
jug stronger than the first, and tried to remember 
a few prayers in case of need, but somehow his 
mind was not too clear, and he said afterwards 
he was always mixing up ould songs and toasts 
with the prayers, and when he thought he had 
just got hold of a beautiful psalm, it would turn 
out. to be 'Tatter Jack Walsh,' or 'Limping 
James," or something like that. The storm, mean- 
while, was rising every moment, and parts of the 
ould abbey were falling, as the wind shook the 
ruin, and my father's spirits, notwithstanding the 
punch, were lower than e\er. 

" ' I made it too weak,' said he, as he set to 
work on a new jorum; and. troth, this time that 
was not the fault of it, for the first sup nearly 
choked him. 

"'Ahl' said he now 'I know what it was; 



this is like the thing; and, Mr. Free, you are be- 
ginning to feel easy and comfortable Pass 'lie 
jug. Your very good health and song I'm a 
little hoarse, it's true, but if the company will ex- 
cuse ' 

"And then he began knocking on the table 
with his knuckles, as if there was a room full of 
people asking him to sing. In short, my father 
was drunk as a fiddler, the last brew finished 
him; and he began roaring away all kinds of 
droll songs, and telling all manner of stories, as 
if he was at a great party. 

"While he was capering this way about tlie 
room, he knocked- down his hat, and with it a 
pack of cards he put into it before leaving home, 
for he was mighty fond of a game. 

" ' Will ye take a hand, Mr. Free?' said he, as 
he gathered them up and sat down beside the 
fire. 

"'I'm convanient,' said he, and began dealing 
out as if there was a partner fornenst him. 

" When my father used to get this far in the 
story, he became very confused He says, once 
or twice he mistook the liquor, and took a pull 
at the bottle of poteen instead of the punch; 
and the last thing he remembers was asking poor 
Fathc:r Dwyer if he would draw near to the fire, 
and not be lying there near the door. 

" With that he slipped down on the ground 
and fell fast asleep. How long he lay that way 
he could never tell. When he awoke and looked 
up, his hair nearly stood on an end with fright. 
What do you think he seen fornenst him, sitting 
at the other side of the fire, but Father Dwyer 
himself. There he was, devil a lie in it, wrapjied 
up in one of the mourning cloaks, trying to warm 
his hands at the fire. 

" ' Sa/ve Iwc nomine patri!' said my father, 
crossing himself; ' av it's your ghost, God pre- 
sarve me!' 

" ' Good-evening t'ye, Mr. Free,' said the 
ghost; 'and av I might be bould, what's in the 
jug?' — for ye see my father had it under his aim 
fast, and never let it go when he was asleep. 

"'' Paier noster qui cs in — poteen, sir,' said my 
father; for the ghost didn't look pleased at liis 
talking Latin. 

'"Ye might have the politeness to ax if one 
had a mouth on him, then,' says the ghost. 

"'Sure, I didn't think the like of you would 
taste sperits.' 

" 'Try me,' said the ghost; and with that he 
filled out a glass, and tossed it off like a ("hristian. 

"'Beamish!' sa"ys the ghost, smacking his 
lips. 

"'The same," says my father; 'and sure 
what's happened you has not spoilt your taste.' 

"'Ifvou'd mix a little hot,' says the ghost, 
'I'm thinking it would be better; the night is 
mighty sevare.' 

"'Anything that your reverance pleases,' says 
my father, as he began to blow up a good fire to 
boil the water. 

" ' And what news is stirring?' says the ghost. 

'"Devil a word, your reverance, your own 
funeral was the only thing doing last week; times 
is bad; except the measles, there's nothing in our 
parts.' 



378 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



"'And we're quite dead hereabouts, too,' says 
the ghost. 

" ' There's some of us so, anyhow,' says my 
father, with a sly look. "I'aste that, your rever- 



ance. 

(( t 



Pleasant and refreshing,' says the ghost; 
' and now Mr: Free, what do you say to a little 
spoilt five, or beggar my neighbor?' 

"' What will we play for?' says my father; for 
a thought just struck him — 'maybe it's some 
trick of the devil to catch my soul.' 

"'A pint of Beamish,' says the ghost. 

"'Done!' says my father; 'cut for deal; the 
ace of clubs; you have it.' 

"Now, the whole time the ghost was dealing 
. the cards my father never took his eyes off of 
him, for he wasn't quite asy in his mind at all; 
but when he saw him turn up the trump, and 
take a strong drink afterwards, he got more at 
ease, and began the game. 

" How Jong they played it was never rightly 
known; but one tiling is sure, they drank a cruel 
deal of sperits; three quart bottles my father 
brought with him were all finished, and by that 
ti-me his brain was so confused with the liquor, 
and all he lost — fur somehow he never won a 
game — that he was getting very quarrelsome. 

'" You have your own luck to it,' says he, at 
last. 

"'True for you; and besides, we play a great 
deal where I came from.' 

'' I've heard so,' says my father. ' I lead the 
knave, sir; spades! Bad cess to it, lost again!' 

" Now it was really very distressing; for by 
this time, though they only began for a pint of 
Beamish, my father went on betting till he lost 
the hearse and all tlie si.K horses,mourning cloaks, 
plumes, and everything. 

"'Are you tired, Mr. Free? Maybe you'd like 
to stop?' 

"'Stop! faith it's a nice time to stop; of course 
not.' 

'"Well, what will ye play for now?" 

" The way he said these words brought a 
trembling all over my father, and his blood 
curdled in his heart. 'Oh, murther!' says he to 
himself, ' it'- my sowl he is wanting all the time.' 

'"I've mighty little left,' says my father, looking 
at him keenly, while he kept shuffling the cards 
quick as lightning. 

"'Mighty little; no matter, we'll give you 
plenty of time to pay, and if you can't do it, it 
shall never trouble you as lo;ig as you live.' 

" ' Oh, you murthering devil !' says my father, 
flying at him with a spade that he had behind his 
chair, ' I've found you out.' 

"With one blow he knocked him down; and 
now a terrible fight began, for the ghost was very 
strong, too; but my father's blood was up, and 
he'd have faced the devil himself then. They 
rolled over each other several times, the broken 
bottles cutting them to pieces, and the chairs and 
tables crashing under them. At last the ghost 
took the bottle that lay on the hearth, and lev- 
elled my father to the ground with one blow; 
down he fell, and the bottle and the whiskey 
were both dashed into the fire; that was the end 
of it, for the ghost disappeared that moment in a 



blue flame that nearly set fire to my father as he 
lay on the floor. 

"Och! it was a cruel sight to see him next 
morning, with his cheek cut open, and his hands 
all bloody, lying there by himself; all the broken 
glass, and the cards all round him; the coffin, 
too, was knocked down off the chair; maybe the 
ghost had trouble getting into it. However that 
was, the funeral was put off for a day; for my 
father couldn't speak; and, as for the sexton, it 
was a queer thing, but when they came to call 
him in the morning, he had two black eyes, and 
a gash over his ear, and he never knew how he 
got them. It was easy enough to know the ghost 
did it; but my father kept the secret, and never 
told it to any man, woman, or child in them 
parts." 



CHAPTER LXXVI. 



LISBON. 

I H.^VE little power to trace the events which 
occupied the succeeding three weeks of my his- 
tory. The lingering fever which attended my 
wound detained me during that time at the 
chateau; and when at last I did leave Lisbon,. 
the winter was already beginning, and it was 
upon a cold raw evening that I once more took 
possession of my old quarters at the Quay de 
Soderi. 

My eagerness and anxiety to learn something 
of the campaign was ever uppermost, and no 
sooner had I reached my destination than I de- 
spatched Mike to the quartermaster's office to 
pick up some news, and hear which of my friends 
and brother officers were then at Lisbon. I was 
sitting in a state of nervous impatience, watching 
for his return, when at length I heard footsteps 
approaching my room, arid the next moment 
Mike's voice, saying, "The ould room, sir, where 
he was before." The door suddenly opened, 
and my friend Power stood before me. 

"Charley, my boy!" — "Fred, my fine fellow!" 
was all either could say for some minutes. Upon 
my part, the recollection of his bold and manly 
bearing in my behalf choked all utterance; while, 
upon his, my haggard cheeks and worn look pro- 
duced an effect so sudden and unexpected that 
he became speechless. 

In a few minutes, however, we both rallied, 
and opened our store of mutual remembrances 
since we parted. My career I found he was per- 
fectly acquainted with, and his consisted of noth- 
ing but one unceasing round of gayely and 
pleasure. Lisbon had been delightful during the 
summer; parties to Cintra, excursions through 
the surrounding country, were of daily occur- 
rence; and, as my friend was a favorite every- 
where, his life was one of continued amusement. 

" Do you know, Charley, had it been any other 
man than yourself, I should not have spared him; 
for I have fallen head over ears in love with your 
little dark-eyed Portuguese." 

"Ah! Donna Inez, you mean?" 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



879 



" Yes, it is she I mean, and you need not affect 
sucli an air of uncommon nonchalance. She's the 
loveliest girl in Lisbon, and with fortune to pay 
off all the mortgages in Connemara." 

"Oh, faith! 1 admire her amazingly; but, as I 
never flattered myself upon any preference " 

"Come, come, Charley, no concealment, my 
old fellow; every one knows the thing's settled. 
Your old friend Sir George Dashwood told me 
yesterday." 

"Yesterday! Why, is he here; at Lisbon?" 

"To be sure he is; didn't I tell you that be- 
fore? confound it! what a head I have! Why, 
man, he's come out as deputy adjutant-general; 
but for him I should not have got renewed leave." 

" And Miss Dashwood, is she here?" 

"Yes, she came with him. By Jove, how 
handsome she is! quite a different style of thing 
from our dark friend, but, to my thinking, even 
handsomer. Hammersley seems of my opinion, 
too." 

"How! is Hammersley at Lisbon?" 

"On the staff here. But, confound it, what 
makes you so red, you have no ill-feeling to- 
wards him now. I know he speaks most warmly 
of you, no later than last night, at Sir George's " 

What Power was about to add I know not, for 
I sprang from my chair with a sudden start, and 
walked to the window, to conceal my agitation 
from him 

" And so,'' said L at length regaining my com- 
posure in some measure, " Sir George also spoke 
of my name in connection with the senhora?" 

" To be sure he did. All Lisbon does. Why, 
what can you mean? But I see, my dear boy; 
you know you are not of the strongest; and we've 
been talking far too long. Come now, Charley, 
I'll say good-night. Lll be with you at breakfast 
to-morrow, and tell you all the gossip; meanwhile, 
promise me to get quietly to bed, and so good- 
night." 

Such was the conflicting state of feeling I suf- 
fered from, that I made no eft'ort to detain Power. 
I longed to be once more alone, to think — calmly, 
if I could — over the position I stood in, and to 
resolve upon my plans for the future. 

My love for Lucy Dashwood had been long 
rather a devotion than a hope. My earliest dawn 
of manly ambition was associated with the first 
hour I met her. She it was who first touched 
my boyish heart, and suggested a sense of chiv- 
alrous ardor within me; and, even though lost 
to me forever, I could still regard her as the 
mainspring of my actions, and dwell upon my 
passion as the thing that hallowed every enter- 
prise of my life. 

In a word, my love, however little it might 
reach her heart, was everything to mine. It was 
the worship of the devotee to his protecting saint. 
It was the faith that made me rise above misfor- 
tune and mishap, and led me onward; and in this 
way I could have borne anything, everything,rather 
than the imputation of fickleness. 

Lucy might not — nay, I felt she did not — love 
me. It was possible that some other was preferred 
before me; but to doubt my own affection, to 
suspect my own truth, was to destroy all the charm 
of my existence, and to extinguish within me for- 



ever the enthusiasm that made me a hero to my 
own heart. 

It may seem but poor philosophy, but, alas! 
how many of our happiest, how many of our 
brightest thoughts here are but delusions like this! 
The dayspring of youth gilds the tops of the dis- 
tant mountains before us, and many a weary day 
through life, when clouds and storms aie thicken- 
ing around us, we live upon the mere memory of 
the past. Some fast-flitting prospect of a bright 
future, some passing glimpse of a sunlit valley, 
tinges all our after-years. 

it is true that he will suffer fewer disappoint- 
ments, he will incur fewer of the mishaps of the 
world, who indulges in no fancies such as thcsi., 
but equally true is it that he will taste none of 
that exuberant happiness which is that man's 
portion who weaves out a story of his life, and 
vi'ho, in connecting the promise of early years 
with the performances of later, will seek to fulfil 
a fate and destiny. 

Weaving such fancies, I fell sound asleep, nor 
woke before the stir and bustle of the great city 
aroused me. Power, I found, had been twice at 
my quarters that morning, but, fearing to disturb 
me, had merely left a few lines to say that, as he 
should be engaged on service during the day, we 
could not meet before the evening. There were 
certain preliminaries requisite regarding my leave 
which demanded my appearing before a board of 
medical officers, and I immediately set about 
dressing; resolving that, as soon as they were 
completed, I should, if permitted, retire to one of 
the small cottages on the opposite bank of the 
Tagus, there to remain until my restored health 
allowed me to rejoin my regiment. 

I dreaded meeting the Dashwoods. I antici- 
pated with a heavy heart how effectually one pass- 
ing interview would destroy all my day-dreams of 
happiness, and I preferred anything to the sad con- 
viction of hopelessness such a meeting must lead to. 

While I thus balanced with myself how to pro- 
ceed, a gentle step came to the door, and, as it 
opened slowly, a servant in a dark livery entered. 

" Mr. O'Malley, sir?" 

" Yes," said I, wondering to whom my arrival 
could be thus early known. 

" Sir George Dashwood requests you will step 
over to him as soon as you get out," continued the 
man; "he is so engaged that he cannot leave 
home, but is most desirous to see you." 

" It is not far from here?" 

"No, sir; scarcely five minutes' walk." 

"Well, then, if you will show me the way, I'll 
follow you." 

I cast one passing glance at myself to see that 
all was right about my costume, and sallied forth. 

In the middle of the Black Horse square, at 
the door of a large, stone-fronted building, a 
group of military men were assembled, chatting 
and laughing away together; some reading the 
lately arrived English papers; others were loung- 
ing upon the stone parapet, carelessly puffing 
their cigars. None of the faces were known to 
me; so, threading my way through the crowd, I 
reached the steps. Just as I did so, a half -mut- 
tered whisper met my ear: 

"Who did you say?" 



380 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



"O'Malley, the young Irishman who behaved 
so gallantly at the Douro." 

The blood rushed hotly to my cheek; my heart 
bounded with exultation; my step, infirm and 
tottering but a moment before, became fixed and 
steady, and I felt a thrill of proud enthusiasm 
playing through my veins. How little did the 
speaker of those few and random words know 
what courage he had given to a drooping heart, 
what renewed energy to a breaking spirit! The 
voice of praise, too, coming from those to whom 
we had thought ourselves unknown, has a magic 
about it that must be felt to be understood. So 
it happened, that in a few seconds a revolution 
had taken place in all my thoughts and feelings, 
and I, who had left my quarters dispirited and 
depressed, now walked confidently and proudly 
forward. 

" Mr. O'Malley," said the servant to the ofifi- 
cer in waiting, as we entered the ante-chamber. 

"Ah! Mr. O'Malley," said the aide-de-camp, in 
his blandest accent, " I hope you're better. Sir 
George is most anxious to see you; he is at pres- 
ent engaged with the staff " 

A bell rang at the moment, and cut short the 
sentence; he (lew to the door of the inner room, 
and, returning in an instant, said, — 

" Will you follow me? 'I'his way, if you 
please." 

The room was crowded with general officers 
and aides-de-camp, so that for a second or two 1 
could not distinguish the parties; but no sooner 
was my name announced, than Sir George Dash- 
wood, forcing his way through, rushed forward to 
meet me. 

■' O'Malley, my brave fellow! delighted to shake 
your hand again! How much grown you are — 
twice the man I knew you! and the arm, too, is it 
getting on well ?" 

Scarcely giving me a moment to reply, and still 
holding ray hand tightly in his grasp, he intro- 
duced me on every side. 

" My young Irish friend. Sir Edward, tlie man 
of the Douro. My lord, allow me to present 
Lieutenant O'Malley, of the Fourteenth." 

" A very dashing thing, that of yours, sir, at 
Ciudad Rodrigo." 

" A very senseless one, I fear, my lord." 

"No, no, I don't agree with you at all; even 
when no great results follow, the morale of an 
army benefits by acts of daring." 

A running fire of kind and civil speeches 
poured in on me from all quarters, and, amid all 
that crowd of bronzed and war-worn veterans, I 
felt myself the lion of the moment. Craufurd, it 
appeared, had spoken most handsomely of mv 
name, and I was thus made known to many of 
those whose own reputations were then extending 
over Europe. 

In this happy trance of excited pleasure I passed 
the morning Amid the military chit-chat of the 
day around me, treated as an equal by the greatest 
and the most distinguished, I heard all the con- 
fidential opinions upon the campaign and its 
leaders; and in that most entrancing of all flat- 
teries — the easy tone of companionship of our 
elders and betters — forgot my griefs, and half be- 
lieved I was destined for great things. 



Fearing at length that I had prolonged my 
visit too far, I approached Sir George to take 
my leave, when, drawing my arm within his, he 
retired towards one of the windows. 

" A word, O'Malley, before you go. I've ar- 
ranged a little plan for you; mind, 1 shall insis:t 
upon obedience. They'll make some difficutiv 
about your remaining here, so that I have ap- 
pointed you one of our extra aides-de-cani)). 
That will free you from all trouble, and I shall 
not be very exacting in my demands upon you. 
You must, however, commence your duties to- 
day, and, as we dine at seven precisely, I shall 
expect you. I am aware of your wisii to stay in 
Lisbon, my boy, and, if all I hear be true, con- 
gratulate you sincerely; but more of this another 
time, and so good-by." So saying, he shook my 
hand once more, warmly; and, withe at well feel- 
ing how or why, I found myself in the street. 

The last few words Sir George had spoken 
threw a gloom over all my thoughts. I saw »t 
once that the report Power had alluded to had 
gained currency at Lisbon. Sir George believed 
it; doubtless, Lucy, too; and, forgetting in an 
inslant all the emulative ardor that so lately 
stirred my heart, I took my path beside the river, 
and sauntered slowly along, lost in my reflections. 

I had walked for above an hour, before jiay- 
ing any attention to the path I followed. Me- 
chanically, as it were, retreating from the noise 
and tumult of the city, I wandered towards the 
country. My liioughts fixed but upon one theme, 
I had neither ears nor eyes for aught around me; 
the great difficulty of my present position now 
appearing to me in this light — my attachment to 
Lucy Dashwood, unrequited and unreturned as I 
felt it, did not permit of my rebutting any report 
which might have reached her concerning Donna 
Inez. I had no right, no claim to suppose her 
sufficiently interested about me to listen to such 
an explanation, had I even the opportunity to 
make it. One thing was thus clear to me — all 
my hopes had ended in that quarter; and, as this 
conclusion sank into my mind, a species of 
dogged resolution to brave my fortune crept upon 
me, which only waited the first moment of my 
meeting her to overthrow and destroy forever. 

Meanwhile I walked on; now rapidly, as some 
momentary rush of passionate excitenjent, now 
slowly, as some depressing and gloomy notion 
succeeded; when suddenly my path was arrested 
by a long file of bullock cars which blocked up 
the way. Some chance squabble had arisen among 
the drivers, and, to avoid the crowd and col- 
lision, I turned into a gateway which opened beside 
me, and soon found myself in a lawn handsomely 
planted, and adorned with flowering shrubs and 
ornamental trees. 

In the half dreamy state my musings had 
brought me to, I struggled to recollect why the 
aspect of the place did not seem altogether new. 
My thoughts were, however, far away, now blend- 
ing some memory of my distant home with scenes 
of battle and bloodshed, or resting upon my first 
interview with her whose chance word, carelessly 
and lightly spoken, had written the story of my 
life. F'rom this reverie I was rudely awakened 
by a rustling noise in the trees behind me, and, 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



381 



before I could turn my head, the two fore-paws 
of a huge stag-hound were [ilanted upon my 
shoulders, while the open mouth and panting 
tongue were close beside my face. My day- 
dream was dispelled quick as lightning; it was 
Juan himself, tlie favorite dog of tlie senhora, who 
gave me this rude welcome, and who now, by a 
thousand wild gestures and bounding caresses, 
seemed to do the honors of his house. There 
was something so like home in these joyful greet- 
ings, that I yielded myself at once his prisoner, 
and toUovved, or rather was accompanied by him 
towards the villa. 

Of course, sooner or later, I should have called 
upon my kind friends, tlien why not now, when 
cliance had already brought me so near? Be- 
sides, if I held to my resolution, which I meant to 
do — of retiring to some quiet and sequestered 
cottage till my health was restored — the o])por- 
tunity might not readily present itself again. 
This line of argument perfectly satisfied my rea- 
son, while a strong feeling of something like 
curiosity piqued me to proceed, and, before many 
minutes elapsed, I reached the house. The door, 
as usual, lay wide open, and the ample hall, fur- 
nished like a sitting-room, had its customary litter 
of books, music, and flowers scattered upon the 
tables. My friend Juan, however, suffered me 
not to lingerhere, but, rushing furiously at a door 
before me, began a vigorous attack for admit- 
tance. 

As I knew this to be the drawing-room, I 
opened the door and walked in, but no one was to 
be seen; a half-open book lay upon an ottoman, 
and a fan, which I recognized as an old acquaint- 
ance, was beside it, but the owner was absent. 

I sat down, resolved to wait patiently for her 
coming, without any announcement of my being 
there. I was not sorry, indeed, to have some 
moments to collect my thoughts, and restore my 
erring faculties to something like order. 

As I looked about the room, it seemed as if I 
had been there but yesterday. The folding-door> 
lay open to the garden, just as I had seen them 
last; and, save that the flowers seemed fewer 
and those which remained of a darker and mon 
sombre tint, all seemed unchanged. There la\ 
the guitar, to whose thrilling chords my heart hao 
bounded; there, the drawing over which I had 
bent in admiring pleasure, suggesting some tints 
of light or shadow, as the fairy fingers traced 
them; every chair was known to me, and I 
greeted them as things I cared for. 

While thus I scanned each object around me, 
I was struck by a little china vase, which, unlike 
its other brethren, contained a bouquet of dead 
and faded flowers; tlie blood rushed to mv cheek , 
I started up; it was one I had myself presented 
to her the day before we parted. It was in that 
same vase I placed it; the very table too, stood 
in the same i)osition beside that narrow window 
What a rush of thoughts came pouring on nie! 
And oh! shall I confess it? how deeply did such 
a mute testimony of remembrance speak to my 
heart, at the moment that I felt myself unloved 
and uncared for by another! I walked hurriedly 
up and down; a maze of confliotinf resolves 
combating in my mind, while ^uc uiouyht ever 



recurred — " Would that I had not come therel" 
and yet, after all, it may mean nothing; some 
piece of passing coquetry, which she will be the 
very first to laugh at. I remembered how she 
sjioke of poor Howard; what folly to take it 
otherwise! "Be it so, then," said J, half aloud, 
" and now for my part of the game;" and with 
this I took from my pocket the light blue scarf 
she had given me the morning we parte'd, and, 
throwing it over my shoulder, prepared to per- 
form my part in what I had fully persuaded my- 
self to be a comedy. The time, however, passed 
on, and she came not; a thousand high-flown 
Portuguese phrases had time to be conned over 
again and again by me, and I had abundant 
leisure to enact my coming part; but still tl'^e 
curtain did not rise. As the day was wearing, I 
resolved at last to write a few lines, expressive 
of my regret at not meeting her, and promising 
myself an early opportunity of paying my respects 
under more fortunate circumstances. 1 sat down 
accordingly, and, drawing the paper towards me, 
began in a mixture of French and Portuguese, as 
it happened, to indite my billet. 

" Senhora Inez" — -no — '' Ma chere mademoi- 
selle Inez" — confound it, that's too intimate; 
well, here goes — '' Monsieur O'Malley presente 
ses respects" — that will never do; and, then, 
after twenty other abortive attempts, I began 
thoughtlessly sketching heads ujion the paper, 
and scribbling with wonderful facility in fifty dif- 
ferent ways — " Ma charmante amie — Ma plus 
chere Inez," etc., and in this most useful and 
profitable occupation did I pass another half 
hour. 

How long I should have persisted in such an 
employment it is difficult to say, had not an inci- 
dent intervened, which suddenly but most effect- 
ually put an end to it. As the circumstance is 
one which, however little striking in itself, had 
the greatest and most lasting influence upon my 
future career, I shall, perhaps, be excused in de- 
voting another chapter to its recital. 



CHAPTER LXXVII. 

A PLEASANT PREDICAMENT. 

As I sat vainly endeavoring to fix upon some 
suitable and appropriate epithet by which to 
commence my note, my back was turned towards 
the door of the garden; and so occupied was I 
in my meditations, that, even had any one en- 
tered at the time, in all probability I should not 
have perceived it. At length, however, I was 
aroused from my study by a burst of laughter, 
whose girlish joyousness was not quite new tome. 
I knew it well; it was the senhora herself; and 
the next moment I heard her voice. 

"I tell you, I'm quite certain I saw his face in 
the mirror as I passed. Oh, how delightful' and 
you'll be charmed with him; so, mind, you must 
not steal him from me; I shall never forgive you 
if you do, and look, only look! he has got the 
blue scarf I gave him when he marched to tha 
Douro." 



382 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON, 



While I perceived that I was myself seen, I 
could see nothing of the speaker, and, wishing to 
hear something further, appeared more than ever 
occupied in the writing before me. 

What her companion replied I could not, how- 
ever, catch, but only guess at its import by the 
senhora's answer. 

" Ft done! — I really am very fond of him; but 
never fear, I shall be as stately as a queen. You 
shall see how meekly he will kiss my hand, and 
with what unbending reserve I'll receive him." 

"Indeed!" thought I; "mayhap, I'll mar your 
plot a little; but let us listen." 

Again her friend spoke, but too low to be 
heard. 

" It is so provoking," continued Inez; " I never 
can remember names, and his was something too 
absurd; but, never mind, I shall make him a 
grandee of Portugal. Well, but come along, 
I long to present him to you." 

Here a gentle struggle seemed to ensue; for I 
heard the senliora coa.xingly entreat her, while 
her companion steadily resisted. 

" I know very well you think I shall be so silly, 
and perhaps wrong, eh, is it not so? but you're 
quite mistaken. You'll be surprised at my cold 
and dignified manner. I shall draw myself 
proudly up, thus, and curtseying deeply, say, 
^Af >;uieur, fai r/ionieur de voiis salu-r.' " 

A laugh twice as mirthful as before interrupted 
her account of herself, while I could hear the 
tones of her friend evidently in expostulation. 

" Well then, to be sure, you are provoking, but 
you really promise to follow me. Be it so; then 
give me that moss-rose. How you have fluttered 
me; now for it!" 

So saying, I heard her foot upon the gravel, 
and the next instant upon the marble step of the 
door. There is something in expectation that 
sets the heart beating, and mine throbbed against 
my side. I waited, however, till she entered, be- 
fore lifting mv head, and then springing 
suddenly up, with one bound elapsed her in my 
arms, and pressing my lips upon her roseate cheek, 
said. 

"A/a charmaiite awic/" To disengage herself 
from me, and to spring suddenly back, was her 
first effort; to burst into an immoderate fit of 
laughing, her second; her cheek was, however, 
covered with a deep blush, and I already repent- 
ed that my malice had gone so far. 

" Pardon, mademoiselle," said I, in affected in- 
nocence, "if I have so far forgotten myself as to 
assume a habit of my own country to a stranger." 

A half-angry toss of the head was her only re- 
ply, and, turning towards the garden, she called 
to \vix friend: 

" Come here, dearest, and instruct my ignorance 
upon your national customs; but first let me 
present to you — I never knew his name — the 
Chevalier de what is it?" 

The glass door opened as she spoke; a tall and 
graceful figure entered, and, turning suddenly 
round, showed me the features of Lucy Dash- 
wood. We both stood opposite each other, each 
mute with amazement. Afy feelings let me not 
attempt to convey; shame, for the first moment 
stronger than aught else, sent the blood rushing 



to my face and temples, and the next I was cold 
and pale as death. As for her, I cannot guess 
at what passed in her mind. She turtseyed 
deeply to me, and with a half-smile of scarce re- 
cognition passed by me, and walked towards a 
window. 

" Coinme vous ^tes ainiablc!" said the lively Por- 
tuguese, who comprehended little of this duuih 
show; "here have I been flattering mjself what 
friends you'd be the very moment you meet, and 
now you'll not even look at each other." 

What was to be done? 'J'he situation was every 
instant growing more and more embarrassing^ 
nothing but downright effrontery could cet 
through with it now; and nexer did a man's 
heart more fail him than did mine at this con- 
juncture. I made the effort, however, and stam- 
mered out certain unmeaning commonplaces. 
Inez rei^lied, and I felt myself conversing with 
the headlong recklessness of one inarching to a 
scaffold, a coward's fear at his heart while he es- 
sayed to seem careless and indifferent. 

Anxious to reach what I esteemed safe ground, 
I gladly adverted to the campaign; and, at last, 
hurried on by the impulse to co\er my embarrass- 
ment, was describing some skirmish with a French 
outpost. Without intending, I had succeeded in 
exciting the senhora's interest, and she listened 
with sparkling eye and parted lips to the descrip- 
tion of a sweeping charge in which a square was 
broken, and several prisoners carried off. Warm- 
ing with the eager avidity of her attention, I grew 
m\self more excited, when just as my narrative 
reached its climax, Miss Dashwood walked gently 
towards the bell, rang it, and ordered her car- 
riage. The tone of perfect iifliicJialaiice of tlie 
whole proceeding struck me dumb- I faltered, 
stammered, hesitated, and was silent. Donna 
Inez turned from one to the other of us w ith a 
look of unfeigned astonishment, and I heard her 
mutter to herself something like a reflection upcn 
" national eccentricities." Happily, however, her 
attention was now exclusively turned towards her 
friend, and while assisting her to shawl, and ex- 
torting innumerable promises of an early visit, I 
got a momentary reprieve; the carriage drew up 
also, and, as the gravel flew right and left beneath 
the horses' feet, the very noise and bustle relieved 
me. 

"Adias .'" then said Inez, as she kissed her for 
the last time, while she motioned to me to escort, 
her to her carriage. I advanced — stopped — made 
another step forward, and again grew irresolute; 
but Miss Dashwood speedily terminated the diffi- 
culty: for, making me a formal curtesy, she de- 
clined my scarce-proffered attention, and left the 
room. 

As she did so, I perceived that, on passing the 
table, her eyes fell upon the paper I had been 
scribbling over so long, and I thought that for an 
instant an expression of ineffable scorn seemed 
to pass across her features, save which — and per- 
haps even in this I was mistaken — her manner 
was perfectly calm, easy, and indifferent. 

Scarce had the carriage rolled from the door, 
when the senhora, throwing herself upon a chair, 
clapped her hands in childish ecstasy, while she 
fell into a fit of laughing that I thought would 




^//^Ay^^/^/-^'.^- *& %mi/^^< 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



38C 



never have an end. "Such a scene!" cried she; 
"I would not have lost it for the world; what 
cordiality! what empresseinent to form acquain- 
tance! I shall never forget it, Monsieur le Cheva- 
lier; your national customs seem to run sadly in 
extremes. One would have thought you deadly 
enemies; and poor me! after a tiiousand delight- 
ful plans ab'jut you both." 

As she ran on thus, scarce able to control her 
mirth at each sentence, I walked tjie room with 
impatient strides, now, resolving to hasten after 
the carriage, stop it, explain in a few words how 
all liad happened, and tlien fly from her forever; 
then, the remembrance of her cold, impassive 
look crossed me, and I thought that one bold leap 
into the Tagus might be the shortest and easiest 
solution to all my miseries; perfect abasement, 
thorough self-con tempt, had broken all my courage, 
and I could have cried like a child. Wliat I said, 
or how I comforted myself after, I know not; but 
my first consciousness came to me as I felt my- 
self running at the top of my speed far upon the 
road towards Lisbon. 



CH.\PTER LXXVIII. 



THE DINNER. 



It may easily be imagined that I had little 
inclination to keep my promise of dining that day 
with Sir George Dashwood. However, there was 
nothing else for it; the die was cast — my pros- 
pects as regarded Lucy were ruined forever. We 
were not, we never could be anything to each 
other; and as for me, the sooner I braved my 
altered fortunes the better; and, after all, why 
should I call them altered. She evidently never 
had cared for me; and even supposing that my 
fervent declaration of attachment had interested 
her, the apparent duplicity and falseness of my 
late conduct could only fall the more heavily 
upon me. 

I endeavored to philosophize myself into calm- 
ness and indifference. One by one I exhausted 
every argument for my defence, which, however 
ingeniously put forward, brought no comfort to 
my own conscience. 1 pleaded the unerring de- 
votion of my heart — the uprightness of my mo- 
tives — and when called on for the proofs — alas! 
except the bhi_- scarf I wore in memory of another, 
and my absurd conduct at the villa, I had none. 
From the current gossip of Lisbon, down to my 
own disgraceful folly, all — all was against me. 

Honesty of intention — rectitude of purpose, 
may be, doubtless they are, admirable supports 
to a rightly constituted mind; but even then they 
must come supported by such claims to proba- 
bility as make the injured man feel he has not 
lost the sympathy of all his fellows. Now, I had 
none of these, had even my temperament, broken 
by sickness and harassed by unlucky conjectures, 
permitted my appreciating them. 

I endeavored to call my wounded pride to my 
aid, and thought over the glance of haughty dis- 
dain she gave me as she passed on to her carriage; 
but even this turned against me, and a humiliat- 



ing sense of my own degraded position sark 
deeply into my heart. "' This impression at least," 
thought I, "must be effaced. I cannot permit 
her to believe " 

" His Excellency is waiting dinner, sir," said a 
lacquey, introducing a finely-powdered head gen- 
tly within the door. I looked at my watch; it 
was eight o'clock; so, snatching my sabre and 
shocked at my delay, I hastily followed the 
servant down-stairs, and thus at once cut short 
my deliberations. 

The man must be but little observant, or 
deeply sunk in his own reveries, who, arriving 
half an hour too late for dinner, fails to detect 
in the faces of the assembled and expectant 
guests a very palpable expression of discontent 
and displeasure. It is truly a moment of awkward- 
ness, and one in which few are found to manage 
with success; the blushing, hesitating, blunder- 
ing apology of the' absent man, is scarcely better 
than the ill-affected surprise of the more prac- 
tised offender. The bashfulness of the one is 
as distasteful as the cool impertinence of the 
other; both are so thorough!)' out of place, for 
we are thinking of neither; our thoughts are 
wandering to cold soups and rechauffe'd pdiUs, 
and we neither care for nor estimate the cause, 
but satisfy our spleen by cursing the offender. 

Happily for me I was clad in a triple insens- 
ibility to such feelings, and with an air of the 
most perfect unconstraint and composure walked 
into a drawing-room where about twenty persons 
were busily discussing what peculiar amiability in 
my character could compensate for my present 
conduct. 

"At last, O'Malley, at last!" said Sir George. 
" Why, my dear boy, how very late you are!" 

I muttered soiiiething about a long walk- — dis- 
tance from Lisbon, etc. 

" Ah' that was it. I was right, you see," said 
an old lady, in a spangled turban, as she whis- 
pered something to her friend beside her, who 
appeared excessively shocked at the information 
conveyed; while a fat, round-faced little general, 
after eyeing me steadily through his glass, ex- 
pressed a so/to voce wish that I was upon Lis 
staff. I felt niy cheek reddening at the moment, 
and stared around me like one whose trials were 
becoming downright insufferable, when happily 
dinner was announced, and terminated my em- 
barrassment. 

As the ])arty filed past, I perceived that Miss 
Dashwood was not amongst them; and, with a 
heart relieved for the moment by the circum- 
stance, and inventing a hundred conjectures to 
account for it, I followed with the aides-de-camp 
and the staff to the dinner-room. 

The temperament is very Irish, I believe, 
which renders a man so elastic that, from the ex- 
treme of depression to the very climax of high 
spirits, there is but one spring. To this I myself 
plead guilty, and thus, scarcely was I freed from 
the embarrassiTient which a meeting with Lucy 
Dashwood must have caused, when my heart 
bounded with lightness. 

When the ladies Avithdrew, the events of the 
campaign became the subject of conversation, 
and upon these, very much to my astonishment, 



jy4 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



I found myself consulted as an authority. The 
UoLiro, from some fortunate circumstance, had 
f'lven me a reputation I never dreamed of, and I 
heard my opinions quoted upon topics of which 
my standing as an officer and my rank in the 
service could not imply a very extended observ- 
ation. Power was absent on duty; and, happily 
for my supremacy, the company consisted en- 
tirely of generals in the commissariat, or new 
arrivals from England, all of whom knew still 
less than myself. 

What will not iced champagne and flattery do? 
singly, they are strong impulses; combined, their 
power is irresistible. I now heard for the first 
time, that our great leader had been elevated to 
t!ie peerage by the title of Lord Wellington, and 
1 sincerely believe — however now I may smile at 
the confession — that, at the moment, I felt more 
elation at the circumstance than he did. The 
glorious sensation of being in any way, no mat- 
ter how remotely, linked with the career of those 
whose path is a high one, and whose destinies 
are cast for great events, thrilled through me; 
and, in all the warmth of my admiration and 
pride for our great captain, a secret pleasure 
stirred within me as I whispered to myself, "And 
I, too, am a soldier!" 

I fear me that very little flattery is sufificient to 
turn the head of a young man of eighteen; and 
if I yielded to the " pleasant incense," let my 
apology be, that I was not used to it; and, lastly, 
let me avow, if I did get tipsy — I liked tiie 
liquor. And why not? It is the only tipple 1 
know of that leaves no headache the next morn- 
ing, to punish you for the glories of the past 
night. It ma/, like all other strong potations, it 
ii true, induce you to make a fool of yourself 
when under its influence; but, like the nitrous 
o>Lide gas, its effects are passing, and as the 
pleasure is an ecstasy for the time, and your con- 
stitution none the worse w^hen it is over, I really 
see no harm in it. 

Then the benefits are manifest; for while he 
who gives becomes never the poorer for his 
l)enevolence, the receiver is made rich indeed. 
It matters little that some dear, kind friend is 
ready with his bitter draught, to remedy what he 
is [jleased to call its unwholesome sweetness; you 
betake yourself with only the more pleasure to 
the " blessed elixir," whose fascinations neither 
the poverty of your pocket, nor the penury of 
your brain, can withstand, and by the magic of 
whose spell you are great and gifted. "Vive la 
bagatelle!" saith the Frenchman. "Long live 
Flattery!" say I, come from what quarter it will; 
the only wealth of the poor man — the only re- 
ward of the unknown one; the arm that supports 
us in failure — the hand that crowns us in suc- 
cess; the comforter in our affliction — the gay 
companion in our hours of pleasure; the lullaby 
of the infant — the staff of old age; the secret 
treasure we lock up in our own hearts, and which 
ever grows greater as we count it over. Let me 
not be told that the coin is fictitious, and the gold 
not genuine; its clink is as musical to the ear as 
though it bore the last impression of the mint, 
and I'm not the man to cast an aspersion upon 
its value. 



This little digression, however seemingly out 
of place, may serve to illu-.;rate what it might be 
difficult to convey in other words — namely, that 
if Charles O'Malley became, in his own estima- 
tion, a very considerable personage that day at 
dinner, the fault lay not entirely with himself, but 
with his friends, who told him he was such. In 
fact, my good reader, I was the lion of the party 
— the man who saved Laborde — who charged 
through a brigade of guns — ^\ho performed feats 
which newspapers quoted, though he never heard 
of them himself. At no time is a man so success- 
ful in society as when his reputation heralds him, 
and it needs liut little conversational eloquence 
to talk well, if you have but a willing and ready 
auditory. Of mine, I could certainly not com- 
plain; and as, drinking deeply, I poured forth a 
whole tide of campaigning recital, I saw the old 
colonels of recruiting districts exchanging looks 
of wonder and admiration with cfficers of the ord- 
nance, while Sir George himself, evidently pleased 
at my debut, went back to an early period of our 
acquaintance, and related the rescue of his 
daughter in Galvvay. 

In an instant, the whole current of my thoughts 
was changed. My first nieeting with Lucy, my 
boyhood's dream of ambition, my plighted faith, 
my thought of our last parting in Dublin, when, 
in a moment of excited madness, I told my tale of 
love. I remembered her downcast look, as, her 
cheek now flushing, new growing pale, she trem- 
bled while 1 spoke. I thought of her, as in the 
crash of battle her image flashed across my brain, 
and made me feel a rush of chivalrous enthusiasm 
to win her heart by " doughty deeds." 

I forgot all around and about me. My heart 
reeled, the wine, the excitement, my long previ- 
ous illness, all j)ressed upon me; and, as my tem- 
ples throbbed loudly and painfully, a chaotic rush 
of discordant, ill-connected ideas flitted across 
my mind. There seemed some stir and confusion 
in the room, but why or wherefore I could not 
think; nor could I recall my scattered senses, till 
Sir George Dashwood's voice roused me once 
again to consciousness. 

" We are going to have some coffee, O'Malley. 
Miss Dashwood expects us in the drawing-icom. 
You have not seen her yet?" 

I know not my reply; but he continued: 

"She has some letters for you, I think." 

I muttered something, and suffered him to pass 
on; no sooner had he done so, however, than I 
turned towards the door, and rushed into the 
street. The cold night air suddenly recalled me 
to myself, and I stood for a moment, endeavoring 
to collect myself; as I did so, a servant stopped, 
and, saluting me, presented me with a letter. For 
a second, a cold chill came over me; I knew not 
what fear beset me. The letter I at last remem- 
bered must be that one alluded to by Sir George, 
so I took it in silence, and walked on. 



CHAPTER LXXIX. 

THE LETTER. 

As I hurried to my quarters, I made a hundred 



CHARLES OMALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



385 



'Tiiesses from whom the letter could have come; 
a. kind of presentiment told me that it bore, in 
some measure, upon tiie present crisis of my hfe, 
and I burned with anxiety to read it. 

No sooner had I reached the hght, than all my 
iiopes on this head vanished; the envelope bore 
the well-known name of my old college chum, 
Frank Webber, and none could, at the moment, 
have more completely dispelled all chance of in- 
teresting me. 1 threw it from me with disap- 
pointment, and sat moodily down to brood over 
my fate. 

At length, however, and almost without know- 
ing it, I drew the lamp towards me, and broke the 
seal. The reader being already acquainted with 
my amiable friend, there is the less indiscretion 
in communicating the contents, which ran thus: 

"Trinity College, Dublin, No. 2, 
Oct. 5, 1810. 

" My dear O'M alley, — Nothing short of your 
death and burial, with or without military honors, 
can possibly e.x:cuse your very disgraceful neglect 
of your old friends here. Nesbitt has never 
heard of you, neither has Smith. Ottlty swears 
never to have seen your handwriting, save on the 
back of a protested bill. You have totally for- 
gotten mf, and the dean informs me that you 
have never condescended a single line to him; 
which latter inquiry on my part nearly cost me a 
rustication. 

'"A hundred conjectures to account for your 
silence — a new feature in you since you were 
iiere — are afloat. Some assert that your soldier- 
ing has turned your head, and. that you are above 
corresponding with civilians. Your friends, how- 
ever, who know you better, and value your 
worth, think otherwise; and having seen a para- 
graph about a certain O'Malley being tried by 
court-martial for stealing a goose, and maltreat- 
ing the woman that owned it, ascribe your not 
writing to other motives. Do, in any case, re- 
lieve our minds; say, is it yourself, or only a rela- 
tive that's mentioned.'' 

" Herbert came over from London with a long 
story about your doing wonderful things — cap- 
turing cannon and general officers by scores — 
but devil a word of it is extant; and if you have 
really committed these acts, they have 'misused 
the king's press damnably,' for neither in the 
Times nor the Post are you heard of. Answer 
this point, and say also if you have got promo- 
tion; for what precise sign you are algebraically 
expressed by at this writing, may serve Fitzgerald 
for a fellowship question. .\s for us, we are 
jogging along, seinpe?- eidem — that is, worse and 
worse. Dear Cecil Cavendish, our gifted friend, 
slight of liiub and soft of voice, has been rustic- 
ated for immersing four bricklayers in that green 
receptacle of stagnant water and duckweed, 
yclept the ' Haha.' Roper, equallv unlucky, has 
taken to reading for honors, and obtained a 
medal, I fancy — at least his friends shy him, and 
it must be something of that kind. Belson — 
poor Belson (fortunately for him he v/as born in 
the nineteenth not the sixteenth century, or he'd 
be most likely ornamenting a pile of fagots) — ■ 
ventured upon some stray excursions into the 



Hebrew verbs — the professor himself never 
having transgressed be) end the declensions — 
and the consequence is, he is in disgrace among 
the seniors. And as for me, a heavy charge 
hangs over my devoted head even while I write. 
The senior lecturer, it appears, has been for 
some time instituting some very singular re- 
searches into the original state of our goodly 
college at its founding. Plans and specifications 
showing its extent and magnificence have been 
continually before the board for the last month; 
and in such repute have been a smashed door-sill 
or an old arch, that freshmen have now aban- 
doned conic sections for crowbars, and instead of 
the 'Principia' have taken up the pickaxe. You 
know, my dear fellow, with what enthusiasm I 
enter into any scheme for the aggrandizement of 
our Alma Mater, so I need not tell you how 
ardently I adventured into the career now opened 
to me. My time was completely devoted to the 
matter; neither means nor health did I spare, 
and in my search for antiquarian lore, I 
have actually undermined the old wall of the 
fellows' garden, and am each morning in ex- 
pectation of hearing that the big bell near the 
commons-hall has descended from its lofty and 
most noisy eminence, and is sungly reposing in 
the mud. Meanwhile, accident put me in pos- 
session of a most singular and remarkable dis- 
covery. Our chambers — I call them ours for old 
association sake — are, you may remember, in 
the Old Square. Well, I have been fortunate 
enough, within the very precincts of my own 
dwelling, to contribute a very wonderful fact to 
the history of the University; alone — unassisted 
— unaided, I labored at my discovery. Few can 
estimate the pleasure I felt — the fame and repu- 
tation I anticipated. I drew up a little memoir 
for the board, most respectfully and civilly 
worded, having for title the following: 

" ■ Account 

Of a remarkable Subterranean Passage lately discovered in 

tlie 

Old Building of Tiinily College, Dublin: 

With observations upon its Extent, .'\ntiqiiily, and Probable 

Use. 

By F. Webber, Senior Freshman .' 

"My dear O'Malley, I'll dwell upon the pride 
I felt in my new character of antiquarian; it is 
enough to state, that my very remarkable tract 
was well considered and received, and a com- 
mission appointed to investigate the discovery, 
consisting of the vice-provost, the senior lec- 
turer, old Woodhouse, the sub-dean, and a few 
more. 

" On Tuesday last they came accordingly, in 
full academic costume, I being habited most ac- 
curately in the like manner, and conducting them 
with all form into my bedroom, where a large 
screen concealed from view the entrance to the 
tunnel alluded to. Assuming a very John 
Kembleish attitude, I struck this down with one 
hand, pointing with the other to the wall, as I ex- 
claimed, 'There! look there!' 

"I need only quote Barret's exclamation to 
enlighten you upon my discovery, as drawing m 
his breath with a strong effort, he burst out: 



386 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



"'May the devil admire me, but it's a rat- 
hole!' 

" I fear, Charley, he's right, and, what's more, 
that the board will think so, for this moment a 
very warm discussion is going on among that 
amiable and learned body, whether I shall any 
longer remain an ornament to the University. 
In fact, the terror with wjiich they fled from my 
chambers, overturning each other in the passage, 
seemed to imply that they thought me mad; and 
I do believe my voice, look, and attitude would 
not have disgraced a bUie cotton dressing-gown 
and a cell in ' Swift's.' Be this as it may, few 
men have done more for college than I have. 
The sun never stood still for Joshua with more 
resolution than I have rested in my career of 
freshman; and if I have contributed little to the 
fame, I have done much for the fimds of the 
University; and when they come to compute the 
various sums I have paid in, for fines, penalties, 
and what they call properly ' impositions,' if 
they don't place a portrait of me in the examina- 
tion-hall, between Archbishop Ussher and Flood, 
then do I say there is no gratitude in mankind, 
not to mention the impulse I have given to the 
various artisans whose business it is to repair 
lamps, windows, chimneys, iron railings, and 
watchmen, all of which I have devoted myself to, 
with an enthusiasm for political economy well 
known, and registered in the College-street 
police-office. 

"After all, Charley, I miss you greatly. Your 
second in a ballad is not to be replaced; besides, 
Carlisle Bridge has got low; medical students 
and young attorneys affect minstrelsy, and actu- 
ally frequent the haunts sacred to our mu«;e. 

"Dublin is, upon the whole, I think, worse; 
though one scarcely ever gets tired laughing at 
the small celebrities " 

Master Frank gets here indiscreet, so I shall 
skip. 



* 
* 



* 
* 



* 
* 



"And so the Dashwoods are going too; this 
will make mine a pitiable condition, for I really 
did begin to feel tender in that quarter. You 
may have heard that she refused me; this, how- 
ever, is not correct, though I have little doubt it 
might have been — had I asked her. 

" Hammersley has, you know, got his dismissal, 
I wonder how the poor fellow took it, when Power 
gave him back his letters and his picture. How 
you are to be treated remains to be seen, in any 
case, you certainly stand first favorite." 

I laid down the letter at this passage, unable to 
read further. Here, then, was the solution of the 
whole: chaosof mystery — -here the full e.xplanation 
of what had puzzled my aching brain for many a 
night long. These were the very letters I had 
myself delivered into Hammersley's hands; this the 
picture he had trodden to dust beneath his heel 
the morning of our meeting. I now felt the reason 
of his taunting allusion to my "success," his cut- 
ting sarcasm, his intemperate passion. A flood of 
light poured at once across all the dark passages 
of my history; and Lucy, too — dare I think of 
her? A rapid thpught shot through my brain. 



What if she had really cared for me! What, if 
for me she had rejected another's love! What, 
if, trusting to my faith — my pledged and sworn 
faith — she had given me her heart' Oh! the bit- 
ter agony of that thought, to think that all my 
hopes were shipwrecked, with the very land in 
sight. 

I sprang to my feet with some sudden impulse, 
but as I did so, the blood rushed madly to my 
face and temples, which beat violently; a ])arched 
and swollen feeling came about my throat; I en- 
deavored to open my collar and undo my stock. 
but my disabled arm prevented me. I tried to 
call my servant, but my utterance was thick, and 
my words would not come: a frightful suspicion 
crossed me that my reason was tottering. 1 made 
towards the door, but as 1 did so, ihe objects 
around me became confused and mingled, my 
limbs trembled, and I fell heavily ujion the flcor; 
a pang of dreadful pain shot through nie as I fell 
— my arm was rebroken. After this, I knew 
no more; all the accumulated excittment of ihe 
evening bore down with one fell s\\(;oi) upon my 
brain; — ere day broke I was delirious. 

I have a vague and indistinct rtmembrance of 
hurried and anxious faces around my bed, of 
whispered words and sorrowful looks; but my 
own thoughts careered over the bold hills of the 
far west as I trod them in my boyhood, free and 
high of heart.; or recurred to the din and crash of 
the battle-field, with the mad bounding of the 
war horse, and the loud clang of the trumpet; 
perhaps the acute pain of my swollen and suffering 
arm gave the character to my mental aberration; 
for I have more .than once obseived among the 
wounded in battle, that even whtntorn and man- 
gled by grape from a howitzer, iheir ravings have 
partaken of a high feature of enthusiasm, shouts 
of triumph, and exclamations of pleasure; even 
songs have I heaid — but never once the low mut- 
tering of despair, or the half-stifled cry of sorrow 
and afPiiction. 

Such were the few gleams of consciousness 
which visited me, and even to such as these I soon 
became insensible. 

Few like to chronicle, fewer still to read, the 
sad history of a sick-bed. Of mine, I know but 
little. The throbbing pulses of the erring brain, 
the wild fancies of lunacy, take no note of time. 
There is no past nor future — a dreadful present, 
full of its hurried and confused impressions, is all 
that the mind beholds; and even when some 
gleams of returning reason flash upon the mad 
confusion of the brain, they cfiMe like sunbeams 
through a cloud, dimmed, darkened, and per- 
verted. 

It is the restless activity of the mind in fe^ er 
that constitutes its most painful anguish; the fasi 
flitting thoughts that rushed ever onward, crowd- 
ing sensation on sensation, an er.dless train c f 
exciting images, without purpose or repose; or 
even worse, the straining effort to pursue some 
vague and shadowy conception, which evades us 
ever as we follow, but which mingles with all 
around and about us — haunting us at midniglit as 
in the noontime. 

Of this nature was a vision which came con- 
stantly before me, till at length, by its very recur- 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



:387 



rence, it assumed a kind of real and palpable ex- 
istence; and, as I watched it, my heart thrilled 
with the high ardor of enthusiasm and delight, or 
sunk into the dark abyss of sorrow and despair. 
"The dawning of the morn, the daylight sinking," 
brought no other image to my aching sight; and 
of this alone, of all the impressions of the period, 
has my mind retained any consciousness. 

Methought I stood witiiin an old and venera- 
ble calhedraj, where the dim yellow light fell with 
a rich but solemn glow upon the fretted capitals, 
or the grotesque tracings of the oaken carvings, 
lighting up the faded gildings of the stately mon- 
uments, and tinting the varied hues of time-worn 
banners. The mellow notes of the deep organ 
filled the air, and seemed to attune the sense to 
all the awe and reverence of the place, where the 
very footfall, magnified by its many echoes, 
seemed half a profanation. I stood before an 
altar, beside me a young and lovely girl, whose 
bright brown tresses waved in loose masses upon 
a neck of snowy whiteness; her hand, cold and 
pale, rested within my own; we knelt together: 
not in prayer, but a feeling of deep reverence 
stole over my heart, as ehe repeated some few 
half-uttered words after me; 1 knew that she was 
mine. Oh! the ecstasy of that moment, as, 
springing to my feet, I darted forward to press 
her to my heart! when suddenly, an arm was in- 
terposed between us, while a low but solemn 
voice rung in my ears, " Stir not! for thou art 
false and traitorous, thy vow a perjury, and thy 
heart a lie!" Slowly and silently the fair form 
of my loved Lucy — for it was her — receded from 
my sight. One look, one last look of sorrow — it 
was scarce re|)roach — fell upon me, and I sank 
back upon the cold pavement broken-hearted and 
forsaken. 

This dream came with daybreak, and with the 

calm repose of evening, the still hours of the 

waking night brought no other image to my eyes, 

and when its sad influence had spread a gloom 

and desolation over my wounded heart, a secret 

hope crept over me, that again the bright moment 

of happiness would return, and once more beside 

that ancient altar I'd kneel beside my bride, and 

call her mine. 

****** 

****** 

For the rest, my memory retanis but little: the 
kind looks which came around my bedside brought 
but a brief pleasure, for in their affectionate 
beaming I could read the gloomy prestige of my 
fate. The hurried but cautious step, the whis- 
pered sentences, the averted gaze of those who 
sorrowed for me, sank far deeper into my heart 
than my friends then thought of. Little do they 
think, wlio minister to the sick or dying, how 
each passing word, each flitting glance is noted, 
and how the pale and stilly figure, which lies all 
but lifeless before them, counts over the hours he 
has to live by the smiles or tears around him! 

Hours, days, weeks rolled over, and still my 
fate hung in the balance; and while in the wild 
enthusiasm of my erring faculties I wandered far 
in spirit from my bed of suffering and pain, soine 
well-remembered voice beside me would strike 
upon my ear, bringing me back, as if by magic. 



to all the realities of life, and investing my al- 
most unconscious state with all the hopes and 
fears about me. 

One by one, at length, these fancies fled from 
me, and to the delirium of fever succeeded the 
sad and helpless consciousness of illness, far, far 
more depressing; for as the conviction of sense 
came back, the sorrowful aspect of a dreary 
future came with it. 



CHAPTER LXXX. 



THE VILLA. 



The gentle twilight of an autumnal evening, 
calm, serene and mellow, was falling as 1 opened 
my eyes to consciousness of life and being, and 
looked around me. I lay in a large and liand- 
somely furnished apartment, in which the hand 
of taste was as evident in all the decorations as 
the unsparing employment of wealth: the silk 
draperies of my bed, the inlaid tables, the ormolu 
ornaments which glittered upon the chimney, 
were one by one so many puzzles to my erring 
senses, and I opened and shut my eyes again and 
again, and essayed by every means in my power 
to ascertain if they were not the visionary crea- 
tions of a fevered, mind. I stretched out my 
hands to feel the objects; and even while holding 
the freshly-plucked flowers in my grasp I could 
scarcely persuade myself that they were real. A 
thrill of pain at this instant recalled me to other 
thoughts, and I turned my eye upon my wounded 
arm, which, swollen and stiffened, lay motionless 
beside me. Gradually, my memory came back, 
and to my weak faculties some passages of my 
former life were presented, not collectedly, it is 
true, nor in any order, but scattered, isolated 
scenes. While such thoughts flew past, my ever 
rising question to myself was, " Where am I now?" 
The vague feeling which illness leaves upon the 
mind, whispered to me of kind looks and soft 
voices; and I had a dreamy consciousness about 
me of being watched, and cared for, but where- 
fore, or by whom, I knew not. 

From a partly open door w hich led into a gar- 
den, a mild and balmy air fanned my temples, 
and soothed my heated brow; and as the light 
curtain waved to and fro with the breeze, the 
odor of the rose and the orange-tree filled the 
a|)artment. 

There is something in the feeling of weakness 
which succeeds to long illness of the most deli- 
cious and refined enjo} nient. The spirit, emerg- 
ing as it were from the thraldom cf its grosser 
prison, rises high and triumphant L.bo\e the 
meaner thoughts and more petty ambitions of 
daily life. Purer feelings, more ennobling hopes 
succeed; and gleams of our childhood, mingling 
with our promises for the future, make up an 
ideal existence, in which the low passions and 
cares of ordinary life enter not or are forgotten. 
'Tis then we learn to hold converse with our- 
selves; 'tis then we ask how has our manhood 
performed the promises of its youth? or, have 
our ripened prospects borne out the pledges of 



:J88 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



our boyhood ? 'Tis then, in the calm justice of 
our lonely hearts, we learn how our failures are 
but another name for our faults, and that what 
we looked on as the vicissitudes of fortune, are 
l)ut the fruits of our own vices. Alas, how short- 
lived are such intervals! Like the fitful sunshine 
in the wintry sky, they throw one bright and joy- 
ous tint over the dark landscape; for a moment 
the valley and the mountain-top are bathed in a 
ruddy glow; the leafless tree and the dark moss 
seem to feel a touch of spring; but the next in- 
stant it is past; the lowering clouds and dark 
shadows intervene, and the cold blast, the moan- 
ing wind, and the dreary waste are once more be- 
fore us. 

I endeavored to recall the latest events of my 
career, but in vain; the real and the visionaiy 
were ine.xtricably mingled; and the scenes of my 
campaigns were blended with hopes, and fears, and 
doubts, which had no existence save in my dreams. 
My curiosity to know where I was grew now my 
strongest feeling, and I raised myself with one 
arm, to look around me. In the room all was 
still and silent, but nothing seemed to intimate 
what I sought for. As I looked, however, the 
wind blew back the curtain which half concealed 
the sash-door, and disclosed to me the figure of 
a man, seated at a table; his back was towards 
uie; but his broad sombrero hat and brown man- 
tle bespoke his nation; the light blue curl of 
smoke which wreathed gently upwards, and the 
ample display of long-necked, straw-wrapped 
llasks, also attested that he was enjoving himself 
with true Peninsular gusto, having probably par- 
taken of a long siesta. 

It was a perfect picture in its way of the indo- 
lent luxury of the South; the rich and ])erfunied 
flowers, half-closing to the night air, but sighing 
forth a perfumed Inionas noches as they betook 
themselves to rest; the slender shadows of the 
tall shrubs, stretching motionless across the walks, 
the very attitude of the figure himself was in 
keeping, as, supported by easy chairs, he lounged 
at full length, raising his head ever and anon, as 
if to watch the wreath of eddying smoke as it 
rose upwards from'iiis cigar, and melted away in 
the distance. 

"Yes," thought I, as I looked for some time, 
" such is the very type of his nation. Surrounded 
by every luxury of climate, blessed with all that 
earth can offer of its best and fairest, and yet 
only using such gifts as mere sensual gratifica- 
tions." Starting with this theme, I wove a whole 
story from the unknown personage, whom, in my 
wandering fancy, I began by creating a grandee 
lit Portugal, invested with rank, honors, and 
riches; but who, effeminated by the habits and 
usages of his country, had become the mere idle 
voluptuary, living a life of easy and inglorious 
indolence. My further musings were interrupted 
at this moment, for the individual to whom I had 
been so complimentary in my reverie, slowly 
arose from his recumbent position, flung his 
loose mantle carelessly across his left shoulder, 
and, pushing open the sash-door, entered my 
chamber. Directing his steps to a Lirge minor, 
he stood for some minutes contemplating himself 
with what, from his attitude. 1 judged to be no 



small satisfaction. Though his back was still to- 
wards me, and the dim twilight of the room too 
uncertain to see much, yet I could perceive that 
he was evidently admiring himself in the glass. 
Of this fact I had soon the most complete proof; 
for as I looked, he slowly raised his broad-leafed 
Spanish hat, with an air of most imposing preten- 
sion, and bowed re\erently to himself. 

^^Coine sta rostra, sino/ia?" said he. 

The whole gesture and style of this proceeding 
struck me as so ridiculous, that, in spite of all my 
efforts, I could scarcely repress a laugh. He 
turned quickly round, and approached the bed. 
The deep shadow of the sombrero darkened the 
upper part of his features, but I could distinguish 
a |)air of fierce-looking moustaches beneath, « hich 
curled upwards towards his eyes, while a stiff 
point beard stuck straight from his chin. Fear- 
ing lest my rude interruption had been over- 
heard, I was framing some polite speech in Por- 
tuguese, when he opened the dialogue by asking 
in that language how I did. 

1 replied, and was about to ask some questions 
relative to wliere, and under whose protection I 
then was, when my grave-looking friend, giving 
a pirouette upon one leg, sent his hat flying into 
the air, and cried out in a voice that not even 
my memory could fail to recognize, 

" By the rock of Cashel, he's cured! he's cured! 
— the fever's over! Oh, Master Charles, dear! 
oh, master, darling! and you ain't mad, after 
all ?" 

"Mad! no, faith! but I shrewdly suspect you 
must be." 

■'Oh, devil a taste! but spake to me, honey — • 
spake to me, acushla." 

" Where am I ? Whose house is this? U'hat 
do you mean by that disguise — that bearf! " 

'■ Whisht, I'll tell you all, av you have ]jatience; 
but are you cured? — tell me that first; sure they 
was going to cut the arm off you, till you got out 
of bed, and with your pistols, sent them flying, 
oije out of the window and the other down-stairs; 
and I bate the little chap with the saw myself 
till he couldn't know himself in the glass." 

While Mike ran on at this rate, I never took 
my eyes from him, and it was all my poor facul- 
ties w-ere equal to, to convince myself tliat the 
whole scene was not some vision of a wandering 
intellect. Gradually, however, the well-known 
features recalled me to myself, and, as my doubts 
gave way at length, I laughed long and heartily 
at the masquerade absurdity of his appearance. 

Mike, meanwhile, whose face expressed no 
small mistrust at the sincerity of my niirtlc, hav- 
ing uncloaked himself, proceeded to lay aside 
his beard and moustaches, saying, as he did so, 

"There now, darling; there now, master, dear; 
don't be grinning that way; I'll not be a Porti- 
gee any more, av you'll be quiet and listen to 
reason." 

" But, Mike, where am I ? Answer me that 
one question." 

" You're at home, dear; where else would vou 
be?" 

"At home?" said I, with a start, as my eye 
ranged over the various articles of luxury and 
elegance around, so unlike the more simple and 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



•S8d 



unpretending features of my uncle's house — "at 
home?" 

"Av, just so; sure, isn't it tlie same thing. 
It's ould Don Emanuel that owns it; and won't 
it he your own — when you're married to that 
lovely crayture herself ?" 

I started up, and j)lacing my hand upon my 
throbbing temple, asked myself if I were really 
awake; or if some flight of fancy had not carried 
me away bej'ond the bounds of reason and sense. 
"Go on, go on!" said I, at length, in a hollow 
voice, anxious to gather from his words something 
like a clue to this mystery. "How did this 
happen?" 

"Av ye mean how you came here, faith, it was 
just this way: After you got the faver, and beat 
the doctors, devil a one would go near you but 
myself and the major. 

" The major — Major Monsoon?" 

" No, Major Power himself. Well, he told your 
friends up here how it was going very hard with 
you, and that you were like to die; and the same 
evening they sent down a beautiful litter, as like a 
hearse as two peas, for you, and brought you up 
here in state; devil a thing was wanting but a few 
])eoi)le to raise the cry to make it as fine a funeral 
as ever I seen; and sure f set up a whillilew my- 
self in the Black Horse square, and the devils 
only laughed at me. 

"Well, you see they put you into a beautiful, 
elegant bed, and the young lady herself sat down 
beside you, betune times fanning you with a big 
fan, and then drying her eyes, for she was weep- 
ing like a waterfall. '' Don Ali^uel,' says she to 
me — for, ye see, I put your cloak on by mistake 
when I was leaving the quarters — ' Don Mi;:^uti, 
<]ueita hidalgo e 7<ostro aniigoV 

"'My most particular friend,' says I; 'God 
spare him many years to be so.' 

"'Then take up your quarters here,' said she, 
'and don't leave him; we'll do everything in our 
power to make you comfortable.' 

" ' I'm not particular,' says I; 'the run of the 
house -' " 

"Then this is the Villa Nuo\a?" said I, with a 
faint sigh. 

" Tlie same," replied Mike; " and a sweet jtlace 
it is for eating and drinking — for wine in buckets- 
ful, av ye a.xed for it — for dancing and singing 
every evening, with as pretty craytures as ever I 
set eyes upon. Upon my conscience, it's as good 
as Galway, and good manners it is tiiey have. 
What's more, none of your liberties nor familiari- 
ties with strangers, but it's Don Miguel, devil a 
less. ' Don Miguel, av it's plazing to you to take 
a drop of Xeres before your meat?' — or, 'Would 
you have a shaugh of a pipe or cigar when you're 
done?' That's the way of it." 

"And Sir George Dashwood," said I, "has he 
been here? has he inquired for me?" 

"Every day, either himself or one of the staff 
comes galloping up at luncheon-time to ask after 
you; and then they have a bit of tender discoorse 
with the senhora herself. Oh! devil a bit need 
ye fear them, she's true blue; and it isn't the 
major's fault^upon mv conscience it isn't; for 
he does be coming the blarney over her in beau- 
tiful style." 



" Does Miss Dashwood ever visit here?" said 1, 
with a voice faltering and uncertain enough to 
have awakened suspicion in a more practised 
observer. 

"Never once; and that's what I call unnatural 
behavior, after you saving her life; and if she 
wasn't " 

" Be silent, I say." 

"Well — well, there; I won't say any more; and 
sure it's time for me to be putting on my beard 
again. I'm goirg to the casino with Catrina, and 
sure it's \v\i\\ real ladies I might be going ax- 
it wasn't for Major Power, that told them I wasn't 
an officer, but it's all right again. I gave lliem a 
great history of the Frees, from the time of C'uilla 
na Toole, that was one of the family, and a cousin 
of Moses, I believe; and they behave well to one 
that comes from an ould stock." 

"Don Miguel! Don Miguel!" said a voice from 
the garden. 

" I'm coming, my angel! I'm coming, my turtle- 
dove!" said Mike, arranging his moustaches and 
beard with amazing dexterity. " Ah, but it would 
do your heart good av yon could take a peep at 
us about twelve o'clock, dancing 'dirty James' 
for a bolero, and just see Miss Catrina, the ladj's 
maid, doing 'cover the buckle' as neat as nature. 
There now, there's the lemonade near your hand, 
and I'll leave you the lamp, and you may go asleejj 
as soon as you please, for Miss Inez won't come 
in to-night to play the guitar, for the doctor said 
it might do you liarm now." 

So saying, and before I could summon pres- 
ence of mind to ask another question, Don 
Miguel wrapped himself in the broad folds cf 
his Spanish cloak, and strode from the room witli 
the air of an hidalgo. 

I slept but little that night; the full tide of 
memory rushing in upon me, brought back the 
hour of my return to Lisbon and the wreck of 
all my hopes, which, from the narrative of m\- 
servant, I now perceived to be complete. 1 dare 
not venture upon recording how many plans sug- 
gested themselves to my troubled spirit, and 
were in return rejected. To meet Lucy Dash- 
wood — to make a full and candid declaration — 
to acknowledge that flirtation alone with Donna 
Inez — a mere passing, boyish flirtation — had 
given the coloring to my innocent passion, and 
that in heart and soul I was hers and hers only. 
This was my first resolve; but, alas! if I had not 
courage to sustain a common interview, to meet 
her in the careless crowd of a drawing-room, 
what could I do under circumstances like these? 
Besides, the matter would be cut very short by 
her coolly declaring that she had neither right 
nor inclination to listen to such a declaration. 
The recollection of her look as she pas:-,cd me to 
her carriage came flashing across my brain and 
decided this point. No, no! I'll not encounter 
that, however appearances for the moment had 
been against me, she should not have treated me 
thus coldly and disdainfully. It was quite clear 
she had never cared for me, wounded pride had 
been her only leeling, and so as I reasoned I 
ended by salislyinu m\selt that in that quarter 
all was at an end forever 

Now then for dilemma nimiber two, I thought. 



390 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. " 



The senhora — my first impulse was one of any- 
thing but gratitude to her, by whose kind, tender 
cafe my hours of pain and suffering had been 
soothed and alleviated. But for her, I should 
have been spared all my present embarrass- 
ment — all my shipwrecked fortunes; but for 
her, I should now be the aide-de-camp residing 
in Sir George Dashwood's own house, meeting 
with Lucy every hour of the day, dining beside 
her, riding out with her, pressing my suit by 
every means and with every advantage of my po- 
sition; but for her and her dark eyes — and, by- 
the-by, what eyes they are! — how full of bril- 
liancy, yet liow teeming with an expression of 
soft and melting sweetness; and her mouth, too, 
how perfectly chiselled those full lips — how dif- 
ferent from the cold, unbending firmness of Miss 
Dashwood's — not but I have seen Lucy smile, 
too, and what a sweet smile! — how it lighted up 
her fair cheek, and made her blue eyes darken 
and deepen till they looked like heaven's own 
vault. Yes, there is more poetry in a blue eye. 
But still Inez is a very lovely girl, and her foot 
never was surpassed; she is a coquette, too, about 
that foot and ankle — I rather like a woman to be 
so. What a sensation she would make in Eng- 
land — how she would be the rage! and then I 
thought of home and Galway, and the astonish- 
ment of some, the admiration of others, as I pre- 
sented her as my wife; the congratulations of 
my friends, the wonder of the men, the tempered 
envy of the women. Methought I saw my uncle, 
as he pressed her in his arms, say, " Yes, 
Charley, this is a prize worth campaigning for." 
The stray sounds of a guitar which came from 
♦:he garden broke in upon my musings at this, 
moment. It seemed as if a finger was straying 
heedlessly across the strings. I started ud, and 
to my surprise perceived il was Inez. Before I 
had time to collect myself, a gentle tap at the 
window aroused me; it opened softly, while from 
an unseen hand a bouquet of fresh flowers was 
thrown upon my bed; before I could collect my- 
self to speak, the sash closed again and I was 
alone. 



CHAPTER LXXXL 



THE VISIT. 



Mike's performances at the mastjuerade had 
doubtless been of the most distinguished charac- 
ter, and demanded a compensating period of 
repose, for he did not make his appearance the 
entire morning. Towards noon, however, the 
door from the garden gently opened, and I 
heard a step upon the stone terrace, and some- 
thing which sounded to my ears like the clank of 
a sabre. I lifted my head, and saw Fred Power 
beside me. 

I shall spare my readers the recital of my 
friend, which, however more full and explanatory 
of past events, contained in reality little more 
than Mickey Free had already told me. In fine, 
he informed me that our army, by a succession 
of retreating movements, had deserted the north- 



ern provinces, and now occupied the entrenched 
lines of Torres Vedras. Tliat Massena, with a 
powerful force, was still in march; reinforce- 
ments daily pouring in upon him — and every 
expectation pointing to the probability that he 
would attempt to storm our position. 

"The wise-lieads," remarked Power, "talk of 
our speedy embarkation — the sanguine and the 
hot-brained rave of a great victory, and the re- 
treat of Massena; but I was up at head-quarters 
last week with despatches, and saw Lord A\'el- 
lington myself." 

" Well, what did you make out? Did he drop 
any hint of liis own views?" 

"Faith, I can't say he did. He asked me some 
questions about the troops just landed — he spoke 
a little of the commissary department — damned 
the blankets — said that green forage was bad 
food for the artillery horses — sent me an F^nglish 
paper to read about the O. P. riots, and said the 
harriers would throw off about six o'clock, and 
that he hoped to see me at dinner." 

I could not restrain a laugh at Power's cata- 
logue of his lordship's topics. " So," said I, "he 
at least does not take any gloomy views of our 
present situation. ' 

" Who can tell what he thinks? he's ready to 
fight, if fighting will do anything — and to retreat, 
if that be better. But that he'll sleep an hour 
less, or drink a glass of claret more — come what 
will of it — I'll believe from no man living." 

" We've lost one gallant thing, in any case, 
Charley," resumed Power. " Busaco was, I'm 
told, a glorious day, and our people were in the 
heat of it. So that if we do leave the Peninsula 
now — that will be a confounded chagrin. Not 
for you, my poor fellow, for you could not stir; 
but I was so cursed foolish to take the staff 
appointment; thus one folly ever entails an- 
other." 

There was a tone of bitterness in which 'hese 
words were uttered, iliat left no doubt upon my 
mind some a rril-/-^ /x/istr remamed lurking behind 
them. My eyes met his — he bit his lip, and, col- 
oring deeply, rose from the chair, and walked 
towards the window. 

The chance allusion of my man Mike flashed 
upon me at the moment, and I dared not trust 
myself to break silence. I now thought I could 
trace in my friend's manner less of that gay and 
careless buoyancy which ever marked him. There 
was a tone, it seemed, of more grave and sombre 
character, and e\en when he jested, the smile his 
features bore was not his usual frank and happy 
one, and speedily gave way to an expression I 
had never before remarked. Our silence, which 
had now lasted for some nunute":, was becoming 
embarrassing — that strange consciousness that, to 
a ceitain extent, we were reading each other's 
thoughts, made us both cautious of breaking it; 
and when, at length, turning abruptly round, he 
asked, " When I hoped to be up and about 
again?" I felt my heart relieved from I knew not 
well what load of doubt and diiificulty that op- 
pressed it. We chatted on for some little time 
longer, the news of Lisbon, and the daily gossip 
furnishing our topics. 

"Plenty of gayety, Charley! dinners and balls 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



391 



to no end! so get well, my boy, and make tlie 
most of it." 

" Yes," I replied, " I'll do my best; but be as- 
sured the first use I'll make of health will be to 
join the regiment. I am heartily ashamed of my- 
selt for all I ha\e lost airead) — thoiigli not alto- 
gether my fault." 

" And will you really join at once?" said 
Power, with a look of eager anxiety 1 could not 
possibly account for. 

"Of course I will, what have I — what can I 
have, to detain me here?" 

What reply he was about to make at this mo- 
ment I know not, but the door opened, and Mike 
announced Sir George Dashwood. 

''Gently! my worthy man, not so loud, if you 
please," said the mild voice of the general, as he 
stepped noiselessly across the room, evidently 
shocked at the indiscreet tone of mv follower. 
"Ah, Power, you here! and our poor friend, how 
is he?" 

"Able to answer for himself at last. Sir George," 
said I, grasping his proffered hand. 

"My poor lad! you've had a long bout of it; 
but you've saved your arm, and that's well worth 
the lost time. Well, I've come to bring you good 
news; there's been a very sharp cavalry affair, 
and our fellows have been t1ie conquerors." 

" There again. Power — listen to that! We are 
losing everytliing!" 

" Not so, not so, my boy," said Sir George, 
smiling blandly, but archly. " There are con- 
quests to be won here, as well as there; and, in 
your i)resent state, I rather think you better fit- 
ted for such as these." 

Power's brow grew clouded, he essayed a 
smile, but it failed, and he rose and hurried 
towards the window. 

As for me, my confusion must have led to a 
very erroneous impresson of my real feelings, 
and I perceived Sir George anxious to turn the 
channel of the conversation. 

"You see but little of your host, O'Malley," 
he resuuied; " he is ever from home; but I be- 
lieve nothing could be kinder than his arrange- 
ments for you. You are aware that he kidnapped 
you from us? • I had sent Forbes over to bring 
you to us, your room was prepared, everything in 
readiness, when he met your man Mike, setting 
forth upon a mule, who told him you had just 
taken your departure for the villa. We both had 
our claim upon you, and, I believe, pretty much 
on tlie same score. By-the-by, you have not seen 
Lucy since your arrival. I never knew it till 
yesterday, when I asked if she did not find you 
altered." 

I blundered out some absurd replv, blushed, 
corrected myself, and got confused. Sir George, 
attributing this, doubtless, to my weak state, rose 
soon after, and, taking Power along with him, re- 
marked, as he left the room, 

" We are too much for him yet, I see that; so 
we'll leave him quiet some time longer." 

Thanking him in my heart for his true appre- 
ciation of my state, I sank back upon my pillow 
to think over all I had heard and seen. 

"Well, Mister Charles," said Mike, as he came 
forward with a smile, " I suppose you heard the 



news? The Fourteenth bate the French down at 
Merca there, and took seventy prisoners; but, 
sure, it's little good it'll do, alter all." 

'■ And why not, Mike?" 

"Musha! isn't Boney coming himself? He's 
bringing all the Roosians down with him, and go- 
ing to destroy us entirely." 

" Not at all, man; you mistake. He's nothing 
to do with Russia, and has quite enough on his 
hands at this moment." 

" (jod grant it was truth you were talking! 
But, you see, I read it myself in the papers — or 
Sergeant Haggarty did. which is the same thing, 
— that he's coming with the Cusacks." 

" With who? — with what?" 

"With the Cusacks." 

" What the devil do you mean? Who are they?" 

"Oh, Tower of Ivory! did you never hear 
of the Cusacks, with the red beards, and the red 
breeches, and long poles with pike-heads on 
them, that does all the devilment on horseback — 
spiking and spitting the people like larks?" 

" ']"he Cossacks, is it, you mean? The Cossacks?" 

"Ay, just so, the Cusacks. They're from 
Clare Island, and thereabouts ; and there's more 
of them in Meath. They're my mother's people, 
and was always real devils for fighting." 

I burst out into an immoderate fit of laughing 
at Mike's etymology, which thus converted Het- 
man Platoff into a Galway man. 

"Oh, murder! isn't it cruel to hear you laugh 
that way! There now, alanna! be asy, and I'll 
tell you more news. We've the house to our- 
selves to-day. The ould gentleman's down at 
Behlem, and the daughter's in Lisbon, making 
great preparations for a grand ball they're to give 
when you are quite well." 

" I hope I shall be with the army in a few days, 
Mike; and certainly, if I'm able to move about, 
I'll not remain longer in Lisbon." 

" Arrah! don't say so, now! When was you ever 
so comfortable? Upon my conscience, it's more 
like Paradise than anything else. If ye see the 
dinner we sit down to every day! and, as for 
drink — if it wasn't that I sleep on a ground-floor, 
I'd seldom see a blanket." 

" Well, certainly, Mike, I agree with you, these 
are hard things to tear ourselves away irom." 

" Aren't they now, sir? And then Miss Cath- 
erine, I'm taching her Irish!" 

"Teaching her Irish! for Heaven's sake, what 
use can she make of Irish?" 

"Ah, the crayture, she doesn't know better; 
and, as she was always bothering me to learn her 
English, I promised one day to do it; but ye see, 
somehow, I never was very proficient in strange 
tongues; so I thought to myself, Irish will do as 
well. So, you perceive, we're taking a course of 
Irish literature, as Mr. Lynch says in Athlone; 
and, upon my conscience, she's an apt scholar." 

" ' Good-morning to you, Katey,' says Mr. 
Power to her the other day, as he jjassed through 
the hall. ' Good-morning, my dear; I hear you 
speak English jierfectly now?' 

"' ^ Honia moii diaoul,' says she, making a 
curtsey. 

" Be the powers, 1 thought he'd die with the 
laughing. 



392 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



Well, my dear, I hope you don't mean it — 
do you know what you're saying?' 

'"Honor bright, major!' says I — 'honor 
bright!' and I gave him a wink at the same time. 

" ' Oh, that's it!' said he, ' is it?' and so he went 
off, holding liis hands to his sides with the bare 
laughing; and your honor knows it wasn't a bless- 
ing she wished him for all that." 



CHAPTER LXXXH. 



THE CONFESSION. 



"What a strange position this is of mine!" 
thought I, a few mornings after the events de- 
tailed in the hist chapter. " How very fascinat- 
ing in some respects — how full of all the charm 
of romance, and how confoundedly difficult to see 
one's way through!" 

To understand my cogitation riglit, fi^^iirez-Toits, 
my dear reader, a large and splendidly furnished 
drawing-room, from one end of which an oran- 
gery in full blossom opens; from the other is seen 
a delicious little boudoir, where books, bronzes, 
pictures and statues, in all the artisque disorder 
of a lady's sanctum, are bathed in a deep jnirple 
light from a stained glass window of the seven- 
teenth century. 

At a small table beside the wood fire, whose 
mellow light is flirting with the sunbeams upon 
the carpet, stands an antique silver breakfast ser- 
vice, which none but the hand of Benvenuto 
could have chiselled; beside it sits a girl, young 
and beautiful; her dark eyes, beaming beneath 
their long lashes, are fixed with an expression of 
watchful interest upon a pale and sickly youth 
who. lounging upon a sofa opposite, is carelessly 
turning over the leaves of a new journal, or 
gazing steadfastly on the fretted gothic of the 
ceilmg, while his thoughts are travelling many a 
mde away. The lady being the Senhora Inez; 
the nonchalant invalid, your unworthy acquaint- 
ance, Charles O'Malley. 

Waat a very strange position to be sure. 

" Then you are not equal to this ball to-night?" 
said she, after a pause of some minutes. 

I turned as she spoke; her words had struck 
audibly U|ion my ear — but, lost in my reverie, 
I could but repeat my own fixed thought — how 
strange to be so situated! 

"You are really very tiresome, signor; I 
assure you, you are. I have been giving you a 
most elegant description of the Casino fete, and 
the beautiful costumes of our Lisbon belles, but I 
can get nothing from you but this muttered 
something, which may be very shocking for aught 
I know. I'm sure your friend Major Power 
would be much more attentive to me; that is," 
added she, archly, "if Miss Dashvvood were not 
present." 

"What — why — you don't mean that there is 
anytliing there — that Power is pa\ing attention 
to " 

^^ Madre divina, how that seems to interest 
you, and how red you are! If it were not that 
you never met her befo.'e, and that your accjuaint- 



ance did not seem to make rapid progress, then I 
should say you are in love with her yourself." 

I had to laugh at this, but felt my face flushing 
more. "And so," said I affecting a careless and 
indifferent tone, " the gay Fred Power is smitten 
at last!" 

" Was it so difficult a thing to accomplish?" 
said she, slyly. 

" He seems to say so, at least. And the lady, 
how does she appear to receive his attentions?" 

" Oh, J should say with evident pleasure and 
satisfaction, as all girls do the advances of men 
they don't care for, nor inteiid to care for." 

" Indeed," said 1, slowly; "indeed, senhora?" 
looking into her eyes as I spoke, as if to read if 
the lesson were destined for my benefit. 

"There, don't stare so! — every one knows 
that." 

" So you don't think, then, that Lucy — I mean 
Miss Dashwood — why are you laughing so?" 

"How can I hel|) it, your calling her Lucy is so 
good, I wish she heard it, she's the very proudest 
girl I ever knew." 

"But to come back; you really think she does 
not care for him." 

" Not more than for you; and I may be par- 
doned for the simile, having seen your meeting. 
But let me give you the news of our own fete. 
Saturday is the day fixed; and you must be quite 
well — I insist upon it. Miss Dashwood has prom- 
ised to come — no small concession; for, after 
all, she has never once been here since the day 
you frightened her. I can't help laughing at my 
blunder — -the two people I had jjromised myself 
should fall desperately in love with each other, 
and who will scarcely meet." 

" But I trusted," said I, pettishly, " that you, 
were not disposed to resign your interest in me." 

"Neither was I," said she, with an easy smile, 
"except that I have so many admirers. I might 
even spare to my friends; though, after all, 1 
should be sorry to lose you — I like you." 

" Yes," said I, half bitterly, " so girls do those 
they never intend to care for; is it not so?" 

" Perhaps yes, and jierhaps But is it going 

to rain? How provoking! and I have ordered 
my horse. Well, Signor Carlos, I leave you to your 
delightful newspaper, and all the magnificent 
descriptions of battles, and sieges, and skirmishes 
for which vou seem doomed to pine without 
ceasing. There, don't kiss my hand twice; that's 
not right." 

"Well, let me begin again " 

" I shall not breakfast with you any more; but, 
tell me, am I to order a costume for you in 
Lisbon; or will you arrange all that yourself? 
You must come to \ht fete, you know " 

" If you would be so very kind." 

" I will, then, be so very kind, and, once more, 
adios." So saying, and with a slight motion of 
her hand, she smiled a good-by, and left me. 

" What a lovely girl!" tho\;ght I, as I rose and 
walked to the window, muttering to myself 
Othello's line, and 

" Wliun I love ihee not, cli.ios is come again." 

In fact, it was the perfect expression of my 



CHARLES OMALLEV, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



J59;j 



feeling — the only solution to ail tlie difficulties 
surrounding me, being to fall desperately, irretriev- 
ably in love with the fair senhora, which, all things 
considered, was not a very desperate resource 
for a gentleman in trouble. As I thought over 
the hopelessness of one attachment, I turned 
calmly to consider all the favorable points of the 
other. Slie was truly beautiful, attractive in 
every sense; her manner most fascinating, and 
her disposition, so far as I could pronounce, 
]>erfectly amiable. I felt already something 
more than interest about her; how very easy 
would be the transition to a stronger feeling! 
There was an eclat, too, about being her accepted 
lover that had its charm. She was the belle par 
cxciilence of Lisbon; and then a sense of pique 
crossed my mind as I reflected, what would Lucy 
say of him whom she had slighted and insulted, 
when he became the husband of the beautiful 
and millionaire Senhora Inez. 

.\s my meditations had reached thus far, the 
door opened stealthily, and Catherine appeared, 
her finger upon her lips, and her gesture indicat- 
ing caution. She carried on her arm a mass of 
drapery covered by a large mantle, which, throw- 
ing off as she entered, she displayed before me a 
rich blue domino with silver embroidery. It was 
large and loose in its folds, so as thoroughly to 
conceal the figure of any wearer. This slie held 
up before me for an instant without speaking; 
when at length, seeing my curiosity f Lilly excited, 
she said, 

" This is the senhora's domino. I should be 
ruined if she knew I showed it; but I promised — 
that is, I told " 

" Yes, ye.s, I understand," relieving her embar- 
rassment about the source of her civilities; "go 
on." 

"Well, there are several others like it, but with 
this small difference, instead of a carnation, 
which all the others have embroidered upon the 
cuff, I have made it a rose — you perceive? La 
senhora knows nothing of this — none save your- 
self knows it. I'm sure I may trust you with the 
secret." 

" Fear not in the least, Catherine; you have 
rendered ine a great service. Let me look at it 
once more; ah, there's no difficulty in detecting it. 
And you are certain she is unaware of it'" 

"Perfectly so; she has several other costumes, 
but in this one I know she intends some surprise, 
so be upon your guard." 

With these words, carefully once more conceal- 
ing the rich dress beneath the mantle, she with- 
drew; while I strolled forth to wonder what 
mystery might lie beneath this scheme, and specu- 
late how far I myself was included in the plot she 

spoke of. 

****** 

***** * 

For the few days which succeeded. I passed my 
time much alone. The senhora was but seldom 
at home; and I remarked that Power rarely came 
to see me. A strange feeling of half coolness had 
latterly grown between us, and, instead of the 
open confidence we formerly indulged in when to- 
gether, we appeared now rather to chat over things 
of mere every-day interest than of our own im- 



mediate pilans and prospects. There was a kind 
of pre-occupation, too, in his manner that struck 
rne; his mind seemed ever straying from the topics 
he talked of to something remote, and, altogether, 
he was no longer the frank and reckless dragoon 
I had ever known him. What could be the mean- 
ing of this change? Had he found out by any 
accident that I was to blame in my conduct to- 
wards Lucy — had any erroneous impression of 
my interview with her reached his ears? This 
was most improbable; besides, there was nothing 
in that to draw down his censure or condemna- 
tion, however rei)resented; and was it that he 
was himself in love with her — that, devoted heart 
and soul to Lucy, he regarded me as a successful 
rival, preferred before him! Oh, how could I 
have so long blinded myself to the fact! This 
was the true solution of the whole difficulty. I 
had more than once suspected this to be so; now 
all the circumstances of proof poured in upon me. 
I called to mind his agitated manner the night of 
my arrival in Lisbon, his thousand questions con- 
cerning the reasons of my furlough; and then; 
lately, the look of unfeigned pleasure with which 
he heard me resolve to join my regiment the mo- 
ment I was sufficiently recovered. I also remem- 
bered how assiduously he pressed his intimacy 
with the senhora, Lucy's dearest friend here; his 
continual visits at the villa; those long walks in 
the garden, where his very look betokened some 
confidential mission of the heart. Yes, there was 
no doubt of it, he loved Lucy Dashwood! Alas! 
there seemed to be no end to the complication of 
my misfortunes; one by one, I appeared fated to 
lose whatever had a hold upon my affections, and 
to stand alone, unloved and uncared for in the 
world. My thoughts turned towards the senhora, 
but I could not deceive myself into any hope 
there. My own feelings were untouched, and 
hers I felt to be equally so. Young as I was, 
there was no mistaking the easy smile of coquetry, 
the merry laugh of flattered vanity, for a deeper 
and holier feeling. And then I did not wish it 
otherwise. One only had taught me to feel how 
ennobling, how elevating in all its impulses can 
be a deep-rooted passion for a young and beauti- 
ful girl! From her eyes alone had I caught the 
inspiration — that made me pant for glory and dis- 
tinction. I could not transfer the allegiance of 
my heart, since it had taught that very heart to 
beat high and proudly. Lucy, lost to me forever 
as she must be, was still more than any other woman 
ever could be; all the past clung to her memory, 
all the prestige of the future must point to it 
also. 

And Power, why had he not trusted — why had 
he not confided in me? Was this like my old and 
tried friend? — Alas ! I was forgetting that in his 
eye I was the favored rival, and not the despised, 
rejected suitor. 

" It is past now," thought I, as I rose and 
walked into the garden; "the dream that made 
life a fairy tale is dispelled, the cold reality of 
the world is before me, and my path lies a lonely 
and solitary one." l\Iv first resolution was to see 
Power, and relieve his mind of any uneasmess as 
regarded my pretensions; they existed no longer. 
As for me, I was no obstacle to his happiness; it 



394 



CHARLES O'MALLEY. THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



was, then, but fair and honorable that I should 
tell him so; this done, I should leave Lisbon at 
once: the cavalry had for the most part been or- 
dered to the rear; still there was always some- 
thing going forward at the outposts. 

The idea of active service, tlie excitement of 
a campaigning life, clieered me, and I advanced 
along the dark alley of the garden with a ligiiter 
and a freer heart. My resolves were not destined 
to meet delay; as I turned tiie angle of a walk. 
Power was before me. He was leaning against a 
tree, his hands crossed upon his bosom, his head 
bowed forward, and his whole air and attitude 
betokening deep reflection. 

He started as I came up, and seemed almost 
to change color. 

"Well, Charley," said he, after a moment's 
pause, "you look better this morning. How goes 
the arm?" 

"The arm is ready for service again, and its 
owner most anxious for it. Do you know, Fred, 
I'm thorouglily weary of this life." 

" They're little better, however, at the lines. 
Tiie French are in position, but never adventure 
a movement; and, except some tew affairs at the 
pickets, there is really nothing to do." 

"No matter, remaining iiere can never serve 
one's interests, and besides, I have accomplished 
what I caine for " 

I was about to add, " the restoration of my 
health," when he suddenly interrupted me, eye- 
ing me fixedly as he spoke. 

"Indeed! indeed! Is that so?" 

"Yes," said I, half pu.^zled at the tone and 
manner of the speech; "I can join now when I 
please; meanwhile, PVed, I have been thinking 
of you. Yes, don't be surprised; at the very mo- 
ment we met you were in my thoughts." 

I took his arm as I said this, and led him down 
the alley. 

"We are too old, and, I trust, too true friends, 
Fred, to have secrets from each other, and yet 
we have been playing this silly game for some 
weeks past. Now, my dear fellow, I have yours, 
and it is only faii justice you should have mine.and, 
faith, I feel you'd have discovered it long since, 
had your thoughts been as I have known them 
to be. Fred, you are in love; there, don't wince, 
man, I know it; but hear me out. You believe 
me to be so also; nay, more, you think that my 
chances of success are better, stronger than your 
own; learn, then, that I have none — absolutely 
none. Don't interrupt me now, for this avowal 
cuts me deeply; my own heart alone knows what 
I suffer as I record my wretched fortunes; but I 
repeat it, my hopes are at an end forever; but, 
Fred, my boy, I cannot lose my friend too. If 
I have been the obstacle to your path, I am so 
no more. Ask me not why; it is enough that I 
speak in all truth and sincerity. Ere three days 
I shall leave this, and with it all the hopes that 
once beamed u])on my fortunes, and all the hap- 
piness — nay, not all, my boy, for I feel some thrill 
at my heart yet, as I think I have been true to 
you." 

I know not what more I spoke, nor how he 
reolied to me. I felt the warm grasp of his hand, 
I saw his delighted smile; the words of grateful 



acknowledgment his lips uttered conveyed but 
an imperfect meaning to my ear, and I remem- 
bered no more. 

The courage which sustained me for the moment 
sank gradually as I meditated over my avowal, 
and I could scarce help accusing Power of a 
breach of friendship for exacting a confession 
which, in reality, I ha^ volunteered to give him. 
How Lucy herself would think of my conduct 
was ever occurring to my thoughts, and I felt, as 
I ruminated upon the conjectures it might give 
rise to, how much more likely a favorable opin- 
ion might now be formed of me, than when such 
an estimation could have crowned me with de- 
light. 

" Yes," thought I, " she will at last learn to 
know him, who loved her with truth and with 
devoted affection; and, when 'the blight of all. 
his hopes is accomplished, the fair fame of his 
fidelity will be proved. The march, the bivouac, 
the battle-field, are now all to me, and the cam- 
paign alone presents a prosjiect which may fill up 
the aching void that disappointed and ruined 
hopes have left behind them." 

How I longed for the loud call of the trumpet, 
the clash of the steel, the tramp of the war-horse; 
though the proud distinction of a soldier's life 
were less to me in the distance than the mad and 
whirlwind passion of a charge, and the loud din 
of the rolling artillery. 

It was only some hours after, as I sat alone in 
my chamber, that all the circumstances of our 
meeting came back clearly to my memory, and I 
could not help muttering to myself, 

"It is indeed a hard lot, that, to cheer the 
heart of my friend, I must bear witness to the 
despair that sheds darkness on my own." 



CHAPTER LXXXIIL 



MY CHARGER. 



Although I felt my heart relieved of a heavy 
load by the confession I had made to Power, yet 
still I shrank from meeting him for some days 
after; a kind of fear lest he should in any way 
recur to our conversation continually beset me, 
and I felt that the courage which bore me up for 
my first effort would desert me on the next occa- 
sion. 

My determination to join my regiment was now 
made up, and I sent forward a resignation of my 
appointment to Sir George Dashwood's staff, 
which I had never been in healtli to fulfil, and 
commenced with energy all my preparations for 
a speedy departure. 

The reply to my rather formal letter was a most 
kind note written by himself. He regretted the 
unhappy cause which had so long separated us, 
and though wishing, as he expressed it, to have 
me near him, perfectly approved of my resolu- 
tion. 

" .\ctive service alone, mv dear boy, can e^•er 
place you in the positirn you ought to occui-)y, 
and I rejoice ihe more at your decision in this 
matter, as I feared the truth of certain reports 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



395 



here, which attributed to you other plans than 
those which a cam[iaign suggests. My mind is 
now easy on tliis score, and I pray you forgive me 
if my congratulations are mal a propos." 

After some hints for my future management, 
and a jiromise of some letters to his friends at 
head-quarters, he concluded: 

"As this climate does not seem to suit my 
daughter, I have applied for a change, and am in 
daily hope of obtaining it. Before going, how- 
ever, I must beg your acceptance of the charger 
which my groom will deliver your servant with 
this. I was so struck with his figure and action, 
that I purchased him before leaving England, 
without well knowing why or wherefore. Pray 
let him see some service under your auspices, 
which he is most unlikely to do under mine. He 
lias plenty of bone to be a weight carrier, and 
they tell me also that he has speed enough for 
anything." 

Mike's voice in the lawn beneath interrupted 
my reading further, and, on looking out, I per- 
ceived him and Sir George Dashwood's servant 
standing beside a large and striking-looking 
horse, which thev were both examining with all 
the critical accuracv of adepts. 

" Arrah, isn't he a darling, a real beauty, every 
inch of him.'" 

"That 'ere splint don't signify nothing; he 
aren't the worse of it," said the English groom. 

" Of coorse it doesn't," replied Mike. "What 
a forehand! and the legs, clean as a whip." 

" There's the best of him, though," interrupted 
the other, patting the strong hind-quarters with 
his hand. "There's the stuff to push him along 
through heavy ground and carry him over 
timber." 

"Or a stone wall," said Mike, tliinking of 
Galway. 

My own impatience to survey my present had 
now brought me into the conclave, and before 
many minutes were over I had him saddled, and 
was cantering around the lawn with a spirit and 
energy I had not felt for months long. Some 
small fences lay before me, and over these he 
carried me with all the ease and freedom of a 
trained hunter. My courage mounted with the 
excitement, and I looked eagerly around for 
some more bold and dashing leap. 

"You may take him over the avenue gate," 
said the PLnglish groom, divming with a jockey's 
readiness what I looked for; "he'll do it, never 
fear him." 

Strange as my equipment was, with an undress 
jacket flying loosely open, and a bare head, away 
I went. The gate which the groom spoke of was 
a strongly barred one of oak timber, nearly five 
feet high — its difficulty as a leap only consisted 
in tlie winding approach, and the fact that it 
opened upon a hard road beyond it. 

In a second or two a kind of half fear came 
across me. My long illness had unnerved me, 
and my limbs felt weak and yielding; but as I 
pressed into the canter, th U secret sympathy be- 
tween tlie horse and his rider shot suddenly 
through me, I pressed my spurs to his flanks, and 
dashed him at it. 

Unaccustomed to such treatment, the noble 



animal bounded madly forward; with two tremen- 
dous plunges he sprang wildly in the air, and 
shaking his long mane with passion, stretched out 
at the gallop. 

My own blood boiled now as tempestuously as 
his; and, with a shout of reckless triumph, I rose 
him at the gate. Just at the instant two figures 
appeared before it — the copse had concealed their 
approach hitherto — but they stood now, as if 
transfixed; the wild attitude of the hor.se, the not 
less wild cry of his rider, had deprived them for 
a time of all energy; and, overcome by the sudden 
danger, they seemed rooted to the ground. What 
I said, spoke, begged, or imprecated. Heaven 
knows — not I. But they stirred not! One moment 
more, and they must lie trampled beneath my 
horse's hoofs — he was already on his haunches 
for the bound; when, wheeling half aside, I faced 
him at the wall. It was at least a foot higher, and 
of solid stone masonry, and as I did so, I felt 
that I was periling my life to save theirs. One 
vigorous dash of the s]nir I gave him, as I lifted 
him to the leap — he bounded beneath it quick as 
lightning — still, with a spring like a rocket, he 
rose into the air, cleared the wall, and stood 
trembling and frightened on the load outside. 

"Safe, by Jupiter! and splendidly done, too," 
cried a voice near me, that 1 immediately recog- 
nized as Sir George Dashwood's. 

" Lucy, my love, look up — Lucy, my dear, 
there's no danger now. She has fainted. 
O'Malley, fetch some water — fast. Poor fellow, 
your own nerves seem shaken. Why, you've let 
your horse go! Come here, for Heaven's sake! 
— support her for an instant. I'll fetcli some 
water." 

It appeared to me like a dream — I leaned 
against the pillar of the gnte — the cold and death- 
like features of Lucy Dashwood lay motionless 
upon my arm — her hand, falling heavily upon my 
shoulder, touched my cheek — the ti.ini]) of my 
horse, as he galloped onward, was the only sound 
that broke the silence, as I stood there, gazing 
steadfastly upon the pale brow and paler cheek, 
down which a solitary tear vas sIoA\ly stealing. 
I knew not how the minutes passed — my memory 
took no note of time, but at length a gentle tre- 
mor thrilled her frame, a slight, scarce-jjercepti- 
ble blush colored her fair face, her lijjs slightly 
parted, and heaving a deep sigli, she looked 
around her. Gradually her eyes turned and met 
mine. Oh, the bliss unutterable of that moment. 
It was no longer the look of cold scorn she had 
given me last — the expression was one of soft 
and speaking gratitude — she setmed to read my 
very heart, and know its truth: there was a tone 
of deep and compassionate interest in the glance; 
and forgetting all — everything that had passed — 
all save my unaltered, unalteiable love, I kneeled 
beside her, and, in words buining as my own heart 
burned, poured out my tale of mingled sorrow 
and affection with all the eloquence of passion. 
I vindicated my unshaken faith — reconciling the 
conflicting evidences with the proofs I proffered of 
my attachment. If my moments were measured— 
I spent them not idly; I called to witness how 
every action of my soldier's life emanated from 
her — how her few and chance words had decided 



396 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



the character of my fate — if aught of fame or 
honor were my portion, to her 1 owed it. As, 
hurried onward by my ardent hopes, I forgot 
Power and all about him — a step upon the gravel 
■walk came rapidly nearer, and I had but time to 
assume my former attitude beside Lucy as her 
father came up. 

" Well, Charley, is she better? Oh, I see she 
is; here we have the whole household at our 
heels." So saying, he pointed to a string of ser- 
vants pressing eagerly forward with every species 
of restorative that Portuguese ingenuity has in- 
vented. 

The next moment we were joined by the sen- 
hora, who, pale with fear, seemed scarcely less 
in need of assistance than her friend. 

Amid questions innumerable — explanations 
sought for on all sides — mistakes and miscon- 
ceptions as to the whole occurrence — we took 
our way towards the villa, Lucy, walking between 
Sir George and Donna Inez, while I followed, 
leaning upon Power's arm. 

" They've caught him again, O'Malley," said 
the general, turning half around to me; " he, too, 
seemed as much frightened as any of us." 

"It is time, Sir George, I should think of 
thanking you. I never was so mounted in my 
life " 

"A splendid charger, by Jove!" said Power; 
" but, Charley, my lad, no more feats of this na- 
ture, if you love me. No girl's heart will stand 
such continual assaults as your winning horse- 
manship submits it to." 

I was about making some half angry reply, 
when he continued: " There, don't look sulky; I 
have news for you. Quill has just arrived. I 
met him at Lisbon; he has got leave of absence 
for a few days, and is coming to our masquerade 
here this evening." 

"This evening!" said I, in amazement; "why, 
is it so soon?" 

"Of course it is. Have you not got all your 
trappings ready? The Dashwoods came out here 
on purpose to spend the day — but come, I'll drive 
you into town. My tilbury is ready, and we'll 
both look out for our costumes." So saying, he 
led me along towards the house, when, after a 
rapid change of my toilet, we set out for Lisbon. 



CHAPTER LXXXIV. 



MAURICE. 

It seemed a conceded matter between Power 
and myself that we should never recur to the con- 
versation we held in the garden; and so, although 
we dined ictc-a-tete that day, neither of us ven- 
tured, by any allusion the most distant, to advert 
to what it was equally evident was uppermost in 
ihe minds of both. 

All our endeavors, therefore, to seem easy and 
unconcerned, were in vain; a restless anxiety to 
seem interested about things and persons we 
were totally indifferent to pervaded all our essays 
at conversation. By degrees, we grew weary of 
the parts we were acting, and each relapsed into 



a moody silence, thinking over his plans and pro 
jects, and totally forgetting the existence of tha 
other. 

I'lie decanter was passed across the table M-ith- 
out speaking, a half nod intimated the boule was 
standing; and, except an occasional malediction 
upon an intractable cigar, nothing was heard. 

Such was the agreeable occupation we were 
engaged in, when towards nine o'clock, the door 
opened, and the great Maurice himself stood be- 
fore us. 

" Pleasant fellows, upon my conscience, and 
jovial over their liquor! ("onfound your smok- 
ing! That may do very well in a bivouac. Let 
us have something warm!" 

Quill's interruption was a most welcome one to 
both ])arties, and we rejoiced with a sincere 
pleasure at his coming. 

"What sliall it be, Maurice? Port or sherry 
mulled, and an anchovy?" 

" Or, what say you to a bowl of bishop?" 
said I. 

" Hurrah for the church, Charley. Let us 
have the bishop; and. not to disparage Fred's 
taste, we'll be eating the anchovy while the 
liquor's concocting." 

"Well, Maurice, and now for the news. How 
are matters at Torres Vedras? Anything like 
movement in that quarter?" 

" Nothing very remarkable. Massena made a 
reconnaissance some days since, and one of our 
batteries threw a shower of grape among the 
staff, which spoiled the procession, and sent them 
back in very disorderly time. Then we've had a 
few skirmishes to the front, with no great results 
— a few courts-martial — bad grub, aild plenty of 
grumbling" 

" Why, what would they have? It's a great 
thing to hold the French army in check within a 
few marches of Lisbon." 

" Charley, my man, who cares twopence for the 
French army, or Lisbon, or the Portuguese, or 
the Junta, or anything about it? — every man is 
pondering over his own affairs. One fellow 
wants to get home again, and be sent upon some 
recruiting station. Another wishes to get a step 
in promotion, to come to Torres Vedras, where 
even \.\vi ^raiide anne'e can't. Then some of us 
are in love, and some of us are in debt. There is 
neither glory nor i)rofit to be had. But here's the 
bishop, smoking and steaming with an odor of 
nectar!" 

"And our fellows — have you seen them lately?" 

" I dined with yours on Tuesday — was it 
Tuesday? Yes. I dined with them. By-the-by, 
Sparks was taken prisoner that morning." 

"Sparks taken prisoner! Poor fellow. I am 
sincere!)' sorry. How did it happen, Maurice?" 

" Very simply. Sparks had a forage patrol to- 
wards Vieda, and set out early in the morning 
with his party. It seemed that they succeeded 
perfectly, and were returning to the lines, when 
l)oor Sparks, always susceptible where the sex 
are concerned, saw, or thought he saw, a lattice 
gently open as he rode from the village, and a 
very taper finger make a signal to him. Drop- 
ping a little behind the rest, he waited till jiis 
men had debouched upon the road, when, riding 



CHARLES O'MALLEY. THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



397 



quietly lip, he coughed a couple of times to at 
tract the fair unknown — a handkerchief waved 
from the lattice in reply, which was speedily 
closed, and our valiant cornet accordingly dis- 
mounted and entered the house. 

"The remainder of the adventure is soon told; 
for, in a few seconds after, two men mounted on 
one horse were seen galloping at top speed 
towards the French lines — the foremost being a 
French officer of the 4th Cuirassiers; the gentle- 
man with his face to the tail, our friend Sparks; 
the lovely unknown being a vieillc iin>tisfacke of 
Loison's corps, who had been wounded in a 
skirmish some days before, and lay waiting an 
opportunity of rejoining his party. One of our 
])risoners knew this fellow well, he had been pro- 
moted from the ranks, and was a Hercules, for 
feats of strength; so that, after all. Sparks could 
not help himself." 

"Well, I'm really sorry; but, as you say, 
Sparks's tender nature is always the ruin of him." 

" Of him! ay, and of you — and of you. Power— 
and of myself — of all of >is Isn't it the sweet crea- 
tures that make fools of us from Father Adam 
down to Maurice Quill, neither sparing age nor 
rank in the service, half-pay, nor the Veteran 
Battalion — it's all one? Pass the jug, there. 
O'Sliaughnessy " 

'' Ah, by-the-by, how's the major?" 

"Charmingly; only a little bit in a scrape just 
now. Sir Arthur — Lord Wellington, I mean — 
had him up for his fellows being caught [ullag- 
ing, and gave him a devil of a rowing a few days 
ago. 

" ' Very disorderly corps yours. Major 
O'Shaughnessy,' said the general; 'More men 
lip for punishment than any regiment in the ser- 
vice.' 

" Shaugh muttered something; but his voice 
was lost in a loud cock-a-doo-do-doo, that some 
bold chanticleer set u]) at the moment. 

" ' If the officers do their duty. Major O'Shaugh- 
nessy, these acts of insubordination do not occur.' 

"'Cock-a-doo-do-doo,' was the reply. Some 
of the staff found it hard not to laugh; but the 
general went on: 

" ' If, tlierefore, the practice does not cease, 
I'll draft the men into West India regiments.' 

" ' Cock-a-doo-do-doo.' 

"'And if any articles pillaged from the inhab- 
itants are detected in the quarters, or about the 
persons of the troops ' 

'■ ' Ccck-a-doo-do-/<7(7,' screamed louder here 
than ever. 

" ' Damn that cock. Where is it ?' 

" There was a general look around on all sides, 
which seemed in vain; when a tremendous rejie- 
tition of the cry resounded from O'Shaughnessy 's 
coat pocket; thus detecting the valiant major 
himself in the very practice of his corps. There 
was no standing this; every one burst out into a 
peal of laughing, and Lord Wellington himself 
could not resist, but turned away, muttering to 
himself as he went, 'damned robbers — every man 
of them!' while a final war-note from tiie major's 
pocket closed the interview." 

"Confound you, Maurice, you've always some 
villainous narrative or other. You never crossed 



a street for shelter without making something out 
of it." 

" True this time, as sure as my name's Maurice; 
but the bowl is empty." 

" Never mind, here comes its successor. How 
long can you stay amongst us ?" 

"A few days at most. Just took a run off to 
see the sights; I was all over Lisbon this morn- 
ing; saw the Inquisition and tiie cells, and the 
place where they tried the fellows — the kind of 
grand jury room, with the great picture of Adr.m 
and Eve at the end of it. ^\'hat a beautiful crea- 
ture she is! hair down to her waist, and such 
eyes! ' Ah, ye darling!' said I to myself, ' small 
blame to him for what he did. Wouldn't I ate 
every crab in the garden, if ye asked me!' 

" I must certainly go see her, Maurice. Is 
she very Portuguese in her style?" 

" Devil a bit of it. She might be a Limerick 
woman, with elegant brown hair, and blue eyes, 
and a skin like snow." 

" Come, come, they've pretty girls in Lisbon 
too, doctor." 

" Yes, faith," said Power, " that they have." 

"Nothing like Ireland, Ijoys; not a bit of it; 
they're the girls for my money; and where's the 
man can resist them? From St. Patrick, that had 
to go live in the Wicklow mountains " 

" St. Kevin, you mean, doctor." 

"Sure it's all the same; they were twins. I 
made a little song about them one evening last 
week — the women I mean." 

" Let us have it, Maurice, let us have it, old 
fellow. What's the measure?" 

"Short measure: four little verses, devil a 
more." 

"But the time, I mean?" 

" Whenever you like to sing it; here it is." 

"THE GIRLS OF TIIE WE.ST." 

Air — " Tcfidy, ye ('jniKlcr. " 
( If'il/t feeling ; but not too slow-) 

"You may talk, if you please, 

Of the brown Portuguese, 
But, wherever you roam, wherever you roain 

You nothing will meet. 

Half so lovely or sweet. 
As the girls at home, the girls at home. 

" Their eyes are not sloes. 

Nor so long is their nose. 
But, between me and you, between me and you, 

They are just as alarming. 

And ten times more charmit;g 
With hazel and blue, with hazel and blue. 

" They don't ogle a man. 

O'er the top of their fan, 
'Till his heart's in a flame, his heart's in a flame. 

But though bashful and shy. 

They've a look in their eye. 
That just comes to the same, just comes to tlie same, 

" No mantillas they sport, 

But a petticoat short, 
Shows an ankle the best, an ankle the best. 

.'^nd a leg — but, O murther! 

I dare not go further, 
So here's to the West; so here's to the West." 



" Now, that really 
Moore's, isn't it ?" 



a sweet little thing. 



398 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



"Not a bit of it; my own muse, every word of 
it." 

"And the music?" said I. 

" My own, too. Too much spice in that bowl; 
that's an invariable error in your devisers of 
drink, to su[)pose that the tipple you start with 
can please your palate to the last; they forget that 
as we advance either in years or lush, our tastes 
simplify." 

" Nous revcnous a nos premieres amours. Isn't 
that it?" 

" No, not exactly, for we go even further; for 
if you mark the pro.t;ression of a sensible man's 
fluids, you'll find what an emblem of life it pre- 
sents to you. What is his initiatory glass of 
' Chablis' that he throws down with his oysters 
but the budding expectancy of boyhood — the ap- 
petizing sense of pleasure to come; then follows 
the sherry with his soup, that warming glow which 
strength and vigor in all their consciousness im- 
part, as a glimpse of life is opening before him. 
Tiien youth succeeds — buoyant, wild, tempestu- 
ous youth — foaming and sparkling, like the bright 
champagne, whose stormy surlace subsides into a 
myriad of bright stars." 

" CEil de pcrdrix. 

"Not a bit of it; woman's own eye; brilliant, 
sparkling, life-giving " 

"Devil take the fellow, he's getting poetical." 

"Ah, Fred! if that could only last; but one 
must come to the burgundies with his maturer 
years. Your first glass of hermitage is the alge- 
braic sign for five-and-thirty — the glorious burst 
is over; the pace is still good to be sure, but the 
great enthusiasm is past You can afford to look 
forward, but, confound it, you've a long way to 
look back also." 

"I say, Charley, our friend has contrived to 
finish the bishop during his disquisition; the 
bowl's quite empty." 

"You don't say so, Fred. To be sure, how a 
man does forget himself in abstract speculations; 
but let us have a little more, I've not concluded 
my homily." 

" Not a glass, Maurice; it's already past nine; 
we are all pledged to the masquerade, and be- 
fore we've dressed and got there, 'twill be late 
enough." 

" But I'm not disguised yet. my boy, nor half." 

"Well, they must take you au iiaturel, as our 
countrymen do their potatoes." 

"Yes, doctor, Fred's right; we had better 
start." 

" Well, I can't help it; I've recorded my oppo- 
sition to the motion, but I must submit; and now 
that I'm on my legs, explain to me what's that 
very dull-looking old lamp, up there?" 

"That's the moon, man; the full moon." 

" Well, I've no objection; I'm full too; so come 
along, lads." 



CHAPTER LXXXV, 

THE MASQUERADE. 



To form one's impression of a masked ball 
fro^n the attempts at this mode of entertainment 



in our country, is but to conceive a most imper- 
fect and erroneous notion. With us, the first 
coup d'ceil is everything; the nuns, the shepherd- 
esses, the Turks, sailors, eastern princes, watch- 
men, ni'jonshees, milestones, devils, and Quakers, 
are all very well in their way, as they pass in the 
review before us, but when we come to mix in 
the crowd, we discover that, excejn the turban 
and the cowl, the crook and the broadbrim, no 
further disguise is attempted or thought of. The 
nun, forgetting her vow and her vestments, is 
flirting with the devil; the watchman, a very 
fastidious elegant, is ogling thefishwoman through 
his glass, while the Quaker is performing a pas 
setcl Alberti might be proud of in a quadrille of 
riotous Turks and half-tipsy Hindoos; in fact, 
the whole wit of the scene consists in absurd as- 
sociations. Apart from this, the actors have 
rarely any claims upon your attention; for even 
supposing a person clever enough to sustain his 
character, whatever it be, you must also supyily 
the other personages of the drama, or, in stage 
phrase, he'll have nothing to " play up to." What 
would be Bardolph without Pistol ? what Sir 
Lucius O'Trigger without Acres? It is the relief 
which throws out the disparities and contradic- 
tions of life that afford us most amusement; 
hence it is, that one swallow can no more make 
a summer, than one well-sustained character can 
give life to a masquerade. Without such sym- 
pathies, such points of contact, all the leading 
features of the individual, making him act and 
be acted upon, are lost; the characters being 
mere parallel lines, which, however near they 
approach, never bisect or cross each other. 

This is not the case abroad; the domino, which 
serves for mere concealment, is almost the only 
dress assumed, and the real disguise is therefore 
thrown from necessity upon the talents, whatever 
they be, of the wearer. It is no longer a ques- 
tion of a beard or a spangled mantle, a Polish 
dress or a pasteboard nose; the mutation of 
voice, the assumption of a different manner, 
walk, gesture, and mode of expression, are all 
necessary, and no small tact is required to effect 
this successfully. 

I may be pardoned this little digression, as it 
serves to explain in some measure how I felt on 
entering the splendidly lit up salons of the villa, 
crowded with hundreds of figures in all the varied 
costumes of a carnival. The sounds of laughter, 
mingled with the crash of the music; the hurry- 
ing hither and thither of servants with refresh- 
ments; the crowds gathered around fortune-tell- 
ers, whose predictions threw the parties at each 
moment into shouts of merriment; the eager fol- 
lowing of some disappointed domino, interrogat- 
ing every one to find out a lost mask. For some 
time I stood an astonished spectator at the kind 
of secret intelligence which seemed to pervade 
the whole assemblage, when suddenly a mask, 
who for some time had been standing beside me, 
whispered in French, 

" If you pass your time in this manner, you 
must not feel surprised if your place be oc- 
cupied." 

I turned hastily round, but she was gone. She, 
I say, for the voice was clearly a woman's; her 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE H^ISH DRAGOON. 



399 



pink domino could be no guide, for hundreds of 
tlie same color passed nie every instant; the 
meaning of the allusion I had little doubt of. I 
turned to speak to Power, but he was gone; and, 
for the first moment of my life, the bitterness of 
rivalry crossed my mind'. It was true I had re- 
signed all pretensions in his favor; my last meet- 
ing with Lucy had been merely to justify my own 
character against an impression that weighed 
heavily on me; still I thought he might have 
wa'ted; another day and I should be far away, 
neither to witness nor grieve over his successes. 

" You still hesitate," whispered some one near 
me. 

I wheeled round suddenly, but could not de- 
tect the speaker, and was again relapsing into my 
own musings, when the same voice repeated, 

" The w hite domino with the blue cape. Adieu." 

Without waiting to reflect upon the singularity 
of the occurrence, I now hurried along through 
tile dense crowd, searching on every side for the 
duiuino. 

" Isn't that O'Malley?" said an Englishman to 
his friend. 

'"Yes," replied the other; "the very man we 
want. O'Malley, find a partner; we have been 
searching a vis-a-z'is this ten minutes." 

The speaker was an officer I had met at Sir 
George Dashwood's. 

" How did you discover me?" said I, suddenly. 

"Not a very difficult thing, if you carry your 
mask in your hand that way," was the answer. 

And I now perceived that in the distraction 
of my thoughts I had been carrying my mask 
in this manner since my coming into the room. 

" There now, what say you to the blue dom- 
ino? I saw her foot, and a girl with such an 
instep must be a waltzer." 

I looked round, a confused effort at memory 
passing across my mind; my eyes fell at the in- 
stant upon the embroidered sleeve of the domino, 
where a rosebud worked in silver at once re- 
minded me of Catrina's secret. "Ahl" thought 
I, " la senhora herself !" She was leaning upon 
the arm of a tall and portly figure in black; who 
this was I knew not, nor sought to discover, but 
at once advancing towards Donna Inez asked her 
to waltz. 

Without replying to me she turned towards her 
companion, who seemed as it were to press her 
acceptance of my offer; she hesitated, however, 
for an instant, and, curtseying deeply, declined 
it. "Well," thought I, "she at least has not 
recognized me." 

" AnA yet, senhora," said I, half-jestingly, " I 
//avt' seen you join a bolero before now." 

" You evidently mistake me," was the reply, 
but in a voice so well feigned as almost to con- 
vince me she was right. 

" Nay, more," said I, " under your own fair 
auspices did I myself first adventure one." 

"Still in error, believe me; I am not known to 
you." 

" .'Vnd yet I have a talisman to refresh your 
memory, should you dare me further." 

.^t this instant my hand was grasped warmly 
by a passing mask. I turned round rapidly, and 
Power whispered in my ear, 



" Yours forever, Charley; you've made my 
fortune." 

As he hurried on I could perceive that he sup- 
ported a lady on his arm, and that she wore a 
loose white donnno with a deep blue cape. In a 
second all thought of Inez was forgotten, and 
anxious onlv to conceal my emotion, I turned 
away and mingled in the crowd. Lost to all 
around me, I wandered carelessly, heedlessly on, 
neither noticing the glittering thiong around, nor 
feeling a thought in common ^^ilh the gay and 
joyous spirits that flitted by. 'I he night wore 
on, my melancholy and depression growing ever 
deeper, yet so spell-bound was I that I could not 
leave the place. A secret sense that it was the 
last time that we ■\vere to meet had gained entire 
possession of me, and I longed to speak a few 
words ere we parted forever. 

I was leaning at a window ^bich looked out 
upon the court-yard, when ?uddt.nly the tramp 
of horses attracted my attention, and 1 saw by 
the clear moonlight a group of mounled men, 
whose long cloaks and tall helmets announced 
dragoons, standing around the jjorch. At the 
same moment the door of the sa/oii opened, and 
an officer in undress, splashed and travel-stained, 
entered. Makmg his way rapidly through the 
crowd, he followed the servant, who introduced 
him towards the sujiper-room. Thither the dense 
mass now pressed to learn the meaning of the 
singular apparition, while my ovn curiosity, not 
less excited, led me towards the door; as I 
crossed the hall, however, my progress was inter- 
rupted by a group of peiions. among whom I 
saw an aide-de-camp of Lord Wellington's staff, 
narrating, as it were, some pitce of ne>\ly-arrived 
intelligence. I had no time for further inquiry, 
when a door ojiened near me, and Sir George 
Dashwood, accompanied by several general offi- 
cers, came forth, the officer I had first seen enter 
the ball-room along with them. Every one Mas 
by this time unmasked, and eagerly looking to 
hear what had occurred. 

" Then, Dashwood, you'll send off an orderly 
at once?" said an old general officer beside 
me. 

"This instant, my lord. I'll despatch an 
aide-de-camp. The troops shall be in marching 
order before noon. Oh, here's the man I want! 
O'Malley, come here. Mount your horse and 
dash into town. Send for Kroiherton and 
M'Gregor to quarters, and announce the news as 
quickly as possible." 

" But what am I to announce, Sir George?" 

"That the French are in retreat — Massena in 
retreat, my lad." 

A tremendous cheer at this instant burst from 
I lie hundreds in the salon, who now heard the glori- 
ous tidings. Another cheer and another followed 
— ten thousand vivas rose amid the crash of the 
band, as it broke into a patriotic war chant. 
Such a scene of enthusiasm and excitement 1 
never witnessed. Some wept with joy. Others 
threw themselves into their friends' arms. 

" They're all mad, every mother's son of them!" 
said Maurice Quill, as he elbowed h.is way through 
the mass; " aifd here's an old vestal won't leave 
my arm. She has already embraced me three 



400 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE HUSH DRAGOON. 



times, and we've finished a flask of Malaga be- 
tween us." 

"Come, O'Malley, are you ready for the 
road?" 

My horse was by this time standing saddled at 
the front. I sprang at once to the saddle, and, 
without waiting for a second order, set out for 
Lisbon. Ten minutes had scarce elapsed — the 
very shouts of joy of the delighted city were still 
ringing in my ears — when I was once again back 
at the villa. As I mounted the steps into the 
hall, a carriage drew up: it was Sir George Dash- 
wood's; he came forward — his daughter leaning 
upon his arm. 

"Why, O'Malley, I thought you had gone." 

"I have returned. Sir George. Colonel Broth- 
erton is in waiting, and the staff also. I have 
received orders to set out for Benejos, where the 
14th are stationed, and have merely delayed to 
say adieu." 

"Adieu, my dear boy, and God bless you!" 
said the warm-hearted old man, as he pressed my 
hand between both his. "Lucy, here's your old 
friend about to leave; come and say good-by." 

Miss Dashwood had stopped behind to adjust 
her shawl. I flew to her assistance. " Adieu, 
Miss Dashwood, and forever!" said I, in a bro- 
ken voice, as I took her hand in mine. " Tiiis is 
not your domino," said I, eagerly as a blue silk 
one peeped from beneath her mantle; "and the 
sleeve, too — did you wear this?" She blushed 
slightly, and assented. 

"I changed with the senhora, who wore mine 
all the evening." 

"And Power, then, was not your partner?" 

" I should think not — for I never danced." 

" Lucy, my love, are you ready? Come be 
quick." 

"Good-by, Mr. O'Malley, undau rcvoir, nest ce 
pasf 

I drew her glove from her hand as she spoke, 
and, pressing my lips upon her fingers, placed 
her within the carriage. " Adieu, and ait revoir!" 
said I; the carriage turned away, and a white 
glove was all that remained to me of Lucy Dash- 
wood ! 

The carriage had turned the angle of the road, 
and its retiring sounds were growmg gradually 
fainter, ere I recovered myself sufficiently to 
know where I stood. One absorbing thought 
alone possessed me. Lucy was not lost to me 
forever. Power was not my rival in that quarter 
• — that was enough for me. I needed no more to 
nerve my arm and steel my heart. As I reflected 
thus, the long loud blast of a trumpet broke 
upon the silence of the night, and admonished 
me to depart. I hurried to my room to make 
my few preparations for the road, but Mike had 
already anticipated everything here, and all 
wa.s in readiness. 

But one thing now remained — to make my 
adieu to the senhora. With this intent, I de- 
scended a narrow winding stair which led from 
my dressing room, and opened bv a little terrace 
upon the flower-garden beside her apartments. 

As I crossed the gravelled alley, I could not 
but think of the last lime I had been there. It 
was on the eve of departure for the Douro. I re- 



called the few and fleeting moments of our leave- 
taking, and a thought flashed upon me — what if 
she cared for me! — what, if, half in ccquctiv. 
half in reality, her heart was mixed up in tho.'-e 
passages which daily association gives rise to? 

I could not altogether acquit myself of all de- 
sire to make her believe me her admirer; nay, 
more, with the indolent abandon of my country, 
I had fallen into a thousand little schtmes to 
cheat the long hours away, which having no other 
object than the happiness of the moment, might 
yet color all her after-life with sorrow. 

Let no one rashly pronounce nie a coxcomb, 
vain and pretentious, for all this. In my inmost 
heart I had no feeling of selfishness mingled with 
the consideration. It was from no sense of my 
own merits, no calculation of my own chances of 
success, that I thought thus Fortunately, at 
eighteen one's heart is uncontaminated with 
such an alloy of vanity. The first emotions of 
youth are pure and holy things, tempering our 
fiercer passions, and calming the rude efferves- 
cence of our boyish spirit; and when we strive 
to please, and hope to win affection, we insensi- 
bly fashion ourselves to nobler and higher 
thoughts, catching from the source of our de- 
votion a portion of that charm that idealizes daily 
life, and makes our path in it a glorious and a 
bright one. 

Who would not exchange all the triumphs of 
his later days, the proudest moments of success- 
ful ambition, the richest trophies of hard-won 
daring, for the short and vivid flash that first 
shot through his heart and told him he was 
loved. It is the opening consciousness of life, 
the first sense of power that makes of the mere 
boy a man— a man in all his daring and his 
pride — and hence it is that in early life we feel 
ever prone to indulge those fancied attacliments 
which elevate and raise us in our own esteem. 
Such was the frame of my mind as I entered the 
little boudoir, where once before I had ventured 
on a similar errand. 

As I closed the sash-door behind me, the grey 
dawn of breaking day scarcely permitted my 
seeing anything round me, and I felt my way 
towards the door of an adjoining room, where I 
supposed It was likely I should find the senhora. 
As I proceeded thus with cautious step and beat- 
ing heart, I tliought I heard a sound near me. 
I stopped and listened, and was about again to 
move on, when a half-stifled sob fell iqion my 
ear. Slowly and silently guiding my steps 
towards the sounds, I reached a sofa, when, my 
eyes growing by degrees more accustomed to the 
faint light, I could detect a figure which, at a 
glance, I recognized as Donna Inez. A cash- 
mere shawl was loosely thrown round her, and 
her face was buried in her hands. As she lay, 
to all seeming, still and insensible before me, her 
beautiful hair fell heavily upon her back and 
across her arm, and her whole attitude denoted 
the very abandonment of grief. A short convuls- 
ive shudder which slightly shook her frame 
alone gave evidence of life, except when a sob, 
barely audibly in the death-like silence, escaped 
her. 

I knelt silently down beside her, and, gently 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE H^ISH DRAGOON.. 



401 



withdrawing her hand, placed it within mine. A 
dreadful feeling of self-condemnation shot 
through me as I felt the gentle pressure of lier 
taper fingers, which rested without a struggle in 
my grasp. My tears fell hot and fast upon that 
pale hand, as I bent in sadness over it^ unable to 
utter a word. A rush of conflicting thoughts 
passed through my brain, and I knew not what 
to do. I now had no doubt upon my mind that 
she loved me, and that her present affliction was 
caused by my approaching departure. 

'■ Dearest Inez!" I stammered out at length, as 
I pressed her hands to my lips; "dearest Inez!"— 
a faint sob, and a slight pressure of her hand, 
was the only reply. " I have come to say good- 
b)'," continued I, gaining a little courage as I 
spoke; " a long good-by, too, in all likelihood. 
You have heard that we are ordered away — 
there, don't sob, dearest, and, believe me, I had 
wished ere we parted to have spoken to you 
calmly and openly, but, alas! 1 cannot— I 
scarcely know .what I say." 

" You will not forget me?" said she, in a low 
voice, that sank into my very heart. "You will 
not forget me.'" As she spoke, her hand dropped 
heavily upon my 'shoulder, and her rich luxu- 
riant hair fell upon my cheek. What a devil of a 
thing is proximity to a downy cheek and a black 
eyelash, more especially when they belong to one 
whom vou are disposed to believe not indifferent 
to you! What I did at this precise moment 
there is no necessity for recording, even had not 
an adage interdicted such confessions, nor can 1 
now remember what I said; but I can well recol- 
lect how, gradually warming with my subject, I 
entered into a kind of half-declaration of attach- 
ment, intended most honestly to be a mere expose 
of my own unworthiness to win her favor, and 
my resolution to leave Lisbon and its neighbor- 
hood forever. 

Let not any one blame me rashly if he has not 
experienced the difficulty of my position. The 
impetus of love-making is like the ardor of a 
fox-hunt. You care little that the six-bar gate 
before you is the boundary of another gentle- 
man's preserves, or the fence of his pleasure- 
ground. You go slap along at a smashing pace, 
with your head up, and your hand low, clearing 
all before you, the opposing difficulties to your 
progress giving half the zest, because all the 
danger to your career. So it is with love; the 
gambling spirit urges one ever onward, and 
chance of failure is a reason for pursuit, where 
no other argument exists. 

"And do you love me?" said the senhora, with 
a soft, low whisper, that most unaccountably sug- 
gested anything but comfort to me. 

" Love you, Inez? By this kiss — I'm in an in- 
fernal scrape!" said I, muttering this last half of 
my sentence to nivself. 

" And you'll never be jealous again?" 

" Ne\er, by all that's lovely! — your own sweet 
lips. That's the very last thing to reproach me 
with." 

" .\nd you promise me not to mind that 
foolish boy? For, after all, you know, it was 
mere flirtation — if even that." 

" I'll never think of him a^ain." said I, while 



my brain was burning to make out her meaning. 
" But, dearest, there goes the trumpet-call " 

■' And, as for Pedro Mascarenhas, I never 
liked him." 

"Are you quite sure, Inez?" 

"I swear it! — so no more 6f him. Gonzales 
Cordenz — I've broke with him long since. So 
that you see, dearest Frederic " 

" Frederic?" said I, starting almost to my feet 
with amazement, while she continued; 

" I'm your own — all your own!" 

" Oh! the coquette, the heartless jilt!" groaned 
I, half aloud. " And O'Malley, Inez, poor 
Charley! — what of him?" 

" Poor thing! I can't help him. But he's such 
a puppy, the lesson may do him good." 

"But perhaps he loved you, Inez?" 

"To be sure he did; I wished him to do so — 
I can't Ijear not to be loved. But, Frederick, tell 
me, may 1 trust you — will you keep faithful to 
me?" 

"Sweetest Inez! by this last kiss I swear, that 
such as I kneel before you now, you'll ever find 
me." 

A foot upon the gravel-walk without, now 
called me to my feet — I sprang towards the door, 
and before Inez had lifted her head from the 
sofa, I had reached the garden. A figure muffled 



in a cavalry cloak passed near me, but without 
noticing me, and the next moment I had cleared 
the paling, and was hurrying towards the stable 
where I had ordered Mike to be in waiting. 

The faint streak of dull ]:iink which announced 
the coming day, stretched beneath the dark clouds 
of the night, and the chill air of the morning was 
already stirring in the leaves. 

As I passed along by a low beech hedge which 
skirted the avenue, I was struck by the sound of 
voices near me. I stopped to listen, and soon 
detected in one of the speakers my friend Mickey 
Free; of the other I was not long in ignorance. 

" Love you, is it — bathershin? It's worship 
you — adore you, my darling — that's the word — 
there, acushla, don't cry — dry your eyes — oh, 
murther! it's a cruel thing to tear one's self away 
from the best of living, with the run of the house 
in drink and kissing. Bad luck to it for cam- 
paigning, anyway, I never liked it!" 

Catrina's re|)ly — for it was she — I could not 
gather; but Mike resumed: 

" Ay, just so, sore bones and wet grass, accad- 
ente, and half rations. Oh, that I ever saw the 
day when I took to it! Listen to me now, honey; 
here it is, on my knees I am before you, and 
throth it's not more than three, maybe four, 
young women I'd say the like to; bad scran to me 
if I wouldn't marry you out of a face this blessed 
morning just as soon as I'd look at ye. Arrah, 
there now, don't be screeching and bawling; 
what'U the neighbors think of us, and my own 
heart's destroyed with grief entirely." 

Poor Catrina's voice returned an inaudible an- 
swer, and not wishing any longer to play the 
eavesdrop]5er, I continued my path ""owards the 
stable. The distant noises from cne city an- 
nounced a state of movement and p: ei)aralion, 
and more than one orderly passed the road near 
me at a gallop. .As I turned into the wide court- 



402 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



yard, Mike, breathless and flurried with running, 
overtook me. 

"Are the horses ready, Mike?" said I; "we 
must start this instant." 

" 'I'hey'vejust finished a peck of oats apiece, 
ai>d faix that same may be a stranger to them 
this day six months." 

" And the b.iggage, too?" 

"On the cars, with the staff and the light brigade. 
It was down there I was now, to see all was 
right." 

■" Oh, I am quite aware; and now bring out the 
cattle. I hope Catrina received your little con- 
solations well. That seems a very sad affair." 

"Murder, real murder, devil a less! It's no 
matter where you go, from Clonmel to Chayney, 
it's all one; they've a way of getting round you. 
Upon my soul it's like the pigs they are." 

" Like pigs, Mike? That appears a strange 
compliment you've selected to pay them." 

" Ay, just like the pigs, no less. Maybe you 
never hear wliat happened to myself up at Mor-' 
onha?" 

" Look to that girth there. Well, go on." 

"I was coming along one morning, just as day 
was beginning to break, when I sees a slip of a 
pig trotting before me, with nobody near him; 
but as the road was lonely, and myself rather 
down in heart, I thought, muslia! but yer fine 
company, anyhow, av a body could only keep 
you with him. But, ye see, a pig — saving your 
presence— is a baste not easily flattered, so I 
didn't waste time and blarney iijjon him, but 
I took off my belt, and put it round his neck as 
neat as need be; but, as the devil's luck would 
have it, I didn't go half an hour when a horse 
came galloping up behind me. I turned round, 
and, by the blessed light, it was Sir Dinny him- 
self was on it!" 

" Sir Dennis Pack?" 

" Yes, bad luck to his hook nose. ' What are 
you doing there, my fine fellow?' says he. 
■ What's that you have dragging there behind 
you?' 

"'A boneen, sir," says I. 'Isn't he a fine 
crayture? — av he wasn't so troublesome." 

" ' Troublesome, troublesome — what do you 
mean?' 

"Just so,' says I. 'Isn't he parsecuting the 
life out of me the whole morning, following me 
about everywhere I go? Contrary bastes they 
always was.' 

"'I advise you to try and part company, my 
friend, notwitlistanding,' says he; 'or mayjje it's 
the same end you'll be coming to, and not long 
either.' And faix, I took his advice; and ye see. 
Mister Charles, it's just as I was saying, they're 
like the women, the least thing in life is enough 
to bring them after us, av vc- only put the ' cowether 
upon them." 

" And now, adieu to the Villa Nuova," said I, 
as I rode slowly down the avenue, turning ever 
and anon in ray saddle to look back on each 
well-known spot. 

A heavy sigh from Mike responded to my 
words. 

"A long, a last farewell!" said I, waving my 
hand towards the trellised walls, now half hidden 



by the trees; and, as I spoke, that heaviness of 
the heart came over me tliat seems inseparable 
from leave-taking. The hour of parting seems 
like a warning to us, that all our enjoyments and 
pleasures here are destined to a short and merely 
(ieeting existence; and, as each scene of life 
passes away never to return, we are made to feel 
that youth and hope are passing with them; and 
that, although the fair world be as bright, and its 
pleasures as rich in abundance, our capacity of 
i.-njoyment is daily, hourly diminishing; and while 
all around us smiles in beauty and happiness, that 
we, alas! are not what we were. 

Such was the tenor of my thoughts as I reached 
the road, when they were suddenly interrupted 
by my man Mike, whose meditations were fol- 
lowing a somewhat similar channel, though at 
last inclining to different conclusions. He 
coughed a couple of times as if to attract my 
attention, and then, as it were half thinking 
aloud, he muttered: 

"I wonder if we treated the young ladies well, 
anyhow, Mister Charles, for, faix, I've my doubts 
on it." 



CHAPTER LXXXVL 



THE LINES. 



When we reached Lescas, we found that an 
officer of Lord Wellington's staff had just arrived 
from the lines, and was occupied in making 
known the general order from head-quarters; 
which set forth with customary brevity, that the 
French armies, under the command of Massena, 
had retired from their position, and were in full 
retreat; the second and third corps, which had 
been stationed at Villa Franca, having marched 
during the night of the 15th, in the direction of 
Manal. The officers in command of divisions 
were ordered to repair instantly to Pero Negro, 
to consult upon a forward movement. Admiral 
Berkeley being written to, to provide lai n;hes to 
pass over General Hill's, or any other corps 
which might be selected, to the left bank of the 
Tagus. All was now excitement, heightened by 
the unexpected nature of an occurrence which 
not even speculation had calculated upon. It 
was but a few days before and the news had 
reached Torres Vedras, that a powerful rein- 
forcement was in march to join Massena's army, 
and their advanced guard had actually reached 
Santarem. The confident expectation was, there- 
fore, that an attack upon the lines was meditated. 
Now, however, this prospect existed no longer; 
for scarcely had the heavy mists of the lowering 
day disappeared, when the vast plain, so lately 
peopled by the thickened ranks and dark masses 
of a great army, was seen in its whole extent de- 
serted and untenanted. 

Tlie smouldering fires of the pickets alone 
marked where the troops had been posted, but 
not a man of that immense force was to be seen. 
General Fane, who had been despatched with a 
brigade of Portuguese cavalry and some artillery, 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE H^ISH DRAGOON. 



403 



hung upon the rear of the retiring army, and 
from hiui we learned that the enemy were con- 
tinuing their retreat northward, having occupied 
Santarem with a strong force to cover the move- 
ment. Craufurd was ordered to the front with 
the light division, the whole army following in 
the same direction, except Hill's corps, which, 
crossing the river at Velada, was intended to 
harass the enemy's flank, and assist our future 
operation";. 

Such, in brief, was the state of affairs when I 
readied Villa Franca towards noon, and received 
orders to join my regiment, then forming part of 
Sir Stapleton Cotton's brigade. 

It must be felt, to be thoroughly appreciated, 
the enthusiastic pleasure with which one greets 
his old corps after some months of separation; 
tiie bounding ecstasy with which the weary eye 
rests on the old familiar faces, dear by every as- 
sociation of affection and brotherhood ; the 
anxious look for this one, and for that; the thrill 
of delight sent through the heart as the well- 
remembered march swells upon the ear; the very 
notes of thac rough voice, which we have heard 
jKiiid the crash of battle and the rolling of aitil- 
lerv, spiaks softly to our senses, like a father's 
welcome; from the well-tattered flag that waves 
above us, to the proud steed of the war-worn 
trumpeter — each has a niche in our affection. 

If ever there was a corps calculated to increase 
and foster these sentiments, the 14th Light Dra- 
goons was such. The warm affection, the truly 
heartfelt regard, which existed among my brother 
officers, made of our mess a happy home. Our 
veteran colonel, grown gray in campaigning, was 
like a father to us; while the senior officers, tem- 
pering the warm blood of impetuous youth with 
their hard-won experience, threw a charm of 
peace and tranquillity over all our intercourse 
that made us happy when together, and taught 
us to feel that, whether seated around the watch- 
fire, or charging amid the squadrons of the en- 
emy, we were surrounded by those devoted heart 
and soul to aid us. 

Gallant Fourteenth! — ever first in every gay 
scheme of youthful jollity, as foremost in the van 
to meet the foe — how happy am I to recall the 
memory of your bnght looks and bold hearts! — 
of your manly daring and your bold frankness — 
of your merry voices, as I have heard them in 
the battle or in the bivouac! Alas, and alas! that 
I should indulge such recollections alone! How 
few — how very few — are left of those with whom 
I trod the early steps of life! whose bold cheer 
I have heard above the clashing sabres of the 
enemy — whose broken voice I have listened to 
above the grave of a comrade! The dark pines 
of the Pyrenees wave above some, the burning 
sands of India cover others, and the wide plains 
of Salamanca are now your abiding-place. 

" Here conies O'Malley!" shouted a well-known 
voice as I rode down the little slojie, at the foot 
of which a group of officers were standing beside 
their horses. 

" Welcome, thou man of Galway!" cried Hamp- 
den; "delighted to liave you once more amongst 
us. How confoundedly well the fellow is look- 
ing!" 



" Lisbon beef seems better prog than commis- 
sariat biscuit!" said another. 

" A' weel, Charley?" said my friend, the Scotch 
doctor; "how's a' wi' ye, man? Ye seem to 
thrive on your mishaps! How cam' ye by that 
braw beast ie ye're mounted on?" 

"A present, doctor; the gift of a very warm 
friend." 

"I hope you invited him to the mess, O'Mal- 
ley! P"or, by Jove, our stables stand in need tf 
iiis kind offices! There he goes! Look at him' 
What a slashing pace for a heavy fellow!'' Tins 
observation was made with reference to a well- 
know.n officer on the commander-in-chief's stiiU, 
whose weight — some two-and-twenty stone — never 
was any impediment to his bold riding. 

" Egad, O'Malley, you'll soon be as pretty a 
light-weight as our friend yonder. Aii! there's a 
storm going on there! Here comes the colonel!" 

" Well, O'Malley, are you come back to us? 
Happy to see you, boy! — hope we shaJl not lose 
you again in a hurry! — We can't spare the scape- 
graces! There's plenty of skirmishing going on! 
— Craufurd always asks for the scapegraces for 
the pickets!" 

I shook my gallant colonel's hand, while I ac- 
knowledged, as best I might, his ambiguous 
compliment. 

" I say, lads," resumed the colonel, "squad 
your men and forin on the road! Lord Welling- 
ton's coming down this way to have a look at 
you! ©"Malley, 1 have General Craufuid's orders 
to offer you your old appointment on his staff; 
without j'ou prefer remaining with the regiment!" 

" I can never be sufficiently grateful, sir, to the 
general; but, in fact- — I think— that is, I be- 
lieve " 

" You'd rather be among your own fellows. 
Out with It, boy! I like ycu all the better! but 
come, we mustn't let the general know that, so 
that I shall forget to tell you all about it. Eh? 
isn't that best? But join your troop now; I hear 
the staff coming this way." 

As he spoke, a crowd of horsemen were seen 
advancing towards us at a sharp trot; their waving 
plumes and gorgeous aiguillettes denoting their 
rank as generals of divison. In the midst, as 
they came nearer, I could distinguish one whom, 
once seen, there was no forgetting; his plain blue 
frock and grey trousers unstrapped beneath his 
boots, not a little unlike the trim accuracy of cos- 
tume around him. As he rode to the head of 
the leading squadron, the staff fell back and he 
stood alone before us; for a second there was a 
dead silence, but the next instant — by what im- 
pulse tell who can — one tremendous cheer burst 
from the entire regiment. It was like the act (if 
one man; so sudden, so spontaneous. While 
every cheek glowed, and every eye sparkled with 
enthusiasm, he alone seemed cool and unexcited. 
as gently raising his hand, he motioned them to 
silence. 

" Fourteenth, you are to be where you always 
desire to be — in the advance guard of the army. 
I have nothing to say on the subject of your con 
duct in the field. I know you; but, if in pursu'; 
of the enemy, I hear of any misconduct towards 
the people of the country, or any ; .ansgressi(jii 



404 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



of the general orders regarding pillage, by G — , 
I'll punish you as severely as the worst corps in 
the service, and you know Die." 

"Oh! tear an ages, listen to that; and there's 
to be no plunder after all!" said Mickey Free; 
and for an instant the most I could do was not to 
burst into a fit of laughter. The word " For- 
ward!" was given at the moment, and we moved 
past in close column, while that penetrating eye, 
which seemed to read our very thoughts, scanned 
us from one end of the line to the other. 

" I say, Charley," said the captain of my troop 
in a whisper — " 1 say, that confounded cheer we 
gave got us that lesson; he can't stand that kind 
of thing." 

'"By Jove! I never felt more disposed than to 
repeat it," said I. 

" No, no, my boy, we'll give him the honors, 
nine times nine; but wait till evening. Look at 
old Merivale there. I'll swear he's saying some- 
thing devilish civil to him. Do you see the old 
fellow's happy look?" 

And so it was; the bronzed, hard-cast features 
of the veteran soldier were softened into an ex- 
pression of almost boyish delight, as he sat bare- 
headed, bowing to his very saddle, while Lord 
Wellington was speaking. 

As I looked, r.iy heart throbbed painfully against 
my side, my breath came quick, and I muttered 
to myself, "'What would I not give to be in his 
place now!" 



CHAPTER LXXXVII. 

THE RETREAT OF THE FRENCH. 

It is not my intention, were I even adequate 
to the task, to trace with anything like accuracy 
the events of the war at this period. In fact, to 
those who, like myself, were performing a mere 
subaltern character, the daily movements of our 
own troops, not to speak of the continual changes 
of the enemy, were perfectly unknown, and an 
F",nglish newspaper was more ardently longed for 
in the Peninsula than by the most eager crowd of 
a London coffee-room; na\', the results of the 
very engagements we were ourselves concerned 
in, more than once, first reached us through the 
press of our own country. It is easy enough to 
understand this. The officer in command of the 
regiment, and, how much more, the captain of a 
troop, or the subaltern under him, I'nows nothing 
beyond the sphere of his own immediate duty: 
by the success or failure of his own party his 
knowledge is bounded, but how far he or his may 
influence the fortune of the day, or of what is 
taking place elsewhere, he is totally ignorant; and 
an old Fourteenth man did not badly explain his 
ideas on the matter, who described Busaco as "a 
great noise and a great smoke, booming artillery 
a;id rattling small-arms, infernal confusion, and, 
to all seeming, incessant blundering, orders and 
counter-orders, ending with a crushing charge, 
when, not being hurt himself nor having hurt any- 
body, he felt much pleased to learn that they had 
giined a victory." It is then sufficient for all the 



purposes of my narrative, when I mention that 
Massena continued his retreat by Santarem and 
Thomar, followed by the allied army, who, how- 
ever desirous of pressing upon the rear of their 
enemy, were still obliged to maintain their com- 
munication with the lines, and also to watch the 
movement of the large armies which, under Ney 
and Soult, threatened at any unguarded moment 
to attack them in flank. 

The position which Massena occupied at San- 
tarem, naturally one of great strength, and further 
improved by intrenchments, defied any attack on 
the part of Lord Wellington, until the arrival of 
the long-expected reinforcements from England. 
These had sailed in the early part of January, but, 
delayed by adverse winds, only reached Lisbon 
on the 2nd of March, and so correctly was the 
French marshal apprised of the circumstance, 
and so accurately did he anticipate the probable 
result, that on the 4th he broke up his encamp- 
ment, and recommenced his retrograde movement, 
with an army now reduced to forty thousand 
figliting men, and with two thousand sick; de- 
stroying all his baggage and guns th;U lould not 
be horsed. By a demonstration of adsancing 
upon the Zezere, by which he held the allies in 
check, he succeeded in passing his wounded to 
the rear, while Ney, appearing with a laige force 
suddenly at Leiria, seemed bent upon attacking 
the lines; by these stratagtms two days' march 
were gained, and the French retreated upon 
Torres Novas and Thomar, destroying the bridges 
behind them as they passed. 

The day was breaking on the 12th of March, 
when the British first came in sight of the retiring 
enemy, ^^'e were then ordered to the front, and, 
broken up into small parties, threw out our skir- 
mishers. The French chasseurs, usually not in- 
disposed to accept this species of encounter, 
showed now less of inclination than usual, and 
either retreated before us, or hovered in masses 
to check our advance; in this way the noming 
was passed, when towards noon we perceivtd that 
the enemy was drawn up in battle array, occupy- 
ing the height above the village of Redinha. This 
little straggling village is situated in a hollow, 
traversed by a narrow causeway, which opens by 
a long and dangerous defile upon a bridge; on 
either side of which a dense weed affoided a 
shelter for light troop?, while upon the ccnniand- 
ing eminence above a battery of heavy guns was 
seen in position. 

In front of the village a brigade of artillery and 
a division of infantry weie drawn up so skilfully 
as to give the appearance of a considerable force, 
so that, when Lord Wellington came up, he spent 
some time in examining the enemy's position. 
Erskine's brigade was in mediately ordered up, 
and the Fifty-second and Ninety-fourth, and a 
company of the Forty-third were led against the 
wooded slopes upon the Fiench right. Pictcn 
simultaneously attacked the left, and, in less than 
an hour, both were successful, and Ney's position 
was laid bare: his skirmishers, however, continued 
to hold their ground in front, and La Ferriere, a 
colonel of hussars, dashing boldly forward at this 
very moment, carried off fourteen prisoners from 
the very front of our line. Deceived by the con- 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



405 



fidence of tlie enemy, L^rd Wellington now pre- 
pared for an attack in force. I'he infantry were 
therefore formed into line, and, at the signal of 
three shots fired from the centre, began their fore- 
most movement. 

Bending up a gentle curve, the whole plain 
glistened with the glancing bayonets, and the 
troops marched majestically onward; wliile the 
light artillery and the cavalrv bounding forward 
from the left and centre rushed eagerly towards 
the foe. Onedeafeningdischarge from the French 
guns opened at the moment, with a general volley 
of small-arms. The smoke foran instant obscured 
everything; and when that cleared away no enemy 
was to be seen. 

The British pressed madly on, like heated blood- 
hounds; but, when they descended the slope, the 
village of Redinha was in flames, and the French 
in full retreat beyond it; a single howitzer seemed 
our oKily trophy, and even this we were not des- 
tined to boast of, for from the midst of the crash- 
ing flame and dense smoke of the burning village, a 
troop of dragoons rushed forward, and, charging 
our infantry, carried it off. The struggle, though 
but for a moment, cost them dear; twenty of their 
comrades lay dead upon the spot; but they were 
resolute and determined, and the officer who led 
them on, fighting hand to hand with a soldier of 
tlie Forty-second, cheered them as they retired. 
His gallant bearing, and his coat covered with dec- 
orations, bespoke him one of note, and well it 
might; he who thus perilled his life to maintain 
the courage of his soldiers at the commencement 
of a retreat, was no other that Ney himself, le 
plus brave dcs braves. The British pressed hotly 
on, and the light troops crossed the river almost 
at the same time with the French. •> Ney, howe\ er, 
fell back upon Condeixa, where his main body 
was posted, and all further pursuit was for the 
present abandoned. 

At Casa Noval and at Foz d'Aronce the allies 
were successful; but the F'rench still continued 
to retire, burning the towns and villages in their 
rear, and devastating the country along the whole 
line of march by every expedient of crueltv 
the heart of man has ever conceived. In the 
words of one whose descriptions, however fraught 
with the most wonderful power of painting, 
are equally marked by truth — " Every horror 
that could make war hideous attended this 
dreadful march. Distress, conflagration, death in 
all modes — from wounds, from fatigue, from water, 
from the flames, from starvation — vengeance, un- 
limited vengeance — was on every side." The 
country was a desert! 

Such was the exhaustion of the allies, who suf- 
fered even greater privations than the enemy, 
that they halted upon the t6th. unable to proceed 
farther, and the river Ceira, swollen and unford- 
able, flowed between the rival armies. 

Tlie repose of even one day was a most grate- 
ful interruption to the harassing career we had 
pursued for some time past; and it seemed that 
my comrades felt, like myself, that such an oppor- 
tunity was by no means to Ije neglected; but, 
while I am devoting so much space, and trespass- 
ing on my reader's patience thus far with nar.itive 
of flood and field, let me steal a chapter for what 



will sometimes seem a scarcely less congenial 
topic, and bring back the recollection of a glori- 
ous night in the Peninsula. 



CHAPTER LXXXVIII. 
Patrick's day in the peninsula. 

The laril had not yet sounded, when I felt 
my shoulder shaken gently as I lay wrapped up 
in my cloak beneath a prickly pear-tree. 

" Lieutenant O'Malley, sir; a letter, sir; a bit 
of a note, your honor," said a voice that bespoke 
the bearer and myself were countrymen. 1 
opened it, and with much difficulty, by the uncer- 
tain light, read as follows. 

" Dear Charley, — As Lord Wellington, like 
a good Irishman as he is, wouldn't spoil Patrick's 
Day by marching, we've got a little dinner at oi.r 
quarters to celebrate the holy times, as my uncle 
would call it. Maurice, Phil Grady, and some 
regular trumps, will all come, so don't disappoint 
us. I've been making punch all night, and Casey, 
who has a knack at pastry, has made a goose-pie 
as big as a portmanteau. Sharp seven, after 
parade. The second battalion of the Fusiliers are 
quartered at ISIelante, and we are next them. 
Bring any of yours worth their liquor. Power is, 
I know, absent with the staff; perhaps the Scotch 
doctor would come — try him. Carryover a little 
mustard with you, if there be such in your parts. 
" Yours 

" D. O'Shaughnessy. 

"Patrick's Day, and raining like blazes." 

Seeing that the bearer expected an answer, I 
scrawled the words " I'm there" with my pencil 
on the back of the note, and again turned myself 
round to sleep. My slumbers were, however, soon 
interrupted once more, for the bugles of the light 
infantry, and the hoarse trumpet of the cavalry, 
sounded the call, and I found to my surprise that, 
though halted, we were by no means destined to 
a day of idleness. Dragoons were already 
mounted, carrying orders hither and thither, and 
staff-officers were galloping right and left. A 
general order commanded an inspection of the 
troops, and within less than an hour from day- 
break the whole army was drawn up underarms. 
.\ thin, drizzling rain continued to fall during 
the early part of the day, but the sun gradually 
dispelled the heavy vapor; and, as the bright ver- 
dure glittered in its beams, sending up all the 
perfumes of a southern clime, I thought I had 
never seen a more lovely morning. The staff 
were stationed upon a little knoll beside the river, 
round the base of which the troops defiled, at 
first in orderly, then in quick time, the bands 
playing, the colors flying. In the same brigade 
with us the Eighty-eighth came, and as they neared 
the commander-in-chief, their quickstep was 
suddenly stopped, and, after a pause of a few 
seconds, the Liand struck up " St. Patrick's Day," 
the notes were caught up by the other Irish regi- 



406 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



merits, and amid one prolonged cheer from the 
whole line, the gallant fellows moved past. 

The grenadier company were drawn up beside 
the road, and I was not long in detecting my 
friend O'Shaughnessy, who wore a tremendous 
shamrock in his shako. 

" Left face, wheel! quick march! Don't forget 
the mustard!" said the bold major; and a loud 
roar of laughing from my brother officers followed 
him off the ground. I soon explained tlie 
injunction, and, having invited some three or 
four to accompany me to the dinner, waited 
with all patience for the conclusion of the 
parade. 

The sun was setting as I mounted, and, joined 
by Hampden, Baker, the doctor, and another, set 
out for O'Shaughnessy 's quarters. As we rode 
along, we were continually falling in with others 
bent upon the same errand as ourselves, and ere 
we arrived at Melante our party was some thirty 
strong; and truly a most extraordinary procession 
did we form. Few of the invited came without 
some contribution to the general st^^jk; and while 
a staff-officer flourished a ham, a .>mart hussar 
might be seen with a plucked turkey, trussed for 
roasting; most carried bottles, as the consumption 
of fluid was likely to be considerable; and one 
fat old major jogged along on a broken-winded 
pony, with a basket of potatoes on his arm, 
Clood fellowship was the order of the day, and 
certainly a more jovial squadron seldom was met 
together than ours. As we turned the angle of a 
rising ground, a hearty cheer greeted us, and we 
beheld in front of an old ordnance marquee a 
jjarty of some fifty fellows engaged in all the 
])leasing duties of the cuisine. Maurice, conspicu- 
ous above all, with a white apron, and a ladle 
in his hand, was running hither and thither, ad- 
vising, admonishing, instructing, and occasionally 
imprecating. Ceasing for a second his functions, 
lie gave us a cheer and a yell like that of an Indian 
savage, and then resumed his duties beside a huge 
boiler, which, from the frequency of his ex- 
plol-ations into its contents, we judged to be 
punch. 

"Charley, my son, I've a place for you; don't 
forget. Where's my learned brother'? — haven't 
you brought him with you? Ah, doctor, how 
goes it?" 

" Nae that bad, Master Quell; a' things con- 
sidered, we've had an awful time of it lately." 

" You know my friend Hampden, Maurice. 
Let me introduce Mr. Baker — Mr. Maurice Quill. 
Where's the major?" 

"Here I am, my darling, and delighted to see 
you. Some of yours, O'Malley, ain't they? 
Proud to have you, gentlemen. Charley, we are 
obliged to have several tables; but you are to be 
beside Maurice, so take your friends with you. 
There goes the ' Roast Beef;' my heart warms to 
that old tune." 

Amid a hurried recognition, and shaking of 
hands on every side, 1 elbowed my way into the 
tent, and soon reached a corner, where, at a table 
for eight, I found Maurice seated at one end; a 
luige, purple-faced old major, whom he jiresented 
to us as Bob Mahon, occupied the other. 
O'Shaughnessy presided at the table next to 



us, but near enough to join in all the cotiviviality 
of ours. 

One must have lived for soine months upon 
hard biscuit and harder beef to relish as we did 
the fare before us, and to form an estimate of our 
satisfaction. If the reader cannot fancy Van 
.'\mburgh's lions in red coats and epaulettes, he 
must be content to lose the effect of the picture. 
K turkey rarely fed more than two i)eople, and 
few were abstemious enough to be satisfied wih 
one chicken. The order of the viands, too, ob- 
served no common routine, each party being 
happy to get what he could, and satisfied to 
follow up his pudding with fish, or his tart with 
a sausage. Sherry, champagne, London porter, 
Malaga, and even, I believe, Harvey's sauce, 
were hob-nobbed in, while hot )5unch, in teacups 
or tin vessels, was uns|)aringly distributed on all 
sides. Achilles himself, they say, got tired of eat- 
ing, and though he consumed something like a 
prize ox to his own cheek, he at length had to 
call for cheese, so that we at last pa\c in, and, 
having cleared away the broken tumbrels and 
baggage-carts of our army, cleared for a general 
action. 

" Now, lads!" cried the major, " I'm not going 
to lose your time and mine by speaking; but 
there are a couple of toasts I must insist upon 
your drinking with all the honors; and, as 1 like 
despatch, we'll couple them. It so happens that 
our old island boasts of two of the finest fellows 
that ever wore Russia ducks. None of your non- 
sensical geniuses, like poets, or painters, or any- 
thing like that; but downright, straightforward, 
no-humbug sort of devil-may-care and bad-luck- 
to-you kind of chaps — real Irishmen! Now, 
it's a strange thing that they both had such 
an antipathy to vermin, they spent their life 
in hunting them down and destroying them; 
and whether they met toads at home, or 
Johnny Crapaud abroad, it was all one. (Cheers.) 
Just so, boys; they made them leave that ; 
but I see you are impatient, so I'll not de- 
lay you, but fill to the brim, and, with the best 
cheer in your body, drink with me the two great- 
est Irishmen that ever lived, ' St. Patrick »nd Lord 
Wellington.' " 

The Englishmen laughed long and loud, while 
we cheered with an energy that satisfied even the 
major. 

"Who is to give us the chant? Who is to sing 
St. Patrick?" cried Maurice. "Come, Bob, out 
with it." 

"I'm four tumblers too low for that yet," 
growled out the major. 

"Well, then, Charley, be you the man; or why 
not Dennis himself? Come, Dennis, we cannot 
better begin our evening than with a song; let us 
have our old friend ' 1-arry M'Hale.' " 

"Larry M'Hale!" resounded from all parts of 
the room, while O'Shaughnessy rose once more 
to his legs. 

" Faith, boys, I'm always ready to follow your 
lead; but what analogy can exist between' Larry 
M'Hale' and the toast we have just drunk? I 
can't see for the life of me; not but Larry would 
have made a strapping light conipany man had 
he joined the army " 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



407 



"Tlie song, the song!" cried several voices. 
'■ Well, if you will have it, here goes." 

"LARRY M'HALE." 

Air — " It's a bit of a thing," &c. 

"Oh! Larry M'Halehe had little to fear, 

Aiul never could want when the crops didn't fail, 
He'd a house and <leniesne and eight liundred a year. 

And the heart for to spend it, had Larry M'Hale! 
The soul of a party — the life of a feast, 

And an illigmt song he could sing, I'll be bail; 
He would ride wilh thf rector, and drink with the priest, 

(Jh! the broth of a boy was old Larry M'Hale. 

" It's little he cared for the judge or recorder, 

Ilis house was as big anti as strong os a gaol: 
With a cruel four-pounder he kept in great order. 

He'd niuider the country, would Larry M'Hale. 
He'd a blunderbu.ss, too; of horse-pistols a pair; 

liut his favorite weapon was always a flail, 
I wish vou could see how he'd einjity a fair, 

For he handled it neatly, did Larry M'Hale. 

" His ancestors were kings before Moses was born. 

His mother descended from great Grana Uaile; 
He laughed all the lilakes and the Frenches to scorn; 

They were mushrooms compared to old Larry M'Hale. 
He sat down everv dav to a beautiful dinner. 

With cousins and uncles enough for a tail; 
And. though loaded with debt, oh! the devil a thinner 

Could law or the sheriff make Larry M'Hale. 

*' With a larder supplied, and a cellar well stored, 

None lived half so well, from P"air-Head to Kinsale, 
As he piously said, ' I've a plentiful board, 

And the Lord he is good to old Larry M'Hale.' 
So fill up your glass, and a high bumper give him. 

It's little we'd care for the tithes or repale; 
For ould Erin would be a fine country to live in. 

If we only had plenty like Larry M'Hale." 

" Very singular style of person your friend Mr. 
M'Hale," lipsed a spooney-looking cornet at the 
end of the table. 

" Not in tlie country he belongs to, I assure 
you," said Maurice; " but I presume you were 
never in Ireland." 

" You are mistaken there," resumed the other; 
" I was in Ireland, though I confess not for a 
long time." 

" If I might be so bold," cried Maurice, " how 
long?" 

" Half an hour, by a stop-watch," said the 
other, pulling up his stock; "and I had quite 
enough of it in that time." 

" Pray give us your experiences," cried out Bob 
Mahon. " They should be interesting, consider- 
ing your opportunities." 

" You are right," said the cornet; "they were 
so; and, as they illustrate a feature in youratnia- 
ble country, you shall have them." 

A general knocking upon the table announced 
the impatience of the company, and when silence 
was restored the cornet began: 

" When the Bermuda transport sailed from 
Portsmouth for Lisbon, I happened to make one 
of some four hundred interesting individuals who, 
before they became food for powder, were des- 
tined to try their constitutions on pickled pork. 
The second day after our sailing, the winds be- 
came adverse; it blew a hurricaat trom every cor- 
ner of the compass but the one it ought, and the 
good ship, that should have been standing straight 



for the Bay of Biscay, was scudding away under 
a double-reefed topsail towards the coast of Lab- 
rador. For si.K days we experienced every sea- 
manoeuvre that usually preludes a shipwreck, and 
at length, when, what from sea-sickness and fear, 
we had become utterly indifferent to the result, 
the storm abated, the sea went down, and we 
found ourselves lying comfortably in the harbor 
of Cork, with a strange suspicion on our minds 
that the frightful scenes of the past week had been 
nothing but a dream. 

"'Come, Mr." Medlicot,' said the skipper to 
me, 'we shall be here for a couple of days to 
refit; had you not better go ashore and see the 
country.'' 

"I sprang to my legs with delight; visions of 
cowslips, larks, daisies, and mutton chops floated 
before my excited imagination, and in ten min- 
utes I found myself standing at that pleasant lit- 
tle inn at Cove which, opposite Spike Island, re- 
joices in the name of the Goat and Garters. 

"'Breakfast, waiter,' said I; 'a beefsteak — 
fresh beef, mark ye; fresh eggs, bread, milk, and 
butter, all fresh. — No more hard tack,' thought 
I; 'no salt butter, but a genuine land breakfast.' 

" ' Up-stairs, No. 4, sir,' said the waiter, as he 
flourished a dirty napkin, indicating the way. 

"Up-stairs I went, and in due time the appe- 
tizing little meal made its appearance. Never 
did a minor's eye revel over his broad acres with 
more complacent enjoyment than did mine skim 
over the mutton and the muffin, the teapot, the 
trout, and the devilled kidney, so invitingly 
spread out before me 'Yes,' thought I, as 1 
smacked my lips, 'this is the reward of virtue, 
pickled pork is a probationary state that admira- 
bly fits us for future enjoyments ' I arranged 
my napkin upon my knee, seized my knife and 
fork, and proceeded with most critical acumen 
to bisect a beefsteak. Scarcely, however, had I 
touched it, when, with a loud crash, the plate 
smashed beneath it, and the gravy ran jiiteously 
across the cloth. Before I had time to account 
for the phenomenon, the door opened hastily, 
and the waiter rushed into the room, his face 
beaming with smiles, while he rubbed his hands 
in an ecstasy of delight. 

" 'It's all over, sir,' said he; 'glory be to God! 
it's all done.' 

" ' What's over? what's done?' inquired I, with 
impatience. 

" ' Mr. M'Mahon is satisfied,' replied he, 'and 
so is the other gentleman.' 

" ' Who and what the devil do you mean?' 

" ' It's over, sir, I say,' replied the waiter again; 
' he fired in the air.' 

" ' Fired in the air! Was there a duel in the 
room below stairs?' 

" ' Yes, sir,' said the waiter, with a benign 
smile. 

"'Th.-it will do," said I, as. seizing my hat. I 
rushed out of the house, and, hurrying to the 
beach, took a boat for the ship. Exactly half an 
hour had elapsed since my landing, but even 
those short thirty minutes had fully as many rea- 
sons that, although there may be few more amus- 
ing, there are some safer places to live in thaa 
the Green Isle." 



408 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



A general burst of laughter followed the cor- 
net's story, which was heightened in its effect by 
the gravity with wliich he lold it. 

"And, after all," said Maurice Quill, "now 
tliat people have given up making fortunes for the 
insurance companies, by living to the age of 
Methuselah, there's nothing like being an Irish- 
man. In what other part of the habitable globe 
can you cram so much of adventure into one 
year? Where can you be so often in love, in 
liquor, or in debt? and where can you get so 
merrily out of the three? Where are promises to 
marry and promises to pay treated with the same 
gentlemanlike forbearance? and where, when you 
have lost your heart and your fortune, are people 
found so ready to comfort you in your reverses? 
Yes," said Maurice, as he filled his glass up to 
the brim, and eyed it lusciously for a moment — 
"yes, darling, here's your health; the only girl I 
ever loved — in that jiart of the country, I mean. 
Give her a bumper, lads, and I'll give you a 
chant!" 

"Name! name! name!" shouted several voices, 
from different ])arts of the table. 

" Mary Draper!" said Maurice, filling his glass 
once more, while the name was re-echoed by 
every lip at table. 

"The song! the song!" 

" Faith, I hope I haven't forgotten it," quoth 
Maurice, " No; here it is." 

So saying, after a couple of efforts to assure 
the pitch of his voice, the worthy doctor began 
the following words to that very popular melody, 
"Nancy Dawson:" 

" MARY DRAPER." 

Air — " Nancy Dawson." 

" Don't talk to me of London dames. 
Nor rave about your foreign flames. 
That never lived — except in drames, 

Nor shone, except on paper; 
I'll sing you 'bout a girl I knew, 
Who lived in HallywTiacmacrew, 
And let me lell you, mighty few 
Could equal Mary Draper. 

" Her cheeks were red, her eyes were blue, 
Her hair was brown, of deepest hue, 
Her foot was small, and neat to view. 

Her waist was slight and taper. 
Her voice was music to your ear, 
A lovely brOgjue, so rich and clear — 
CW, the like I ne'er again shall hear, 
As from sweet Mary Draper. 

" She'd ride a wall, she'd drive a team, 
Or with a fly she'd whip a stream, 
Or maybe sing you ' Rousseau's Dream' 

For nothing could escape her, 

I've seen her, too — upon my word — 

At sixty yards bring down her bird. 

Oh! she charmed all tlie Forty-third, 

Did lovely Mary Diaper. 

*' And at the spring assizes' ball. 
The junior l")ar would one and all 
For all her fav'rite dances call. 

And Harry Deane would caper; 
Lord Clare would I hen forget his lore, 
King's Counsel, voting Inw a bore, 
"Were proud to 'figure on the floor. 
For love of Mary Diaper. 



" The parson, priest, sub-shcrifT, too, 
\Vere all her slaves, and so would you. 
If }ou hati (July but one view. 

Of such a face and shape, or 
Her pretty ankles but, ohone. 
It's only west of old Aihlone 
Such girls were found — and now they're gone — 

So here's to Mary Draper." 

"So here's to Mary Draper!" sang out every 
voice, in such efforts to catch the tune as pleased 
the taste of the motley assembly. 

"For Mary Draper and Co., I thank you," 
said Maurice. "Quill drinks to Dennis," added 
he, in a grave tone, as he nodded to O'Shaugh- 
nessy. "Yes, Shaugh, few men better than 
ourselves know these matters; and few have had 
more experience of the three perils of Irishmen 
— love, liquor, and the law of arrest." 

"It's little the latter has ever troubled my 
father's son," replied O'Shaughnessy; "ourfamily 
have been writ-proof for centuries, and he'd have 
beeti a bold man who would have ventured with an 
original or a true copy within the precincts of 
Killinahoula." 

"Your father had a touch of Larry M'Hale in 
him," said I, " apparently." 

" Exactly so," replied Dennis; "not but they 
caught him at last; and a scurvy trick it was, and 
well worthy of him who did it. Yes," said he, 
with a sigh, " it is only another among the many 
instances where the better features of our nation- 
ality have been used by our enemies as instrti- 
ments for our destruction; and, should we seek 
for the causes of unhappiness in our wretched 
country, we should find them rather in our vir- 
tues than in our vices, and in the bright, rather 
than in the darker phases of our character." 

"Metaphysics, by Jove!" cried Quill; "but all 
true at the same time. There was a messmate of 
mine in the Roscomtnoji, who never paid car-hire 
in his life. 'Head or harp, Paddy!' he would 
cry. 'Two tenpennies, or nothing.' 'Harp! for 
the honor of ould Ireland,' was the invariable re- 
sponse, and my friend was equally sure to make 
head come uppermost; and, tqion my soul, they 
seem to know the trick at the Home Office." 

" That must have been the same fellow tliat 
took my father," cried O'Shaughnessy, with 
energy. 

" Let us hear the story. Dennis," said I. 

"Yes," said Maurice, "for the benefit of self 
and fellows, let us hear ihe stratagem!" 

" The way of it was this," resumed O'Shaugh- 
nessy; "my father, who, for reasons registered 
in the King's Bench, s]ient a great many )ears of 
his life in that part of Ireland geographically 
known as lying west of the law, was obliged, for 
certain reasons of family, to ccme up to Dublin. 
This he proceeded to do with duecaution. Two 
trusty servants formed an advanced guard, and 
patrolled the country for at least five miles in 
advance: after them came a skirmishing body of 
a few tenants, who, for the consideration of never 
paying rent, would' have charged the whole Court 
of Chancery, if needful. My father himself, in 
an old chaise, victualled like a fortress, brought 
up the rear; and, as I said before, he were a bold 
man who would have attempted to ha\e laid siege 
to him. As the column advanced into the enemy's 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



409 



country, they assumed a closer order, the pntrol 
and the picket falHng back upon the main body; 
and in this way they reached that most interest- 
ing city called Kilbeggan What a fortunate 
thing it is for us in Ireland that we can see so 
much of the world without foreign travel, and 
that any gentleman for six-and-eightpence can 
leave Dublin in the morning, and visit Timbuctoo 
against dinner-time! Don't stare; hs truth I'm 
telling, for dirt, misery, smoke, unaffected behav- 
ior, and black faces, I'll back Kilbeggan against 
Africa. Free-and-easy, pleasant people ye are, 
with a skin as begrimed and as rugged as your 
own potatoes! But, to resume. The sun was 
just rising in a delicious morning of Jvme, when 
my father — whose loyal antipathies I have men- 
tioned made him also an early riser — was pre- 
paring for the road. A stout escort of his fol- 
lowers were as usual under arms to see him safe 
in the chaise, the passage to and from which 
ever day being the critical moment of my father's 
life. 

" ' It's all right, your honor,' said his own man, 
as, armed with a blunderbuss, he opened the bed- 
room door. 

" ' Tune enough, Tim,' said my father; 'close 
the door, for I haven't finished my breakfast.' 

" Now, the real truth was, that my father's at- 
tention was as that moment withdrawn from his 
own concerns, by a scene which was taking place 
in a field beneath his window. 

" But a few minutes before, a hack-chaise had 
stopped upon the roadside, out of which sprang 
three gentlemen, who, proceeding into the field, 
seemed bent upon something, which, whether a 
survey or a duel, my fadier could not make out. 
He was not long, however, to remain in ignorance. 
One, with an easy, lounging gait, strode towards 
a distant corner; another took an opposite direc- 
tion; while a third, a short, pursy gentleman, in 
a red handkerchief and rabbit-skin waistcoat, pro- 
ceeded to open a mahogany bo.x, which, to the 
critical eves of my respected father, was agreeably 
suggestive of bloodshed and murder. 

"'A duel, by Jupiter!" said my father, rubbing 
his hands, ' What a heav'enly morning the scoun- 
drels have! not a leaf stirring, and a sod like a 
billiard table!' 

" Meanwhile, the little man who officiated as 
second, it would appear, to both parties, bustled 
about with an activity little congenial to his 
shape; and, what between snapping the pistols, 
examining the flints, and ramming down the 
charges, had got himself into a sufficient perspir- 
ation before he commenced to measure out the 
ground. 

Short distance and no quarter!' shouted one 
of the combatants, from the corner of the field. 

"'Across a handkerchief, if )ou like!' roared 
the other. 

" ' Gentlemen, every inch of them!' responded 
my father. 

"' Twelve paces!' cried the little man. 'No 
more and no less. Don't forget that I am alone 
in this business!' 

"'A very true remark!' observed my father; 
'and an awkward predicament yours will be 
if they are not both shot'' 



"By this time the combatants had taken their 
places, and the little man, having delivered the 
pistols, was leisurely retiring to give the word. 
My father, however, whose critical eye was never 
at fault, detected a circumstance which promised 
an immense advantage to one at the expense of 
the other; in fact, one of the parties was so 
placed with his back to the sun, that his shadow 
extended in a straight line to the very foot of 
his antagonist. 

" ' Unfair, unfair!' cried my father, open- 
ing the window as he spoke, and addressing him- 
self to him of the rabbit-skin. ' I crave your par- 
don for the interruption,' said he; 'but I feel 
bound to observe that that gentleman's shadow is 
likely to make a shade of him.' 

"' And so it is,' observed the short man; 'a 
thousand thanks for your kindness; but the truth 
is, I am totally unaccustomed to this kind of thing, 
and the affair will not admit of delay.' 

" ' Not an hour!' said one. 

"'Not five minutes!' growled the other of the 
combatants. 

"Put them up north and south!' said my 
father. 

'" Is it thus?' 

'" Exactly so. But now again, the gentleman 
in the brown coat is covered with the ash-tree.' 

"'And so he is!' said rabbit-skin, wiping his 
forehead with agitation. 

" ' Move them a little to the left,' said he. 

"' That brings me upon an eminence,' said the 
gentlemen in blue. 'I'll be d — d if 1 be made a 
cock-shot of!' 

" ' What an awkward little thief it is in the hairy 
waistcoat!' said my father; ' he's lucky if he don't 
get shot himself 

'"May I never, if I'm not sick of you both!' 
ejaculated rabbit-skin, in a passion. ' I've moved 
you round every point of the compass, and the 
devil a nearer we are than ever.' 

"'Give us the word,' said one. 

'"The word!' 

" ' Downright murder,' said my father. 

,"'I don't care,' said the little man; 'We shall 
be here till doomsday.' 

'"I can't permit this,' said my father; 'allow 
me.' So saying, he stepped upon the window- 
sill, and leaped down into the field. 

" ' Before I can accept of your politeness,' said 
he of the rabbit-skin, 'may I beg to Jcnow your 
name and position in society?' 

" ' Nothing more reasonable,' said my father. 
' I'm Miles O'Shaughnessy, colonel of the Royal 
Raspers; here is my card.' 

The piece of pasteboard was complacently 
handed from one to the other of the party, who 
saluted my father with a smile of most courteous 
benignity. 

"'Colonel O'Shaughnessy,' said one. 

"' Miles O'Shaughnessy,' said the other. ' 

'"Of Killinahoula Castle,' said the third. 

"' At your service,' said my father, bowing as 
he presented his smiff-box; ' and now to business, 
if you please; for my time also is limited.' 

" 'Very true,' observed he of the rabbit-skin, 
and, as you observe, now to business; in virtue 
of which, Colonel Miles O'Shaughnessy, I here- 



410 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



by arrest you in the king's name. Here is the 
writ: it's at the suit of Barnaby Kelly, of Lough- 

rca, for the sum of 1482/. 19s. 7 i-2d., which ' 

"Before he could conclude the sentence, my 
father discharged one obligation, by implanting 
his closed knuckles in his face. The blow, well 
aimed and well intentioned, sent the little fellow 
summerseltiiig like a sugar hogshead. But, alas! 
it was of no use; the others, strong and able- 
bodied, fell both u])on him, and after a desper- 
ate struggle succeeded in getting him down. To 
tie his hands, and convey him to the chaise, was 
the work of a few moments, and, as my father 
drove by the inn, the last object wliich caught his 
view was a bloody encounter between his own 
people and the myrmidons of the law, who, in 
great numbers, had laid siege to the house dur- 
ing his capture. Thus was my father taken; and 
thus, in reward for yielding to a ^•irtuous weak- 
ness in his character, was he consigned to the ig- 
nominious durance of a prison \\'as I not right, 
then, in saying that such is the melancholy posiaon 
of our country, the most beautiful traits in our 
character are converted into the elements of our 
ruin.'" 

" I dinna think ye ha'e made out j'our case, 
major," said the Scotch doctor, who felt sorely 
jnizzled at my friend's logic. "If your faether had 

na gi'en the bond " 

" There is no saying what he wouldn't have 
done to the bailiffs," interrupted Dennis, who was 
following up a very different train of reasoning. 
" I fear me, doctor," observed Quill, " you are 
mitch behind us in Scotland. Not but that some 
ot your chieftains are respectable men, and 
wouldn't get on badly even in Galway." 

'■ I thank ye muckk for the comjiliment," said 
the doctor, dryly; " but 1 ha'e my doubts they'd 
think it ane, and they're crusty carls that's no' 
ower safe to meddle wi'." 

" I'd as soon propose a hand of spoiled five to 
the Pope of Rome, as a joke to one of them," re- 
turned Maurice. 

" Maybe ye are na wrang there, Maister 
Quell." 

"Well," cried Hampden, "if I may be allowe'd 
an opinion, I can safely aver I know no quarters 
like Scotland. Edinburgh beyond anything or 
anywhere I was ever placed in." 

"Always after Dublin," interposed Maurice, 
while a general chorus of voices re-echoed the 
sentiment. 

" You are certainly a strong majority," said my 
friend, "against me; but still I recant not my 
original opinion. Edinburgh before the world. 
For a hospitality that never tires; for pleasant 
fellows that improve every day of your acquaint- 
ance; for pretty girls that make you long for a 
repeal of the canon about being onlv singly 
blessed, and lead you to long for a score of them, 
Edinburgh, I say again, before the wjrld." 

"Their ankles are devilish thick," whispered 
Maurice. 

" A calumny, a base calumny." 

" And then they drink " 

" Oh " 

"Yes; they drink very strong tea." 

" Shall we ha'e a glass o' sherry together, 



Hampden?" said the Scotch doctor, willing to 
acknowledge his defence of auld Reekie. 

" And we'll take O'Malley in," said Hampden, 
" he looks imploringly."' 

" And now to return to the charge," quoth 
Maurice. "In what particular dare )e contend 
the palm with Dublin? AVe'll not speak of 
beauty. I can't suffer any such profane turn in 
the conversation as to dispute the superiority of 
Irishwomen's lips, eyes, noses, and e)ebrows, to 
anything under heaven. We'll not talk of gay 
fellows; egad, we needn't. I'll give you the gar- 
rison — a decent present; and I'll back the Irish 
bar for more genuine drollery, more >\it, more 
epigram, more ready sparklii _' fun, tlian the 
whole rest of the empire — ay, ai.d all her colon- 
ies — can boast of." 

" They are nae remarkable for passing the bot- 
tle, if they resemble their very gifted advocate," 
observed the Scotchman. 

"But they are for filling and emptying both, 
making its current, as it glides by, like a rich slream 
glittering in the sunbeams with the si)nrkling lus- 
tre of their wit. Lord, how I'm blown! Pill my 
pannikin, Charley. There's no subduing a Scot. 
Talk with him, drink with him, fight with him, 
and he'll always have the last of it; tliere's only 
one way of concluding the treat}- " 

" And that is " 

"Blarney him. Lord bless you, he can't stand 
it. Tell him Holyrood's like Versailles, and the 
Trossach's finer than Mont Blanc; that Geordie 
Buchanan was Homer, and the Canongste 
Herculaneum, — then ye have him on ihe hip. 
Now ye never can humbug an Irisliman that way; 
he'll know you're quizzing him when )ou praise 
his country." 

" Ye are right, Hampden," said the Scotch 
doctor, in reply to some observation. " We are 
vara primitive in the hielands, and we kttp lo 
our ain national customs in dress and everything; 
and we are vara slow to learn; and even when we 
try we are nae ower successfu' in our iniiiations, 
which sometimes cost us dearly tnough. Ye may 
have heard, maybe, of the M'Nab o' that ilk, ard 
what happened him with the king's equeri}.^ ' 

" I am not quite certain," said Hampden, "if I 
ever heard the story." 

"It's na muckle of a story; but the way of it 
was this: — When Montrose came back from Lon- 
don, he brought with him a few Englishers lo 
show them the Highlands, and let them see some- 
thing of deer-stalking; among the rest, a certain 
Sir George Sowerby, an aide-de-camp or an 
equerry of the prince. He was a vara fine gen- 
tleman, that never loaded his ain gun, and a'most 
thought it too much trouble to pull the trijjger. 
He went out every morning to shoot wiili his 
hair curled like a woman, and dressed like a 
dancing-master. Now, there happened to be at 
the same time at the castle the laird o' M'Nab; he 
was a kind of cousin of the Montrose, and a 
rough old tyke of the true hieland breed, wha 
thought that the head of a clan was fully equal 
to any king or prince. He sat opposite to Sir 
George at dinner the day of his arrival, and 
could not conceal his surprise at the many new- 
fangled ways of feeding himself the Englisher . 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE H^ISH DRAGOON. 



411 



adopted. He ate his saiimon wi' his fork in ae 
hand, and a bittock of bread in the other; he 
would na' touch the whiskey; helped hiniseh' to 
a cutlet wi' his fingers: but, what was maist ex- 
traordinary of all, he wore a jjair of braw wliite 
gloves during the whole time o' dinner; and, when 
thev came to tak' away the cloth, he drew thein 
olT with a great air, and threw them into the mid- 
dle of it, and then, leisurely taking anither pair 
off a silver salver which his ain man presented, 
he pat them on for the dessert. The M'Nab, 
who, although an auld-fashioned carl, was aye fond 
of bringing something new hame to his friends, 
remarked the Englisher's proceedings with great 
care, and the next day he appeared at dinner wi' 
a huge pair of hieland mittens, which he wore to 
the astonishment of all, and the amusement of 
most, through the whole three courses; and, ex- 
actly as the Englishman changed his gloves, the 
M'Nab produced a fresh pair of goat's wool, four 
times as large as the first, which, drawing on with 
]irodigious gravity, he threw the others into the 
middle of the cloth, remarking, as he did so, 

" ' Ve see, captain, we are never ower auld to 
learn.' 

" All propriety was now at an end, and a hearty 
burst of laughter from one end of the table to 
the other convulsed the whole company; the 
IvI'Nab and the Englishman being the only per- 
sons who did not join in it, but sat glowering at 
each other like twa tigers; and, indeed, it needed 
a' the Montrose's interference that they had na 
quarrelled upon it in the morning." 

"The M'Nab was a man after my own heart," 
said Maurice; " there was something very Irish 
in the lesson he ga\e the Englishman." ,, 

''I'd rather ye'd told him that than me," said 
the doctor, dryly; "he would na hae thanked 
ye for mistaking him for ane of your coun- 
trymen." 

"Come, doctor," said Dennis, "could ye not 
give us a stave? Have ye nothing that smacks 
of the brown fern and the blue lakes in your 
memory? 

" I have na a sang in my mind just noo. except 
Johnny Co^ie, which maybe might na be ower 
pleasant for the Englishers to listen to." 

" 1 never heard a Scotch song worth sixpence," 
(pioth Maurice, who seemed bent on provoking 
the doctor's ire. " They contain nothing save 
some puling sentimentality about lasses with lint- 
white locks, or some absurd laudations of the 
]5arley Bree." 

" Hear till him! hear till him!" said the doctor, 
reddening with impatience. 

" Show me anything," said Maurice, "like the 
t'ruiskeen Lawn, or the Jug of Punch; but who 
can blame them, after all? you can't expect much 
from a people with an imagination as naked as 
their own knees." 

"Maurice! Maurice!" cried O'Shaughnessy, 
reprovingly, who saw that he was pushing the 
o'.her's endurance beyond all bounds. 

"I mind weel," said the Scotchman, "what 
happened to ane o' your countrymen wha took 
upon him to jest as you are doing now. It was 
to Laurie Cameron he did it." 

" And what said the redoubted Laurie in reply?" 



" He did na say muckle, but he did something." 

" And what might it be?" inquired Maurice. 

"He threw him over the brig of Ayr into the " 
water, and he was drowned." 

"And did Laurie come to no harm about the 
matter?" 

"Ay, they tried him for it, and found him 
guilty; but when they asked liim what he had to 
say in his defence, lie merely replied, 'When the 
carl sneered about Scotland, I did na suspect 
that he did na ken how to swim;' and so the end 
of it was, they did naething to Laurie." 

"Cool that, certainly," said I. 

" I prefer your friend with the mittens, I con- 
fess,' said Maurice; " though I'm sure both were 
most agreeable companions. But come, doctor, 
couldn't you give us — 

" Sit ye down, my heartie, and Qie us a crack. 

Let tlie wind tak' the care o' tlie world on his back." 

"You maunna attempt English poethry, my 
freend Quell; for it must be confessed ye've a 
damnable accent of your ain." 

"Milesian-Phcenician-Corkacian; nothing more, 
my boy; and a coaxing kind of recitative it is, 
after all! Don't tell me of your soft Etruscan — - 
your plethoric /i''fr// Deutsch — your flattering 
French. To woo and win the girl of your heart, 
give me a rich brogue and the least taste in life 
of blarney! There's nothing like it, believe me 
— every inflection of your voice suggesting some 
tender pressure of her soft hand or taper waist; 
every cadence falling on her gentle heart like a 
sea-breeze on a burning coast, or a soft sirocco 
over a rose-tree; and then think, my boys — and 
it is a fine thought after all — what a glorious gift 
that is, out of the reach of kings to give or to tak?, 
what neither depends upon the act of union nor 
the habeas corpus. No! they may starve us — 
laugh at us — tax us — transport us. They may 
take our mountains, our valleys, and our bogs; 
but, bad luck to them, they can't steal onr 'blar- 
ney;' that's the privilege one and indivisible with 
our identity; and while an Englishman raves of 
his liberty — a Scotchman of his oaten meal — • 
blarney's our birthright, and a prettier portion 
I'd oever ask to leave behind me to my sons. If 
I'd as large a family as theould gentleman called 
Priam we used to hear of at school, it's the only 
inheritance I'd give them; and one comfort 
there would be besides — the legacy duty would 
be only a trifle. Charley, my son, I see you're 
listening to me, and nothing satisfies me more 
than to instruct aspiring youth; so never forget 
the old song: 

" If at your ease, the girls you'd please. 
And win them, like Kate Kearney, 
There's but one way, I've heard them say. 
Go kibs the ' Stone of Blarney.' " 

" What do you say, Shaugh, if we drink it with 
all. the honors?" 

"But gently; do I hear a trumpet there?" 

" .\h, there go the bugles. Can it be daybreak 
already?" 

" How short the nights are at this season!" 
said Quill. 



413 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



" Whnt an infernal rumpus they're making! it's 
not possible the troops are to march so early." 

"it wouldn't surprise me in the least;" quoth 
Maurice; "there is no knowing what the com- 
mander-in-chief's not capable of; the reason's 
clear enough." 

"And why, Maurice?" 

"There's not bit of blarney about him." 

The rfy'ei/ sang out from every brigade, and 
the drums beat to fall in, while Mike came gal- 
loping up at full speed to say that the bridge of 
boats was completed, and that the Twelfth were 
already ordered to cross. Not a moment was 
therefore to be lost; one parting cup we drained 
to our next meeting, and amid a hundred "good- 
byes" we mounted our liorses. Poor Hami^den's 
brains, sadly CQnfused by the wine and the laugh- 
ing, he knt^w little of what was going on around 
him, and passed the entire time of our homeward 
ride in a vain endeavor to adapt Mary Draper to 
the air of Rule Britannia. 



CHAPTER LXXXIX. 



FUENTES D ONORO. 



From this period the French continued their 
retreat, closely followed by the allied armies, 
and on the sth of April Massena once more 
crossed the frontier into Spain, leaving thirty 
thousand of his bravest troops behind him, 
fourteen thousand of whom had fallen, or been 
taken prisoners; reinforcements, however, came 
rapidly pouring in. Two divisions of the ninth 
corps had already arrived, and Drouet, with 
eleven thousand infantry and cavalry, was pre- 
paring to march to his assistance. Thus 
strengthened, the French army marched towards 
the Portuguese frontier, and Lord Wellington, who 
had determmed not.'to hazard much by his blockade 
of Ciudad Rodrigo, fell back upon the large table- 
land beyond the Turones and the Dos Casas, with 
his left at Fort Conception, and his right resting 
upon Fuentes d'Onoro. His position extended 
to about five miles; and here, although vastly in- 
ferior in numbers, yet relying upon the bravery 
of the troops, and the moral ascendancy acquired 
by their pursuit of the enemy, he finally resolved 
upon giving them battle. 

Being sent with despatches to Pack's brigade, 
which formed the blockading force at Almeida, 
I did not reach Fuentes d'Onoro until the even- 
ing of the 3rd. The thundering of the guns 
which, even at the distance I was at, was plainly 
heard, announced that an attack had taken 
place, but it by no means prepared me for the 
scene which presented itself on my return. 

The village of Fuentes d'Onoro, one of the 
most beautiful in Spain, is situated in a lovely 
valley, where all the charms of verdure so pecul- 
iar to the Peninsula, seemed to have been scat- 
tered with a lavish hand. The citron and the 
arbutus, growing wild, sheltered every cottage 
door, and the olive and the laurel threw their 
shadows across the little rivulet which traversed 
the village. The houses, observing no uniform 



arrangement, stood wherever the caprice or the 
inclination of the builder suggested, surrounded 
with little gardens, the inequality of the ground 
imparting a picturesque feature to even the 
lowliest hut, while, upon a craggy eminence 
above the rest,' an ancient convent and a ruined 
chapel looked down upon the little peaceful 
hamlet with an air of tender protection. 

Hitherto, this lovely spot had escaped all the 
ravages of war. The light division of our army 
had occupied it for months long; and every fam- 
ily was gratefully remembered by some one or 
other of our officers; and more than one of our 
wounded found in the kind and affectionate 
watching of these poor peasants the solace which 
sickness rarely meets with when far from home 
and country. 

It was, then, with an anxious heart I pressed 
my horse forward into a gallop as the night drew 
near. The artillery had been distinctly heard 
during the day, and, while I burned with eager- 
ness to know the result, I felt scarcely less anxious 
for the fate of that little hamlet whose name many 
a kind story had implanted in my memory. The 
moon was shining brightly as I passed the out- 
post, and, leading my horse by the bridle, de- 
scended the steep and rugged causeway to the 
village beneath me. The lanterns were moving 
rapidly to and fro; the measured iread of infantry 
at night- — that ominous sound, which falls upcn 
the heart so sadl> — told me that they were bury- 
ing the dead. The air was still and breathless; 
not a sound was stirring save the step of the 
soldiery, and the harsh clash of the shovel as it 
struck the earth. I felt sad, and sick at heart, 
and leaned against a tree; a nightingale con- 
cealed in the leaves was pouring forth its plaintive 
notes to the night air, and its low warble sounded 
like the dirge of the departed. Far beyond, in 
the plain, the French watch-fires were burning, 
and I could see from time to time the fatigue- 
parties moving in search of their wounded. .* t 
this moment the clock of the convent slnu k 
eleven, and a merry chime rang out, and v.s 
taken up by the echoes, till it nielte.d away in the 
distance. Alas! where were those whose hearls 
were wont to feel cheered at that happy peal .' 
whose infancy it had gladdened, whose old age it 
had hallowed ? The fallen walls, the broken 
roof-trees, the ruin and desolation on every side, 
told too plainly that they had passed away for- 
ever! The smoking embers, the torn-up path- 
way, denoted the hard-fought struggle; and, as I 
passed along, I could see that every garden, where 
the cherry and the ap]:ile-blossom were even still 
perfuming the air, had now its sep.ulchre. 

" Halt, there!" cried a I oarse voice in front. 
"You cannot pass this wa)-^the commander-in- 
chief's quarters.'^ 

I looked up, and beheld a. small but neat- 
looking cottage, which seemed to have suffered 
less than the others around. Lights were shining 
brightly from the windows, and I could even de- 
tect from time to time a figure muffled up in a 
cloak, passing to and fro across the window; 
while another, seated at a table, was occupied in 
writing. I turned into a narrow path which led 
into the little square of the village, and here, as 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



413 



I approached, the hum and murmur of voices 
announced a bivouac ])arty. Stopping to ask 
what had been the result of the day, 1 learned 
that a tremendous attack had been made by the 
P'rench in column upnn the village, which was at 
first successful; but th it afterwards the Seventy- 
first and Seventy-ninth, marching down from the 
heights, had repulsed the enemy, and driven 
tliem beyond the Dos Casas. Five hundred had 
fallen in that fierce encounter, which was con- 
tinued through every street and alley of the little 
hamlet. The gallant Highlanders now occupied 
the battle-field; and, hearing that the cavalry 
brigade was some miles distant, I willingly ac- 
cepted their offer to share their bivouac, and 
passed the remainder of the night among them. 

When day broke, our troops were under arms, 
but the enemy showed no disposition to renew 
the attack. We could perceive, however, from 
the road to the southward, by the long columns 
of dust, that reinforcements were still arriving; 
and learned during the morning, from a deserter, 
that Massena himself had come up, and Bessieres 
also, with twelve hundred cavalry, and a battery 
of the Imperial Guard. 

From the movements observable in the enemy, 
it was soon evident that the battle, though de- 
ferred, was not abandoned; and the march of a 
strong force towards the left of their position 
induced our commander-in-chief to despatch the 
seventh division, under Houston, to occupy the 
height of Naval d'Aver — our e.\treme right — in 
support of which our brigade of cavalry marched 
as a covering force. The British position was 
thus unavoidably extended to the enormous 
length of seven miles, occupying a succession of 
small eminences, from the division at Fort Con- 
ception to the height of Naval d'.'\ver — Fuentes 
d'Oaoro forming nearly the centre of the line. 

It was evident, from the thickening combina- 
tions of the French, that a more dreadful battle 
was still in reserve for us; and yet never did men 
look more anxiously for the morrow. 

As for myself, I felt a species of exhilaration 
I had never before experienced; the events of 
the preceding day came dropping in upon me 
from every side, and at every new tale of gal- 
lantry or daring I felt my heart bounding with 
excited eagerness to win also my meed of hon- 
orable praise. 

Craufurd, too, had recognized me in the kindest 
manner; and, while saying that he did not wish 
to withdraw me from my regmient on a day of 
battle, added that he would make use of me for 
the present on his staff. Thus was I engaged, 
from early in the morning till late in the evening, 
bringing orders and despatches along the line. 
'I'he troop-horse I rode — for I reserved my grey 
lor the following day — was scarcely able to carry 
ine along, as towards dusk I jogged along in the 
direction of Naval d'Aver. When I did reach 
our quarters, the fires were lighted, and around 
one of them I had the good fortune to find a 
party of the Fourteenth occupied in discussing a 
very appetizing little supper. The clatter of 
plates and the popping of champagne corks were 
most agreeable sounds. Indeed, the latter ap- 
peared to me so much too flattering an illusion, 



that I hesitated giving credit to my senses in the 
matter, when Baker called out: 

■'Come, Charley, sit down; you're just in the 
nick. Tom Marsden is giving us a benefit. You 
know Tom?" 

And here he presented me in due form to that 
best of commissaries and most hospitable of horse- 
dealers. 

" I can't introduce you to my friend on my 
right," continued Baker, " for my Spanish is only 
a skeleton battalion; but he's a trump — that I'll 
vouch for; never flinches his glass, and looks 
as though he enjoyed all our nonsense." 

The Spaniard, who appeared to comprehend 
that he was alluded to, gravely saluted me with a 
low bow, and offered his glass to hob-nob with 
me. I returned the courtesy with becoming cere- 
mony, while Hampden whispered in my ear. 

" A fine-looking fellow. You know who he is? 
Julian, the Guerilla chief." 

I had heard much of both the strangers. Trm 
Marsden was a household >\oid in every ca\aliy 
brigade; equally celebrated were his contracts and 
his claret. He knew every one, from Lord \\e]- 
lington to the last-joined cornet; and, while upon 
a march, there was no piece of better fortune 
than to be asked to dine with him. So, in the 
very thick of a battle, Tom's critical eye was 
scanning the squadrons engaged, with an accu- 
racy as to the nimVber of fresh horses that would 
be required upon the morrow that nothing but 
long practice and infinite coolness could haVe 
conferred. 

Of the Guerilla I need not speak The bold 
feats he accomplished, the aid he rendered to the 
cause of his country, have made, his name histor- 
ical. Yet still, with all this, fatigue, more pow- 
erful than my curiosity, prevailed, and I sank inio 
a heavy sleep upon the grass, while my merry 
companions kept, up their revels till near morn- 
ing. The last piece of consciousness I am sensi- 
ble of was seeing Julian spreading his wide man- 
tle over me as. I lay, while I heard his deep voice 
whisper a kind wish for my repose. 



CHAPTER XC. 

THE BATTLE OF FUENTES d'oNORO. 

So soundly did I sleep, that the tumult and 
confusion of the morning never awoke me; and 
the Guerilla, whose cavalry were stationed along 
the edge of the ravine near the heights of Echora, 
would not permit of my being roused before the 
last moment. Mike stood near me with my horses, 
and it was only when the squadrons were actu- 
ally forming that I sprang to my feet and looked 
around me. 

The day was just breaking; a thick mist lay 
upon the parched earth, and concealed everything 
a hundred yards from where we stood. From this 
dense vapor the cavalry defiled along the base of 
the hill, followed by the horse artillery and the 
Guards, disappearing again as they passed us, but 
proving, by the mass of troops now assembled, 



414 



CHARLES 0"MALLEY THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



that our position was regarded as the probable 
point of attack. 

While the troops continued to take up their po- 
sitions, the sun slione out, and a shght breeze 
blowing at the same moment, the heavy clouds 
moved past, and we beheld the magnificent pano- 
rama of the battle-field. Before us, at tlie dis- 
tance of less than half a league, the French cav- 
alry were drawn up in three strong columns; the 
cuirassiers of the Guard, plainly distinguished by 
their steel cuirasses, flanked by the Polish Lancers 
and a strong hussar brigade ; a powerful artillerj- 
train supported the left, and an infantry force oc- 
cupied theenlire space between the right and the 
rising ground opposite P050 Velho. Farther to 
the right again the column destined for the at- 
tack of Fuentes d'Onoro were forming, and we 
could see that, profiting by their past experience, 
they were bent upon attacking the village with 
an overwhelming force 

For above two hours the French continued to 
manoeuvre, more than one alteration having taken 
place in their disposition; fre!\h battalions were 
moved towards the front, and gradually the whole 
of their cavalry were assembled on the extreme 
left in front of our position Our people were 
ordered to breakfast where we stood, and a little 
after seven o'clock a staff officer came riding 
down the line, followed in a few moments after 
by General Craufurd, when no sooner was his 
well-known brown cob recognized by the troops 
than a hearty cheer greeted him along the whole 
division. 

"Thank ye, boys; thank ye, boys, with all my 
heart. No man feels more sensibly what that 
cheer means than I do. Guards' Lord Welling- 
ton relies upon your maintaining this position, 
which is essential to the safety of the whole line. 
You will be supported by the light division. I 
need say no more. If such troops cannot keep 
their ground, none can. Fourteenth, there's your 
place; the artillery and the Sixteenth are with 
you. They've the odds of us in numbers, lads; 
but it will tell all the better in the Gazette. I see 
they're moving, so fall in, now, fall in; and, Meri- 
vale, move to the front. Ramsey, prepare to 
open your fire on the attacking squadrons." 

As he spoke, the low murmuring sound of dis- 
tantly-moving cavalry crept along the earth, grow- 
ing louder and louder, till at length we could de- 
tect the heavy tramp of the squadrons as thev 
came on in a trot, our pace being merely a walk. 
While we thus advanced into the plain, the artil- 
lery unlimbered behind us, and the Spanish cav- 
alry breaking into skirmishers dashed boldly to 
the front. 

It was an excitingmoment. The ground dipped 
between the two armies, so as to conceal the 
head of the advancing column of the French, and, 
as the Spanish skirmishers disappeared down the 
ridge, our beating hearts and straining eyes fol- 
lowed their last horseman. 

" Halt! halt!" was passed from squadron 
to squadron, and the same instant the sharp ring 
of the pistol-shots and the clash of steel from the 
valley, told us the battle had begun. We could 
hear the Guerilla war-cry mingle with the French 
shout, while the thickening crash of fire-arms im- 



plied a sharper conflict. Our fellows were alrer.dy 
manifcs.mg some impatience to press on, when a 
Spanish horseman appeared above the ridge — an- 
other followed, and another — and then pell-mell, 
broken and disordered, they fell back before the 
pursuing cavalry in fiying masses; while the 
French, charging them hotly home, utterly routed 
and repulsed them. 

The leading squadrons of the French now fell 
back upon their support; the colunm of attack 
thickened, and a thundering noise between their 
masses announced their brigade of light guns as 
they galloped to the front. It was then for the 
first time that I felt dispirited; far as my eye could 
stretch the dense mass of sabres extended, defiling 
from the distant hills and winding its slow length 
across the plain. I turned to look at our line, 
scarce one thousand strong, and could not help 
feeling that our hour was come; the feeling flashed 
vividly across my mind, but the next instant I 
felt my cheek redden with shame as I gazed 
upon the sparkling eyes and bold looks around 
me — the lips compressed, the hands knitted to 
their sabres; all were motionless, but burning to 
advance 

The French had halted on the brow of the hill 
to form, when Merivale came cantering up to us. 

" Fourteenth, are you ready.' Are you ready, 
lads ?" 

" Ready, sir! ready!" re-echoed along the line. 

" Then push them home and charge! Charge!" 
cried he, raising his voice to a shout at the last 
word. 

Heavens! what a crash was there! Our horses, 
in top condition, no sooner felt the spur than they 
bounded madly onwards. The pace — for the dis- 
tance did not exceed four hundred yards — was 
like racing. To resist the impetus of our ap- 
proach was impossible; and without a shot fired, 
scarcely a sabre-cut exchanged, we actually rode 
down their advanced squadrons — hurling them 
headlong upon their supporting division, and roll- 
ing men and horses beneath us on every side. 
The French fell back upon their artillery; but, 
before they could succeed in opening their fire 
upon us, we had wheeled, and, carrying off about 
seventy prisoners, galloped back to our position, 
with the loss of but two men in the affair. The 
whole thing was so sudden, so bold, and so suc- 
cessful, that I remember well, as we rode back, a 
hearty burst of laughter was ringing through the 
squadron at the ludicrous display of horseman- 
ship the French presented as they tumbled head- 
long down the hill; and I cannot help treasuring 
the recollection, for, from that mcment, all 
thought of anything short of victory completely 
quitted my mind, and many of my brother offi- 
cers who had participated in my feelings at the 
commencement of the dav, confessed to me after- 
wards, that it was then for the first time they felt 
assured of beating the enemy. 

While we slowly fell back to our position, the 
French were seen advancing in great force from 
the village of Almeida to the attack of P090 Vel- 
ho; they came on at a rapid pace, their artillery 
upon their front and flank, large masses of cav- 
alry hovering around them. The attack upon 
the village was now opened by the large guns; 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



415 



and, amid the booming of the artillery, and the 
crashing volleys of small fire-arms, rose the 
shout ot the assailants, and the wild cry of the 
Guerilla cavalry, wno had formed in front of the 
village. The French advanced firmly, driving 
back the pickets, and actually inundated the de- 
voted village with a shower of grape; the blaz- 
ing fires burst from the ignited roofs; and the 
black, dense smoke rising on high, seemed to 
rest like a. pall over the little hamlet. 

The conflict was now a tremendous one; our sev- 
enth division held the village with the bayonet; 
but the French continuing to pour in mass upon 
mass, drove them back with lo's, nnd, at the end 
of an hour's hard fighting, took possession of the 
place. 

The wood upon the left flank was now seen to 
swarm with light infantry, and the advancement 
of their whole left proved that they meditated to 
turn our flank; the space between the village and 
the hill of Naval d'Aver became thus the central 
position; and here the Guerilla force, led on by 
Julian Sanches, seemed to await the French with 
confidence. . Soon, however, the cuirassiers came 
galloping to the spot, and, almost without ex- 
chAnging a sabre- cut, the Guerillas fell back, 
and retired behind the Turones. This movement 
of Julian was more attributable to anger than to 
fear; for his favorite lieutenant, being mistaken 
for a French officer, was shot by a soldier of the 
Guards a few minutes before. 

Montbrun pursued the Guerillas with some 
squadrons of horse, but thev turned resolutely 
upon the French, and not till overwhelmed hy 
numbers did they show any disposition to retreat. 

The French, however, now threw forward their 
whole cavalry, and, driving back the English 
horse, succeeded in turning the riglit of the sev- 
enth division. The battle by this time was gen- 
eral. The staff officers who came up from the 
left informed us that Fuentes d'Onoro was at- 
tacked in force, Massena himself leading the as- 
sault in person ; while thus for seven miles the 
fight was maintaint;d hotly at intervals, it was 
evident that upon the maintenance of our position 
the fortune of the day depended. Hitherto we 
had been repulsed from the village and the wood; 
and the dark masses of infantry which were as- 
sembled upon our right, seemed to threaten the 
hill of Naval d'.\ver with as sad a catastrophe. 

Craufurd came now galloping up amongst us, 
his eye flashing fire, and his uniform splashed and 
covered with foam: 

"' Steady, Sixteenth, steady! Don't blow your 
horses! Have your fellows advanced, Malcolm?" 
said he, t\irning to an officer who stood beside 
him. " .\y, there they go!" pointing with his 
finger to the wood, wliere, as he spoke, the short 
ringing of the British rifle proclaimed the advance 
of that brigade " Let the cavalry prepare to 
chairge' And now, Ramsey, let us give it them 
home'" 

Scarcely were the words spoken, when the 
squadrons were formed and, in an instant after, 
the French light infantry were seen retreating 
from the wood, and flying in disorderly masses 
across the plain. Our squadrons riding down 
aaiDngst them, actually cut iheni to atoms, while 



the light artillery, unlimbering, threw in a dead!y 
discharge of grape-shot. 

" To the right. Fourteenth, to the right!" cried 
General Stewart. " Have at their hussars!" 

Whirling by them, we advanced at a gallop, and 
dashed towards the enemy, who, not less reso- 
lutely bent, came boldly forward to meet us. 
The shock was terrific! the leading squadrons on 
both sides went down almost to a man, and, all 
order being lost, the encounter became one of 
hand to hand. 

The struggle was deadly; neither party would 
give way; and, while fortune now inclined 
hither and thither. Sir Charles Stewart singled 
out the French General Lamotte, and carried him 
off his prisoner. Meanwhile, Montbrun's cavalry 
and the cuirassiers came riding up, and, the re- 
treat now sounding through our ranks, we were 
obliged to fall back upon the infantry. The 
French pursued us hotly; and so rapid was their 
movement, that, before Ramsey's brigade could 
limber up and away, their squadrons had sur- 
rounded him and captured his guns. 

" Where is Ramsey?" cried Craufurd, as he 
galloped to the head of our division. "Cut < ff 
— cut off! Taken, by G — ! There he goes!" 
said he, pointing with his finger, as a dense cloud 
of mingled smoke and dust moved darkly acioss 
the plain. " Form into column once more!" 

As he spoke, the dense mass before us seemed 
agitated by some mighty commotion; the flashing 
of blades, and the rattling of small-arms, mingled 
with shouts of triumi)h or defiance, burst forth, 
and the ominous cloud, lowering more darkh'. 
seemed peojjled by those in deadly strife. An 
English cheer pealed high above all other sounds; 
a second followed; the mass was rent asunder, 
and, like the forked lightning from a thunder- 
cloud, Ramsey rode forth at the head of his 
battery, the horses bounding madly, while the 
guns sprang behind them like things of no weight: 
the gunners leaped to their places, and, fighting 
hand to hand with the French cavalry, they flew 
across the plain. 

"Nobly done, gallant Ramsey!" said a voice 
behind me. I turned at the sound: it was Lord 
Wellington who spoke. My eye fixed upon his 
stern features, I forgot all else — when he suddenly 
recalled me to my recollection by saying, 

"Follow your brigade, sir. Charge!" 

In an instant I was with my people, who, in- 
tervening betwixt Ramsey and his pursuers, re- 
pulsed the enemy with loss, and carried off sev- 
eral prisoners. The French, however, came up 
in greater strength; overwhelming masses of 
cavalry came sweeping upon us, and we were 
obliged to retire behind the light division, which 
rapidly formed into squares to resist the cavalry. 
The seventh division, which was more advanced, 
were, however, too late for this movement, and, 
before they could effect their formation, the 
French were upon them. At this moment they 
owed their safety to the Chasseurs Britanniques, 
who poured in a flanking fire, so close, and with 
so deadly an aim, that their foes recoiled, beaten 
and bewildered. 

Meanwhile, the French had become masters of 
Poro A'elho; the formidable masses had nearly 



416 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



outflanked us on the right. The battle was lost, 
if we could not fall back upon our original posi- 
tion, and concentrate our force upon Fuentes 
d'Onoro. To effect this was a work of great 
difficulty; but no time was to be lost. The 
seventh division were ordered to cross the 
Turones, while Craufurd, forming the light di- 
vision into squares, covered their retreat, and, 
supported by the cavalry, sustained tlie whole 
force of the enemy's attack. 

Then was the moment to witness the cool and 
steady bravery of British infantry; the squares 
dotted across the enormous plain seemed as 
nothing amid that confused and flying multitude, 
composed of commisariat baggage, camp-follow- 
ers, peasants, and, finally, broken pickets and 
videttes arriving from the wood. A cloud of 
cavalry hovered and darkened around them; the 
Polish lancers shook their long spears, impatient 
of delay, and the wild huzzas burst momentarily 
from their squadrons as they waited for the word 
to attack. But the British stood firm and un- 
daunted; and, although the enemy rode round 
their squares, Montbrun himself at their head, 
they never dared to charge them. Meanwhile, 
the seventh division fell back, as if on a parade, 
and, crossing the river, took up their ground at 
Frenada, pi\oting upon the first division; the 
remainder of the line also fell back, and assumed 
a position at right angles with their former one, 
the cavalry forming in front, and holding the 
French in check during the movement. This 
was a splendid manoeuvre, and, when made in 
face of an overnumbering enemy, one unmatched 
during the whole war. 

At sight of this new front the French stopped 
short, and opened a fire from their heavy guns. 
The British batteries replied with vigor, and si- 
lenced the enemy's cannon. The cavalry drew 
out of range, and the infantry gradually fell back 
to their former position. While this was going 
on, the attack upon Fuentes d'Onoro was contin- 
ued with unabated vigor. The three British 
regiments in the lower town were pierced by the 
French tirailleurs, who poured upon them in 
overwhelming numbers; the Seventy-ninth were 
broken, ten companies taken, and Cameron, their 
colonel, mortally wounded. Thus the lower vil- 
lage was in the hands of the enemy, while from 
the upper town the incessant roll of musketry 
proclaimed the obstinate resistance of the British. 

At this period our reserves were called up 
from the right, in time to resist the additional 
troops which Drouet continued to bring on. The 
French, reinforced by the whole si.\th corps, now 
came forward at a quickstep. Dashing through 
the ruined streets of the lower town, they crossed 
the rivulet, fighting bravely, and charged against 
the height. Already their leading files had gained 
the crag beside the chapel. A French colonel, 
holding his cap upon his sword-point waved on 
his men. 

The grizzly features of the grenadiers soon 
appeared, and the dark columns, half climbing, 
half running, were seen scaling the height. A 
rifle-bullet sent the French leader tumbling from 
the precipice; and a cheer — mad and reckless as 
the war-cry of an Indian — rent the sky, as the 



71st and 79th Highlanders sprang upon the 
enemy. 

Our part was a short one; advancing in half 
squadrons, we were concealed from the observ- 
ation of the enemy by the thick vineyards which 
skirted the lower town; waiting, with mipatience, 
the moment when our gallant infantry should 
succeed in turning the tide of battle. We were 
ordered to dismount, and stood with our bridles 
on our arms, an.xious and expectant. 'J'he charge 
of the French column was made close to where 
we were standing — the inspiriting cheers of the 
officers, the loud vivas of the men, were plainly 
heard by us as they rushed to the assault; but 
the space between us was intersected by walls 
and brushwood, which totally prevented the 
movements of cavalry. 

Fearlessly their dark column moved up the 
heights, fixing the bayonets as they went. No 
tirailleurs preceded them, but the tall shako of 
the grenadier of the guard was sten in the first 
rank. Long before the end of the column had 
passed us, the leading files were in action. A 
deafening peal of musketry— so loud, so dense, 
it seemed like artillery — burst forth. A volume 
of black smoke rolled heavily down from the 
heights and hid all (rom our view, except when 
the vivid lightning of the platoon firing rent the 
veil asunder, and showed us the troops almost in 
hand to hand conflict. 

" It's Picton's division, I'm certain," cried 
Merivale; "I hear the bagpipes of the High- 
landers." 

"You are right, sir," said Hampden; "the 
Seventy-first are in the same brigade, and I know 
their bugles well. There they go again." 

" Fourteenth! Fourteenth!" cried a voice from 
behind, and at the same moment, a staff officer, 
without his hat, and his horse bleeding from a 
recent sabre-cut, came up. "You must move to 
the rear. Colonel Merivale; the French have 
gained the heights! Move round by the cause- 
way — bring up your squadrons as quickly as you 
can, and support the infantry!" 

In a moment we were in our saddles; but 
scarcely was the word " to fall in" given, when a 
loud cheer rent the very air; the musketry 
seemed suddenly to cease, and the dark mass 
which continued to struggle up the heights wa- 
vered, broke, and turned. 

" What can that be?" said Merivale. " What 
can it mean?" 

" I can tell you, sir," said I, proudly, while I 
felt my heart beat as though it would bound 
from my bosom. 

" And what is it, boy? Speak!" 

"There it goes again! That was an Irish 
shout! The Eighty-eighth are at thtm!" 

"By Jove! here they come!" said Hampden. 
"God help the Frenchmen now!" 

The words were not well spoken, when the red-- 
coats of our gallant fellows were seen dashing 
through the vineyard. 

"The steel, boys — nothing but the steel!" 
shouted a loud voice from the crag above our 
heads. 

I looked up. It was the stern Picton himself 
who spoke. 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



417 



The Eighty-eighth now led the pursuit, and 
sprang from rock to rock in all the mad impetu- 
osity of battle; and like some mighty billow 
rolling before the gale, the French went down 
the heights. 

"Gallant Eighty-eighth! Gloriously done'" 
cried Picton, as he waved his hat. 

"Aren't we Connauglit robbers, now?" shouted 
a rich brogue, as its owner, breathless and bleed- 
ing, pressed forward in the charge. 

A hearty burst of laughter mingled with the 
din of the b'lttle. 

"Now for it, boys! Now for our work!" "said 
old Merivnl'j, drawing his sabre as he spoke. 
" Forward! and charge!" 

We waited not a second bidding, but bursting 
from our concealment, galloped down into the 
broken column. It was no regular charge, but 
an indiscriminate rush. Scarcely offering resist- 
ance, the enemy fell beneath our sabres, or the 
still more deadly bayonets of the infantry, who 
were inextricably mingled up in the conflict. 

The chase was followed up for above half a 
mile, when we fell back, fortunately, in good 
time; for the French had opened a heavy fire 
from their artillery, and, regardless of their own 
retreating column, poured a shower of grape 
among our squadrons. As we retired the strug- 
gling files of the Rangers joined us — their faces 
and accoutrements blackened and begrimed witli 
powder; many of them, themselves wounded, 
had captured prisoners; and one huge fellow of 
the grenadier company was seen driving before 
him a no less powerful Frenchman, and to whom, 
as he turned from time to time reluctantly, and 
scowled upon his gaoler, the other vociferated 
some Irish imprecation, whose harsh intentions 
were made most palpably evident by a flourish 
of a drawn bayonet. 

"Who is he?" said Mike; "who is he, ahagur?"" 

"Sorra one o' me knows," said the other; "but 
it's the chap that shot Lieutenant Mahoney, and 
1 never took my eye off him after; and if the 
lieutenant's not dead, sure it'll be a satisfaction 
to him that I cotch him." 



* 



* 
* 



* 
* 



The lower town was now evacuated by the 
French, who retired beyond the range of our 
artillery; the upper continued in the occupation 
of our troops; and, worn out and exliausted, sur- 
rounded by dead and dying, both parties aban- 
doned the contest — and the battle was over. 

Both sides laid claim to the victory; the French, 
because, having taken the village of P090 Velho, 
they had pierced the British line, and compelled 
them to fall back and assume a new position; the 
British, because the attack upon Fuentes d'Onoro 
had been successfully resisted, and the blockade 
of Almeida — the real object of the battle — main- 
tained. The loss to each was tremendous; fif- 
teen hundred men and officers, of whom three 
hundred were prisoners, were lost by the allies, 
and a far greater number fell among the forces 
'Of the enemy. 

After the action, a brigade of the light divis- 
ion released the troops in the village, and the 



armies bivouacked once more in sight of each 
other. 



CHAPTER XCI. 



A RENCONTRE. 



" Lieutenant O'Mai.t.ey, 14th Light Dra- 
goons, to serve as extra aide-de-camp to Major- 
General Craufurd, until the pleasure of his royal 
highness the Prince Regent is known." Such 
was the first paragraph of a general order, dated 
Fuentes d'Onoro, the day after the battle, which 
met me as I awoke from a sound and heavy 
slumber, the result of thirteen liours on horseback. 

A staff appointment was not exactly what I de- 
sired at the moment; but I knew that with Crau- 
furd my duties were more likely to be at the 
pickets and advanced posts of the army, than in 
the mere details of note-writing or despatch-bear- 
ing; besides that, I felt, whenever anything of 
importance was to be done, I should always ob- 
tain his permission to do duty with my regiment. 

Taking a hurried breakfast, therefore, I 
mounted my horse, and cantered over to Villa 
Formosa, where the general's quarters were, 
to return my thanks for the promotion, and take 
the necessary steps for assuming my new func- 
tions. 

Although the sun had risen about two hours, 
the fatigue of the previous day had impressed it- 
self upon all around. The cavalry, men and 
horses, were still stretched upon the sward, sunk 
in sleep; the videttes, weary and tired, seemed anx- 
iously watching for the relief, and the disordered 
and confused appearance of everything bespoke 
that discipline had relaxed its stern features, in 
compassion for the bold exertions of the preced- 
ing day. The only contrast to this general air 
of exhaustion and weariness on every side was a. 
corps of sappers, who were busily employed upon 
the high grounds above the village. Early as it 
was, they seemed to have been at work some 
hours — at least so their labors besi)oke; for al- 
ready a rampart of considerable extent had been 
thrown up, stockades implanted, and a breast- 
work was in a state of active preparation. The 
officer of the party, wrapped up in a loose cloak, 
and mounted upon a sharp-looking hackney, rode 
hither and thither, as the occasion warranted, and 
seemed, as well as from the distance I could 
guess, something of a tartar. At least I could 
not help remarking how, at his approach, the- 
several inferior officers seemed suddenly so muchi 
more on the alert, and the men worked with an- 
additional vigor and activity. I stopped for some 
minutes to watch him, and seeing an engineer 
captain of my acquaintance among the party,, 
couldn't resist calling out: 

" I say, Hachard, your friend on the chestnut 
mare must have had an easier day yesterday than 
some of us, or I'll be hanged if he'd be so active 
this morning." Hachard hung his head in som.e 
confusion, and did not reply; and on my looking 
round, whom should I see before me but the 
identical individual I had so coolly been criticiz- 
ing, and who, to my utter horror and dismay, 



418 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON, 



was no other than Lord Wellington himself. I 
did not wait for a second peep. Helter-skelter, 
through water, thickets, and brambles, away 1 
went, clattering down the causeway like a mad- 
man. If a French squadron had been behind 
me, I should have had a stouter heart, although 
I did not fear pursuit. I felt his eye was upon 
me — his sharp and piercing glance, that shot like 
an arrow into me; and his firm look stared at 
me in every object around. 

Onward I pressed, feeling in the very reckless- 
ness of my course some relief to my sense of 
shame, and ardently hoping that some accident 
■ — some smashed arm, or broken collar-bone — 
might befall me, and rescue me from any notice 
my conduct might otherwise call for. I never 
drew rein till I reached the Villa Formosa, and 
pulled up short at a small cottage, where a double 
sentry apprised me of the general's quarters. As 
I came up, the low lattice sprang quickly open, 
and a figure, half dressed and more than half 
asleep, protruded his head. 

"VVell! what hashappened? Anything wrong'" 
said he, whom I now recognized to be General 
Craufurd 

'' No; nothing wrong, sir," stammered I, with 
evident confusion. " I'm merely come to thank 
you for your kindness in my behalf." 

" You seemed in a devil of a hurry to do it, if 
I'm to judge by the pace you came at. Come in 
and take your breakfast with me; I shall be 
dressed presently, and you'll meet some of your 
brother aides-de-camp." 

Having given my horse to an orderly, I walked 
into a little room, whose humble accommoda- 
tions and unpretending appearance seemed in 
perfect keeping with the simple and unostenta- 
tious character of the general. The preparations 
for a good and substantial breakfast were, how- 
ever, before me; and an English newspaper of a 
late date spread its most ample pages to welcome 
me. I had not been long absorbed in mv read- 
ing, when the door opened, and the general, 
whose toilet was not yet completed, made his 
.appearance. 

" Egad, O'Malley, you startled me this morn- 
ing. I thouglit we were in for it again." 

I took this as the most seasonable opportunity 
to recount my mishap of the morning, and ac- 
'Cordingly, without more ado, detailed the un- 
, lucky nueting with the commander-in-chief. 
"When I came to the end, Craufurd threw him- 
self into a chair and laughed till the very tears 
coursed down his bronzed features. 

'■ You don't say so, boy? You don't really 
tell me you said that? By Jove! I had rather have 
faced a platoon of musketry than have stood in 
your shoes! You did not wait for a reply, I 
think." 

" No, faith sir, that I did not!" 

" Do you suspect he knows you?" 

'' I trust not, sir; the whole thing passed so 
•rapidly!" 

"Well, it's most unlucky, in more ways than 
one!" He paused for a few moments as he said 
this, and then added, " Have you seen the gen- 
eral order?" pushing toward me a written i^aper 
as he spoke. It ran thus: 



" G. O. "Adjutant-General's Office, ) 
Villa Formosa, > 
May 6, i8ii. ) 
"Memorandum. — Commanding officers are re- 
quested to send in to the military secretary, as 
soon as possible, the names of officers they may 
wish to have promoted in succession to those who 
have fallen in action." 

" Now, look at this list. The Honorable Har- 
vey Howard, Grenadier Guards, to be First Lieu- 
tenant, vice No, not that: Henry Beauchamp 

— George Villiers — Ay, here it is! Captain Lyt- 
tleton, 14th Light Dragoons, to be major in the 
3d Dragoon Guards, rvVc Clodwin, killed in action; 
Lieutenant O'Malley to be Captain, vice Lytlk- 
ton, promoted. You see, boy, I did not forgtt 
you; you were to have had the vacant troop in 
your own regiment. Now, I almost doubt the 
prudtn e of bringing your name under Lord Wel- 
lington's notice. He may have recognized yoti; 
and, if he did so — why, I rather think — that is, 1 
suspect — I mean, the quieter you keep the better." 

While I poured forth my gratitude as warmly 
as I was able for the general's great kindness lo 
me, I expressed my perfect concurrence in his 
views. 

" Believe me, sir," said I, " I should much rather 
wait any number of years for my promotion, than 
incur the risk of a reprimand; the more so, as it 
is not the first time I have blundered with his 
lordship." I here narrated my former meeting 
with Sir Arthur, at which Craufurd's mirth again 
burst forth, and he paced the room, holding his 
sides in an ecstasy of merriment. 

"Come, come, lad, we'll hope for the best; 
we'll give you the chance that he has not seen 
your face, and send the list forward as it is; but 
here come our fellows." 

"As he spoke, the door opened, and three offi- 
cers of his staff entered, to whom, having been 
severally introduced, we chatted away about the 
news of the morning until breakfast. 

"I've frequently heard of you from my friend 
Hammersley." said Captain Fitzroy, addressing 
me; "you were intimately acquainted, I believe?" 

"Oh, yes! Pray where is he now? We have not 
met for a long time." 

"The poor fellow's invalided; that sabre-rut 
upon his head has turned out a sad affair, and 
he's gone back to England on a sick leave. Old 
Dashwood took him back with him as private 
secretary, or something of that sort." 

" .^h!" said another, " Dasliwood has daughters, 
hasn't he? No bad notion of his; for Hammers- 
ley will be a baronet some of these days, with a 
rent-roll of eight or nine thousand per annum." 

"Sir George Dashwood," said I, "has but one 
daughter, and I am quite sure that in his kind- 
ness to Hammersley no intentions of the kind you 
mention were mixed up." 

" Well, I don't knoAv," said the third, a pale, 
sickly youth, with handsome but delicate features. 
" I was on Dashwood's staff until a few weeks ago, 
and certainly I thought there was something going 
on between Hammersley and Miss Lucy, who, be 
it spoken, is a devilish fine girl, though rather 
disposed to give herself airs." 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



419 



I felt my cheek and my temples boiling like a 
furnace; my hand trembled as I lifted my coffee 
to my lips; and 1 would have given my expected 
promotion twice over to have had any reasonable 
ground of quarrel with the speaker. 

"Egad, lads," said Craufurd, "that's the very 
best thing I know about a command. As a bishop 
is always sure to portion off his daughters with 
deaneries and rectories, so your knowing old 
general always marries his among his staff." 

Tliis sally was met with the ready laughter of 
the subordinates, in which, however little disposed, 
I was obliged to join. 

" You are quite right, sir," rejoined the pale 
youth; "and Sir George has no fortune to give 
his daughter." 

" How came it, Horace, that you got off safe?" 
said Fitzroy, with a certain air of affected serious- 
ness in his voice and manner; " I wonder they let 
such a prize escape them." 

" Weil, it was not e.xactly their fault, I do con- 
fess. Old Dashwood did the civil towards me; 
and la belle Lucie herself was condescending 
enough to be less cruel than to the rest of the 
staff. Her father threw us a good deal together; 
and, in fact, I believe — I fear — that is — that I 
didn't behave quite well." 

" You may rest perfectly assured of it, sir," said 
I; "whatever your previous conduct may have 
been, you have completely relieved vour mind on 
this occasion, and behaved most shamefully!" 

Had a shell fallen in the midst of us, the faces 
around me could not have been more horror- 
struck, than when, in a cool, determined tone, I 
spoke these few words. Fitzroy pushed his chair 
slightly back from the table, and fixed his eyes 
full upon me. Craufurd grew dark purple over 
his wliole face and forehead, and looked from 
one to the other of us, without speaking; while 
the Honorable Horace Delawar, the individual 
addressed, never changed a muscle of his wan and 
sickly features, l)ut lifting his eyes slowly from 
his muffin, lisped softly out, 

" You think so? How verv good!" 

" Genetal Craufur^," said I, the moment I could 
collect myself sufficiently to speak, " I am deeply 
grieved that I should so far have forgotten myself 
as to disturb the harmony of your table; but when 
I tell you that Sir George Dashwood is one of my 
warmest friends on earth; that from my intimate 
knowledge of him, I am certain that gentleman's 
statements are either the mere outpourings of 
follv, or worse " 

"By Jove, O'Malley, you have a verv singular 
mode of explaining away the matter. Delawar, 
sit down again. Gentlemen, I have only one word 
to say about this transaction: I'll have no .squab- 
bles nor broils here; from this room to the guard- 
house is a five minutes' walk. Promise me, upon 
your honors, this altercation ends here, or, as sure 
as my name's Craufurd, you shall both be placed 
under arrest, and the m.in who refuses to obey 
me shall be sent back to England." 

Betore I well knew in what way to proceed, Mr. 
Deiawar rose and bowed formally to the general, 
while I imitated his example; silently we resumed 
our places, and, after a pause of a few moments, 
the current of conversation was renewed, and 



other topics discussed, but with such evident 
awkward talk and constraint, that all jiarties felt 
relieved when the general rose from table. 

" I say, O'Malley, have you forwarded the re- 
turns to the adjutant-general's office?" 

" Yes, sir; I despatched them this morning be- 
fore leaving my quarters." 

" I am glad of it; the irregularities on this 
score have called forth a heavy reprimand at 
head-quarters." 

I was also glad of it, and it chanced that by 
mere accident 1 remembered to charge Mike with 
the papers, which, had they not been lying un- 
sealed upon the table before me, would, in all 
likelihood, have escaped my attention. The post 
started to Lisbon that same morning, to take ad- 
vantage of which I had sat up writing for half the 
night. Little was I aware at the moment what a 
mass of trouble and annoyance was in store for 
me from the circumstance. 



CHAPTER XCII. 



ALMEIDA. 



On the morning of the 7th we perceived, from 
a movement in the French camp, that the 
wounded were being sent to the rear, and shortly 
afterwards the main body of their army com- 
menced its retreat. They moved with slow, and, 
as it were, reluctant steps; and Bessieres, who 
commanded the hiiperial Cniard, turned his eyes 
more than once to that position which all the 
bravery of his troops was unavailing to capture. 

Although our cavalry lay in force to the front 
of our line, no attempt was made to molest the 
retreating French; and Massena, having retired 
beyond the Aguada, left a strong force to watch 
the ford, while the remainder of the army fell 
back upon Ciudad Rodrigo. 

During this time we had succeeded in fortify- 
ing our position at Fuentes d'Onoio fo strongly 
as to resist any new attack, and Lord Wellington 
now turned his whole attention to the blockade 
of Almeida, which, by Massena's retreat, was 
abandoned to its fate. 

On the morning of the loth I accompanied 
General Craufurd in a reconnoissance of the for- 
tress, which, from the intelligence we had lately 
received, could not nnich longer hold out against 
our blockade. The fire from the enemy's artil- 
lery was, however, hotl.y maintained; and, as 
night fell, some squadrons of the Fourteenth, 
who were picketed near, were unable to light 
their watch-fires, being within reach of their shot. 
As the darkness increased, so did the cannonade, 
and the bright flashes fiom the walls, and the 
deep booming of the artillery, became incessant. 

A hundred conjectures were nPoat to account 
for the circumstance; some asserting that what 
we heard were mere signals to Massena's army; 
and others, that Brennier was destroying and 
mutilating the fortress before he evacuated it to 
the allies. 

It was a little past midnight when, tired from 
the fatigues of the day, I had fallen asleep be- 



m 



CHARLES 0"MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



neath a tree, an explosion, louder than any which 
preceded it, burst suddenly forth, and, as I 
awoke and looked about me, I perceived the 
whole heavens illuminated by one bright glare, 
while the crashing noise of falling stones and 
crumbling masonry told me that a mine had been 
sprung; the moment after all was calm, and still, 
and motionless; a thick black smoke increasing 
the sombre darkness of the niglit, shut out every 
star from view, and some drops of heavy rain be- 
gan to fall. 

The silence, ten times more appalling than the 
din which preceded it, weighed heavily upon 
my senses, and a dread of some unknown danger 
crept over me; the exhaustion, however, was 
greater than my fear, and again I sank into 
slumber. 

Scarcely had I been half an hour asleep, when 
the blast of a trumpet again awoke me, and I 
found, amid the confusion and excitement about, 
that something of importance had occurred. 
Questions were eagerly asked on all sides, but no 
one could explain what had happened. Towards 
the town all was still as death, but a dropping, 
irregular fire of musketry issued from the valley 
beside the Aguada. " What can this mean? what 
can it be?" we asked of each other. "A sortie 
from the garrison," said one; "a night attack by 
Massena's troops," cried another; and, while 
thus we disputed and argued, a horseman was 
heard advancing along the road at the top of his 
speed. 

"Where are the cavalry?" cried a voice I re- 
cognized as one of my brother aides-de-camp. 
" Where are the Fourteenth?" 

A cheer from our party answered this ques- 
tion, and the next moment, breathless and agi- 
tated, he rode in amongst us. 

" What is it? are we attacked?" 

"Would to heaven that were all! But come 
along, lads, follow me." 

"What can it be, then?" said I again; while 
my anxiety knew no bounds. 

" Brennier has escaped; burst his way through 
J'ack's division, and has already reached Valde 
Mula." 

. "The French have escaped!" was repeated 
from mouth to mouth; while, pressing sjiurs to 
our horses, we broke into a gallop, and dashed 
forward in the direction of the musketry. We 
soon came up with the 36th Infantry, who, hav- 
ing thrown away their knapsacks, were rapidly 
pressing the pursuit. The maledictions which 
l)urst from every side proved how severely the 
misfortune was felt by all, while the eager ad- 
vance of the men bespoke how ardently they 
longed to repair the mishap. 

Dark as was the night, we passed them in a 
gallop, when suddenly the officer who commanded 
the leading squadron called out to halt. 

"Take care there, lads!" cried he; "I hear 
the infantry before us; we shall be down upon 
our own people." 

The words were hardly spoken, when a bright 
flash blazed out before us, and a smashing volley 
was poured into the squadron. 

"The French! the French, by Jove!" said 
Hampden. "Forward, boys! charge them!" 



Breaking into open order, to avoid our wounded 
comrades, several of whom had fallen by the 
fire, we rode down amongst them. In a mo- 
ment their order was broken, their ranks pierced, 
and, fresh squadrons coming up at the instant, 
they were sabred to a man. 

After this the French pursued their march in 
silence, and, even vv-hen, assembling in force, we 
rode down upon their squares, they never halted 
nor fired a shot. At Barba del Puerco, the ground 
being unfit for cavalry, the Thirty-sixth took our 
place, and pressed them hotly home. Seveial of 
the French were killed, and above three hundred 
made prisoners, but our fellows following up the 
pursuit too rashly, came upon an advanced body 
of Massena's force, drawn up to await and cover 
Brennier's retreat; the result was the loss of above 
thirty men in killed and wounded. 

Thus were the great efforts of the three pre- 
ceding days rendered fruitless and nugatory 
To maintain this blockade. Lord Wellington, with 
an inferior force, and a position by no means 
strong, had ventured to give the enemy battle; 
and now, by the unskilfulness of some and the 
negligence of others, were all his combinations 
thwarted, and the French general enabled to 
march his force through the midst of the blcck- 
ading columns almost unmolested and uninjured. 

Lord Wellington's indignation was great, as 
well it might be; the yirizt for which he had con- 
tested was torn from his grasp at the very moment 
he had won it, and, although the gallantry of the 
troops in the pursuit might, under other circum- 
stances, have called forth eulogium, his only ob- 
servation on the matter was a half sarcastic allu- 
sion to the inconclusive effects of undisciplined 
bravery. "Notwithstanding," says the general 
order of the day, "what has been printed in ga- 
zettes and newspapers, we have never seen small 
bodies, unsupported, succeFsfully opposed to large; 
nor has the experience of any officer realized the 
stories which all have read, of whole armies 
being driven by a handful of light infantry and 
dragoons." 



CHAPTER XCIII. 

A NIGHT ON THE AZAVA. 

Massena was now recalled, and Marmont hav- 
ing assumed the command of the French army, re- 
tired towards Salamanca, while our troops went 
into cantonments upon the Aguada. A period of 
inaction succeeded to our previous life of bustle 
and excitement, and the whole interest of the cam- 
paign was now c(?ntred in Beresford's army, ex- 
posed to Soult in Estramadura. 

On the isth, Lord Wellington set out for that 
province, having already directed a strong force 
to march upon Bndajos. 

" Well, O'Malley," said Craufurd, ashe returned 
from bidding Lord Wellington good-by, " your 
Dusiness is all right; the commander-in-chief has 
signed my recommendation, and you will get 
your troop." 

While 1 continued to express my grateful ac- 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



421 



knowledgments for his kindness, the general, ap- 
parently inattentive to all 1 was saying, paced 
the room with hurried steps, stopping every now 
and then to glance at a large map of Spain which 
covered one wall of the apartment, while he mut- 
tered to himself some broken and disjointed sen- 
tences. 

" Eight leagues — too weak in cavalry — with the 
left upon Fiienta Grenaldo--a strong position. 
O'Malley, you'll take a troop of dragoons and 
patrol the country towards Castro; you'll recon- 
noitre the position the sixth corps occupies, but 
avoid any collision with the enemy's pickets, 
keeping the Azava between you and them. Take 
rations for three days." 

" When shall I set out, sir?" 

" Now!" was the reply. 

Knowing with what pleasure the hardy veteran 
recognized anything like alacrity and despatch, I 
resolved to gratify him; and, before half an hour 
had elapsed, was ready with my troop to receive 
his final orders. 

"Well done, boy!" said he, as he came to the 
door of the hut, " you've lost no time. 1 don't be- 
lieve I have any further instructions to give you , to 
ascertain as far as possible the probable movement 
of the enemy is my object, that's all." As he spoke 
this, he waved his hand, and wishing me " good- 
by," walked leisurely back into the house. I saw 
that his mind was occupied by other thoughts; and 
although I desired to obtain some more accurate 
information for my guidance, knowing his dislike 
to questions, I merely returned his salute, and set 
forth upon my journey. 

The morning was beautiful; the sun had risen 
about an hour, and the earth, refreshed by the 
heavy dew of the night, was breathing forth all 
Its luxuriant fragrance. The river, which flowed 
beside us, was clear as crystal, showing beneath 
its eddying current the shining, pebbly bed, while, 
upon the surface, the water-lilies floated or sank, 
as the motion of the stream inclined. The tall 
cork-trees spread their shadows about us, and the 
richly-plumed birds hopped from branch to 
branch, awaking the echoes with their notes. 

It is but seldom that the heart of man is 
thoroughly attuned to the circumstances of the 
scenery around him. How often do we need a 
struggle with ourselves to enjoy the rich and 
beautiful landscape which lies smiling in its fresh- 
ness before us! How frequently do the blue sky 
and the calm air look down upon the heart 
darkened and shadowed with affliction! And 
how often have we felt the discrepancy between 
the lowering look of winter and the glad sunshine 
of our hearts! The harmony of the world with- 
out with our thoughts within is one of the purest, 
as it is one of the greatest, sources of happiness. 
Our hopes and our ambitions lose their selfish 
character when, feeling that fortune smiles upon 
us from all around, and the flattery which speaks 
to our hearts from the bright stars and the blue 
sky, the peaked mountain, or the humble flower, 
is greater in its mute eloquence than all the 
tongue of man can tell us. 

This feeling did I experience in all its fulness, 
as I ruminated upon my bettered fortunes, and 
felt within myself that seciet instinct that tells 



of happiness to come. In such moods of mind my 
thoughts straved ever homewards, and I could 
not help confessing how little were all my suc- 
cesses in my eyes, did I not hope for the day 
when I should pour forth my tale of war and 
battle-field to the ears of those who loved me. 

I resolved to write home at once to my uncle. 
I longed to tell him each incident of my career, 
and my heart glowed as I thought over the broken 
and disjointed sentences which every cottier 
around would whisper of my fortunes, far prouder 
as they would be in the humble deeds of one they 
knew, than in the proudest triumphs of a nation's 
glory. 

Indeed, Mike himself gave the current to my 
thoughts. After riding beside me for some time 
in silence, he remarked: 

" And isn't it Father Rush will be proud when 
he sees your honor's a captain; to think of the 
little boy that he used to take before him on the 
ould grey mare for a ride down the avenue; to 
think of him being a real captain, six feet two 
without his boots, and galloping over the French 
as if they were lurchers! Peggy Mahon, that 
nursed you, will be the proud woman the day she 
hears it; and there won't be a soldier sober in 
his quarters that night in Portumna barracks! 
'Pon my soul, there's not a thing with a red coat 
on it, if it was even a scarecrow to frighten the 
birds from the barley, that won't be treated with 
respect when they hear of the news." 

'i'he country through which we travelled was 
marked at every step by the traces of a retreat- 
ing army; the fields of rich corn lay flattened 
beneath the tramp of cavalry, or the wheels of 
the baggage- wagons; the roads, cut up and nearly 
impassable, were studded here and there with 
marks which indicated a bivouac; at the same 
time, everything around bore a very different 
aspect from what we had obser\ed in Portugal; 
there, the vindictive crueltv of the French sol- 
diery had been seen in full sway. The ruined 
chateaux, the burned villages, the desecrated 
altars, the murdered [leasantry- — all attested the 
revengeful spiritof the beaten and baffled enemy. 
No sooner, however, had they crossed the fr<"n- 
tiers, than, as if by magic, thtir character became 
totally changed. Discipline and obedjence suc- 
ceeded to recklessness and pillage; and, instead 
of treating the natives with inhumanity and 
cruelty, in all their intercourse wilh the Span- 
iards the French behaved with moderation and 
even kindness. Paying for everything, obtaining 
their billets peaceably and quietly, marching with 
order and regularity, they advanced into the heart 
of the country, showing, by the most irrefragable 
proof, the astonishing evidences of a discipline 
which, by a word, could convert the lawless 
irregularities of a ruffian soldiery into the orderly 
habits and obedient conduct of a highly-organized 
army. 

As we neared the Azava, the tracks of the re- 
tiring enemy became gradually less perceptible, 
and the country, uninjured by the march, ex- 
tended for miles around us in all the richness and 
abundance of a favored climate. The tall corn 
waving its yellow gold, reflected like a sea the 
clouds that moved slowly above it. The wild 



422 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



gentian and the laurel grew thickly around, and 
the cattle stood basking in the clear streams, 
while some listless peasant lounged upon the bank 
beside them. Strange as all these evidences of 
l)eace and tranquillity were, so near to the devas- 
tating track of a mighty army, yet I have more 
than once witnessed the fact, and remarked how, 
but a short distance from the line of our hurried 
march, the country lay untouched and uninjured; 
and though the clank of arms and the dull roll 
of the artillery may have struck upon the ear of 
the far-off dweller in his native valley, he listened 
as he would have done to the passing thunder as 
it crashed above him; and when the bright sky 
and pure air succeeded to the lowering atmosphere 
and the darkening storm, he looked forth upon 
his smiling fields and happy home, while he mut- 
tered to his heart a prayer of thanksgiving that 
the scourge was passed. 

\Ve bivouacked upon the bank of the river, a 
truly Salvator Rosa scene; the rocks toueiing 
high above us, were fissured by the channel of 
many a trickling stream, seeking, in its zigzag 
current, the bright river below. The dark pine- 
tree and the oak mingled their foliage witli the 
graceful cedar, which spread its fan-like branches 
about us. Through the thick shade some oc- 
casional glimpses of a starry sky could yet be 
seen, and a faint yellow streak upon the silent 
river told that the queen of night was there. 

When I had eaten my frugal supper, I wandered 
forth alone upon the bank of the stream, now 
standing to watch its bold sweeps as it traversed 
the lonely valley before me, now turning to catch 
a passing glance at our red watch-fires, and the 
hardy features which sat around. The hoarse 
and careless laugh, the deep-toned voice of some 
old campaigner holding forth his tale of flood and 
field, were the only sounds I heard; and grad- 
ually I strolled beyond the reach of even these. 
']'he path beside the river, which seemed scarped 
from the rock, was barely sufficient for the pas- 
sage of one man, a rude balustrade of wood being 
the only defence against the precipice, which, 
from a height of full thirty feet, looked down 
upon the stream. Here and there some broad 
gleam of moonlight would fall upon the opposite 
bank, which, unlike tlie one I occupied, stretched 
out into rich meadow and pasturage, broken by 
occasional clumps of ile.x and beech. River 
scenery has bee'n ever a passion with me. I can 
glory in the bold and broken outline of a mighty 
mountain; I can gaze with delighted eyes upon 
the boundless sea, and know not whether to like 
it more in all the mighty outpouring of its wrath, 
when the white waves lift their heads to heaven, 
and break themselves in foam upon the rocky 
beach, or in the calm beauty of its broad and 
mirrored surface, in which the bright world of sun 
and sky are seen full many a fathom deep. But 
far before these, I love the happy and tranquil 
beauty of some bright river, tracing its winding 
current through valley and through plain, now 
spreading into some calm and waveless lake, now 
narrowing to an eddying stream, with mossy rocks 
and waving trees darkening over it. There's not 
a hut, however lowly, where the net of the fisher- 
man is stretched upon tlie sward, around whose 



hearth I do not picture before me the faces of 
liappy toil and humble contentment, while, frori 
the ruined tower upon the crag, methinks I hear 
the ancient sounds of wassail and of welcome; 
and though the keep.be fissured and the curtain 
fallen, and though for banner there " waves some 
tall wall-flower," I can people its crumbling walls 
with images of the past; and tlie merry laugh of 
the warder, and the clanking tread of the mailed 
warrior, are as palpably before me as the tangled 
lichen that now trails from its battlements. 

As I wandered on, I reached the little rustic 
stair which led downward from the path to the river 
side; and, on examining further, perceived that 
in this place the stream was fordable; a huge flat 
rock, filling up a great part of the river's bed, 
occupied the middle, on either side of which the 
current ran with increased force. 

Bent upon exploring, I descended the cliff, and 
was preparing to cross, when my attention was at- 
tracted by the twinkle of a fire at some distance 
from me, on tiie oj)posite side; the flame rose and 
fell in fitful flashes, as though some hand were 
ministering to it at the moment. As it was im- 
possible, from tiie silence on every side, that it 
could proceed from a bivouac of the enemy, I re- 
solved on approaching it, and examining it for 
myself. I knew that the shepherds in remote dis- 
tricts were accustomed thus to pass the summer 
nights with no other covering save the blue vault 
above them. It was not impossible, too, that it 
might prove a Guerilla party, who frequently, in 
small numbers, hang upon the rear of a retreating 
army. Thus conjecturing, ] crossed the stream, 
and, quickening my pace, walked forward in the 
direction of the blaze. For a moment a project- 
ing rock obstructed my progress; and while I 
was devising some means of proceeding further, 
the sound of voices near me arrested my atten- 
tion. I listened, and what was my astonishment 
to hear that they spoke in French. I now crept 
cautiously to the verge of the rock and looked 
over; the moon was streaming in its full brilliancy 
upon a little shelving strand beside the stream, 
and here I now beheld the figure of a French 
officer. He was habited in the undress uniform 
of a chasseur a chcval, but wore no arms; indeed, 
his occupation at the moment was anything but 
a warlike one, he being leisurely employed in col- 
lecting some flasks of champagne which appar- 
ently had been left to cool within the stream. 

''Eh bien, Alphonse !" said a voice in the direc- 
tion of the fire, " what are you delaying for?" 

" I'm coming, I'm coming," said the other; 
"but, /(ir Dieu ! I can only find five of our bot- 
tles; one seems to have been carried away by the 
stream." 

" No matter," replied the other, " we are but 
three of us, and one is, or should be, on the sick 
list." 

The only answer to this was the muttered 
chorus of a French drinking-song, interrupted at 
intervals by an imprecation upon the misusing 
flask. It chanced, at this moment, that a slight 
clinking noise attracted me, and on looking down 
I perceived at the foot of the rock the prize 
he sought for. It had been, as he conceived, 
carried away by an eddy of the stream, and 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



4s:;j 



was borne, as a true prisoner of war, witliin my 
grasp. I avow that from this moment my 
interest in the scene became considerably height- 
ened; such a waif as a bottle of champagne was 
not to be despised in circumstances like mine; 
and I watched with anxious eyes every gesture 
of the impatient Frenchman, and alternately 
vibrated between hope and fear, as he neared or 
receded from the missing flask. 

"Let it go to the devil!" shouted his compan- 
ion once more. " Jacques has lost all patience 
with you." 

" Be it so. then," said the other, as he prepared 
to take up his burden. At this instant I made a 
slight effort so to change my position as to ob- 
tain a view of the rest of the party. The branch 
liy which I supported myself, however, gave way 
beneath my grasp with a loud crash. I lost my 
footing, and slipping downward from the rock, 
came plump into the stream below. The noise, 
the splash, and, more than all, the sudden ap- 
pearance of a man beside him, astounded the 
I'renchman, who almost let fall his pannier, and 
thus we stood confronting each other for at least 
a couple of minutes in silence. A hearty burst 
of laughter from both parties terminated this 
awkward moment, while the Frenchman, with the 
readiness of his country, was the first to open the 
negotiation. 

^'Sacr^ Din(!" said he, ''what can you be 
doing here? You're English, without doubt." 

" Even so," said I ; " but that is the very ques- 
tion I was about to ask you; what are you doing 
here?" 

^'Eh bien" replied the other, gayly, "you shall 
be answered in all frankness. Our captain Vifas 
wounded in the action of the 8th, and we heard 
had been carried up the country by some peas- 
ants. As the army fell back, we obtained per- 
mission to go in search of him; for two days all 
was fruitless; the peasantry fled at our approach; 
and, although we captured some of our stolen 
property — among other things, the contents of 
this basket — yet we never came upon the track 
of our comrade till this evening. A good-hearted 
sliepherd had taken him to his hut, and treated 
liim with every kindness, but no sooner did he 
hear the gallop of our horses and the clank of 
our equipments, than, fearing himself to be made 
a prisoner, he fled up the mountains, leaving our 
friend behind him; voila notre histoire. Here we 
are, three in all, one of us with a deep sabre-cut 
in his shoulder. If you are the stronger party, 
we are, I suppose, your prisoners; if not " 

What was to have followed I know not, for at 
this moment his companion, who had finally lost 
all patience, came suddenly to the spot. 

" A prisoner," cried he, placing a heavy hand 
upon my shoulder, while with the other, he held 
liis drawn sword pointed towards my breast. 

To draw a pistol from my bosom was the work 
of a second, and while gently turning the point 
of his weapon away, I coolly said, 

" Not so fast, my friend, not so fast! The 
game is in my hands, not yours. I have only 
to pull this trigger, and my dragoons are upon 
you; whatever fate befall me, yours is certain." 

A half-scornful laugh betrayed the incredulity 



of him I addressed, while the other, apparently 
an.xious to relieve the awkwardness of the mo- 
ment, broke in with, 

" He is right, Auguste, and you are wrong: we 
are in his power; that is," added he, smiling, " if 
he believes there is any triumph in capturing such 
pauvrcs diabhs as ourselves." 

The features of him he addressed suddenly 
lost their scornful expression, and sheathing his 
sword with an air of almost melodramatic solem- 
nity, he gravely jJuUed up his moustaches, and, 
after a pause of a few seconds, solemnly ejac- 
ulated a malediction upon his fortune. 

"C'cst toiijoiirs ainsi" said he, with a bitterness 
that only a Frenchman can convey when cursing 
his destiny. ^'Soycz bon enfant, and see what will 
come of it. Only be good-natured, only be kind, 
and if you haven't bad luck at the end of it, it's 
only because fortune has a heavier stroke in re- 
serve for you hereafter." 

I could not help smiling at the Frenchman's 
philosophy, which, assuming as a good augury, 
he gayly said, "So, then, you'll not make us 
prisoners. Isn't it so?" 

"Prisoners!" said the other, "nothing of the 
kind. Come and sup with us; I'll venture to say 
our larder is as well stocked as your own; in any 
case, an omelette, a cold chicken, and a glass of 
champagne are not bad things in our circum- 
stances." 

I could not help laughing outright at the 
strangeness of the proposal. 

"I fear I must decline," said I; "you seem to 
forget I am placed here to watch, not to join you." 

"^ la bonne heure," cried the younger of the 
two; "do both. Come along; soycz bon camarade; 
you are always near your own people, so don't 
refuse us." 

In proportion as I declined, they both became 
more pressing in their entreaties, and, at last, I 
began to dread lest my refusal might seem to 
proceed from some fear as to the good faith of 
the invitation, and 1 never felt so awkwardly 
placed as when one plumply pressed me by 
saying, 

"Afais pourquoi pas, tnon chcr?" 

I stammered out something about duty and 
discipline, when they both interrupted me by a 
long burst of laughter. 

"Come, come!" said they, "in an hour — in 
half an hour, if you will — you shall be back with 
your own people. We've had plenty of fighting 
latterly, and we are likely to have enough in fu- 
ture; we know something of each other by this 
time in the field; let us see how we get on in the 
bivouac." 

Resolving not to be outdone in generosity, I 
replied at once, " Here goes, then!" 

Five minutes afterwards 1 found myself seated 
at their biouvac fire. The captain, who was the 
oldest of the party, was a fine, soldier-like fellow 
of some forty years old: he had served in the Im- 
perial Guard through all the campaigns of Italy 
and Austria, and abounded in anecdotes of the 
French army. From him I learned many of 
those characteristic traits which so eminently dis- 
tinguish the imperial troops, and saw how com- 
pletely their bravest and boldest feats of arms de- 



424 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



pended upon the personal valor of him who led 
them on. From the daring enterprise of Napo- 
leon at Lodi to the conduct of the lowest cori)oral 
in the grande arinife, the picture presents nothing 
but a series of brilliant and splendid chivalry; 
while, at the same time, the warlike character of 
the nation is displayed by that instinctive appre- 
ciation of courage and daring which teaches them 
to follow their officers to the very cannon's 
mouth. 

"It was at Elchingen," said the captain, "you 
should have seen them. The regiment in which 
I was a lieutenant was ordered to form close 
column, and charge througli a narrow ravine to 
carry a brigade of guns, whicii, by a flanking fire, 
were devastating our troops. Before we could 
reach the causeway, we were obliged to pass an 
open plain, in which the ground dipped for about 
a hundred yards; the column moved on, and, 
though it descended one hill, not a man ever 
mounted the opposite one. A very avalanche ot 
balls swept the entire valley; and yet, amid the 
thunder and the smoke, the red glare ot the ar- 
tillery, and the carnage around them, our grena- 
diers marched firmly up. At last. Marshal Ney 
sent an aide-de-camp with orders to the troops 
to lay flat down, and in this position the artillery 
played over us for above half an hour. The 
Austrians gradually slackened, and finally dis- 
continued their fire: this was the moment to re- 
sume the attack. I crept cautiously to my knees, 
and looked about. One word brought my men 
around me; but I found to my horror that, of a 
battalion who came into action fourteen hundred 
strong, not five hundred remained; and that I 
myself, a mere lieutenant, was now the senior 
officer of the regiment. Our gallant colonel lay 
dead beside my feet. At this instant a thought 
struck me. I remembered a habit he possessed, 
in moments of difficulty and danger, of placing 
in his shako a small red plume which he com- 
monly carried in his belt. I searched for it, and 
found it. As I held it aloft, a maddening cheer 
burst around me, while from out the line each 
officer sprang madly forward, and rushed to the 
head of the column. It was no longer a march. 
With a loud cry of vengeance, the mass rushed 
forward, the men trying to outstrip their officers, 
and come first in contact with the foe. Like 
tigers on the spring, they fell upon the enemy, 
who, crushed, overwhelmed, and massacred, lay 
in slauglitered heaps around the cannon. The 
cavalry of the Guard came thundering on behind 
us, a whole division followed, and three thousand 
five hundred prisoners, and fourteen pieces of 
artillery, were captured. 

" I sat upon the carriage of a gun, my face be- 
grimed with powder, and my uniform blackened 
and blood-stained. The whole thing appeared 
like some shocking dream. I felt a hand upon 
my shoulder, while a rough voice called in my 
ear, ' Capitaine, du soixante-neuviime, tu es moii 
frire!' 

" It was Ney who spoke. This," added the 
brave captain, his eyes filling as he said the words — 
"this is the sabre he gave me." 

I know not why I have narrated this anecdote; 
it has little in itself, but, somehow, to me, it 



brings back in all its fulness the recollection of 
that night. 

There was something so strongly characteristic 
of the old Napoleonist in the tone of his narra- 
tive that I listened throughout with breathless at- 
tention. I began to feel, too, for the first time, 
what a powerful arm in war the Emperor had 
created by fostering the spirit of individual enter- 
prise. The field thus opened to fame and dis- 
tinction left no bounds to the ambition of any. 
The humble conscript, as he tore himself from 
the embraces of his mother, wiped his tearful 
eyes to see before him in the distance the baton 
of a marshal. The bold soldier who stormed a 
battery, felt his heart beat more proudly and 
more securely beneath the cordon of the Ltgion 
ihan behind a cuirass of steel, and to a people in 
u'hom the sense of duty alone would seem cold, 
liarren, and inglorious, he had substitv.ttd a 
nighly-wrought chivalrous enthusiasm, and, by 
\\\e prestige of his own name, the proud niemoiy 
of his battles, and the glory of those mighty 
tournaments at which all Europe were the spec- 
tators, he liad converted a nation inio an army. 

By a silent and instinctive compact we ap- 
peared to avoid those topics of the campaign in 
which the honor of our respective arms was in- 
terested; and once when, by mere accident, the 
youngest of the party adverted to Fuentesd'Onoro 
the old captain adroitly turned the current of 
the conversation by saying, " Come, Alphonse, 
let's have a song." 

"Yes," said the other, " Zt' Pas de C/iars;e." 

" No, no," said the captain; " if I am to have 
a choice, let it be that little Breton song you gave 
us on the Danube." 

"So be it, then," said Alphonse. "Here 
goes!" 

I have endeavored to convey, by a translation, 
the words he sang, but I feel conscious how to- 
tally their feeling and simplicity are lost, when 
deprived of their own patois, and the wild but 
touching melody that accompanied them. 

"THE BRETON HOME." 

"When the battle is o'er, and the sounds of fight: 

Have closed with the closing day, 
How happy, around the watch-fire's light 

To chat the long hours away; 
To chat the long hours away, my boy, 

And talk of the days to come, 
Or a better still, and a purer joy, 

To think of our far-off home. 

" How many a cheek will then grow pale, 

That never felt a tear! 
And many a stalwart heart will quail, 

That never quailed in fear. 
And the breast that, like some mighty rock 

Amid the foaming sea, 
Bore high against the battle's shock. 

Now heaves like infancy. 

"And those who knew each other not. 

Their hands together steal. 
Each thinks of some long hallowed spot, 

And all like brothers feel: 
Such holy thoughts to all are given; 

The lowliest has his part; 
The love of home, like love of Heaven, 

Is woven in our heart." 




^UA^^'- J^^MeJ^. ,.^y,irj^y^^^ 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



425 



There was a pause as he concluded, each sank 
in his own reflections. How long we should have 
thus remained, I know not; but we were speedily 
aroused from our reveries by the tramp of horses 
near us. We listened, and could plainly detect 
in their rude voices and coarse laughter the ap- 
proach of a body of Guerillas. We looked from 
one to the other in silence and in fear. Nothing 
could be more unfortunate should we be dis- 
covered. Upon this point we were left little 
time to deliberate; for, with a loud cheer, four 
Spanish horsemen galloped up to the spot, their 
carbines in the rest. The Frenchmen sprang to 
their feet and seized their sabres,bent upon making 
a resolute resistance. As for me, my determin- 
ation was at once taken. Remaining quietly 
seated upon the grass, I stirred not for a moment, 
but, addressing him who appeared to be the 
chief of the Guerillas, said, in Spanish: 

"These are my prisoners; I am a British 
ofificer of dragoons, and my party is yonder." 

This evidently unexpected declaration seemed 
to surprise them, and they conferred for a few 
moments together. Meanwhile, they were joined 
by two others, in one of whom we could recog- 
nize, by his costume, the real leader of the 
party. 

"1 am captain in the light dragoons," said I, 
repeating my declaration. 

" Morte de Dios.'" replied he; "it is false; you 
are a spy!" 

The word was repeated from lip to lip by his 
party, and I saw, in their lowering looks and dark- 
ening features, that the moment was a critical 
one for ine. 

"Down with yourjirms!" cried he, turning to 
the Frenchmen. "Surrender yourselves our 
prisoners; I'll not bid ye twice!" 

The Frenchmen turned upon me an inquir- 
ing look, as though to say that upon me now 
their hopes entirely reposed. 

" Do as he bids you," said I; while at the same 
moment I sprang to my legs, and gave a loud, 
shrill whistle, the last echo of which had not 
died away in the distance ere it was replied to. 

" Make no resistance now," said I to the 
Frenchmen; "our safety depends on this." 

While this was passing, two of the Spaniards 
had dismounted, and, detaching a coil of rope 
which hung from their saddle-peak, were pro- 
ceeding to tie the prisoners wrist to wrist; the 
others, with their carbines to the shoulder, cov- 
ered us man by man, the chief of the party 
having singled out me as his peculiar prey. 

"The fate of Mascarenhas might have taught 
you better," said he, "than to play this game." 
And then .added, with a grim smile. " But we'll 
see if an Englishman will not make as good a 
carbonado as a Portuguese!" 

This cruel speech made my blood run cold, 
for I knew well to what he alluded. I was at 
Lisbon at the time it happened, but the melan- 
choly fate of Julian Mascarenhas, the Portuguese 
spy, had reached me there. He was burned to 
death at Torres Vedras! 

The Spaniard's triumph over my terror was 
short-lived, indeed, for scarcely had the words 
fallen from his lips, when a party of the Four- 



teenth, dashing through the river at a gallop, 
came riding up. The attitude of the Guerillas, 
as they sat with presented arms, was sufficient 
for my fellows, who needed not the exhortation 
of him who rode foremost of the party: 

" Ride them down, boys! Tumble them over! 
Flatten their broad beavers, the infernal thieves!" 

" Whoop!" shouted Mike, as he rode at the 
chief, with the force of a catapult. Down went 
the Spaniard, liorse and all; and, before he could 
disentangle himself, Mike was upon him, his 
knee pressed upon his neck. 

" Isn't it enough for ye to pillage the whole 
country, without robbing the king's throops?" 
cried he, as he held him fast to the earth witli 
one hand, while he presented a loaded pistol to 
his face. 

By this time the scene around me was suffi- 
ciently ludicrous. Such of the Guerillas as had 
not been thrown by force from their saddles' had 
slid peaceably down, and depositing their arms 
upon the groutid, dropped upon their knees in a 
semicircle around us, and, amid the hoarse laugh- 
ter of the troopers and the irrepressible merri- 
ment of the Frenchmen, rose up the muttered 
prayers of the miserable Spaniards, who believed 
that now their last hour was come. 

'' Madre de Dios, indeed!" cried Mike, imitat- 
ing the tone of a repentant old sinner, in a 
patched mantle; " it's much the blessed Virgin 
thinks of the like o' ye, thieves and rogues as ye are; 
it a'most puts me beyond my senses to see ye 
there crossing yourselves like rale Christians." 

If I could not help indulging myself in this ret- 
ributive cruelty towards the chief, and leaving 
him to the tender mercies of Mike, I oideredthe 
others to rise and form in line before me. Af- 
fecting to occupy myself entirely with them, I 
withdrew the attention of all from the French of- 
ficers, who remained quiet spectators of the scene 
around them. 

'''Point de fafoiis, gentlemen," said I, in a 
whisper. " Get to your horses and away! now's 
your time. Goodby!" 

A warm grasp of the hand from each was the 
only reply, and I turned once more to my dis- 
comfited friends, the Guerillas. 

"There, Mike, let the poor devil rise. I con- 
fess appearances were strong against me just 
now." 

" Well, captain, are you convinced by this time 
that I was not deceiving you?" 

The Guerilla muttered some words of apo]oi.'y 
between his teeth, and, while he shook the dust 
from his cloak, and arranged the broken feather 
of his hat, cast a look of scowling and indignant 
meaning upon Mike, whose rough treatment he 
had evidently not forgiven. 

" Don't be looking at me that way, you bla( k 
thief! or I'll " 

"Hold there'" said I; " no more of this. Come, 
gentlemen, we must be friends. If I mistake not 
we've got something like refreshment at our biv- 
ouac. In any case you'll partake of our watch- 
fire till morning." 

They gladly accepted our invitation, and ere 
half an hour elapsed Mike's performance in the 
part of host had completely erased every unpleas- 



426 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



ant impression his first appearance gave rise 
to; and as for myself, when I did sleep at last, 
the confused mixture of Spanish and Irish airs 
which issued from the thicket beside me, proved 
that a most intimate alliance had grown up be- 
tween the parties. 



CHAPTER XCIV. 

mike's mistake. 



An hour before daybreak the Guerillas were in 
motion, and, having taken a most ceremonious 
leave of us, they mounted their horses and set 
out upon their journey. I saw their gaunt figures 
wind down the valley, and watched them till they 
disappeared in the distance. "Yes, brigands, 
though they be," thought I, " there is something 
fine, something heroic, in the spirit of their unre- 
lenting vengeance." The sleuth-hound never 
sought the lair of 'his victim with a more ravening 
appetite for blood than they track the retreating 
columns of the enemy. Hovering around the 
line of march, they sometimes swoop down in 
masses, and carry off a part of the baggage, or 
the wounded. Tlie wearied soldier, overcome by 
heat and exhaustion, who drops behind his ranks, 
is their certain victim; the sentry on an advanced 
])ost is scarcely less so. Whole pickets are some- 
times attacked and carried off to a man; and, 
when traversing the lonely passes of some moun- 
tain gorge, or defiling through the dense shad- 
ows of a wooded glen, the stoutest heart has felt 
a fear, lest from behind the rock that frowned 
above him, or from the leafy thicket whose 
branches stirred without a breeze, the sharp ring 
of a Guerilla carbine might sound his death- 
knell. 

It was thus in the retreat upon Corunna for 
Colonel Lefebvre. Ever foremost in the attack 
upon our rear-guard, this gallant youth (he was 
scarce six-and-twenty), a colonel of his regiment, 
and decorated with the Legion of Honor, he led 
on every charge of his hold " saireurs," riding 
up to the very bayonets of our squares, waving 
his hat above his head, and seeming actually to 
court his death-wound; but so struck were our 
brave fellows with his gallant bearing, that they 
cheered him as he came on. 

It was in one of these moments as, rising high 
in his stirrups, he bore down upon the unflinch- 
ing ranks of the British infantry, the shrill whis- 
tle of a ball strewed the leaves upon the roadside, 
the exulting shout of a Guerilla followed it, and 
tlie same instant Lefebvre fell forward upon his 
horse's mane, a deluge of blood bursting from his 
bosom. A broken cry escaped his lips — a last 
effort to cheer on his men; his noble charger gal- 
loped forward between our squares, bearing to us 
as our prisoner the corpse of his rider. 

" Captain O'Malley," said a mounted dragoon 
to the advanced sentry at the bottom of the little 
hill upon which I was standing. " Despatches 
from head-quarters, sir," delivering into my 
hands a large sealed packet from the adjutant- 
general's office. While he proceeded to search 



for another letter of which he was the bearer, I 
broke the seal and read as follows: 

"Adjutant-General's Office, May 15. 
"Sir, — On the receipt of this order you are 
directed, having previously resigned your com- 
mand to the officer next in seniority, to repair to 
head-quarters at Fuentes d'Onoro, there to re- 
port yourself under arrest. 

" I have the honor to be your obedient servant, 
"George Hopeton, 

"Military Secretary." 

" What the devil can this mean?" said I to 
myself, as I read the lines over again and again. 
" What have I done lately, or what have I left 
undone to involve me in this scrape? Ah!" 
thought I, " to be sure, it can be nothing else. 
Lord Wellington c/ii/ recognize me that unlucky 
morning, and has determined not to let me pass 
unpunished. How unfortunate! Scarcely twenty- 
four hours have elapsed since fortune seemed to 
smile upon me from every side, and now the very 
destiny I most dreaded stares me fully in the 
face." A reprimand, or the sentence of a court- 
martial, I shrank from with a coward's fear. It 
mattered comparatively little from what source 
arising, the injury to my pride as a man and my 
spirit as a soldier would be almost the same. 

"This is the letter, sir," said the orderly, pre- 
senting me with a packet, the address of which 
was in Power's handwriting. Eagerly tearing it 
open, I sought for something which might ex- 
plain my unhappy position. It bore the same 
date as the official letter, and ran thus: 

" My dear Charley, — I joined yesterday, just 
in time to enjoy the heartiest laugh I have had 
since our meeting. If notoriety can gratify you, 
by Jove, you have it; for Charles O'Malley and 
his man Mickey Free are by-words in every mess 
from Villa Formosa to the rear-guard. As it's 
only fair you should participate a little in the fun 
you've originated, let me explain the cause: 
Your inimitable man Mike, to vhom it appears 
you entrusted the report of killed and wounded 
for the adjutant-general, having just at that mo- 
ment accomplished a letter to his friends at home, 
substituted his correspondence for your returns, 
and, doubtless, sent the list of the casualities as 
very interesting information to his sweetheart in 
Ireland. If such be the case, I hope and trust 
she has taken the blunder in better part than old 
Colbourn, who swears he'll bring you to a court- 
martial, under Heaven knows what charges. In 
fact, his passion has known no bounds since the 
event; and a fit of jaundice has given his face a 
kind of neutral tint between green and yellow, 
like nothing, I know of, except the facings of the 
'dirty half hundred.'* 

"As Mr. Free's letter may be as great a curi- 
osity to you as it has been to us, I enclose you a 
copy of it, which Hopeton obtained for me. It 
certainly places the estimable Mike in a strong 
light as a despatch writer. The occasional in- 
terruption to the current of the letter, you will 



* Kor the information of unmilitary readers. I may remark ttiat 
this solfriguei, was applied to the soth Regiment. 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



427 



perceive, arises from Mike having used the pen 
of a comrade, writing being, doubtless, an ac- 
complishment forgotten in the haste of preparing 
Mr. Free for the world; and the amanuensis has, 
ill more than one instance, committed to paper 
more than was meant by the author: 

'■ ' Mrs. M'Gr.\, — Tear an ages, sure I need 
n,it be treating her that way. Now, just say, 
Mrs. Mary — ay, that'll do — Mrs. Mary, it's 
mavbe surprised you'll be to be reading a letter 
from your humble servant, sitting on the top of 
the Alps. — Arrah, maybe it's not the Alps; but 
sure she'll never know — foment the whole French 
army, with Bony himself and all his jinnerals — 
(lod be between us and harm — ready to murther 
every mother's son of us, av they was able, Molly, 
darlin'; but, with the blessing of Providence, and 
Lord Wellington, and Mister Charles, we'll bate 
tiiem yet, as we bate them afore. 

" ' My lips is wathering at the thought o' the 
plunder. I often think of Tim Riley, that was 
lianged for sheep-stealing; he'd be worth his 
weight in gold here. 

" ' Mister Charles is now a captain — devil a less 
— and myself might be somethin' that same, but 
ye see I was always of a bashful nature, and rec- 
ommended the master in my place. " He's 
mighty young. Mister Charles is," says my Lord 
Wellington to me, — "he's mighty young, Mr. 
Free." " He is, my lord," says I; " he's yoimg, 
as you obsarve, but he's as much divilment in 
him as many that might be his father." " That's 
somethin', Mr. Free, 'j says my lord; "ye say he 
comes from a good stock?" " The rale sort, my 
lord," says I; "an ould, ancient family, that's 
spent every sixpence they had in treating their 
neighbors. My father lived near him for years," 
— you see, Molly, I said that to season the dis- 
course. " We'll make him a captain," says my 
lord; "but, Mr. Free, could we do nothing for 
you?" " Nothing, at present, my lord. When 
my friends comes into power," says I, "they'll 
think of me. There's many a little thing to give 
away in Ireland, and they often find it mighty 
hard to find a man for lord-lieutenant; and if that 
same, or a tide-waiter's place was vacant — ■ — " 
" Just tell me," says my lord. " It's what I'll do," 
says I. " And now, \yishing you happy dreams, 
I'll take my lave." Just so, Molly, it's hand and 
glove we are. A pleasant face, agreeable man- 
ners, seasoned with natural modesty, and a good 
pair of legs, them's the gifts to push a man's 
way in the world. And even with the ladies — 
but sure I am forgetting, my master was proposed 
for, and your humble servant too, by two illigant 
creatures in Lisbon; but it wouldn't do, Molly, 
— it's higher nor that we'll be looking — rale 
])rincesses, the devil a less. Tell Kitty Hannigan 
I hope she's well; she was a disarving young 
woman in her situation in life. Shusey Dogherty, 
at the cross roads — if I don't forget the name — 
was a good-looking slip, too, give her my affec- 
tionate salutations, as we say in the Portuguese. 
I hope I'll be able to bear the inclementuous na- 
ture of your climate when I go back; but I can't 
expect to stay long — for Lord Wellington can't do 
without me. We play duets on the guitar to- 



gether every evening. The master is shouting 
for a blanket, so no more at present from 
" 'Your very affectionate friend, 

" ' Mickey Free. 
"'F.S. — I don't write this myself, for the 
Spanish tongue puts me out of the habit of Eng- 
lish. Tell Father Rush, if he'd study the Por- 
tuguese, I'd use my interest for him with the 
bishop of Toledo. It's a country he'd like- — no 
regular stations, but promiscuous eating and 
drinking, and as pretty girls as ever confessed 
their sins.' 

" My poor Charley, I think I am looking at 
you. I think I can see the struggle between in- 
dignation and laughter, which every line of this 
letter inflicts upon you. Get back as quickly as 
you can, and we'll try if Craufurd won't pull you 
through the business. In any case, expect no 
sympathy; and, if you feel disposed to be angry 
with all who laugh at you, you had better pub- 
lish a challenge in the next general order. George 
Scott, of the Greys, bids me say, that if you're 
hard up for cash, he'll give you a couple of hun- 
dred for Mickey Free. I told him I thought 
you'd accept it, as your uncle has the breed of 
those fellows upon his estate, and might have no 
objection to weed his stud. Hammersley's gone 
back with the Dashwoods; but I don't think you 
need fear anything in that (juarter. At the same 
time, if you wish for success, make a bold push 
for the peerage, and half a dozen decorations, 
for Miss Lucy is most decidedly gone wild about 
military distinction. As for me, my affairs go on 
well; I've had half a dozen quarrels with Inez, 
but we parted good friends, and my bad Portu- 
guese has got me out cf all difficulties with papa, 
who pressed me tolerably close as to fortune. I 
shall want your assistance in this matter yet. If 
parchments will satisfy him, I think I could get 
up a qualification; but, somehow, the matter 
must be done, for I'm resolved to have his daugh- 
ter. 

" The orderly is starting, so no more till we 



meet. 



" Yours ever, 

"Fred Power." 



" Godwin," said I, as I closed the letter, " I 
find myself in a scrape at headquarters; you are 
to take the command of the detachment, for I 
must set out at once." 

" Nothing serious, I hope, O'Malley?" 

" Oh, no! nothing of consequence. A most ab- 
surd blunder of my rascally servant." 

"The Irish fellow yonder?" 

" The same." 

" He seems to take it easily, however." 

"Oh, confound him! he does not know what 
trouble he has involved me in; not that he'll care 
much when he does." 

" Why, he does not seem to be of a very des- 
ponding temperament. Listen to the fellow! I'll 
be hanged if he's not singing!" 

" I'm devilishly disposed tospoil his mirth. They 
tell me, however, he always keeps the troop in 
good humor; and see, the fellows are actually 
cleaning his horses for him, while is sitting on the 
bank!" 



428 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



" Faith, O'Malley, that fellow knows the world. 
Just hear him." 

Mr. Free was, as described, most leisurely re- 
posing on a bank, a mug of something drinkable 
be.side him, and a pipe of that curtailed propor- 
tion which an Irishman loves held daintily be- 
tween his fingers. He appeared to be giving.; his 
directions to some soldiers of the troop, who 
were busily cleaning his horses and accoutre- 
ments for him. 

"That's it, Jim! Rub 'era down along the 
hocks; he won't kick; it's only play. Scrub 
away, honey; that's the devil's own carbine to 
get clean." 

" Well, I say, Mr. Free, are you going to give 
us that ere song?" 

"Yes; I'll be danged if I burnish your sab.re 
if you don't sing." 

"Tear and ages! ain't I composin' it? Av I 
was Tommy Moore I couldn't b .- quicker." 

"Well, come along, my hearty; let's liear it," 

"Oh, murtlier!" said Mike, draining the pot 
to its last few drops, whicii he poured patheti- 
cally upon the grass before him, and then having 
emptied the aslies from his pipe, he heaved a 
deep sigh, as though to sav, life had no pleasures 
in store for him. A brief pause followed, after 
which, to the evident delight of his expectant 
audience, he began the following song, to the 
popular air of " Paddy O'CarroU:" 

"BAD LUCK TO THIS MARCHING." 

Air — "Paddy O'CarroU." 

' Bad luck to this marching. 

Pipeclaying and starching. 
How neat one must be to b_- killed by the French! 

I'm sick of parading. 

Througli wet and covvld wading. 
Or standing all night to be shot in a trench. 

To the tune of a fife 

Tliey dispose of your life. 
You surrender your soul to some illigant lilt; 

Now I like Garryowen, 

When I hear it at ho:ne, 
But it's not half so sweet when you're going to be kilt. 

" Then though up late and early, 

Our pay comes so rarely, 
The devil a farthing we've ever to spare, 

They say some diiiaster, 

Befel the paymaster; 
On my conscience I think that the money's not there. 

And, just think, what a blunder. 

They won't let us pluuder, 
While the convents invite us to rob them, 'tis clear, 

Tliough there isn't a village. 

But cries. 'Come and pillage,' 
Yet we leave all the mutton behind for Mounseer. 

•' Like a sailor that's nigh land, 

I long for that islan i 
Where even the kisses we steal if we please; 

Wliere it is no disgrace. 

If you don't w.ash your face. 
And you've nothing to do biit to stand at your ease; 

With no sergeant t' abuse us, 

We fight to amuse us, 
Sure it's better bate Christians than kick a baboon, 

How I'd dance like a fairy, 

To see ould Dunleary, 
And think twice ere I'd leave it to be a dragoon!" 

" There's a sweet link bit for you," said Mike 



as he concluded; "thrown off as aisy as a game 
at football." 

"I say, Mr. Free, the captain's looking for you; 
he'-s just received despatches from the Lami), and 
wants his horses." 

" In that case, gentlemen, I must take my leave 
of you; with the more regret, too, that I was think- 
ing of treating you to a supper this evening. You 
needn't be laughing, it's in earnest 1 am. Coming, 
sir — coming!" shouted he, in a louder tone, 
answering some imaginary call, as an excuse for 
his exit. 

When he appeared before me, an air of most 
business-like alacrity had succeeded to his late 
appearance, and having taken my orders to get 
the horses in readiness, he left me at once, and in 
less than half an hour we were upon the road. 



CHAPTER XCV. 



MONSOON IN TROUBLE. 



As I rode along towards Fuentes d'Onoro, 1 
could not help feeling provoked at the absurd 
circumstances in which I was involved. To be 
made the subject of laughter for a v hole army 
was by no means a pleasant consideration; but 
what I felt far worse was, the possibility that the 
mention of my name in connection with a repri- 
mand might reach the ears of those who knew 
nothing of the cause. 

Mr. Free himself seemed little under the in- 
fluence of similar feelings; for when, .niter a silence 
of a couple of hours, I turned suddenly towards 
him with a half-angry look, and rtn^arktd, "You 
see, sir, what your confounded Llundtrirg has 
done," his cool reply was, 

"Ah! then, won't Mrs. M'Gra be frightened 
out of her life when she rends all about the killed 
and wounded in your honor's rtport? J wonder 
if they ever hnd the manners to send my own let- 
ter afterwards, when they found out their mistake!" 

"Tlu'ir mistake, do you say? rather iv^z/^-f.' Yen 
appear to have a happy knack of shifting blame 
from your own shoulders. And do you fancy 
that they've nothing else to do than to trouble 
their heads about your absurd letters?" 

" Faith! it's easily seen )ou never saw n^y letter, 
or you wouldn't be saying that; and sure it's not 
much trouble it w ould give Colonel Fitzroy, or any 
o' the staff that write a good hand, just to put in 
a line to Mrs. M'Gra, to prevent her feeling 
alarmed about that murlheringpaper. Well, well, 
it's God's blessing! 1 don't think there's an) body 
of the name of Mickey Free high up in the am y 
but myself ; so that the family won't be going injo 
mourning for me on a false alarm." 

I had not patience to participate in this view 
of the case; so that I continued my journey with- 
out speaking. We had jogged aloi/g for some 
time after dark, when the distant tw inkle of the 
watch-fires announced our approach to the caifip. 
A detachment of the Fourteenth foimed the ad- 
vanced post, and from the officer in command I 
learned that Power was quartered at a small mill 
about half a mile distant; thither I accordingly 
turned my steps, but finding that the path whicU 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



429 



led abruptly down to it was broken, and cut up 
in many places, I sent Mike back witli the horses, 
and continued my way alone on foot. 

The night was deliciously calm; and, as I ap- 
proached the little rustic mill, I could not help 
feeling struck with Power's taste in a billet. 

A little vine-clad cottage, built close against a 
rock, nearly concealed by the dense foliage 
around it, stood beside a clear rivulet whose ed- 
dying current supplied water to the mill, and 
rose in a dew-like spray, which sparkled like gems 
in the pale moonlight. All was still within, but 
as I came nearer I thought I could detect the 
chords of a guitar. "Can it be," thought I, 
" that Master Fred has given himself up to min- 
strelsy? or is it some little dress-rehearsal for a 
serenade? But no," thought I, " that certainly is 
not Power's voice." I crept stealthily down the 
little path, and approached the window; the lat- 
tice lay open, and, as the curtain waved to and 
fro with the night air, I could see plainly all who 
were in the room. 

Close beside the window sat a large, dark-fea- 
tured Spaniard, his hands crossed upon his 
bosom, and his head inclined heavily forward, 
the attitude perfectly denoting deep sleep, even 
had not his cigar, which remained passively be- 
tween his lips, ceased to give forth its blue smoke 
wreath. At a little distance from him sat a 
young girl, who, even by the uncertain light, I 
could perceive was possessed of all that delicacy 
of form and gracefulness of carriage which char- 
acterize her nation. * • 

Her pale features— paler still from the contrast 
with her jet-black hair and dark costume — were 
lit up with an expression of animation and enthu- 
siasm as her fingers swept rapidly and boldly 
across the strings of a guitar. 

" And you're not tired of it yet?" said she, 
bending her head downwards towards one whom 
I now for the first time perceived. 

Reclining carelessly at her feet, his arm lean- 
ing upon her chair, whilst his hand occasionally 
touched her taper fingers, lay my good friend, 
Master Fred Power. An undress jacket thrown 
loosely open, and a black neck-cloth negligently 
knotted, bespoke the easy nonchalance whh which 
he prosecuted his courtship. 

"Do sing it again ?" said he, pressing her fin- 
gers to his lips. 

What she replied I could not catch; but Fred 
resumed; "No, no, he never wakes; the infernal 
clatter of that mill is his lullaby." 

" But your friend will be here soon," said she. 
"It is not so?" 

" Oh, poor Charley! I'd almost forgotten him; 
by-the-by, you musn't fall in love with him; there 
now, do not look angry; I only meant that, as I 
knew he'd be desperately smitten, you shouldn't 
let him fancy he got any encouragement." 

" What would you have me do?" said she, art- 
lessly. 

," I have been thinking over that, too. In the 
first place, you'd better never let him hear you 
sing; scarcely ever smile; and, as far as possible, 
keep out of his sight." 

"One would think, senhor, that all these pre- 
cautions were to be taken more on my ac- 



count than his. Is he so very dangerous, then?" 

" Not a bit of it! Good-looking enough he is, 
but — only a boy; at the same time, a devilish bold 
one! and he'd think no more of springing through 
that window, and throwing his arms round your 
neck, the very first moment of his arrival, than I 
should of whispering how much I love you." 

" How very odd he must be! I'm sure I should 
like him." 

"Many thanks to you both for your kind hints; 
and now to take advantage of ihem." So saying, 
I stepped lightly upon the window-sill, cleared 
the miller with one spring, and, before Power 
could recover his legs, or Margeritta her aston- 
ishment, I clasped her in my arms, and kissed 
her on either cheek. 

"CTi.-:-?jy! Charley! Damn it, man, it won't 
do!" cried Fred; while the young lady, evidently 
more amused at his discomfiture than affronted 
at the liberty, threw herself into a seat, and 
laughed immoderately. 

"'Ha! Hilloa there! What is't?" shouted the 
miller, rousing himself from his nap, and looking 
eagerly around. "Are they coming? Are the 
French coming?" 

A hearty renewal of his daughter's laughter was 
the only reply; while Power relieved his an.xiety 
by saying, 

" No, no, Pedrillo, not the French; a mere 
marauding party — nothing more. I say, Charley," 
continued he, in a lower tone, "you had better 
lose no time in reporting yourself at head-quar- 
ters. We'll walk up together. Devilish awkward 
scrape yours." 

" Never fear, Fred; time enough for all that. 
For the present, if you permit me, I'll follow up 
my acquaintance with our fair friend here." 

"Gently, gently!" h,aid he, with a look of most 
imposing seriousness. " Don't mistake her; she's 
not a mere country girl; you underst.-ind ? — been 
bred in a convent here — rather superior kind of 
thing." 

" Come, come, Fred, I'm not the man to inter- 
fere with you for a moment.'' 

" Good night, senhor," said the old miller, who 
had been waiting patiently all this time to pay 
his respects before going. 

"Yes, that's it!" cried Power, eagerly. "Good- 
night, Pedrillo." 

" Diionos noches" lisped out Margeritta, with a 
slight curtsey. 

1 sprang forward to acknowledge her saluta- 
tion, when Power coolly interposed between us, 
and, closing the door after them, placed his back 
against it. 

" Master Charley, I must read you a lesson — " 

"You inveterate hypocrite, don't attempt this 
nonsense with me. But come, tell me how long 
you have been here?" 

" Just twenty-four of the shortest hours I ever 
passed at an outpost. But listen — do you know 
that voice? Isn't it O'Shaughnessy?" 

" To be sure it is. Hear the fellow's song." 

** My fallier CTree! little for shot or shell. 
He hiULjhed at death and dangers: 
And he'll storm the very gates of hell 
With a company of the ' Rangers.' 

So sing tow, row, row, row, row," &c. 



430 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



" Ah, then. Mister Power, it's twice I'd think 
of returning your visit, if I knew tlie state of 
your avenue. If there's a grand jury in Spain, 
tliey might give you a presentment for tliis bit of 
road. My knees are as bare as a commissary's 
conscience, and I've knocked as much flesh off 
my shin-bones as would make accrnet in the hus- 
sars!" 

A regular roar of laugliter from both of us ap- 
prised Dennis of our vicinity. 

" And it's laughing ye are? Wouldn't it be as 
polite just to hold a candle or lantern for me in 
this confounded watercourse?" 

" How goes it, major?" cried I, extending my 
hand to him through the window. 

''Cliarle) — Charley O'Milley, iny son! I'm 
glad to see you. It's a hearty laugh you gave us 
this morning, My friend Mickey's a pleasant 
fellow for a secretary-at-war. But it's all settled 
now; Craufurd arranged it for you this after- 
noon." 

" You don't say so! Pray tell me all about it." 

" That's just what I won't; for, ye see, I don't 
know it; but I believe old Monsoon's affair has 
put everything out of their heads." 

" Monsoon's affair! what is that? Out with it, 
Dennis." 

" Faith, I'll be just as discreet about that as 
your o.vn business. All I can tell you is, that 
they brought him up to head-quarters this even- 
ing with a sergeant's guard, and they say he's to 
be tried by court-martial; and Picton is in a 
blessed humor about it." 

"What could it poisibly have been? Some 
plundering affair, depend on it." 

" Faith, you may swear it wasn't for his Utile 
charities, as Dr. Pangloss calls them, they've 
pulled him up," cried Power. 

" Maurice is in high feather about it," said 
Dennis. " There are five of them up at Fuentes, 
making a list of the charges to send to Monsoon; 
for Bob Mahon, it seems, heard of the old fel- 
low's doings up the mountains." 

"What glorious fun!" said Power, "Let's 
haste and join them, boys." 

"Agreed," said F. " Is it far from this?" 

" Another stage. When we've got something 
to eat," said the major, "if Power lias any inten- 
tions that way " 

" Well, I really did begin to fear Fred's mem- 
ory was lapsing: but somehow, poor fellow, smiles 
have been more in his way than sandwiches late- 

An admonishing look from Power was his only 
reply, as he walked towards the door. Bent upon 
teasing him, however, I continued, 

" My only fear is, he may do something silly." 

"who? Monsoon, is it?" 

"No, no. Not Monsoon; another friend of 
ours." 

" Faith, I scarcely thought your fears of old 
Monsoon were called for. He's a fox — the devil 
a less." 

" No, no, Dennis. I wasn't thinking of him. 
My anxieties were for a more soft-hearted young 
gentleman — one Fred Power. 

"Charley, Charley!" said Fred, from the door 
where he had been giving directions to his ser- 



vant about supper. " A man can scarce do a 
more silly thing than marry in the army; all the 
disagreeables of married life, with none of its 
better features." 

"Marry — marry!" shouted O'Shaiighnessy; 
"upon my conscience, it's incomprehensible to 
me how a man can be guilty of it. To be sure, 1 
don't mean to say that there are not circumstan- 
ces — such as half-pay, old age, infirmity, the loss 
of your limbs, and the like; but that, with good 
health and a small balance at your banker's, you 
should be led into such an embarrassment " 

"Men will flirt," said I, interrupting; '"nun 
will press taper fingers, look into bright eyes, and 
feel their witchery, and, although the fair owners 
be only quizzing them half the time and amusirg 
themselves the other, and though they be the 
veriest hackneyed coquettes " 

"Did you evermeet the Dalrymple girls, Den- 
nis?" said Fred, with a look I shall never for- 
get. 

"What the reply was I cannot tell. My shame 
and confusion were overwhelming, and Power's 
victory complete. 

" Here comes the prog," cried Dennis, as Pow- 
er's servant entered with a very plausible-looking 
tray, while Fred proceeded to place before us a 
strong army of decanters. 

Our supper was excellent, and we were enjoy- 
ing ourselves to the utmost, when an orderly 
sergeant suddenly opened the door, and raising 
his hand to his cap, asked if Major Power was 
there? • 

"A letter for you, sir." 

" Monsoon's writing, by Jove! Come, bovs, 
let us see what it means. What a hand the old 
fellow writes! The letters look all crazy, and 
are tumbling against each other en every side. 
Did you ever see anything half so tipsy as the 
crossing of that /.?" 

"Read it! Read it out, Fred!" 

"'Tuesday Evening. 
" ' Dear Power,— I'm in such a scrape! Come 
up and see me at once; bring a little sherry with 
you, and we'll talk over what's to be done. 

" 'Yours ever, 

ui^ . r- 1 ' ■> '"B. MONEOCN. 

Qiiarter-General. 

We resolved to finish our evening with the ma- 
jor; so that, each having armed himself with a 
bottle or two, and the remnants of our supper, 
we set out towards his quarters, under the guid- 
ance of the orderly. After a sharp walk of half 
an hour, we reached a small hut, where two sen- 
tries of the Eighty-eighth were posted at the 
door. 

O'Shaughnessy procured admittance for us, and 
in we went. At a small table, lighted by a thin 
tallow candle, sat old Monsoon, who, the weather 
being hot, had neither coat nor wig on; an old 
cracked china teapot, in which, as we found after- 
wards, he had mixed a little grog, stood befo/e 
him, and a large mass of papers lay scattered 
around on every side; he himself being occupied 
in poring over their contents, and taking occa- 
sional drauglits from his uncouth goblet. 

As we entered noiselessly, he never perceived 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



431 



us, but continued to mumble over, in a low tone, 
from the documents before him: 

" Upon my life, it's like a dream to me! What 
infernal stuff tiiis brandy is! 

"'Charge No. 8. — For conduct highly unbe- 
coming an officer and a gentleman, in forcing the 
cellar of the San Nicholas convent at Banos, 
taking large quantities of wine therefrom, and 
subsequently compelling the prior to dance a bo- 
lero, thus creating a riot, and tending to destroy 
the harmony between the British and the Portu- 
guese, so strongly inculcated to be preserved by 
the general orders.' 

" Destroying the harmony! Bless their hearts! 
How little they know of it! I've never passed a 
jollier night in the Peninsula! The prior's a 
trump, and, as for the bolero, he ivoitld dance it. 
I hope they say nothing about my hornpipe. 

""Charge No. g. — For a gross violation of his 
duty as an officer, in sending a part of his brig- 
ade to attack and pillage the alcalde of Banos; 
thereby endangering the public peace of the town, 
being a flagrant breach of discipline and direct 
violation of the articles of war.' 

"Well, I'm afraid I was ratlier sharp on the 
alcalde, but we did him no harni except the 
fright. What sherry the fellow had ! 'twould 
have been a sin to let it fall into the hands of 
the French. 

"'Charge No. io. — For threatening, on or 
about the night of the 3rd,*to place the town of 
Banos under contribution, and subsequen tly forc- 
ing t;ie authorities to walk in procession before 
him, m absurd and ridiculous costumes.' 

" Lord, how good it was! I shall never forget 
the old alcalde! One of my fellows fastened a 
dead lamb around his neck, and told him it was 
the golden fleece. The commander-in-chief would 
have laughed himself if he had been there.' Pic- 
ton's much too grave — never likes a joke. 

"'Charge No. ii. — For insubordination and 
disobedience, in refusing to give up his sword, 
and rendering it necessary for the Portuguese 
guard to take it by force; thereby placing him- 
self in a situation highlydegrading to a British 
officer.' 

" Didn't I. lay about me before they got it! — 
Who's that? — Who's laughing there? — .Ah, boys! 
I'm glad to see you. — How are you, Fred ? — 
Well, Charley, I've heard of your scrape; very 
sad thing for so young a fellow as you are; I 
don't think you'll be broke; I'll do what I can — 
I'll see what I can do with Picton; we are very 
old friends — were at Eton together." 

" Many thanks, major; but I hear your own 
affairs are not flourishing. What's all this court- 
martial about?" 

•' A mere trifle; some little insubordination in 
the legion. These Portuguese are sad dogs. How 
very good of you, Fred, to think of that little 
supper." 

VVhile the major was speaking, his servant, with 
a de.xterity the fruit of long habit, had garnished 
the table ivith the contents of our baskets, and 
Monsoon, apologizing for not putting on his wig, 
sat dov/n amongst us with a face as cheerful as 
though the floor was not covered with tlie charges 
ot the court-martial to be lield on him. 



As we chatted away over tlie campaign and its 
chances. Monsoon seemed little disposed to rei in- 
to his own fortunes. In fact, he appeared to 
suffer much more from what he termed my un- 
lucky predicament than from his own mishaps. 
At the same time, as the evening wore on, and 
the sherry began to tell upon him, his heart ex- 
panded into its habitual moral tendency, and, by 
an easy transition, he M-as led from the religions 
associations of convents to the pleasures of pillag- 
ing them. 

"What wine they have in their old cellars! It's 
such fun drinking it out of great silver vessels as 
old as Methuselah. ' There's much treai^ure In 
the house of the righteous,' as David says; and 
any one who has ever sacked a nunnery kno\\s 
that." 

" I should like to have seen that prior dancing 
the bolero," said Power. 

" Wasn't it good, though! He grew jealous of 
me, for I performed a hornpipe. Very good 
fellow, the prior; not like the alcalde — there was 
no fun in him. Lord bless him! he'll never forget 
me." , 

" What did you do with him, major?" 

"Well, I'll tell you; but you mustn't let it 1 e 
known, for I see they have not put it in the 
court-martial. Is there no more sherry there? 
There, that will do; I'm always contented, 
'Better a dry morsel with quietness,' as Moses sa) s. 
Ay, Charley, never forget that 'a merry heart is 
just like medicine.' Job found out that, you 
know." 

"Well, but the alcalde, major." 

"Oh! the alcalde, to be sure. These pious 
meditations make me forget earthly matters. 

"This old alcalde at Banos, I found out, was 
quite spoiled by 1-ord \\'ellington. He usfd to 
read ail the general orders, and got an absurd 
notion in his head that, because we were his 
allies, we were not allowed to plunder. Only 
think, he used to snap his fingers at Beresford; 
didn't care twopence about the legion; and 
laughed outright at A\'ilson. So, when I was or- 
dered down there, I took another way with 
him; I waited till night-fall, ordered two squad- 
rons to turn their jackets, and sent forward 
one of my aides-de-camp with a few troopers 
to the alcalde's house. They galloped into 
the court-yard, blowing trumpets and mak- 
ing an infernal hubbub. Down came the alcalde 
in a passion. — 'Prepare quarters quickly, and 
rations for eight hundred men.' 

" ' Who dares to issue such an order?' said he. 

" The aide-de-camp whispered one word in 
his ear, and the old fellow grew pale as death. 
'Is he here? — Is he coming?' said he, trembling 
from head to foot. 

" I rode in myself at this moment, looking 
thus— — 

"'(9« est le nmlhetircux?' ia.\d I, in Fren(h; 
you know I speak French like Portuguese." 

"Devilish like, I've no doubt," muttered 
Power. 

" ' Pardon, i;racias exceUenzaf said the alcalde 
on his knees." 

" Who the deuce did he take you for, major?" 

"You shall hear: you'll never guess, though. 



433 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



Lord! I shall never forget it. He thought I 
was Marmont: my aide-de-camp told him 
so." 

One loud burst of laughter interrupted tlie 
major at this moment, and it was some consider- 
able time before lie could continue his narrative. 

'"And do you really mean," said I, "that you 
personated the duke de Raguse?" 

" Did I not though.' — if you only had seen me 
with a pair of great moustaches, and a drawn 
sabre in my hand, pacing the room up and down 
in presence of the assembled authorities. Napo- 
leon himself might have been deceived. My first 
order was to cut off all their heads; but I com- 
muted the sentence to a heavy fine. Ah, boys! 
if they only understood at head-quarters how to 
carry on a war in the Peninsula, tliey'd never have 
to grumble in England about increased ta.xation. 
flow I'd mui<;t the nunneries! How I'd grind 
the corporate towns! How I'd inundate the 
country with exchequer bills! I'd sell the priors 
at so mucii a head, and put the nuns up to auc- 
tion by the dozen." 

"You sacrilegious old villain! But continue 
the account of your exploits." 

"Faith, 1 remember little more. After dinner, I 
grew somewhat mellow, and a kind of moral bewil- 
derment, which usually steals over me about eleven 
o'clock, induced me to invite the alcalde and all 
the aldermen to come and sup. Apparently, we 
had a merry night of it, and, when morning 
liroke, we were not quite clear in our intellects. 
Hence came that infernal procession; for when 
tlie alcalde rode round the town with a paper 
cap, and all the aldermen after him, the inhabit- 
ants felt offended, it seems, and sent for a large 
(ruerilla force, who captured me and my staff, after 
a very vigorous resistance. The alcalde fought 
like a trump for us, for I promised to make him 
prefect of the Seine; but we were overpowered, 
disarmed, and carried off. The remainder you 
can read in the court-martial, for you may think 
that, after sacking the town, drinking ail night, 
and fighting in the morning, my memory was none 
of the clearest." 

" Did you not explain that you were not the 
niirshal-general?" 

"No, faith, I knew better than that; they'd 
have murdered me, had they known their mis- 
take. They brought me to head-quarters, in the 
hope of a great reward, and it was only when 
they reached this that they found out I was not 
the duke de Raguse; so you see, boys, it's a very 
complicated business." 

" Gad, and so it is," said Power, '' and an awk- 
ward one, too." 

" He'll be hanged, as sure as my name's Den- 
nis!" vociferated O'Shaughnessy, with an energy 
that made the major jump from his chair. "Pic- 
ton will hang him!" 

" I'm not afraid," said Mon<;oon, "' they know 
me so well. Lord bless you, ]5eresford couldn't 
get on without me!" 

" Well, major," said I, " in any case, you cer- 
tainly take no gloomy nor desponding view of 
your case." 

" Not I, bov. You know what Jeremiah says — 
' A merry heart is a continual feast,' and so it is. 



I may die of repletion, but they'll never find me 
starved with sor;ow." 

"And, faith, it's a strange thingl" muttered 
O'Shaughnessy, thinking aloud; "a most extraor- 
dinary thing! An honest fellow would be sure 
to be hanged; and there's that old rogue, that's 
been melting down more saints and blessed Vir- 
gins than the whole army together, he'll escape. 
Ye'll see he will !" 

"There goes the patrol," said Fred; " we must 
start." 

" Leave the sherry, boys; you'll be back again. 
I'll have it put up carefully." 

We could scarce resist a roar of laughter as v.-e 
said " Good-night." 

" Adieu, major," said I; "we shall meet soon." 

So saying, I followed Power and O'Shaughnessy 
towards their quarters. 

" Maurice has done it beautifully!" said Power. 
" Pleasant revelations the old fellow will make 
on the court-martial, if he only remembers what 
we've heard to-night! But here we are, Charley; 
so good-night; and remember, y-ou breakfast 
with me to-morrow. 



CHAPTER XCVL 



THE CONFIDENCE. 



" I HAVE changed the venue, Charley," said 
Power, as he came into my room the following 
morning. " I've changed the venue, and come to 
breakfast with you." 

I could not help smiling, as a certain suspicion 
crossed my mind; perceiving which, he quickly 
added, 

" No, no, boy! I guess what you're thinking 
of. I'm not a bit jealous in that quarter. The 
fact is, you know, one cannot be too guarded." 

" Nor too suspicious of one's friends, appar- 
ently." 

" A truce with quizzing. I say, have you re- 
ported yourself?" 

"Yes; and received this moment a most kind 
note from the general. But it appears I'm not 
destined to have a long sojourn amongst you, for 
I'm desired to hold myself in readiness for a 
journey this very day." 

" Where the deuce are they going to send you 
now?" 

" I'm not certain of my destination. I rather 
suspect there are despatches for Badajos. Just 
tell Mike to get breakfast, and I'll join you im- 
mediately." 

When I walked into the little room which served 
as my salon, I found Power pacing up and down, 
apparently wrapt in meditation. 

" I've been thinking, Charley," said he, after a 
pause of about ten minutes — I've been thinking 
over our adventures in Lisbon. Devilish strange 
girl, that senhora! When you resigned in my 
favor, I took it for granted that all difficulty was 
removed. Confound it! I no sooner began to 
profit by your absence, in pressing my suit, than 
she turned short round, treated me with marked 
coldness, exhibited a hundred wilful and capri- 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE HUSH DRAGOON. 



433 



< ious fancies, and concluded one day by quietly 
confessing to me — you were the only man she 
cared for." 

" You are not serious in all this, Fred ?" said I. 

"Ain't I, though, by Jove! I wish to heaven 
I were not! My dear Charley, the girl is an in- 
\eterate flirt — a decided coquette. Whether she 
has a particle of heart or not, I can't say; but, 
certainly, her greatest pleasure is to trifle with 
that of another. Some absurd suspicion that you 
were in love with Lucy Dash wood piqued her 
vanity, and the anxiety to recover a lapsing;,alle- 
giance led her to suppose herself attached to'you, 
and made her treat all my advances with the most 
frigid indifference or wavward caprice: the more 
provoking," continued he, with a kind of bitter- 
ness in his tone, "as her father was disposed to 
take the thing favorably; and, if I must say it, I 
felt devilish spooney about her myself. 

■' It was only two days before I left, that, in a 
coversation with Don Emanuel, he consented to 
receive my addresses to his daughter on my be- 
coming lieutenant-colonel. I hastened back with 
delight to bring her the intelligence, and found 
her with a lock of hair on the book before her, 
over which she was weeping. Confound me, if 
it was not yoursi I don't know what I said, nor 
what she replied; but, when wg parted, it was 
with a perfect understanding we were never to 
meet again. Strange girl ! She came that even- 
ing, put her arm within mine as I was walking 
alone in the garden, and, half in jest, half in 
earnest, talked me out of all my suspicions, and 
left me fifty times more in love with her than 
ever. Egad! I thought I used to know something 
about women, but here is a chapter I've yet to 
read. Come, now, Charley, be frank with me; 
tell me all you know." 

" My poor Fred! if you were not head and ears 
in love, you would see as plainly as I do that 
your affairs prosper. And after all, how invari- 
able is it, that tiie man who has been the veriest 
flirt with women — sighing, serenading, sonneteer- 
ing, flinging himself at the feet of every pretty 
girl he meets with — should become the most 
thorough dupe to his own feelings when his 
heart is really touched. Your man of eight- an d- 
thirty is always the greatest fool about women. " 

" Confound your impertinence! How the 
devil can a fellow with a moustache not stronger 
than a Circassian's eyebrow read such a lecture 
lo mcV 

" Just for the very reason you've mentioned. 
You glide into an attachment at my time of life; 
yoM fir/l in love si yours." 

"Yes," said Power, musingly, "there is some 
truth in that. This flirting is sad work. It is 
just like sparring with a friend; you put on the 
gloves in perfect good humor, with the most 
friendly intentions of exchanging a few amicable 
blows; you find yourself insensibly warm with 
the enthusiasm of the conflict, and some unlucky 
hard knock decides the matter, and it ends in a 
downright fight. 

" Few men, believe me, are regular seducers; 
and, among those who behave ' vilely' (as they 
call it), three-fourths of the number have been 
more sinned against than sinning. You adven- 



ture upon love as upon a voyage to India. Leav- 
ing the cold northern latitudes of first acquaint- 
ance behind you, you gradually glide into the 
warmer and more genial climate of intimacy. 
Each day you travel southward shortens the 
miles and the hours of your existence; so tran- 
quil is the passage, and so easy the transition, 
you suffer no shock by the change of tempera- 
ture about you. Happy were it for us that, in 
our courtship as in our voyage, there were some 
certain Rubicon to remind us of the miles we 
have journeyed! Well were it, if there were 
some meridian in love!" 

" I'm not sure, Fred, that there is not tliat 
same shaving process they practise on the line, 
occasionally performed for us by parents .nnd 
guardians at home; and I'm not certain that the 
iron hoop of old Neptune is not a pleasanter ac- 
quaintance than the hair-trigger of some indig- 
nant and fire-eating brother. But come, Fred, 
you- have not told me the most importani point — 
how fare your fortunes now? or, in other woids. 
What are your present prospects as rcgaids the 
senhora?" 

"What a question to ask me! A\'hy not re- 
quest me to tell you where Soult will fight us 
next, and when Marmont will cross the ficntier? 
My dear boy, I have not seen her for a week, an 
entire week — seven full days and nights, each 
with their twenty-four hours of change and \acil- 
lation." 

" Well, then, give me the last bulletin from the 
seat of war: that at least you can do. Tell me 
how you parted." 

" Strangely enough. You must know we had 
a grand dinner at the villa the day before I left; 
and when we adjourned for our cofl'ee to the 
garden, my spirits were at the top of their bent. 
Inez never looked so beautiful^ — never was one- 
half so gracious; and, as she leaned upon my 
arm, instead of following the others towards the 
little summer-house, I turned, as if inadvert- 
ently, into a narrow dark alley that skirts the 
lake." 

"I know it well; continue." 

Power reddened slightly, and went on: 

" ' Why are we taking this path?' said Donna 
Inez; 'this is, surely, not a short way?' 

" ' Oh! I wished to make my adieux to my 

old friends the swans. You know I go to-mor- 
row.' 

" 'Ah! that's true,' added she. ' I'd quite for- 
gotten it.' 

" This speech was not very encouraging: but, 
as I ielt myself in for the battle, I was not going 
to retreat at the skirmish. ' Now or never,' 
thought I. I'll not tell you what I said. I 
couldn't, if I C^-ould. It is only with a pretty woman 
upon one's arm — it is only when stealing a glance 
at her bright eyes, as you bend beyond the bor- 
der of her bonnet — that you know what it is to 
be eloquent. Watching the changeful color of 
her cheek with a more anxious heart than ever 
did mariner gaze upon the fitful sky al-ove him, 
you pour out your whole soul in love; you leave no 
time for doubt, you leave no space for reply: the 
difficulties that shoot across her mind you replv 
to ere she is well conscious of them; and whei>. 



434 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



vou feel her hand tremble, or see her eyelid fall, 
like the leader of a storming party, when the 
guns slacken in their fire, you spring boldly for- 
ward in the breach, and, blind to every danger 
around you, rush madly on, and plant your stand- 
ard upon the walls." 

" I hope you allow the vanquished the hon- 
ors of war," said I, interruptmg. 

Without noticing my observation, he continued: 

" I was on my knee before her, her hand pass- 
ively resting in mine, her eyes bent upon me softly 
and tearfully " 

"The game was your own, in fact." 

" You shall hear." 

" ' Have «'e stood long enough thus, senhor?' 
said she, bursting into a fit of laughter. 

" I sprang to my legs in anger and indig- 
nation. 

"'There, don't be passionate; it is so tire- 
some. What do you call that tree there?' 

" ' It is a tulip-tree,' said I, coldly. 

" ' Then, to put your gallantry to the test, do 
climb up there and pluck me that flower. No, 
the far one. If you fall into the lake and are 
drowned, why, it would put an end to this fool- 
ish interview.' 

" ' And if not?' said I. 

" ' Oh, then I shall take twelve hours to con- 
sider of it; and, if my decision be in your favor, 
I'll give you the flower ere you leave to-morrow.' 

" It's somewhat about thirty years since I went 
bird-nesting — and, hang me, if a tight jacket and 
spurs are the best equipment for climbing a 
tree! — but up I went, and, amid a running fire 
of laughter and quizzing, reached the branch, 
and brought it down safely. 

" Inez took especial care to avoid me the rest 
of the evening We did not meet until break- 
fast the following morning. I perceived then 
that she wore the flower in her belt; but, 
alas! I knew her too well to augur favorably from 
that; besides that, instead of any trace of sorrow 
or depression at my approaching departure, she 
was in high spirits, and the life of the party. 
' How can I manage to speak with her?' said I to 
myself; ' but one word — I already anticipate what 
it must be; but let the blow fall — anything is bet- 
ter than this uncertainty.' 

" ' The general and the staff have passed the 
gate, sir," said my servant at this moment. 

" ' Are my horses ready?' 

" ' At the door, sir; and the baggage gone for- 
ward.' 

" I gave Inez one look 

" ' Did you say more coffee?' said she, smiling. 

"I bowed coldly, and rose from the table. 
They all assembled upon the terrace to see me 
ride away. 

'■ ' You'll let us hear from you,' said Don 
Emanuel. 

" ' And pray don't forget the letter to my 
brother,' cried old Madame Forjas. 

'■ Twenty similar injunctions burst from the 
party, but not a word said Inez. 

" ' Adieu, then,' said I. ' Farewell.' 

" ' Adios. Go with God,' chorused the party. 

"'Good-bye, senhora,' said I. 'Have you 
nothing to tell me ere we part?' 



" ' Not that I remember,' said she, carelessly. 
' I hope you'll have good weather.' 

" ' There is a storm threatening,' said I, 
gloomily. 

" ' Well, a soldier cares little for a wet jacket.'' 

" ' Adieu,' said I, sharply, darting at her a look 
that spoke my meaning. 

" ' Farewell,' repeated she, curtseying slightly, 
and giving one of her sweetest smiles. 

" I drove the spurs into my horse's flanks, but 
holding him firmly on the curb at the same mo- 
ment, instead of dashing forward, he bounded 
madly in the air. 

"'W^hat a pretty creature!' said she, as she 
turned towards the house; then, stopping care- 
lessly, she looked round. 

" ' Should you like this bouquet?' 

" Before I could reply, she disengaged it from 
her belt, and threw it towards me. The door 
closed behind her as she spoke; I galloped on 
to overtake the staff' — ei voila tout. Now, Char- 
ley, read my fate for me, and tell me what this 
portends." 

" I confess I only see one thing certain in the 
whole." 

" And that is?" said Power. 

" That Master Fred Power is more irretriev- 
ably in love than any gentleman on full pay I 
ever met with." 

" By Jove! I half fear as much. Is that or- 
derly waiting for you, Charley? 'Who do you 
want, my man?" 

" Captain O'Malley, sir. General Craufurd 
desires to see you at head-quarters immediately." 

" Come, Charley, I'm going towards Fuentes. 
Take your cap; we'll walk down together." 

So saying, we cantered towards the village, 
where we separated — Power to join some Four- 
teentli men stationed there on duty, and I to 
the general's quarters to receive my orders. 



CHAPTER XCVII. 



THE CANTONMENT. 



Soon after this the army broke up from Caja, 
and went into cantonments along the Tagus, the 
head-quarters being at Portalegre; we were here 
joined by four regiments of infantry lately ar- 
rived from England, and the 12th Light Dragoons. 
I shall not readily forget the first impression crea- 
ted among our reinforcements by the habits of 
our life at this period. 

Brimful of expectation, they had landed at 
Lisbon; their minds filled with all the glorious 
expectancy of a brilliant campaign, sieges, storm- 
ing, and battle-fields floated before their e.xcited 
iniagination. Scarcely, however, had they reached 
the camp, when these illusions were dissipated. 
Breakfasts, dinners, private theatricals, pigeon 
matches, formed our daily occupation. Lord 
Wellington's hounds threw off regularly twice a 
week, and here might be seen every imaginable 
species of equipment, from the artillery officer, 
mounted on his heavy troop horse, to the infantry 







•I 

-1 \ 



1 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



435 



subaltern, on a Spanish jennet. Never was any- 
thing more ludicrous than our turn-out. Every 
quadruped in the army was put into requisition; 
and even those who rolled not from their saddles, 
from sheer necessity, were most likely to do so 
from laugliing at their neighbors. The pace may 
not have equalled Melton, nor the fences have 
been as stubborn as Leicestershire, but I'll be 
sworn, there was more laughter, more fun, and 
more merriment, in one day with us, than in a 
whole season with the best organized pack in Eng- 
land. With a lively trust that the country was 
open and tha leaps easy, every man took the field; 
indeed, the only anxiety evinced at all, was to ap- 
pear at the meet in something like jockey fashion, 
and I must confess that this feeling was particu- 
larly conspicuous among the infantry. Happy 
the man whose kit boasted a pair of cords, or 
buckskins; thrice happy he who sported a pair 
of tops. I myself was in that enviable position, 
and well remember with what pride of heart I 
cantered up to cover in all the superior eclat of 
mv costume, though, if truth were to be spoken, I 
doubt if I should have passed muster among my 
friendsofthe "Blazers." A round cavalry jacket, 
and a foraging cap with a hanging tassel, were the 
strange accompaniments of my mofe befitting 
nether garments. Whatever our costumes, the 
scene was a most animated one. Here, the shell- 
jacket of a heavy dragoon was seen storming the 
fence of a vineyard ; there, the dark green of a 
rifleman was going the pace over the plain. The 
unsportsman-like figure of a staff officer might be 
observed emerging from a drain, while some 
neck-or-nothing Irishman, with light infantry 
wings, was flying at every fence before him, and 
overturning all in his way. The rules and regu- 
lations of the service prevailed not here; the 
starred and gartered general, the plumed and 
aiguilletted colonel obtained but little deference, 
and less mercy, from his more humble subaltern. 
In fact, I am half disposed to think that many an 
old grudge of rigid discipline, or severe duty, 
met with its retribution here. More than once 
have I heard the muttered sentences around me 
which boded like this: 

" Go the pace, Harry! never flinch it! There's 
old Colquhoun — take him in the haunches — roll 
him over!" 

" See here, boys — watch how I'll scatter the 
staff — beg your pardon, general, hope I haven't 
hurt you. Turn about — fair play — I have taught 
you to take up a position now." 

I need scarcely say there was one whose per- 
son was sacred from all such attacks; he was 
well mounted upon a strong half-bred horse: rode 
always foremost, following the hounds with the 
same steady pertinacity with which he would 
have followed the enemy; his compressed lip 
rarely opening for a laugh, when even the most 
ludicrous misadventure was enacting before him; 
and when, by chance, he would give way, the 
short ha! ha! was over in a moment, and the cold 
stern features were as fixed and impassive as be- 
fore. 

All the excitement, all the enthusiasm of a 
hunting-field, seemed povverless to turn his mind 
from tlie pre-occupation which the mighty inter- 



ests he presided over, exacted. I remember once 
an incident which, however trivial in itself, is 
worth recording, as illustrative of what I mean. 
We were going along at a topping pace, the 
hounds, a few fields in advance, were hidden 
from our view by a small beech copse; the party 
consisted of not more than six persons, one of 
whom was Lord Wellington himself. Our run 
had been a splendid one, and, as we were pursu- 
ing the fox to earth, every man of us pushed his 
horse to hi* full stride in the hot enthusiasm of 
such a moment. 

"This way, my lord — this way," said Colonel 
Conyers, an old Melton man, who led the way. 
"The hounds are in thevalle) — keep to the left." 
As no reply was made, after a few moments' 
pause, Conyers repeated his admonition, " You 
are wrong, my lord, the hounds are hunting 
yonder." 

"I know it!" was the brief answer given, with 
a shortness that almost savored of asperity; for 
a second or two not a word was spoken. 

" How far is Niza, Gordon?" inquired Lord 
Wellington. 

" About five leagues, my lord," replied the 
astonished aide-de-camp. 

"That's the direction, is it not?" 

"Yes, my lord." 

" Let's go over and inspect the wounded." 

No more was said, and before a second was 
given for consideration, away went his lordship, 
followed by his aide-de-camp, the pace the same 
stretching gallop, and apparently feeling as much 
excitement, as he dashed onward towards the 
hospital, as though following in all the headlong 
enthusiasm of a fox chase. 

Thus passed our summer; a life of happy ease 
and recreation succeeding to the harassing fa- 
tigues and severe privations of the preceding 
campaign. Such are the lights and shadows of 
a soldier's life; such the chequered surface of his 
fortunes; constituting by their very change that 
buoyant temperament, that happy indifference, 
which enables him to derive its full enjoyment 
from each passing incident of his career. 

While thus we indulged in all the fascinations of 
a life of pleasure, the rigid discipline of the army 
was never for a moment forgotten: reviews, pa- 
rades, and inspections, were of daily occurence, 
and even a superficial observer could not fail to 
detect, that under thig apparent devotion to 
amusement and enjoyment, our commander-in- 
chief concealed a deep stroke of his policy. 

The spirits of both men and officers, broken in 
spite of their successes by the incessant priva- 
tions they had endured, imperatively demanded 
this period of rest and repose. The infantry, 
many of whom had served in the ill-fated cam- 
paign of W'alcheren, were still suffering from 
the effects of the intermittent fever. The cav- 
alry, from deficient forage, severe marches, and 
unremitting service, were in great part unfit for 
duty. To take the field under circumstances like 
these was therefore impossible; and, with the 
double object of restoring their wonted spirit to 
his troops, and checking the ravages which sick- 
ness and the casualties of war had made within 
his ranks, Lord Wellington embraced the oppor- 



436 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



tunity of the enemy's inaction.to take up his pres- 
ent position on the Tagus. 

Meanwhile that we enjoyed all the pleasures of 
a country life, enhanced tenfold by daily asso- 
ciation with gay and cheerful companions, the 
master-mind, whose reach extended from the pro- 
foundest calculations of strategy to the minutest 
details of military organization, was never idle. 
Foreseeing that a period of inaction, like the pres- 
ent, must only be like the solemn calm that pre- 
ludes the storm, he prepared for the future by 
those bold conceptions and unrivalled combina- 
tions which were to guide him through many a 
field of battle and of danger, to end his career of 
glory in the liberation of the PeninsuTa. 

The failure of the attack upon Badajos had 
neither damped his ardor, nor changed his views; 
and he proceeded to the investment of Ciudad 
Rodrigo with the same intense determination of 
uprooting the French occupation in Spain, by 
destroying their strongholds and cutting off their 
resources. Carrying aggressive war in one hand, 
he turned the other towards the maintenance of 
those defences which, in the event of disaster or 
defeat, must prove the refuge of the army. 

To the lines of Torres Vedras he once more 
directed his attention. Engineer officers were 
despatched thither; the fortresses were put into 
repair; the bridges broken or injured during the 
French invasion were restored; the batteries upon 
the Tagus were rendered more effective, and fur- 
naces for heating shot were added to them. 

The inactivity and apathy of the Portuguese 
government but ill corresponded with his un- 
wearied exertions; and, despite continual re- 
monstrances and unceasing representations, the 
bridges over the Leira and .\lva were left unre- 
))aired, and the roads leading to them, so broken 
as to be almost impassable, might seriously have 
endangered the retreat of the army, should such 
a movement be deemed necessary. 

It was in the first week of September, I was 
sent with despatches for the engineer officer in 
command at the lines, and, during the fortnight 
of my absence, was enabled for the first time to 
examine those extraordinary defences which, for 
the space of thirty miles, extended over a coun- 
try undulating in hill and valley, and presenting, 
by a succession of natural and artificial resour- 
ces, the strongest and most impregnable barrier 
that has ever been presented against the advance 
of a conquering army. 



CHAPTER XCVIII. 
I 

MICKEY FREF.'S .\nVENTURE. 

When I returned to the camp, I found the 
greatest excitement prevailing on all sides Each 
day brought in fresh rumors that Marmont was 
advancing in force; that sixty thousand French- 
men were in full march upon Ciudad Rodrigo, to 
raise the blockade, and renew the invasion of 
Portugal. IntercejJted letters corroborated these 
reports; and the Guerillas who jomed us .spoke 



of large convoys which they had seen upon the 
roads from Salamanca and Tamanes. 

Except the light division, which, under the 
coiumand of Craufurd, were posted upon the 
right of the Aguada, the whole of our army occu- 
pied the country from El Bodon to Gallegos; the 
fourth division being stationed at Fuente Guen- 
aldo, where some entrenchments had been hastily 
thrown up. 

To this position Lord Wellington resolved upon 
retreating, as affording points of greater strength 
and more capability of defence than the other 
line of road, which led by Almeida upon the 
Coa. Of the enemy's intentions we were not 
long to remain in doubt; for on the morning of 
the 24th, a strong body were seen descending 
from the pass above Ciudad Rodrigo, and cau- 
tiously reconnoitring the banks of the Aguada. 
Far in the distance a countless train of wagons, 
bullock -carts, and loaded mules were setn wind- 
ing their slow length along, accompanied by sev- 
eral squadrons of dragoons. 

Their progress was slow, but, as evening fell, 
they entered the gates of the fortress; and the 
cheering of the garrison mixing with the strains 
of martial music, faint frcm distance, reached us 
where we lay upon the far-off heights of El 
Bodon. So long as the light lasted, we could 
perceive fresh troops arriving; and even -when 
the darkness came on, we could detect the posi- 
tion of the reinforcing columns by the bright 
watch- fires which gleamed along the plain. 

By daybreak we were under arms, anxiously 
watching for the intentions of our enemy, which 
soon became no longer dubious. Twent)-five 
squadrons of cavalry, supported by a whole division 
of infantry, were seen to defile along the great 
road from Ciudad Rodrigo to Guenaldo. An- 
other column, equally numerous, marched straight 
upot! Espeja; nothing coidd be more beautiful, 
nothmg more martial, than their appearance; 
emerging from a close mountain gorge, they 
wound along the narrow road, and appeared upon 
the bridge of Aguada, just as the morning sun was 
bursting forth; his bright beams tipping the pol- 
ished cuirassiers and their glittering equij-ments, 
they shone in their panoply like the gay troop 
of some ancient tournament. The lancers of Berge, 
distinguished by their scarlet dolmans and gor- 
geous trappings, were followed by the cuirassiers 
of the guard, who again were succeeded by the 
cluisscuis a chn'al, their bright steel helmets and 
light blue uniforms, their floating ])lumes and 
dappled chargers, looking the very hcau idi'al of 
light horsemen; behind, the dark masses of the 
infantry pressed forward, and deployed into the 
plain, while, bringing up the rear, the rolling din, 
like distant thunder, announced the "dread artil- 
lery." 

On they came, the seemingly interminable line 
coiTverging on to that one spot upon whose sum- 
mit now we assembled, a force of scarcely ten 
thousand bayonets. 

While this brilliant panorama was passing be- 
fore our eyes, we ourselves were Hot idle. Orders 
had been sent to Picton to come up from the 
left with his division. Alten's cavalry and a 
brigade of artillery were sent to the front, and 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



437 



every preparation which the nature of the ground 
admitted was made to resist the advance of the 
enemy. While these movements on either side 
occupied some hours, the scene was every mo- 
ment increasing in interest. The large body of 
cavalry was now seen forming into columns of 
attack. Nine battalions of infantry moved up to 
their support, and, forming into columns, eche- 
lons, and squares, performed before us all the 
manoeuvres of a review with the most admirable 
precision and rapidity; but from these our atten- 
tion was soon taken by a brilliant display upon 
our left. Here, emerging from the wood which 
flanked the Aguada, were now to be seen the 
gorgeous staff of Marmont himself. Advancing 
at a walk, they came forward amid the vivas of 
the assembled thousands, burning with ardor and 
thirsting for victory. For a moment, as I looked, 
I could detect the marshal himself, as, holding 
his plumed hat above his head, he returned the 
salute of a lancer regiment who proudly waved 
their banners as he passed; bnt, hark! what are 
those clanging sounds, which, rising high above 
the rest, seem like the war-cry of a warrior? 

"I can't injstake those tones," said a bronzed 
old veteran beside me; "those are the brass 
bands of the Imperial Guard. Can* Napoleon 
be there? See! there they come." As he spoke, 
the head of a column emerged from the wood, 
and, deploying as they came, poured into the 
plain. For above an hour that mighty tide 
flowed on, and before noon a force of sixty thou- 
sand men was collected in the space beneath us.. 

I was not long to remain an unoccupied spec- 
tator of this brilliant display, for I soon received 
orders to move down with my squadron to the 
support of the nth Light Dragoons, who were 
posted at the base of the hill. The order at the 
moment was anything but agreeable, for I was 
mounted upon a hack pony, on which I had 
ridden over from Craufurd's division early in the 
morning, and, suspecting that there might be 
some hot work during the day, had ordered Mike 
to follow with my horse. There was no time, 
however, for hesitation, and I moved my men 
down the slope in the direction of the skir- 
mishers. 

The position we occupied was singularly favor- 
able; our flanks defended on either side by 
brushwood, we could only be assailed in front; 
and here, notwithstanding our vast inferiority of 
force, we steadily awaited the attack. As I rode 
from out the thick wood, I could not help feeling 
surprised at the sounds which greeted me. In- 
stead of the usual low and murmuring tones — 
the muttered sentences which precede a cavalry 
advance — a roar of laughter shook the entire di- 
vision, while exclamations burst from every side 
around me: " Look at him now!" " They have 
him! — by Heavens, they have him!" "Well 
done! — well done!" " How the fellow rides!" 
"He's hit!— he's hit!" "No, no!" "Is he 
down?" "He's down!" 

A. loud cheer rent the air at this moment, and 
I reached the front in time to learn the reason 
of all this excitement. In the wide plain before 
me a horseman was seen, having passed the ford 
of the Aguada, to advance at the top of his speed 



towards the British lines. As he came nearer, it 
was perceived that he was accompanied by a led 
horse, and, apparently with total disregard of the 
presence of an enemy, rode boldly and carelessly 
forward. Behind him rode three lancers, their 
lances couched, their horses at speed; the pace 
was tremendous, and the excitement intense; for 
sometimes, as the leading horseman of the pur- 
suit neared the fugitive, he would bend suddenly 
upon the saddle, and, swerving to the right or the 
left, totally evade him, while again, at others, with 
a loud cry of bold defiance, rising in his stir- 
rups, he would press on, and, with a shake of 
his bridle that bespoke the jockey, almost dis- 
tance the enemy. 

" That must be your fellow, O'Malley; that 
must be your Irish groom," cried a brother offi- 
cer. There could be no doubt of it. It was 
Mike himself. 

" I'll be hanged if he's not playing with them!" 
said Baker. " Look at the villain! He's holdmg 
in; that's more than the Frenchmen are doing. 
Look! look at the fellow on the grey horse! he 
has tlung his trumpet to his back, and drawn his 
sabre!" 

A loud cheer burst from the French lines; the 
trumpeter was gaming at every stride. Mike had 
got into deep ground, and the horses would not 
keep together. "Let the brown horse go! let 
him go, man!" shouted the dragoons, while I re- 
echoed the cry with my utmost might. But not 
so; Mike held firmly on, and, spurring madly, he 
lifted his horse at each stride, turning, from time 
to time, a glance at his pursuer. A shout of tri- 
umph rose from the French side; the trumpeter 
was beside him; his arm was uplifted; the sabre 
above his head. A yell broke from the British, 
and with difficulty could the squadron be re- 
strained. For above a minute the horses went 
side by side, but the Frenchman delayed his stroke 
until he could get a little in the front. My ex- 
citement had rendered me speechless; if a word 
could have saved my poor fellow, I could not 
have spoken. A mist seemed to gather across 
my eyes, and the whole plain, and its peopled 
thousands, danced before my eyes. 

"He's dovn!" "He's down, by Heavens!" 
"No, no, no!" "Look there — nobly done!" 
"Gallant fellow!" "He has him! he has him, 

by " A cheer that rent the very air above 

us broke from the squadrons, and Mike galloped 
in amongst us, holding the Frenchman, by the 
throat with one hand; the bridle of his horse he 
firmly grasped with his own in the other. 

" How was it? how did he do it?" cried T. 

"He broke his sword-arm with a blow, and the 
Frenchman's sabre fell to the earth." 

" Here he is. Mister Charles; and, musha, but 
it's trouble he gave me to catch him! And I 
hope your honor won't be displeased at me losing 
the brown horse. I was obliged to let him go 
when the thief closed on me; but, sure, there he 
is! May I never! if he's not galloping to the lines 
by himself." As he spoke, my brown charger 
came cantering up to the squadrons, and took his 
place in the line with the rest. 

I had scarcely time to mount my horse, amid 
a buzz of congratulations, when our squadron 



438 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



was ordered to the front. Mixed up with de- 
t.ichnients from the Eleventh and Sixteenth, we 
continued to resist the enemy for above two 
hours. 

Our charges were quick, sharp, and successive, 
pouring in our numbers wherever the enemy ap- 
peared for a moment to be broken, and then 
retreating under cover of our infantry when the 
opposing cavalry came down upon us in over- 
whelming numbers. 

Nothing could be more perfect than the man- 
ner in which the different troops relieved each 
other during this part of the day. When the 
French squadrons advanced, ours met them as 
boldly. When the ground became no longer 
tenable, we broke and fell back, and the bayonets 
of the infantry arrested their progress. If the 
cavalry pressed heavily upon the squares, ours 
came up to the relief, and, as they were beaten 
back, the artillery opened upon them with an 
avalanche of grape-shot. 

I have seen many battles of greater duration, 
and more important in result — many there have 
been, in which more tactic was displayed, and 
greater combination called forth — but never did 
I witness a more desperate hand-to-hand conflict 
than on the heights of El Bodon. 

Baffled by our resistance, Montbrun advanced 
with the cuirassiers of the guard. Riding down 
our advanced squadrons, they poured upon us 
like some mighty river, overwhehiiing all before 
it, and charged, cheering, up the heights. Our 
brave troopers were thrown back upon the ar- 
tillery, and many of them cut down beside the 
guns. The artillerymen and the drivers shared 
the same fate, and the cannon were captured. 
A cheer of exultation burst from the French, and 
their vivas rent the air. Their exultation was 
short-lived, and that cheer their death-cry; for 
the 5th Foot, who had hitherto lain concealed in 
the grass, sprang madly to their feet, their gallant 
Major Ridge at their head With a yell of ven- 
geance they rushed upon the foe; the glistening 
bayonets glanced amid the cavalry of the French; 
the troops pressed hotly home; and, while the 
cuirassiers were driven down the hill, the guns 
were recaptured, limbered up, and brought away. 
This brilliant charge was the first recorded in- 
stance of cavalry being assailed by infantry in 
line. 

But the hill could no longer be held; the 
French were advancing on either flank; over- 
whelming numbers pressed upon the front, and 
retreat was unavoidable. The cavalry were or- 
dered to the rear, and Picton's division, throwing 
themselves into squares, covered the retreating 
movement. 

The French dragoons bore down upon every 
face of those devoted battalions: the shouts of 
triumph cheered them as the earth trembled be- 
neath their charge; but tlie British infantry, re- 
serving their fire until the sabres clanked with 
the bayonet, poured in a shattering volley, and 
the cry of the wounded and the groans of the 
dying rose from the smoke around them. 

Again and again the French came on; and the 
same fate ever awaited them. The only move- 
ment in the British squares was closing up the 



spaces as their comrades fell or sank wounded to 
the earth. 

At last reinforcements came up from the left: 
the whole retreated across the plain, until, as they 
approached Guenaldo, our cavalry having re- 
formed, came to their aid with one crushing 
charge, which closed the day. 

That same night Lord Wellington fell back, 
and, concentrating his troops within a narrow 
loop of land bounded on either flank by the Coa, 
awaited the arrival of the light division, which 
joined us at three in the morning. 

The following day Marmont again made a 
demonstration of his force, but no attack followed. 
The position was too formidable to be easily as- 
sailed, and the experience of the preceding day 
had taught him that, however inferior in num- 
bers, the troops he was opposed to were as valiant 
as they were. ably commanded. 

Soon after this, Marmont retired on the valley 
of the Tagus. Dorsenno also fell back, and, for 
the present, at least, no further effort was made 
to prosecute the invasion of Portugal. 



CHAPTER XCIX. 



THE SAN PETRO. 



" Not badly wounded, O'Malley, I hope'" 
said General Craufurd, as I waited upon him soon 
after the action. 

I could not help starting at the question, while 
he repeated it, pointing at the same time to my 
left shoulder, from which a stream of blood was 
now flowing down my coat-sleeve. 

" I never noticed it, sir, till this moment; it 
can't be of much consequence, for I have been 
on horseback the entire day, and never felt it." 

" Look to it at once, boy; a man wants all his 
blood for this campaign. Go to your quarters; 
I shall not need you for the present, so pray see 
the doctor at once." 

As I left the general's quarters, I began to feel 
sensible of pain, and, before a quarter of an hour 
had elapsed, had quite convinced myself that my 
wound was a severe one. The hand and arm 
were swollen, heavy, and distended with hemorrh- 
age beneath the skin; my thirst became great, 
and a cold shuddering sensation passed over me 
from time to time. 

I sat down for a moment upon the grass, and 
was just reflecting within myself what course 
I should pursue, when I heard the tramp of feet 
approaching. I looked up, and perceived some 
soldiers in fatigue dresses, followed by a few 
others, who, from their noiseless gesture and sad 
countenances, I guessed were carrying some 
wounded comrade to the rear. 

"Who is it, boys?" cried I. 

" It's the major, sir: the Lord be good to him!" 
said a hardy-looking Eighty-eighth man, wiping 
his eye with the cuff of his coat as he spoke. 

" Not your major? — not Major O'Shaughnessy?" 
said I, jumping up, and rushing forward to- 
wards the litter. Alas! too true, it was the gal- 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



439 



lant fellow himself; there he lay, pale and cold; 
his bloodless clieek and parted lips looking like 
death itself. A thin blue rivulet trickled from 
his forehead, but his most serious wound appeared 
to be in the side; his coat was open, and showed 
a mass of congealed and clotted blood, from the 
midst of which, with every motion of the way, a 
fresh stream kept welling upward. Whether from 
the shock, or my loss of blood, or from both to- 
gether, I know not, but 1 sank fainting to the 
ground. 

****** 
****** 

It would have needed a clearer brain and a 
cooler judgment than I possessed to have conjec- 
tured where I was, and what had occurred to me 
when next I recovered my senses. Weak, fevered, 
and with a burning thirst, I lay, unable to move, 
and could merely perceive the objects which lay 
within the immediate reach of my vision. The 
place was cold, calm, and still as the grave. A. 
lamp, which hung high above my head, threw a 
faint light around, and showed me, within a niche 
of the opposite wall, the figure of a gorgeously 
dressed female; she appeared to b( standing 
motionless, but, as the pale light flickered upon 
her features, I thought I could detect the sem- 
blance of a smile. The splendor of her costume, 
and the glittering gems which shone upon her 
spotless robe, gleamed through the darkness with 
an almost supernatural brilliancy, and so beauti- 
ful did she look, so calm her pale features, that, 
as I opened and shut my eyes and rubbed my 
lids, I scarcely dared to trust my erring senses, 
and believe it could be real. What could it mean? 
Whence this silence — this cold sense of awe and 
reverence; was it-a dream? was it the fitful vision 
of a disordered intellect? Could it be death? My 
eyes were riveted upon that beautiful figure; I 
essayed to speak, but could not; I would have 
beckoned her towards me, but my hands refused 
their office. I felt I know not what charm slie 
possessed to calm my throbbing brain and burn- 
ing heart; but, as I turned from the gloom and 
darkness around to gaze upon her fair brow and 
unmoved features, I felt like the prisoner who 
turns from the cheerless desolation of his cell, 
and looks uporr the fair world and the smiling 
valleys lying sunlit and shadowed before him. 

Sleep at length came over me; and when I 
awoke, the day seemed breaking, for a faint grey 
tint stole through a stained glass window, and 
fell, in many colored patches, upon the pavement. 
A low muttering sound attracted rae; I listened 
— it was Mike's voice. With difficulty raising 
myself upon one arm, I endeavored to see more 
around me. Scarcely had I assumed this posi- 
tion, when my eyes once more fell upon the white- 
clad figure of the preceding night. At her feet 
knelt Mike, his hands clasped, and his head bowed 
upon his bosom. Shall I confess my surprise — 
my disappointment! It was no other than an 
image of the blessed Virgin, decked out in ail the 
gorgeous splendor which Catholic piety bestows 
upon her saints. The features, which the imper- 
fect light and my more imperfect faculties had 
endowed with an expression of calm, angelic 



beauty, were, to my waking senses, but the cold 
and barren mockery of loveliness: the eyes, which 
my excited brain gifted with looks of tenderness 
and pity, stared with no speculation in them; yet, 
contrasting my feelings of the night before, full 
as they were of their deceptions, with my now 
waking thoughts, I longed once more for that 
delusion which threw a dreamy pleasure over me, 
and subdued the stormy passions of my soul into 
rest and repose. 

" Who knows," thought I, " but he who kneels 
yonder feels now as I did then? Who can tell how 
little the cold, unmeaning reality before him resem- 
bles the spiritualized creation the fervor of his love 
and the ardor of his devotion may have placed 
upon that altar? Who can limit or bound the 
depth of that adoration for an object whose at- 
tributes appeal not only to every sentiment of the 
heart, but also to every sense of the brain ! I fancy 
that I can picture to myself how these tinselled 
relics, these tasteless wax-works, changed by the 
magic of devotion and of dread, become to the 
liumble worshipper images of loveliness and 
beauty. The dim religious light; the reverberating 
foot-steps echoed along those solemn aisles; the 
vaulted arches, into whose misty heights the sacred 
incense floats upward, while the deep organ is 
pealing its notes of praise or prayer; — these are no 
slight accessories to all the pomp and grandeur 
of a church, whose forms and ceremonial, un- 
changed for ages, and hallowed by a thousand as- 
sociations, appeal to the mind of the humblest 
peasant or the proudest noble, by all the weak- 
nesses as by all the more favored features of our 
nature." 

How long I might have continued to meditate 
in this strain I know not, when a muttered obser- 
vation from Mike turned the whole current of 
my thoughts. His devotion over, he had seated 
himself upon the steps of the altar, and appeared 
to be resolving some doubts within himself con- 
cerning his late pious duties. 

" Masses is dearer here than in Galway. Fath- 
er Rush would be well pleased at two-and-six- 
pence for what I paid three doubloons for, this 
morning. And sure it's droll enough. How ex- 
pensive an amusement it is to kill the French. 
Here's half a dollar I gave for the soul of a cui- 
rassier that I killed yesterday, and nearly twice 
as much for an artillery man I cut down at the 
guns; and because the villain swore like a hay- 
then. Father Pedro told me he'd cost more nor 
if he died like a decent man." 

At these words he turned suddenly round to- 
wards the Virgin, and crossing himself devoutly, 
added, 

"And sure it's yourself knows if it's fair to 
make me pay for devils that don't know their du- 
ties, and, after all, if you don't understand Eng- 
lish nor Irish, I've been wasting my time here this 
two hours." 

" I say Mike, how's the major! How's Major 
O'Shaughnessy?" 

" Charmingly, sir. It was only loss of blood 
that ailed him. A thief with a pike — one of the 
chaps they call Poles, bekase of the long sticks 
they carry with them — stuck the major in the 
ribs; but Doctor Quill — God reward him! he's a 



440 



CHARLES O'M ALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



great doctor, and a funny divil, too — he cured 
him in no time." 

" And where is he now, Mike?" 

"Just convanient, in a small chapel off the 
sacristy; and throuble enough we have to keep 
him quiet. He gave up the co/ifwsion of roses 
and took to punch! and faith, it isn't hymns nor 
paslanis [psalms] he's singing all night. And they 
had me there, mi.xing materials and singing songs, 
till I heard the bell for matins; and, what be- 
tween the punch and the prayers, I never closed 
my eyes." 

" VVhat do they call this convent'" 

" It is a hard word, I misremember. It's some- 
thing like saltpetre. But how's your honor? it's 
time to ask." 

''Much better, Mike; much better. But, as I 
see that either your drink or your devotion seems 
to have affected your nerves, you'd better lie 
down for an hour or two. I shall not want you." 

"That's just what I can't; for you see I'm mak- 
ing a song for this evening. The Rangers has a 
little supper, and I'm to be there; and, though 
I've made one, I'm not sure it'll do. Maybe your 
honor would give me your opinion about it?" 

"With all my heart, Mike; let's hear it." 

" Arrah! is it here, before the V^irgin and the 
two blessed saints that's up there in the glass 
cases? But sure, when they make an hospital of 
the place, and after the major's songs last 
night " 

" Exactly so, Mike; out with it." 

" Well, ma'am," said he, turning towards the 
Virgin, " as I suspect you don't know English, 
maybe you'll think it's my offices I'm singing. So, 
saving your favor, here it is." 

MR. FKEE'S SONG. 

j4ir — " Arr.ih, Catty, now. can't you be asy?" 

" Oh what stories I'll tell when my sodgering's o'er 

And tlie gallant Fourteenth is disbanded, 
Not a drill nor parade will I hear of no more. 

When safely in Ireland landed. 
With the blood that I spilt — the Frenchmen I kilt, 

I'll drive the young girls half crazy; 
And some 'cute one will cry, with a wink of her eye, 

' Mister Free, now — ja/ir can I you be d.y?' 

" I'll tell how we routed the squadrons in fight, 

And destroyed them all at ' 'I'alaveva,' 
And then I'll iiist add hovv we finished the night, 

In learning to dance the ' bolera;' 
How by the moonshine we dr.ank ra.il wine, 

And rose ne.\t day fresh as a daisy; 
Then some one will cry, with a look mighty sly, 

'Arrah, Mickey — now can't you be asy ?' 

" I'll tell how the nights with Sir Arthur we spent, 

Around a big fire in the air, too, 
Or maybe enjoying ourselves in a tent. 

Exactly like Donnybrook fair, too, 
How he'd call out to me — ' Pass the wine, Mr. Free, 

For you're a man never is lazy!' 
Then some one will cry, with a wink of her eye, 

' Arrah, Mickey, dear — can'/ you be asy ?' 

** I'll tell. too. the lortg years in fighting we passed. 

Till Mounseer asked Bony to lead him; 
And Sir Arthur, grown tired of glory at last. 

Begged of one Mickey Free to succeed him, 
' But, acushla,' says I, ' the truth is I'm shy! 

There's a lady in Ballymacrazy; 
And I swore on the book ' He gave me a look, 

And cried, ' Mickey — now can I you be asyf " 



"Arrah! Mickey, now can't you be (?.fi' .?" sang 
out a voice in chorus, and the ne.xt moment Dr. 
Quill himself made his appearance. 

" Well, O'Malley, is it a penitential psalm you're 
singing, or is my friend Mike endeavoring to 
raise your spirits with a Galway sonata?" 

"A little bit of his own muse, doctor, nothing 
more; but, tell me, how goes it with the major — 
is the poor fellow out of danger?" 

" Except from the excess of his appetite, I 
know of no risk he runs. His servant is making 
grtiel for him all day in a thing like the grog-tub 
of a frigate. But you've heard the news — Sparks 
has been exchanged; he came here last night; but 
the moment he caught sight of me, he took his 
departure. Begad! I'm sure he'd rather pass a 
month in Verdun than a week in my com- 
pany." 

" By-the-by, doctor, you never told me how 
this same antipathy of Sparks for you had its 
origin." 

" Sure I drove him out of the Tenth, before he 
was three weeks with the regiment." 

" Ay, I remember; you began the story for me 
one night on the retreat from the Coa, but some- 
thing broke it off in the middle." 

" Just so; I was sent for to the rear to take off 
some gentleman's legs that weren't in dancing 
condition; but, as there's no fear of interruption 
now, I'll finish the story. But, first, let us have 
a peep at the wounded. What beautiful anato- 
mists they are in the French artillery! Do you 
feel the thing I have now in my forceps? — there, 
don't jump — that's a bit of the brachial nerve, 
most beautifully displayed;— faith, I think I'll 
give Mike a demonstration." 

"Oh! Mister Quill, dear! Oh! doctor, dar- 
ling! " 

" Arrah! Mickey, now can't ye be asy?" sang 
out Maurice, with a perfect imitation of Mike's 
voice and manner. 

" A little lint here— bend your arm — that's it 
— don't move your fingers. Now, Mickey, make 
me a cup of coffee with a glass of brandy in it. 
.•\nd now, Charley, for Sparks. I believe I told 
you what kind of fellows the Tenth were — regu- 
lar out-and-outers; we hadn't three men in the 
regiment that were not from the south of Ireland 
— Uie Iwcca Corkaiia on their lips, fun and devil- 
ment in their eyes, and more drollery and hum- 
bug in their hearts than in all the messes in the 
service put together. No man had any chance 
among them if he wasn't a real droll one; every 
man wrote his own songs, and sang them too; it 
was no small promotion could tempt a fellow to 
exchange out of the corps. You may think, then, 
what a prize your friend Sparks proved to us; we 
held a court-martial upon him the week after he 
joined; it was proved in evidence that he had 
ne\er said a good thing in his life, and had about 
as much notion of a joke as a Cherokee has of 
the Court of Chancery; and as to singing. Lord 
bless you! he had a tune with wooden turns to 
it, it was most cruel to hear; and then the look 
of him — those eyes, like dropsical oysters, and 
the hair standing every way, like a field of insane 
flax, and the mouth, with a curl in it like the slit 
in the side of a fiddle. A pleasant fellow that for 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



441 



a mess that always boasted the best-looking chaps 
in the service. 

"'Wliat's to be done with him?' said the ma- 
jor; ' shall we tell him we are ordered to India, 
and terrif)' him about his liver?' 

'"Or drill him into a hectic fever?' 

"'Or drink him dry?' 

" ' Or get him into a fight, and wing him?' 

" 'Oh, no,' said I, ' leave him tome; we'll laugh 
him out of tlie corps.' 

" ' Yes, we'll leave him to you, Maurice,' said 
tlie rest. 

"And that day week you might read in the 
Gazette, 'Pierce Flynn O'Haygerty, to be ensign, 
loth Foot, vice Sparks, exchanged.' " 

" But how was it done, Maurice? You haven't 
told me that." 

" Nothing easier. I affected great intimacy 
with Sparks: bemoaned our hard fate, mutually, in 
being attached to such a regiment: 'A damnable 
corps this — low, vulgar fellows — practical jokers 
— not the kind of thing one expects in the army. 
But as forme, I've joined it partly from necessity. 
You, however, who might be in a crack regiment, 
I can't conceive your remaining in it.' < 

"'But why did you join, doctor?' said he; 
'what necessity could have induced you?' 

"'Ah! my friend,' said I, ''that is the secret — 
that is the hidden grief that must lie buried in my 
own bosom.' 

"I saiv that his curiosity was excited, and took 
every means to increase it further. At length, as 
if yielding to a sudden impulse of friendsliip, and 
having sworn him to secrecy, I took him aside, 
and began tiius: 

"'I may trust yon, Sparks, I feel I may; and 
when I tell you that my honor, my reputation, 
my whole fortune is at stake, you will judge of 
the importance of the trust.' 

" The gogn;le eyes rolled fearfully, and his 
features exhibited the most craving anxiety to 
hear my story. 

" ' You wish to know why I left the Fifty-sixth. 
Now, I'll tell you; Ijut mind, you're pledged, you're 
sworn, never to divulge it.' 

" ' Honor bright.' 

"'There, that's enough; I'm satisfied. It was 
a slight mfraction of the articles of war; a little 
breach of the rules and regulations of the service; 
a trifling misconception of the mess-code; they 
caught me one evening leaving the mess with — 
what do you think in my pocket? But you'll 
never tell ! no, no, I know you'll not — eight forks 
and a gravy spoon; silver forks, every one of 
them. There now,' said I, grasping his hand, 
'you have my secret; my fame and character are 
in your hands; for, you see, they made me quit 
the regiment — a man can't stay in a corps where 
he is laughed at.' 

" Covering my face with my handkerchief, as 
if to conceal my shame, I turned away, and left 
Sparks to his meditations. That same evening 
we happened to have some strangers at mess; 
the bottle was passing freely round, and, as 
usual, the good spirits of the party at the top 
of their bent, when suddenly, from the lower 
end of the table, a voice was heard demanding, 
in tones of the most pompous importance, per- 



mission to address the president upon a topic 
where the honor of the whole regiment was con- 
cerned. 

"'I rise, gentlemen,' said Mr. Sparks, 'with 
feelings the most painful; whatever may have 
been the laxity of habit and freedom of conver- 
sation habitual in this regiment, I never believed 
that so flagrant an instance as this morning came 
to my ears ' 

" 'Oh, murder!' said I. ' Oh, Sparks, darling! 
sure you're not going to tell ?' 

" ' Doctor Quill,' replied he, in an austere 
tone, ' it is impossible for me to conceal it.' 

'" Oh. Sparks, dear! will you betray me?' 

" ' I gave him here a look of the most implor- 
ing entreaty, to which he replied by one of un- 
flinching sternness. 

" ' I have made up my mind, sir,' continued 
he; ' it is possible the officers of this corps may 
look more leniently than I do upon this transac- 
tion; but know it thev shall.* 

" ' Out with it. Sparks^ — tell it by all means'' 
cried a number of voices; for it was clear to every 
one by this time, that he was involved in a 
hoax. 

" Amid, therefore, a confused volley of en- 
treaty on the one side, and my reiterated prayers 
for his silence, on the other. Sparks thus 
began : 

" ' Are you aware, gentlemen, why Dr. Quill 
left the Fifty-sixth?' 

" ' No, no, no!' rang from all sides; ' let's have 
it?' 

" ' No, sir!' said he, turning towards me, ' con- 
cealment is impossible; an officer delected with 
the mess-plate in his pockei ' 

" They never let him finish, for a roar of 
laughter shook the table from one end to the 
other; while Sparks, horror-struck at the lack of 
feeling and propriety that could make men treat 
such a matter with ridicule, glared around him 
on every side. 

"'Oh! Maurice, Maurice,' cried the major, 
wiping his eyes, ' this is too bad— this is too 
bad!' 

"'Gracious Heaven!' screamed Sparks, ' can 
you laugh at it?' 

'"Laugh at it?' re-echoed the paymaster, 
'God grant I only don't burst a blood-vessell' 
And once more the sounds of merriment rang 
out anew, and lasted for several minutes. 

"'Oh! Maurice Quill,' cried an old captain, 
' you've been too heavy on the lad. Why, Sparks, 
man, he's been humbugging jou.' 

" ' Scarcely were the words spoken when he 
sprang from the room; the whole truth flashed 
at once upon his mind; in an instant he saw that 
he had exposed himself to the merciless ridicule 
of a mess-table, and that all peace for him, in 
that regiment at least, was over. 

" We got a glorious fellow in exchange for 
him; and Sparks descended into a cavalry regi- 
ment — I ask your pardon, Charley — where, as 
you are well aware, sharp wit and quick intellect 
are by no means indispensable. There, now, 
don't be angry, or you'll do yourself harm. So 
good-by, for an hour or two." 



442 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



CHAPTER C. 



THE COUNT S LETTER. 



O'Shaughnessy's wound, like ray own, was 
happily only formidable from the loss of blood. 
The sabre or the lance are rarely, indeed, so death- 
dealing as the musket or the bayonet; and the 
murderous fire from a square of infantry is far 
more terrific in its consequences than the heaviest 
charge of a cavalry column. In a few weeks, 
therefore, we were once more about, and fit for 
duty; but, for the present, the campaign was 
ended. The rainy season, with its attendant train 
of sickness and sorrow set in; the troops were 
cantoned along the line of the frontier, the in- 
fantry occupying the villages, and the cavalry 
being stationed wherever forage could be obtained. 

The Fourteenth were posted at Avintas, but I 
saw little of them. I was continually employed 
upon the staff; and, as General Craufurd's ac- 
tivity suffered no diminution from the interrup- 
tion of the campaign, rarely passed a day without 
eight or nine hours on horseback. 

The preparations for the siege of Ciudad 
Rodrigo occupied our undivided attention. To 
the reduction of this fortress and of Badajos 
Lord Wellington looked as the most important 
objects, and prosecuted his plans with unremit- 
ting zeal. To my staff appointment I owed the 
opportunity of witnessing that stupendous feature 
ot war, a siege; and as many of my friends 
formed part of the blockading force, I spent 
more than one night in the trenches. Indeed, 
except for this, the tiresome monotony of life 
was most irksome at this period. Day after day 
the incessant rain poured down; the supplies 
were bad, scanty, and irregular; the hospitals 
crowded with sick; field-sports impracticable; 
books there were none; and a dulness and spirit- 
less depression prevailed on every side. Those 
who were actively engaged around Ciudad Rodrigo 
had, of course, the excitement and interest which 
the enterprise involved; but even there tiie works 
made slow progress; the breaching artillery was 
defective in every way; the rain undermined the 
faces of the bastions; the clayey soil sank beneath 
the weight of the heavy guns; and the storms of 
one night frequently destroyed more than a whole 
week's labor had effected. 

Thus passed the dreary months along; the 
cheeriest and gayest amongst us broken in spirit, 
and subdued in heart, by the tedium of our life. 
The very news which reached us partook of the 
gloomy features of our prospects, we heard only 
of strong reinforcements marching to the sup- 
port of the French in Estramadura, we were told 
that the Emperor, whose successes in Germany 
enabled him to turn his entire attention to the 
.Spanish campaign, would himself be present in 
the coming spring, with overwhelming odds, and 
a firm determination to drive us from the 
Peninsula. 

In that frame of mind which such gloomy 
and depressing prospects are well calculated to 
suggest, I was returning one night to my quarters 
at Mucia, when suddenly I beheld Mike galloping 
towards me with a large packet in his hapd, 



which he held aloft to catch my attention. 
"Letters from England, sir," said he; "just ar- 
rived with the general's despatches." I broke the 
envelope at once, which bore the War-office seal, 
and, as I did so, a perfect avalanche of letters 
fell at my feet. The first which caught my eye 
was an official intimation from the Horse Guards, 
that the Prince Regent had been graciously 
pleased to confirm my promotion to the troop, 
my commission to bear date from the appoint- 
ment, &c., &c. I could not help feeling struck, 
as my eye ran rapidly across the lines, that al- 
though the letter came from Sir George Dash- 
wood's office, it contained not a word of con- 
gratulation nor remembrance on liis part, but was 
couched in the usual cold and formal language of 
an official document. Impatient, however, to 
look over my other letters, I thought but little of 
this; so, throwing them hurriedly into my sabre- 
tasche, I cantered on to my quarters without de- 
lay. Once more alone in silence, I sat down to 
commune with my far-off friends; and yet, with 
all my anxiety to hear of home, passed several 
minutes in turning over the letters, guessing from 
whom they might have come, and picturing to 
myself their probable contents. "Ah! Frank 
Webber, 1 recognize your slap-dash, bold hand, 
without the aid of the initials in the corner; and 
this — what can this be? — this queer, misshapen 
thing, representing nothing save the forty-seventh 
proposition of Euclid, and the address seemingly 
put on with a cat's tail dipped in lampblack? 
Yes! true enough, it is from Mister Free himself. 
And what have we here? this queer, quaint hand, 
is no new acquaintance; hovi' many a time have 
I looked upon it as the ne plus ultra of caligraphy! 
But here is one I'm not so sure of; who could 
have written this bolt-upright, old-fashioned 
superscription, not a letter of which seems on 
speaking terms with its neighbor? — the very O 
absolutely turns it back upon the M in O'Malley, 
and the final Y wags his tail with a kind of inde- 
pendent shake, as if he did not care a curse for 
his predecessors! And the seal, too — surely 1 
know that griffin's head, and that stern motto, 
'Non ro^o sed capio.' To be sure, it is Billy Con- 
sidine's, the count himself. The very paper, 
yeflow and time-stained, looks coeval with his 
youth, and I could even venture to wager that his 
sturdy pen was nibbed half a century since. I'll 
not look further among this confused mass of 
three-cornered billets, and long, treacherous- 
looking epistles, the very folding of which denote 
the dun. Here goes for the count!" So saying 
to myself, I drew closer to the fire, and began the 
following epistle: 

"O'Mallev Castle, Nov. 3. 
" Dear Charley, — Here we sit in the little 
parlor, with your last letter, the Times, and a big 
map before us, drinking your health, and wishing 
you a long career of the same glorious success 
you have hitherto enjoyed. Old as I am — 
eighty-two or eighty-three (I forget which) in 
June — I envy you with all my heart. Luck has 
stood to you, my boy; and, if a French sabre or 
a bayonet finish you now, you've at least had a 
splendid burst of it. I was right in my opinion 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



443 



of you, and Godfrey himself owns it now; — a 
lawyer, indeed! Bad luck to them! we've had 
enough of lawyers. There's old Hennesy — 
honest Jack, as they used to call iiim — that your 
uncle trusted for the last forty years, has raised 
eighteen thousand pounds on the title-deeds, and 
gone off to America. The old scoundrel! But 
it's no use talking; the blow is a sore one to 
Godfrey, and the gout more troublesome than 
ever. Drumgold is making a motion in Chan- 
cery about it, to break the sale, and the tenants 
are in open rebellion, and swear thy '11 murther 
a receiver, if one is sent down among them. In- 
deed, they came in such force into Galway dur- 
ing the assizes, and did so much mischief, that 
the cases for trial were adjourned, and the judges 
left, with a military escort to protect them. 
This, of course, is gratifying to our feelings; for, 
thank Providence, there is some good in the world 
yet. Kilmurry was sold last week for twelve 
thousand. Andy Blake would foreclose the 
mortgage, although we offered him every kind 
of satisfaction. This has done Godfrey a deal 
of harm; and some pitiful econoni) — taking only 
two bottles of claret after his dinner — has driven 
the gout to his head. They've been telling him 
he'd lengthen his days by this, and I tried it my- 
self, and, faith, it was the longest day I ever 
S()ent in my life. I hope and trust you take your 
liquor like a gentleman — and an Irish gentleman. 

" Kinshela, we hear, has issued an execution 
against the house and furniture; but the attempt to 
sell the demesne nearly killed your uncle. It 
was advertised in a London paper, and an offer 
made for it by an old general, whom you may re- 
member when down here. Indeed, if I mistake 
not, he was rather kind to you in tlie beginning. 
It would appear he did not wish to have his name 
known, but we found him out, and such a letter 
as we sent him! It's little liking he'll have to 
buy a Galway gentleman's estate over his head, 
that same Sir George Dash wood! Godfrey of- 
fered to meet him anywhere he pleased, and, if 
the doctor thought he could bear the sea voyage, 
he'd even go over to Holyhead; but the sneaking 
fellow sent an apologetic kind of a letter, with some 
humbug excuse about very dilferent motives, &c. 
But we've done with him, and I think he with 
us." 

When I had read thus far, I laid down the 
letter, unable to go on; the accumulated jnisfor- 
tunes of one I loved bes. in the world, following 
so fast one upon another, the insult, unprovoked, 
gratuitous insult, to him upon whom my hopes of 
future happiness so much depended, completely 
overwhelmed me. I tried to continue; alas! the 
catalogue of evils went on; each line bore testi- 
mony to some further wreck of fortune — some 
clearer evidence of a ruined house. 

All that my gloomiest and darkest forebodings 
liad pictured was come to pass; sickness, poverty, 
harassing, unfeeling creditors, treachery, and in- 
gratitude, were goading to madness and despair a 
spirit whose kindliness of nature was unequalled. 
The shock of blasted fortunes was falling upon 
the dying heart; the convictions which a long life 
had never brought home, that men were false, and 
their words a lie, v/ers stealing over the man, upon 



the brink of the grave; and he who had loved his 
neighbor like a brother was to be taught, at the 
eleventh hour, that the beings he trusted were 
perjured and forsworn. 

A more unsuitable adviser than Considine, in 
difficulties like these, there could not be; his very 
contempt for all the forms of law and justice was 
sufficient to embroil my poor uncle still further, 
so that I resolved at once to apply for leave, and, 
if refused, and no other alternative offered, to 
leave the service. It was not without a sense of 
sorrow, bordering on despair, that I came to this 
determination. My soldier's life had become a 
passion with me; I loved it for its bold and chiv- 
alrous enthusiasm; its hour of battle and strife; 
its days of endurance and hardship; its trials, its 
triumphs — its very reverses were endeared by 
those they were shared with — and the spirit of 
adventure, and the love of danger — that most.ex- 
citing of all gambling — had now entwined them*- 
selves in my very nature. To surrender all these 
at once, and to exchange the daily, hourly enthu- 
siasm of a campaign for the prospects now before 
me, was almost maddening! But still, a sustairj- 
ing sense of duty of what I owed to him who, in 
his love, had sacrificed all for me, overpowered 
every other consideration. My mind was made 
up. 

Father Rush's letter was little more than a re- 
capitulation of the count's; debt, distress, sickness 
and the heart-burnings of altered fortunes filled 
it, and, when I closed it, I felt like one over all 
whose views in life a dark and ill-omened cloud 
was closing forever. Webber's I could not read; 
the light and cheerful raillery of a friend would 
have seemed, at such a time, like the cold, un- 
feeling sarcasm of an enemy. I sat down, at last, 
to write to the general, enclosing my application 
for leave, and begging of him to forward it, with 
a favorable recommendation, to head-quarters. 

This done, I lay down upon my bed, and, over- 
come by fatigue and fretting, fell asleep to dream 
of my home and those I had left there, which, 
strangely, too, were presented to my mind with 
all the happy features thai made them so dear ta 
my infancy. 



CHAPTER CI. 



THE TRENCHES. 



"I HAVE not had time, O'Malley, to think o( 
your application," said Craufurd, "nor is it 
likely I can, for a day or two. Read that." So 
saying, he pushed towards me a note, written in 
pencil, which ran thus: 

" ClUDAD RODRIGO, Dec. i8. 
" Dear C. — Fletcher tells me that the breaches 
will be practicable by to-morrow evening, and I 
think so myself. Come over, then, at once, for 
we shall not lose any time. Yours, 

"•W." 

" I have some despatches for your regiment, 
but if you prefer coming along with me " 



444 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



" My dear general, dare I ask for such a 
favor?" 

" Well, come along; only remember that, al- 
though my division will be engaged, I cannot 
promise you anything to do; so now, get your 
horses ready; let's away." 

It was in the afternoon of the following day 
that we rode into the large plain before Ciudad 
Rodrigo, and in which the allied armies were now 
assembled to the number of twelve thousand men. 
The loud booming of the siege artillery had been 
heard by me for some hours before; but notwith- 
standing this prelude, and my own high-wrought 
expectations, I was far from anticipating the 
magnificent spectacle which burst upon my aston- 
ished view. Tlie air was calm and still; a clear 
blue wintry sky stretched overhead, but, below, 
the dense blue smoke of the deafening guns rolled 
in mighty volumes along the earth, and entirely 
concealed the lower part of the fortress; above 
this the tall towers and battlemented parapets 
rose into the thin transparent sky like fairy 
palaces. A bright flash of flame would now and 
then burst fortii from the walls, and a clanging 
crash of the brass metal be heard; but tlie un- 
ceasing roll of our artillery nearly drowned all 
other sounds, save when a loud cheer would 
burst from the trenches; while the clattering fall 
of masonry, and the crumbling stones as they 
rolled down, bespoke the reason of the cry. The 
utmost activity prevailed on all sides; troops 
pressed forward to the reliefs in the parallels; 
ammunition wagons moved to the front; general 
and staff officers rode furiously about the plain; 
and all betokened that the hour of attack was no 
longer far distant. 

While all parties were anxiously awaiting the 
decision of our chief, the general order was made 
known, which, after briefly detailing the neces- 
sary arrangements, concluded with the emphatic 
words, "Ciudad Rodrigo mint be stormed to- 
night." All speculation as to the troops to be 
engaged in this daring enterprise was soon at an 
end; for, with his characteristic sense of duty. 
Lord Wellington made no invidious selection, 
but merely commanded that the attack should be 
made by whatever divisions might chance to be 
that day in the trenches. Upon the third and 
light divisions, therefore, this glorious task de- 
volved. The former was to attack the main 
breach; to Craufurd's division was assigned the, 
if possible, more difficult enterprise of carrying 
the lesser one; while Pack's Portuguese brigade 
were to menace the convent of La Caridad by a 
feint attack, to be converted into a real one, if 
circumstances should permit. 

The decision, however matured and compre- 
hensive in all details, was finally adopted so sud- 
denly that every staff officer upon the grouiid 
was actively engaged daring the entire evening 
in conveying the orders to the different regi- 
ments. As the day drew to a close, the cannonade 
slackened on either side, a solitary gun would be 
heard at intervals, and, in the calm stillness 
around, its booming thunder re-echoed along the 
valleys of the Sierra; but, as the moon rose and 
night set in, these were no longer heard, and a 
perfect stillness and tranquillity prevailed around. 



Even in the trenches, crowded with armed and 
anxious soldiers, not a whisper was heard; and, 
amid that mighty host which filled the plain, the 
tramp of a patrol could be distinctly noted, and the 
hoarse voice of the French sentry upon the walls, 
telling that all was well in Ciudad Rodrigo. 

The massive fortress looming larger as its 
dark shadow stood out from the sky, was still as 
the grave; while in the greater breach a faint 
light was seen to twinkle for a moment, and then 
suddenly to disappear, leaving all gloomy and 
dark as before. 

Having been sent with orders to the third 
division, of which the Eighty-eighth formed a 
part, I took the opportunity of finding out 
O'Shaughnessy, who was himself to lead an 
escalade party in M'Kinnon's brigade. He 
sprang towards me as I came forward, and, 
grasping my hand with a more than usual earn- 
estness, called out, ''The very inan I wanted! 
Charley, my boy, do us a service now!" 

Before I could reply, he continued in a lower 
tone, "A young fellow of ours, Harry Beauclerc, 
has been badly wounded in the tienches, but by 
some blunder, his injury is reported as a slight 
one, and although the poor fellow can scarcely 
stand, he insists upon going with the stormers." 

" Come here, major! come here!" cried a voice 
at a little distance. 

" Follow me, O'Malley," cried O'Shaughnessy, 
moving in the direction of the speaker. 

By the light of a lantern we could descry two 
officers kneeling upon the ground; between them 
on the grass lay the figure of a third, upon whose 
features, as the pale light fell, the hand of death 
seemed rapidly stealing. A slight froth, tinged 
with blood, rested on his lip, and the florid blood, 
which stained the buff facing of his uniform, in- 
dicated that his wound was through the lung. 

" He has fainted," said one of the officers, in 
a low tone. 

" Are you sure it is fainting'" said the other, 
in a still lower. 

'■ You see how it is, Charley," said O'Shaugh- 
nessy; "this poor boy must be carried to the 
rear. Will you then like a kind fellow, hasten 
back to Colonel Campbell and mention the fact. 
It will kill Beauclerc, should any doubt rest upon 
his conduct, if he ever recover this." 

While he spoke, four soldiers of the regiment 
placed the wounded olificer in a blanket. A long 
sigh escaped him, and he muttered a few broken 
words. 

"Poor fellow! it's his mother he's talking of. 
He only joined a month since, and is a mere boy. 
('ome, O'Malley, lose no time. By Jove! it is 
too late, there goes the first rocket for the col- 
umns to form. In ten minutes more the stormers 
must fall in." 

"What's the matter, Giles?" said he to one of 
the officers who had stopped the soldiers as they 
were moving off with their burden; " what is it?" 

" I have been cutting the white tape off his arm; 
for, if he sees it on waking, he'll remember all 
about the storming." 

"Quite right — "thoughtfully done!" said the 
other; "but who is to lead his fellows? He was 
in the forlorn hope." 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



445 



" I'll do it," cried I, with eagerness. " Come, 
O'Shaughnessy, you'll not refuse me." 

"Refuse you, boy!" said he, grasping my hand 
within both of his, "never! But you must 
change your coat. The gallant Eighty-eighth will 
never mistake their countryman's voice. But your 
uniform would be devilish likely to get you a 
bayonet through it; so come back with me, and 
we'll make you a Ranger in no time." 

" I can give your friend a cap." 

"And I," said the other, "a brandy flask, 
which, after all, is not the worst part of a storm- 
ing equipage." 

"I hope," said O'Shaughnessy. "Ihey may find 
Maurice in the rear. Beauclerc's all safe in his 
liands." 

"That they'll not," said Giles, "you may 
swear. Quill is this moment in the trenches, and 
will not be the last man at the breach." 

" Follow me now, lads," said O'Shaughnessy, 
in a low voice. " Our fellows are at the angle of 
this trench. Who the deuce can that be, talking 
so loud ?" r 

" It must be Maurice," said Giles. 

The question was soon decided by the doctor 
himself, who appeared giving directions to his 
hospital-sergeant. 

" Yes^ Peter, take the tools up to a convenient 
spot near the breach. There's many a snug corner 
there in the ruins; and, although we mayn't 
have as good an operation-room as in old 
' Steevens's,' yet we'll beat them hollow in cases." 

" Listen to the fellow," said Giles, with a 
shudder. "The thought of his confounded 
thumbscrews and tourniquets is worse to me than 
a French howitzer." 

"The devil a kinder-hearted fellow than 
Maurice," said O'Shaughnessy, " for all that; 
and if his -heart was to be known this moment, 
he'd rather handle a sword than a saw." 

"True for yoii, Dennis," said Quill, overhear- 
ing him; " but we are both useful in our way, as 
the hangman said to Lord Clare." 

" But should you not be in the rear, Maurice?" 
said I. 

" You are right. O'Malley," said he, in a 
whisper, " but, you see, I owe the Cork Insur- 
ance Company a spite for making me pay a gout 
premium, and that's the reason I'm here. I 
warned them at the time that their stinginess 
would come to no good." 

" I say. Captain O'Malley," said Giles, " I find 
I can't be as good as my word with you; my ser- 
vant has moved to tlie rear with all my traps." 

" What is to be done?" said I. 

" Is it shaving utensils you want?" said 
Maurice. "Would a scalpel serve your turn?" 

" No, doctor, I'm going to take a turn of duty 
with your fellows to-night." 

" In the breach — with the stormers?" 

" With the forlorn hope," said O'Shaughnessy. 
" Beauclerc is so badly wounded that we've sent 
him back; and Charley, like a good fellow, has 
taken his place." 

" Martin told me," said Maurice, "that Beau- 
clerc was only stunned; but, upon my conscience, 
the hospital-mates, now-a-days, are no better 
than the watchmakers; they can't tell what's 



wrong with the instrument till they pick it to 
pieces. Whiz! there goes a blue light." 

" Move on, move on," whispered O'Shaugh- 
nessy; "they're telling off the stormers. Tbat 
rocket is the order to fall in." 

" But what am I to do for a coat?" 

"Take mine, my boy," said Maurice, throwing 
off an upper garment of coarse grey frieze as he 
spoke. 

" There's a neat bit of uniform," continued he, 
turning himself round for our admiration; "don't 
I look mighty like the pictures of George the 
First at the battle of Dettingen?" 

"A burst of approving laughter was our only 
answer to this speech, while Maurice proceeded 
to denude himself of his most extraordinary 
garment. 

" What, in the name of Heaven, is it?" said I. 

" Don't despise it, Charley; it knows the smell 
of gunpowder as well as any bit of scarlet in the 
service;" while he added in a whisper, "it's the 
ould Roscommon Yeomanry. My uncle com- 
manded them in the year '42, and this was his 
coat. I don't mean to say that it was new then; 
for you see, it's a kind of heirloom in the Quill 
family; and it's not every one I'd be giving it 
to." 

"A thousand thanks, Maurice," said I, as I 
buttoned it on, amid an ill-suppres«;d titter of 
laughter. 

"It fits you like a sentry-box," said Maurice, 
as he surveyed me with a lantern. " The skirts 
separate behind in the most picturesque manner, 
and when you button the collar, it will keep your 
head up so high, that the devil a bit you'll see 
except the blessed moon. It's a thousand pities 
you haven't the three-cocked hat, with the 
feather trimming. If you wouldn't frighten the 
French, my name's not Maurice. Turn about 
here till I admire you. If you only saw yourself 
in a glass, you'd never join the dragoons 
again. And look now, don't be exposing your- 
self, for I wouldn't have those blue facings 
destroyed for a week's pay. 

"Ah, then, it's yourself is the darling, doctor 
dear!" said a voice behind me. I turned round- 
it was Mickey Free, who was standing with a most 
profound admiration of Maurice beaming in every 
feature of his face. "It's yourself has a joke for 
every hour o' thi day " 

" Get to the rear, Mike — get to the rear with 
the cattle; this is no place for you or them." 

"Good-night, Mickey," said Maurice. 

"Good-night, your honor," muttered Mike to 
himself; " may I never die till you set a leg for 
me." 

"Are you dressed for the ball?" said Maurice, 
fastening the white tape upon my arm. "There 
now, my boy, move on, for I think I hear Picton's 
voice; not that it signifies now, for he's always 
in a heavenly temper when any one's going to be 
killed. I'm sure he'd behave like an angel if 
he only knew the ground was mined under his 
feet." 

"Charley — Charley!" called out O'Shaugh- _ 
nessy, in a suppressed voice, "come up quickly." 

" No. 24, John Forbes — here! Edward Gilles- 
pie — here!" 



446 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



" Who leads this party, Major O'Shaughnessy?" 

"Mr. Beauclerc, sir," replied O'Shaughnessy, 
pushing me forward by the arm while he spoke. 

" Keep your people together, sir; spare the 
powder, and' trust to your cold iron." He 
grasped my hand within his iron grip, and rode 
on. 

" Who was it, Dennis?" said I. 

" Don"t you know him, Charley? That was 
Picton." 



CHAPTER CII. 

THE STORMING OF CIUDAD RODRIGO. 

Whatever the levity of the previous moment, 
the scene before us now repressed it effectually. 
The deep-toned bell of the cathedral tolled 
seven, and scarcely were its notes dying away in 
the distance, when the march of the columns 
was heard stealing along the ground. A low, 
murmuring whisper ran along the advance files 
of the forlorn hope; stocks were loosened, packs 
and knapsacks thrown to the ground; each man 
pressed his cap more firmly down upon his brow, 
and, with lii/compressedand steadfast eye, waited 
for the word to move. 

It came at last; the word " March!" passed in 
whispers from rank to rank, and the dark mass 
moved on. What a moment was that, as we ad- 
vanced to the foot of the breach! The con- 
sciousness that, at the same instant, from different 
points of that vast plain, similar parties were 
moving on; the feeling that, at a word, the flame 
of the artillery and the clash of steel would spring 
from that dense cloud, and death and carnage, in 
every shape our imagination can conceive, be 
dealt on all sides; the hurried, fitful thought of 
home; the years long past, compressed into one 
minute's space; the last adieu of all we've loved, 
mingling with the muttered prayer to Heaven, 
while, high above all, the deep pervading sense 
that earth has no temptation strong enough to 
turn us from that path whose ending must be a 
sepulchre! 

Each heart was too full for words. We fol- 
lowed noiselessly along the turf, the dark figure 
of our leader guiding us through the gloom. On 
arriving at the ditch, the party with the ladders 
moved to the front. Already some hay-packs 
were thrown in, and the forlorn hope sprang 
forward. 

All was still and silent as the grave. " Qui- 
etly, my men — quietly!" said M'Kinnon; "don't 
press," Scarcely had he spoken when a musket, 
whose charge, contrary to orders, had not been 
drawn, went off. The whizzing bullet could not 
have struck the wall, when suddenly a bright 
flame burst forth from the ramparts, and shot 
upwards towards the sky. For an instant the 
whole scene before us was as bright as noonday. 
On one side the dark ranks and glistening bay- 
onets of the enemy; on the other, the red uni- 
form of the British columns; compressed like 
some solid wall they stretched along the plain. 



A deafening roll of musketry from the ex- 
treme right announced that the third division was 
already in action, while the loud cry of our 
leader, as he sprang into the trench, summoned 
us to the charge. The leading sections, not wait- 
ing for the ladders, jumped down, others press- 
ing rapidly behind them, when a loud rumbling 
thunder crept along the earth, a hissing, crack- 
ling noise followed, and from the dark ditch a 
forked and livid lightning burst like the flame 
from a volcano, and a mine exploded. Hun- 
dreds of shells and grenades scattered along the 
ground were ignited at the same moment; the 
air sparkled with the whizzing fuses, the mus- 
ketry plied incessantly from the walls, and every 
man of the leading company of the stormers was 
blown to pieces. While this dreadful catastrophe 
was enacting before our eyes, the different as- 
saults were made on all sides; the whole fortress 
seemed girt around with fire. From every part 
arose the yells of triumph and the shouts of the 
assailants. As for us, we stood upon the verge 
of the ditch, breathless, hesitating, and horror- 
struck. A sudden darkness succeeded to the 
bright glare, but from the midst of the gloom the 
agonizing cries of the wounded and the dying 
rent our very hearts. 

"Make way, there! make way! here comes 
Mackie's party," cried an officer in the front, and 
as he spoke the forlorn hope of the Eighty-eighth 
came forward at a run; jumping recklessly into 
the ditch, they made towards the breach; the 
supporting division of stormers gave one inspiring 
cheer, and sprang after them. The rush was 
tremendous, for scarcely had we reached the 
crumbling ruins of the rampart, when the vast 
column, pressing on like some mighty torrent, 
bore down upon our rear. Now commenced a 
scene to which nothing I ever before conceived 
of war could in any degree compare: the whole 
ground, covered with combustibles of every 
deadly and destructive contrivance, was rent open 
with a crash; the huge masses of masonry bounded 
into the air like things of no weight; tlie ringing 
clamor of the iron howitzers, the crackling of the 
fuses, the blazing splinters, the shouts of defiance, 
the more than savage yell of those in whose ranks 
alone the dead and the dying were numbered, 
made up a mass of sights and sounds almost mad- 
dening with their excitement. On we struggled , 
the mutilated bodies of the leading files almost 
filling the way. 

By this time the third division had joined us, 
and the crush of our thickening ranks was dread- 
ful; every moment some well-known leader tell 
dead or mortally wounded, and his place was sup- 
plied by some gallant fellow, who, springing from 
the leading files, would scarcely have uttered his 
cheer of encouragement, ere he himself was laid 
low. Many a voice, with whose notes I was fam- 
iliar, would break upon my ear in tones of 
heroic daring, and the next moment burst forth 
in a death-cry. For above an hour the frightful 
carnage continued, fresh troops continually ad- 
vancing, but scarcely a foot of ground was made; 
the earth belched forth its volcanic fires, and that 
terrible barrier did no man pass. In turn the 
bravest and the boldest would leap into the 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



447 



whizzing flame, and the taunting cheers of the 
enemy triumphed in derision at the effort. 

" Stormers, to the front! only the bayonet! 
trust to nothing but the bayonet!" cried a voice, 
whose ahnost cheerful accents contrasted strangely 
with the death-notes around, and Gurwood, who 
led the forlorn hope of the P'ifty-sccond, bounded 
into the chasm; all the officers sprang simultan- 
eously after him; the men pressed madly on; a 
roll of whitering musketry crashed upon them; a 
furious shout replied to it. The British, spring- 
ing over the dead and dying, bounded like 
blood-hounds on their prey. Meanwhile, the 
ramparts trembled beneath the tramp of the light 
division, who, having forced the lesser breach, 
came down upon the flank of the P'rench. The 
garrison, however, thickened their numbers, and 
bravely held their ground. Man to man now was 
the combat. No cry for quarter. No supplica- 
ting look for mercy: it was the death-struggle of 
vengeance and despair. At this instant an ex- 
plosion louder than the loudest thunder shook 
the air; the rent and torn up ramparts sprang 
into the sky, the conquering and the conquered 
were alike the victims; for one of the great- 
est magazines had been ignited by a shell; the 
black smoke, streaked with the lurid flame, hung 
above the dead and dying. The artillery and 
the murderous musketry were stilled, paralyzed, 
as it were, by the ruin and devastation before 
them: both sides stood leaning'upon their arms; 
the pause was but momentary; the cries of wounded 
comrades called upon their hearts. A fierce 
burst of vengeance rent the air; the British closed 
upon the foe, for one instant they were met; the 
next, the bayonets gleamed upon the ramparts, 
and Ciudad Rodrigo was won. 



CHAPTER Cni. 



THE RAMPART. 



While such were the scenes passing round me, 
of my own part in them I absolutely knew noth- 
ing; for, until the moment that the glancing 
bayonets of the light division came rushing on 
the foe, and the long, loud cheer of victory burst 
above us, I felt like one in a trance. Then I 
leaned against an angle of the rampart, overpow- 
ered and exhausted; a bayonet wound, which 
some soldier of our own ranks had given me when 
mounting the breach, pained me somewhat; my 
uniform was actually torn to rags; my head bare; 
of my sword the hilt and four inches of the blade 
alone remained, while my left hand firmly grasped 
the rammer of a cannon, but why or wherefore I 
could not even guess. As thus I stood, the unceas- 
ing tide of soldiery pressed on ; fresh divisions came 
pouring in, eager for plunder, and thirsting for 
the spoil. The dead and the dying were alike 
trampled beneath the feet of that remorseless mass, 
who, actuated by vengeance and by rapine, sprang 
.fiercely up the breach. 

Weak and exhausted, faint from my wound, 
and overcome by my exertions, I sank among the 
crumbling ruin. 'I'he loud shouts which rose 



from the town, mingled with cries and screams, 
told the work of pillage was begun; while still 
a dropping musketry could be heard on the dis- 
tant rampart, where even yet the French made 
resistance. At last even this was hushed, but to 
it succeeded the far more horrifying sounds of 
rapine and of murder; the forked flames of burn- 
ing houses rose here and there amid the black 
darkness of the night; and through the crackling 
of the timbers, and the falling crash of roofs, the 
heart-rending shriek of women rent the very air. 
Officers pressed forward, but in vain were their 
efforts to restrain their men- — the savage cruelty 
of the moment knew no bounds of restraint. 
More than one gallant fellow perished in his 
fruitless endeavor to enforce obedience; and the 
most awful denunciations were now uttered against 
those before whom, at any other time, they dared 
not mutter. 

Thus passed the long night, far more terrible 
to me than all the dangers of the storm itself, 
with all its death and destruction dealing around 
it. I know not if I slept; if so, the horrors on 
every side were pictured in my dreams; and, 
w^hen the grey dawn was breaking, the cries from 
the doomed city were still ringing in my ears. 
Close around me the scene was still and silent; 
the wounded had been ren)Oved during the 
night, but the thickly-packed dead lay side by 
side where they fell. It was a fearful sight to see 
them as, blood-stained and naked {for already 
the camp-followers had stripped the bodies), they 
covered the entire breach. P'rom the rampart to 
the ditch, the ranks lay where they had stood in 
life. A faint phosphoric flame flickered above 
their ghastly corpses, making even death still 
more horrible. I was gazing steadfastly, with all 
that stupid intensity which imperfect senses and 
exhausted faculties possess, when the sound of 
voices near aroused me. 

" Bring him along — this way. Bob. Over the 
breach with the scoundrel, into the fosse." 

"He shall die no soldier's death, by Heaven!" 
cried another and a deeper voice, "if I lay his 
skull open with my axe." 

" Oh, mercy, mercy! as you hope for " 

"Traitor! don't dare to mutter here!" As the 
last words were spoken, four infantry soldiers, 
reeling from drunkenness, dragged forward a pale 
and haggard wretch, whose limbs trailed behind 
him like those of palsy; his uniform was that of 
a French chasseur, but his voice bespoke him 
English. 

" Kneel down there, and die like a man! You 
were one once!" 

" Not so. Bill, never. Fix bayonets, boys! 
That's right! Now take the word from me." 

"Oh, forgive me! for the love of Heaven, for- 
give me!" screamed the voice of the victim; but 
his last accents ended in a death-cry, for, as he 
spoke, the bayonets flashed for an instant in the 
air, and the next were plunged into his body. 
Twice I had essayed to speak, but my voice, 
hoarse from shouting, came not; and I could but 
look upon this terrible murder with staring eyes 
and burning brain. At last speech came, as if 
wrested by the very excess of my agony, and I 
muttered aloud, "O God!" The words were 



448 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



not well spoken, when the muskets were brought 
to the slioulders, and, reeking with the blood of 
the murdered man, their savage faces scowled at 
me as I lay. 

"A short and heartfelt prayer burst from my 
lips, and I was still. The leader of the party 
called out, "Be steady! and together. One, two! 
Crround arms, boys! Ground arms!" roared he, 
in a voice of thunder; " it's the captain, himself!" 
Down went the muskets with a crash; while, 
springing towards me, the fellows caught me in 
their arms, and with one jerk mounted me upon 
their slioulders, the cheer that accompanied the 
sudden movement seeming like the yell of ma- 
niacs. " Ha, ha, ha! we have him now!" sang their 
wild voices, as, with blood-stained hands and in- 
furiated features, they bore me down the ram- 
part. My sensations of disgust and repugnance 
to the party seemed at once to have evidenced 
themselves, for the corporal, turning abruptly 
round, called out, 

" Don't pity liini, captain; the scoundrel was a 
deserter; he escaped from the picket two nights 
ago, and gave information of all our plans to the 
enemy." 

''Ay," cried another, "and what's worse, he 
fired through an embrasure near the breach, for 
two hours, upon his own regiment. It was there 
we found him. This way, lads." 

So saying, they turned short from the walls, 
and dashed down a dark and narrow lane into 
the town. My struggles to get free were 
perfectly ineffectual, and to my entreaties they 
were totally indifferent. 

In this way, therefore, we made our entrance 
into the Plaza, where some hundred soldiers, of 
different regiments, were bivouacked. A shout 
of recognition welcomed the fellows as they 
came; while, suddenly, a party of Eighty-eighth 
men, springing from the ground, rushed forward 
with drawn bayonets, calling out, " Give him up 
this minute, or by the Father of Moses, we'll 
make short work of ye." 

The order was made by men who seemed vi^ell 
disposed to execute it; and I was accordingly 
grounded with a shock and a rapidity that 
savored much more of ready compliance than 
any respect for my individual comfort. A roar 
of laughter rang through the motley mass, and 
every powder-stained face around me seemed 
convulsed with merriment. As I sat passively 
upon the ground, looking ruefully about, whether 
my gestures or my words heightened the absurd- 
ity of my appearance, it is hard to say; but cer- 
tainly the laughter increased at each moment, and 
the drunken wretches danced round me in ec- 
stasy. 

" Where is your major? Major O'Shaughnessy, 
lads.'" said I. 

'■ He's in the church, with fhe gieneral, your 
honor," said the sergeant of the regmrent, upon 
whom the mention of his officer's name seemed 
at once to have a sobering influence. Assisting 
me to rise (for I was weak as a child), he led me 
through the dense crowd, who, such is the influ- 
ence of example, now formed into line, and, as 
well as their state permitted, gave me a military 
salute as I passed. "Follow me, sir," said the 



sergeant; " this little dark street to the left will 
take us to the private door of the chapel." 

" Wherefore are they there, sergeant?" 

" There's a general of division mortally 
wounded." * 

" You did not hear his name?" 

" No, sir. AU I know is, he was one of the 
storming party at the lesser breach." 

A cold, sickening shudder came over me: I 
durst not ask further, but pressed on with anxious 
steps towards the .chapel. 

" There, sir, yonder, where you see the light 
That's the door." 

So saying, the sergeant stopped suddenly, and 
placed his hand to his cap. I saw at once that 
he was sufficiently aware of his condition not to 
desire to appear before his officers; so hurriedly 
thanking him, I walked forward. 

" Halt, there! and givethe countersign," cried 
a sentinel, who with fixed bayonet stood before 
the door. 

"I am an officer," said I, endeavoring to pass 
in. 

"Stand bock, stand bock!" said the harsh 
voice of the Highlander, for such he was. 

"Is Major O'Shaughnessy in the church?" 

" I dinni ken," was the short, rough answer. 

"Who is the officer so badly wounded?" 

" I dinna ken," repeated he, as gruffly as be- 
fore; while he added, in a louder key, " Stand 
bock, 1 tell ye, man! Dinna ye see the staff 
coming?" 

I turned round hastily, and at the same instant 
several officers, who apparently from precaution 
had dismounted at the end of the street, were 
seen approaching. They came hurriedly forward, 
but without speaking. He who was in advance 
of the party wore a short, blue cape, over an un- 
dress uniform. The rest were in full regimental*. 
I had scarcely time to throw a passing glance 
upon him, when the officer I have mentioned as 
coming first, called out in a stern voice. 

" AVho are you, sir?" 

I started at the sounds: it was not the first 
time those accents had been heard by me. 

" Captain O'Malley, Fourteenth Light Dra- 
goons." 

" What brings you here, sir? Your regiment is 
at Caya." 

" I have been employed as acting aide-de-camp 
to General Craufurd," said I, hesitatingly. 

" Is that your staff uniform?" said he, as with 
compressed brow and stern look he fixed his eyes 
ui)on my coat. Before I had time to reply, or, 
indeed, before I well knew how to do so, a gruff 
voice from behind called out. 

"Damn me! if that ain't the fellow that led 
the stormers through a broken embrasure! I 
say, my lord, that's the yeoman I was telling 
you of. Is it not so, sir?" continued he, turning 
towards me. 

"Yes, sir. I led a party of the Eighty-eight 
at the breach." 

"And devilish well you did it, too!" added 
Picton, for it was he who recognized me. " I saw 
him, my lord, spring down from the parapet 
upon a French gunner, and break his sword as 
he cleft his helmet in two. Y'es, yes; I shall not 



CHARLES O'M ALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



449 



forget in a hurry how you laid about you with the 
rammer of the gun! ]3y Jove! that's it he has in 
his hand!" 

While Picton ran thus hurriedly on, Lord 
Wellington's calm but stern features never 
changed their expression. Tiie looks of those 
around were bent upon me with interest and even 
admiration; but his evinced nothing of either. 

Reverting at once to niy absence from my post, 
he asked me. 

" Did you obtain leave for a particular service, 
sir?" 

" No, my lord. It was simply from an acci- 
dental circumstance that " 

"Then, report yourself at your quarters as un- 
der arrest." 

" But, my lord," said Picton Lord Well- 
ington waited not for the explanation, but walked 
firmly forward, and strode into the church. The 
staff followed in silence, Picton turning one look 
of kindness on ine as he went, as though to say, 
" I'll not forget you." 

'■ The devil take it," cried I, as I found myself 
once more alone, " but I'm unlucky. What would 
turn out with other men the very basis of their 
fortune, is ever with me the source of ill-luck." 

It was evident, from Picton's account, that I 
had distinguished myself in the breach; and yet, 
nothing was more clear than that my conduct had 
displeased the commander-in-chief. Picturing 
him ever to my mind's eye as the beau ideal of a 
military leader, by some fatality of fortune I was 
i-ontinually incurring his displeasure, for whose 
praise I would have risked my life. " And this 
confounded costume — what, in the name of every 
absurdity, could have ever persuaded me to put 
it on? What signifies it, though a man should 
cover himself with glory, if in the end he is to be 
laughed at? Well, well, it matters not much; 
now my soldering's over! And yet I could 
have wished that the last act of my campaigning 
had brought with it pleasanter recollections." 

As thus I ruminated the click of the soldier's 
musket near aroused me: Picton was i)assing out. 
A shade of gloom and depression was visible 
upon his features, and his lip trembled as lie 
muttered some sentences to himself. 

" Ha! Captain — I forget tlie name. Yes — 
Captain O'Malley; you are released from arrest. 
Ceneral Craufurd has spoken very well of you, 
and Lord Wellington has heard the circumstances 
of your case." 

" Is it General Craufurd, then, that is wounded, 
sir?" said 1, eagerly. 

Picton paused for a moment, while, with an 
effort, he controlled his features into their stern 
and impassive expression, then added hurriedly, 
and almost harshly: 

■' Yes, sir; badly wounded, through the arm, 
and in the lung. He mentioned you to the no 
tice of the commander-in-chief, and your appli- 
cation for leave is granted. In fact, you are to 
have the distinguished honor of carrying back 
despatches. There, now; you had better join 
your brigade." 

"Could I not see my general once more? It 
may be for the list time." 
,"No, sir!" sternly replied Picton. " Lord Wel- 



lington believe's you under arrest. It is as well 
lie should suppose you obeyed his orders." 

There was a tone of sarcasm in these words 
that prevented my reply; and, muttering my 
gratitude for his well-timed and kindly interfer- 
ence in my behalf, I bowed deeply, and turned 
away. 

" I say, sir," said Picton, as he returned towards 
the church, "should an\ thing befall — that is, if, 
unfortunately, circumstances should make you in 
want and desirous of a staff appointment, re- 
member that you are known to General Picton." 

Downcast and depressed by the news of my 
poor general, I wended my way, with slow and 
uncertain steps, towards the rampart. A clear, 
cold, wintry sky, and a sharp, bracing air, made 
my wound, slight as it was, more painful, and 1 
endeavored to reach the reserves, where I knew 
the hospital-staff had established, for the present, 
their quarters. I had not gone far when, from a 
marauding party, I learned that my man, Mike, 
was in search of me through the plain. A report 
of my death had reached him, and the poor fel- 
low was half distracted. 

Longing anxiously to allay his fears on my ac- 
count, which I well knew might lead him into 
any act of folly or insanity, I pressed forward; 
besides — shall I confess it? — amid the manifold 
thoughts of sorrow and affliction which weighed 
me down, I could not divest myself of the feel- 
ing that, so long as I wore my present absurd 
costume, I could be nothing but an object of 
laughter and ridicule to all who met me. 

I had not long to look for my worthy follower, 
for I soon beheld him cantering about the plain. 
A loud shout brought him beside me; r.nd truly 
the poor fellow's delight was great and sincere. 
With a thousand protestations of his satisfaction, 
and reiterated assurances of what he would not 
have done to the French prisoners if anything 
had happened to me, we took our way together 
towards the camp. 



CHAPTER CIV. 



THE DESPATCH. 



I WAS preparing to visit the town on the fol- 
lowing morning, when my attention was attracted 
by a dialogue which took place beneath my win 
dow. 

"I say, my good friend," cried a mounted or- 
derly to Mike, who.was busily employed in brush- 
ing a jacket — " 1 say, are you Captain O'Malley's 
man?" 

"The least taste in life o' that same," replied 
he, with a half jocular expression. 

"Well, then," said the other, "take up these 
letters to your master. Be alive, my fine fellow, 
for they are despatches, and I must have a writ- 
ten return for them." 

" Won't ye get off, and take a dro]5 of some- 
thin' refreshing? the air is cowld this morning." 

"I can't stay, my good friend, but thank you 
all the same; so be alive, will you?" 

"Arrah! there's no hurry in life. Sure, it's 



450 



CHARLES O'MALLEV, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



an invitation to dinner to Lord Wellington's, or a 
tea-party ?-t Sir Denny's; sure, my master's 
bothered with them every day o' th' week; that's 
the misfortune of being an agreeable creature; 
and I'd be led into dissipation myself, if I wasn't 
rear'd prudent." 

" Well, come along, take these letters, for I 
must be off; my time is short." 

"That's more nor your nose is, honey," said 
Mike, evidently piqued at the little effect his ad- 
vances had produced upon the Englishman. 
"Give them here," continued he, while lie turned 
the various papers in every direction, affecting 
to vend their addresses. 

"There's nothing for me here, I see. Did none 
•of the generals ask after me?" 

"You ^;v a qmecr one!" said the dragoon, not 
a little puzzled wfeat to make of him. 

Mike noeanvrhile thrust the papers carelessly 
into his pocket, and strode into the house, whist- 
ling a quickstep as he went, with the air of a 
man perfectly devoid of care or occupation. The 
next moment, 1»owever, be appeared at my door, 
wiping his forcbead with the back of his hand, 
and apparently breathless with haste. 

" Despatches, Mister Charles — despatches from 
Lord W«nington. The orderly is waiting below 
for a return." 

■"I'ell him he shall have it in one moment," re- 
plied I. "And now bring me a light." 

Before I had broken the seal of the envelope, 
Mike was once more at the porch. 

" My master is writing a few lines to say he'll 
do it. Don't be talking of it," added he, drop- 
ping his voice, " but they want him to take another 
fortress." 

What turn the dialogue subsequently took, I 
cannot say, for I was entirely occu[)ied by a letter 
which accompanied the despatches. It ran as 
follows: 

"Dear Sir, — The commander-in-chief has 
been kind enough to accord you the leave of ab- 
sence you applied for, and takes the opportunity 
of your return to England to send you the accom- 
panying letters for his Royal Highness the Duke 
of York. To his approval of your conduct in the 
assault last night you owe this distinguished mark 
of Lord Wellington's favor, which, I hope, will 
be duly appreciated by you, and serve to increase 
your zeal for that service in which you have 
already distinguished yourself. 

'■ Believe me, that I am most happy in being 
made the medium of this* communication, and 
have the honor to be, 

" Verv truly yours, 

"T. PiCTON. 

" Quarter-General, 
"Ciudad Rodrigo, Jan. 20, 1S12." 

I read and re-read this note again and again. 
Every line wasconnedoverby me, and every phrase 
weighed and balanced in my mind. Nothing 
could be more gratifying, nothing more satisfac- 
tory to my feelings; and I would not have ex- 
changed its possession for the brevet of a lieu- 
•. tenant-colonel. 

"Halloo, orderly!" cried I, from the window. 



as I hurriedly sealed my few words of acknowl- 
edgment, " take this note back to General I'icton, 
and here's a guinea for yourself." So saying, I 
pitched into his ready hand one of the very lew 
which remained to me in the world. "This is, 
indeed, good news!" said I to myself; "this is, 
indeed, a moment of unmixed happiness!" 

As I closed the window, I could hear Mike pro- 
nouncing a glowing eulogium upon my liberality, 
from which he could not, however, help in some 
degree detracting, as he added: 

"But the devil thank him, after all! sure, it'« 
himself has the illigant fortune and the fine place 
of it!" 

Scarcely were the last sounds of the retiring 
horseman dying away in the distance, when Mike's 
meditations took another form, and he muttered 
between his teeth — -"Oh! holy Agatha; a guinea, 
a raal gold guinea to a thief of a dragoon that 
come with the letter, and here am I wearing a 
picture of the holy family for a back to my waist- 
coat, all out of economy; and sure, God knows, 
but maybe they'll take their dealing trick out of 
me in purgatory for this hereafter; and faith, it's 
a beautiful pair of breeches I'd have had, if I 
wasn't ashamed to put the twelve apostles on my 
legs." 

While Mike ran on at this rate, my eyes fell 
upon a few lines of postscript in Ficton's letter, 
which I had not pre^•iously noticed. 

" The official despatches of the storming are of 
course entrusted to senior officers, but I need 
scarcely remind you, that it will be a polite and 
proper attention to his Royal Highness, to present 
your letters with as little delay as jiossilile. Not 
a moment is to be lost on your landing in England." 

"Mike!" cried I, "how look the cattle for a 
journey?" 

" The chestnut is a little low in flesh, Init in great 
wind, your honor; and the black horse is jump- 
ing like a filly." 

■'And Badger?" said I. 

"Howld him, if you can, that's all; but it's 
murthering work this, carrying despatches day 
after day." 

"This time, however, Mike, we must^ not 
grumble." ■' . 

" Maybe it isn't far?" 

"Why, as to that, I shall not promise mnch. 
I'm bound for England, Mickey." 

" For England!" 

■'Yes, Mike, and for Ireland." 

"For Ireland! whoop!" shouted he, as he shied 
his cap into one corner of the room, the jacket he 
was brushing into the other, and began dancing 
round the table with no bad imitation of an Indian 
war dance. 

" How I'll dance like a fairy, 
To see oiild Dunleary, 
And thinV twice ere I leave it to lie a dragoon." :• 

"Oh! blessed hour! isn't it beautiful to think 
of the illuminations, and dinners, and sj^eeches, 
and shaking of hands, huzzaing, and hip, hipi^ing. 
Maybe there won't be ])ictures of us in ail. (he 
shops — Mister Charles and his man Mister Free. 
Maybe they won't make plays out of us; myself 
dressed in the grey coat with the red cuffs,, <he 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



451 



cords, the tops, and the Caroline hat a little 
cocked, with a phiz in the side of it." Here he 
made a sign with his expanded fingers to repre- 
sent a cockade, which, he designated by tliis word. 
" I think I see m)'self dining with the Corpora- 
tion, and the Lord Mayor of Dublin getting up to 
propose the health of the hero of El Bodon, Mr. 
Free! and three times three, hurrah! hurrah! 
hurrah! Musha, but it's dry I am gettiii' with 
the thoughts of the punch and the poteen negus." 

" If you go on at this rate, we're not likely to 
be soon at our journey's end; so be alive, now, 
pack up my kit; I shall start at twelve o'clock." 

With one spring Mike cleared the stairs, and, 
overthrowing everything and everybody in his 
way, hurried towards the stable, chanting at the 
top of his voice the very poetical strain he had 
indulged me with a few minutes before." 

My preparations were rapidly made; a few hur- 
ried lines of leave-taking to the good fellows I 
had lived so much with and felt so strongly at- 
tached to, with a firm assurance that I should 
join them again ere long, was all that my time 
permitted. To Power I wrote more at length, de- 
tailing the circumstances which my own letters 
informed me of, and also those which invited me 
to return home. This done, 1 lost not another 
moment, but set out upon my journey. 



CHAPTER CV, 



THE LEAVE. 



After an hour's sharp riding we reached the 
Aguada, where the river was yet fordable; cross- 
ing this, we mounted the Sierra by a narrow and 
winding pass which leads through themountams 
towards Almeida. Here I turned once more to 
cast a last and farewell look at the scene of our 
late encounter. It was but a few hours that I had 
stood almost on the same spot, and yet how altered 
was all around. The wide plain, then bustling 
with all the life and animation of a large army, 
was now nearly deserted; some dismounted guns; 
some broken up, dismantled batteries, around 
which a few sentinels seemed to loiter rather than 
to keep guard; a strong detachment of infantry 
could be seen wending their way towards the for- 
tress, and a confused mass of camp-followers, 
sutlers, and peasants, following their steps for 
protection against the pillagers and the still ruder 
assaults of their own Guerillas. Tlie fortress, too, 
was changed indeed. Those mighty walls before 
whose steep sides the bravest fell back baffled and 
beaten, were now a mass of ruin and decay; the 
muleteer could be seen driving his mule along 
through the rugged ascent of that breach, to win 
whose top the best blood of Albion's chivalry 
was shed; and the peasant child looked timidly 
from those dark enclosures in the deep fosse be- 
low, where perished hundreds of our best .and 
bravest. The air was calm, clear, and unclouded; 
no smoke obscured the transparent atmosphere; 
the cannon had ceased; and the voices that rang 
so late in accents of triumphant victory were 
'stilled in death. Everything, indeed, had under- 



gone a mighty change; but nothing brought the 
altered fortunes of the scenes so vividly to my 
mind as when I remembered that when last I had 
seen those walls, the dark shako of the French 
grenadiers peered above their battlements, and 
now the gay tartan of the Highlander fluttered 
above them, and the red flag of England waved 
boldly in the breeze. 

Up to that moment my sensations were those 
of unmixed pleasure : the thought of my home, 
my friends, my country, the feeling that I was 
returning with the bronze of the battle upon my 
cheek, and the voice of praise still ringing in my 
heart ; these were proud thoughts, and my bosom 
heaved short and quickly as I revolved them ; but, 
as I turned my gaze for the last time towards the 
gallant army I was leaving a pang of sorrow, of 
self-reproach, shot through me, .ind I could not 
lielp feeling how far less worthily was I acting 
in yielding to the impulse of my wishes, than had 
I remained to share the fortunes of the cam- 
paign. 

So powerfully did these sensations possess me, 
that I sat motionless for some time, uncertain 
whether to proceed; forgetting that I was the 
bearer of important information, I only remem- 
bered that by my own desire I was there; my rea- 
son but half convinced me that the part I had 
adopted was right and honorable, and more. than 
once my resolution to proceed hung in the bal- 
ance. It was just at this critical moment of my 
doubts, that Mike, who had been hitherto behind, 
came up. 

" Is it the upper road, sir?" said he, pointing 
to a steep and rugged path which led by a zigzag 
ascent towards the crest of the mountain. 

I nodded in reply, when he added: 

" Doesn't this remind your honor of Sieibh 
More, above the Shannon, where we used to be 
grouse shooting? And there's the keeper's house 
in the valley; and that might be your uncle, the 
master himself, waving his hat to you." 

Had he known the state of my conflicting feel- 
ings at the moment, he could not more readily 
have decided this doubt. I turned abruptly away, 
put spurs to my horse, and dashed up the steep 
pass at a pace which evidently surprised, and as 
evidently displeased, my follower. 

How natural it is ever to experience a reaction 
of depression and lowness after the first burst of 
unexpected joy! The moment of happiness is 
scarce experienced ere come the doubts of its 
reality, the fears for its continuance; the higher 
the state of pleasurable excitement, the more 
painful and the more pressing the .anxieties that 
await on it; the tension of delighted feelings 
cannot last, and our overwrought faculties seek 
repose in regrets. Happy he who can so temper 
his enjoyments as to view them in their shadows 
as in their sunshine; he may not, it is true, be- 
hold the landscape in the blaze of its noonday 
brightness, but he need not fear the thunder- 
cloud nor the hurricane. The calm autumn of 
his bliss, if it dazzle not in its brilliancy, will not 
any more be shrouded in darkness and in gloom. 

My first burst of pleasure over, the thought of 
my uncle's changed fortunes i)ressed deeply on 
my heart, and a hundred plans suggested them- 



452 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



selves in turn to my mind to relieve his present 
embarrassments; but I knew how impracticable 
they would all prove when opposed by his preju- 
dices. 'I'o sell the old home of his forefathers, 
to wr.nder from tlie roof which had sheltered 
his name for generations, he would never consent 
to; the law might by force expel him, and drive 
him a wanderer and an exile, but of his own free 
will the thing was hopeless. Considine, too. would 
encourage rather than repress such feelings; his 
feudalism would lead him to any lengths; and, in 
defence of what he would esteem a right, he 
would as soon shoot a sheriff as a snipe, 
and, old as he was, ask for no better amuse- 
ment than to arm the whole tenantry and 
give battle to the king's troops on the wide plain 
of Scariff. Amid such conflicting thoughts, I 
travelled on moodily and in silence, to the palpa- 
ble astonishment of Mike, who could not help re- 
garding me as one from whom fortune met the 
most ungrateful returns. At every new turn of 
the road he woidd endeavor to attiact my atten- 
tion by the objects around; no white-turreted 
chateau, no tapered spire in the distance, escaped 
him; he kept up a constant ripple of half-muttered 
praise and censure upon all he saw, and instituted 
unceasing comparisons between the country and 
his own, in which, I am bound to say, Ireland 
rarely, if ever, had to complain of his patriotism, 
when we arrived at Almeida, I learned that 
the Mcdca sloop-of-war was lying off Oporto, and 
expected to sail for England in a few days. The 
opportunity was not to be neglected; the ofificial 
-desijatches, I was aware, would be sent through 

■ Lisbon, where the Gorgon frigate was in waiting 
to convey them; but should I be fortunate enougli 
to reach Oporto in time, I had little doubt of ar- 
rivmg in England with the first intelligence of the 
fall of Ciudad Rodrigo. Reducing my luggage, 
therefore, to the smallest possible compass, and 

■ having provided myself with a juvenile guide for 
the pass of La Reyna, I threw myself, witliout 
undressing, upon the bed, and waited anxiously 
lor the break of day to resume my journey. 

As 1 ruminated over the prospect my return 
presented, I suddenly remembered Frank Web- 
ber's letter, which I had hastily thrust into a port- 
folio without reading, so occupied was I by Con- 
sidine's epistle, with a little searching I discov- 
ered it, and, trimming my lamp, as I felt no in- 
clination to sleep, I proceeded to the examination 
of what seemed a more than usually voluminous 
epistle. It contained four closely-written pages, 
accompanied by something like a plan in an en- 
gineering sketch. My curiosity becoming further 
stimulated by this, I sat down to peruse it. It 
began thus- 

" Official Despatch of Lieutenant-General Francis 
Webber to Lord Castlereagh, detailing the as- 
sault and capture of the old pump, in Trinity 
College, Dublin, on the night of the second of 
December, eighteen hundred and eleven, with 
returns of killed, wounded, and missing, with 
other information from the seat of war. 

" Head-quarti'.rs, No. 2, Old Sou.^rf.. 
"My Lord, — In compliance with tnc instruc- 



tions contained in your lordship's despatch of 
the twenty-first ultimo, I concentrated tiie force ■ 
under my command, and, assembling the generals 
of division, made known my intentions in the fol- 
lowing general order: 

" A. G. O. 

" The following troops will this evening assem- 
ble at head-quarters, and, liaving partaken of a 
sufficient dinner for the next two days, with 
punch for four, will hold themselves m readiness 
to march, in the following order 

" Harry Nesbitt's brigade of Incorrigibles will 
form a blockading force, in the line extending 
from the vice-provost's house to the library. 
'l"he light division, under Mark Waller, will skir- 
mish from the gate towards the middle of the 
square, obstructing the march of the cuirassiers 
of the guard, which, under the command of old 
Duncan, the porter, are expected to move in that 
direction. Two columns of attack will be formed 
by the senior sophisters of the Old Guard, and a 
forlorn hope of the ' cautioned' men at the last 
four examinations will form, under the orders of 
Timothy O'Rourke, beneath the shadow of the 
dining-halL 

" At the signal of the dean's bell the stormers 
will move forward. A cheer from the united 
corps will then announce the moment of attack. 

"The word for the night will be, 'May the 
devil admire me}' 

"The commander of the forces desires that 
the different corj.is should be as strong as possi- 
ble, and expects that no man will remain, on any 
jnetence whatever, in the rear, with, the lush 
During the main assault, Cecil Cavendish will 
make a feint upon the jirovost's windows, to be 
converted into a real attack if the ladies scream. 

'' GENERAL ORDER. 

"The Commissary-Gerieral Foley will supply 
the following articles for the use of the troops — • 
Two hams; eight pair of chickens, the same to 
be roasted; a devilled turkey: sixteen lobsters; 
eight hundred of oysters, with a proportionate 
quantity of cold sherry and hot ininch. 

" The army will get drunk by ten o'clock to- 
night. 

'' Having made these dispositions, my lord. 1 
proceeded to mislead the enemy as to our inten- 
tions, in suffering my servant to be taken with 
an intercepted despatch. This, being a prescrip- 
tion by Doctor Colles, would convey to the dean's 
mind the impression that I was still upon the sick 
list. This being done, and four canisters of 
Dartford gunpowder being ])rocured on lick, our 
military chest being in a most deplorable condi- 
ion. I waited for the moment of attack. 

"A heavy rain, accompanied with a frightful 
hurricane, prevailed during the entire day, ren- 
dering the march of the troops who came from 
the neighborhood of Merrion square and Fitz- 
william street a service of considerable fatigue. 
The outlying pickets in College green, being in- 
duced, prob.Tbly bv the inclemency of the season, 
were rather tii)sy on joining, and having engaged 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



45n 



in a skirmish with old M'Calister, tying his red 
uiiil'orm over his head, the moment ot attack was 
prccijiitated, and we moved to tlie trenches by 
hal(-|)ast nine o'clock, 

"Nothing could be more orderly nothing 
more peifect than the march of the troops. As 
we approached the corner of the conimons'-hall 
a skirmish on the rear apprised us that our in- 
tentions had become known, and I soon learned 
from mv aide-de-camp. Bob Moore, that the at- 
tack was made by o strong column of the enemy, 
under the command of old Fitzgerald. 

■' Perpendicular (as your lordship is aware he 
is styled by the army) came on in a determined 
manner, and before many minutes had elapsed 
had taken several prisoners, among others Tom 
Drummond — Long Tom — who, havnig fallen on 
all fours, was mistaken for a long eighteen The 
success, however, was but momentary, Nesbitt's 
brigade attacked them in flank, rescued the pris- 
oners, extinguished the dean's lantern, and, iiav- 
ing beaten back the heavy porters, took Perpen- 
dicular himself prisoner 

"An express from the left informed me that 
the attack upon the provost's house had proved 
eciually successful; there wasn't a whole pane of 
glass in the front, and from a footman who de- 
serted, it was learned that Mrs. Hutchinson was 
in hysterics. 

"While I was reading this despatch, a strong 
feeling of the line towards the right announced 
thot something was taking place in that direction. 
Bob Moore, who rode by on Drummond's back, 
hurriedly informed me that Williams had put the 
lighted end of his cigar to one of the fuses, but 
the powder, being wet, it did not explode, not- 
withstanding his efforts to effect it. Upon this, 
I hastened to the front, where I found the indi- 
vidual in question kneeling upon the ground, and 
endeavoring, as far as punch would permit him, 
to kindle a flame at the portfire. Before 1 could 
interfere, the spark had caught; a loud, hissing 
noise followed; the different magazines succes- 
sively became ignited, and at length the fire 
reached the great four-pound charge. 

" I cannot convey to your lordship, by any 
words of mine, an idea of this terrible explosion; 
the blazing splinters were hurled into the air and 
fell in fiery masses on every side from the park 
to King William; Ivey, the bell-ringer, was pre- 
cipitated from the scaffold beside the bell, and 
fell headlong into the mud beneath; tne surround- 
ing buildings trembled at the shock; the windows 
were shattered, and in fact, a scene of perfect 
devastation ensued on all sides. 

" VVHien the smoke cleared away, I rose from 
my recumbent position, and perceived with de- 
light that not a vestige of the pump remained. 
The old iron handle was imbedded in the wall 
of the dining-hall, and its round knob stood out 
like the end of a queue. 

"Our loss was, of course, considerable; and, 
ordering the wounded to the rear, I proceeded 
to make an orderly and regular retreat. At this 
time, however, the enemy had assembled in force. 
Two battalions of porters, led on bV Dr. Dob- 
bin, charged us on the flank; a hea\^y brigade 
poured down upon us from the battery, and, but 



for the exertions of Harry Nesbilt, our com- 
munication with our reserves must have been cut 
off Cecil Cavendish also came up, lor, although 
beaten in his great attack, the forces under his 
command liad penetrated by the kitchen windows, 
and carried off a considerable quantity ot cold 
m-at. 

" Concentrating the different corps, I made an 
echelon movement upon the rhapel, to admit ot 
the light division coming up. 'I'his they did in 
a few moments, informing nie that they had left 
Perpendicular in the haha, which, as your lord- 
ship is aware, is a fosse of the very greenest and 
most stagnant nature. We now made good our 
retreat upon " 2," carrying our wounded with us; 
the ]ihmder we also secured, but we kicked the 
prisoners and suffered them to escape. 

"Thus terminated, my lord, one of the bright- 
est achievements of the under-graduate career 
I enclose a list of the wounded, as also an account 
of the various articles returned in the comniis- 
sary-general's list: 

'Harry Nesbitt- severely wounded; no coat 
nor hat, a black eye; left shoe missing 

'Cecil Cavendish; face severely scratched;' 
supposed to have received his wound in the at- 
tack upon the kitchen. 

'Tom Drummond: not recognizable by his 
friends; his features resembling a transparency 
disfigured by the smoke of the preceding night's 
illumination. 

'' Bob Moore: slightly wounded 

'' I would beg particularly to recommend all 
these officers to your lordship's notice indeed 
the conduct of Moore, in kicking the dean's Ian-' 
tern out of the porter's hand, was marked bv 
great promptitude and decision. This officer 
will present to H. R. H. the following trophies, 
taken from the enemy: The dean's cap and tas-' 
sel; the key of his chambers; Dr. Dobbin's wig' 
and bands, four porters' helmets, and a book on 
the cellar. 

" I have the honor to remain, my lord, etc., 

"Francis Webber. 
"GO. 

"The commander of the forces returns his 
thanks to the various officers and soldiers em- 
ployed in the late assault, for their persevering 
gallantry and courage. The splendor of the 
achievement can only be equalled by the human- 
ity and good conduct of the troops. It only 
remains for him to add, that the less they say 
about the transaction, and the sooner they are 
severally confined to their beds with symptoms 
of contagious fever, the better. 

" Meanwhile, to concert upon the future meas- 
ures of the campaign, the army will sup to-night 
at Morrison's." 

Here ended this precious epistle, rendering 
one fact sufficiently evident — that, however my 
worthy friend advanced in years, he had not 
grown in wisdom. 

While ruminating upon the strange infatuation 
which could persuade a gifted and an able man 
to lavish upon dissipation nrd reckless absurdity 
the talents that must, if well directed, raise him 
to eminence and distinction, a few lines 'bf a 



454 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



newspaper paragraph fell from the paper I was 
reading. It ran thus; 

"late outrage in trinity college, DUBLIN. 

" We have great pleasure in stating that the 
serious disturbance which took place within the 
walls of our university a few evenings since, was 
in no wise attributable to the conduct of the 
students. A party of ill-disposed townspeople 
were, it would appear, the instigators and perpe- 
trators of the outrage. That tiieir object was 
the total destruction of our venerated university 
there can be but little doubt. Fortunately, how- 
ever, they did not calculate upon the esprit de 
corps of the students, a body of whom, under 
the direction of Mr. Webber, successfully op- 
posed the assailants, and finally drove them from 
the walls. 

" It is, we understand, the intention of the 
board to confer some mark of approbation upon 
Mr. Webber, wlio, independently of this, has 
strong claims upon their notice, his collegiate 
success pointing him out as the most e.xtraordi- 
nary man of his day." 

" This, my dear Charley, will give you some 
faint conception of one of the most brilliant ex- 
ploits of modern days. The bulletin, believe 
me, is not Napoleonized into any bombastic ex- 
travagance of success. Tiie thing was splendid; 
from the brilliant firework of the old pump itself 
to the figure of Perpendicular dripping with 
duckweed, like an insane river-god, it was une- 
qualled. Our fellows behaved like trumps; and, 
to do them justice, so did the enemy. But 
unfortunately, notwitlistanding this, and the plau- 
sible ])aragrnphs of the morning papers, I have 
been summon. 'd before the board for Tuesday 
next. 

"Meanwhile, I employ myself in tlirowing off 
a shower of small sijuibs for the journals, so that 
if the board deal not mercifully witli me, I may 
meet with sympathy from the public. I have 
just despatched a little editorial bit for the Times, 
calling, in term; of parental tenderness, upon the 
university to say — ■ 

"'How long will the extraordinary excesses 
of a learned functionary be suffered to disgrace 

college? Is Dr. to be permitted to exhibit 

an example of more riotous insubordination than 
would be endured in an undergraduate? More 
on this subject hereafter.' 

''" Siunders' News-letter. — Doctor Barret ap- 
I)eared at the head police-office, before Alderman 
Darley, to make oath that neither he nor Catty 
were concerned in the late outrage upon [he 
pump," &c., &c. 

" Paragraphs like these are flying about in every 
provincial paper of the empire. People shake 
their heads when they speak of the university, 
and respectable females rather cross over by 
King William and the Bank than pass near its 
preoincts. 

" Tuesday Evening 

"Would you believe U, they've expelled nie: 



Address your next letter as usual, for they 
haven't got rid of me yet. — Yours, 

"F. W." 

" So I shall find him in his old quarters," 
thought I, and evidently not much altered since 
we parted." It was not without a feeling of (I 
trust pardonrable) pride that I thought over my 
own career in the interval My three years of 
campaigning life had given me some insight into 
the world, and some knowledge of myself, and 
conferred upon me a boon, of which I know not 
the equal^that, while yet young, and upon the 
very threshold of life, I should have tasted the en- 
thusiastic pleasures of a soldier's fortune and 
braved the dangers and difficulties of a campaign 
at a time when, under other aus])ices, I might 
have wasted my years in unprofitable idleness or 
careless dissipation. 



CHAPTER CVI. 

LONDON. 



Twelve hours after my arrival in England I 
entered London. I cannot attempt to record the 
sensations which thronged my mind, as the din 
and tumult of that mighty city awoke me from a 
sound sleep I had fallen into in the corner of the 
chaise. The seemingly interminable lines of 
lamjjlight, the crash of carriages, the glare of the 
sho[)s, the buzz of voices, made up a chaotic mass 
of sights and sounds, leaving my efforts at thought 
vain and fruitless. 

Obedient to my instructions, I lost not a mo- 
ment in my pre])aratior.s to deliver my des])atches. 
Having dressed myself in the full uniform 
of my corps, I drove to the Horse Guards. It 
was now nine o'clock, and 1 learned that his 
Royal Highness had gone to dinner at Carlton 
House. In a few words which I sjjoke with the 
aide-de-camp, I discovered that no information 
of Ciudad Rodrigo had yet reached England. 
The greatest anxiety prevailed as to the events 
of the Peninsula, from which no despatches had 
been received for sexeral weeks jiast. 

To Carlton House 1 accordingly bent my steps, 
without any precise determination how I should 
proceed when there, nor knowing how far eti- 
quette might be an obstacle to the accomplish- 
ment of my mission. The news of which 1 was 
the bearer was, however, of too important a 
character to permit me to hesitate, and 1 present- 
ed myself to the aide-de-camp in waiting, simply 
stating that I was entru-sted with import.nnt let- 
ters to his Royal Highness, the purport of which 
did not admit of delay. 

'' 'I'hey have not gone to dinner yet," lisped 
out the aide-de-camp, "and if you would permit 
me to deliver tiie letters " 

■'Mine are des])atches," said I, somewhat 
proudly, and in no wise disposed to cede to an- 
other the honor of personally delivering them in- 
to the hands of the duke. 

" Then you had better present yourself at the 
levee to-morrow morning," replied he, carelessly, 



CHARLES OMALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



455 



while he turned into one pf 'lie window recesses, 
and resumed the conversation with one of llie 
gentlemen in waiting. 

I stood for some moments uncertain and un- 
decided' reluctant on the one part to relinquish 
my claim as the bearer of despatches, and equal- 
ly unwilling to defer their delivery till the follow- 
ing day. 

Adopting the former alternative, I took my pa- 
pers from my sabretasche, and was about to place 
them in the hands of the aide-de-camp, when the 
folding-doors at he end of the ajjartment suddenly 
flew open, and a large and liandsome man, with a 
high, bald forehead, entered hastily- 

The different persons in w.iiting sprang from 
their lounging attitudes upon the sofas, and bowed 
respectfully as he passed on towards another 
deor. His dress was a plain blue coat, buttoned 
to the collar, and his only decoration a brilliant 
star upon the breast. 'I'liere was that air, iiow- 
ever, of high birth and bearing about him that 
left no doubt upon my mind he was of the blood 
royal. 

As the aide-de-camp to whom I had been 
speaking opened the door for him to pass out, I 
could hear some words in a low voice, in which 
the phrases " letters of importance " and " your 
Royal Highness " occurred. The individual ad- 
dressed turned suddenly about, and, casting a 
rapid glance around the room, without deigning 
a word in reply, walked straight up to where 1 
was standing. 

" Despatches for me, sir^" said he shortly, 
taking, as he spoke, the packet from my 
hand. 

" For his Royal Highness the commander-in- 
chief," said I, bowing respectfully, and still un- 
certain in whose presence I was standing. He 
broke the seal without answering, and, as his 
eye caught the first lines of the despatch, broke 
out into an exclamation of — 

"Ha: Peninsular news! When did you arrive, 
sir?" 

"An hour since, sir." 

" And these letters are from " 

" Gener.il Picton, your Royal Highness." 

" How glorious — how splendidly done'" mut- 
tered he to himself, as he ran his eyes rapidly 
over the letter. " Are you Captain O'Malley, 
whose name is mentioned here so favorably?" 

I bowed deeply in reply 

"You are most highly spoken of, and it will 
give me sincere pleasure to recommend you to 
the notice of the Prince Regent. But stay a 
moment." So saying, hurriedly, he passed from 
the room, leaving me overwhelmed at the 
suddenness of the incident, and a mark of no 
small astonishment to the different jiersons in 
waiting, who had hitherto no other idea but that 
my despatches were from Hounslow or Knights- 
bridge. 

"Captain O'Malley," said an officer covered 
with decorations, and whose slightly foreign 
accent bespoke the Hanoverian, " his Roval 
Highness requests you will accompany me." The 
door opened as he spoke, and I found myself in a 
most splendidl/ lit-up npirtmen"; the walls cov- 
ered with pictures, and the ceiling divided into 



panels, resplendent with tlie richest gilding. A . 
group of persons, in court dresses, were convers- 
ing in a low tone as we entered, but suddenly 
ceased, and, saluting my conductor respectfully,, 
made way for us to pass on. The folding-doors 
again opened as we ap])roached, and we found 
ourselves in a long gallery, whose sumptuous 
furniture and costly decorations shone beneath. 
the rich tints of a massive lustre of ruby glass, 
diffusing a gloW resembling the most gorgeous 
sunset. Here also some persons in handsome 
uniform were conversing, one of whom accosted 
my companion by the title of "Baron," nodding 
familiarly as he muttered a few words in tJerman, 
he passed forward, and the next moment the 
doors were thrown suddenly wide, and we en- 
tered the drawing-room. 

The buzz of voices and the sound of laughter 
reassured me as T came forward, and, before I 
had well time to think where and why I was 
there, the duke of York advanced towards me, 
with a smile of peculiar sweetness in its expres- 
sion, and said, as he turned towards one side: 

"Your Royal Highness — Captain O'Malley!" . 

As he spoke, the Prince moved forward, and 
bowed slightly. 

"You've brought us capital news, Mr. O'Malley. 
May I beg, if you're not too much tired, you'll 
join us at dinner. I am most anxious to learn 
the particulars of the assault." 

As I bowed my acknowledgements to the 
gracious invitation, he continued: 

"Are you acquainted with my friend here? — 
but of course you can scarcely be — you began 
too early as a soldier. So let me present you to 
my friend, Mr. Tierney," a middle-aged man, 
whose broad, white forehead and deep-set eyes 
gave a character to features that were otherwise 
not remarkable in expression, and who bowed 
rather stiffly. 

Before he had concluded a somewliat labored 
compliment to me, we were joined by a third 
person, whose strikingly-handsome features were. 
lit up with an expression of the most animated 
kind. He accosted the prince with an air of 
easy familiarity, and, while he led him from the 
group, appeared to be relating some anecdote, 
which actually convulsed his Royal Highness with 
laughter. 

Before I had time or opportunity to inquire 
who the individual could be, dinner was an- 
nounced, and the wide folding-doors being 
thrown open, disi)layed the magnificent dining- 
room of Carlton House, in all the blaze and 
splendor of its magnificence. 

The sudden change from the rough vicissi- 
tudes of campaigning life to all the luxury and 
voluptuous elegance of a brilliant court, created 
too much confusion in my mind to permit of my 
impressions being the most accurate or most 
collected. The splendor of the scene, the rank, 
but, even more, tlie talent of the individuals by 
whom I was surrounded, had all their full effect 
upon me; and, although I found, from the tone 
of the conversation about, how immeasur- 
ably I was their inferior, yet, by a delicate and 
courteous interest in the scene of v>'l'i< h I had 
lately partaken, they took away the awkwardness 



456 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



which, in some degree, was inseparable from the 
novelty of my position among them. 

Conversing about the Peninsula with a degree 
ofknowlediie which I could in no wise compre- 
hend from those not engaged in the war they 
appeared perfectly acquainted with all the de- 
tails of the campaign and I heard on every 
side of me anecdotes and stories which I scarcely 
helieved known beyond the precincts of a regi- 
ment. The prince himself — the grace and charm 
of whose narrative talents have seldom been ex- 
celled — was particularly conspicuous, and 1 could 
not help feeling struck with his admirable imita- 
tions of voice and manner. The most accom- 
plished actor could not have personated the 
cannie, calculating spirit of the Scot, or the rol- 
licking recklessness of the Irishman, with more 
tact anA finesse. But far above all this shone the 
person I have already alluded to as speaking to 
his Royal Highness in the drawing-room; combin- 
ing the happiest conversational eloquence with a 
quick, ready, and brilliant fancy, he threw from 
him in all the careless profusion of boundless re- 
source a shower of pointed and epigrammatic 
witticisms: novv, illustrating a really difficult sub- 
ject by one happy touch, as the blaze of the 
lightning will ligiit up the whole surface of the 
dark landscape beneath it; now turning the 
force of an adversary's argument by some falla- 
cious but unanswerable jest, accompanying the 
whole bv those fascinations of voice, look, ges- 
ture, and manner, which have made those who 
once have seen, never able to forget Brinsley 
Sheridan. 

I am not able, were I even disposed, to record 
more particularly the details of that most bril- 
liant evening of my life. On every side of me I 
heard the names of those whose fame as states- 
men, or whose repute as men of letters, was 
ringing throughout Europe; they were then, too, 
not in the easy indolence of ordinary life, but 
displaying with their utmost effort those powers 
of wit, fancy, imagination, and eloquence, which 
had won for them elsewhere their high and ex- 
alted position. The masculine understanding 
and powerful intellect of Tierney vied with the 
brilliant and dazzling conceptions of Sheridan. 
The easy bonhomie and English heartiness of Fox 
contrasted with the cutting sarcasm and sharp 
raillery of O'Kelly. While contesting the palm 
with each himself, the Prince evinced powers of 
mind and eloquent facilities of expression that, 
in any walk of life, must have made their pos- 
sessor a most distinguished man. Politics, war, 
women, literature, the turf, the navy, the opposi- 
tion, architecture, and the drama, were all dis- 
cussed with a degree of information and knowl- 
edge that proved to me how much of real ac- 
(juirements can be obtained by those whose ex- 
alted station surrounds them with the collective 
intellect of a nation. As for mvself, the time 
flew past unconsciously. So brilliant a display 
of all that was courtly and fascinating in manner, 
and all that was brightest in genius, was so novel 
to me, that I really felt like one entranced. To 
this hour, niy impression, however confused in 
details, is as vivid as though that evening were 
but yesternight; and although since that period 



I have enjoyed numerous opportunities of meet- • 
ing with the great and the gifted, yet I treasure 
the memory of that evening as by far the most 
exciting of my whole life. 

While I abstain from any mention of the many 
incidents of the evening, I cannot pass over one 
which, occurring to myself is valuable but as 
showing, by one slight and passing trail, the amia- 
ble and kind feeling of one whose memory is 
hallowed in the service. 

A little lower than myself, on the opposite side 
of the table, I perceived an old military acquaint- 
ance whom I had first met in Lisbon; he was 
then on Sir Charles Stewart's staff, and we met 
almost daily. Wishing to commend m)self to his 
recollection, I endeavored for sometime to catch 
his eye, but in vain- but at last, when 1 thought 
I had succeeded, I called to him: 

" I say, Fred, a glass of wine with you." 

When suddenly the IHike of York, who was 
speaking to Lord Hertford, turned quickly and, 
taking the decanter in his hand, replied, 

"With jjleasure, O'Malley ; what shall it be, 
my boy ?" 

I shall never forget the manly good-humor of 
his look as he sat waiting for my answer. He had 
taken my speech as addressed to himself, and con- 
cluding that, from fatigue, the no\'elty of the scene, 
my youth, &c., I was not over collected, vouchsafed 
in this kind way to receive it. 

'So,' said he as I stammered out my explan- 
ation, " I was deceived , however, don t cheat me 
out of my glass of wine. Let us have it now." 

With this little anecdote, whose truth I vouch 
for, I shall conclude More than one now living 
was a witness to it, and my only regret in the 
mention of it is my inability to convey the readi- 
ness with which he seized the moment of apparent 
difficulty to throw the protection of his kind and 
warm-hearted nature over the apparent folly of a 
boy. 

It was late when the party broke uj), and, as 1 
took my leave of the Prince, he once more ex- 
pressed himself in gracious terms towards me, and 
gave me personally an invitation to a breakfast at 
Hounslow on the following Saturday. 



CHAPTER CVII. 



THE BELL AT BRISTOL. 



On the morning after my dinner at Carlton 
House, I found my breakfast-table covered with 
cards and invitations. The news of the storming 
of Ciudad Rodrigo was publislied in all the 
morning papers, and my own humble name, in 
letters of three feet long, was exhibited in ])lacards 
throughout the city. Less to this circumstance, 
however, than to the kind and gracious notice of 
the Prince, was I indebted for the attentions which 
were shown me by every one ; and, indeed, so' 
flattering was the reception I met with, and so 
overwhelming the civility showered on me from all 
sides, that it required no small effort on my part 
not to believe myself as much a hero as they 
would make me. An eternal round of dinners. 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON, 



457' 



balls, breakfasts, and entertainments, filled up 
the entire week. 1 was included in every invit- 
ation to Carlton House, and never appeared 
without receiving from his Royal Highness the 
most striking marks of attention. Captivat- 
ing as all this undoubtedly was, and fascinating 
as I felt in being tlie lion of London, the courted 
and sought after by the high, the titled, and the 
talented of the great city of the universe, yet, amid 
all the splendor and seduction of tiiat new world, 
my heart instinctively turned from the glare and 
brilliancy of gorgeous saloons — from the soft 
looks and softer voice of beauty — from the 
words of praise, as they fell from the lips of 
those whose notice was fame itself — to my hum- 
ble home amid the mountains of the west. De- 
lighted and charmed as I felt by that tribute of 
flattery which associated my name with one of the 
most brilliant actions of my country, yet hitherto 
I had experienced no touch of home or father- 
land. England was to me as the high and power- 
ful head of my house, whose greatness and whose 
glory shed a halo far and near, from the proud- 
est to the humblest of those that call themselves 
Britons; but Ireland was the land of my birth — the 
land of my earliest ties — my dearest associations 
— the kind mother, whose breath had fanned my 
brow in infancy, and for her in my manhood my 
heart beat with every throb of filial affection. 
Need I say, then, how ardently I longed to turn 
homeward, for, independent of all else, I could 
not avoid some self-reproach on thinking what 
might be the condition of those I prized the 
most on earth, at that very moment I was en- 
gaged in all the voluptuous abandonment, and 
all tlie fascinating e.xcesses of a life of pleasure. 
I wrote several letters home, but received no an- 
swer; nor did I, in the whole round of London 
society, meet with a single person who could give 
me information of my family or my friends. The 
Easter recess had sent the different members of 
Parliament to their homes; and thus, within a 
comparatively short distance of all I cared for, 
I could learn nothing of their fate. 

The invitations of the Prince Regent, which 
were, of course, to be regarded as commands, 
still detained me in London, and I knew not in 
what manner to escape from the fresh engage- 
ments which each day heaped upon me. In my 
anxiety upon the subject, I communicated my 
wishes to a friend on the duke's staff, and the fol- 
lowing morning, as I presented myself at his levee, 
he called me towards him, and addressed me: 

"What leave have you got, Captain O'Mal- 
ley?" 

"Three months, your Royal Highness." 

" Do you desire an unattached troop? for, if 
so, an opportunity occurs just at this moment." 

" I thank you most sincerely, sir, for your 
condescension in thinking of me, but my wish is 
to join my regiment at the expiration of my 
leave." 

" Why, I thought they told me you wanted to 
spend some time in Ireland ?" 

"Only sufficient to see my friends, your Royal 
Highness. That done, I'd rather join my regi- 
ment immediately." 

"Ah! that alters the case. So then, probably, 



you'd'like to leive us at once. I see bow it is; 
you've been staying here against your will all 
this while. There, don't say a word. I'll make 
your excuses at Carlton House; and the better 
to cover your retreat, I'll emjiloy you on serv- 
ice. Here, Gordon, let Captain O'Malley have 
the despatches for Sir Henry Howard, at Cork." 
As he said this, he turned towards nie with an' 
air of affected sternness in his manner, and con- 
tinued: " I expect. Captain O'Malley, that you 
will deliver the despatches entrusted to your care 
without a moment's loss of time. You will leave 
London within an hour. 'I'he instructions for 
your journey will be sent to your hotel. And 
now," said he, again changing his voice to its 
natural tone of kindliness and courtesy — " and 
now, my boy, good-by, and a safe journey to you. 
These letters will pay your expenses, and the oc- 
casion save you all the worry of leave-taking." 

I stood confused and speechless, unable to 
utter a single word of gratitude for such unex- 
pected kindness. The duke saw at once my dif- 
ficulty, and, as he shook me warmly by the hand, 
added, in a laugliing tone. 

" Don't wait, now. You musn't forget that 
vour despatches are pressing" 

I bowed deeply, attempted a few words of ac- 
knowledgment, hesitated, blundered, and broke 
down, and at last got out of the rotni. Heaven 
knows how! and found myself running (owards 
Long's at the top of my speed. Within that 
same hour I was rattling along towards Bristol 
as fast as four posters could burn the pavement, 
thinking with ecstasy over the pleasures of my 
reception in England; but, far more than all, of 
the kindness evinced towards me by him who, in 
every feeling of his nature, and in every feature 
of his deportment, was "every inch a prince." 

However astonished I had been at the warmth 
by which I was treated in London, I was still 
less prepared for the enthusiasm which greeted 
me in every town through w hich I passed. There 
was not a village where we stopped to change 
horses whose inhabitants did not simultaneously 
pour forth to welcome me with every demonstration 
of delight. That the fact of four horses and a yel- 
low chaise should have elicited such testimonies 
of satisfaction, was somewhat difficult to con- 
ceive; and, even had the important news that I 
was the bearer of despatches been telegraphed 
from London by successive postboys, still the ex- 
traordinary excitement was unaccountable. It 
was only on reaching Bristol that I learned to 
what circumstance my ]io])ularity was owing. 
My friend Mike, in humble imitation of election 
practices, had posted a large placard on the back 
of the chaise, announcing, in letters of portentous 
length, something like the following: 

"Bloody news! Fall of Ciudad Rodrigo! Five 
thousand prisoners and two hundred pieces of 
cannon taken!" 

This veiacions and satisfactory statement, 
aided by Mike's personal exertions, and an un- 
wearied performance on the trumpet he had taken 
from the French dragoon, had roused the popu- 
lation of every hamlet, and made our journey 
from London to Bristol one scene of uproar, 
noise, and confusion. All my attempts to sup- 



458 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



press Mike's oratory or music were perfectly un- 
availing. In fact, lie had pledged my liealth so 
many times during the day — he had drunk so 
many toasts to the success of the British arms — ■ 
so many to the English nation — so many in honor 
of Ireland — and so many in honor of Mickey 
Free himself, that all respect for my authority 
was lost in his enthusiasm for my greatness, and 
his shouts became wilder, and the blasts from the 
trumpet more learful and incoherent, and finally, 
on the last stage of our journey, having exhausted 
as it were every tribute of his lungs, he seemed 
[if I were to judge by the evidence of my ears) 
to be performing something very like a hornpipe 
on the roof of the chaise. 

Happily for me there is a limit to all human 
efforts, and even /iw powers at length succumbed; 
so that, when we arrived at Bristol, I per- 
suaded him to go to bed, and I once more was 
left to tlie enjoyment of some quiet. To fill up 
the few hours which intervened before bedtime, 
I strolled into the coffee-room. The English 
look of everyone, and everything around, had 
still its charm for me, and I was contem[)lating, 
with no small admiration, that air of neatness and 
propriety so observant from the bright-faced 
clock, that ticked unvveariedly u|)on the mantle- 
piece, to the trim waiter himself, with noiseless 
step, and that mixed look of vigilance and va- 
cancy. The perfect stillness struck me, save 
when a deep voice called for "another brandy- 
and- water," and some more modestly-toned re- 
quest would utter a desire for ' more cream." 
The attention of each m.xn, absorbed in the folds 
of his voluminous newspapei scarcely deigning 
a glance at the new comer who entered, were all 
in keeping, giving, in their solemnity and gravity, 
a character of almost religious seriousness, to 
what in any other land would be a scene of riot- 
ous noise and discordant tumult. I was watching 
all these with a more than common interest, when 
the door opened, and the waiter entered with a 
large placard. He was followed by another with 
a. ladder by whose assistance he succeeded in at- 
taching the large square of paper to the wall, 
above the fireplace. Every one about rose up, 
curious to ascertain what was going forward; and 
I myself joined in the crowd around the fire. The 
first glan ;e at the annoancemant showed me 
what it meant; and it was with a strange mixture 
of shame and confusion I read: 

" ' Fall of Ciudad Rodrigo; with a full and de- 
tailed account of the storming of the great breach 
— capture of the enemy's cannon, &C., by Michael 
Free, i4ih Light Dragoons.' " 

Leaving tile many around me busied in con- 
jecturing who the aforesaid Mr. Free might be, 
and what peculiar opportunities he might have 
enjoyed for his report, I hurried from the room 
and called the waiter. 

"What's the meaning of the announcement 
you've just put up in the coffee-room? Where did 
it come from?" 

"Most important news, sir; exclusively in the 
columns of the Bristol TfUgraph, the gentleman 
has just arrived " 

" Who, pray? What gentleman?" 

" Mr. Free, sir, No. 13 — large bedroom — blue 



damask — supper for two — oysters — a devil — 
brandy-and- water — mulled port." 

" What the devil do you mean? Is th^ fellow 
at supper?" 

S;)inewhat shocked at the tone I ventured to 
assume towards the illustrious narrator, the wait- 
er merely bowed his reply. 

"Show me to his room," said I; "I should like 
to see him." 

"Follow me, if you please, sir — this way — 
what name shall I say, sir?" 

"You need not mind announcing me- — I'm an 
old acquaintance — just show nie the iccm." 

" I beg pardon, sir, but Mr. Meekins, the edi- 
tor of the Tclcgiapit, is engaged with him at 
present, and positive orders are given not to suf- 
fer any interruption." 

" No matter; do as I bid you. Is that it? Oh! 
I hear his voice. There, that will do. You may 
go down-stairs, I'll introduce myself " 

So saying, and slipping a crown into the wait- 
er's hand, I proceeded cautiously towards the 
door, and opened it stealthily. My caution was, 
however, needless; for a large screen was drawn 
across this part of ihe re cm, ccmpLtely conceal- 
ing the door; closing vhi(h Lthind n-e, I look 
my place beneath the shelter of this ambus- 
cade, determined on no account to be per- 
ceived by the parties. 

Seated in a large aim-chair, a fmcking tum- 
bler of mulled port before him. sat n-.y friend 
Mike, dressed in my full regimentals, even to 
the helmet, which, unfortunately, however, for 
the effect, he had put on back fortmost; a short 
' dudeen" graced his lip, and the tiimpet, so 
frequently alluded to, lay near him. 

Opposite him sat a short, piny, round-faced 
little gentleman, with rolling eyes and a turncd- 
up rose. Numerous sheets of paper, pens, &c , 
lay scattered about, and he evinced, by li'-s air 
and gesture, the most marked and tager atten- 
tion to Mr Free's narrative, wl.rvse frtquent in- 
terruptions caused by lie diii.k rrdihe cysters, 
were viewed with no small impatience by the 
anxious editor. 

"You must remember, captain, time's passing, 
the placards are all out; must be at press before 
one o'clock to-night, the morning edition is 
everything with us. You were at the first paral- 
lel, I think." 

" Devil a one o' me knows. Just ring that bell 
near you. Them's elegant oysters; and you're not 
taking your drop of litpior 11 tie's a toast for 

you: ' May ' whocp — raal Carlir.pford's, 

upon my conscience. See now, if I von't hit the 
little black chap up there, the first snot." 

Scarcely were the words spoken, when a little 
painted bust of Shakesjjeare fell in fragments on 
the floor, as an oyster -shell laid him low. 

A faint effort at a laugh at the eccentricities of 
his friend was all the poor editor could accom- 
plish, while Mike's triumph knew no bounds. 

" Didn't I tell you! But come now, are you 
ready? Give the pen a drink, if you won't lake 
one vourself." 

" I'm ready, quite ready," responded the ed- 
itor. 

" Faith, and it's more nor I am. See won, 




%r//^^cSr^M . J^i^r ?^///f//^^ A/j An^'/r rAwA 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



459 



here it is; The night was murthering dark; you 
could not see a stim." 

" Not see a — a what'" 

"A stim, had luck to you; don't you know 
F',nglish? Hand me the hot water. Have you 
that down yet?" 

"Yes. Pray proceed." 

"The fifth division was orthered up, bekase 
they was fighting chaps; the Eighty-eigiith was 

among them; the Rangers oh! upon niysoul, 

we must drink the Rangers. Here, devil a one 
o' me will go on till we give them all the hon- 
ors — hip — begin." 

"Hip," sighed the luckless editor, as he rose 
from his chair, obedient to the command. 

"Hurra — hurra — hurra' Well done! there's 
stuff in you yet, ould foolscap! The little bot- 
tle's empty — ring again, if ye plaze." 

" Oh, Father M.igan 

Was a beautiful man, 
But a bit of a vogue, a bit of a rogue, 

}Ie was just six feet higli 

Had a cast in his eye, 
Ai\dan illigant brogue, an illigant brogue. 

" He was born in Killamey, 
And reared up in lilarney " 

"Arrah, don't be looking miserable and disso- 
lute that way. Sure I'm only screwing myself 
up for you; besides, you can print the song av 
you like; it's a sweet tune — 'Teddy, you Gan- 
der.' '• 

" Really, Mr. Free, I see no prospect of our 
ever getting done." 

"Tlie saints in heaven forbid," interrupted 
Mike, piously; "the evening's young, and drink 
plenty. Here now, make ready!" 

The editor once more made a gesture cf prep- 
aration. 

"Well, as I was saying," resumed Mike, "it 
was pitch dark when the columns moved up, and 
a cold, raw night, with a little thin rain falling. 
Have you that down?" 

" Yes. Pray go on." 

"Well, just as it might be here, at the corner 
of the trench, I met Dr. Quill. 'They're wait- 
ing for you, Mr. Free,' says he, 'down there. 
Picton's asking for you.' ' Faitli and he must 
wait,' says I, 'for I'm terrible dry.' With that, 
he pulled out his canteen and mixed me a little 
brandy-and-water. '.^.re you taking it without a 
toast?' says Doctor Maurice. ' Never fear,' says 
I; 'here's Mary Brady— — '" 

"But, my dear sir," interposed Mr. Meekins, 
"' pray //t» remember that this is somewhat irrel- 
evant. In fifteen minutes it will be twelve 
o'clock." 

" I know it, ould boy, I know it. I see what 
you're at. You were going to observe how much 
lietter we'd be for a broiled bone." 

" Nothing of the kind, I assure you. For 
Heaven's sake, no more eating and drinking." 

" No more eating nor drinking! Why not? 
You've a nice notion of a convivial evening. 
Faith, we'll have the broiled bone sure enough, 
and, what's more, a half-gallon of tlie strongest 
punch they can make us; an' I hope that, grave 



as you are, you'll favor the company with a song." 

■' Really, Mr Free " 

■ Arrah' none of your blarney. Don't be mis- 
thering me Call me Mickey, or Mickey Free, if 
you like Lefter.'' 

" I protest," said tlie editor, with dismay, "that 
here we are two hours at work, and we haven't 
got to the foot of the great breach." 

" And wasn't the army three months and a half 
in just getting that far, with a battering train and 
mortars, and the finest troops ever were seen? 
and there you sit, a little fat creature, with your 
pen in your hand, grumbling that you can't do 
more than the wliole British army. Take care 
you don't provoke me to beat you; for I'm 
quiet till I'm roused. But, by tiie Rock o' 
Cashel " 

Ht-re he grasped the brass trumpet with an 
energv that made the editor spring from his chair. 

"For mercy sake, Mr. Fret " 

"Well, I won't; but sit down there, and don't 
be bothering me about sieges, and battles, and 
things you know nothing about." 

"I protest," rejoined Mr. Meekins, " that, had 
you not sent to my office intimating your wish to 
communicate an account of the siege, I never 
should have thought of intruding myself upon 
you. And now, since you appear indisposed to 
afford the information in question, if ) ou will 
permit me, I'll wish you a very good-night. ' 

" Faith, and so you shall, and help me to pass 
one, too; for not a step out o' that chair shall 
you take till morning. Do ye think I ?m going 
to be left here by myself, all alone? 

'"I must observe," said Mr. Meekins 

"To be sure, to be sure," said Mickey. "I see 
what you mean. You're not the best of com- 
pany, it's true; but at a pinch like this there 

now, take your liquor." 

"Once for all, sir," said the editor, "I would 
beg you to recollect that, on the faith of your 
message to me, I have announced an account of 
the storming of Ciudad Rodrito for our morning 
edition. Are you prepared, may I ask, for the 
consequences of my disappointing ten thousand 
readers?" 

" It's little I care for one of them. I never 
knew much of reading myself." 

"If you think to make a jest of me," inter- 
posed Mr. Meekins, reddening with passion 

"A jest of you! Troth it's little ftm 1 can get 
out of you; you're as tiresome a creature as ever 
I spent an evening with. See now, I told you 
before not to provoke me; we'll have a little more 
drink; ring the bell; who knows but you'll turn 
out better by-and-by?" 

As Mike rose at these words to summon the 
waiter, Mr. Meekins seized the opportunity to 
make his escape. Scarcely had he reached the 
door, when he was perceived by Mickey, who 
hurled the trumpet at him with all his force, 
while he uttered a shout that nearly left the 
poor editor lifeless with terror. This time, hap- 
pily, Mr. Free's aim failed him, and, before he 
could arrest the progress of his victim, he had 
gained the corridor, and, with one bound, cleared 
the first flight of the staircase, his pace increas- 
ing every moment as Mike's denunciations grew 



460 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



louder and louder, till at last, as he reached tlie 
street, Mr. Frec's deliglit overcame his indigna- 
tion, and he threw himself upon a chair and 
laughed immoderately. 

"Oh, may I never! if I didn't frighten the 
editor. Tlie little spalpeen couldn't eat his 
oysters and take his punch like a man. But sure 
if he didn't, there's more left for his betters." So 
saying, he filled himself a goblet and drank it off. 
" Mr. Free, we won't say much for your in- 
clinations, for maybe they are not the best; but 
here's bad luck to the fellow that doesn't think 
you good com[)any; and here," added he, again 
filling his glass — "and here's may the devil lake 
editors, and authors, and compositors, that won't 
let us alone, but must be taking our lives, and 
our songs, and our little devilments, that belongs 
to one's own family, and tell them all over the 
world. A lazy set of thieves you are, every one 
of you; spending your time inventing lies, devil 
a more or less; and here" — this lime he filled 
again—" and here's a hot corner and Kilkenny 
coals, that's half sulphur, to the villain " 

For what particular class of offenders Mike's 
penal code was now devised, I was not destined 
to learn, foi, overcome by punch and indigna- 
tion, he gave one loud whoop, and measured his 
length upon the floor Having committed him 
to the care of the waiters, from whom I learned 
more fully the particulars of his acquaintance 
with Mr. Meekins, I enjoined them, strictly, not 
to mention that I knew anything of the matter; 
and betook myself to my bed sincerely rejoicing 
that in a few hours more Mike would be again 
in that land where even his eccentricities and ex- 
cesses would be viewed with a favorable and for- 
giving eye. 



CHAPTER CVIII. 



IRELAND. 

"You'd better call your master up." said the 
skipper to Mickey Free, on the second evening 
after our departure from Bristol; "he said he'd 
like to have a look at the coast." 

The words were overheard by me, as I lay be- 
tween sleeping and waking in the cabin of the 
packet, and without waiting for a second if.vita- 
tion, I rushed upon deck. The sun Avas setting, 
and one vast surface of yellow golden light played 
upon the water, as it rippled beneath a gentle gale. 
The white foam curled at our prow, and the rush- 
ing sound told the speed we were going at. The 
little craft was staggering under everv sheet of 
her canvas, and her spars creaked as her white 
sails bent before the breeze. Before us, but to 
my landsman'.; eyes scarcely perceptible, were 
the ill-defined outlines of cloudy darkness they 
called land, and which I continued to gaze at 
with a strange sense of interest, while I heard 
tlie names of certain well-known headlands as- 
signed to apparently mere masses of fog-bank and 
vapor. 

He who has never been separated in early 
years, while yet the budding affections of his 
heart are tender shoots, from the land of his 



birth and of his home, knows nothing of the. 
throng of sensations that crowd upon him as he 
nears the shore of his country. 'I'he names, 
familiar as household words, come Mith a train 
of lung-buried thoughts; the feeling of attach- 
ment to all we call our own — that patriotism of 
the heart ■ — stirs strongly wiihin him, as the 
mingled thrills of hope and fear alternately move 
him to joy or sadness. 

Hard as are the worldly struggles between the 
daily cares of him who carves out liis own career 
and fortune, yet he has never experienced the 
darkest poverty of fate who has not felt what it 
is to be a wanderer, without a country to lay claim 
to. Of all the desolations that visit us, this is the 
gloomiest and the worst. 'I'he outcast from the 
land of his fathers, whose voice must never be 
heard within the walls where his infancy was 
nurtured, nor his step be free upon the moun- 
tains where he gambolled in his youth, this is in- 
deed wietcliedness. The instinct of country 
grows and strengthens with our years; the joys 
of early life are linked with it; the hopes of age 
point towards it; and he who knows not the thrill of 
ecstasy some well-remembered, long-lost-sight-ol 
place can bring to his heart when returning after 
years of .nbsence, is ignorant of cne of the purest 
sources of hajipiness of our nature. 

With what a jearning of the h.eart, then, did I 
look upon the dim and misty cliffs, that mighty 
framework of my island home, their stern sides 
lashed by the blue waters of the ocean, and their 
summits lost within the clouds! A\ ith what an 
easy and natural transition did my mind tnrn 
from the wild mountains and the green valleys to 
their hardy sons, who toiled beneath the burning 
sun of the Peninsula' and how, as seme twink- 
ling light of the distant shore vould catch my 
eye did I v.cnder within myself whether beside 
that hearth and board there might not sit some, 
whose thoughts were wandering over the sea be- 
side the bold steeps of El Bodon, or the death- 
strewn plain of Talavera! their numories calling 
up some trait of him who was the idol of his 
home; whose closing lids some fond mother had 
watched over; above whose peaceful slumber 
her prayers had fallen, but whose narrow bed 
was now beneath the breach of Badajos, and his 
sleep the sleep that knows not waking. 

I know not if in my sad and sorrowing spirit 1 
did not en\ y him who thus had met a soldier's 
fate — for what of promise had my own! My 
hopes of being in anyway instrumental to my ])oor 
uncle's happiness grew hourly less. His preju- 
dices were deeply rooted and of long standing; 
to have asked him to surrender any of what he 
looked upon as the prerogatives of his house and 
name, would be to risk the loss of his esteem. 
What then remained for me? Was I to watch, 
day by dav and hour by hour, the falling ruin of 
our fortunes? Was I to invohe myself in the 
petty warfare of unavailing resistance io the law? 
and could I stand aloof from my best, my truest 
mv earliest friend, and see liim, alone and un- 
aided, oppose his weak and final struggle to the 
unrelenting career of persecution? Between 
these two alternatives the former could be my 
only choice; and what a choice! 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



461 



Oh, how I thought over the wild heroism of 
the battle-field, the reckless fury of the cliarge, 
the crash, the death-cry, and the sad picture of 
the morrow, when all was jiast, and a soldier's 
glorv alone remained to shed its high halo over 
the faults and the follies of the dead. 

As night fell, the twinkling of the distant light- 
houses — some throwing a column of light from 
the very verge of the horizon, others shining 
brightly. like stars, from some lofty ]iromontory — 
marked the different outlines of the coast, and 
( onveyed to me the memory of that broken and 
wild mountain tract tliat forms the bulwark of the 
CIreen Isle against the waves of the Atlantic. 
.Mono and silently I trod the deck, now turning 
to look towards the shore, where I thought I could 
detect the position of some well-known headland, 
now straining my eyes seaward to watch some 
bright and flitting star, as it rose from or merged 
beneath the foaming water, denoting the track of 
the swift pilot-boat, or the hardy lugger of 
the fisherman; while the shrill whistle of the 
floating sea-gull was the only sound, save the 
rushing waves that broke in spray upon our 
(piarter 

What is it that so inevitably inspires sad and 
dejiressing thoughts, as we walk the deck of some 
little craft, in the silence of the niglit's dark hours? 
No sense of danger near, we hold on our course 
.swiftly and steadily, cleaving the dark waves, and 
bending gracefully beneath the freshening breeze. 
Yet still the motion which, in the bright sunshine 
of the noonday tells of joy and gladness, brings 
now no touch of pleasure to our hearts. The 
dark and frowning sky, the boundless expanse of 
gloomy water, spread like some gigantic pall 
around us, and our thoughts either turn back 
upon the saddest features of the past, or look for- 
ward to the future with a sickly hope that all may 
not be as we fear it. 

Mine were indeed of the gloomiest, and the 
selfishness alone of the thought prevented me from 
wishing that, like many another, I had fallen by 
a soldier's death on the plains of the Peninsula! 

.\s tl'ie night wore on, I wrapped myself in my 
cloak and lay down beneath the bulwark The 
whole of my past life came in review before me, 
and I thought over my first meeting with Lucy 
Dashwood; the thrill of boyish admiration glid- 
ing into love; the hopes, the fears, that stirred my 
heart; the firm resolve to merit her affection, 
which made me a soldier, Alas' how little 
thought she of him to whose whole life she had 
been a guide-star and a beacon' And, as I 
thought over the hard-fought fields, the long, 
fatiguing marches, the nights around the watcli- 
fires, and felt hoi*, in the whirl and enthusiasm 
of a soldier's life, the cares and sorrows of every- 
day existence are forgotten. I shuddered to reflect 
upon the career that might now open before me. 
To abandon, perhaps forever, the glorious path 
I had been pursuing for a life of indolence and 
weariness, while my name, that had already, by 
the chance of some fortunate circumstances, be- 
gun to be mentioned with a testimony of approval, 
should be lost in oblivion, or remembered but as 
that of one whose early promise was not borne 
out by the deeds of his manhood. 



As day broke, overcome by watching, I slept; 
but was soon awoke by the stir and bustle around 
me. The breeze had freshened, and we were 
running under a reefed mainsail and lorcsail; and, 
as tiie little craft bounded above the blue water, 
the white foam crested above lier prow, and ran 
in boiling rivulets along towards the after-deck. 
The tramp of llie seamen, the l.oar.se voice of 
the captain, the shrill cry of the sca-biids, betok- 
ened, however, nothing of dread or danger, and 
listlessly I leant upon my elbow, and asked what 
was going forward. 

" Nothing, sir; only making ready to drop our 
anchor." 

"Are we so near shore, then?" said I. 

"You've only to round that ] oint to windward, 
and have a clear run into Cork bailor." 

I sprang at once to my legs, the lar.d-fog pre- 
vented my seeing an) thing whatever, but I 
thought that in the breeze, tiesh and balmy as it 
blew, I could feel the wind oft shore. 

"At last," said I, "at last!" as 1 stepped into 
the little wherry which shot altngside of us, and 
we glided into the still basin of Cove. How I 
remember every white-walkd cotlrge, and the 
beetling cliffs, and that bold lurdland beside 
which the valley opens, with iisdaik green ■v\ cods; 
and then Spike Island. And vliat a stir is yon- 
der, early as it is; the mcn-of-var tenders seem 
alive with people, while still ihe little village is 
sunk in slumbers, r.ot a sn'ckewicaih risingfrcm 
the silent hearths; every plash of the oars in the 
calm water, as I reared ll e Isrd, eveiy chance 
word of the bronzed ard haidy fisheiman, told 
upon my heart. 1 felt it was my heme. 

" Isn't it beautiful, sir? isn't it illigant?" said a 
voice behind me, which there cculd belittle doubt 
in my detecting, alihcugh 1 hrd not seen the in- 
dividual since I left England. 

"Is not what ttauliful?" replied I, rather 
harshly, at the intenupticn of my cwn thoughts. 

" Ireland, to be sure; ard Icng life to her!" 
cried he, with a cheer, that seen found its re- 
sponsive echoes in the hearts of cur sailors, who 
seconded the sentiment with all their energy. 

" How am I lo get up to Coik, lads?" said 
I, "I am pressed for time, and must go for- 
ward." 

"We'll row your honor the whole way, av it's 
plazing to you." 

"Whv, thank you, I'd rather find seme cpiicker 
mode of proceeding." 

" Mavbe you'd have a chaise; there's an ek-- 
gant one at M'Cnssidy's." 

" Sure the blind mare s in fcal," said the bcw 
oar; " the divil a step she can go out of a walk; 
so, your honor, lake Tim Rilej's <r.i, frd \tu fl 
getup cheap Not that you care formoney; but 
he's going up at eight o'dock with two young 
ladies." 

"Oh! be-gorra," said the other, ' and so he is; 
and faix ye might do worse — they're nice cray- 
tures.'' 

"Well," said I, "your advice seems good, but 
perha])s they might object to my company" 

" I've no fear; they're always with the officers. 
Sure the Miss Dalrymples " 

'The Miss Dalrymples! — Push ahead boys; >t 



462 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



must be later than I thought; we must get tht 
chaise; I can't wait." 



Ten minutes more brought us to land. 



My arrangements were soon made, and, as my 
impatience to press forward became greater the 
nearer I drew to my destination, I lost not a 
moment. 

Tlie yellow chaise — sole glory of Cove — was 
brought forth at my request; and by good for- 
tune, four posters which had been down the pre- 
ceding evening from Cork to some gentleman's 
seat near, were about to return. These were 
also pressed into my service and just as the first 
early riser of the little village was drawing his 
curtain to take a half-closed eye glance upon the 
breaking morning, I rattled forth upon my jour- 
ney at a pace wliich, could I only iiave secured 
its continuance, must soon have terminated my 
weary way. 

Beautiful as the whole country is, I was totally 
unconscious of it; and even Mike's conversa- 
tional powers, divided as they were between my- 
self and the two postilions, were fruitless in 
arousing me from the deep pre-occupation of my 
mind by thoughts of home. 

It was, then, with some astonishment I heard 
the boy u;H)n the wheeler ask whither he should 
drive me to. 

"Tell his honor to wake up, we're in Cork 
now." 

" In Cork! impossible already!" 

" Faith, maybe so — but it's Cork sure enough." 

"Drive to the 'George;' it's not far from the 
commander-in-chief's quarters." 

" 'Tis five minutes' walk, sir; you'll be tliere 
before they're put to again." 

" Horses for FermoyI" shouted out the postil- 
ions, as we tore up to the door in a gallop. I 
sprang out, and, by tlie assistance of the waiter, 
discovered Sir Henry Howard's quarters, to 
whom my despatches were addressed. Having 
delivered them into the hands of an aide-de- 
camp, wiio sat bolt upright in his bed, rubbing 
his eyes to appear awake, I again hurried down- 
stairs, and, throwitig myself into the chaise, con- 
tinued my journey. 

" Them's beautiful streets, anyhow!" said Mike, 
" av they wasn't kept so dirty, and the houses so 
dark, and the pavement bad. That's Mr. Bea- 
mish's — that fine house there, with the brass rap- 
per and the green lamp beside it; and there's the 
hospital ; faix! and there's the place we beat the 
police, when I was here before; and the liouse 
with the sign of the Highlander is thrown down 
— and what's the big building with the stone 
posts at the door?" 

" The bank, sir," said the postilion, with a 
most deferential air, as Mike addressed him. 

" What bank, acushla?" 

"Not a one of me knows, sir; but they call it 
the bank, though it's only an empty house." 

" Cary and Moore's bank, perhaps?" said I, 
having heard that in days long past some such 
names had failed in Cork for a large amount. 

"So it is; your honor's right," cried the pos- 
tilion; while Mike, standing up on the box, and, 



menacing the house with his clenched fist, shouted 
out at the very top of the voice, 

" Oh. bad hick to your cobwebbed windows 
and iron railings! sure it's my father's son ought 
to hate the sight of you." 

"I hope, Mike, your father never trusted his 
property in such hands?" 

" I don't suspect he did, your honor; he never 
put much belief in the banks; but the house cost 
him dear enough without that." 

As I could not help feeling some curiosity in 
this matter, I pressed Mickey for an exjilanation. 

" But maybe it's not Cary and Moore's, after 
all; and I'm, maybe, cursing dacent people." 

Having reassured liis mind, by telling him that 
the reservation he made by the doubt would tell 
in their favor should lie prove mistaken, he af- 
forded me the following information: 

" When my father — liie heavens be his bed! — 
was in the ' Cork,' they put him one night on guard 
at that same big house you just passed — av it was 
the same; but, if it wasn't that, it was another; 
and it was a beautiful fine night in August, and 
the moon up, and plenty of people walking about, 
and all kinds of fun and devilment going on- 
drinking and dancing, and everything. 

"Well, my father was stuck up there, with his 
musket, to walk up and down, and not say, ' God 
save you kindly,' or the time of day, or anything, 
but just march as if he was in the barrack-yard; 
and by reason of his being the man he was, he 
didn't like it half, but kept cursing and swearing 
to himself like mad when he saw pleasant fellows 
and pretty girls going by, laughing and joking. 

" ' Good evening, Mickey,' says one; ' fine sport 
ye have all to yourself, with your long feather in 
your cap.' 

"'Arrah, look how proud he is,' says another, 
'with his head up as if he didn't see a body." 

"'Shoulder hool' cried a drunken chap, with 
a shovel in his hand. They all began laughing 
away at my father. 

" ' Let the dacent man alone,' says an ould fel- 
low in a wig; ' isn't he guarding the bank, wid all 
the money in it?' 

" ' Fai.x he isn't,' says another ' for there's none 
left.' 

"'What's that you're saying?' says my father. 

"'Just that the bank's broke, devil a more,' 
says he. 

'"And there's no goold in it?' says my father. 

" ' Divil a guinea.' 

" ' Nor silver?' 

" ' No, nor silver, nor as much as sixpence, 
either.' 

" ' Didn't ye hear, that all day yesterday, when 
the people was coming in with their notes, the 
chaps there were heating the guineas in a frying- 
pan, pretending that they were making them as 
fast as they could; and sure, when they had a 
batch red-hot they spread them out to cool; and 
what betune the hating and the cooling, and the 
burning the fingers counting them, they kept the 
bank open to three o'clock, and then they ran 
away.' 

'"Is it truth yer telling?' says my father. 

"'Sorra word o' lie in it! myself had two-and 
fourpence of their notes.' , 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



463 



"'And so they're broke,' says my father, 'and 
nothing left?' 

"' Not a brass farden.' 

"'And what am I staying here for, I wonder, 
if there's nothing to guard?' 

" ' Faix, if it isn't foi the pride of the thing ' 

" ' Oh, sorra taste.' 

'".Well, maybe for divarsion.' 

"' Nor that either." 

" ' Faix! then, you're a droll man, to spend the 
evening that way,' says he; and all the crowd— 
for there was a crowd — said the same. So with 
that my father unscrewed his bayonet, and put his 
piece on liis shoulder, and walked off to his bed 
in the barrack as peaceable as need be. But well, 
when thcv came to relieve him, wasn't there a raal 
commotion? and faith, you see, it went mighty 
hard with my father the next morning; for the 
bank was open just as usual, and my father was 
sintinced to fifty lashes, but got off with a week 
in prison, and three more, rowling a big stone in 
the barrack-yard." 

Thus chatting away, the time passed over, until 
we arrived at Fermoy. Here there was some 
little delay in procuring horses, and during the 
negotiation, Mike, who usually made himself 
master of the circumstances of every place through 
which he passed, discovered that the grocer's shop 
of the village was kept by a namesake, and possi- 
bly a relation of his own. 

"I always had a notion. Mister Charles, that I 
came from a good stock; and sure enough, here's 
'Mary Free" over the door there, and a beautiful 
place inside; full of tay and sugar, and ginger- 
bread, and glue, and coffee, and bran, pickled 
herrings, soap, and many other commodities." 

" Perhaps you'd like to claim kindred, Mike," 
said I, interrupting; "I'm sure she'd feel flattered 
to discover a relative in a Peninsular hero." 

"It's just what I'm thinking; av we were going 
to pass the evening here, I'd try if I couldn't 
make her out a second cousin at least." 

Fortune upon this occasion, seconded Mike's 
wishes, for when the horses made their appear- 
ance, I learned to my surprise that the near side 
one would not bear a saddle, and the off-sider 
could only run on his own side. In this conjunc- 
■ture, the postilion was obliged to drive from 
what, //>7v/7;/i-,? speaking, is called the perch; no 
ill-applied denomination to a piece of wood, 
which, about the thickness of one's arm, is hung 
between the two fore-springs, and serves as a 
resting-place, in which the luckless wight, weary 
of the saddle, is not sorry to repose himself. 

'What's to be done?" cried I 'There's no 
room within, my traps barely leave space for my- 
self amongst them ' 

"Sure, sir' said the postilion. '' the other gen- 
tleman can follow in the morning coach , and if any 
accident happens to yourself on the road, by reason 
of a break-down, he'll be there as soon as your- 
self." 

This, at least, was an agreeable suggestion-, and, 
as I saw it chimed with Mike's notion.?, I acceded 
at once; he came running up at the moment 

"I had a peep at her through the window 
Mister Charles, and, faix, she has a great look of 
the family." 



" Well, Mickey, I'll leave you twenty-four hours 
to cultivate the accpiaintance; and to a man like 
you the time I know is ample. Follow me by the 
morning's coach. Till then, good-by.' 

Away we rattled once more, and soon left the 
town behind us. The ^^ild mountain tract which 
stretched on either side of the road presented one 
bleak and brown surface, unrelieved by any trace 
of tillage or habitation; an apparently endless suc- 
cession of fern-clad hills lay on every side; above 
the gloomy sky of leaden, lowering aspect frowned 
darkly; the sad and wailing cry of the pewetor 
the plover was the only sound that broke the still- 
ness, and, far as the eye could reach the dreary 
waste extended. The air, too, was cold and chilly, 
it was one of those days which, in our springs, 
seemed to casta retrospective glance to^^ards the 
winter they have left behind them. The pros- 
pect was no cheering one; from heaven above or 
earth below there came no sight nor sound of 
gladness. The rich glow of the Peninsular land- 
scape was still fresh in my memory — the luxuri- 
ous verdure — the olive, the citron, and the vine — 
the fair valleys teeming with abundance — the 
mountains terraced with their vineyards — the blue 
transparent sky spreading o'er all — while the very 
air was rife with the cheering songs ol birds that 
peopled every grove What a contrast was here' 
We travelled on tor miles, but no village nor one 
human face did we see. Far in the distance a 
thin wreath ol smoke curled upwards; but it 
came Irom no hearth; it arose from one of those 
field-fires by which spendthrift husbandry culti- 
vates the ground. It was, indeed, sad; and yet, 
I know not how, it spoke more home to my heart 
than all the brilliant display and all the \oluptu- 
ous splendor I had witnessed in London. By 
degress some traces of wood made their appear- 
ance, and, as we descended the mountain towards 
Cahir, the country assumed a moi'e cultivated and 
cheerful look — patches of corn or of meadow- 
land stretched on either side, and the ^oice of 
children, and the lowing of oxen, mingled with 
the cawing of the rooks as, in dense clouds, they 
followed the ploughman's track. The changed 
features ot the prospect resembled the alternate 
phases of temperament of the dweller in the soil 
— the gloomy determination — the smiling care- 
lessness — the dark spirit of boding — the reckless 
jollity^the almost savage ferocity of purpose, 
followed by a childlike docility and a wcnianly 
softness — the grave, the gay, ihe resolute, the 
fickle — the firm, the yielding, the unsparing, and 
the tender-hearted, blending their contrarieties 
into one nature, of whose capabilities one cannot 
predicate the bounds, but to whom, by some luck- 
less fatality of fortunt?, the great rewards of life 
have been generally withheld, until one begins to 
teei that the curse of Swift was less the sarcasm 
wrung from indignant failures than the cold and 
stern prophecy o( the moralist 

But how have I fallen into this strain? Let me 
rather turn my eyes forward towards my home. 
How shall I find all there' Have his altered fortunes 
damped the warm ardor of my poor uncle's heait' 
L his smile sicklied over by sorrow? Or shall I 
hear his merry laugh, and his cheerful voice, as 
in days of yore? How I longed to take my place 



464 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



beside that hearth, and, in the same oak-chair 
where I have sat telling the bold adventures of 
a fox-chase or some long day ii])on the moors, 
speak of the scenes of my campaigning life, and 
make known to him those gallant fellows by whose 
side I have charged in battle, or sat in the bi\ouac! 
How will he glory in the soldier-like spirit and 
daring energy of Fred Power! How will he 
chuckle over the blundering earnestness and 
Irish warmth of O'Shaughnessy! How will he 
laugh at the quaint stories and quainter jests of 
Maurice Quill! And how often will he wish once 
more to be young in hand as in heart to mingle 
with such gay fellows, with no other care, no 
other sorrow to depress him, save the passing 
fortune of a soldier's life. 



CHAPTER CIX. 



THE RETURN. 



A RtJDE shock awoke me, as I lay asleep in the 
corner of the chaise; a shout followed, and the 
next moment the door was torn open, and I 
heard the postilion's voice crying to me! 

" Spring out! jump out quickly, sir!" 

A whole battery of kicks upon the front panel 
drowned the rest of his speech; but before I could 
obey his injunction, he was pitched upon the 
road, the chaise rolled over, and the pole snapped 
short in the middle, while the two horses bela- 
bored the carriage and each other with all their 
might. Managing, as well as I was able, to ex- 
tricate myself, I leaped out U])on the road, and 
by the aid of a knife, and at the cost of some 
bruises, succeeded in freeing the horses from 
their tackle. The postboy, who had escaped 
without any serious injury, labored manfully to 
aid me, blubbering the whole time upon the con- 
sequences his misfortune would bring down upon 
his head 

" Bad luck to ye!" cried he, apostrophizing the 
off-horse, a tall raw-boned beast, with a Roman 
nose, a dipped back, and a tail ragged and jagged 
like a hand-saw. "Bad luck to ye! there never 
was a good one of your color!" 

This, for the information of the " unjockeyed," 
I may add, was a species of brindled grey. 

' How did it happen, Patsey — how did it hap- 
pen, my lad ?" 

" It was the heap o' stones they left in the road 
.since last autumn; and though I riz him it it 
fairly, he dragged the ould mare over it and 
broke the pole. Oh wirra, wirra!" cried he, 
wringing his hands in an agony of grief, "sure 
there's neither hick nor grace to be had with ye 
since the day ye drew the judge down to the last 
assizes!" 

"Well! what's to be done?" 

" Sorra a bit o' me knows; the shay's ruined 
intirely, and the ould devil there knows he's con- 
quered us. Look at him there, listening to every 
word we're saying! You eternal thief! mavbeit's 
ploughing you'd like better." 

"Come, come," said I, "I his will ne\er get us 
forward. What part of the country are we in?" 



" We left Banagher about four miles behind 
us; that's Killimur you see with the smoke there 
in the hollow." 

Now, although I did not see Kilhmur (for the 
grey mist of tht; morning ])reventcd me recogniz- 
ing any object a few hundred yards distant], yet 
from the direction in which he pointed, and from 
the course of the Shannon, which I could, trace 
indistinctly, I obtained a pretty accurate notion 
of where we were. 

" Then we are not very far from Portumna?" 

"Just a pleasant walk before your breakfast." 

" And is there not a short cut to O'Malley 
Castle over that mountain?" 

Faix, and so there is; and ye can be no stran- 
ger to these parts if ye know that." 

" I have travelled it before now. Just tell me, 
is the wooden bridge standing over the little 
stream? It used to be carried away every winter, 
in my time." 

"It's just the same now. You'll have to pass 
by the tiijper ford; but it comes to the same, for 
that will bring you to the back gale of the de- 
mesne, and one way is just as short as the 
other." 

" I know it, I know it; so now, do you follow 
me with my luggage to the castle, and I'll set 
out on foot." 

So saying, I threw off my cloak, and prepared 
myself for a sharp walk of some ei^ht miles over 
the mountain. As I reached the little knoll of 
land which, overlooking the Sl':annon, affords a 
view of several miles in every direction, I stopped 
to gaze upon the scene where fvery object around 
was familiar to me from infancy. The broad, 
majestic river, sweeping in bold curves between 
the wild mountains of Connausht and the wooded 
hills and cultivated slopes of the more fertile 
Munster — the tall chimneys of many a house rose 
above the dense woods, where in my boyhood I 
had spent hours and days of happiness. One last 
look I turned towards the scene of my late cat- 
astrophe, ere 1 began to descend the mountain. 
The postboy, with the happy fatalism of his 
country, and a firm trust in the future, had estab- 
lished himself in the interior of the chaise, from 
which a blue curl of smoke wreathed upwaids 
from his pipe; the horses grazed contentedly by 
the roiidside, and, were I to judge from the evi- 
dence before me, I should say that I was the only 
member of the party inconvenienced by the ac- 
cident. A thin sleeting of rain began to fall, the 
wind blew sharply in my face, and the dark clouds 
collecting in masses above, seemed to threaten a 
storm. Without stopping for even a passing look 
at the many well-known spots about, I pressed 
rapidly on. My old experience upon the moors 
had taught me that sling trot in which, juni|)ing 
from hillock to hillock, over the boggy surface, 
you succeed in accom])lishing your journey not 
only with considerable speed, but perfectly dry- 
shod. 

By the lonely path which I travelled, it was im- 
likely I should meet any one; it was rarely trav- 
ersed except by the foot of the sportsman, or 
some stray messenger from the castle to the town 
of Banagher. Its solitude, however, was in no 
wise distasteful tome; my heart was full to burst- 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON". 



465 



ing. Each moment as I walked, some new fea- 
ture of my home presented itself before me. Now, 
it was all happiness and comfort, the scene of 
its ancient hospitable board, its warm heartli, its 
happv faces, and its ready welcome, were all be- 
fore me, and I increased my speed to the utmost, 
when suddenly a sense of sad and sorrowing 
foreboding would draw around me, and the im- 
age of my uncle's sick-bed, his worn features, his 
pallid look, his broken voice, would strike upon 
my heart, and, all the changes that poverty, deser- 
tion, and decay can bring to pass would fall upon 
my heart, and, weak and trembli.ng. I would stand 
for some moments unable to proceed. 

Oh! how many a reproachful thought came 
home to me at what I scrupled not to call to my- 
s-elf the desertion of my home. Oh! how many 
a prayer I uttered m all the fervor of devotion, 
that my selfish waywardness, and my yearning 
for amJoition, might not bring upon me, in after- 
life, years of unavailing regret! As I thought 
thus, I reached the brow of a little mountain 
ridge, beneath which, at the distance of scarcely 
nvjre than a mile, the dark woods of O'Malley 
Castle stretched before me. The house itself 
was not visible, for it was situated in a valley be- 
side the river; but there lay the whole scene of 
my boyhood, there the little creek where my boat 
was kept, and where I landed on the morning 
after my duel with Bodkin; there stretched, for 
many a mile, the large, callow meadows, where I 
trained my horses, and schooled them for the 
coming season; and far in the distance, the brown 
and rugged peak of old Scariff was lost in the 
clouds. The rain by this time had ceased, the 
wind had fallen, and an almost unnatural stillness 
prevailed around. But yet the heavy masses of 
vapor frowned ominously, and the leaden hue of 
land and water wore a gloomy and depressing as- 
pect. My impatience to get on increased every mo- 
ment, and descending the mountain at the top of my 
speed, I at length reached the little oak paling that 
skirted the wood, opened the iittle wicket, and en- 
tered the path. It was the self-same one I had 
trod in reverie and meditation the night before 1 
left my home. I remember, too, sitting down be- 
side the little well which, enclosed in a frame of 
rock, ran trickling across the Jiath, to be lost among 
the gnarled roots and fallen leaves around. Yes, 
this was the very spot. 

Overcome for the instant by my exertion and 
by my emotion, I sat down upon the stone, and 
taking off my cap, bathed my heated and throb- 
bing temples in the cold spring Refreshed at 
once, I was about to rise and press onward, when 
suddenly my attention was cauglit by a sound 
which, faint from distance, scarce struck upon 
my ear. I listened again, but all was still and 
silent, the dull plash of the river, as it broke upon 
the reedy shore, was the only sound I heard. 
Thinking it probably some mere delusion of my 
heated imagination, I rose to push forward, but 
at tlie moment a slight breeze stirred in the leaves 
around me, the light branches rustled and bent 
beneath it, and a low, moaning sound swelled up- 
wards, increasing each instant as it came: like 
the distant roar of some mighty torrent it grew 
louder as the wind bore it towards me, and now 



falling, now swelling, it burst forth into one loud; 
prolonged cry of agon v and grief. Oh, God! it was 
the dealh-wail! 1 fell upon my knees, my hands 
clasped in agony, the sweat of misery dropped off 
my brow, and with a heart bletdmg and break- 
ing, 1 prayed — I know not what. Again the ter- 
rible cry smote upon my ear, and 1 could mark 
the horrible cadences of the death-song, as the 
voices of the mourners joined in chorus. 

My suspense became too great to bear. I 
dashed madly forward, one sound still ringing in 
my ears, one horrid image before my eyes. I 
reached the garden-wall, 1 cleared the little riv- 
ulet beside the flower-garden, I traversed its beds 
(neglected and decayed), I gained the avenuie, 
taking no h&ed of the crowds before me — some 
on foot, some on horseback, others mounted upon 
the low country car, many seated in groups upon 
the grass, their heads bowed upon their bosoms, 
silent and speechless. As I neared the house, 
the whole approach was crowded with carriages 
and horsemen, at the foot of the large flight of 
steps stood the black and mournful hearse, its 
plumes nodding in the br'eeze. Whb the speed of 
madness and the recklessness of despair I tore 
my way through the thickly standing groups 
upon the steps, I could not speak, I could not 
utter Once more the frightful cry swelled up- 
wards, and in its wild notes seemed to paralyze 
me; for, with my hands upon my tem])les, I stood 
motionless and still. A heavy footfall, as of per-- 
sons marching in procession, came nearer and 
nearer, and, as the sounds without sank into 
sobs of bitterness and woe, the black pall of a 
coffin, borne on men's shoulders, appeared at 
the door, and an old man, whose grey hair floated 
in the breeze, and across whose stem features a. 
struggle for self-mastery — a kind of spasmodic 
effort— was playing, held out his hand to enforce- 
silence. His eye, lacklustre and dimmed with 
age, roved over the assembled multitude, but: 
there was no recognition in his look until at last 
he turned it on me. A slight hectic flush colored 
his pale cheek, his lip trembled, he essayed to- 
speak but could not. I sprang towards him, but, 
choked by agony, I could not u.tter; my look, 
however, spoke what my tongue could not; he 
threw his arms around me, and muttering the 
words " Poor Godfrey!" pointed to the coffin. 



CHAPTER ex. 



HOME. 

Many, many years have passed away since the- 
time I am now about to speak of, and yet I can- 
not revert, even for a moment, to the period, 
without a sad and depressing feeling at my heart. 
I'he wreck of fortune, the thwarting of ambition; 
ihe failure in enterprise, great though they be, 
are endurable evils. The neTcr-dying hope that 
youth is blessed with will find its resting-place 
still within the breast, and the baffled and beaten 
will struggle on unconquered: but for the death 
of friends, for the loss of those in whom our dear- 
est affections were centred, there is no solace; 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



the terrible " never" of the grave knows no re- 
morse, and even memory, that in our saddest 
hours can bring bright images and smiling faces 
before us, calls up here only the departed shade 
of happiness, a passing look at that Eden of our 
joys from which we are separated forever. And 
the desolation of the heart is never perfect till it 
has felt the echoes of a last farewell on earth re- 
verbsrating within it. 

Oh, with what tortures of self-reproach we think 
of all former intercourse with him that is gone! 
How would we wish to live our lives once more, 
correcting each passage of unkindness or neglect! 
How deeply do we blame ourselves for occasions 
of benefit lost, and opportunities unprofited by; 
and how unceasingly, through after-life, the 
memory of the departed recurs to us! In all the 
ties which affection and kindred weave around 
us, one vacant spot is there, unseen and unknown 
by others, which no blandishments of love, no 
caresses of friendship can fill up; although the 
rank grass and the tall weeds of the churchyard 
may close around the humble tomb, the cemetery 
of the heart is holy and sacred, pure from all the 
trouljled thotigiits and daily cares of the busy 
world. To that hallowed spot do we retire as 
into our chanilier, and when unrewarded efforts 
bring discomfiture and misery to our minds, when 
friends are false and cherished hopes are blasted, 
we think on those who never ceased to love till 
they had ceased to live; and in the lonely soli- 
tude of our affliction we call upon those who hear 
not, and may never return. 



* 
* 



Mine was a desolate hearth. I sat moodily 
down in the old oak parlor, my heart bowed 
down with grief. The noiseless steps, the mourn- 
ing garments of the old servants, the unnatural 
silence of those walls within which from my in- 
fancy the sounds of merriment and mirth had 
been familiar, the larg; old-fashioned chair where 
he was wont to sit, now placed against the wall — 
all spoke of the sad past. Yet, when some foot- 
steps would draw near, and the door would open, 
I could not repress a thrill of hope that he was 
coming; more than once I rushed to the window 
and looked out; I could have sworn I heard his 
voic .'. 

The old cob pony he used to ride was grazing 
peacefully before the door; poor Carlo, his favor- 
ite spaniel, lay stretched upon the terrace, turn- 
ing ever and anon a look towards the window, 
and then, as if wearied of watching for him who 
came not, he would utter a long, lo v. wailing crv, 
and lie down again to sleep. The rich lawn, 
decked with fieht flowers of many a hue. stretched 
away towards the river upon whose calm surface 
the white-sailed lugger scarce seemed to move; 
the sounds of a well-known Irish air came, soft- 
ened by distance, as some poor fisherman sat 
mending his net upon the bank, and the laugh of 
children floated on the breeze. Yes, they were 
happy! 

Two months had elapsed since my return 
home, how passed by me I know not; a lethargic 
stupor had settled upon me. Whole days long I 
sat at the window, looking listlessly at the tran- 



quil river, and watching the white foam as, borne 
down from the rapids, it floated lazily along. 
The count had left me soon, being called up to 
Dublin by some business, and I was utterly alone. 
The different families about called frequently to 
ask after me, and would, doubtless, have cone all 
in their power to alleviate my sorrow, and lighten 
the load of my affliction: but, with a morbid fear, 
I avoided every one, and rarely left the house 
except at nightfall, and then only to stroll by some 
lonely and deserted path. 

Life had lost its charm for me; my gratified 
ambition had ended in the blacke<:t disappoint- 
ment, and all for which 1 had labored and longed 
was only attained that I might feel it valueless. 

Of my circumstances as to fortune I knew 
nothing, and cared not more; poverty and riches 
could matter little now; all my day-dreams were 
dissipated now, and I only waited for Considine's 
return to leave Ireland forever. I had made up 
my mind, if, by any unexpected turn of fate, the 
war should cease in the Peninsula, to exchange 
into an Indian regiment. The daily association 
with objects which recalled but one image to my 
brain, and that ever accompanied by remorse cf 
conscience, gave nie not a moment's peace. My 
every thought of happiness was mixed up with 
scenes which now presented nothing but the evi- 
dences of blighted hope; to remain, then, where I 
was, would be to sink into the heartless misan- 
thropist, and I resolved that, with my sword, I 
would carve out a soldier's fortune and a soldier's 
grave. 

Considine came at last. I was sitting alone, at 
my usual post beside the window, when the 
chaise rattled up to the door; for an instant I 
started to my legs; a vague sense cf something 
like hope shot through me; the whole might be 
a dream, and he The next moment I be- 
came cold and sick, a fainlish giddiness obscured 
my sight, and, though I felt his grasp as he took 
my hand, I saw him not. 

An indistinct impression still dwells upon my 
mind of his chiding me for my weakness in thus 
giving way; of his calling upon me to assert my 
jiosition, and discharge the duties of him whose 
successor I now was. I heard him in silence; 
and, when he concluded, faintly pledging myself 
to obey him, I hurried to my room, and throw- 
ing myself upon my bed, burst into an agony of 
tears. Hitherto my pent-up sorrow had wasted 
me day by day; but the rock was now smote, 
and in that gush of misery my heart found re- 
lief. 

When I appeared the following morning, the 
count was struck witli my altered looks; a settled 
sorrow could not conceal the changes which time 
and manhood had made upon me; and as from 
a kind of fear of showing how deeply I grieved, 
I endeavored to conceal it, by degrees I was en- 
abled to converse calmly and dispassionately upon 
my fortunes. 

" Poor Godfrey," said he, " appointed me his 
sole executor a few days before it happened; he 
knew the time was drawing near, and, strange 
enough, Charley, though he heard of your return 
to England, he would not let us write. The pa- 
pers spoke of you as being at Carlton Hruse 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



4G7 



almost daily; your name appeared at every great 
festival; and, while his heart wanned at your 
brilliant success, he absolutely dreaded your 
coming home. ' Poor fel.ow,' he would say, 
'what a change for him, to leave the splendor 
and magnificence of his Prince's board for our 
meagre fare and altered fortunes! AncL then," 
he added, 'as for me — God forgive nie! I can 
go now — but how should I bear to part with him 
if he conies back to me.' And now," said the 
count, when he had concluded a detailed history 
of my dear uncle's last illness, "and now, 
Charlev, what are your plans.'" 

Briedy, and in a few words, I stated to him my 
intentions. Without placing much stress upon 
the strongest of my reasons — my distaste to what 
had once been home — I avowed my wish to join 
my regiment at once. 

He lieard me with evident impatience, and, as 
I finished, seized my arm in his strong grasp. 
''No, no, my boy, none of this; your tone of as- 
sumed composure cannot impose on Bill Consi- 
dine. You must not return to the Peninsula — at 
least not 3'et awhile; the disgust of life may be 
strong at twenty, but it's not lasting; besides, 
Charley)" — here- his voice faltered slightly — 
" /'W wishes you'll not treat lightly. Read this." 

As he spoke, he took a blotted and iil-written 
letter from his breast-pocket, and handed it to 
me. It was in my poor uncle's hand, and dated 
the very morning of his death. It ran thus: 

" Dear Bill, — Charley must never part with 
the old house, come what will; I leave too many 
ties behind for a stranger's heritage; he must live 
among my old friends, and watch, protect and 
comfort them. He has done enough for fame — 
let him now do something for affection. We 
have none of us been over good to these poor 
people; one of the name must try and save our 
credit. God bless you both! It is, perhaps, the 
last time I shall utter it. ' G. O'.M." 

I read these few and, to me, affecting lines over 
and over, forgetful of all save of him who penned 
them; when Considine, who supposed that niv 
silence was attributable to doubt and hesitation, 
called out: 

" Well, what now?" 

"I remain," said I, briefly. 

He seized me in his arms with transport, as he 
said: 

"I knew it. boy — I knew it. They told me 
you were spoiled by flattery, and your head 
turned by fortune; they said that home and 
country would weigh lightly in the balance 
against fame and glory; but I said no, I knew 
you better. I told them indignantly that I had 
nursed you on my knee; that I watched you from 
infancy to boyhood, and from boy to man; that 
he of whose stock you came had one feeling par 
amount to all, his love of his own fatherland, niid 
that you would not disgrace him. Besides, 
Charley, there's not an humble hearth for many 
a long mile around us, where, .• • wd the winter's 
blast — tempered, not excluded, by frail walls and 
])overty — there's not one such but where poor 
Godfrey's name rises each night in prayer, and 



blessings are invoked on him by those who never 
felt them themselves." 

"I'll not desert them." 

" I know you'll not, boy — I know you'll not. 
Now for the means." 

Here he entered into a long and complicated 
exposure of my dear uncle's many difiiculties; 
by which it appeared that, in order to leave the 
estate free of debt to me, he had, for years past, 
undergone severe privations. These, however — 
such is the misfortune of unguided effort — had 
but ill succeeded; and there was scarcely a farm 
on the property without its mortage. Upon the 
house and demesne a bond for three thousand 
pounds still remained; and to pay off this, Con- 
sidine advised my selling a portion of the property. 

"It's old Blake that lent the money; and, only 
a week before your uncle died, he served a no- 
tice for repayment. I never told Godfrey; it was 
no use; it could only embitter his last few hours; 
and, besides, we had six months to think of it. 
The half of that time has now elapsed, however; 
we must see to this." 

" And did Blake really make this demand, 
knowing my poor uncle's difficulties?" 

"Why, I half think he did not, for Godfrey 
was too fine a fellow ever to acknowledge any- 
thing of the sort. He had twelve sheep killed for 
the poor in Scariff, at a time when not a servant 
of the house tasted meat for niorlhs; ay, ardour 
own table, too, none of the most abundant, I as- 
sure you." 

What a picture was this! and how forcibly did 
it remind me of what I had witnessed in times 
past. Thus meditating, we returned to the house; 
and Considine, whose activity never skinil ered, 
sat down to con over the rent-roll with old Ma- 
guire the steward. 

When I joined the count in th« evening, I 
found him surrounded by maps, rent- 1 oils, sur- 
veys, and leases. He had been poring over these 
various documents, to ascertain from which por- 
tion of the property we could lest rtciuit cur 
failing finances; to judge from the embarrassed 
look and manner vith vhich he met n;e, the 
matter was one of no small difficulty, llie en- 
cumbrances upon the estate had leen incurrtd 
with an unsparing hand; and except where ^cme 
irreclaimable tract of bog or mountain rendered 
a loan impracticable, each portion of the prop- 
erty had its share of debt. 

"You can't sell Kilhintry, for Basset has above 
six thousand pounds on it already; to be sure, 
there's the Priest's Meadows — fine land and in 
good heart; but Malony was an old tenant of the 
family, and I cannot reccn mend your turning 
him over to a stranger; the widow M'Bride's 
farm is perhaps the best, after all, and it would 
certainly bring the sum we want, still, poor Mary 
was your nurse, Charley, and it would break her 
heart to do it." 

Thus, wherever we turned, some obstacle pre- 
sented itself, if not from moneyed causes, at least 
from those ties and associations which, in an at- 
tached and faithful tenantry, are sure to grow up 
between them and the owner of the soil. 

Feeling how all-ini])ortant these things were — 
endeavoring as I was to fulfil the will and work out 



468 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



the intentions of my uncle— I saw at once, 
that to sell any portion of the property must 
separate me, to a certain extent, from those who 
long looked up to our house, and who in the feu- 
dalism of the west, could ill withdraw their alle- 
giance from their own chief to swear fealty to a 
stranger. The richer tenants were those whose 
industry and habits rendered them objects of 
worth and attachment; to the poorer ones, to 
whose improvidence and whose follies, (if you 
will) their poverty was owing, I was bound by 
those ties which the ancient habit of my house 
had contracted for centuries; the bond of benefit 
conferred can be stronger than the debt of grati- 
tude itself. What was I then to do? My income 
would certainly permit of my paying the interest 
upon the several mortgages, and, still retaining 
wherewithal to live: the payment of Blake's bond 
was my only difficulty, and, small as it was, it was 
still a difficulty. 

"I have it, Charley!" said Considine; "I've 
found out the way of doing it. Blake will have 
no objection, I'm sure, to take the widow's farm 
in payment of his debt, giving you a power of re- 
demption within five years. In that time, what 
with economy — some management — perhaps," 
added he, smiling slightly — " perhaps a wife with 
money, may relieve all your embarrassments at 
once. Well, well, I know you are not thinking 
of that just now! but come, what say you to 
my plan?" 

" I know not well what to say. It seems to be 
the best; but still I have my misgivings." 

"Of course you have, my boy; nor could I 
love you if you'd part with an old and faithful 
follower without them. But, after all, she is only 
a hostage to the enemy; we'll win her back, 
Charley." 

" If you think so " 

" I do. I know it." 

" Well, then, be it so; only one thing I bargain 
— she must herself consent to this change of mas- 
ters. It will seem to her a harsh measure that 
the child she had nursed and fondled in her 
arms, should live to disunite lier from those her 
oldest attachments upon earth. We must take 
care, sir, that Blake cannot dispossess her; this 
would be too hard." 

" No, no; that we'll guard against; and now, 
Charley, with prudence and caution, we'll clear 
off every encumbrance, and O'Malley Castle 
shall yet be what it was in days of yore. Ay, boy! 
with the descendant of the old house for its 
master, and not that general — how do you call 
him? — that came down here to contest the county, 
who, with his offer of thirty thousand pounds, 
thought to uproot the oldest family of the west. 
Did I ever show you the letter we wrote him?" 

"No, sir," replied I, trembling with agitation 
as I s])oke; "you merely alluded to it in one of 
yours." 

" Look here, lad!" said he, drawing it from the 
recesses of a black leather pocket-book. " I 
took a copy of it; read that." 

The document was dated " O'Malley Castle, 
Dec. 9th." It ran thus: 

" Sir, — I have this moment learned from my 



agent, that you, or some one empowered by you for 
the purpose, made an offer of several thousand 
pounds to buy up the different mortgages upon 
my prorerty, with a subsequent intention of be- 
coming its possessor. Now, sir, I beg to tell 
you, that if your ungentlemanlike and underhand 
plot hid succeeded, you dared not darken with 
your shadow the door-sill of the house you pur- 
chased. Neither your gold nor your flattery — • 
and I hear you are rich in both — could wipe out 
from the minds and hearts of my poor tenantry 
the kindness of centuries. Be advised then, sir; 
withdraw your offer; let a Galway gentleman set- 
tle his own difficulties in his own w-ay; his troubles 
and cares are quite sufficient, without your add- 
ing to them. There can be but one mode in 
which your interference with him could be deemed 
acceptable; need I tell you, sir, who are a sol- 
dier, how that is? As I know your official duties 
are important, and as my nephew — who feels 
with me perfectly in this business — is abroad, 
I can only say that failing health and a broken 
frame shall not prevent my undertaking a jour- 
ney to England, should my doing so meet your 
wishes on this occasion. 

" I am, sir, your obedient servant, 

"Godfrey O'Malley." 

"This letter," continued Considine, "I en- 
closed in an envelopie, with the following few 
lines of my own: 

"'Count Considine presents his compliments 
to Lieutenant-Gencral Dashwood; and feeling 
that, as the friend of Mr. Godfrey O'Malley, the 
mild course pursued by that gentleman may pos- 
sibly be attributed to his suggestion, he begs to 
assure General Dashwood that the reverse was 
the case, and that he strenuouslycounselled the 
propriety of laying a horsewhip upon the gen- 
eral's shoulders, as a preliminary step in the 
transaction. 

"'Count Considine's address is No. 16, Kil- 
dare street.' " 

"Great God!" said I, "is this possible?" 

"Well may you say so, my boy; for — would 
you believe it? — after all that, he writes a long, 
l)lundering apology, protesting I know not what 
about motives of former friendship, and termin- 
ating with a civil hint that we have done with 
him forever. And of my paragrajjh he takes no 
notice; and thus ends the whole affair." 

" And with it my last hope also!" muttered I 
to myself. 

That Sir George Dashwood's intentions had 
been misconstrued and mistaken I knew perfectly 
well; that nothing but the accumulated evils of 
poverty and sickness could have induced my 
poor uncle to write such a letter I was well 
aware; but now, the mischief was accrmplislud, 
the evil was done, and nothing remained but to 
bear with patience and submission, and to en-^ 
deavorto forget what thus became irremediable. 

"Sir George Dashwood made no allusion to 
me,' sir, in his reply?" inquired I, catching at 
anything like a hope. 

" Your name never occurs i:i lis Lttcr. But 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



4C9 



you look pale, boy; all these discussions come 
too early upon you; besides, you stay too much 
at home, and take no exercise." 

So saying, Considine bustled off towards the 
stables to look after some young horses that had 
just been taken up; and I walked out alone to 
])onder over what I had heard, and meditate on 
my plans for the future. 



CHAPTER CXI. 



AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 



As I wandered on, the initation of my spirit 
gradually subsided. It was, to be sure, distress- 
ing to think over the light in which my uncle's 
letter had jdaced me before Sir George Dashwood, 
had even my reputation only with him been at 
stake; but, with my attachment to liis daughter, 
it was almost maddening. And yet there was 
nothing to be done; to disavow my participation 
would be to throw discredit upon my uncle. 
Thus were my hopes blighted; and thus, at that 
season when life was opening upon me, did I 
fe-'l careless and indifferent to everything. Had 
my military career still remained to me, that, at 
least, would have suggested scenes sufficient to 
distract me from the past; but now my days must 
be spent where every spot teemed with memories 
of by-gone happiness and joys never to come 
back again. 

My mind was, however, made up; and, without 
speaking a word to Considine, I turned home- 
ward, and sat down at my writing-table. In a 
few brief lines I informed my army agent of my 
intention of leaving the service, and desired tliat 
he would sell out for me at once. Fearing lest 
my resolutions might not be proof against the ad- 
vice and solicitation of my friends, I cautioned 
him agiinst giving my address, or any clue by 
which letters might reach me. 

This done, I addressed a short note to Mr. 
Blake, requesting to know the name of his soli- 
citor, in whose hands the bond was placed, and 
announcing my intention of immediate repayment. 

Trifling as these details were in themselves, I 
cannot help recording how completely they 
changed the whole current of my thoughts. A 
new train of interests began to S|)ring up within 
me; and where so lately the clang of the battle — 
the ardor of the march — the careless ease of the 
bivouac — had engrossed every feeling, now more 
humble and homely thoughts succeeded ; and, as 
my personal ambition had lost its stimulant, I 
turned with pleasure to those of whose fate and 
fortunes I was in some sort the guardian. Tliere 
may be many a land where the verdure blooms 
more in fragrance and in richness — where the 
cliiue breathes softer, and a brighter sky lights up 
the landscape, but there is none — I have travelled 
through many a one — where more touchmg and 
heart-bound associations are blended wiih the 
features of the soil than ih Ireland, and cold must 
be the spirit, and barren the affections of hmi who 
can dwell amid its mountains and its valleys, its 



tranquil lakes, its wooded fens, with.out feeling 
their humanizing inlluence ujjon him. Thus 
gradually new impressions and new duties suc- 
ceeded ; and, ere four months elapsed, the quiet 
monotony of my daily life healed up the wounds 
of my suffering, and, in the calm current of my 
present existence, a sense of content, if not of 
happiness, crept gently over me, and I ceased to 
long for the clash of arms and the loud blast of 
the trumpet. 

Unlike all my former habits, I completely aban- 
doned the sports of the field. He who had par- 
ticipated in them with me was no longer there , 
and the very sight of the tackle itself suggested 
sad and depressing thoughts. 

My horses I took but little pleasure in. To 
gratify the good and kind people about, I would 
walk through the stables, and make some pass- 
ing remark, as if to show some interest; but I felt 
it not. No: it was only by the totalciiange of all 
the ordinary channels of my ideas that I could bear 
up; and now my days were passed in the fields, 
either listlessly strolling along, or in watching the 
laborers as they worked. Of my neiglibors I saw 
notliing; returning their cards, when they called 
upon me, was the extent of our intercourse; and I 
had no desire for any further. As Considine had 
left me to visit friends in the south, I was quite 
alone; and for the first time in my life, felt how 
soothing can be such solitude. In each happy 
face — in every grateful look around me — I felt 
that I was fulfilling my uncle's last behest; and 
the sense of duty, so strong when it falls upon 
the heart accompanied by the sense of power, 
made my days pass rapidly away. 

It was towards the close of autumn, when I 
one morning received a letter from London, in- 
forming me that my troop had been sold, and 
the purchase-money — abo\'e four thousand pounds 
— lodged to my credit at my banker's. 

As Mr. Blake had merely answered my foimer 
note by a civil message that the matter in question 
was by no means pressing, I lost not a moment, 
when this news reached me, to despatch Mike to 
Gurt-na-Morra with a few lines, expressing my 
anxious desire to finish the transaction, and beg- 
ging of Mr. Blake to appoint a day for the pur- 
pose. 

To this application Mr. Blake's reply was, that 
he would do himself the honor of waiting upon, 
me the following day, wlun the arrangements I 
desired could be agreed upon. Kow this was 
exactly what I wished, if possible, to avoid. Of 
all my neighbors, he was the one I predetermined 
to have no intercourse with: I had not forgotten 
my last evening at his house, nor had 1 forgiven 
his conduct to my uncle. However, there was 
nothing for it but submission; the interview need 
not be a long, and it should be a last one. Thus 
resolving, I waited in p«tience for the morrow. 

I was seated at my breakfast the next morn- 
ing, conning between whiles the colunms of the 
last paper, and feeding my spaniel, who sat upon 
a large chair beside me, when the door opened, 
and (he servant announced "Mr. Blake;" and 
the instant after that gentleman bustled in, hold- 
ing out both his hands with all evidences of most 
friendly warmth, and calling out: 



470 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



"Charley O'Malley, my lad! I'm delighted to 
see you at last!" 

Now, although the distance from the door to 
the table at which I sat was not many paces, yet 
Was it quite sufficient to chill down all my re- 
Kpectable relative's ardor before he approached, 
his rapid pace became gradually a shuffle, a slide, 
and finally a dead stop; his extended arms were 
reduced to one hand, barelv advanced beyond his 
waistcoat; his voice, losing the easy confidence 
of its former tone, got husky and dry, and broke 
into a cough, and all these changes were in- 
debted to the mere fact of my reception of him 
consisting in a cold and distant bow, as I told 
the servant to place a chair and leave the 
room. 

Without any preliminary whatever, I opened 
the subject of our negotiation, expressed my re- 
gret that it should have waited so long, and my 
desire to complete it. 

Whether it was that the firm and resolute tone 
I assumed had its effect at once, or that, disap- 
pointed at the mode in which I received his ad- 
vances he wished to conclude our interview as 
soon as need be, I know not; but he speedily 
withdrew from a capacious pocket a document in 
parchment, which having spread at large upon 
the table, and having leisurely put on his specta- 
cles, he began to hum over its contents to him- 
self in an undertone. 

"Yes, sir, here it is," said he. '" 'Deed of con- 
veyance between Godfrey O'Malley, of O'Malley 
Castle, Esq., on the one part' — perhaps you'd 
like your solicitor to examine it — ' and Blake of 
Curt' — because there is no hurry, Captain 
O'Malley — ' on the other.' In fact, after all, it 
is a mere matter of form between relatives," said 
he, as I declined the intervention of a lawyer 
''I'm not in want of the money — 'all the lands 
and tenements adjoining, in trust, for the pay 
ment of the said three thousand' — thank God, 
captain, the sum is a trifle that does not incon- 
venience me; the boys are provided for, and the 
girls — the pickpockets, as I call them, ha, ha. ha' 
— not ill off neither; — ' with rights of turbary on 
the said premises' — who are most anxious to have 
the pleasure of seeing you. Indeed, I could 
scarcely keep Jane from coming over to-day 
'Sure he's my cousin,' says she: 'and what harm 
would it be if I went to see him?' Wild, good- 
natured girls, captain! And your old friend 
Matthew — you haven't forgot MattJiew? — has 
been keeping three coveys of partridge for you 
this fortnight. 'Charley,' says he — they call you 
Charley still, captain — ' shall have them, and no 
one else ' And poor Mary — she was a child when 
you were here — Mary is working a sash for you 
But I'm forgetting — I know you have so much 
business on hand -" 

" Pray, Mr. Blake, be seated I know nothing 
of any more importance than the matter before 
us. If you will permit me to give you a cheque 
for this money. The papers, I'm sure, are per- 
fectly correct." 

" If I only thought it did not inconvenience 
you " 

" Nothing of the kind, I assure you. Shall I 
say at sight, or in ten days hence?" 



" Whenever you please, captain. But it's sorry 
I am to come troubling you about such tilings, 
when I know you're thinking of other matters. 
And, as I said before, the money does not signify 
to me, the times, thank God, are good, and I've 
never been very improvident ' 

■ I think you'll find that correct." 

' Oh, to be sure it is' ^\'ell well; I'm going 
away without saying half what I intended." 

'■ Pray do not hurry yourself. I have not asked 
have you breakfasted, for I remember Galway hab- 
its too well for that. But if I might offer you a 
glass of sherry and water after your ride?" 

"Will you think me a beast if I say yes, cap- 
tain? Time was when I didn't care for a canter 
of ten or fifteen miles in the morning, no more 
than yourself; and that's no small boast; God 
forgive me, but I never see that clover field where 
you pounded the Englishman without swearing 
there never was a leap made before or since. Is 
this Mickey, captain' Faith and it's a fine, brown, 
hearty-looking chap you re grown, Mickey. 
That's mighty pleasant sherry but where would 
there be good wine if it wa.sn't here? Oh! I re- 
member now what it was I wanted. Peter — my 
son Peter, a slip •of a boy— he's only sixteen — 
well, d'you see, he's down -right deranged about 
the army, he used to see your name in the pa- 
pers every day, and that terrible business at — 
what's the name of the place? — where you rode 
on the chap's back up the breach." 

" Ciudad Rodrigo, perhaps," said I, scarcely 
able to repress a laugh. 

" Well, sir, since that, he'll hear of nothing but 
going into the army: ay, and into the dragoons 
too. Now, captain, ain't it mighty expensive in 
the dragoons?" 

" Why, no, not particularly so — at least in the 
regiment I served with," 

" I promised him I'd ask you; the boy's mad, 
that's the fact. I wish, captain, you'd just rea- 
son with him a little; he'll mind what j»w/ say, 
there's no fear of that; and you see, though I'd 
like to do what's fair, I'm not going to cut off 
tlie girls for the sake of the boys, with the bless- 
ing of Providence, they'll never be able to re- 
proach me for that. What I say is this; treat nte 
well, and I'll treat you the same. Marry the man 
my choice would pick out for you, and it's not a 
matter of a thousand or two I'll care for. There 
was Bodkin — you remember him?" said he, with a 
grin; " he proposed for Mary, but since the quar- 
rel with you, she could never bear the sight of 
him, and Alley wouldn't come down to dinner if 
he was in the house. Mary's greatly altered. I 
wish you heard her sing, ' I'd mourn the hopes 
that leave me,' queer girl she is, she was little 
more than a child when you were here, and she 
remembers you just as if it were yesterday." 

While Mr Blake ran on at (his rate, now di' 
lating upon my own maniiold virtues and accom- 
plishments, now expatiating upon the more con- 
genial theme — the fascinations of his fair daugh- 
ters, and the various merits of his sons — I could 
not help feeling how changed our relative posi- 
tion was since our last meeting, the tone of cool 
and vulgar patronage he then assumed towards 
I the unformed country lad was now converted 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



471 



into an air of fawning and deferential submission, 
still more distasteful. 

Young as I was, however, I had already seen a 
great deal of the world; my soldiering had at 
least taught me something of men, and I had 
far less difficulty in deciphering the intentions 
and objects of my wortiiy relative, than I should 
have had in the enigmatical mazes of the parch- 
ment bond of which he was the bearer. After all, 
to how very narrow an e.xtent in life are we fash- 
ioned by our own estimate of ourselves! My 
changed condition affected me but little until I 
saw how it affected others; that the position I 
occupied should seem better, now that life iiad 
lost the great stimulus of ambition, was some- 
what strange; and that flattery should pay its 
homage to the mourning coat which it would have 
refused to my soldier's garb, somewhat surjjrised 
nie; still my bettered fortunes shone only brightly 
by reflected lights; for in my own heart 1 was 
sad, spiritless, and oppressed. 

Feeling somewliat ashamed at the coldness with 
which I treated a man so much my elder, I gradu- 
ally assumed towards Mr. Blake a manner less re- 
served. He quickly availed himself of the change, 
and launched out into an eloquent (x/'osc oi my 
advantages and capabilities; the only immediate 
effect of which was to convince me that my prop- 
erty and my prospects must have been very ac- 
curately conned over and considered by that 
worthy gentleman before he could speak of the 
one or the other with such perfect knowledge. 

" When you get rid of these little encumbrances, 
your rent-roll will be close on four thousand a 
year. There's Basset, sure, by only reducing his 
interest from ten to five per cent., will give you 
a clear eight hundred per annum; let him refuse, 
and I'll advance the money. And, besides, look 
at Freney's farm; there's two hundred acres let 
for one-third of the value, and you must look to 
these things; for, you see, captain, we'll want you 
to go into Parliament; you can't help coming for- 
ward at the next election, and by the great gun 
of Athlone, we'll return you." 

Here Mr. Blake swallowed a full bumper of 
sherry, and, getting up a little false enthus- 
iasm for the moment, grasped me by both hands 
and" shook me violently; this done, like a skilful 
general, who, having fired the last shot of his 
artillery, takes care to secure his retreat, he re- 
tired towards the door, where his hat and coat 
were lying. 

"I've a hundred apologies to make for in- 
croaching upon your time; but, upon my soul 
captain, you are so agreeable, and the hours 
have passed away so pleasantly — May I never, if 
it is not one o'clock! — but you must forgive 
mi." 

My sense of justice, which showed me that the 
agreeability had been all on Mr. Blake's side, 
prevented me from acknowledging this compli- 
ment as it deserved; so I merely bowed stiffly, 
without speaking. By this time he had succeeded 
in putting on his great-coat, but still, by some 
mischance or other, the moment of his leave- 
taking was deferred; one time he buttoned it 
awry, and had to undo it all again; then, when 
it was properly adjusted, he discovered that his 



pocket-hankerchief was not available, being left 
in the inner coat pocket; to this succeeded a doubt 
as to the safety of the cheque, which instituted an- 
other search, and it was full ten minutes before 
he was completely caparisoned and ready for the 
road. 

" Good-by, captain; good-by!" said he 
warmly, yet warily, not knowing at what precise 
temperature the metal of my heart was fusible. At 
a mild heat I had been evidently unsinged, and the 
white glow of his flattery seemed only to harden 
me. The interview was now over, and, as 1 
thought sufficient had been done to convince my 
friend that the terms of distant acquaintance 
were to be the limits of our future intercourse, I 
assumed a little show of friendliness, and shook 
his hand warmly. 

" Good-by, Mr. Blake; pray present my re- 
spectful compliments to your friends. Allow me 
to ring for your horse; you are not going to have 
a shower, I hope." 

" No, no, captain, only a passing cloud," said 
he, warming up perceptibly under the influence 
of my advances, "nothing more. VVhy, what is 
it I'm forgetting now! Oh, I have it! Maybe 
I'm too bold; but sure an old friend and relation 
may take a liberty sometimes. It was just a 
little request of Mrs. Blake, as 1 was leaving 
the house." He stopped here as if to take 
soundings, and perceiving no change in my 
countenance, continued, "It was jusi to beg, 
that, in a kind and friendly way, you'd come 
over and eat your dinner with us on Sunday 
— nobody but the family, .not a soul — Mrs. 
Blake and the girls — a boiled leg of mutton- 
Matthew — a fresh trout, if we can catch one — 
plain and homely — but a hearty welcome, and a 
bottle of old claret, maybe, too! — r.h! ah! ah!" 

Before the cadence of Mr. Blake's laugh had 
died away, I ijolitel) but resolutely declined the 
proffered invitation, and, by way of setting the 
question at rest forever, gave him to under- 
stand that, from impaired health and other 
causes, I had resolved upon strictly confining 
myself to the limits of my own house and grounds, 
at least for the present. 

Mr. Blake then saluted me for the last time, 
and left the room. As he mounted his hackney, 
I could not help overhearing an abortive effort 
he made to draw Mike into something like cor- 
versation; but it proved an utter failure, and it 
was evident he deemed the man as incorrigible as 
the master. 

" A very fine young man the captain is — re- 
markable! — and it's proud I am to have him for 
a nephew!" 

So saying, he cantered down the avenue, while 
Mickey, as he looked after him, muttered be- 
tween his teeth, " And faix, it's prouder you'd 
be av he was your son-in-law!" 

Mike's soliloquy seemed to show me, in a new 
light, the meaning of my relative's manner. It 
was for the first time in my life that such a 
thought had occurred to me, and it ■was not 
without a sense of shame that I now admitted it. 

If there be something which elevates and ex- 
alts us in our esteem, tinging our hearts with 
heroism and our souls with pride, in the love and 



472 



CHARLES O'lMALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



attachment of some fair and beautiful girl, there 
is something equally humiliating in being the ob- 
ject of cold and speculative calculation to a 
match-making family. Your character studied, 
your pursuits watched, your tastes conned over, 
your very temperament inquired into — surrounded 
by snares, environed by practiced attentions — one 
eye fixed upon the registered testament of your 
relative, the other riveted upon your own caprices; 
and then those thousand little cares and kind- 
nesses which come so pleasurably upon the heart 
when the offspring of true affection, perverted as 
they are by base views and sordid interest, are 
so many shocks to the feeling and understanding. 
Like the Eastern sirocco, which seems to breathe 
of freshness and of health, and yet bears but pes- 
tilence and death upon its breezes — so these cal- 
culated and well-considered traits of affection 
only render callous and harden the heart which 
had responded warmly, openly, and abundantly 
to the true outpourings of affection. At how 
many a previously liappy hearth has the seed of 
this fatal passion planted its discord! How many 
a fair and lovely girl, with beauty and attractions 
sufficient to win all that her heart could wish of 
fondness and devotion, has, by this pernicious 
passion, become a cold, heartless, worldly co- 
quette, weighing men's cliaracters by the adven- 
titious circumstances of their birth and fortune, 
and scrutinizing the eligibility of a match with 
the practiced acumen with which a notary inves- 
tigates the solvency of a creditor. How do the 
traits of beauty, gesture, voice, and manner be- 
come converted into the commonplace and dis- 
tasteful trickery of the world ! The very hospi- 
tality of the house becomes suspect, their friend- 
ship is but fictitious; those rare and goodly gifts 
of fondness and sisterly affection which grow up 
in happier circumstances, are here but rivalry, 
envy, and ill-conceived hatred. The very ac- 
complishments which cultivate and adorn life, 
that light but graceful frieze which girds the 
temple of homely happiness, are here but the 
meditated and well-considered occasions of dis- 
play. All the bright features of womanhood, all 
the freshness of youth, and all its fascinations, 
are but like those richly colored and beautiful 
fruits, seductive to the eye and fair to look upon, 
but which within contain nothing but a core of 
■r9ttenness and decay. 

No, no; unblessed by all which makes a hearth 
a home, I may travel on my weary way through 
life — but such a one as this I will not make the 
partner of' my sorrows and my joys, come what 
will of it! 



CHAPTER CXIL 



A SURPRISE. 



From the hour of Mr. Blake's departure, my 
life was no longer molested. My declaration, 
which had evidently, under his auspices, been 
made the subject of conversation through the 
country, was at least so far successful, as it per- 
mitted me to spend my time in the way I liked 



best, and without the necessity of maintaining 
the show of intercourse, when in realitv, I kept 
up none, with the neighborhood. While thus, 
therefore, my life passed on equably and tran- 
quilly, many months glided over, and I found 
myself already a year at home, without it appear- 
ing more than a few weeks. Nothing seems so 
short in retrospect as monotony; the number,- 
the variety, the interest of the events \\hich oc- 
cupy us, making our hours pass glibly and flow- 
ingly, will still suggest to the mind the impres- 
sions of a longer period than when the daily rou- 
tine of our occupations assumes a character of 
continued uniformity. It seems to be the ameni/e 
made by hours of weariness and tedium, that, in 
looking back upon them, they appear to have 
passed rapidly over. Not that my life, at the 
period I speak of, was devoid of interest; on the 
contrary devoting myself with zeal and eamest- 
ness to the new duties of my station, I made my- 
self thoroughly acquainted with the condition of 
my property, the interests of my tenantry, their 
prospects, their hopes, their objects. Investi- 
gating them as only he can who is the cnvner of 
the soil, I endeavored to rtmedy the ancient 
vices of the land— the habits of careless, reckless 
waste, of indifference for the morrow; and, by 
instilling a feature of prudent foresight into that 
boundless confidence in the future upon vhith 
every Irishman of every rank lives and trusts, I 
succeeded at last in so far ameliorating their sit- 
uation, that a walk through my propeity, instead 
of presenting — as it at first did — a crowd of eager 
and anxious supplicants, entreating for abate- 
ments in rent, succor for their sick, and some- 
times even food itself, showed me now a happy 
and industrious people, confident in themselves, 
and firmly relying on their own resources. 

Another spring was row opening, and a feel- 
ing of calm and tranquil happiness, the result of 
my successful management of my estate, made 
my days pass pleasantly along. I was sitting at 
a late breakfast in my little library; the open 
window afforded a far and wide prospect of the 
country, blooming in all tlie promise of the 
season, while the drops of the passing shower 
still lingered upon the grass, and were sparkling 
like jewels under the bright sunshine. Masses 
of white and billowy cloud moved swiftly through 
the air, coloring the broad river with many a 
shadow as they passed. The birds sang merrily, 
the trees shook their leaves in concert, and there 
was that sense of movement in everything on 
earth and sky which gives to spring its character 
of lightness and e.xhilaration. The youth of the 
year, like the youth of our own existence, is 
beautiful in the restless activity which marks it. 
The tender flower, that seems to open as we look; 
the grass, that springs before our eyes; all speak 
of promise. The changing phases of the sky, 
like the smiles and tears of infancy, excite with- 
out weariness, and while they engage our sym- 
pathies, they fatigue not our compassion. 

Partly lost in thought as I looked upon the 
fair and varied scene before me, now turning to 
the pages of the book upon the breakfast-table, 
the hours of the morning passed quickly over, 
and it was already beyond noon. I was startled 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



473 



from my reverie by sounds wliich I could scarcely 
trust my ears to believe real. 1 listened again, 
and thought I could detect them distinctly. It 
seemed as though some one were rapidly running 
over tiie keys of a pianoforte, essaying with the 
voice to follow the notes, and sometimes striking 
two or three bold and successive chords — then a 
merry laugh would follow, and drown all other 
sounds. " What can it be?" thought I. "There 
is, to be sure, a pianoforte in the large drawing- 
room; but then, who would venture upon such a 
liberty as this.'' Besides, who is capable of it? 
There! it can be no inexperienced performer 
gave that shake; my worthy housekeeper never 
accomplished that." So saying, I jumped from 
the breakfast-table, and set off in the direction of 
the sound. A small drawing-room and the bil- 
liard-room lay between me and the large drawing- 
room; and, as I traversed them, the music grew 
gradually louder. Conjecturing that whoever h 
might be, the performance would cease on my 
entrance, I listened for a few moments before 
opening the door. Nothing could be more sin- 
gular — nothing more strange — than the effect of 
those unaccustomed sounds in that silent and 
deserted place. The character of the music, too, 
contributed not a little to this; rapidly passmg 
from grave to gay — from the melting softness of 
some plaintive air to the reckless hurry and con- 
fusion of an Irish jig — the player seemed, as it 
were, to run wild through all the floatmg fancies 
of his memory; now breakingsuddenly off m the 
saddest cadence of a song, the notes would change 
into some quaint old-fashioned crone, in which the 
singer seemed so much at home, and gave the 
queer drollery of the words that expression of 
archness so eminently the character of certain 
Irish airs. " But what the deuce is this?" said I, 
as, rattlmgover the keys with a flowing but brilliant 
finger, she — for it was unquestionably a woman 
— with a clear and sweet voice, broken by laugh- 
ter, began to sing the words of Mr. Bodkin's song. 
"The man for Galway." When she had finished 
the last verse, her hand strayed as it were, care- 
lessly across the instrument, while she herself 
gave way to a free burst of merriment: and then, 
suddenly resuming the air, she, chanted forth the 
following words, with a spirit and effect I can 
convey no idea of: 

" To live at home, 

And never roam; 
To pass his days in sighing, 

To wear sad looks, 

Read stupid books. 
And look half dead or dying; 

Not show his face. 

Nor join the cliasc. 
But dwell a hermit alway; 

Oh! Charley dear! 

To me 'tis clear. 
You're not the man for Galway." 

"You're not the man for Galway!" repeated 
she once more, while she closed the piano with a 
loud bang. 

" And why not, my dear — why not the man for 
Galway?" said I, as, bursting open the door, I 
sprang into the room. 

"Oh! it's you, is it? — at last! So I've un- 
earthed you, have I ?" 



With these words she burst ihto an immoderate 
fit of laughter, leaving me, who intended to be 
the party giving the surprise, amazed, confused, 
and speechless, in the middle of the floor. 

That my reader may sympathize a little in my 
distresses, let me present him with the /a/'/i'fl// be- 
fore me. Seated upon the piano-stool was a 
young lady of at most eighteen years, her face, 
had it not been for its expression of exuberant 
drollery and rri-ilicious fun, would have been 
downright beaiilifiil; her eyes, of the deepest 
blue, and shaded by long lashes, instead of in ■ 
dulging the character of perrsive and thoughtful 
beauty for which Nature destined them, sparkled 
with a most animated brightness; her nose, 
which, rather short, was still beautifully propor- 
tioned, gave, with her well-curled upper lip, a 
look of sauciness to the features quite bewitching, 
her hair — that brilliant auburn we see in a Ctir/u 
Dolci — fell in wild and massive curls upon her 
shoulders. Her costume was a dark-green riding- 
habit, not of the newest in its fashion, and dis- 
playing more than one rent m its careless folds, 
her hat, whip, and gloves lay on the floor beside 
her, and her whole attitude and bearing indicated 
the most perfect ease and carelessness. 

"So you are caught — taken alive!'' said she, as 
she pressed her hands upon her sides in a fresh 
burst of laughter. 

" By Jove' this is a surprise ind^^d'" said I. 
"And, pray, into whose fair hands have I fallen 
a captive.''" recovering myself a little, and assum- 
ing a half air of gallantry. 

"So you don't know me, don't you?" 

" Upon my life I do not." 

"How good! Why, I'm Baby Blake." 

"Baby Blake?' said I, thinking that a rather 
strange appellation for one whose well-developed 
proportions betokened nothing of infancy. " Baby 
Blake?" 

" To be sure; vour cousin Baby." 

"Indeed!" said I, springing forward. "Let 
me embrace my relative." 

Accepting my proffered salutation with the 
most exemplary coolness, she said: 

"Get a chair, now, and let's have a talk to- 
gether." 

"Why the devil do they call you Baby?" said 
I, still puzzled by this jialpable misnomer. 

" Because I am the youngest, and I vvas always 
the baby," replied she, adjusting her ringlets with 
a most rural coquetry. " Now, tell me something. 
Why do you live shut up here like a madman, 
and not come near us at Gurt-na-Morra?" 

" Oil! that's a long story, Baby. But, since we 
are asking questions, how did you get in here?" 

"Just through the window, my dear, and I've 
torn my habit, as you see." 

So saying, she exhibited a rent of about two 
feet long, thrusting through it a very pretty toot 
and ankle at the same time. 

" As my inhospitable customs have cost you a 
habit, you must let me make you a present of 
one." 

" No! will you though? That's a good fellow. 
Lord! I told them I knew you weren't a miser, 
that you were only odd, that's all." 

"And how did you come over. Baby?" 



474 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



"Just cantered over with little Paddy Byrne. 
I made him take all the walls and ditches we met, 
and they're scraping tlie mud off him ever since. 
I'm glad I made you laugh, Charley; they say 
you are so sad. Dear me, how thirsty I am! 
Have you any beer?" 

" To be sure, Baby. But wouldn't you like 
some luncheon?" 

"Of all tilings. Well, this is fun!" said she, 
as, taking my arm, I led her from the drawing- 
room. " They don't know where I am gone — not 
one of them; and I've a great mind not to tell 
them, if you wouldn't blab." 

" Would it be quite proper?" 

"Proper!" cried she, imitating my voice; "I 
like that! as if I was going to run away with you. 
Dear me! what a pretty house! and what nice 
pictures! Who is the old fellow up there in the 
armor?" 

" That's Sir Hildebrand O'Malley," said I, with 
some pride, in recognizing an ancestor of the 
thirteenth century. 

"And the other old fright with the wig, and 
his hands stuck in his pockets?" 

" My grandfather, Baby." 

"Lord! how ugly ha is! Why, Charley, he 
liasn't a look of you; one would think, too, he 
was angry at us. Ayj old gentleman! you don't 
like to see me leaning on cousin Charley's arm. 
That must be the luncheon; I'm sure I hear 
knives and forks rattling there." 

The old butler's astonishment was not inferior 
to my own a few minutes before, when I entered 
the dining-room with my fair cousin upon my 
arm. As I drew a chair towards the table, a 
thought struck me that possibly it might only be 
a due attention to my fair guest if I invited the 
iiousekeeper, Mrs. Magra, to favor us with her 
presence; and accordingly, in an undertone, so 
as not *o be overheard by old Simon, I said, 

" Perhaps, Baby, you'd like to have Mrs. Magra 
to keep us company?" 

" Who's she'" was the brief answer. 

"The housekeeper; a very respectable old 
matron ' 

" Is she funny?" 

'■ Funny! not a bit." 

" Oh, then, never mind her. What made you 
think of her?" 

'Why, I thought — perhaps you'd think — that 
is, people might say — in fact, I was doing a little 
bit proper on your account." 

" Oh! that was it, was it? Thank you for noth- 
ing, my dear; Baby Blake can take care of her- 
self. And now just lielp me to that wing there. 
Do you know, cousin Charley, I think you're an 
old quiz, and not half as good a fellow as you 
used to be." 

" Come, come. Baby, don't be in such a hurry 
to pronounce upon me. Let us take a glass of 
wine. Fill Miss Blake's glass, Simon." 

" Well, you may be better when one comes to 
know you. I detest sherry; no, never mind, I'll 
take it, as it's here. Charley, I'll not compli- 
ment you upon your ham; they don't know how 
to save them here. I'll give you such a receipt 
when you come over to see us. But will you 
come? that's the question." 



" How can you ask me! Don't you think I'll 
return your visit?" 

" Oh! hang your ceremony. Come and see us, 
like a good-natured fellow, that knew us since 
we plavcd together, and quarreled over our toys 
on the grass. Is that your sword up there? Did 
you hear that noise? that was thunder; there it 
comes. Look at that!" 

As she spoke, a darkness like night overspread 
the landscape; the waves of the river became 
greatly agitated, and the rain, descending in tor- 
rents, beat with tremendous force against the 
windows; clap after clap of thunder followed; the 
liglitning flashed fearfully through the gloom, and 
the wind, growing every moment stronger, drove 
the rain with redoubled violence against the 
glass. For a while we amused ourselves with 
watching the effects of the storm without; the 
poor laborers flying from their work; the drip- 
ping figures seeking shelter beneatli the trees; 
the barques; the very loaded carts themselves, 
all interested Miss Baby, whose eye roved from 
the shore to the Shannon, recognizing, with a 
practised eye, every house upon its banks, and 
every barque that rocked and pitched beneath 
the gale. 

" Well, this is pleasant to look out at," said 
she, at length, and after the storm had lasted for 
above an hour, without evincing any show of 
abatement; "but what's to become of »ief" 

Now, that was the very question I had been 
asking myself for the last twenty minutes, ■N\ith- 
out ever being able to find the answer. 

" Eh, Charley, what's to become of me?" 

" Oh, never fear; one thing's quite certain, you 
cannot leave this in such weather; the river is 
certainly impassable by this time at the ford, and 
to go by the road is out of the question; it is fully 
twelve miles. I have it, Baby; you, as I said be- 
fore, can't leave this, but I can. Now, I'll go over 
to Gurt-na-Morra, and return in the morning to 
bring you back; it will be fins by that time." 

"Well, I like your notion; you'll leave me all 
alone here to drink tea, I suppose, with your 
friend Mrs. Magra; a pleasant evening I'd have 
of it; not a bit " 

" Well, Baby, don't be cross; I only meant this 
arrangement really for your sake. I needn't 
tell you how very much I'd prefer doing the 
honors of my poor house in person." 

" Oh, I see what you mean — more propers. 
Well, well, I've a great deal to learn; but, look, 
I think it's growing lighter." 

" No, far from it; it's only that grey mass 
along the horizon that always bodes continual 
rain." 

As the prospect without had little cheering to 
look upon, we sat down beside the fire, and chat- 
ted away, forgetting very soon, in a hundred mu- 
tual recollections and inquiries, the rain and the 
wind, the thunder and the hurricane. Now and 
then, as some louder crash would resound above 
our heads, for a moment we would turn to the 
window, and comment upon the dreadful 
weather; but the next, we had forgotten all about 
it, and were deep in our confabulations. 

As for mv fair cousin, who at first was full of 
contrivances to pass the time — such ?s the 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



475 



juano; a. game at backgammon: chicken hazard; 
batile-door — she at last became mightily inter- 
ested in some of my soldiering adventures, and it 
was six o'clock ere we again thought that some 
final measure must be adopted for restoring Baby 
to her friends, or, at least, guarding against the 
consequences her simple and guileless nature 
might have involved her in. 

Mike was called into the conference, and, at 
his suggestion, it was decided that we should 
have out the phaeton, and that I should myself 
drive Miss Blake home; a plan which offered no 
other difficulties than this one, namely, that of 
above thirty horses in my stables, I had not a 
single pair which had ever been harnessed. 

This, so far from proving the obstacle I 
deemed it, seemed, on the contrary, to overwhelm 
Baby wich delight. 

" Let's have them. Come, Charley; this will 
be rare fun; we couldn't have a team of four, 
could we?" 

" Six, if you like it, my dear coz — only, who's 
to hold them? — they're young thorough-breds; 
most of them never backed; some not bitted. In 
fact, I know nothing of my stable. I say, Mike, 
is there anything fit to t-ake out?" 

"Yes, sir; there's Miss Wildespin; she's in 
training, to be sure; but we can't lielp that; and 
the brown colt they call ' Billy the Bolter;' 
they're the likeliest we have; without your honor 
would take the two chestnuts we took up last 
week; they're raal devils to go; and, if the 
tackle will hold them, they'll bring you to Mr. 
Blake's door in forty minutes." 

" I vote for the chestnuts," said Baby, slapping 
her boot with her horsewhip. 

" I move an amendment in favor of Miss 
Wildespin," said I, doubtfully. 

"He'll never do for Galway," sang Baby, lay- 
ing her whip on my shoulder with no tender 
hand; "yet you used to cross the country in 
good style when you were here before." 

"And miglit do so again, Baby." 

" Ah, no; that vile dragoon seat, with your 
long stirrup, and your heel dropped, and your 
elbow this way, and your head that! How could 
you ever screw your horse up to his fence, lifting 
him along as you came up through the heavy 
ground, and with a stroke of your hand sending 
him pop over, with his hind legs well under him?" 
Here she burst into a fit of laughter at my look 
of amazement, as with voice, gesture, and look, 
she actually dramatized the scene she described. 

By the time that I had costumed my fair friend 
in my dragoon cloak and a foraging cap, with a 
gold band around it, which was the extent of 
muffling my establishment could muster, a dis- 
tant noise without apprised us that the phaeton 
was approaching. Certainly, the mode in which 
that equipage came up to the door, might have 
inspired sentiments of fear in any heart less steeled 
against danger than my fair cousin's. The two 
blood chestnuts (for it was those Mike harnessed, 
having a groom's dislike to take a racer out of 
training) were surrounded by about twenty people: 
some at their heads; some patting them on the 
flanks; some spoking the wheels: and a few, the 
more cautious of the party, standing at a respect- 



able distance, and offering advice. The mode of 
progression %vas simply a spring, a jjlunge, a rear, 
a lounge, and a kick; and, considering it was the 
first time they ever performed together, nothing 
could be more uniform than their display; some- 
times the pole would be seen to point straight up- 
wards, like a lightning conductor, while the in- 
furiated animals appeared sparring with their fore 
legs at an imaginary enemy. Sometimes, like the 
pictures in a school-book on mythologv, they 
would seem in the act of diving, while wiih their 
hind legs they dashed tlie splash-board into frag- 
ments behind them; their eyes flashing fire, their 
nostrils distended, their flanks hea\ ing, and every 
limb trembling with passion and excitement. 

" That's what I call a rare turn-out," said Baby, 
who enjoyed the proceeding amazingly. 

"Yes, but remember," said I, "ve're not to 
have all these running foot-men the vhole way." 

" I like that near sider, with the white fetlock." 

"You're right, miss," said Mike, vho entered 
at the moment, and felt quite gratified at the criti- 
cism. " You're right, miss; it's himself can do it." 

"Come, Baby, are you ready?" 

"All right, sir," said she, touching her cap 
knowingly with her fore-finger. 

"Wm the tackle hold, Mike?" said I. 

"We'll take this with us, at any rate," pointing, 
as he spoke, to a considerable coil of rope, a ham- 
mer, and a basket of nails, he carried on his arm. 
" It's the break harness we have, and it ought to 
be strong enough; but sure, if the thunder comes 
on again, they'd smash a chain cable." 

" Now, Charley," cried Baby, " keep Iheir heads 
straight; for when they go that way, they mean 
going." 

"Well, Baby, let's start; but pray remember 
one thing. If I'm not as agreeable on thejouirty 
as I ought to be; if I don't say as many preliy 
things to my pretty coz, it's because these con- 
founded beasts will give me as much as I can do." 

" Oh yes, look after the cattle, and take another 
time for squeezing my hand. I say, Charley, you'd 
like to smoke, now, wouldn't you? if so, don't 
mind me." 

"A thousand thanks for thinking of it; but I'll 
not commit such a trespass on good breeding." 

When we reached the door, the prospect looked 
dark and dismal enough; the rain had almost 
ceased, but masses of black cloud were hurrying 
across the sky, and the low rumbling noise of a 
gathering storm crept along the ground. Our 
panting equipage, with its two mounted grooms 
behind — for, to provide against all accidents, 
Mike ordered two such to follow us — stood in 
waiting, Miss Blake's horse, held by thepmallest 
imaginable bit of boyhood, bringing up ihe rear. 

"Look at Paddy Byrne's fare," faid Baby, di- 
recting my attention to the little individual in 
question. 

Now, small as the aforesaid face was, it con- 
trived, withm its limits, to exhibit an expression 
of unqualified fear I had no time, ho^yever, to 
give a second look, when I jumjied into the 
phaeton and seized the reins. Mike sprang up 
behind at a look from me, and, without speaking 
a word, the stablemen and helpers flew right and 
left. The chestnuts, seeing all free before them. 



476 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



made one tremendous plunge, carrying the fore- 
carriage clear off the ground, and straining every 
nut, bolt, screw, and strap about us with the effort. 

"They're off, now," cried Mickey. 

"Yes, they are off, now," said Baby. "Keep 
them going " 

Notliing could be easier to follow than this 
advice; and, in fact, so little merit had I in obey- 
ing it, that I never spoke a word. Down the 
avenue we went, at the speed of lightning, the 
stones, and the water from the late rain, flying 
and splashing about us. In one series of plunges, 
agreeably diversified by a strong bang upon the 
splash-board, we reached the gate. Before I had 
time to utter a prayer for our safety, we were 
through, and fairly upon the high road. 

"Miisha, but the master's mad!" cried the old 
dame of the gate-lodge; "he wasn't out of this 
gate for a year and a half, and look now " 

Tlie rest was lost in the clear ringing laugh of 
Baby, who clajiped her hands in ecstasy and 
delight. 

"What a spanking pair they are! I suppose 
you wouldn't let me get my hand on them?" said 
she, making a gesture as if to take the reins. 

" Heaven forbid, my dear," said I; "they've 
nearly pulled my wrists off already." 

Our road, like many in the west of Ireland, lay 
through a level tract of bog; deep ditches, half 
filled with water, on either side of us, but fortun- 
ately, neither hill nor valley for several miles. 

" There's the mail," said Baby, pointing to a 
dark speck at a long distance off. 

Ere many minutes elapsed, our stretching 
gallop, for such had our pace sobered into, 
brought us up with it, and as we flew by, at top 
speed, Baby jumped to her feet, and turning a 
waggish look at our beaten rivals, burst out into 
a fit of triumphant laughter. 

Mike was correct as to time; in some few 
seconds less than forty minutes we turned into 
the avenue of Gurt-na-Morra. Tearing along 
like the very moment of their starting, the hot 
and fiery animals galloped up the approach, and 
at length came to a stop in a deep ploughed 
field, into which, fortunately for us, Mr. Blake, 
animated less by the picturesque than the pro- 
fitable, had converted his green lawn. "I'his 
check, however, was less owing to my agency 
than to that of my servants: for, dismounting in 
haste, they flew to the horses' heads, and with 
ready tact, and before I had helped my cousin 
to the ground, succeeded in unharnessing them 
from the carriage, and led them, blown and 
panting, covered with foam, and splashed with 
mud, into the space before the door. 

By this time we were joined by the whole Blake 
family, who poured forth in astonishment at our 
strange and sudden appearance. Explanation 
on my part was unnecessary, for Baby, with a volu- 
bility quite her own, gave the wliole recital in 
less than three minutes. From the moment of 
her advent to her departure, they had it all; and 
while she mingled her ridicule at my surprise, 
her praise of my luncheon, her jests at my pru- 
dence, the \vhole family joined heartily in her 
mirtli, while they welcomed, with most unequiv- 
ocal warmth, my first visit to Gurt-na-Morra. 



I confess it was with no slight gratification I 
remarked that Baby's I'isit was as much a matter 
of surprise to them as to me. Believint,-. her lo 
have gone to visit at Porturana Castle, they felt 
no uneasmess at her absence; so that, in her 
descent upon me, she was really only guided by 
her own wdful fancy, and that total absence ct 
all consciousness of wrong which makes a truly 
innocent girl the hardiest of all God's creature*;. 
I was reassured by this feeling, and satisfied 
that, whatever the intentions of the elder mem- 
bers of the Blake family, Baby was, at least, no 
participator in their plots, or sharei in their 
intrigues. 



CHAPTER CXIII. 



NEW VIEWS. 



When I found myself the next .morning at 
home, I could not help ruminating over the 
strange adventures of the preceding day, and 
felt a kind of self-reproach at the frigid manner 
in which I had hitherto treated all the Blake 
advances, contrasting so ill for me with the un- 
affected warmth and kind good-nature of their 
reception. Never alluding, even by accident, to 
my late estrangement; never, by a chance 
speech, indicating that they felt any soreness for 
the past — they talked away about the gossip of 
the country — its feuds, its dinners, its assizes, its 
balls, its garrisons — all the varied subjects of 
country life were gayly and laughingly discussed; 
and when, as I entered my own silent and de- 
serted home, and contrasted its look of melan- 
choly and gloom with the gay and merry scene I 
so lately parted from; when my echoing steps 
reverberated along the flagged hall, I thought of 
the happy family picture I left behind me, and 
could not help avowing to myself that the goods 
of fortune I possessed were but ill dispensed, 
when, in the midst of every means and ap])liance 
for comfort and happiness, I lived a solitary man, 
companionless and alone. 

I arose from breakfast a hundred times; now 
walking impatiently tcwards' the window, row 
strolling into the drawing-room. Around, on 
every side, lay scattered the prints and draw- 
ings, as Baby had thrown them carelessly upon 
the floor; her hankerchief was aho there. I took 
it up; I know not why; some lurking leaven of 
old romance ].)erhaps suggested it; but I hoped it 
might prove of delicate texture, and bespeaking 
that lady-like coquetry which so pleasantly atto- 
ciates with the sex in our minds. Alas! no. 
Nothing could be more palpably the opijositc: 
torn, and with a knot — some hint to memory — 
upon one corner, it was no aid to my careering 
fancy. And yet — and yet, what a handsome girl 
she is! how finely, how delicately formed that 
Greek outline of forehead and brow! how trans- 
parently soft that downy pink upon her cheek! 
with what varied expression those eyes can bean;! 
— ay, that they can: but confound it! there's this 
fault — their very archness — their sly malice- — 
will be interpreted by the ill-judging world to 
any but the real motive. "How like flirt!" 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



477 



will one say; "how impertinent! how ill-bred!" 
Tlie conventional stare of cold, patched and 
painted beauty, upon whose unblushingcheek no 
stray tinge of modesty has wandered, will be tol- 
erated — even admired; while the artless beam- 
ings of the soul upon the face of rural loveliness 
will be condemned without appeal. 

Such a girl may a man marry who destines his 
days to the wild west; but woe unto him! — woe 
unto him! should he migrate among the more 
civilized and less charitable coteries of our 
neigiibors. 

"Ah! here are the papers, and I was forget- 
ting. Let me see — ' Bayonne' — ay, ' march of tiie 
troops — sixth corps.' What can that be without? 
I say, Mike, who is cantering along tlie avenue?" 

" It's me, sir. I'm training the brown filly for 
Miss Mary, as your honor bid ine last night." 

"Ah, very true. Does she go quietly?" 

"Like a lamb, sir; barrin' she does give a kick 
now and then at the sheet, when it bangs against 
her legs." 

"Am I to go over with the books now, sir?" 
said a wild-looking shock-head appearing within 
the door. 

" Yes, take them over, with my compliments; 
and say I hope Miss Mary Blake has caught no 
cold." 

"You were speaking about a habit and hat, 
sir!" said Mrs. Magra, curtseying as she entered. 

"Yes, Mrs. Magra; I want your advice. Oh, 
tell Barnes I really cannot be bored about those 
eternal turnips every day of my life. And, Mike, 
I wish you'd make them look over the four-horse 
harness. I want to try those greys; they tell me 
they'll run well together. Well, Freney, more com- 
plaints, I hope? nothing but trespasses; I don't 
care, so you'd not worry me, if they eat up ever) 
blade of clover in the grounds; I'm sick of being 
bored this way. Did you say that we'd eight 
couple of good dogs? — quite enough to begin 
with. Tell Jones to ride into Banagher and look 
after that box; Bickmaster sent it from London 
two months ago, and it has been lying there ever 
since. And, Mrs. Magra, pray let the windows 
be opened, and the house well aired; that draw- 
ing-room would be all the better for new 
pa|)ering." 

These few and broken directions may serve to 
show my readers — what certainly they failed fo 
convince myself of — that a new chapter of my 
life had opened before me; and that, in propor- 
tion to the length of time my feelings had found 
neither vent nor outlet, tliey now rushed madly, 
teinpestuously into their new channels, suffering 
no impediment to arrest, no obstacle to oppose 
their current. 

Nothing can be conceived more opposite to 
my late, than my present habits now became; 
the house, the grounds, the gardens, all seemed 
to participate in the new influence which beamed 
upon myself; the stir and bustle of active life were 
everywhere perceptible; and, amid numerous prep- 
arations for the moors and the hunting-field, for 
pleasure parties upon the river, an<l fishing excur- 
sions u|i the mountains, my days were sp ent. 
The Blakes, without even for a moment pressing 
their attentions upon me, permitted \xa to go and 



come amongst them unquestioned and unasked. 
When, nearly every morning, I appeared in the 
breakfast-room, I felt exactly like a member of 
the family; the hundred little discrepancies of 
thouglit and habit which struck me forcibly at 
first looked daily less apparent; the careless in- 
attentions of my fair cousins as to dress, their 
free-and-easy boisterous manner, their very ac- 
cents, which fell so harshly on my ear, gradually 
made less and less impression, until at last, when 
a raw English ensign, just arri\ed in the neigh- 
borhood, remarked to me in confidence, "What 
devilish fine girls they were, if they were not so 
confoundedly Irish!" I could not help wondering 
what the fellow meant, and attributed the obser- 
vation more to his ignorance than to its truth. 

Papa and Mamma Blake, like prudent generals, 
so long as they saw the forces of the enemy daily 
wasting before them — so long as they could with 
impunity carry on the war at his ex]5ense — re- 
solved to risk nothing by a pitched battle. Un- 
like the Dalrymples, they could leave all to time. 

Oh! tell me not of dark eyes swimming in 
their own ethereal essence; tell me not of pout- 
ing lips, of glossy ringlets, of taper fingers, and 
well-rounded insteps; speak not to me of soft 
voices, whose seductive sounds ring sweetly in 
our hearts; preach not of those thousand womanly 
graces so dear to every man, .7nd doubly to him 
who lives apart from all their influences and their 
fascinations; neither dwell upon congenial tem- 
perament, similarity of taste, of disposition, and 
of thought; these are not the great risks a man 
runs in life. Of all the temptations, strong as 
these may be, there is one greater than them all, 
and that is — propinquity! 

Show me the man who has'ever stood this test; 
show me the man, deserving the name of such, 
who has become daily and hourly exposed to the 
breaching artillery of flashing eyes, of soft voices, 
of winning smiles, and kind speeches, and who 
hasn't felt, and that too soon too, a breach within 
the rampart of his heart. Fie may, it is true — 
nay, he will, in many cases — make a bold and 
vigorous defence; sometimes will he re-entrench 
himself within the stockades of his prudence, but, 
alas! it is only to defer the moment when he must 
lay down his arms. He may, like a wise man, 
who sees his fate inevitable, make a virtue of ne- 
cessity, and surrender at discretion; or, like a 
crafty foe, seeing his doom before him, under the 
cover of the night he mav make a sortie from the 
garrison, and nm for his life. Ignominous as 
such a course must be, it is often the only one 
left. 

But to comeback. Love, like the small-pox, is 
most dangerous when j ou take it in the natural 
way. Those made matches, which Fleaven is 
supposed to have a hand in, when placing an un- 
married gentleman's property in the neighbor- 
hood of an unmarried lady's, which destined two 
people for each other in life, because their well- 
judging friends have agreed "they'll do very 
well; they were made for each other," — these 
are the mild cases of the malady; this process of 
friendly vaccination takes out the poison of the 
disease, substituting a more harmless and less ex- 
citing affection; but the really dangerous in- 



478 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



stances are those from contact, that same propin- 
quity, that confounded tendency every man 
yields to, to fall into a railroad of habit; that is 
the risk, that is the danger. What a bore it is to 
find that tlie absence of one person, with whom 
you're in no wise in love, will spoil your morn- 
ing's canter, or your rowing party upon the 
river? How much put out are you, when she, to 
whom you always gave your arm in to dinner, 
does not make her appearance in the drawing- 
room; and your tea, too, some careless one, in- 
different to your taste, puts a lump of sugar too 

little, or cream too much, while she But no 

matter; habit has done for you what no direct 
influence of beauty could do, and, a slave to 
your own selfish indulgences, and the cultivation 
of that ease you prize so highly, you fall over 
head and ears in love. 

Now, you are not, my good reader, by any 
means to suppose that this was my case. No, 
no; I was too much what the world terms the 
"old soldier" for that. To continue my illustra- 
tion: like the fortress that has been often be- 
sieged, the sentry upon the walls keeps more vigil- 
ant watch, his ear detects the far-off clank of 
the dread artillery; he marks each parallel; he 
notes down every breaching battery; and, if he 
be captured, at least it is in fair fight. 

Such were some of my reflections as I rode 
slowly home one evening from Gurt-na-Morra. 
M.my a time, latterly, had I contrasted my o«n 
lonely and deserted hearth with the smiling 
looks, the happy faces, and the merry voices 
I had left behind me, and many a time did I 
ask myself, "Am I never to partake of a ha])- 
piness like this?" How many a man is seduced 
into matrimony frrrm this very feeling! How 
many a man whose hours have passed fleetingly 
at the pleasant tea-table, or by the warm hearth 
of some old country-house, going forth into 
the cold and cheerless night, reaches his far-off 
home only to find it dark and gloomy, joyless 
and companionless? How often has the hard- 
visaged look of liis old butler, as, with sleepy 
eyes and yawning face, he hands a bedroom 
candle, suggested thoughts of married happi- 
ness? Of the perils of propinquity 1 have al- 
ready spoken- tlie risks of contrast are also 
great. Have you never, in strolling through some 
fragrant and rich conservatory, fixed your eye 
upon a fair and lovely flower, whose blossoming 
beauty seems to give all the lustre and all the in- 
cense of the scene around ? and how have you 
thought it would adorn and grace the precincts 
of your home, diffusing fragrance on every side. 
Alas! the experiment is not always successful. 
Much of the charm and many of the fascinations 
which delight you are the result of association 
of time and of place. The lovely voice, whose, 
tones have spoken to your heart, may, like some 
instrument, be delightful in the harmony of the 
orchestra, Init, after all, prove a very middling 
performer in a duet. 

I say not this to deter men from matrimony, 
but to warn then) from a miscalculation which 
may mir their happiness. Flirtation is a very 
fine thing, but it's only a state of transition, after 
all. The tadpole existence of the lover would be 



great fun, if one was never to become a frog 
under the hands of the i)arson. I say all this dis- 
passionately and advisedly. Like the poet of ir.y 
country, for many years of my life, 

" My only bonks were woman's looks," 

and certainly I subscribed to a circulating li- 
brary. 

All this long digression may perhaps bring the 
reader to where it brought me — the very paljiable 
conviction, that, though not in love with my 
cousin Baby, I could, not tell when I might event- 
ually become so. 



CHAl'TER CXIV. 



A RECOGNITION. 



The most pleasing part about retrospect is the 
memory of our by-gone hopes. The past, how- 
ever happy, however blissful, few would wish to 
live over again; but who is there that does not 
long for, does not pine after thedav-dream which 
gilded the future — which looked ever forward to 
the time to come as to a realization of all that 
was dear to us; lightening our present cares, 
soothing our passing sorrows by that one 
thought? 

Life is marked out in periods in which, like 
stages in a journey, we rest and repose ourselves, 
casting a look, now back upon the road we have 
been travelling, now throwing a keener glance 
towards the path left us. It is at such spots as 
these remembrance ccmes full upon us, and that 
we feel how little our intentions have swayed o'lr 
career, or influenced our actions, the aspirations, 
the resolves of youth, are either locked upon as 
peurile follies, or a nr.ost distant day settled 
on for their realization. The principles vc 
fondly looked to, like our guide-stars, are dimly 
visible, not seen; the friends we cherished are 
changed and gone, the scenes themselves seem 
no longer the sunshine and the shade we loved; 
and, in fact, we are li\ing in a new world, 
where our own altered condition gives the type 
to all around us; the only link that binds us 
to the past being the same memory, that, like 
a sad curfew, tolls the twilight of our fairest 
dreams and most cherished wishes. 

That these glimpses of the by-gone season of 
our youth should be but fitful and passing — ting- 
ing, not coloring, the landscape of our life — we 
should be engaged in all the active bustle and 
turmoil of the world, surrounded by objects of 
hope, love, and smbiticn, stcnming the strong 
tide in whose fountain is fortune. 

He, however, who lives apart, a dresmy and a 
passionless existence, will find that in the past, 
more than in the future, his thoughts have fcund 
their resting-place; memory usurps the place of 
hope, and he travels through life like rne talk- 
ing onward, his eyes still turning towards some 
loved, forsaken spot, teeming with all the associa- 
tions of his happiest hours, and preserving, even 
in distance, the outline that he loved. 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



470 



Distance in time, as in space, smooths down 
all the inequalities of surface; and, as the cragged 
and rugged mountain, darkened by cliff and 
precipice, shows to the far-off traveller but some 
blue and misty mass, so the long-lost-sight-of 
hours lose all the- cares and griefs that tinged 
them; and, to our mental eye, are but objects of 
uniform loveliness and beauty; and if we do not 
think of 

" The smiles — the tears 
Of boyhood's years," 

it is because, like April showers, tliey but chequer 
the spring of our existence. 

For myself, baffled in hope at a period when 
most men but begin to feel it, I thought myself 
much older than I really was; the disap[)oint- 
ments of the world, like tlie storms of the ocean, 
impart a false sense of experience to the young 
heart, as he sails forth upon his voyage, and it is 
an easy error to mistake trials for time. 

The goods of fortune by which I was sur- 
rounded took nothing from the bitterness of my 
retrospect, on the contrary, I could not help 
feeling that every luxury of my life was bought 
by my surrender of that career which had elated 
me in my own esteem, and whicli, setting a high 
arvd noble ambition before me, taught me to be 
a man. 

To be happy, one must not only fulfil the 
duties and exactions of his station, but the sta- 
tion itself must answer to his views and aspira- 
tions in life. Now, mine did not sustain this con- 
dition, all that my life had of promise was con- 
nected with the memory of her who never could 
share my fortunes; of her for whom I had earned 
praise and hanor; becoming ambitious as the road 
to her affection, only to learn after, that my 
hopes were but a dream, and my paradise a 
wilderness. 

While thus the inglorious current of my life 
ran on, I was not indifferent to the mighty events 
the great continent of Europe was witnessing; 
the successes of the Peninsular campaign; the 
triumphant entry of the British into France; the 
downfall of Napoleon; the restoration of the 
Bfi'irbons, followed each other with the rapidity 
of the most commonplace occurrences, and in 
the few short years in which I had sprung from 
boyhood to man's estate, the whole condition 
of the world was altered. Kings deposed; great 
armies disbanded; rightful sovereigns restored 
to their dominions; banished and exiled men re- 
turned to their country, invested with rank and 
riches; and peace, in the fullest tide of its bless- 
ings, poured down upon the earth devastated and 
blood-stained. 

Years passed on, and between the careless 
abandonment to the mere amusement of the hour, 
and the darker meditation upon the past, time 
slipped away From my old friends and brother 
ofificers I heard but rarely. Power, who at first 
wrote frequently, grew gradually less and less 
communicative. Webber, who had gone to Paris 
at the peace, had written but one letter; while, 
from the rest, a few straggling lines was all I re- 
ceived. In truth be it told, my own negligence and 
inability to reply cost me this apparent neglect. 



It was a fine evening in May, when, rigging up 
a spritsail, I jumped into my yawl, and dropped 
easily down the river. The light wind gently 
curled the crested water, the trees waved gently 
and shook their branches in the breeze, and niy 
little barque, bending slightly beneath, rustled on 
her foamy track with that joyous bounding mo- 
tion so inspiriting to one's heart. The clouds 
were flying swiftly past, tinging with their shad- 
ows the mountains beneath; the Munsler shore 
glowing with a rich sunlight, showed every sheep- 
cot and every hedge-row clearly out, while the 
deep shadow of tall Scariff darkened the silent 
river where Holy Island, with its ruined churches 
and melancholy tower, were reflected in the still 
water. 

It was a thoroughly Irish landscape; the 
changeful sky; the fast-flitting shadows; the 
brilliant sunlight; the plenteous fields, the broad 
and swelling stream; the dark mountain, from 
whose brown crest a wreath of thin blue smoke 
was rising — were all there, smiling yet sadly, like 
her own sons, across whose lowering brow some 
fitful flash of fancy ever playing, dallies like sim- 
beams on a darkened stream, nor marks the depth 
that lies below. 

I sat musing over the strange harmony of na- 
ture with the temperament of a man, every phase 
of his passionate existence seeming to have its 
type in things inanimate, when a loud cheer from 
ihe land aroused me, and the words "Charley! 
cousin Charley!" came wafted over the water to 
where I lay. 

For some time I could but distinguish the faint 
outline of some figures on the shore, but, as 1 
came nearer, I recognized my fair cousin Baby, 
who, with a younger brother of some eight or 
nine years old, was taking an evening walk. 

" Do you know, Charley," said she, " the boys 
have gone over to the Castle to look for you; we 
want you particularly this evening." 

"Indeed, Bab}! Well, I fear you must make 
my excuses." 

"Then, once for aH, I will not. I know this 
is one of your sulky nioods, and I tell you frankly 
I'll not put up with them any more." 

"No, no, Baby, not so; out of spirits if you 
will, but not out of temper." 

" The distinction is much too fine for mc, if 
there be any; but there now, do be a good fel- 
low; come up with us — come up with jiic!" 

As she said this she placed her arm within 
mine. I thought too — perhaps it was but a 
thought — she jiressed me gently. I know she 
blushed and turned away her head to hide it. 

" I don't pretend to be proof to your entreaty, 
cousin Baby," said I, with half-affected gallantry, 
putting her fingers to my lips. 

"There, how can you be so foolish; look at 
William, yonder; I am sure he must have seen 
you." But William, God bless him! was bird's- 
nesting, or butterny-hunting,'or daisy-picking, cr 
something of that kind. 

Oh, ye young brothers, who, sufficiently old to 
be deemed companions and chaperons, but yet 
young enough to be regarded as having neither 
eyes nor ears, what mischief have ye to answer 
for! what a long reckoning of tender soeeches — 



480 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



of soft looks — of pressed hands, lies at your door! 
Wliat an incentive to flirtation is the wily imp 
who turns ever and anon from his careless gain- 
hols to throw his laughter-loving eyes upon you, 
railing up the mantling blush to both your 
cheeks! He seems to chronicle the hours of your 
dalliance, making your secrets known unto each 
other. We have gone through our share of flir- 
tation in this life; match-making mothers, prying 
aunts, choleric uncles, benevolent and open- 
hearted fathers, we understand to the life, and 
care no more for such man-traps than a Melton 
man, well mounted on his strong-boned thorough- 
bred, does for a four-barred ox-fence that lies be- 
fore him. Like him, we take them flying; never 
relaxing the slapping stride of our loose gallop, 
we go straight ahead, never turning aside, except 
for a laugh at those who flounder in the swamps 
we sneer at. But we confess honestly, we fear 
the little brother, the small urchin who, with 
nankeen trousers and three rows of buttons, 
performs the part of Cupid. He strikes real 
terror into our heart; he it is who, with a cunning 
wink, or sly .<;m;le, seems to confirm the soft non- 
sense we are weaving; by some slight gesture he 
seems to check off the long reckoning of our at- 
tentions, bringing us every moment nearer to the 
time when the score must be settled and the debt 
paid. He it is, who, by a memory delightfully 
oblivious of his task and his table-book, is tena- 
cious to the life of what you said to Fanny; how 
you put your head under Lucy's bonnet; he can 
imitate to perfection the way you kneeled upon 
the grass; and the wretch has learnt to smack 
his lips like a. gourmand, that he may convey an- 
other stage of your proceeding. 

Oh, for infant schools for everything under the 
age of ten! Oh, for factories for the children of 
the rich! The age of prying curiosity is from 
folir-and-a-half to nine, and Fouche himself might 
get a lesson in police from an urchin in his 
alphabet. 

I contrived soon, however, to forget the pres- 
ence of even the little brother. The night was 
falling; Baby a|)peared getting fatigued with her 
walk, for she leaned somewhat more hea\ ily upon 
my arm, and I — I cannot tell wherefore — fell 
into that train of thinking aloud, which somehow, 
upon a summer's eve, with a fair girl beside one, 
is the very nearest thing to love-making. 

"There, Charley — don't now — ah, don't! — 
(to let go my hand — they are coming down the 
avenue." 

I had scarcely time to obey the injunction, 
when Mr. Blake called out: 

'■ Well, indeed! Charley, this is really fortu- 
nate; we have got a friend to take tea with us, 
and wanted you to meet him." 

Muttering an internal prayer for something not 
exactly the welfare of the aforesaid friend, whom 
1 judged to be some Gahvay squire, I professed 
aloud the pleasure I felt in having come in so 
opportunely. 

" He wishes particularly to make your acquaint- 
ance." 

" So much the worse," thought I to my- 
self; "it rarely happens that this feeling is 
mutual." 



Evidently provoked at the little curiosity I ex- 
hibiied, Blake added, 

" He's on his way to Fermoy with a detach- 
ment," 

" Indeed! what regiment, pray?" 

" 'Ihe 28th Foot." 

"Ah! I don't know them." 

By this time we reached the steps of the hall- 
door, and, just as we did so, the door opened 
suddenly, and a tall figure in uniform presented 
himself. With one spring he seized my hand and 
nearly wrung it off. 

"Why, what," said I, "can this be? Is it 
really " 

" Sparks," said he — "your old friend Sparks, 
my boy; I've changed into the infantry, and here 
I am. Heard by chance you were in the neigh- 
borhood — met Mr. Blake, your friend here, at 
the inn, and accepted his invitation to meet you." 

Poor Sparks, albeit the difference of his cos- 
tume, was the same as ever. Having left the 
Fourteenth soon after I quitted them, he knew 
but little of their fortunes; and he himself had 
been on recruiting stations nearly tiie whole time 
since we had met before. 

While we each continued to extol the good 
fortune of the other — he mine as being no longer 
in the service, and I his for still being so — we 
learned the various changes which had hnjjpened 
to each of us during our separation. Although 
his destination was ultimately Fermoy, Portumna 
was ordered to be his present quarters; and I felt 
delighted to have once more an old companion 
within reach, to chat over former days of cam- 
paigning and nights of merriment in the Peninsula. 

Sparks soon became a constant visitor and guest 
at Gurt-na-Morra; his good temper, his easy 
habits, his simjilicity of character, rapidly enabled 
him to fall into all their ways; and, although evi- 
dently not what Baby would call "the man for 
Gahvay," he endeavored with all his might to 
please every one, and certainly succeeded to a; 
considerable extent. 

Baby alone seemed to take pleasure in torment- 
ing the ])Oor sub. Long before she met with him, 
having heard much from me of his exploits abroad, 
she was continually bringing up seme anecdote cf 
liis unhappy loves or misplaced passions; which 
he evidently smarted under the more, from the 
circumstance that he appeared rather inclined to 
like my fair cousin. 

As she continued this for some time, I remarked 
that Sparks, who at first was all gayety and high 
spirits, grew gradually more depressed and dis- 
pirited. I became convinced that the poor fellow 
was in love; very little management on my part 
was necessary to obtain his confession; and, ac- 
cordingly, the same evening, the thought first 
struck me, as we were riding slowly home towards 
O'Malley Castle, I touched at first generally up- 
on the merits of the Blakes, their hospitality, 
&c: then diverged to the accomplishments and 
perfections of the girls; and, lastly. Baby herself, 
in all form, came u]-) for sentence. 

"Ah, yes!" said Sparks, with a deep sigh, " it 
is quite as you say; she is a lovely girl; and that 
liveliness in her character, that elasticity in her 
temperament, chastened down as it might be by 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



481 



the feeling of respect for the man she loved! I 
say, Charley, is it a very long attachment of yours?" 

"A long attachment of mine? Why, my dear 
Sparks, you can't suppose that there is anything 
betu-een us! I pledge you my word most faith- 
, fully." 

' "Oh, no, don't tell me that; what good can 
there be in mystifying me?" 

"I have no such intention, believe me. My 
cousin Baby, however I like and admire her, has 
no other place in my affection than a very charm- 
ing girl, who has lightened a great many dreary 
and tiresome hours, and made my banishment 
from the world less irksome than I should have 
found it without her." 

"And you are really not in love?" 

" Not a bit of it." 

" Nor going to marry her either?" 

" Not the least notion of it! — a fact. Baby and 
I are excellent friends, for the very reason that 
we were nevei lovers; we have had no pc/its Jeu.x 
of fallings-out and makings-up; no hide-and-seek 
trials of affected indifference and real disappoint- 
ments; no secrets, no griefs, no grudges; neitlier 
quarrels nor keepsakes. In fact, we are capital 
cousins; quizzing every one for our own amuse- 
ment; ridmg, walking, boating together; in fact, 
doing and thinking of everything save sighs and 
declarations; always happy to meet, and never 
broken-hearted when we parted. And I can 
only add, as a proof of my sincerity, that, if you 
feel as I suspect you do from your questions, I'll 
be your ambassador to the court of Gurt-na-Morra 
with sincere pleasure." 

" Will you really? — Will you, indeed, Charley, 
do this for me? — Will you strengthen my wishes 
by your aid, and give me all your influence with 
the family?" 

I could scarcely help smiling at Poor Sparks's 
eagerness, or the unwarrantable value he put upon 
my alliance, in a case where his own unassisted 
efforts did not threaten much failure." 

" I repeat it. Sparks, I'll make a proposal for 
you in all form, aided and abetted by everything 
recommendatory and laudatory I can think of; 
I'll talk ot you as a Peninsular of no small note 
and promise; and observe rigid silence about 
your Welsh flirtation and your Spanish elope- 
ment." 

" You'll not blab about the Dalrymples, I 
hope?" 

"Trust me; I only hope you will be always 
equally discreet; but now — \v\\-\\ shall it be? 
—Should you like to consider the matter more'" 

"Oh, no' nothing of the kind, let it be to-mor- 
row, at once, if I am to fail; even that, any thing's 
better than suspense." 

"Well then, to-morrow be it," said I. 

So I wished him a good-night, and a stout 
heart to bear his fortune withal. 



CHAPTER CXV. 

A MISTAKE. 

I ORDERED my horses at an early hour; and 



long before Sparks — lover that he was — had 
opened his eyes to the light, was already on my way 
towards Gurt-na-Morra. Several miles slipped 
away before I well determined howl should open 
my negotiations; whether to papa Blake, in the 
first instance, or to madame, to whose peculiar 
province these secrets of the home department 
belonged; or why not at once to Baby? because, 
after all, with her it rested finally to accept or re- 
fuse. To address myself to the heads of the de- 
partment seemed the more formal course; and, as 
1 was acting entirely as an " Envoy Extraordin- 
ary," I deemed this the fitting mode of proceeding. 

It was exactly eight o'clock as I drove up. to 
the door. Mr Blake was standing at the c]:>en 
window of the breakfast-room, sniffing the fresh 
air of the morning. The Blake mother was busily 
engaged with the economy of the lea-table; a very 
simple style of morning costume, and a nightcap 
with a flounce like a petticoat, marking her unaf- 
fected toilette. Above stairs, more than one 
head en papillate took a furtive ])eep between the 
curtains; and the butler of the family, in cor- 
duroys and a fur cap, was w^eeding turnips in the 
lawn before the door, 

Mrs. Blake had barely time to take a Inirried 
departure, when her husband came out upon the 
steps to bid me welcome. 'I'here is no physiog- 
nomist like your father of a family, or your mother 
With marriageable daughters. Lavater was nothing 
to them, in reading the secret sjjrings of action- — • 
the hidden sources of all character. Had there 
been a good respectable bump allotted by Spurz- 
heim to " honorable intentions," the matter had 
been all fair and easy — the very first salute of the 
gentleman would have pronounced upon his 
views; but, alas! no such guide is forthcoming; 
and the science, as it now exists, is enveloped in 
doubt and difficulty. The gay, laughing teni]iera- 
ment of some, the dark and serious composure 
of others; the cautious and reserved, the open 
and the candid, the witty, the sententious, the 
clever, the dull, the prudent, the reckless — in a 
word, every variety which the innumerable hues 
of character imprint upon the human face divine 
are their study. Their convictions are the slow 
and patient fruits of intense observation and great 
logical accuracy Carefully noting down eveiy 
lineament and feature — their change, their action, 
and their development — they track a lurking mo- 
tive with the scent of a bloodhound, and run 
down a growing passion with an unrelenting speed. 
I have been in the witness-box, exposed to the 
licensed badgering and privileged impertinence 
of a lawyer, winked, leered, frowned, and sneered 
at with all the long-practised tact of a nisi prhis 
torturer, I have stood before the cold, fish-like, 
but searching eye of a prefect of police, as he 
compared my passport with my person, and 
thought he could detect a discrepancy in both: 
but I never felt the same sense of total exposure 
as when glanced at by the half cautious, half 
prying look of a worthy father or mother, in a 
family where there are daughters to marry, and 
"nobody coming to woo." 

"You're early, Charley," said Mr. Blake, with 
an affected mixture of carelessness and warmth. 
" You have not had breakfast?" 



482 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



" No, sir. I have come to claim a part of yours; 
and, if I mistake not, you seem a little later than 
usual." 

" Not more than a few minutes. The girls will 
be down presently; they're early risers, Charley; 
good habits are just as easy as bad ones; and, the 
Lord be praised! my girls were never brought up 
with any other." 

"I am well aware of it, sir; and, indeed, if I 
may be permitted to take advantage of the a propos, 
it was on the subject of one of your daughters 
that I wished to speak to you this morning, and 
which brought me over at this uncivilized hour, 
hoping to find you alone." 

Mr. Blake's look for a moment was one of tri- 
umphant satisfaction; it was but a glance, how- 
ever, and repressed the very instant after, as he 
said, with a well got-up indifference, 

"Just step with me into the study, and we're 
sure not to be interrupted." 

Now, although I have little time or space for 
such dallying, I cannot help dwelling for a mo- 
ment upon the aspect of what Mr. Blake digni- 
fied with the name of his study. It was a small 
apartment with one window, the panes of which, 
independent of all aid from a curtain, tempered 
the daylight through the medium of cobwebs, dust, 
and the ill-trained branches of some wall-tree 
without. 

Three oak chairs and a small table were the 
only articles of furniture, while around, on all 
sides, lay the disjecta membra of Mr. Blake's hunt- 
ing, fishing, shooting, and coursing equipments — 
old top boots, driving whips, odd sjiurs, a racing 
saddle, a blunderbuss, the helmet of the Galway 
Light Horse, a salmon net, a large map of the 
county with a marginal inde.t to several mort- 
gages marked with a cross, a stable lantern, the 
rudder of a boat, and several other articles rep- 
resentative of his daily associations; but not one 
book, save an odd volume of Watty Co.x's Maga- 
zine, whose pages seemed as inuch the receptacle 
of brown hackles for trout-fishing as the resource 
of literary leisure. 

" Here we'll be quite cosey, and to ourselves," 
said Mr. Blake, as, placing a chair for me, he sat 
down himself, with the air of a man resolved to 
assist, by advice and counsel, the dilemma of 
some dear friend. 

After a few preliminary observations, which, 
like a breathing canter, before a race, serves to 
get your courage up, and settle you well in your 
seat, I opened my negotiation by some very broad 
and sweeping truism about the misfortunes of a 
bachelor existence, the discomforts of his posi- 
tion, his want of home and happiness, the neces- 
sity for his one day thinking seriously about mar- 
riage; it being in a measure almost as inevitable 
a termination of the free-and-easy career of his 
single life as transportation for seven years is to 
that of a poacher. " You cannot go on, sir," 
said I, "trespassing forever upon your neighbors' 
preserves; you must be apprehended sooner or 
later; therefore, I think, the better way is to take 
out a license." 

Never was a small sally of wit more thoroughly 
successful. Mr. Blake laughed till he cried, and, 
when he had done, wiped his eyes with a snuffy 



handkerchief, and cried till he laughed again. 
As, somehow, I could not conceal from myself a 
suspicion as to the sincerity of my friend's mirth, 
I merely consoled myself with the French adage, 
that "he laughs best who laughs last;" and went 
on: 

" It will not be deemed surprising, sir, that a 
man should come to the discovery I have just 
mentioned much more rapidly by having enjoyed 
the pleasure of intimacy with your family; not 
only by the example of perfect domestic happi- 
ness presented to him, but by the prospect held 
out that a heritage of the fair gifts which adorn 
and grace a married life, may reasonably be looked 
for among the daughters of those themselves the 
realization of conjugal felicity." 

Here was a canter, with a vengeance; and as I 
felt blown, I slackened my pace, coughed, and 
resumed: 

" Miss Mary Blake, sir, is, then, the object of 
my present communication; she it is who has 
made an existence that seemed fair and pleasura- 
ble before, appear blank and unprofitable with- 
out her. I have, therefore, to come at once to 
the point, visited you this morning, formally to 
ask her hand in marriage; her fortune, I may ob- 
serve at once, is perfectly immaterial — a matter 
of no consequence (so Mr. Blake thought also); 
a competence fully equal to every reasonable no- 
tion of expenditure- " 

" There — there; don't — don't," said Mr. Blake, 
wiping his eyes, with a sob like a hiccup; " don't 
speak of money. I know what you would say; a 
handsome settlement — a well-secured jointure, 
and all that. Yes, yes, I feel it all." 

" Why, yes, sir, I believe I may add, that every- 
thing in this respect will answer your expecta- 
tion." 

" Of course; to be sure. My poor, dear Baby! 
How to do without her, that's the rub. You 
don't know, O'Malley, what that girl is to me — 
you can't know it; you'll feel it one day. though — 
that you w^ill." 

" The devil I shall!" said I to myself. "The 
great point is, after all, to learn the young lady's 
disposition in the matter " 

"Ah, Charley! none of this with me, you sly 
dog! You think I don't know you. Why, I've 
been watching — that is, I have seen — no, I mean 
I've heard — the) — they — people will talk, you 
know." 

" Very true, sir. But, as I was going to re- 
mark " 

Just at this moment the door opened, and Miss 
Baby herself, looking most annoyingly handsome, 
put in her head. 

" Papa, we're waiting breakfast. Ah, Charley, 
how d'ye do?" 

"Come in. Baby," said Mr. Blake; "you 
haven't given me my kiss this morning." 

The lovely girl threw her arms around his neck, 
while her bright and flowing locks fell richly upon 
his shoulder. I turned rather sulkily away; the 
thing always provokes me. There is as much 
cold, selfish cruelty in such coram fiiblico endear- 
ments, as in the luscious display of rich rounds 
and sirloins in a chop-house to the eyes of the 
starved and penniless wretch without, who, with 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



483 



dripping rags and watering lip, eats imaginary 
slices, while the pains of hunger are torturing him' 

"There's Tim!" said Mr. Blake, suddenly. 
" Tim Cronin! — Tim!" shouted he to, as it seemed 
to me, an imaginary individual outside; while, 
in the eagerness of pursuit, he rushed out of the 
study, banging the door as he went, and leaving 
Baby and myself to our mutual edification. 

I should have preferred it being otherwise; 
but. as the Fates willed it thus, I took Baby's 
hand, and led her to the window. Now, there is 
one feature of my countrymen which, having rec- 
ognized strongly in myself, I would fain jjro- 
claim; and, writing as I do — however little peo- 
ple may suspect me — solely for the sake of a 
moral, would gladly warn the unsuspecting 
against. I mean, a very decided tendency to be- 
come the consoler, the confidant of young ladies; 
seeking out opportunities of assuaging their sor- 
row, reconciling their afflictions, breaking event- 
ful passages to their ears; not from, any inherent 
pleasure m the tragic phases of the intercourse, 
but for the semi-tenderness of manner, that harm- 
less hand-squeezing, that innocent waist-pressing, 
without which consolation is but like salmon 
without lobster — a thing maimed, wanting, and 
ini|)erfect. 

Now, whether this with me was a natural gift, 
or merely a " way we have in the army," as the 
song says, I shall not pretend to say; but I ven- 
ture to affirm tliat few men could excel me in 
the practice I speak of some five-and- twenty years 
ago. Fair reader, do pray, if I have the happi- 
ness of being known to you, deduct them from 
my age before you subtract from my merits. 

" VVell, Baby, dear, I have just been speaking 
about you to papa. Yes, dear — don't look so in- 
credulous — ^even of your own sweet self. Well, 
do you know, I almost prefer your hair worn that 
way; those same silky masses look better falling 
thus heavily — • — " 

"There, now, Charley! ah, don't!" 

" Well, Baby, I was saying, before )'0U stopped 
me, I have been asking your papa a very import- 
ant question, and he has referred me to you for 
the answer. And now will you tell me, in all 
frankness and honesty, your mind on the 
matter?" 

She grew deadly pale as I spoke these words; 
then suddenly flushed up again, but said not a 
word. I could perceive, however, from her heav- 
ing chest and restless manner, that no common 
agitation was stirring her bosom. It was cruelty 
to be silent, so I continued: 

" One who loves you well. Baby, dear, has asked 
his own heart the question, and learned that 
without you he has no chance of happiness; that 
your bright eyes are to him bluer than the deep 
sky above him; that your soft voice, your winning 
smile — and what a smile it is! — have taught him 
that he loves, na5-, adores you! Then, dearest — 
wliat pretty fingers those are! Ah! what is this? 
Whence came that emerald? I never saw that 
ring before, Baby!" 

" Oh, that," said she, blushing deeply — " that is 
a ring the foolish creature Sparks gave me a 
couple of days ago; but I don't like it — I don't 
intend to keep it." | 



So saying, she endeavored to draw it from her 
finger, but in vain. 

" But why. Baby, why take it off? Is it to give 
him the pleasure of putting it on again? There, 
don't look angry; we must not fall out, surely." 

" No, Charley, if you are not vexed with me— 
if you are not " 

"No, no, my dear Baby! nothing of the kind. 
Sparks was quite right in not trusting his entire 
fortune to my diplomacy; but, at least, he ought 
to have told me that he had opened the negotia- 
tion. Now, the question simply is — Do you love 
him? or, rather, because that shortens matters, 
will you accept him?" 

" Love who?" 

■' Love whom? Why, Sparks, to be sure!" 

A flash of indignant surprise passed across her 
features, now pale as marble; her lips were 
slightly parted, her large full eyes were fixed 
upon me steadfastly, and her hand, which I had 
held in mine, she suddenly withdrew from my 
grasp. 

"And so — and so it is of Mr. Sparks's cause 
you are so ardently the advocate?" said she, at 
length, after a pause of most awkward duration. 

"Why, of course, my dear cousin. It was at 
his suit and solicitation I called on your father; 
it was he himself who entreated me to take this 
step; it was he " 

But before I could conclude, she burst into a 
torrent of tears, and rushed from the room. 

Here was a situation! What the deuce was the 
matter? Did she, or did she not, care for him? 
Was her pride or her delicacy hurt at my being 
made the means of the communication to her 
father? What had Sparks done or said to put 
himself and me in such a devil of a predicament? 
Could she care for any one else? 

"Well, Charley!" cried Mr. Blake, as he en- 
tered, rubbing his hands in a perfect paroxysm 
of good temper — " well, Charley, has love-making 
driven breakfast out of your head?" 

" Why, faith, sir, I greatly fear I have blundered 
my mission sadly. My cousin Mary does not ap- 
pear so perfectly satisfied; her manner " 

" Don't tell me such nonsense. The girl's 
manner! Why, man, I thought you were too old 
a soldier to be taken in that way." 

"Well, then, sir, the best thing, under the cir- 
cumstances, is, to send over Sparks himself. 
Your consent, I may tell him, is already ob- 
tained." 

"Yes, my boy; and my daughter's is equally 
sure. But I don't see what we want with Sparks 
at all. Among old friends and relatives, as we 
are, there is, I think, no need of a stranger." 

"A stranger! Very true, sir, he is a stranger; 
but when that stranger is about to become your 
son-in-law " 

"About to become what?" said Mr. Blake, 
rubbing his spectacles, and placing them leisurely 
on his nose to regard me — " to become what?" 

" Your son-in-law. I hope I have been sufifi- 
ciently explicit, sir, in making known Mr. Sparks's 
wishes to you." 

"Mr. Sparks! Why, damn me, sir — that is — I 
beg pardon for the warmth — you — you never 
mentioned his name to-day till now. Yoii led 



484 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



me to suppose that- 
clearly " 



-in fact, you told me most 



Here, from the united effects of rage and a 
struggle for concealment, Mr. Blake was unable 
to proceed, and walked the, room with a melodra- 
matic stamp perfectly awful. 

" Really, sir," said I, at last, " while I deeply 
regret any misconception or mistake I have been 
the cause of, I must, in justice to myself, say, 
that I am perfectly unconscious of having misled 
you. I came here this morning with a proposi- 
tion for the hand of your daughter in behalf 
of " 

" Yourself, sir. Yes, yourself. I'll be — no! I'll 
not swear; but — but just answer me, if you ever 
mentioned one word of Mr. Sparks — if you ever 
alluded to him till the last few minutes?" 

I was perfectly astounded. It might be; alas! 
it was exactly as he stated. In my unlucky effort 
at extreme delicacy, I became only so very mys- 
terious, that I left the matter open for them to 
suppose that it might be the Khan of Tartary was 
in love with Baby. 

There was but one course now open. I most 
humbly apologized for my l>lunder; repeated, by 
every expression I could summon u]), my sorrow 
for what had happened; and was beginning a re- 
newal of negotiation "/« re Sparks," when, over- 
come by his passion, Mr. Blake could hear no 
more, but snatched up his hat and left the room. 

Had it not been for Baby's share in the trans- 
action, I should have laughed outright. As it 
was, I felt anything but mirthful; and the only 
clear and collected idea in my mind was, to hurry 
home with all speed, and fasten a quarrel on 
Sparks, the innocent cause of the whole mishap. 
Why this thought struck me, let physiologists 
decide. 

A few moments' reflection satisfied me that, 
under present circumstances, it would be particu- 
larly awkward to meet with any others of the 
family. Ardently desiring to secure my retreat, 
I succeeded, after some little time, in opening 
the window-sasli; consoling myself for any injury 
I was about to inflict upon Mr. Blake's young 
plantation in my descent, by the thought of the 
service I was rendering him while admitting a 
little fresh air into his sanctum. 

For my patriotism's sake I will not record my 
sensations as I took my way through the shrub- 
bery towards the stable. Men are ever so prone 
to revenge their faults and their follies upon such 
inotfensive agencies as time and place, wind or 
weather, that I was quite convinced that to any 
other but Gahvay ears my exfiose would have 
been perfectly clear and intelligible; and that in 
no other country under heaven would a man be 
. expected to marry a young* lady from a blunder 
in his grammar. 

" Baby may be quite right," thought I; "but 
one thing is assuredly true — if I'll never do for 
Galway, Galway will never do for me. No, hang 
it! I have endured enough for above two years. 
I have- lived in banishment, away from society, 
supposing that, at least, if I isolated myself from 
the pleasures of the world, I was exempt from 
its annoyances." But no; in the seclusion of my 
remote abode troubles found their entrance asj 



easily as elsewhere, so that I determined at once 
to leave home; where for, I knew not. If life 
had few charms, it had still fewer ties for me. 
If I was not bound by the bonds of kindred, I 
was untrammelled by their restraints. 

The resolution once taken, I burned to put it 
into effect; and so impatiently did I press for- 
ward, as to call forth more than one remonstrance 
on the part of Mike at the pace we were pro- 
ceeding at. As I neared home, the shrill but 
stirring sounds of drum and fife met me; and, 
shortly after, a crowd of country people filled the 
road. Supposing it some mere recruiting party, 
I was endeavoring to pass on, when the sounds of 
a full military band, in the exhilarating measure 
of a quickstep, convinced me of my error; and, 
as I drew to one side of the road, the advanced 
guard of an infantry regiment came forward. 
The men's faces were flushed, their uniform dusty 
and travel-stained, their knapsacks strapped firm- 
ly on, and their gait the steady tramp of the 
march. Saluting the subaltern, I asked if any- 
thing of consequence had occurred in the south, 
that the troops were so suddenly under orders. 
The officer stared at me for a moment or two 
without speaking; and, while a sliglit smile half 
curled his lip, answered: 

"Apparently, sir, you seem very indifferent to 
military news, otherw'ise you can scarcely be ig- 
norant of the cause of our route." 

" On the contrary," said I, "I am, though a 
young man, an old soldier, and feel most anxious 
about everything connected with the service." 

"Then it is very strange, sir, you should not 
have heard the news. Bonajiarte has returned 
from Elba, has arrived at Paris, been received 
with the most overwhelming enthusiasm, and at 
this moment the preparations for war are resound- 
ing from Venice to the Vistula. All our forces, 
disposable, are on the march for embarkation. 
Lord Wellington has taken the command, and 
already, I may say, the campaign has begun.'' 

The tone of enthusiasm in which the young 
officer spoke, the astounding intelligence itself, 
contrasting with the apathetic indolence of my 
ow'n life, made me blush deeply, as 1 muttered 
some miserable apology for my ignorance. 

" And you are now cii route?" 

" For Fermoy; from which we march to Cove 
for embarkation. The first battalion of our reg- 
iment sailed for the West Indies a week since, 
but a frigate has been sent after them to bring 
them back; and we hope all to meet in the 
Netherlands before the month is over. But I 
must beg your pardon for sa)ing adieu. Good- 
by, sir." 

" Good-by, sir; good-by," said I, as, still stand- 
ing m the road, I was so o\erwhelmed with 
surprise that I could scarcely credit my 
senses. 

A little further on I came up with the main 
body of the regiment, from whom 1 learned the 
corroboration of the news, and also the additional 
intelh'gence that Sparks had been ordered off with 
his detachment early in the morning, a veteran 
battalion being sent into garrison in the various 
towns of the south and west. 

" Do you happen to know a Mr. O'Malley, sir.'" 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



485 



said the major, coming up with a note in his 
hand. 

" I beg to present him to you," said I, bowing. 

"Well, sir, Sparks gave me this note, which he 
j wrote with a pencil as we crossed each other on the 
1 road this morning. He told me you were an old 
1 Fourteenth man; but your regiment is in India, I 
1 believe; at least Power said they were under 
! orders when we met him." 

" Fred Power? are you acquainted with him? 
Where is he now pray?" 

" Fred is on the staff with General Vandeleur, 
and is now in Belgium." 

"Indeed!" said I, every moment increasing 
my surprise at some new piece of intelligence. 
"And the Eighty-eighth?" said I, recurring to my 
old friends in that regiment. 

"Oh, the Eighty-eighth are at Gibraltar, or 
somewhere in the Mediterranean: at least, I know 
they are not near enough to open the present 
campaign with us. But if you'd like any more 
news, you must come over to Borrisokane; we 
stop there to-night." 

"Then I'll certainly do so." 

" Come at six, then, and dine with us." 

"Agreed," said I; "and now, good-morning." 

So saying, I once more drove on; my head 
full of all that I had been hearing, and my heart 
bursting with eagerness to join the gallant fellows 
ROW bound for the campaign. 



CHAPTER CXVI. 



BRUSSELS. 



I MUST not protract a tale already far too long, 
by the recital of my acquaintance with the gallant 
Twenty-sixth. It is sufficient that I should say 
that, having given Mike orders to follow me to 
Cove, I joined the regiment on their march, and 
accompanied them to Cork. Every hour of each 
day brought us in news of moment and import- 
ance; and, amid all the stirring preparations for 
the war, the account of the splendid spectacle of 
the C/iainp de Mai burst upon astonished Europe, 
and the intelligence spread far and near that the 
enthusiasm of France never rose higher in favor 
of the Emperor; and, while the whole world pre- 
pared for the deadly combat, Napoleon surpassed 
even himself, by the magnificent conceptions for 
the comingconflict, and the stupendous nature of 
those plans by which he resolved on resisting 
combined and united Europe. 
\ While our admiration and wonder of the mighty 
I spirit that ruled the destinies of the Continent rose 
! high, so did our own ardent and burning desire 
• for the day when the open field of fight should 
place us once more in front of each other. 

Every hard-fought engagement of the Spanish 
war was thought of and talked over; from Tal- 
avera to Toulouse, all was remembered; and while 
among the old Peninsulars thd military ardor was 
so universally displayed, among the regiments 
who had not shared the glories of Spain and 
Portugal, an equal, perhaps a greater, impulse 



was created for the approaching campaign. 

When we arrived at Cork, the scene of bustle 
and excitement exceeded anything I ever wit- 
nessed; troops were mustering in every quarter; 
regiments arriving and embarking; fresh bodies 
of men pouring in; drills, parades, and inspec- 
tions going forward; arms, ammunition, and 
military stores distributing; and, amid all, a spirit 
of burning enthusiasm animated every rank for 
the approaching glory of the newly-arisen war. 

While thus each was full of his own hopes and 
expectations, I alone felt depressed and down- 
hearted. My military caste was lost to me for- 
ever; my regiment many, many a mile from the 
scene of the coming strife; though young, I felt 
like one already old and by-gone. The last 
joined ensign seemed, in his glowing aspirations, 
a better soldier than I, as, sad and dispirited, I 
wandered through the busy crowds, surveying 
with curious eye each gallant horseman as he 
rode proudly past. What was wealth and for- 
tune to me? What had they ever been, compared 
with all they cost me? — the abandonment of the 
career I loved— the path in life I sought and panted 
for. Day after day I lingered on, watching with 
beating heart each detachment as they left the 
shore; and when their parting cheer rang high 
above the breeze, turned sadly back to mourn over 
a life that had failed in its promise, and an exist- 
ence now shorn of its enjoyment. 

It was on the evening of the 3rd of June that 
I was slowly wending my way back towards my 
hotel; latterly I had refused all invitations to 
dine at the mess; and, by a-strange spirit of con- 
tradiction, while I avoided society, could yet not 
tear myself away from the spot where every re- 
membrance of my past life was daily embittered 
by the scenes around me. But so it was; the 
movement of the troops, their reviews, their ar- 
rivals and departures, possessed the most thrill- 
ing interest for me; while I could not endure to 
hear the mention of the high hopes and glorious 
vows each brave fellow muttered. 

It was, as I remember, on the evening of the 
3rd of June, I entered my hotel, lower in spirits 
even than usual; the bugles of the gallant Seven- 
ty-first, as they dropped down with the tide, 
played a well-known march I had heard the night 
before Talavera; all my bold and hardy days 
came rushing madly to my mind; and my present 
life seemed no longer endurable. The last army 
list and the newspapers lay on my talile, and I 
turned to read the latest promotions with that 
feeling of bitterness by which an unhappy man 
loves to tamper with his misery. 

Almost the first paragraph I threw my eyes 
upon ran thus: 

" OsTEND, May 24th. — The Vixen sloop-of- 
war, which arrived on our port this morning, 
brought, among several other officers of inferior 
note, Lieutenant-General Sir George Dashwood, 
appointed as assistant-adjutant-general on the 
staff of his grace the duke of Wellington. The 
gallant general was accompanied by his lovely 
and accomplished daughter, and his military sec- 
retary and aide-de-camp. Major Hammersley, of 
the 2nd Life Guards. They partook of a hurried 



486 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



d^je^n(f with the burgomaster, and left imme- 
diately after for Brussels." 

Twice I read this over, while a burning, hot 
sensation settled upon my throat and temples. 
" So Hammersley still persists — he still hopes. 
And what then? — what can it be to me? — my 
prospects have long since faded and vanished! 
doubtless, ere this, I am as much forgotten as 
though we had never met — would that we never 
had!" I threw up the window-sash; a light 
breeze was gently stirring, and, as it fanned my 
hot and bursting head, I felt cooled and relieved. 
Some soldiers were talking beneath the window, 
and among them I recognized Mike's voice. 

" And so you sail at daybreak, sergeant?" 

"Yes, Mister Free; we have our orders to be 
on board before the floodtide. The Thunderer 
drops down the harbor to-night, and we are 
merely here to collect our stragglers." 

" Faix, it's little I thought I'd ever envy a 
sodger any more; but, someway, I wish I was 
going with you." 

" Nothing easier, Mike," said another, laugh- 
ing. 

"Oh, true for you, but that's not tiie way I'd 
like to do it. If my master, now, would just get 
over his low spirits, and spake a word to the 
duke of York, devil a doubt but he'd give him 
his commission back again, and then one might 
go in comfort." 

" Your master likes his feather pillow better 
than a mossy stone under his head, I'm thinking; 
and he ain't far wrong, either." 

" Ye're out there, neighbor. It's himself cares 
as little for hardship as any one of you; and sure 
it's not becoming me to say it, but the best blood 
and the best bred was always the last to give in 
for either cold or hunger, ay, or even complain 
of it." 

Mike's few words shot upon me a new and a 
sudden conviction — -what was to prevent my jour- 
ney once more? Obvious as such a thought now 
was, yet never until this moment did it present 
itself so palpably. So habituated does the mind 
become to a certain train of reasoning, framing 
its convictions according to one preconceived 
plan, and making every fact and every circum- 
stance concur in strengthening what often may 
be but a prejudice^that the absence of the old 
Fourteenth in India, the sale of my commission, 
the want of rank in the service, all seemed to pre- 
sent an insurmountable barrier to my re-entering 
the army. A few chance words now changed all 
this, and I saw that, as a volunteer, at least, the 
path of glory was still open, and the thought was 
no sooner conceived, tlian the resolve to execute 
it. While, therefore, I walked hurriedly up and 
down, devising, planning, plotting, and contriv- 
ing, each instant I would stop to ask myself 
how it happened I had not determined upon this 
before. 

As I summoned Mike before me, I could not 
repress a feeling of false shame, as I remembered 
how suddenly so natural a resolve must seem to 
have been adopted; and it was with somewhat 
of hesitation that I opened the conversation. 

" And so, sir, you are going, after all ? — long 



life to you! But I never doubted it. Sure, you 
wouldn't be your father's son, and not join di- 
varsion when there was any going." 

The poor fellow's eyes brightened up, his look 
gladdened, and, before he reached the foot of 
the stairs, I heard his loud cheer of delight, that 
once more we were off to the wars. 

The packet sailed for Liverpool the next 
morning; by it we took our passage, and on the 
third morning I found myself in the waiting-room ■ 
at the Horse Guards, expecting the moment of 
his Royal Highness's arrival; my determination 
being to serve as a volunteer in any regiment the 
duke might suggest, until such time as a prospect 
presented itself of entering the service as a 
subaltern. 

The room was crowded by officers of every 
rank and arm in the service: the old, grey-headed 
general of division; the tall, stout-looking captain 
of infantry; the thin and boyish figure of the 
newly-gazetted cornet, were all there; every 
accent, every look that marked each trait of na- 
tional distinction in the empire, had its represen- 
tative: the reserved and distant Scotchman; the 
gay, laughing, exuberant Patlander; the dark- 
eyed, and dark-browed North Briton, collected in 
groups, talked eagerly together; while every in- 
stant, as some new arrival would enter, all eyes 
would turn to the spot, in eager expectation of 
the duke's coming. At last the clash of arms, 
as tlie guard turned out, apprised us of his ap- 
proacli, and we had scarcely time to stand up and 
stop the buzz of voices, when the door opened, 
and an aide-de-camp proclaimed in a full tone, 

" His Royal Highness, the Commander-in- 
Chief!" 

Bowing courteously on every side, he advanced 
through the crowd, turning his rapid and piercing 
look liere and there through the room, while with 
that tact, the essential gift of his family, he re- 
cognized each person by his name, directing from 
one to the other some passing observation. 

"Ah, Sir George Cockburn, how d'ye do? — 
your son's appointment is made out. Major 
Conyers, that application shall be looked to. 
Forbes, you must explain, that I cannot possibly 
put men in the regiment of their choice — the ser- 
vice is the first tiling. Lord L , your memorial 

is before the Prince Regent — the cavalry com- 
mand will, I believe, however, include your name." 

While he spoke thus, he approached the place 
where I was standing, when, suddenly checking 
himself, he looked at me for a moment somewhat 
sternly. 

" Wliy not in uniform, sir?" 

" Your Royal Highness, I am not in the army." 

" Not in the army — not in the army? And 

why, may I beg to know, have you , but I'm 

sjieaking to Caf^tain O'Malley, if I mistake not?" 

" I held that rank, sir, once, but family neces- 
sities compelled me to sell out; I have now no 
commission in the service, but am come to 
beseech your Royal Highness's permission to serve 
as a volunteer." 

"As a volunteer, eh — a volunteer? Come, 
that's right, I like that; but still we want such 
fellows as you — the man of Ciudad Rodrigo. 
Yes, my Lord L , this is one of the stormers; 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



487 



fought his way through the trench among the 
first; must not be neglected. Hold yourself in 

readiness, captain hang it, I was forgetting 

— Mr. O'Malley, I mean — hold yourself in readi- 
ness for a staff appointment. Smithson, take a 
note of this." So saying he moved on; and I 
found myself in the street, with a heart bounding 
with delight, and a step proud as an emperor's. 

With such rapidity the events of my life now 
followed one upon the other, that I could take no 
note of time as it passed. On the fourth day 
after my conversation with the duke I found 
myself in Brussels. As yet, I heard nothing of 
the appointment, nor was I gazetted to any regi- 
ment or any situation on the staff. It was strange 
enough, too. I met but few of my old associates, 
and not one of those with whom I had been most 
intimate in my Peninsular career; but it so chanced 
that very many of the regiments who most dis- 
tinguished themselves in the Spanish campaigns, 
at the peace of 1814 were sent on foreign service. 
My old friend Power was, I learned, quartered at 
Courtrai; and, as I was perfectly at liberty to dis- 
pose of my movements at present, I resolved to 
visit him there. 

It was a beautiful evening on the 12th of June. 
I had been inquiring concerning post-horses for 
my journey, and was returning slowly through the 
park. The hour was late — near midnight — but a 
pale moonlight, a calm, unruffled air, and stronger 
inducements still, the song of the nightingales 
that abound in this |)lace, prevailed on many of 
the loungers to prolong their stay; and so, from 
many a shady walk and tangled arbor, the clank 
of a sabre would strike upon the ear, or the low, 
soft voice of woman would mingle her dulcet 
sound with the deep tones of her companion. I 
wandered on, thoughtful and alone; my mind 
preoccupied so completely with the mighty events 
passing before me, I totally forgot my own hum- 
ble career, and the circumstances of my fortune. 
As I turned into an alley which leads from the 
Great Walk towards the palace of the Prince of 
Orange, I found my path obstructed by three 
persons who were walking slowly along in front 
of me. I was, as I have mentioned, deeply ab- 
sorbed in thought, so that I found myself close 
behind them before I was aware of their pres- 
ence. Two of the party were in uniform, and 
by their plumes, upon which a passing ray of 
moonlight flickered, I could detect they were 
general officers; the third was a lady. Unable 
to pass them, and unwilling to turn back, I was 
unavoidably compelled to follow, and, however 
unwilling, to overhear somewhat of their con- 
versation. 

" You mistake, George, you mistake. Depend 
upon it, this will be no lengthened campaign; 
victory will soon decide for one side or the other. 
If Napoleon beats the Prussians one day, and 
beats us the next, the German states will rally to 
his standard, and the old confederation of the 
Rhine will spring up at once, in all the plenitude 
of its power. The Champ di Mai has shown the 
enthusiasm of France for their emperor. Louis 
XVII I. fled from his capital, with few to follow, 
and none to say ' God bless him!' The warlike 
spirit of the nation is roused again; the interval 



of peace, too short to teach habits of patient and 
enduring industry, is yet sufficient to whet the 
appetite for carnage; and nothing was wanting, 
save the presence of Napoleon alone, to restore 
all the brilliant delusion and into.xicating splen- 
dors of the empire." 

" I confess," said the other, " I take a very dif- 
ferent view from yours in this matter; to me, it 
seems that France is as tired of battles as of the 
Bourbons " 

I heard no more; for, though the speaker con- 
tinued, a misty confusion passed across my mind, 
the tones of his voice, well remembered as they 
were by me, left me unable to think; and, as I 
stood motionless on the spot, I muttered half 
aloud, "Sir George Dashwood." It was he, in- 
deed; and she who leaned upon his arm could 
be no other than Lucy herself. I know not how 
it was; for many a long month I had schooled my 
heart, and taught myself to believe that time had 
dulled the deep impression she had made upon 
me, and, that were we to meet again, it would be 
with more sorrow on my part for my broken 
dream of happiness than of attachment and affec- 
tion for her who inspired it; but now, scarcely was 
I near her — I had not gazed upon her looks, I had 
not even heard her voice — and yet, in all their 
ancient force, came back the early passages 
of my love; and, as her footfall sounded gently 
upon the ground, my heart beat scarce less audi- 
bly. Alas! I could no longer disguise from 
myself the avowal that she it was, and she only, 
who implanted in my heart the thirst for distinc- 
tion; and the moment was ever present to my 
mind in which, as she threw her arms round her 
father's neck, she muttered, " Oh, why not a sol- 
dier.?" 

As I thus reflected, an officer in full dress 
passed me hurriedly, and taking off his hat as he 
came up with the party before me, bowed obse- 
quiously. 

"My Lord , I believe, and Sir George 

Dashwood?" They replied by a bow. "Sir 
Thomas Picton wishes to speak with you both 
for a moment; he is standing beside the 'Basin.' 

If you will permit " said he, looking towards 

Lucy. 

" Thank you, sir," said Sir George, " if you will 
have the goodness to accompany us, my daughter 
will wait our coming here. Sit down, Lucy, we 
shall not be long away." 

The next moment she was alone. The last 
echoes of their retiring footsteps had died away 
in the grassy walk, and in the calm and death- 
like stillness I could hear every rustle of her silk 
dress. The moonlight fell in fitful, straggling 
gleams between the leafy branches, and showed 
me her countenance, pale as marble. Her eyes 
were upturned slightly; her brown hair, divided 
upon her fair forehead, sparkled with a 
wreath of brilliants, which heightened the lus- 
trous effect of her calm beauty; and now I could 
perceive her dress bespoke that she had been at 
some of the splendid entertainments which fol- 
lowed day after day in the busy capital. 

Thus I stood within a few paces of her, to be 
near to whom, a few hours before, I would wil- 
lingly have given ail I possessed in the world; 



48^ 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



and yet now a barrier, far more insurmountable 
than time and space, intervened between us; 
still, it seemed as though fortune had presented 
this incident as a last farewell between us. Why 
sliould I not take advantage of it' Why should 

, I not seize the only opportunity that might ever 
occur of rescuing myself from the apparent load 
of ingratitude which weighed on my memory? I 
felt in the cold despair of my heart that I could 
have no hold upon her affection; but a pride, 
scarce less strong than the attachment that gave 
rise to it, urged me to speak. By one violent ef- 
fort I summoned up my courage; and, while I 
resolved to limit the few words I should say 
merely to my vindication, I prepared to advance. 
Just at this instant, however, a shadow crossed 
the path; a rustling sound was heard among the 
branches, and the tall figure of a man in a dra- 
goon cloak stood before me. Lucy turned sud- 
denly at the sound; but scarcely had her eyes 
been bent in the direction when, throwing off his 
cloak, he sprang forward, and dropped at her 
feet. All my feeling of shame at the part I was 
performing was now succeeded by a sense of savage 
and revengeful hatred. It was enough that I 
should be brought to look upon her whom I had 
lost forever, without the added bitterness of wit- 
nessing her preference for a rival. The whirlwind 
passion of my brain stunned and stupefied me. 
Unconsciously I drew my sword from my scab- 
bard, and it was only as the pale light fell upon 
the keen blade that the thought flashed across 
me, " What could I mean to do?" 

"No, Hammersley" — it was he indeed — said 
she, "it is unkind, it is unfair, nay, it is un- 
manly to press me thus; I would not pain you, 
were it not that, in sparing you now, I should en- 
tail deeper injury upon you hereafter. Ask me 
to be your sister — your friend; ask me to feel 
proudly in your triumphs — to glory in your suc- 
cess; all this I do feel, but, oh! I beseech you, 
as you value your happiness — as you prize mine 
— ask me no more than this." 

There was a pause of some seconds, and, at 
length, the lovv tones of a man's voice, broken 
and uncertain in their utterance, said, 

" I know it — I feel it — my heart never bade 
me hope — and now — 'tis over." 

He stood upas he spoke, and while he threw 
the light folds of his mantle round him, a gleam 
of light fell upon his features. They were pale as 
death; two dark circles surrounded his sunken 
eyes, and his bloodless lip looked still more 
ghastly, from the dark moustache that drooped 
above it. 

"Farewell!" said he, slowly, as he crossed his 
arms sadly upon his breast; " I will not pain you 

I more." 

I "Oh! go not thus from me," said she, as her 

, voice became tremulous with emotion; " do not 
add to the sorrow that weighs upon my heart. I 
cannot, indeed, I cannot, be other than I am; and 
I do but hate myself to think that I cannot give 
my love where I have given all my esteem. If 

time " But before she could continue 

further, the noise of approaching footsteps was 
heard, and the voice of Sir George, as he came 
hear. Hammersley disappeared at once, and 



Lucy, with rapid steps, advanced to meet her 
father, while I remained riveted upon the spot. 
What a torrent of emotions then rushed upon my 
heart! What hopes, long dead or dying, sprang 
up to life again! What visions of long-abandoned 
happiness flitted before me! Could it be, then? 
dare I trust myself to think it, that Lucy cared 
for me? The thought was maddening! With a 
bounding step of ecstasy, I dashed across the 
park, resolving at all hazards, to risk everything 
upon the chance, and wait the ne.xt morning up- 
on Sir George Dasliwood. As I thought thus, I 
reached my hotel, where I found Mike in wait- 
ing with a letter. As I walked towards the lamp 
in the fork cochcrc, my eye fell upon the address. 
It was General Dasliwood's hand; I tore it open, 
and read as follows: 

" Dear Sir, — Circumstances into which you 
will excuse me entering, having placed an insur- 
mountable barrier to our former terms of inti- 
macy, you will, I trust, excuse me declining the 
honor of any nearer acquaintance, and also for- 
give the liberty I take in informing you of it, 
which step, however unpleasant to my feelings, 
will save us both the great pain of meeting. 

"I have only this moment heard of your ar- 
rival in Brussels, and take thus the earliest op- 
portunity of communicating with you. 

" With every assurance of my respect for you 
personally, and an earnest desire to serve you in 
your military career, 

" I beg to remain, 

"Very faithfully yours, 

" George Dashwood." 

"Another note, sir," said Mike, as he thrust 
into my unconscious hand a letter he had just re- 
ceived from an orderly. 

Stunned, half stujjefied, I broke the seal. The 
contents were but three lines: 

" Sir, — I have the honor to inform you, that 
Sir Thomas Picton has appointed you an extra 
aide-de-camp on his personal stnlT. You will, 
therefore, present yourself to-mc rrow morning at 
the adjutant-general's office, to receive your ap- 
pointment and instructions. 

"I have the honor to be, &c., 

" G. Fitzroy." 

Crushing the two letters in my fevered hand, I 
retired to my room, and threw myself, dressed as 
I was, upon my bed. Sleep, that seems to visit 
us in the saddest as in the happiest times of our 
existence, came over me, and I did not wake 
until the bugles of the Ninety-fifth were sound- 
ing the reveil through the park, and the bright 
beams of the morning sun were peering through 
the window. 



CHAPTER CXVIL 

AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 

" Mr. O'Malley," said a voice, as my door 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



489' 



opened, and an officer in undress entered. '' Mr. 
O'Malley, I believe you received your appoint- 
ment last night on General Picton's staff.?" 

I bowed in reply, as he resumed: 

"Sir Thomas desires you will proceed to 
Courtrai with these despatches in all haste. I 
don't know if you are well mounted, but I re- 
commend you, in any case, not to spare your 
cattle." 

So saying, he wished me a good^morning, and 
left me, in a state of no small doubt and dififi- 
culty, to my own reflections. What the deuce 
was I to do? I had no horse; I knew not where 
to find one. What uniform should I wear? For, 
although appointed on the staff, I was not gazetted 
to any regiment that I knew of, and hitherto had 
been wearing an undress frock and a foraging 
cap; for I could not bring myself to appear as a 
civilian among so many military acquaintances. 
No time was, however, to be lost; so I proceeded 
to put on my old Fourteenth uniform, wonder- 
ing whether my costume might not cost me a 
reprimand in the very outset of my career. Mean- 
while I despatched Mike to see after a horse, 
caring little for the time, the merits, or the price 
of the animal, provided he served my present 
purpose. 

In less than twenty minutes my worthy fol- 
lower appeared beneath my window, surrounded 
by a considerable mob, who seemed to take no 
small interest in the proceedings. 

" What tlie deuce is the matter?" cried I, as I 
opened the sash, and looked out. 

" Mighty little's the matter, your honor; it's 
the savages, here, that's admiring my horseman- 
ship," said Mike, as he belabored a tall, scracrgy- 
looking mule with a stick which bore an uncom- 
mon resemblance to a broomhandle. 

" What do you mean to do with that beast?" 
said I. " You surely don't e.xpect me to ride a 
inule to Courtrai?" 

"Faith, and if you don't, you are likely to 
walk the journey; for there isn't a horse to be 
had for love or money in the town; but I am 
told that Mr. Marsden is coming up to-morrow 
with plenty, so that you may as well take the 
journey out of the soft horns as spoil a better, 
and if he only makes as good use of his fore legs 
as he does of the hind ones, he'll think little of 
the road." 

A vicious lash out behind served in a moment 
to corroborate Mike's assertion, and to scatter 
the crowd on every side. 

However indisposed to exhibit myself with 
such a turn-out, my time did not admit of any 
delay; and so, arming myself with my despatches, 
and having procured the necessary information 
} as to the road, I set out from the Belle Vue, amid 
an ill-suppressed titter of merriment from the 
mob, which nothing but fear of Mike and his 
broomstick prevented becoming a regular shout 
of laughter. 

It was near nightfall, as, tired and weary of 
the road, I entered the little \illage of Halle. 
All was silent and noiseless in the deserted streets, 
not a lamp threw its glare upon the pavement, 
nor even a solitary candle flickered through the 
casement. Unlike a town garrisoned by troops, 



neither sentry nor outpost was to be met with; 
nothing gave evidence that the place was held by 
a large body of men; and I could not help feel- 
ing struck as the footsteps of my mule were 
echo>;d along the causeway, with the silence al- 
most of desolation around me. By the creak- 
ing of a sign, as it swung mournfully to and fro, 
I was directed to the door of the village inn, 
where, dismounting, 1 knocked for seme mo- 
ments, but without success. At length, when I 
had made an uproar sufficient to alarm the entire 
village, the casement above thedoor slowly opened, 
and a head enveloped in a huge cotton nightcap 
— so, at least, it appeared to me from the size — 
protruded itself. After muttering a curse in 
about the njost barbarous French I ever heard, 
he asked me what I wanted there; to which I 
replied, most nationally, by asking, in return, 
where the British dragoons were quartered ? 

"They ha\-e left for Nivelle, this niornirg, to 
join some regiments of your own country." 

"Ah! ah!" thought I, "he mistakes me for a 
Brunswicker;" to which, by the uncertain light, 
my uniform gave me some resemblance. As it 
was now impossible for me to proceed further, I 
begged to ask where I could procure accommo- 
dation for the night. 

" At the burgomaster's. Turn to your left at 
the end of this street, and you will soon find it. 
They have got some English officers there, who, 
I believe in my soul, never sleep." 

This was, at least, ]ileasant intelligence, and 
promised a better termination to my journey than 
I had begun to hope for; so, wishing my frienc 
a good-night, to vhich he willingly responded, ] 
resumed my way down the street. As he closec 
the window, once more leaving me to my owi 
reflections, I began to wonder within myself t( 
what arm of the service belonged these officei: 
to whose convivial gifts he bore testimony. As 
I turned the corner of the street, I scon discov- 
ered the correctness of his information. A broad 
glare of light stretched across the entire pave- 
ment from a large house with a clumsy store 
portico before it. On coming near, the sound 
of voices, the roar of laughter, the shouts of mer- 
riment that issued forth, plainly bespc'ke that a 
jovial party were seated within. The half-shut- 
ter which closed the lower part of the windows 
prevented mv obtaining a view of the proceed- 
ings; but, having cautiously approached the case- 
ment, I managed to creep on the window-sill, and 
look into the room. 

There the scene was certainly a curious one. 
Around a large table sat a party of seme twenty 
persons, the singularity of whose appearance may 
be conjectured, when I mention that all those 
who appeared to be British officers were dressed 
in the robes of the c'ihevins (or aldermen) of the 
village: while some others, whose looks bespoke 
them as sturdy Flemings, sported the cocked 
hats and cavalry helmets of their associates. He 
who appeared the ruler of the feast sal with his 
back towards me, and wore, in addition to the 
dress of a burgomaster, a herald's tabard, which 
gave him something the air of a grotesque screen 
at its potations. A huge fire blazed upon the 
ample hearth, before which were spread several 



490 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



staff uniforms, whose drabbled and soaked ap- 
pearance denoted the reason of the party's change 
of habiliments. Every imaginable species of 
driivking-vessel figured upon the board, from the 
rich flagon of chased silver to the humble cruche 
we see in a Teniers picture. As well as I could 
hear, the language of the company seemed to be 
French, or at least, such an imitation of that 
language which served as a species of neutral 
territory for both parties to meet in. 

He of the tabard spoke louder than the others, 
and although, from the e.xecrable endeavors he 
made to express himself in French, his natural 
voice was much altered, there was yet something 
in his accents which seemed perfectly familiar to 
me. 

"'Mosheer r Abbey," said he, placing his arm 
familiarly on the shoulder of a portly personage, 
whose shaven crown strangely contrasted with a 
pair of corked moiistachios — ^'Alosheer V Abbey, 
nous somines freres, et moi, savez'('ous, suis dveque — 
'pon my life it's true; I might have been bishop 
of Saragossa, if I only consented to leave the 
Twenty-third. Je' suis bong Catlwlique. Lord 
bless you, if you saw how I loved the nunneries 
in Spain! J'ai ires jolly souvenirs of those nun- 
neries; a goodly company of little silver saints; 
and this waistcoat you see — mong gilet — was a 
satin petticoat of our Lady of Loretto." 

Need I say, that before this speech was con- 
cluded, I had recognized in the speaker nobody 
but that inveterate old villain. Monsoon himself. 

"'Pcrmettez, voire Excellence," said a hale, joUy- 
looking personage on his left, as he filled the 
major's goblet with obsequious politeness. 

"Bong eiigfong," replied Monsoon, tapping him 
familiarly on the head. " Burgomaster, you are a 
trump; and when I get my promotion, Fll make 
you prefect in a wine district. Pass the lush, 
and don't look sleepy! ' Drowsiness,' says Solo- 
mon, 'clothes a man in rags;' and no man knew 
the world better than Solomon. Don't you be 
laughing, you raw boys. Never mind them, 
Abbey; ils sont petits gar(ons;s — fags from Eton 
and Harrow; better judges of mutton broth than 
sherry negus." 

" I say, major, you are forgetting this song you 
promised us." 

"Yes, yes," said several voices together; "the 
song, major! the song!" 

"Time enough for that; we're doing very well 
as it is. Upon my life, though, they hold a deal 
of wine. I thought we'd have had them fit to 
bargain with before ten; and see, it's near mid- 
night; and I must have my forage accounts 
ready for the commissary-general by to-morrow 
morning." 

This speech having informed me the reason of 
the major's presence there, I resolved to wait no 
longer a mere spectator of their proceedings; 
so, dismounting from my position, I commenced 
a vigorous attack upon the door. 

It was some time before I was heard; but at 
length the door was opened, and I was accosted 
by an Englishman, who, in a strange compound 
of French and English, asked "what the devil I 
meant by all that uproar?" Determining to 
startle my old friend the major, I leplied, 



that "I was an aide-de-camp to General Picton, 
and had come down on very unpleasant busi- 
ness." By this time the noise of the party within 
had completely subsided, and, from a few whis- 
pered sentences, and their thickened breathing, 
I perceived that they were listening. 

"May I ask, sir," continued I, "if Major 
Monsoon is here?" 

" Yes," stammered out the ensign, for such 
he was. 

"Sorry for it, for his sake," said I; "but my 
orders are peremptory." 

A deep groan from within, and a muttered re- 
quest to pass down the sherry, nearly overcame 
my gravity; but I resumed: 

" If you will permit me, I will make the affair as 
short as possible. The major, I presume, is here?" 

So saying, I pushed forward into the room, 
where now a slight scuffling noise and murmur of 
voices had succeeded silence. Brief as was the 
interval of our colloquy, the scene within had, 
notwithstanding, undergone considerable change. 
The English officeis, hastily throwing off their 
aldermanic robes, were busily arraying themselves 
in their uniforms, while Monsoon himself, with a 
huge basin of water before him, was endeavoring 
to wash the cork from his countenance in the 
corner of his tabard. 

"Very hard upon me, all this; upon my life, 
so it is. Picton is always at me, just as if we 
had not been school-fellows. The service is get- 
ting worse every day. Rcgardez-inoi, ctirey, 
mong face est propre'i Eh? There, thank you. 
Good fellow the curey is, but takes a deal of 
fluid. Oh, burgomaster! I fear it is all up with 
me! No more fun, no more jollification, no more 
plunder — and how I did do it! Notliing like 
watching one's little chances! ' The poor is 
hated even by his neighbor.' Oui, curey, it is 
Solomon says that, and they must have had a 
heavy poor-rate in his day to make him say so. 
Another glass of sherry!" 

By this time I approached the back of his 
chair, and, slapping him heartily on the shoulder 
called out; 

" Major, old boy, how goes it?" 

" Eh? — what?— how? — who is this? It can't 
be — egad, sure it is, though. Charley! Charley 
O'Malley, you scapegrace, where have you been? 
When" did you join?" 

" A week ago, major. I could resist it no 
longer. I did my best to be a country gentle- 
man, and behave respectably, but the old temp- 
tation was too strong for me. Fred Power and 
yourself, major, had ruined my education; and 
here I am once more amongst you." 

" And so Picton, and the arrest, and all that, 
was nothing but a joke?" said the old fellow, roll- 
ing his wicked eyes with a most cunning expres- 
sion. 

" Nothing more, major; set your heart at rest." 

"What a scamp you are," said he, with another 
grin. " // est inon fits — // est vwn fils, curey," 
presenting me, as he spoke, while the burgomas- 
ter, in whose eyes the major seemed no ir consid- 
erable personage, saluted me with profoiind res- 
pect. 

Turning at once forwards this functionary, I 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



491 



explained that I was the bearer of important de- 
spatches, and that my horse — I was ashamed to say 
my mule — having fallen lame, I was unable to 
proceed. 

" Can you procure me a remount, monsieur?" 
said I, "for I must hasten on to Courtrai." 

" In half an hour you shall be provided, as well 
as with a mounted guide for the road. Le fils 
de son cxcdlcnce," said he, with emphasis, bowing 
to the major as he spoke; who, in his turn, repaid 
the courtsey with a still lower obeisance. 

" Sit down, Charley; here is a clean glass. I 
am delighted to see you, my boy! They tell me 
you have got a capital estate, and plenty of ready. 
Lord! we so wanted you, as there's scarcely a fellow 
with sixpence among us. Give me the lad that can 
do a bit of paper at three months, and always be 
ready for a renewal! You haven't got a twenty- 
pound note?" This was said sotlovoce. " Never 
mind, ten will do; you will give me the remain- 
der at Brussels. Strange, is it not, I have not 
seen a bit of clean bank paper like this for above 
a twelvemonth!" This was said as he thrust his 
hand into his pocket, with one of those peculiar 
leers upon his countenance which, unfortunately, 
betrayed more satisfaction at his success than 
gratitude for the service. "You are looking fat 
— too fat, I think," said he, scrutinizing me from 
head to foot; "but the life we are leading just 
now will soon take that off. The slave-trade is 
luxurious indolence compared to it. Post haste 
to Nivelle one day; down to Ghent the next; 
forty miles over a paved road in a hand-gallop, 
and an aide-de-camp with a watch in his hand at 
the end of it, to report if you are ten minutes 
too late. And there is Wellington has his eye 
everywhere; there is not a truss of hay served to 
the cavalry, nor a pair of shoes half-soled in the 
regiment, that he don't know of it. I've got it 
over the knuckles already." 

" How so, major? — how was that?" 

" Why, he ordered me to picket two squadrons 
of the Seventh, and a supper was waiting. I 
didn't like to leave my quarters, so I took up 
my telescope and pitched upon a sweet little spot 
of ground on a hill; rather difficult to get up, to 
be sure, but a beautiful view when you're on it. 
'There is your ground, captain,' said I, as I sent 
one of my people to mark the spot. He did not 
like it much; however, he was obliged to go. 
And, would you believe it? — so much for bad 
luck! — there turned out to be no water within 
two miles of it — not a drop, Charley; and so, 
about eleven at night, the two squadrons moved 
down into Grammont to wet their lips, and, what 
is worse, to report me to the commanding officer. 
And, only think! they put me under arrest be- 
cause Providence did not make a river run up ;i 
mountain!" 

Just as the major stopped speaking, the distant 
clatter of horses' feet and the clank of cavalry 
was heard approaching. We all rushed eagerly 
to the door; and scarcely had we done so, when 
a squadron of dragoons came riding up the street 
at a fast trot. 

"I say, good people," cried the officer, in 
French, " where does the burgomaster live 
here?" 



"Fred Power, 'pon my life!" shouted the 
major. 

"Eh, Monsoon! that you? Give me a turjbler 
of wine, old boy; you are sure to have some, and 
I am desperately blown." 

"Get down, Fred, get down; we have an old 
friend here." 

" Who the deuce d'ye mean?" said he, as throw- 
ing himself from the saddle,he strode into the room. 
"Charley O'Malley! by all that's glorious!" 

" Fred, my gallant fellow!" said I. 

" It was but this morning, Charley, that I so 
wished for you here. The French are advancing, 
my lad; they have crossed the frontier; Ziethen's 
corps have been attacked, and driven in; Blucher 
is falling back upon Ligny; and the campaign is 
opened. But I must press forward; the regiment 
is close behind me, and we are ordered to push 
for Brussels in all haste." 

" Then these despatches," said I, showing my 
packet, "'tis unnecessary to proceed with?" 

" Quite so. Get into the saddle, and come 
back with us." 

The Burgomaster had kept his word with me; 
so, mounted upon a strong hackney, I set out with 
Power on the road to Brussels. I have had occa- 
sion more than once to ask pardon of my reader for 
the prolixity of my narrative, so I shall not tres- 
pass on him here by the detail of our conversa- 
tion as we jogged along. Of me and my adven- 
tures he already knows enough — perhaps too 
much. My friend Power's career, abounding as it 
did in striking incidents, and all the light and 
shadow of a soldier's life, yet not bearing upon 
any of the characters I have presented to your 
acquaintance, except in one instance, of that only 
shall I speak. 

" And the senhora, Fred, how goes your fortune 
in that quarter?" 

" Gloriously, Charley! I am every day expect- 
ing the promotion in my regiment which is to 
make her mine." 

" You have heard from her lately, then?" 

" Heard from her! Why, man, she is in 
Brussels." 

" In Brussels!" 

" To be sure. Don Emanuel is in high favor 
with the duke, and is now commissary-general 
with the army; and the senhora is the belle of the 
Rue Royale, or, at least, it's a divided sovereignty 
between her and Lucy Dashwood. And now, 
Charley, let me ask, what of her? There — there, 
don't blush, man; there is quite enough moon- 
light to show how tender you are in that 
quarter." 

"Once for all, Fred, pray spare me on that 
subject. You have been far too fortunate in 
your affaire de cceur, and I too much the reverse, 
to permit much sympathy between us." 

" Do you not visit, then? or is it a cut between 
you?" 

" I have never met her since the night of the 
masquerade of the Villa — at least, to speak 
to " 

" Well, I must confess, you seem to manage 

your own affairs much worse than your friends'; 

not but that in so doing you are exhibiting a very 

i Irish feature of your character. In any case, you 



492 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



will come to the ball ? Inez will be delighted to 
see you; and I have got over ail my jealousy." 



'What ball ? I never heard of it. 
" Never heard of it! Why, the duchess 



of 



■ Richmond's, of course. Pooh, pooh! man; not 
! invited ? — of course you are invited; the staff are 
', never left out on such occasions. You will find 
your card at your hotel on your return." 

" In any case, Fred " 

" I shall insist upon your going, I have no 
arriere pense'e about a reconciliation with the 
Dashwoods; no subtle scheme, on my honor; 
but simply I feel that you will never give your- 
self fair chances in the world, by indulging your 
habit of shrinking from every embarrassment. 
Don't be offended, boy; I know you have pluck 
enough to storm a battery; I have seen you 
under fire before now. What avails your courage 
in the field, if you have not jiresence of mind in 
the drawing-room? Besides, everything else out 
of the question, it is a breach of etiquette towards 
your chief to decline such an invitation." 
" You think so?" 

"Think so? — no; I am sure of it." 
"Then, as to uniform, Fred?" 
" Oh, as to that, easily managed. And, now I 
think of it, they have sent me an unattached uni- 
form, which you can have; but remember, my 
boy, if I put you in my coat, I don't want you to 
1 stand in my shoes. Don't forget, also, that I am 
j your debtor in horse-flesh, and fortunately able 
: to repay you. I have got such a ciiarger; your 
j own favorite color, dark chestnut, and, except 
I one white leg, not a spot about him; can carry 
,' siKteen stone over a five-foot fence, and as steady 
as a rock under fire." 

" But, Fred, how are you ?" 

"Oh, never mind me; I have si.x in my stable, 
and intend to share with you. The fact is, I 
have been transferred from one staff to another 
for the last six months, and four of my number 
are presents. ' Is Mike with you? Ah! glad to 
hear it; you will never get on witiiout that fellow. 
Besides, it is a capital thing to have such a con- 
necting link with one's nationality. No fear of 
your ever forgetting Ireland with Mr. Free in 
your company. You are not aware that we have 
been correspondents? — a fact, I assure you. 
Mike wrote me two letters; and such letters they 
were! The last was a Jeremiad over your de- 
cline and fall, with a very ominous picture of a 
certain Miss Baby Blake." 
" Confound the rascal!" 

"By Jove, though, Charley, you were coming 
it rather strong with Baby. Inez saw the letter, 
and as well as she could decipher Mike's hiero- 
glyphics, saw there was something in it; but the 
name Baby puzzled her immensely, and she set 
the whole thing down to your great love of chil- 
dren. I don't think that Lucy quite agreed with 
her." 

" Did she tell it to Miss Dashwood ?" I inquired, 
vkfith fear and trembling. 

"Oh, that she did; in fact, Inez never ceases 
talking of you to Lucy. But come, lad, don't 
look so grave; let's have another brush with the 
enemy; capture a battery of their guns; carry off 
a French marshal or two; get ^he Bath for your 



services, and be thanked in general orders, and I 
will wager all my chateaux en Espagne xhAt every- 
thing goes well." 

Thus chatting away, sometimes over the past, 
of our former friends and gay companions, of our 
days of storm and sunshine; sometimes indulging 
in prospects for the future, we trotted along, and, 
as the day was breaking mounted the ridge of 
low hills, from whence, at the distance of a 
couple of leagues, the city of Brussels came into 
view. 



CHAPTER CXYIIL 

THE DUCHESS OF RICHMOND'S BALL. 

Whether we regard the illustrious and dis- 
tinguished personages who thronged around, or 
we think of the portentous moment in which it 
was given, the duchess of Richmond's ball, on 
the night of the 15th of June, 1815, was not only 
one of the most memorable, but, in its interest, 
the most exciting entertainment that the memory 
of any one now living can compass. 

There is always something of no common in- 
terest in seeing the bronzed and war-worn soldier 
mixing in the crowd of light-hearted and brilliant 
beauty. To watch the eye whose proud glance 
has flashed o'er the mail-clad squadrons, now 
bending meekly beneath the look of some timid 
girl; to hear the voice that, high above the battle 
or the breeze, has shouted the hoarse word 
"Charge!" now subdued into the low, soft mur- 
mur of flattery or compliment; this, at any time, 
is a picture full of its own charm; but when we 
see these heroes of a hundred fights; when we 
look upon these hardy veterans, upon whose worn 
brow the whitened locks of time are telling, indulg- 
ing themselves in the careless gayety of a moment, 
snatched, as it were, from the arduous career of 
their existence, while the tramp of the advancing 
enemy shakes the very soil they stand on, and 
where it may be doubted whether each aide-de- 
cam|j who enters comes a new votary of pleasure 
or the bearer of tidings that the troops of the foe 
are advancing, and already the work of death has 
begun; — this is, indeed, a scene to make the heart 
throb, and the pulse beat high: this is a moment, 
second in its proud excitement only to the very 
crash and din of battle itself; and into this en- 
trancing whirlwind of passion and of pleasure, 
of brilliant beauty and ennobled greatness, of all 
that is lovely in woman, and all that is chi\alrous 
and heroic in roan, I brought a heart which, 
young in years, was yet tempered by disappoint- 
ment; still, such was the fascination, such the 
brilliancy of the spectacle, that scarcely had I en- 
tered, than I felt a change come over me — the 
old spirit of my boyish ardor— that high-wrought 
enthusiasm to do something — to be something 
which men may speak of — shot suddenly through 
me, and I felt my cheek tingle, and my temples 
throb, as name after name of starred and titled 
officers were announced, to think that tome, also, 
the path of glorious enterprise was opening. 

"Come along, come along," said Power, catch- 
ing me by the arm, " you've not been presented 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



493 



to the duchess; I know her. I'll do it for yo i — 
or perhaps it is better Sir Thomas Picton snuiild; 
in any case, ' filfz' after me, for the dark-eyed 
senhora is surely expecting us. Tliere, do you 
see that dark, intelligent-looking fellow leaning 
over the end of the sofa? that is Alava; and there, 
you know who that is, ihai />eaii ideal oi a hussar.' 
Look how jauntingly he carries himself; see the 
careless but graceful sling with which he edges 
through the crowd; and look! — mark his bowl- 
did you see that, Charley? — did you catch the 
quick glance he shot yonder, and the soft smile 
that showed his white teeth? Depend upon it, 
boy, some fair heart is not the better nor the 
easier for that look." 

" Who is it?" said I. 

" Lord U.xbridge, to be sure; the handsomest 
fellow in the service; and there goes Vandeleur, 
talking with Vivian; the other, to the left, is 
Ponsonby." 

'■ But stay, Fred, tell me who that is?" For a 
moment or two, I had some difficulty in direct- 
ing his attention to the quarter I desired. The 
individual I pointed out was somewhat above the 
middle size; his uniform of blue and gold, though 
singularly plain, had a look of richness about it; 
besides that, among the orders which covered liis 
breast, he wore one star of great brilliancy and 
size. This, however, was his least distinction; 
for although surrounded on every side by those 
who might be deemed the very types and pictures 
of their castt\ there was something in the easy but 
upright carriage of his head, the intrepid char- 
acter of his features, the bold and vigorous flash- 
ing of his deep blue eye, that marked him as no 
common man. He was talking with an old and 
prosy-looking personage, in civilian dress; and 
and while I could detect an anxiety to get free 
from a tiresome companion, there was an air of 
deferential, and even kind attention in his man- 
ner, absolutely captivating. 

'"A thorough gentleman, Fred, whoever he 
be," said I. 

"I should think so," replied Power, dryly; 
"and as our countrymen would say, 'The devil 
thank him for it.' That is the Prince of Orange; 
but see, look at him now, his features have 
learned another fashion." And true it was; witli 
a smile of the most winning softness, and with a 
voice, whose slightly foreign accent took noth- 
ing from its interest, I heard him engaging a 
partner for a waltz. 

There was a flutter of excitement in the circle 
as the lady rose to. take his arm, and a muttered 
sound of, "How very beautiful, que/le esl belle! 
c'est tin ange!" on all sides. I leaned forward to 
catch a glance as she passed — it was Lucy Dash- 
wood. Beautiful beyond anything I had ever 
seen her, her lovely features lit up with pleasure 
and with pride, she looked in every way worthy 
to lean upon the arm of royalty. The graceful 
majesty of her walk, the placid loveliness of her 
gentle smile, struck every one as she passed on. 
As for me, totally forgetting all else, not seeing 
or hearing aught around me, I followed her with 
my eye until she was lost amongst the crowd, 
and then, with an impulse of which I was not 
master, followed in her steps. 



" This way, this way," said Power; " I see the 
senhora." So saying, we entered a little boudoir, 
where a party was playing at cards. Leaning 
on the back of a chair, Inez was endeavoring, 
with that mixture of coquetry and half malicf 
she possessed, to distract the attention of thf 
player. As Power came near, she scarcely turned 
her head to give him a kind of saucy smile; 
while, seeing me, she held out her hand with 
friendly warmth, and seemed quite happy to 
meet me. 

" Do, pray, take her away: get her to dance, to 
eat ice, or flirt with you, for Heaven's sake!" 
said the- half-laughing voice of her victim. "1 
have revoked twice, and misdealt four times, 
since she has been here. Believe me, I shall 
take it as the greatest favor, if you'll " 

As he got thus far he turned round towards 
me, and I perceived it was Sir tieorge Dash- 
wood. The meeting was as awkward for him as 
for me: and, while a deep flush covered my face, 
lie muttered some unintelligible apology, and 
Inez burst into a fit of laughter at the ludicrous 
contretemps of our situations. 

" I will dance with you now, if you like," said 
she, " and that will be punisliing all three. Eh, 
Master Fred ?" 

So saying, she took my arm as I led her towards 
the ball-room. 

"And so you really are not friends with the 
Dashwoods? How very provoking, and how 
foolish, too! But, really, chevalier, 1 must say 
you treat ladies very ill. I don't forget your con- 
duct to me. Dear me, I wish we could move 
forward; there is some one pushing me dreadfully!" 

" Get on, ma'am, get on!" said a sharp, decided 
voice beliind me. I turned, half smiling, to see 
the speaker. It was the duke of A\'ellington jiim- 
self, who, with his eye fixed upon some person at 
a distance, seemed to care very little for any in- 
tervening obstruction. As I made way for hilm 
to pass between us, he looked hardly at me, 
while he said, in a short, quick way, 

" Know your face very "well; how d'ye do?" 
With this brief recognition he passed on, leaving 
me to console Inez for her crushed sleeve, by in- 
forming her wlio had done it. 

The ball was now at its height. The waltzers 
whirled past in the wild excitement of the dance. 
The inspiriting strains of the music, the sounds 
of laughter, the din, the tumult, all made up 
that strange medley which, re-acting upon the 
minds of those who cause it, increases the feel- 
ing of the pleasurable abandonment, making the 
old feel young, and the )oung intoxicated with 
delight. 

As the senhora leaned upon me, fatigued with 
waltzing, I was endeavoring to sustain a conver- 
sation with her; while my thoughts were wander- 
ing with my eyes to where I had 1; tt seen Lucy 
Dasliwood. 

"It must be fomething of importance; I'm 
sure it is," said she, at the conclusion of a speech, 
of which I had not heard one word. " Look at 
General Picton's face!" 

"Very pretty, indeed," said I; "but the hair 
is unbecoming," replying to some previous ob.- 
servation she had made, and still lost in a rev,- 



494 



CHARLES 0"MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



erie. A hearty burst of laughter was her answer, 
as she gently shook my arm, saying, 

"You really are too badi You never listened 
to one word I've been telling you, but keep con- 
tinually staring with your eyes here and there, 
turning this way, and looking that; and the dull 
and vacant, unmeaning smile; answering at 
random, in the most provoking manner. There, 
now, pray pay attention, and tell me what that 
means." As she said this, she pointed with her 
fan to where a dragoon officer, in splashed and 
spattered uniform, was standing, talking to some 
three or four general officers. "But here comes 
the duke; it can't be anything of consequence." 

At the same instant the duke of Wellington 
passed with the duchess of Richmond on his 
arm. 

"No, duchess; 'nothing to alarm you. Did 
yo\i say ice?" 

"There, you heard that, I hope?" said Inez; 
"there is nothing to alarm us." 

"Go to General Picton at once; but don't let 
it be remarked," said an officer, in a whisper, as 
he passed close by me. 

" Inez, I have the greatest curiosity to learn 
what that new arrival has to say for himself; and, 
if you will permit me, I'll leave you with Lady 
Gordon for one moment " 

" Delighted, of all things. You are, without 
exception, the most tiresome-— — Good-by." 

"Sii/is adieu," said I, as I hurried through the 
crowd towards an open window, on the balcony 
outside of which Sir Thomas Picton was standing. 

" Ah, Mr. O'Malley, have you a pencil ? There, 
that'll do. Ride down to Etterbeeck with this 
order for Godwin. You have heard the news, I 
suppose, that the French are in advance? The 
Seventy-ninth will muster in the Grande Place. 
The Ninety-second and the Twenty-eighth along 
the Park and the Boulevard. Napoleon left 
Fresne this morning. The Prussians have fallen 
back. Ziethen has been beaten. We march at 
once." 

" To-morrow, sir?" 

" No, sir; to-night. There! don't delay. But, 
above all, let everything be done quietly and noise- 
lessly. The duke will remain here for an hour 
longer, to prevent suspicion. When you've exe- 
cuted your orders, come back here." 

I mounted the first horse I could find at the 
door, and galloped with top speed over the heavy 
causeway to Etterbeeck. In two minutes the drum 
beat to arms, and the men were mustering as I left. 
Thence I hastened to the barracks of the Highland 
brigade and the 28th Regiment; and, before half 
an hour, was back in the ball-room, where, from 
the din and tumult, I guessed the scene of pleas- 
ure and dissipation continued unabated. As I 
hurried up the staircase, a throng of persons were 
coming down, and I was obliged to step aside to 
let them pass. 

"Ah! come here, pray," said Picton, who, with 
a lady cloaked and hooded, leaning upon his arm, 
was struggling to make way through the crowd. 
" The very man!" 

" Will you excuse me, if I commit you to the 
care of my aide-de-camp, who will see you to your 
carriage? The duke has just desired to see me." 



This he said in a hurried and excited tone; and 
the same moment beckoned to me lo take the 
lady's arm. 

It was with some difficulty I succeeded in reach- 
ing the spot, and had only time lo ask whose 
carriage I should call for, ere we arrived in the 
hall. 

" Sir George Dashwood's," said a low, soft 
voice, whose accents sank into my very heart. 
Heaven! it was Lucy herself; it was her arm that 
leaned on mine, her locks that fluttered beside 
me, her hand that hung so near, and yet I could 
not speak. I tried one word; but a choking feel- 
ing in my throat prevented utterance, and al- 
ready we were upon the doorsteps. 

" Sir George Dashwood's carriage," shouted 
the footman, and the announcement wasre])eated 
by the porter. The steps were hurried down; 
the footman stood, door in hand; and I led her 
forward, mute and trembling. Did she know me? 
I assisted her as she stepped in; her hand touched 
mine; it v.'as the work of a second; to me it was 
the bliss of years. She leaned a little forward, 
and, as the servant put up the steps, said, in her 
soft, sweet tone, " Thank you, sir. Good-night." 

I felt my shoulder touched by some one, who, it 
appeared, was standing close to me for some sec- 
onds; but so occupied was I in gazing at her, that I 
paid no attention to the circumstance. The car- 
riage drove away, and disappeared in the thick 
darkness of a starless night. I turned to re-enter 
the house, and, as I did so, the night-lamp of the 
hall fell upon the features of the man beside me, 
and showed me the pale and corpse-like face of 
Fred Hammersley. His eye was bent upon me 
with an expression of fierce and fiery passion, in 
which the sadness of long suffering also mingled. 
His bloodless lijjs parted, moved as though speak- 
ing, while yet no sound issued: and his nostril, 
dilating and contracting by turns, seemed to de- 
note some deep and hidden emotion that worked 
within him. 

" Hammersley," said I, holding out my hand 
towards him, " Hammersley, do not always mis- 
take me." 

He shook his head mournfully as it fell for- 
ward upon his breast; and, covering his arm, 
moved slowly away without speaking. 

General Picton's voice, as he descended the 
stairs, accompanied by Generals Vandeleur and 
Vivian aroused meat once, and I hurried towards 
him. 

"Now, sir; to horse. The troops will defile 
by the Namur gate; and meet me there in an 
hour. Meanwhile tell Colonel Cameron that he 
must march with the light companies of his own 
and the Ninety-second at once." 

" I say, Picton, they'll say we were taken by 
surprise in England; won't they?" said a sharp, 
strong voice, in a half-laughing tone, from behind. 

" No, your grace," said Sir Thomas, bowing 
slightly; "they'll scarcely do so, when they hear 
the time we took to get under arms." 

I heard no more; but, throwing myself into the 
saddle of my troop-horse, once more rode back to 
the Belle Vue, to make ready for the road. 

The thin pale crescent of a new moon, across 
which masses of dark and inky clouds were hur- 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



495 



rying, tipped with its faint and sickly light the 
tall minarets of the Hotel de Ville, as I rode into 
the "Grande Place." Although midnight, the 
streets were as crowded as at noonday; horse, 
foot, and dragoons passing and hurrying hither; 
the wild pibroch of the Highlander; the mellow 
bugle of the Seventy-first; the horse trumpet of 
the cavalry, the incessant roll of the drum, min- 
gled their sounds with the tide of human voices, 
in which every accent was heard, from the reck- 
less cheer of anticipated victory, to the heart- 
piercing shriek of woman's agony. Lights gleamed 
from every window; from the door of almost 
every house poured forth a crowd of soldiers and 
townsfolk. The sergeants, on one side, might be 
seen telling off their men, their cool and steady 
countenances evidencing no semblance of emotion ; 
while near them, some young ensign, whose beard- 
less cheek and vacant smile bespoke the mere 
boy, looked on with mingled pride and wonder, 
at the wild scene before him. Every now and 
then some general officer, with his staff, came can- 
tering past; and, as the efforts to muster and 
form the troops grew more pressing, I could 
mark how soon we were destined to meet the 
enemy. 

There are few finer monuments of the archi- 
tecture of the middle ages than the Grande Place 
of Brussels; the rich facade of the Hotel de Ville, 
with its long colonnade of graceful arches, upon 
every keystone of which some grim, grotesque 
head is peering. The massive cornices; the heavy 
corbels carved into ten thousand strange and un- 
couth fancies; but, finer than all, the taper and 
stately spire, fretted and perforated like some 
piece of silver filagree, stretches upward towards 
the sky, its airy pinnacle growing finer and more 
beautiful as it nears the stars it points to. How 
full of historic associations is every dark em- 
brasure, every narrow casement around! Here 
may have stood the great Emperor Charles the 
Fifth, meditating upon that greatness he was 
about to forego forever; here, from this tall win- 
dow, may have looked the sad and sickly features 
of Jeanne Laffolle, as, with wandering eye and 
idiot smile, she gazed upon the gorgeous proces- 
sion beneath. There is not a stone that has not 
echoed to the tread of haughty prince or bold 
baron; yet never, in the palmiest days of ancient 
chivalry, did those proud dwellings of the great 
of old look out upon a braver and more valiant 
host than now thronged beneath their shadow. 
It was indeed a splendid sight, where the bright 
gleams of torch and lantern threw the red 
light around, to watch the measured tread and 
steady tramp of the Highland regiments as they 
defiled into the open space; each footstep, as 
it met the ground, seeming, in its proud and 
firm tread, to move in more than sympathy with 
the wild notes of their native mountains; silent 
and still they moved along; no voice spoke within 
their ranks, save that of some command to " Close 
up^take ground — to the right — rear rank — close 
order." Except such brief words as these, or the 
low muttered praise of some veteran general as 
he rode down the line, all was orderly and steady 
as on a parade. Meanwhile, from an angle of the 
square, the band of an approaching regiment was 



heard; and to the inspiriting quickness of "The 
Young May Moon," the gallant Twenty-eighth 
came forward, and took up their ground opposite 
to the Highlanders. 

The deep bell of the Hotel de Ville tolled one. 
The solemn sound rang out and died away in 
many an echo: leaving upon the heart a sense of 
some unknown depression; and there was some- 
thing like a knell in the deep cadence of its bay; 
and over many a cheek a rapid trace of gloomy 
thought now passed; and true — too true, .alas! — 
how many now listened for the last time! 

"March! march!" passed from front to rear; 
and, as the bands burst forth again in streams of 
spirit-stirring Jiarmony, the Seventy-ninth moved 
on; the Twenty-eighth followed; and as they 
debouched from the " Place" the Seventy-first and 
the Ninety-second succeeded them. Like wave 
after wave, the tide of armed men pressed on, 
and mounted the steep and narrow street towards 
the upper town of Brussels. Here Pack's brij^ade 
was forming in the Place Royale; and a crowd 
of staff officers dictating orders, and writing hur- 
riedly on the drum-heads, were also seen. A 
troop of dragoons stood beside their horses at 
the door of the Belle Vue, and several grooms 
with led horses walked to and fro. 

"Ride forward, sir, to the Bois de Cambre," 
said Picton, " and pivot the troops on the road to 
Mont St. Jean. You will then wait for my coming 
up, or further orders." 

This command, which was given to me, I 
hastened to obey; and with difficulty forcing my 
way through the opposing crowd, at length reached 
the Namur gate. Here I found a detachment of 
the Guards, who as yet had got no orders to march, 
and were somewhat surprised to learn the forward 
movement. Ten minutes' riding brought me to 
the angle of the wood, whence I wrote a few lines 
to my host of the Belle Vue, desiring him to send 
Mike after me with my horses and my kit. The 
night was cold, dark, and threatening; the wind 
howled with a low and wailing cry through the 
dark pine-trees; and as I stood alone and in soli- 
tude, I had time to think of the eventful hours 
before me, and of that field which ere long was 
to witness the triumph or the downfall of my 
country's arms. The road which led through the 
forest of Soignies caught an additional gloom 
from the dark, dense woods around. The faint 
moon only showed at intervals; and a lowering 
sky, without a single star, stretched above us. It 
was an awful and a solemn thing to hear the deep 
and thundering roll of that mighty column, awaken- 
ing the echoes of the silent forest as they went. 
So hurried was the movement, that we had scarcely 
any artillery, and that of the lightest calibre; 
but the clash and clank of the cavalry, the heavy, 
monotonous tramp of infantry were there; and as 
division followed after division, staff officers rode 
hurriedly to and fro, pressing the eager troops 
still on. 

"Move up there, Ninety-fifth. Ah! Forty- 
second, we've work before us!" said Picton, as 
he rode up to the head of his brigade. The air 
of depression which usually sat upon his care- 
worn features now changed for a light and laugh- 
ing look, while bis voice .was softened and sub- 



493 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



dued into a low and pleasing tone. Although it 
was midsummer, the roads were heavy and deep 
with mud. For some weeks previously the weather 
had been rainy; and this, added to the haste and 
discomfort of the night march, considerably in- 
creased the fatigue of the troops. Notwitlistand- 
ing these disadvantages, not a murmur nor com- 
plaint was heard on any side. 

'■ I'm unco glad to get a blink o' them, ony- 
how," said a tall, raw-boned sergeant, who 
marched beside me. 

" Faitli, and maybe you won't be over-pleased 
at the expression of their faces, when you see 
them," said Mike, whose satisfaction at the pros- 
pect before him was still as great as that of any 
other amid the thousands tliere. 

The day was slowly breaking, as a Prussian of- 
ficer, splashed and covered with foam, came gal- 
loping up at full speed past us. While I was yet 
conjecturing what might be the intelligence he 
brought, Power rode up to my side. 

" We're in for it, Charley," said he. " Tlie 
whole French army are in marcli; and Blucher's 
aide-de-camp, who has arrived, gives the num- 
ber at one hundred and fifty thousand men. The 
Prussians are drawn up between Saint Amand and 
Sombref, and the Nassau and Dutch troops are at 
Quatre Bras, both e.xpecting to be attacked." 

" Quatre Bras was the original rallying spot 
for our troops, was it not?" said I. 

"Yes, yes. It is that we're now marching 
upon; but our Prussian friend seems to think we 
shall arrive too late. Strong French corps are 
already at Fresnes, under the command, it is said, 
of Marshal Ney." 

The great object of the British commander-in- 
chief was to arrive at Quatre Bras in sufificient 
time to effect his junction with Blucher before a 
battle should be fought. To effect this no exer- 
tion was spared; efforts almost superhuman were 
made; for, however prepared for a forward move- 
ment, it was impossible to have anticipated any- 
thing until the intentions of Napoleon became 
clearly manifest. While Nivelles and Cliarleroi 
were exposed to liim on one side, Namur lay open 
on the other; and he could either march upon 
Brussels, by Mons or Halle, or, as he subse- 
quently attempted, by Quatre Bras and Waterloo. 
No sooner, however, were his intentions un- 
masked, and the line of his operations manifested, 
than Lord WelHngton, with an energy equal to 
the mighty occasion that demanded it, poured 
down with the whole force under his command 
to meet him. 

The march was a most distressing one; up- 
wards of three-and-twenty miles, with deep and 
cut-up roads, in hot, oppressive weather, in a 
country almost destitute of water. Still the troops 
pressed forward, and by noon came within hear- 
ing of the heavy cannonade in front, which indi- 
cated the situation of the battle. From this time 
aide-de-camp foHowed aide-de-camp in quick 
succession, who, from their scared looks and hur- 
ried gestures, seemed to bode but ill fortune to 
the cause we cared for. What the precise situa- 
tion of the rival armies might be we knew not; 
but we heard the French were in overwhelming 
numbers; that the Dutch troops had abandoned 



their position; the Hanoverians being driven 
back, the duke of Brunswick — the brave sover- 
eign of a gallant people — fell charging at the 
head of his black hussars. From one phrase 
whicli constantly met our ears, it seemed that the 
Bois de Bossu was tlie key of the position. This 
had been won and lost repeatedly by both sides; l 
and as we neared the battle-field a despatch hur- 
riedly announced to Picton the importance of at 
once recovering this contested point. The Ninety- 
fifth were ordered up to the attack. Scarcely was 
the word gi\en, when fatigue, thirst, and exhaus- 
tion were forgotten, with one cheer the gallant 
regiment formed into line, and advanced upon 
the wood. Meanwhile, the Highland brigade 
moved down towards the right* the Royals and 
the Twenty-eighth debouched upon the left of 
the road; and in less than half an hour after our 
arrival our whole force was in action. 

There is something appalling, to the bravest 
army, in coming up to battle at the time that an 
overwhelming and conquering foe are carrying 
victory triumphantly before them : such was our 
position at Quatre Eras. Bravely and gloriously 
as the forces of the Prince of Orange fought, ihe 
day, however, was not theirs. The Bois de Eos.su, 
which opened to the enemy the road to Brussels, 
was held by their tirailleurs; the valley to the 
right was rode over by their mounted squadrons, 
who with lance and sabre carried all before them; 
their dark columns pressed steadily on, and a 
death -dealing artillery swept the allied ranks 
from flank to flank. Such was the field when the . 
British arrived, and, throwing thtmselves into ' 
squares, opposed their unaided force to the 
dreadful charges of tlie enemy. The batteries 
showered down their storms of grape; Milhaud's 
heavy dragoons, assisted by crowds of lancers, 
rushed upon the squares, but tliey stood un- 
broken and undaunted, as sometimes upon three 
sides of their position the infuriated horsemen of 
the enemy came down. Once, and once only, 
were the French successful; the 42nd, who 
were stationed amid tall corn-fields, were sur- 
rounded with cavalry before they knew it. I'he 
word was given to form square; the Lancers 
were already among them, and, fighting back to 
back, the gallant Higlanders met the foe. Fresh 
numbers poured down upon them, and already 
half the regiment was disabled and their colonel 
killed. These brave fellows were rescued by the 
44th, who, throwing in a withering volley, fixed • 
bavonets and charged. Meanwhile, the 95th 
had won and lost the wood, which, now in the 
possession of the French tirailleurs, threatened 
to turn the left of our position. It was at this 
time that a body of cavalry were st'en standing to 
the left of the Enghien road, as if in observation. 
An officer sent forward to reconnoitre, returned 
with the intelligence that they were British troops, 
for he had seen their red uniforms. 

"I can't think it, sir," said Picton. "It is 
hardly possible that any regiment from Enghien 
could have arrived already. Ride forward, 
O'Malley, and, if they be our fellows, let them 
carry that height yonder; there are two guns 
there cutting the 92nd to pieces." 

I put spurs to my horse, cleared the road at 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



497 



once, and dashing across the open space to the 
left of the wood, rode on in tlie direction of the 
horsemen. When I came within the distance of 
three hundred yards I examined them with my 
glass, and could plainly detect the scarlet coats 
and bright helmets. " Ha," thought I, " the ist 
Dragoon (luards, no doubt." Muttering to my- 
self "thus much, I galloped straight on; and wav- 
ing my hand as I came near, announced that I 
was the bearer of an order. Scarcely had I done 
so. when four horsemen, dashing spurs into their 
steeds, plunged hastily out from the line, and, 
before I could speak, surrounded me. While 
the foremost called out, as he flourished his sabre 
above his \\tSLd," Rendez-voiis!" At tlie same 
moment I was seized on each side, and led back 
a captive into the hands of the enemy. 

" We guess your mistake, capitaine," said the 
French officer before whom I was brought. " ^Ve 
are the regiment of Berg, and our scarlet uniform 
cost us dearly enough yesterday." 

I'his allusion, I afterwards learnt, was in ref- 
erence to a charge by a cuirassier regiment, 
which, in mistaking them for English, poured a 
volley into them, and killed and wounded about 
twenty of their number. 



CHAPTER CXIX. 



QUATRE BRAS. 



Those who have visited the field of Quatre Bras 
will remember that on the left of tlie liigh road, and 
nearly at the extremity of the Bois de Bossu, 
stands a large Flemish farm-house, whose high, 
pitched roof, pointed gables, and quaint, old- 
fahioned chimneys, remind one of the architect- 
ure so frequently seen in Tenier's pictures. The 
house, which, with its dependencies of stables, 
granaries, and out-houses, resembles a little vil- 
lage, is surrounded by a large, straggling orchard 
of aged fruit-trees, through which the approach 
from the high road leads. The interior of this 
quaint dwelling, like all those of its class, is only 
remarkable for a succession of small, dark, low- 
ceiled 'rooms, leading one into another; their 
gloomy aspect increased by the dark oak furni- 
ture, the heavy armories, and old fashioned 
presses, carved in the grotesque taste of the six- 
teenth and seventeenth centuries. Those who 
visit it now may mark the trace of cannon-sliot 
here and there through the building; more than 
one deep crack will attest the force of the dread 
artillery. Still the traveller will feel struck with 
the rural peace and quietude of the scene: the 
speckled oxen that stand lowing in the deep 
meadows; the splash of the silvery trout as he 
sports in the bright stream that ripples along over 
Its gravelly bed; the cawing of the old rooks in 
the tall beech-trees; but, more than all, the 
happy laugh of children — speak of the spot as 
one of retired and tranquil beauty; yet, when my 
eyes oped upon it on the morning of the 17th of 
June, the scene presented features of a widely 
different interest. The day was breaking as 



the deep, full sound of the French bugles an- 
nounced the reveil. F'orgetful of where J was, I 
sprang from my bed and rushed to the window; the 
prospect before me at one recalled me to my rec- 
ollection, and I remembered that I was a prisoner. 
The exciting events around left me but lillle time 
and as little inclination to think over my old mis- 
fortunes; and I watched, with all the inteiest of 
a soldier, the movement of the P'rench trccps in 
the orchard beneath. A squadron of dragoons, 
who seemed to have passed the night beside their 
horses, lay stretched or seated in all the pictur- 
esque groupings of a bivouac: some, already up and 
stirring; others leaned half listlessly iqcn tkcir 
elbows, and looked about as if unwilling 10 
believe the night was over; and seme, stretched 
in deep slumber, woke not with the noise ar.d 
tumult around them. The room in which I was 
confined looked out upon the road to Charleroi; 
I could therefore see the British troops; and as 
the French army had fallen back during the 
night, only an advance guard maintaining the 
position, I was left to my unaided conjectures as 
to the fortune of the preceding day of battle. 
What a period of anxiety and agitation was 
that morning to me; what would I rot have given 
to learn the result of the action since the mo- 
ment of my capture! Stubborn as ourresistar.ee 
had been, we were evidently getting tlie vortt cf 
it; and, if the guards had not arrived in time, 
I knew we must have been beaten. 

I walked up and down my narrow rccm, tor- 
tured and agonized by my doubts, now stcj ping 
to reason over the possibilities of success, r.cw 
looking from the window to try if, in the ges^ture 
and bearing of those without, I could conjecture 
anything that passed. Too well I knew il e \aunt- 
ing character of the French soldier, in defeat as 
in victory, to put much confidence in their bear- 
ing. While, however, I watched them with an 
eager eye, I heard the tramp of horsemen ccming 
along the paved causewa). From the mcnient 
my ear caught the sound to that of their arrival 
at the gate of the orchard, but few minutes 
elapsed; their pace was indeed a severe one, 
aneJ, as they galloped through the narrow path 
that led to the farm-house, they never drew rein 
till they reached the porch. The party consisted 
of about a do'^en persons, whose plumed hats 
bespoke them staff officers; but their unifoims 
were concealed beneath their great-coats. As 
they came along the picket sprang to their feet, 
and the guard at the door beneath presented 
arms; this left no doubt upon my mind that 
some officer of rank was among them, and, as I 
knew that Ney himself commanded on the pre- 
ceding day, I thought it might be he. The sound 
of voices beneath informed me that the party 
occupied the room under that in which I was, 
and, although I listened attentively, I could hear 
nothing but the confused murmur of persons 
conversing together without detecting even a 
word. My thoughts now fell into another chan- 
nel, and, as I ruminated over my old position, I 
heard the noise of the sentry at my door as he 
brought his musket to the shoulder, and the next 
moment an officer in the uniform of the chas- 
seurs of the guard entered. Bowing politely as 



498 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON, 



he advanced to the middle of the room, he ad- 
dressed me thus- 

" You s|)eak French, sir?" and, as I replied in 
the affirmative, continued: 

" Will you then luive the goodness to follow 
me this way?" 

Although burning with anxiety to learn what 
had taken place, yet somehow I could not bring 
myself to ask the question. A secret pride mingled 
with my fear that all had not gone well with us, 
and I durst not expose myself to hear of our de- 
feat from the lips of an enemy. I had barely 
time to ask into whose presence I was about to 
be ushered, when, with a slight smile of a strange 
meaning, he opened the door and introduced me 
into the salon. Although I had seen at least 
twelve or fourteen horsemen arrive, there were 
but three persons in the room as 1 entered. One 
of these, who sat writing at a small table near the 
window, never lifted iiis head on my entrance, 
but continued assiduously his occupation. An- 
other, a tall, fine-looking man of some sixty years 
or upwards, whose high, bald forehead and 
drooping moustache, white as snow, looked in 
every way the old soldier of the einpire, stood 
leaning upon his sabre; while the third, whose 
stature, somewhat below the middle size, was 
yet cast in a strong and muscular mould, stood 
with his back to the fire, holding on his arms the 
skirts of a grey surtout which he wore over his 
imiform; his legs were cased in the laW /vtUs a 
I'e'cuyere worn by the chasseur a c/uva/, and on 
his head a low cocked hat, without plume or 
feather, completed his costume. There was 
something which, at the very moment of my en- 
trance, struck me as uncommon in his air and 
bearing, so much so that when my eyes had once 
rested on his pale but placid countenance, liis 
regular, handsome, but somewhat stern features, 
I totally forgot the presence of the others and 
looked only at him. 

" What's your rank, sir?" said he, hurriedly, 
and with a tone w^hich bespoke command. 

" I have none at present, save — — " 

" Why do you wear your epaulettes then, sir?" 
said he, harshly, while from his impatient look 
and hurried gesture I saw that he put no faitii in 
my reply. 

■' I am an aide-de-camp to General Picton, but 
without regimental rank." 

" What was the British force under arms yes- 
terday?" 

■' I do not feel myself at liberty to give you 
any information as to the number or the move- 
ments of our army." 

"Diantre! Diantre!" said he, slapping his 
boot with his horsewhip, " do you know what 
you've been saying there, eh? Cambronne, you 
heard him, did you?" 

"Yes, sire, and if your majesty would permit 
me to deal with him, I would have his informa- 
tion, if he possess any, and that ere long, too." 

" 'E\\,ga!//ard," said he, laughing, as he pinched 
the old gentleman's ear in jest, " I believe you 
with all my heart." 

The full truth flashed upon my mind. I was 
in presence of the emperor himself. As, however, 
up to this moment, I was unconscious of his 



presence, I resolved now to affect ignorance of 

it throughout. 

"Had you despatches, sir?" said he, turning 
towards me with a look of stern severity. " Were 
any despatches found upon him when he was 
taken?" This latter question was directed to the 
aide-de-camp who introduced me, and who still 
remained at the door. 

" No, sire, nothing was found upon him except 
this locket." 

As he said these words he placed in Napoleon's 
hands the keepsake which St. Croix had left with 
me years before in Spain, and which, as the 
reader may remember, was a miniature of the 
Empress Josephine. 

The moment the emperor threw his eyes upon 
it, the flush which excitement had called into 
his cheek disappeared at once; he became pale -is 
death, his very lips as bloodless as his wan cheek. 

" Leave me, Lefebvre; leave me, Cambronne, 
for a moment, I will speak to this gentleman 
alone." 

As the door closed upon them he leaned his 
arm upon the mantelpiece, and, with his head 
sunk upon his bosom, remained some moments 
without speaking. 

"Augtire sivisire! ' muttered he within his 
teeth, as his piercing gaze was riveted upon the 
picture before him. " Voila la troisiime fois; 
peut-etre la derniere." Then suddenly rousing 
himself, he advanced close to me and, seizing 
me by the arm with a grasp like iron, inquired: 

" How came you by this picture? The truth, 
sir; mark me, the truth." 

Without showing any sign of feeling hurt at 
the insinuation of this question, I detailed, in as 
few words as I could, the circumstan^'e by which 
the locket became mine. Long before I had 
concluded, however, I could mark that his atten- 
tion flagged, and finally wandered far away from 
the matter before him. 

" Why will you not give me the information I 
look for? I seek for no breach of faith. The 
campaign is all but over. The Prussians were 
beaten at Ligny, their army routed, their artillery 
captured, ten thousand prisoners taken. Y'our 
troops and the Dutch were conquered yesterday, 
and they are in full retreat on Brussels. By to- 
morrow evening I shall date my bulletin from 
the palace at Laeken. Antwerp will be in my 
possession within twenty-four hours. Namur is 
already mine. Cambronne, Lefebvre," cried he, 
"' cet homtne-la n'en salt rien," pointing to me as 
he spoke. "Let us see the other." With this 
he motioned slightly with his hand, as a sign for 
me to withdraw, and the next moment I was once 
more in the solitude of my prison-room, thinking 
over the singular interview I had just had with 
the great emperor. 

How anxiously pass the hours of one who, de- 
prived of other means of information, is left to 
form his conjectures by some passing object or 
some chance murmur. The things which, in the 
ordinary course of life, are passed by unnoticed 
and unregarded, are now matters of moment; 
with what scrutiny he examines the features of 
those whom he dare not question; with what pa- 
tient ear he listens to each passing word. Thus 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



499 



to me, a prisoner, the hours went by tardily yet 
anxiousiy; no sabre ckini<ed; no war-horse 
neighed; no heavy-booted cuirassier tramped in 
tlie court-yard beneath ray window, without set- 
ting a hundred conjectures afloat as to what was 
about to happen. For some time there had been 
a considerable noise and bustle in and about the 
dwelling. Horsemen came and went continually 
The sounds of galloping could be heard along 
the paved causeway; then the challenge of the 
sentry at the gate; then the nearer tread of ap- 
proaching steps, and many voices speaking to- 
gether, would seem to indicate that some messen- 
ger had arrived uith des[)atches. At length all 
these sounds became iuished and still; no longer 
were the voices heard; and except the measured 
tread of the heavy cuirassier, as he paced on the 
flags beneath, nothing was to be heard. My 
state of suspense, doubly greater now than when 
the noise and tumult suggested food for conjec- 
ture, continued till towards noon, when a soldier 
in undress brought me some breakfast, and told 
me to prepare speedily for the road. 

Scarcely had he left the room, when the rum- 
bling noise of wagons was heard below, and a 
train of artillery carts moved into the little court- 
yard, loaded with wounded men. It was a sad 
and frightful sight to see these poor fellows, as, 
crammed side by side in the straw of the c/iar- 
rctte, they lay, their ghastly wounds opening with 
every motion of the wagon, while their wan, pale 
faces were convulsed with agony and suffering 
Of every rank, from the sous-lieutenant to the 
humble soldier, from every arm of the service, 
from the heavy cuirassier of the guard to the 
light and intrepid tirailleur, they were there, I 
well remember one, an artilleryman of the guard, 
who, as they lifted him forth from the cart, pre- 
sented the horrifying spectacle of one, both of 
whose legs had been carried away by a cannon- 
shot; pale, cold, and corpse-like, he lay in their 
arms, his head lay heavily to one side, and his 
arms fell passively, as in death. It was at this 
moment a troop of lancers, the advanced guard 
of d'Erlon's division, came trotting up the road, 
the cry of " I'ivc l' Empereur!" hnxst from them 
as they approached; its echo rang within the 
walls of the farm-house, when suddenly the dying 
man, as though some magic touch had called him 
back to life and vigor, sprang up erect between 
his bearers, his filmy eye flashing fire, a burning 
spot of red coloring his bloodless cheek; he cast 
one wild and hurried look around him, like one 
called back from death to look upon the living 
and, as he raised his blood-stained hand above 
his head, shouted in a heart-piercing cry, " Vive 
r Empereur! " The effort was his last. It was 
the expiring tribute of allegiance to the chief he 
adored. The blood spouted in cataracts from 
his half-closed wounds, a convulsive spasm worked 
through his frame, his eyes rolled fearfully, as his 
outstretched hands seemed striving to clutch 
some object before them — and he was dead. 
Fresh arrivals of wounded continued to pour in; 
and now I thought I could detect at intervals 
the distant noise of a cannonade; the wind, how- 
ever, was from the southward, and the sounds were 
too indistinct to be relied on. 



" AUoiis.' allons! mon ('//<•;•," said a rough but 
good-humored looking fellow, as he strode into my 
room, he was the quartermaster of Milhaud's 
dragoons, under whose care I was now placed, 
and came to inform me that we were to set out 
immediately. 

Monsieur Bonnard was a character in his way; 
and, if it were not so near the conclusion of my 
history, I should like to present him to my read- 
ers. As it is, I shall merely say he was a thorough 
specimen of one class of his countrymen — a loud 
talker, a louder swearer, a vaporing, boasting, 
over-bearing, good-natured, and even soft-hearted 
fellow, who firmly believed'that Frenchmen were 
the climax of the species, and Napoleon the cli- 
max of Frenchmen. Being a great havard, he 
speedily told me all that had taken place during 
the last two days. From him I learned that the 
Prussians had really been beaten at Ligny, and 
fallen back, he knew not where: they were, how- 
ever, he said, hotly pursued by Grouchy, with 
thirty-five thousand men, while the emperor him- 
self was now following the British and Dutch 
armies, with seventy thousand more. 

■'You see," continued he, "raff aire est Jaite! 
who can resist the emperor?" 

These were sad tidings for me; and, although I 
did not place implicit confidence in my infor- 
mant, I had still my fears that much of what he 
said was true. 

" And the British, now," said I; "what direc- 
tion have they taken?" 

'■ Bah! ihey're in retreat on Brussels, and will 
capitulate to-morrow." 

''Capitulate!" 

■ Old, oui; ne vous fdchez pas, catnaradc," said 
he, laughing. "What could you do against Na- 
poleon? you did not expect to beat him, surely? 
But come, we must move on; I have my orders 
to bring you to Planchenoit this evening, and our 
horses are tired enough already." 

" Mine, methinks, should be fresh," said I. 

" Paibleu, noil," replied he: ' he has twice made 
the journey to Fresnes this morning with de- 
spatches for Marshal Ney; the emperor is en- 
raged with the marshal for having retreated last 
night, having the wood in his possession; he says 
he should have waited till daybreak, and then 
fallen upon your retreating columns. As it is, you 
are getting away without much loss. Sacristie, 
that was a fine charge!" These last words he 
muttered to himself; adding, between his teeth, 
" sixty-four killed and wounded." 

'What was that? who were they?" said I. 

"Our fellows," replied he, frankly; "the 
emperor ordered up two twelve-pounders, and 
eight squadrons of lancers; they fell upon your 
light dragoons in a narrow part of the high road. 
B\it suddenly we heard a noise in front; your 
hussars fell back, and a column of your heavy 
dragoons came thundering down upon us. Fa>- 
blcii! they swept over us as if we were broken 
infantry; and there! there!" said he, pointing to 
the courtyard, from whence the groans of the 
wounded still rose, " there are the fruits of that 
terrible charge." 

I could not restrain an outbreak of triumphant 
pleasure at this gallant feat of my countrymen. 



000 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



"Yes, yes," said the honest quartermaster, 
" it was a fine thing; but a heavy reckoning is at 
liand. But come, novv, let us take the road." 

In a few moments more I found myself seated 
upon a heavy Norman horse, whose lumbering 
demi-peak saddle was nearly cleft in two by a 
sabre-cut. 

"Ay, ay," said Monsieur Bonnard, as he saw 
my eye fixed on the spot, " it was one of your 
fellows did that; and the same cut clove poor 
Pierre from the neck to the seat." 

" I hope," said I, laughing, "the saddle may 
not prove an unlucky one." 

'■ No, no," said the Frenchman, seriously; "it 
has paid its debt to fate." 

As we pressed on our road, which, broken by 
the heavy guns, and ploughed up in many places 
by the artillery, was nearly impassable, we could 
distinctly hear from time to time the distant boom 
of the large guns, as the retiring and pursuing 
armies replied to each other; while behind us, 
but still a long way off, a dark mass appeared on 
the horizon: they were the advancing columns 
of Ney's division. 

" Have the troops come in contact more than 
once this morning?" 

" Not closely," said the quartermaster: " the 
armies have kept a respectful distance; they 
were like nothing I can think of," said the figur- 
ative Frenchman, " except two hideous serpents 
wallowing in mire, and vomiting at each other 
whole rivers of fire and flame." 

As we approached Planchenoit, we came up to 
the rear-guard of the French army; from them 
we learned that Ney's division, consisting of the 
eighth corps, had joined the emperor; that the 
British were still in retreat but that nothing of 
any importance had occurred between the rival 
armies, the French merely firing their heavy guns 
from time to time, to ascertain by the reply the 
position of the retreating forces; the rain poured 
down in torrents; gusts of cold and stormy 
wind swept across the wide plains, or moaned 
sorrowfully through the dense forest. As I rode 
on by the side of my companion, I could not 
help reuiarking how little the effects of a fatiguing 
march and unfavorable weather were apparent on 
those around me. The spirit of excited gayety 
jjervaded every rank; and, unlike the stern feat- 
ures which the discipline of our service enforces, 
the French soldiers were talking, laughing, and 
even singing as they marched; the canteens passed 
freely from hand to hand, and jests and toasts 
flew from front to rear along the dark columns; 
niany carried their loaves of dark rye-bread on 
the tops of their bayonets; and to look upon tliat 
noisy and tumultuous mass as they poured along, 
U would have needed a practised eye to believe 
th-jm the most disciplined of European armies. 

The sun was just setting, as, mounting a ridge 
of high land beside the high road, my compan- 
ion pointed with his finger to a small farm-house, 
which, standing alone in the plain, commands an 
extensive view on every side of it. 

"There," said he, "there is the quarticr 
<^r'iieral, the emperor sleeps there to-night. The 
king of Holland will afford him a bed to-morrow 
night." 



The dark shadows of the coming night were 
rapidly falling as I strained my eyes to trace the 
British position. A hollow, rumbling sound an- 
nounced the movement of artillery in our front. 

"What is it, Arnotte?" said the quartermaster 
to a dragoon officer who rode past. 

"It is nothing," replied the other, laughing, 
" hut & ruse oi the Emperor. He wishes to as- 
certain if the enemy are in force, or if we have 
only a strong rear -guard before us." 

As he spoke, fifteen heavy guns opened their 
fire, and the still air reverberated with a loud 
thunder. The sound had not died away — the 
very smoke lay yet heavily upon the moist earth 
— when forty pieces of British cannon rang out 
their answer, and the very plain trembled be- 
neath the shock. 

"Ha! they are there, then," exclaimed the 
dragoon, as his eyes flashed with ecstasy "Look! 
see! the artillery are limbering up already. The 
emperor is satisfied." 

And so it was. A dark column of twelve hun- 
dred horse that accompanied the guns into the 
plain, now wheeled slowly round and wound 
their long track far away to the right. The rain 
fell in torrents; the wind was hushed; and, as 
the night fell in darkness, the columns moved 
severally on their destination. The bivouacs 
were formed, the watch-fires were lighted, and 
seventy thousand men and two hundred pieces of 
cannon occupied the heights of Planchenoit. 

" My orders are to bring you to La Caillon," said 
the quartermaster, "and if you only can spur 
your jaded horse mto a trot we shall soon reach 
it." 

About a hundred yards from the little farm- 
house stood a small cottage of a peasant. Here 
some officers of Marshal Soult's staff had taken 
up their quarters; and thither my guide now 
bent his steps. 

" Coiiunent! Boiitwid," said an aide-de-camp, 
as we rode up, " another prisoner? Sacrcbkiif 
we shall have the whole British staff among us. 
You are in better luck than your countryman, 
the general, I hope," said the aide-de-camp, 
" his is a sad affair; and I'm sorry for it, too; 
he's a fine, soldier-like looking fellow " 

"Pray, what has happened?" said I. ''To 
what do you allude?" 

" Merely to one of your people who has just 
been taken with some letters and papers of 
Bourmont's in his possession. The emperor is 
in no very amicable humor towards that traitor, 
and resolves to pay off some part of his debt on 
his British correspondent." 

" How cruel! how unjust!" 

"Why, yes, it is hard, I confess, to be shot for 
the fault of another. Mais, que voiilez-vousT' 

"And when is this atrocious act to take place." 

"By daybreak to-morrow," said he, bowing as 
he turned towards the hut. " ^Meanwhile, let me 
counsel you, if you would not make another in 
the party, to reserve your indignation for your re- 
turn to England." 

"Come along," said the quartermaster; "I 
find they have got quarters for you in the 
granary of the farm. I'll not forget you at supper 
time." 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



501 



So saying, he gave his horse to an orderly, and 
led me by a little path to a back entrance of the 
dwelling. Had I time or inclination for such a 
scene, I might have lingered long to gaze at the 
spectacle before me. The guard held their 
bivouac around the quarters of the emperor; and 
here, beside the watch-fires, sat the bronzed and 
scarred veterans who had braved every death 
and danger, from the Pyramids to the Kremlin. 
On every side I heard the names of those whom 
history has already consigned to immortality; 
and, as the fitful blaze of a wood-fire flashed from 
within the house, I could mark the figure of one 
who, with his hands behind his back, walked 
leisurely to and /ro, his head leaned a little for- 
ward, as though in deep thought; but as the 
light fell upon his pale and placid features, there 
was nothing there to indicate the stormy strife of 
hope and fear that raged beneath. From the 
rapid survey I took around I was roused by an 
officer, who, saluting me, politely desired me to 
follow him. We mounted a flight of stone steps, 
which, outside the wall of the building, led to the 
u])per story of a large but ruined granary. Here 
a sentry was posted, who, permitting us to pass 
forward, I found myself in a small, mean -look- 
ing apartment, whose few articles of coarse 
furniture were dimly lighted by the feeble glim- 
mer of a lamp. At the further end of the room 
sat a man, wrapt in a large blue cavalry cloak, 
whose face, covered with his hands as he bent 
downwards, was completely concealed from view. 
The noise of the opening door did not appear to 
arouse him, nor did he notice my approach. As 
I entered, a faint sigh broke from him, as he 
turned his back upon the light; but he spoke not 
a word. 

I sat for some time in silence, unwilling to ob- 
trude myself upon the sorrows of one to whom I 
was unknown; and, as I walked up and down the 
gloomy chamber, my thoughts became riveted so 
completely upon my own fortunes that I ceased 
to remember my fellow-prisoner. The hours 
passed thus lazily along, wlien the door suddenly 
opened, and an officer in the dress of a lancer of 
the Guard stood for an instant before me, and 
then springing forward, clasped me by both 
hands, and called out: 

" Charles, moii ami, cest bien foi?" 

The voice recalled to my recollection what his 
features, altered by time and years, had failed 
to do. It was Jules St. Croix, my former pris- 
oner in the Peninsula. I cannot paint the delight 
with which I saw him again; his presence now, 
while it brought back the memory of some of my 
happiest days, also assured me that I was not 
friendless. 

His visit was a brief one, for he was in attend- 
ance on Marshal Lobau's staff. In the few min- 
utes, however, of his stay, he said: 

" I have a debt to pay, Charles; and have 
come to discharge it. In an hour hence I shall 
leave this with despatches for the left of our line. 
Before I go, I'll come here with two or three 
others, as it were, to wish you a good-night; 
I'll take care to carry a second cloak and a 
foraging cap; I'll provide a fast horse; you shall 
accompany us for some distance. I'll see you 



safe across our pickets; for the rest, you must 
trust to yourself. Cat arrange, nest ce pasf 

One firm grasp of his hand, to which I ic- 
sponded by another, followed, and he was gone. 

Everything concurred to show me that a tre- 
mendous battle must ensue on the morrow, if the 
British forces but held their position. It was 
then with a feeling of excitement approaching to 
madness that I saw my liberty before me; that 
once more I should join in the bold charge and 
the rude shock of arms, hear the wild cry of my 
gallant countrymen, and either live to triumph 
with them in victory, or wait not to witness our 
defeat. Thus flew my hopes, as with increasing 
impatience I waited St. Croix's coming, and 
with anxious heart listened to every sound upon 
the stairs which might indicate his approach. 
At length he came. I heard the gay and laugh- 
ing voices of his companions as they came along; 
the door opened, and affecting the familiarity of 
old acquaintance, to deceive the sentry, they all 
shook me by the hand, and spoke in terms of in- 
timacy. 

" Labedoyere is below," said St. Croix, in a 
whisper; " you must wait here a few moments 
longer, and I'll return for you; put on the cloak 
and cap, and speak not a word as you pass out. 
The sentry will suppose that one of our party 
has remained behind; for I shall call out as if 
speaking to him, as I leave the room." 

The voice of an officer calling in tones of im- 
patience for the party to come down, cut short 
the interview, and again assuring me of their de- 
termination to stand by me, they left the cham- 
ber, and descended into the court. Scarcely had 
the door closed behind them, when my fellow- 
prisoner, whom I had totally forgotten, sprang 
on his legs, and came towards me. His figure 
screening the lamplight as he stood, prevented 
my recognizing his features; but the first tones 
of his voice told me who he was. 

"Stay, sir," cried he, as he placed his hand 
upon my arm; "I have overheard your project. 
In an hour hence you will be free. Can you — 
will you perform a service for one who will es- 
teem it not the less that it will be the last that 
man can render him? The few lines which I 
have written here with my pencil are for my 
daughter." 

I could bear no more, and called out in a voiec 
broken as his own, 

" Oh, be not deceived, sir. Will you, even in 
an hour like this, accept a service from one whom 
you have banished from your house?" 

The old man started as I spoke; his hand 
trembled till it shook my very arm, and, after a 
pause and with an effort to seem calm and col- 
lected, he added: 

" My hours are few. Soine despatches of 
General Bourmont with which the duke entrusted 
me were found in my possession. My sentence 
is a hurried one — and it is death! By to-morrow's 
sunrise " 

"Stay, stay!" said I. "You shall escape; my 
life is in no danger. I have, as you see, even 
friends among the staff; besides, I have done 
nothing to compromise or endanger my position." 

"No, sir," said he, sternly, "I will not act 



502 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



such a part as this. The tears you have seen in 
these old eyes are not for myself. I fear not 
death. Better it were it should have come upon 
the field of glorious battle, but as it is, my sol- 
dier's honor is intact, untainted." 

" You refuse the service on account of him 
who proffers it," said I, as I fell heavily upon a 
seat, my head bowed upon my bosom. 

" Not so, not so, my boy," replied he, kindly; 
" the near approach of death, like the fading light 
of day, gives us a longer and clearer view before 
us. I feel that I have wronged you; tjiat I have 
imputed to you the errors of others; but, believe 
me, if I have wronged you, I have punished my 
own heart; for, Charles, I have loved you like a 
son." 

"Then prove it," said I, "and let me act 
towards you as towards a father. You will not? 
You refuse me still ? Then, by heaven, I remain 
to share your fate! I well know the temper of 
him who has sentenced you, and that, by one 
word of mine, my destiny is sealed forever." 

"No, no, boy! This is but rash and insane 
folly. Another year or two, nay, perhaps a few 
months more, and in the common course of na- 
ture I had ceased to be; but you, with youth, 
■with fortune, and with hope " 

"Oh, not with hope!" said I, in a voice of 
agony. 

" Nay, say not so," replied he, calmly, while a 
sickly smile played sadly over his face; " you will 
give this letter to my daughter, you will tell her 
that we parted as friends should part; and if, 
after that, when time shall have smoothed down 
her grief, and her sorrow be rather a dark dream 
of the past than a present suffering; if, then, you 
love her, and if " 

" Oh, tempt me not thus!" said I, as the warm 
tears gushed from my eyes; "lead me not thus 
astray from what my honor tells me I should do. 
Hark! they are coming already. I hear the 
clank of their sabres; they are mounting the 
steps; not a moment is to be lost! Do you refuse 
me still ?" 

" I do," replied he, firmly; "I am resolved to 
bide my fate." 

"Then so do I," cried I, as, folding my arms, 
I sat down beside the window, determined on my 
course. 

"Charley, Charley," said he, stooping over 
me, " my friend, my last hope, the protector of 
my child " 

" I will not go," said I, in a hollow whisper. 

Already they were at the door; I heard their 
voices as they challenged the sentry; I heard his 
musket as he raised it to his shoulder. The 
thouglit flashed across me — I jumped up, and, 
throwing the loose mantle of the French dragoon 
around him, and replacing his own with the 
foraging cap of St. Croix, I sprang into a corner 
of the room, and, seating rnyself so as to conceal 
my face, waited the result. The door opened, 
the party entered, laughing and talking together. 

"Come, Eugene," said one, taking Sir George 
by the arm, "you have spent long enougli time 
here to learn the English language. We shall be 
late at the outpost. Messieurs les Anglais, good- 
night, good-night!" 



This was repeated by the others as they passed 
out with Sir George Dashwood among them, who, 
seeing that my determination was not to be 
shaken, and that any demur on his part must 
recessarily compromise both, yielded to a (otip 
dc main what he never would have consented to 
from an appeal to his reason. The door closed; 
their steps died away in the distance. Again a 
faint sound struck my ear; it was the challenge 
of the sentry beneath, and I heard the tramp of 
horses' feet. All was still, and in a burst of 
heartfelt gratitude I sank upon my knees, and 
thanked God that he was safe. 

So soundly did I sleep, that not before I was 
shaken several times by the shoulder could I 
awake on the following morning. 

" I thought there were two prisoners here," said 
a gruff voice, as an old moustached-looking 
veteran cast a searching look about the rooni. 
" However, we shall have enough of them before 
sunset. Get — get up; Monsieur le due de Dal- 
matic desires some information you can give 
him." 

As he said this, he led me from the i>oom, and, 
descending the flight of stone steps, we entered 
the court-yard. It was but four o'clock, the rain 
still falling in torrents, yet every one was up and 
stirring. 

" Mount this horse," said my gruff friend, " and 
come with me towards the left; the marshal has 
already gone forward." 

The heavy mist of the morning, darkened by 
the lowering clouds which almost rested on the 
earth, prevented our seeing above a hundred 
yards before us; but the hazy light of the watch- 
fires showed me the extent of the French posi- 
tion, as it stretched away along the ridge towards 
the Halle road. We rode forward at a trot, but 
in the deep clayey soil we sank at each moment 
to our horses' fetlocks. I turned my head as I 
heard the tramp and splash of horsemen behind, 
and perceived that I was followed by two dra- 
goons, who, with their carbines on the rest, kept 
their eyes steadily upon me to prevent any chance 
of escape. In a slight hollow of the ground be- 
fore us stood a number of horsemen, who con- 
versed together in a low tone as we came up. 

"There! that is the marshal," said my com- 
panion, in a whisper, as we joined the party. 

" Yes, Monsieur le Due," said an engineer 
colonel, who stood beside Soult's horse, with a 
colored plan in his hand — -"Yes, that is the 
elidteau de Goumont, yonder. It is, as you per- 
ceive, completely covered by the rising ground 
marked here; they will, doubtless, place a strong 
artillery force in this quarter." 

"Ah! who is this?" said the marshal, turning 
his eyes suddenly upon me, and then casting a 
look of displeasure around him, lest I should have 
overheard any portion of their conversation. 
" You are deficient in cavalry, it would appear, 
sir?" said he to me. 

" You must feel. Monsieur le Due," said I, 
calmly, " how impossible it is for me, as a man of 
honor and a soldier, to afford you any informa- 
tion as to the army I belong to." 

" I do not see that, sir. You are a prisoner in 
our hands; your treatment, your fortune, your 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE H^ISH DRAGOON. 



503 



very life depends on us. Besides, sir, when 
French officers fall into thepower of your people, 
I have heard they meet not very ceremonious 
treatment." 

"Those who say so, say falsely," said 1, "and 
wrong both your countrymen and mine. In any 
case " 

"The Guards are an untried force in your ser- 
vice," said he, with a mi.xture of inquiry and asser- 
tion. 

I replied not a word. 

" You must see, sir," continued he, "that all 
the chances are against you. The Prussians 
beaten, the Dutch discouraged, the Belgians only 
waiting for victory to incline to our standard, to 
desert your ranks, and pass over to ours; while 
your troops, scarcely forty thousand, nay, I might 
say, not more than thirty-five thousand. Is it 
•not so?" 

Here was another question, so insidiously con- 
veyed that even a change of feature on my part 
might have given the answer. A half smile, how- 
ever, and slight bow was all n>y reply; while Soult 
muttered something between his teeth, which 
called forth a laugh from those around hiiu. 

" You may retire, sir, a little," said he, dryly, 
to me. 

Not sorry to be freed from the awkwardness 
of my position, I fell back to the little rising 
ground behind. Although the rain poured down 
without ceasing, the rising sun dispelled in part 
the heavy vapor, and by degrees different por- 
tions ot the wide plain presented themselves to 
view; and, as the dense masses of fog moved 
slowly along, I could detect, but still faintly, the 
outline of the large, irregular- building which I 
had heard them call the chdleau de Goumont, and 
from whence I could hear the clank of masonry, 
as, at intervals, the wind bore the sounds towards 
me. These were the sappers piercing the walls 
for musketry; and this I could now perceive was 
looked upon as a position of no small importance. 
Surrounded by a straggling orchard of aged fruit- 
trees, the chateau lay some hundred yards in ad- 
vance of the British line, commanded by two 
eminences; one of which, in the possession of the 
French, was already occupied by a park of eleven 
guns; of the other I knew nothing, except the 
passing glance I had obtained of its position on 
the mao. The second corps, under Jerome 
Bonaparte, with Foy and Kellermann's brigade of 
light artillery, stretched behind us. On the right 
of these came d'Erlon's corps, extending to a 
small wood, which my companion told iiie was 
Frischermont; while Lobau's division was sta- 
tioned to the extreme right towards St. Lambert, to 
maintain the communication with Grouchy at 
Wavre, or, if need be, to repel the advance of the 
Prussians, and prevent their junction with the 
Anglo-Dutch army. The Imperial Guard with 
the cavalry formed the reserve. Such was, in 
substance, the information given me by my guide, 
who seemed to expatiate with pleasure over the 
magnificent array of battle, while he felt a pride 
in displaymg his knowledge of the various divi- 
sions and their leaders. 

" I see the marshal moving towards the right," 
said he; " we had better follow him." 



It was now about eight o'clock, as from the ex- 
tremity of the line I could see a party of horse- 
men advancing at a sharp canter. 

"That must be Ney," said my companion. 
" See how rashly he approaches the English 
lines !" 

And so it was. The party in question rode 
fearlessly down the slope, and did not halt until 
they reached within about three hundred yards 
of what appeared a ruined church. 

"What is that building yonder?" 

"That — that," replied he, after a moment's 
thought, " that must be La Have Sainte; and yon- 
der, to the right of it, is the road to Brussels! 
There, look now! your people are in motion. 
See! a column is moving towards the right, and the 
cavalrv are defiling on the other side of the road. 
f was mistaken — that cannot be Ney. Sacre 
Dicu! it was the emperor himself, and here he 
comes." 

As he spoke, the party galloped forward, and 
pulled up short within a few yards of where we 
stood. 

" Ha!" cried he, as his sharp glance fell upon 
me, " there is my taciturn friend of Quatre Bras. 
You see, sir, I can dispense with your assistance 
now; the chess-board is before me;" and then 
added, in a tone he intended not to be overheard, 
"Everything depends on Grouchy." 

"Well, Haxo," he called out loan officer who 
galloped up chapcau in hand, " what say you? ire 
they entrenched in that position?" 

" No, sire, the ground is open, and in two hours 
more will be firm enough for the guns to ma 
nceuvre." 

" Now, then, for breakfast," said Napoleon, a,s 
with an easy and tranquil smile he turned his 
horse's head, and cantered gently up the heights 
towards La Belle Alliance. As he approached 
the lines, the cry of " Vive /' Ewpcreur!" burst 
forth. Regiment after regiment took it up, and 
from the distant wood of Frischermont to the far 
left beside Merke-braine, the sliout resounded. 
So sudden, so simultaneous the outbreak, that he 
himself, accustomed as he well was to the enthu- 
siasm of his army, seemed, as he reined in his 
horse, and looked with proud and elated eye up- 
on the countless thousands, astounded and 
amazed. He lifted with slow and graceful action 
his unplumed hat above his head, and, while he 
bowed that proud front before which kings have 
trembled, the acclamation burst forth anew, and 
rent the very air. 

At this moment the sun shone brilliantly out 
from the dark clouds, and flashed upon the shin- 
ing blades and glistening bayonets along the line. 
A dark and lowering shadow hung gloomily over 
the British position, while the French sparkled 
and glittered in the sunbeams. His quick glance 
passed with lightning speed from one to the other; 
and I thought that, in his look, upturned to 
heaven, I could detect the flitting thought which 
bade him hope it was an augury. The bands of 
the Imperial Guard burst forth in joyous and 
triumphant strains; and amid the still repeated 
cries of 'T Empereur! I'Empcreur!" he rode slowly 
along towards La Belle Alliance. 



504 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



CHAPTER CXX. 



WATERLOO. 



Napoleon's first intention was, to open the 
battle by an attack upon the extreme right, but 
Ney, who returned for an observation of the 
ground, informed liim that a rivulet, swollen by 
the late rains, had now become a foaming torrent, 
perfectly impassable to infantry. To avoid this 
difficulty he abandoned his favorite manoeuvre of 
a flank movement, and resolved to attack the 
enemy by the centre. Launching his cavalry and 
artillery by the road to Brussels, he hoped thus 
to cut off the communication of the British with 
their own left, as well as with the Prussians, for 
whom he trusted that Grouchy would be more 
than a match. 

The reserve were in consequence all brought 
up to the centre. Seven thousand cavalry and a 
massive artillery assembled upon the heights of 
La Belle Alliance, and waited but the order to 
march. It was eleven o'clock, and Napoleon 
mounted his horse and rode slowly along the line; 
again the cry of " Viiie l Enipereut !" resounded, 
and the bands of the various regiments struck up 
their spirit-stirring strains as the gorgeous staff 
moved along On the British side all was tranquil; 
and still the different divisions appeared to have 
taken up their ground, and the long ridge from 
Ter-la-Haye to Merke-braine bristled with bay- 
onets. Nothing could possibly be more equal 
than the circumstances of the field. Each army 
possessed an eminence whence their artillery 
might play. A broad and slightly undulating 
valley lay between both. The ground permitted 
in all places both cavalry and infantry move- 
ments, and except the crumbling walls of the 
chateau of Hougoumont, or the farm-house of 
La Haye Sainte, both of which were occupied by 
the British, no advantage either by nature or art 
inclined to either side It was a fair stand-up 
fight. It was the mighty tournament, not only 
of the two greatest nations, but the two deadliest 
rivals and bitterest enemies, led on by the two 
greatest military geniuses that the world liad ever 
seen; it niight not be too much to say, or ever will 
see. As for me, condemned to be an inactive 
spectator of the mighty struggle, doomed to wit- 
ness all the deep-laid schemes and well-devised 
plans of attack which were destined for the over- 
throw of my country's arms, my state was one of 
torture and suspense. I sat upon the little rising 
ground of Rossomme; before me, in the valley, 
where yet the tall corn waved in ripe luxuriance, 
stood the (piiet and peaceful-looking old chateau 
of Hougoumont, and the blossoming branches of 
the orchard; the birds were gavly singing their 
songs, the shrill whistle of the fatal musketry was 
to be heard, and through my glass I could detect 
the uniform of the soldiers who held the position, 
and my heart beat anxiously and proudly as I 
recognized the Guards. In the orchard and the 
garden were stationed some riflemen — at least 
their dress and the scattered order they assumed 
bespoke them such. While I looked, the tirail- 
leurs of Jerome's division advanced from the front 
of the line, and, descending the hill in a sling 



trot, broke into scattered parties, keeping up, as 
they went, a desultory and irregular fire. The 
English skirmishers, less expert in this peculiar 
service, soon fell back, and the head of Reille's 
brigade began their march towards the chateau. 
The English artillery is unmasked and opens its 
fire. Kellermann advances at a gallop his twelve 
pieces of artillery; the chateau is concealed from 
view by the dense smoke, and as the attack 
thickens, fresh troops pour forward, the artillery 
thundering on either side; the entire lines ol both 
armies stand motionless spectators of the terrific 
combat, while every eye is turned towards that 
devoted spot from whose dense mass of cloud and 
smoke the bright glare of artillery is flashing, as 
the crashing masonry, the burning rafters, and 
the loud yell of battle add to the frightful interest 
of the scene. For above an hour the tremendous 
attack continues without cessation; the artillery 
stationed upon the height has now found its range, 
and every ringing shot tells upon the tottering 
walls; some wounded soldiers return faint and 
bleeding from the conflict, but there are few who 
escape. A crashing volley of fire-arms is now 
heard from the side where the orchard stands; a 
second, and a third succeed, one after the other, 
as rapid as lightning itself. A silence follows, 
when, after a few moments, a deafening cheer 
bursts forth, and an aide-decamp gallops up to 
say that the orchard has been carried at the 
point of the bayonet, the Nassau sharpshooters 
who held it having, after a desperate resistance, 
retired before the irresistible onset of the French 
infantry "^ vwi! viaintcvant!" said General Foy, 
as he drew his sabre, and rode down to the head 
of his splendid division, which, anxious for the 
word to advance, were standing in the valley. 
"En ararit! tties braves" cried he, while, pointing 
to the chateau with his sword, he dashed boldly 
forward. Scarcely had he advanced a hundred 
yards, when a cannon-shot "ricocheting" as it 
went, struck his horse in the counter, and rolled 
him dead on the plain. Disengaging himself from 
the lifeless animal, at once he sprang to his feet, 
and hurried forward. The colunm was soon hid 
from my view, and I was left to mourn over the 
seemingly inevitable fate that impended over my 
gallant countrymen. 

In the intense interest which chained me to 
this part of the field, I had scarcely noticed till 
this moment that the emperor and his staff were 
standing scarcely thirty yards from where I was. 
Napoleon, seated upon a grey, almost white, 
Arabian, had sufl'ered the reins to fall loosely on 
the neck, as he held with both hands his telescope 
to his eye; his dress, the usual green coat with 
white facings, the uniform of the iJ:assairs a 
cheval, was distinguished merely by the cross of 
the legion; his high boots were splashed and 
mud-stained, from riding through the deep an'd 
clayey soil; his compact and clean-bred charger 
looked also slightly blown and heated, but he 
himself, and I watched his features well, looked 
calm, composed, and tranquil. How anxiously 
did I scrutinize that face; with what a throbbing 
heart did I canvass every gesture, hoping to find 
some passing trait of doubt, of difficulty, or of hesi- 
tation; but none was there; unlikeonewho looked 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



505 



upon the harrowing spectacle of a battle-field, 
whose all was depending on the game before him; 
gambling with one throw, his last, his only stake, 
and that the empire of the world. Yet, could I 
picture to myself one who felt at peace withm him 
self — naught of reproach, naught of regret to move 
or stir his spirit, whose tranquil barque had 
glided over the calm sea of life, unruffled by the 
breath of passion — I should have fancied such 
was he. 

Beside him sat one whose flashing eye and 
changing features looked in every way his oppo- 
site; watching with intense anxiety the scene of 
the deadly struggle around the chateau, every look, 
every gesture told the changing fortune of the 
moment; his broad and brawny chest glittered with 
orders and decorations, but his heavy brow and 
lowering look, flushed almost black with excite- 
ment, could not easily be forgotten. It was Soult, 
who, in his quality of major-general, accompanied 
the emperor throughout the day. 

"They have lost it again, sire," said the mar- 
shal, passionately, "and see, they are forming be- 
neath the cross-fire of the artillery; the head of 
the column keeps not its formation two minutes 
together; why does he not move up?" 

"Domont, you know the British; what troops 
are those in the orchard ? They use the bayonet 
well." 

The officer addressed pointed his glass for a 
moment to the spot. Then, turning to the 
emperor, replied, as he touched his hat, " They 
are the Guards, sire." 

During this time Napoleon spoke not a word; 
his eye ever bent upon the battle, he seemed to 
pay little if any attention to the conversation 
about him. As he looked, an aide-de-camp, 
breathless and heated, galloped up. 

" The cclumns of attack are formed, sire; every- 
thing is ready, and the marshal only waits the 
order." 

Napoleon turned upon his saddle, and direct- 
ing his glass towards Ney's division, looked fix- 
edly for some moments a.t them. His eye moved 
from front to rear slowly, and at last carrying his 
telescope along the hne, he fixed it steadily upon 
the far left. Here, towards St. Lambert, a slight 
cloud seem to rest on the horizon, as the em- 
peror continued to gaze steadfastly at it. Every 
glass of the staff was speedily turned in that di- 
rection. 

" It is nothing but a cloud; some exhalation 
from the low grounds in that quarter," whispered 
one. 

"To me," said another, " they look like trees, 
part of the Bois de Wavre," 

"They are men," said the emperor, speaking 
for the first time. "Est-ce Grouchy? Est-ce 
Bluchei-r 

Soult inclines to believe it to be the former, and 
proceeds to give his reasons, but the emperor, 
without listening, turns towards Domont, and 
orders him, with his division of light cavalry and 
Subervic's brigade, to proceed thither at once. 
If it be Grouchy to form a junction with him; 
to resist, should it prove to be the advanced 
guard of Marshal Blucher. Scarcely is the order 
given when a column of cavalry, wheeling " fours 



about," unravels itself from the immense mass, 
and seems to serpentine like an enormous snake 
between the squares of the mighty army. The 
pace increases at every moment, and at length 
we see them merge from the extreme right and 
draw up, as if on parade, about half a mile from 
the wood. This movement, which by its preci- 
sion and beauty had attracted our entire attention, 
not only from the attack upon Hougoumont, but 
also an incident which had taken ])lace close be- 
side us. This was the appearance of a Prussian 
hussariwho had been taken prisoner between \^'avre 
and Planchenoit; he was the bearer of a letter 
from Bulow to Wellington, announcing his ar- 
rival at St. Lambert, and asking for orders. 

This at once explains the appearance on the 
right; but the prisoner also adds, that the three 
Prussian corps were at Wavre, having pushed their 
patrols two leagues from that town without ever 
encountering any portion of the force under the 
command of Grouchy. For a moment not a 
word is spoken. A silence like a panic pervades 
the staff; the emperor himself is the first to break 
it. 

" This morning," said he, turning towards 
Soult, " the chances were ninety to one in our 
favor; Bulow's arrival has already lost us thirty 
of the number; but the odds are still sufficient, 
if Grouchy but repair the horrible fault he has 
committed." 

He paused for a moment, and, as he lifted up 
his hand, and turned a look of indignant passion 
toward the staff, added, in a voice the sarcasm 
of whose tone there is no forgetting: 

" // s amuse a Gembloux ! Still," said he, speak- 
ing rapidly and with more energy than I had 
hitherto noticed, "Bulow may be entirely cut off. 
Let an officer approach. Take this letter, sir," 
— giving, as he spoke, Bulow's letter to Lord 
Wellington — "give this letter to Marshal Grouchy; 
tell him that at this moment he should be before 
Wavre; tell him that already, had he obeyed his 

orders but no, tell him to march at once, to 

press forward his cavalry, to come up in two 
hours, in three at furthest. You have but five 
leagues to ride; see, sir, that you reach him 
within an hour." 

As the officer hurries away at the top of his 
speed, an aide-de-camp from General Domont 
confirms the news; they are the Prussians whom 
he has before him. As yet, however, they are 
debouching from the wood, and have attempted 
no forward movement. 

" What's Bulow's force, marshal?" 

"Thirty thousand, sire." 

" Let Lobau take ten thousand, with the cuiras- 
siers of the Young Guard, and hold the Prussians 
in check." 

'' Maintenani, pour les aiiires." This he said 
with a smile, as he turned his eye once more 
towards the field of battle. The aide-de-camp of 
Marshal Ney who, bare-headed and expectant, sat 
waiting for orders, presented himself to view. 
The emperor turned towards him as he said, 
with a clear and firm voice: 

" Tell the marshal to open the fire of his bat- 
teries; to carry La Haye Sainte with the bay- 
onet, and leaving an infantry division for its 



506 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



protection, to march against La Papelotte and 
La Haye. They must be carried by the bay- 
onet." 

The aide-de-camp was gone; Napoleon's eye 
followed him as he crossed the open plain and was 
lost in the dense ranks of the dark columns. 
Scarcely five minutes elapsed when eighty guns 
thundered out together, and, as the earth shook 
and trembled beneath, the mighty movement of 
the day began its execution. From Hougou- 
mont, where the slaughter and the carnage con- 
tinued unslackened and unstayed, every eye was 
now turned towards the right. I knew not what 
troops occupied La Haye Sainte, or whether they 
were British who crowned the heights above it; 
but in my heart how fervently did I pray that 
they might be so. Oh! in that moment of 
suspense and agonizing doubt, what would I 
not have given to know that Picton himself and 
the fighting Fifth were there; that behind that 
ridge the Greys, the Royals, and the Enniskil- 
leners sat motionless, but burning to advance, 
and the breath of battle waved among the tar- 
tans of the Highlanders, and blew upon the flash- 
ing features of my own island countrymen. Had 
I known this, I could have marked the onset with 
a less failing spirit. 

"There goes Marcognet's division," said my 
companion, springing to his legs; "they're mov- 
ing to the right of the road I should like to see 
the troops that will stand before them." 

So saying, he mounted his horse, and, desiring 
me to accompany him, rode to the height beside 
La Belle Alliance. The battle was now raging 
from the Chateau de Hougoumont to St Lambert, 
where the Prussian tirailleurs, as they issued 
from the wood, were skirmishing with the ad- 
vanced posts of Lobau's brigade. The attack 
upon the centre, however, engrossed all my at- 
tention, and I watched the dark columns as they 
descended into the plain, while the incessant roll 
of the artillery played about them. To the right 
of Ney's attack, d'Erlon advanced with three 
divisions, and the artillery of the Guard To- 
wards this part of the field my companion moved. 
General Le Vasseur desired to know if the div- 
ision on the Brussels road were English or Han- 
overian troops, and I was sent for to answer the 
question. We passed from square to square until 
at length we found ourselves upon the flank of 
d'Erlon's division. Le Vasseur, who at the 
head of his cuirassiers waited but the order to 
charge, waved impatiently with his sword for us 
to approach. We were now to the right of the 
high road, and about four hundred yards from 
the crest of the hill where, protected by a slight 
hedge, Picton with Kempt's brigade waited the 
attack of the enemy. 

Just at this moment an incident took place 
which, while in itself one of the most brilliant 
achievements of the day, changed in a signal man- 
ner my own fortunes. The head of d'Erlon's column 
pressed with fixed bayonets up the gentle slope. 
Already the Belgian infantry give way before 
them. The brave Brunswickers, overwhelmed 
by the heavy cavalry of France, at first begin to 
waver; then are broken; and at last retreat in 
disorder up the road, a whirlwind of pursuing 



squadrons thundering behind them. " En avant ! 
en avaiit! la 7<ictoirc est a nous" is shouted madly 
through the impatient ranks; and the artillery is 
called up to play upon the British squares: upon 
which, fixed and immovable, the cuirassiers have 
charged without success. Like a thunderbolt, 
the flying artillery dashes to the front; but scarce- 
ly has it reached the bottom of the ascent, 
when, from the deep ground, the guns become 
embedded in the soil: the wheels refuse to move. 
In vain the artillery drivers whip and spur their 
laboring cattle. Impatiently the leading files of 
the column prick with their bayonets the strug- 
gling horses. The hesitation is fatal; for 
Wellington, who, with eagle glance, watches from 
an eminence beside the high road the advancing 
column, sees the accident. An order is given, 
and, with one fell swoop, the heavy cavalry brig- 
ade pour down. Picton's division deploys into 
line; the bayonets glance above the ridge; and 
with a shout that tells above the battle, on they 
come, the fighting Filth. One volley is exchanged, 
but the bayonet is now brought to the charge, 
and the French division retreat in close column, 
pursued by their gallant enemy. Scarcely have 
the leading divisions fallen back, and the rear 
pressed down upon, or thrown into disorder, 
when the cavalry trumpets sound a charge; the 
bright helmets of the Enniskilliners rcme flash- 
ing in the sunbeams, and the Scotch Greys, like 
a white-crested wave, are rolling iif;cn the foe. 
Marcognet's division is surrounded; the dragoons 
ride them down on every side; the guns are cap- 
tured; the drivers cut down, and two thousand 
prisoners are carried off. A sudden panic setms 
to seize upon the Fiench, as cavaliy, infantry, 
and artillery are hurried back on each other. 
Vainly the French attempt to rally; the untiring 
enemy press madly on; the houeehold brigade, 
led on by Lord Uxbridge, came thundering down 
the road, riding down with their gigantic force 
the mailed cuirassiers of France Borne along 
with the retreating torrents, I was carried on 
amidst the densely commingled mass The Brit- 
ish cavalry, which, like the lightnings that sever 
the thunder-cloud pierce through in every direc- 
tion, plunged madly upon us. The roar of bat- 
tle grew louder, as hand to hand they fought. 
Milhaud's heavy dragoons, with the 4th Lancers, 
came up at a gallop. Picton presses forward, 
waving his plumed hat above his head; his proud 
eye flashes with the fire of victory. That mo- 
ment is his last. Struck in the forehead by a 
musket-ball, he falls dead from the saddle, and 
the wild yell of the Irish regiments, as they ring 
his death-cry, are the last sounds which he hears. 
Meanwhile, the Life Guards are among lis; pris- 
oners of rank are captured on every side; and 
I, seizing the moment, throw myself among the 
ranks of my countrymen, and am borne to the 
rear with the retiring squadrons. 

As we reached the crest of the hill above the 
road, a loud cheer in the valley beneath us 
burst forth and from the midst of the dense 
smoke a bright and pointed flame shot up to- 
wards the sky. It was the farm-house La Haye 
Sainte, which the French had succeeded in set- 
ting fire to with hot shot. For some time past 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



507 



the ammunition of the corps that held it had 
failed, and a dropping, irregular musketry was 
the only reply to the incessant rattle of the 
enemy. As the smoke cleared away we discov- 
ered that the French had carried the position; 
and, as no quarter was given in that deadly 
hand-to-hand conflict, not one returned to our 
ranks to tell tlie tale of their defeat. 

"This is the officer that I spoke of," said an 
aide-de-camp, as he rode up to where I was 
standing, bare headed and without a sword. " He 
has just made his escape from the French lines, 
and will be able to give your lordship some infor- 
mation." 

The handsome features and gorgeous costume 
of Lord Uxbridge were known to me; but I was 
not aware, till afterwards, that a soldier-like, re- 
solute-looking officer beside him was General 
Graham. It was the latter who first addressed 
xne. 

"Are you aware, sir," said he, "if Grouchy 's 
force is arrived ?" 

"They had not; on the contrary, as, shortly 
before I escaped, an aide-de-camp was despatched 
to Gemblou.x, to hasten his coming. And the 
troops, for they must be troops, were debouch- 
ing from the wood yonder. They seem to form 
a junction with the corps to the riglit; they are 
the Prussians. They arrived there before noon 
from St. Lambert, and are part of Bulow's corps. 
Count Lobau and his division of ten thousand 
men were despatched, about an hour since, to 
hold them in check." 

"This is great news," said Lord U.xbridge. 
" Fitzroy must know it at once." 

So saying, he dashed spurs into his horse, and 
soon disappeared amid tlie crowd on the hill-top. 

" You had better see the duke, sir," said Gra- 
ham. "Your information is too important to be 
delayed. Captain Calvert, let this officer have a 
horse; his own is too tired to go much further." 

"And a cap, I beg of you," added I, in an 
undertone, "for I have already found a sabre." 

By a slight circuitous route we reached the 
road, upon which a mass of dismounted artil- 
lery-carts, baggage-wagons,, and tumbrils were 
heaped together as a barricade, against the at- 
tack of the French dragoons, who more than once 
had penetrated to the very crest of our position. 
Close to this, and on a little rising ground, from 
which a view of the entire field extended, from 
Hougouniont to the far left, the duke of Welling- 
ton stood, surrounded bv his staff. His eye was 
bent upon the valley before him, when the ad- 
vancing columns of Ney's attack still pressed 
onwards; while the fire of sixty great guns poured 
death and carnage into his lines. The second 
Belgian division, routed and broken, had fallen 
back upon the 27th Regiment, who had merely 
time to throw themselves into square, when Mil- 
haud's cuirassiers, armed with their terrible long, 
straight swords, came sweeping down upon them. 
A line of impassable bayonets, a living chevaiix- 
dc-frise of the best blood of Britain, stood firm 
and motionless before the shock. The French 
mitraille played mercilessly on the ranks, but the 
chasms were filled up like magic, and in vain 
the bold horsemen of Gaul galloped round the 



bristling files. At length the word " Fire!" was 
heard within the square, and, as the l)ullets at 
pistol-range rattled upon ihem, the cuirass af- 
forded them no defence against the deadly vol- 
ley. Men and horses rolled indiscriminately 
upon the earth. Then would come a charge of 
our dashing squadrons, who, riding recklessly, 
upon the foe, were in their turn, to be repulsed 
by numbers, and fresh attacks poured dovvn upon 
our unshaken infantry. 

" That column yonder is wavering. Why does 
he not bring up his supporting squadrons?" in- 
quired the duke, pointing to a Belgian regiment 
of light dragoons, who were formed in the same 
brigade with the 7th Hussars. 

" He refuses to oppose his light cavalry to 
cuirassiers, my lord," said an aide-de-camp, who 
had just returned from the division in question. 

"Tell him to march his men off the ground," 
said the duke, with a quiet and im])assive tone. 

In less than ten minutes the " Belgian regiment" 
was seen to defile from the mass, and take the 
road to Brussels, to increase the panic of that 
city, by circulating and strengthening the report 
that the English were beaten, and Napoleon in 
full march upon the capital. 

" What's Ney's force? can you guess, sir?" said 
the duke of Wellington, turning to me. 

"About twelve thousand men, my lord." 

"Are the Guard among them?" 

"No, sir; the Guard are in reserve above La 
Belle Alliance." 

" In what j)art of the field is Bonaparte?" 

" Nearly opposite to where we stand." 

" I told you, gentlemen, Hougouniont never 
was the great attack. The battle must be decided 
here," pointing, as he spoke, to the plain beneath 
us, where Ney still poured on his devoted col- 
umns, where yet the French cavalry rode down 
upon our firm squares. 

As he spoke, an aide-de-camp rode up from 
the valley. 

" The Ninety-second requires support, my lord. 
They cannot maintain their position half an hour 
longer without it." 

" Have they given way, sir?" 

"No- " 

"Well, then, they must stand where they are. 
I hear cannon towards the left; yonder, near 
Frischermont." 

At this moment the light cavalry swept past 
the base of the hill on which we stood, hotly fol- 
lovved by the French heavy cuirassier brigade. 
Three of our guns were taken; and the cheering 
of the French infantry, as they advanced to the 
charge, presaged their hope of victory. 

"Do it, then," said the duke, in reply to some 
whispered question of Lord Uxbridge; and shortly 
after the heavy trot of advancing squadrons was 
heard behind. 

They were the Life Guards and the Blues, who, 
with the ist Dragoon Guards and the Enniskil- 
leners. were formed into close column. 

" I know the ground, my lord," said I to Lord 
Uxbridge. 

"Come along, sir, come along," said he, as he 
threw his hussar jacket loosely behind him, to 
give freedom to his sword-arm. " Forward, my 



508 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



men, forward; but steady, liold your horses in 
hand, threes about, and together, charge." 

"Charge!" he shouted, while, as the word flew 
from squadron to squadron, each horseman bent 
upon his saddle, and that mighty mass, as though 
instinct with but one spirit, dashed like a thun- 
derbolt upon the column beneath them. The 
French, blown and exhausted, inferior besides in 
weight, both of man and horse, offered but a 
short resistance. As the tall corn bends beneath 
the sweeping hurricane, wave succeeding wave, 
so did the steel-clad squadrons of France fall 
before the nervous arm of Britain's cavalry. 
Onward they went, carrying death and ruin be- 
fore them, and never stayed their course until 
the guns were recaptured, and the cuirassiers, 
repulsed, disordered, and broken, had retired be- 
neath the protection of their artillery 

There was, as a brilliant and eloquent writer 
on the subject mentions, a terrible sameness m 
the whole of this battle. Incessant charges of 
cavalry upon the squares of our infantry, whose 
sole mancEuvre consisted in either deploying into 
line to resist the attack of infantry, or falling 
back into square when the cavalry advanced, 
performing those two evolutions under the dev- 
astating fire of artillery, before the unflinching 
heroism of that veteran infantry whose glories 
had been reaped upon the blood-stained fields of 
Austerlitz, NIarengo, and Wagram, or op])osing 
an unbroken front to the whirlwind swoop of 
infuriated cavalry Such were the enduring and 
devoted services demanded from the English 
troops, and such they failed not to render. Once 
or twice had temper nearly failed them, and the 
cry ran through the ranks, "Are we never to 
move forward? Only let us at them!" But the 
word was not yet spoken which was to undani 
the pent-up torrent, and bear down with unre- 
lenting vengeance upon the now exulting columns 
of the enemy. 

It was six o'clock; the battle had continued 
with unchanged fortune for three hours. The 
French, masters of La Haye Sainte, could never 
advance farther into our position. They had 
gained the orchard of Hougoumont, but the 
chateau was still held by the British Guards, al- 
though its blazing roof and crumbling walls made 
its occupation rather the desperate stand of un- 
flinching valor than the maintenance of an im- 
portant position. The smoke which hung upon 
the field rolled in slow and heavy masses back 
upon the French lines, and gradually discovered 
to our view the entire of the army. We quickly 
perceived that a change was taking place in their 
position. The troops, which on their left 
stretched far beyond Hougoumont, were now 
moved nearer to the centre. The attack upon the 
chateau seemed less vigorously supported, while 
the oblique direction of their right wing, which, 
pivoting upon Planchenoit, opposed a face to the 
Prussians, all denoted a change in their order of 
battle. It was now the hour \vhen Napoleon, at 
last convinced that nothing but the carnage he 
could no longer support could destroy the un- 
yielding ranks of British infantry; that although 
Hougoumont had been partially. La Haye Sainte 
completely won; that upon the right of the road 



the farm-houses Papelotte and La Haye were 
nearly surrounded by his troops, which with any 
other army must prove the forerunner of defeat, 
yet still the victory was beyond his grasp. The 
bold stratagems, whose success the experience of 
a life had proved, were here to be found ])ower- 
less. The decisive manoeuvre of carrying one im- 
portant point of the enemy's lines, of turning him 
upon the flank, or piercing him through the 
centre, were here found impracticable. He might 
launch his avalanche of grape-shot, he might 
pour down his crashing columns of cavalry, he 
might send forth the iron storm of his brave in- 
fantry; but, though death in every shape heralded 
their approach, still were others found to fill the 
fallen ranks, and feed with their heart's blood the 
unslaked thirst for slaughter. Well might the gal- 
lant leader of this gallant host, as he watched the 
reckless onslaught of the untiring enemy, and 
looked upon the unflinching few who, bearing 
the proud badge of Britain, alone sustained the 
fight — well might he exclaim, " Night or Blucher!" 

It was now seven o'clock, when a dark mass was 
seen to form upon the heights above the French 
centre and divide into three gigantic columns, of 
which the right occupied the Brussels road. 
These were the reserves, consisting of the Old 
and Young Guards, and amounting to twelve 
thousand — the e'/iU of the French army — reserved 
by the emperor for a great ceu/> Je main. These 
veterans of a hundred battles had been stationed, 
from the beginning of the day, inactive sj)ecta- 
tors of the fight ; their hour was now come, and 
with a shout of " Vive l' Etnpereur!" which rose 
triumphantly over the din and crash of battle, they 
began their march. Meanwhile, aides-de-camp 
galloped along the lines, announcing the arrival of 
Grouchy, to reanimate the drooping spirits of the 
men ; for, at last, a doubt of victory was break- 
ing upon the minds of those who never before, in 
the most adverse hour of fortune, deemed his 
star could be set that led them on to glory. 

" They are coming ; the attack will be made on 
the centre, my lord," said Lord Fitzroy Somerset 
as he directed his glass upon the column. 
Scarcely had he spoken, when the telesco])e fell 
from his hand, as his arm, shattered by a French 
bullet, fell motionless to his side. 

'' I see it," was the cool reply of the duke, as 
he ordered the Guards to deploy into line, and 
lie down behind the ridge, which now the French 
artillery had found the range of, and were labor- 
ing at their guns. In front of them the Fifty-sec- 
ond, Seventy-first, and Ninety-fifth were formed; 
the artillery stationed above and partly upon the 
road, loaded with grape, and waited but the word 
to open. 

It was an awful, a dreadful moment; the 
Prussian cannon thundered on our left, but so 
desperate was the French resistance, they made 
but little progress; the dark columns of the 
Guard had now conmienced the ascent, and the 
artillery ceased their fire as the bayonets of the 
grenadiers showed themselves upon the slope. 
Then began that tremendous cheer from right to 
left of our line, which those who heard never can 
forget. It was the impatient, long-restrained 
burst of unslaked vengeance. With the instinct 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



509 



which valor teaches, they knew the hour of trial 
was come; and that wild cry flew from rank to 
rank, echoing from the blood-stained walls of 
Hougoumont to the far-off valley of La Pape- 
lotte. " They come' they come'" was the cry; 
and the shout of " Vive I' Einpcreur/" mingled 
with tlie outburst of the British line. 

Under an overwhelming shower of grape, to 
which succeeded a charge of cavalry of the Im- 
perial Guard, the head of Ney's column fired its 
volley and advanced with the bayonet. The 
British artillery now opened at half range, and, 
although the plunging fire scathed and devastat- 
ed the dark ranks of the Guard, on they came, 
Ney himself, or_ foot, at their head. Twice the 
leading division of that gallant column turned 
completely round, as the withering fire wasted 
and consumed them; but they were resolved to 
win. 

Already they gained the crest of the hill, and 
the first line of the British were falling back be- 
fore them. The artillery closes up; the flanking 
fire from the guns upon the road opens upon 
them; the head of their column breaks like a 
shell; the duke seizes the moment, and advances 
on foot towards the ridge. 

" Up, Guards, and at them!" he cried. 

The hour of triumph and vengeance had ar- 
rived. In a moment the Guards were on their 
feet; one volley was poured in; the bayonets 
were brought to the charge; they closed upon 
the enemy; then was seen the most dreadful 
struggle that the history of all war can present. 
Furious with long-restrained passion; the Guards 
rushed upon the leading divisions; the Seventy- 
first, and Ninety-fifth, and Twenty-sixth over- 
lapped them on the flanks. Their generals fell 
thickly on every side; Michel, Jamier, and Mal- 
let are killed; Friant lies wounded upon the 
ground; Ney, his dress pierced and ragged with 
balls, shouts still to advance; but the leading files 
waver; they fall back; the supporting divisions 
thicken; confuision, panic succeeds; the British 
press down; the cavalry come galloping up to 
their assistance; and at last, pell-mell, over- 
whelmed and beaten, the French fall back upon 
the Old Guard. This was the decisive moment 
of the day — the duke closed his glass, as he said, 

" The field is won. Order the whole line to 
advance." 

On they came, four deep, and poured like a 
torrent from tlie height. 

"Let the Life Guards charge them," said the 
duke; but every aide-de-camp on his staff was 
wounded, and I myself brought the order to 
Lord U.xbridge. 

Lord Uxbridge had already anticipated his 
orders, and bore down with four regiments of 
cavalry upon the French centre. The Prussian 
artillery thundered upon their flank and at their 
rear. The British bayonet was in their front; 
while a panic of fear spread through their ranks, 
and the cry of "Sattve qui pent!" resounded on 
all sides. In vain Ney, the bravest of the brave; 
in vain Soult, Bertrand, Gourgaud, and Labe- 
doyere, burst from the broken, disorganized mass, 
and called on them to stand fast. A battalion 
of the Old Guard, with Cambronne at their head, 



alone obeyed the summons; forming into square, 
they stood between the pursuers and their jirey, 
offering themselves a sacrifice to the tarnished 
honor of tlieir arms; to the order to surrender 
they answered with a cry of defiance; and as our 
cavalry, flushed and elated with victory, rode 
round their bristling ranks, no quailing look, no 
craven spirit was there. The emperor himself 
endeavored to repair the disaster, he rode with 
lightning speed hither and thither, commanding, 
ordering, nay, imploring, too; but already the 
night was falling, the confusion became each 
moment more inextricable, and the effort was a 
fruitless one. A regiment of the Guards and two 
batteries were in reserve behind Planchenoit; he 
threw them rapidly into position; but the over- 
whelming impulse of flight drove the mass upon 
them, and they were carried away upon the tor- 
rent of the beaten army. No sooner did the 
emperor see this last hope desert him, than he 
dismounted from his horse, and, drawing his 
sword, threw himself into a square, which the 
first regiment of chasseurs of the Old Guard liad 
formed with a remnant of the battalion. Jerome 
followed him, as he called out, 

" You are right, brother; here should j erish 
all who bear the name of Bonaparte." 

The same moment the Prussian light artillery 
rend the ranks asunder, and the cavalry charge 
down upon the scattered fragments. A few of 
his staff, who never left him, place the emperor 
upon a horse and fly through the death-dealing 
artillery and musketry. A squadron of the Life 
Guards, to which I had attached myself, came up 
at the moment, and as Blucher's hussars rode 
madly here and there, where so lately the crowd 
of staff officers had denoted the presence of Na- 
poleon, expressed their rage and disappointment 
in curses and cries of vengeance. 

Cambronne's battalion stood yet unbroken, 
and seemed to defy every attack that was brought 
against them. To the second summons to sur- 
render they replied as indignantly as at first; and 
Vivian's brigade was ordered to charge them. A 
cloud of British horse bore down on every face 
of the devoted square; but firm as in their hour 
of victory, the heroes of Marengo never quailed; 
and twice the bravest blood of Britain recoiled, 
baffled and dismayed. There was a pause for 
some minutes, and even then, as we surveyed our 
broken and blood-stained squadrons, a cry of 
admiration burst from our ranks at the gallant 
bearing of that glorious infantry. Suddenly the 
tramp of approaching cavalry was heard; I turned 
my head and saw two squadrons of the Second 
Life Guards. The officer who led them on was 
bareheaded; his long, dark hair streaming wildly 
behind him, and upon his pale features, to which 
not even the headlong enthusiasm of battle had 
lent one touch of color He rode straight to 
where I was standing, his dark eyes fixed upon 
me with a look so fierce, so penetrating, that I 
could not look away, the features, save in this 
respect, had almost a look of idiocy. It was 
Hammersley. 

"Ha!" he cried at last, "I have sought you 
out the entire dav, but in vain. It is not yet too 
late. Give me your hand, boy. You once called 



510 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



on me to foWow you, and I did not refuse; I trust 
you'll do the like by me. Is it not so?" 

A terrible perception of his meaning shot 
through my mind as I clasped his claycold 
hand in mine, and for a moment I did not speak. 

"I hoped for better than this," said he, bit- 
terly, ;ind as a glance of withering scorn flashed 
from his eye. " I did trust that he who was 
preferred before me was at least not a coward." 

As the word fell from his lips I nearly leaped 
from my saddle, and mechanically raised my 
sabre to cleave him on the spot. 

"Then follow me!" shouted he, pointing with 
his sword to the glistening ranks before us. 

"Come on!" said I, with a voice hoarse with 
passion, while, burying my spurs in my horse's 
flanks, I sprang on a full length before him, and 
bore down upon the enemy. A loud shout, a 
deafening volley, the agonizing cry of the 
wounded and the dying, were all I heard, as my 
horse, rearing madly upwards, plunged twice into 
the air, and then fell dead upon the earth, 
crushing me beneath his cumbrous weight, life- 
less and insensible. 

****** 

The day was breaking; the cold, grey light of 
morning was struggling through the misty dark- 
ness, when I once more recovered my conscious- 
ness. Tiiere are moments in life when memory 
can so suddenly conjure up the whole past be- 
fore us, that there is scarcely time for a doubt 
ere the disputed reality is palpable to our senses. 
Such was this to me. One hurried glance upon 
the wide, bleak plain before me, and every cir- 
cumstance of the battle-field was present to my 
recollection. The dismounted guns, the broken 
wagons, the heaps of dead or dying, the strag- 
gling parties who on foot or horseback traversed 
the field, and the dark litters which carried the 
wounded, all betokened the sad evidences of the 
preceding day's battle. 

Close around me where I lay the ground was 
marked with the bodies of our cavalry, inter- 
mixed with the soldiers of the Old Guard. The 
broad brow and stalwart chest of the Saxon lay 
bleaching beside the bronzed and bearded 
warrior of Gaul, while the torn-up ground at- 
tested the desperation of that struggle which 
closed the day. 

As my eye ranged over this harrowing specta- 
cle, a dreadful anxiety shot through me as I 
asked myself whose had been the victory. A 
certain confused impression of flight and of pur- 
suit remained in my mind; but, at the moment, 
the circumstances of my own position in the 
early part of the day increased the difficulty of 
reflection, and left me in a state of intense and 
agonizing uncertainty. Although not wounded, 
I had been so crushed by my fall that it was not 
without pain I got upon my legs. I soon per- 
ceived that the spot around me had not yet been 
visited by those vultures of the battle-field who 
strip alike the dead and dying. The distance of 
the place from where the great conflict of the 
battle had occurred was probably the reason; 
and now, as the straggling sunbeams fell upon the 
earth, I could trace the helmet of the Enniskil- 
leners, or the tall bearskin of the Scotch Greys, 



lying in thick confusion where the steel cuirass 
and long sword of the French dragoons showed 
the fight had been hottest. As I turned my eyes 
hither and thither I could see no living thing 
near me. In every attitude of struggling agony 
they lay around; some buried beneath their 
horses, some bathed in blood, some, with 
clenched hands and darting eye-balls, seemed 
struggling even in death; but all was still — not a 
word, not a sigh, not a groan was there. I was 
turning to leave the spot, and, uncertain which 
way to direct my steps, looked once more 
around, when my glance rested upon the pale 
and marble features of one who, even in that 
moment of doubt and difficulty, there was no 
mistaking. His coat, torn widely open, was 
grasped in either hand, while his breast was shat- 
tered with balls, and bathed in gore. Gashed 
and mutilated as he lay, still the features wore no 
trace of suffering; cold, pale, motionless, but 
with the tranquil look of sleep, his eyelids were 
closed, and his half-parted lips seemed still to 
quiver in life. 1 knelt down beside him; I took 
his hand in mine; I bent over and whispered his 
name; I placed my hand upon his heart, where 
even still the life-blood was warm- — but he was 
dead. Poor Hammersley. His was a gallant 
soul; and, as I looked upon his blood-stained 
corpse, my tears fell fast and hot upon his brow 
to think how far I had myself been the cause of 
a life blighted in its hopes, and a death like his. 



CHAPTER CXXI. 



BRUSSELS. 



Once more I would entreat my reader's indul- 
gence for the prolixity of a narrative which has 
grown beneath my hands to a length I had never 
intended. This shall, however, be the last time 
for either the offence or the apology. My story 
is now soon concluded. 

After wandering about for some time, uncer- 
tain which way to take, I at length reached the 
Charleroi road, now blocked by carriages and 
wagons conveying the wounded towards Brus- 
sels. Here I learnt, for the first time, that we 
had gained the battle, and heard of the total 
annihilation of the French army, and the down- 
fall of the emperor. On arriving at the farm- 
house of Mont St. Jean, I found a number of 
officers, whose wounds prevented their accom- 
panving the army in its forward movement. One 
of them, with whom I was slightly acquainted, 
informed me that General Dashwood had spent 
the greater part of the night upon the field in 
search of me, and that my servant, Mike, was in 
a state of distraction at my absen.ce that bor- 
dered on insanity. While he was speaking, a 
burst of laughter and the tones of a well-remem- 
bered voice behind attracted my attention. 

" Made a very good thing of it, upon my life. 
A dressing case — not gold, you know, but silver- 
gilt — a dozen knives, with blood-stone handles, 
and a little coffee-pot, with the imperial arms — not 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



511 



to speak of three hundred Naps in a green silk 
purse — Lord! it reminds me of the Peninsula. 
Do you know, those Prussians are mere barbar- 
ians — haven't a notion of civilized war. Bless 
your heart, my fellows in the Legion would have 
ransacked the whole coach, from the boot to 
the sword-case, in half the time they took to cut 
down the coachman." 

"The major! as I live," said I. "How goes 
it, major?" 

" Eh, Charley! when did you turn up? De- 
lighted to see you. They told nie you were badly 
wounded, or killed, or something of that kind, 
but I should have paid the little debt to your ex- 
ecutors all the same." 

" All the same, no doubt, major; but where, 
in Heaven's name, did you fall upon that mine 
of pillage you have just been talking of?" 

'' In the emperor's carriage, to be sure, boy. 
While the duke was watching all day the advance 
of Ney's columns, and keeping an anxious look- 
out for the Prussians, I sat in a window in this 
old farm-house, and never took my eye off the 
garden at Planchenoit. I saw the imperial car- 
riage there in the morning — it was there also at 
noon — and they never put the horses to it till 
past seven in the evening, The roads were very 
heavy, and the crowd was great. I judged the 
pace couldn't be a fast one; and with four of the 
Enniskilleners I charged it like a man. The 
Prussians, however, had the start of us; and if 
they hadn't thought, from my seat on horseback 
and my general appearance, that I was Lord Ux- 
bridge, I should have got but a younger son's 
portion. However, I got in first, filled my pockets 
with a few little souvenirs of the emperor, and 
then, laying my hands upon what was readiest, 
got out in time to escape being shot; for two of 
Blucher's hussars, thinking I must be the emperor, 
fired at me through the window." 

" What an escape you had!" 

" Hadn't I, though? Fortunate, too, my Enn.s- 
killeners saw the whole thing; for I intend to 
make the circumstance the ground of an appli- 
cation for a pension. Harkye, Charley, don't 
say anything about the coffee-pot and the knives. 
The duke, you know, has strange notions of his 
own on these matters. But isn't that your fellow 
fighting his way yonder?" 

"Tear an ages! don't howld me — that's him- 
self — devil a one else." 

This exclamation came from Mickey Free, 
who, with his dress torn and disheveled, his eyes 
bloodshot and strained, was upsetting and elbow- 
ing all before him, as he made his way towards 
me through the crowd. 

" Take that fellow to the guard-house! Lay 
hold of him, sergeant! Knock him down! Who 
is the scoundrel ?" 

Such were the greetings he met with on every 
side. Regardless of everything and everybody, 
he burst his way through the dense mass. 

"Oh, murther! oh, Mary! oh, Moses! Is he 
safe here after all?" 

The poor fellow could say no more, but burst 
into a torrent of tears. A roar of laughter around 
him soon, however, turned the current of his 
emotions; when, dashing the scalding drops from 



his eyelids, he glared fiercely like a tiger on every 
side. 

" Ye're laughing at me, are ye?" cried he, 
"bekase I love the hand that fed me, and the 
master that stood to me. But let us see now 
whic'h of us two has the stoutest heart; you with 
your grin on you, or myself with the salt tears on 
my face." 

As he spoke, he sprang upon them like a mad- 
man, striking right and left at everything before 
him. Down they went beneath his blows, levelled 
with the united strength of energy and pas- 
sion, till at length, rushing upon him in numbers, 
he was overpowered and thrown to the ground. 
It was with some difficulty I accomplished his 
rescue; for his enemies felt by no means assured 
how far his amicable propensities for the future 
could be relied upon; and, indeed, Mike himself 
had a most constitutional antijiathy to binding 
himself by any pledge. With some persuasion, 
however, I reconciled all parties; and having, by 
the kindness of a brother officer, provided myself 
with a couple of troop horses, I mounted, and set 
out for Brussels, followed by Mickey, who had 
effectually cured his auditory of any tendency to 
laughter at his cost. 

As I rode up to the Belle Vue, I saw Sir 
George Dash wood in the window. He was speak- 
ing to the ambassador. Lord Clancarty; but the 
moment he caught my eye, hurried down to meet 
me. 

"Charley, safe — safe, my boy! Now am I 
really happy. The glorious day had been one 
of sorrow to me for the rest of my life had any- 
thing happened to you. Come up with me at 
once; I have more than one friend here who longs 
to thank you. " 

So saying, he hurried me along; and, before I 
could well remember where I was, introduced me 
to a number of persons in the saloon. 

"Ah! very happy to know you, sir," said Lord 
Clancarty; " perhaps we had better walk this 
way. My friend Dashwood has explained tome 
the very pressing reasons there are for this step; 
and I, for my part, see no objection." 

"What, in Heaven's name, can he mean?" 
thought I, as he stopped short, expecting me to 
say something, while, in utter confusion, I smiled, 
simpered, and muttered some commonplaces. 

" Love and war, sir," resumed the ambassador, 
" verv admirable associates, and you certainly 
have contrived to couple them most closely to- 
gether. A long attachment, I believe?" 

" Yes, sir, a very long attachment," stammered 
I, not knowing which of us was about to become 
insane. 

"A very charming person, indeed; I have 
seen the lady," replied his lordship, as he opened 
the door of a small room, and beckoned me to 
follow. The table was covered with paper and 
materials for writing; but, before I had time to 
ask for any explanation of this unaccountable 
mystery, he added, "Oh, I was forgetting; this 
must be witnessed; wait one moment." 

With these words' he left the room, while I, 
amazed and thunderstruck, vacillating between 
fear and hope, trembling lest the delusive glim- 
mering of happiness should give way at every 



512 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



moment, and yet totally unable to explain by any 
possible supposition how fortune could so far 
have favored me. 

While yet I stood, hesitating and uncertain, 
the door opened, and the senhora entered. She 
looked a little pale, though not less beautiful 
than ever; and her features wore a slight trace 
of seriousness, which rather heightened than 
took from the character of her loveliness. 

" I heard you had come, chevalier," said she, 
" and so I ran down to sliake hands with you. 
We may not meet again for some time." 

" How so, senhora? You are not going to leave 
us, I trust?" 

"Then you have not seen Fred. Oh, I forgot, 
you know nothing of our plans." 

" Here we are at last," said the ambassador, as 
he came in, followed by Sir George, Power, and 
two other officers. "Ah, ma belle, how fortunate 
to find you here! I assure you it is a matter of 
no small difficulty to get people together at such 
a time as this." 

"Charley, my dear friend," cried Power, "I 
scarcely hoped to have had a shake-hands with 
you ere I left." 

" Do, Fred, tell me what all this means? I am 
in a perfect maze of doubt and difficulty, and 
cannot comprehend a word I hear about me." 

" Faith, my boy, I have little time for explan- 
ation. The man who was at Waterloo yesterday, 
is to be married to-morrow, and to sail for India 
in a week, has quite enough upon his hands." 

" Colonel Power, you will please to put your 
signature here," said Lord Clancarty, addressing 
himself to me. 

" If you will allow me," said Fred, " I had 
rather represent myself." 

" Is not this the colonel, then? Why, confound 
it, I have been wishing him joy the last quarter 
of an hour." 

A burst of laugliter from the whole party, in 
which it was pretty evident I took no part, fol- 
lowed this announcement. 

"And so you are not Colonel Power? Not 
going to be married either?" 

I stammered out something, while, overwhelmed 
with confusion, I stooped down to sign the paper. 
Scarcely had I done so, when a renewed burst of 
laughter broke from the party. 

" Nothing but blunders, upon my soul," said 
the ambassador, as he handed the paper from 
one to another. 

What was my confusion to discover that, in- 
stead of Charles O'Malley, I had written the 
name of Lucy Dashwood. I could bear no more. 
The laughter and raillery of my friends came 
upon my wounded and irritated feelings like the 
most poignant sarcasm. I seized my cap, and 
rushed from the room. Desirous of escaping 
from all that knew me, anxious to bury my agi- 
tated and distracted thoughts in solitude and 
quiet, I opened the first door before me, and 
seeing it an empty and unoccupied room, threw 
myself upon a sofa, and buried' my head within 
my hands. Oh, how often h^d the phantom of 
happiness passed within my reach, but still glided 
from my grasp! How often had I beheld the 
goal I aimed at, as it were before me, and the 



next moment all the bleak reality of my evil for- 
tune was lowering around me! 

"Oh Lucy, Lucy!" I exclaimed aloud, "but 
for you and a few words carelessly spoken, I had 
never trod that path of ambition, whose end has 
been the wreck of all my happiness. But for 
you, I had never loved so fondly; I had never 
filled my mind with one image which, excludii ; 
every other thought, leaves no pleasure but n i 
alone. Yes, Lucy, hut for you, I should liai^- 
gone tranquilly down the stream of life, with 
naught of grief or care, save such as are insep- 
arable from the passing chances of mortality, 
loved, perhaps, and cared for by some one who 
would have deemed it no disgrace to have linked 
her fortune to my own. But for you, and I 
had never been " 

" A soldier, you would say," whispered a soft 
voice, as a light hand gently touched my shoulder. 
"I had come," continued she, "to thank you for 
a gift no gratitude can repay — my father's life, 
but, truly, I did not think to hear the words you 
have spoken; nor, having heard them, can 1 feel 
their justice. No, Mr. O'Malley, deeply grateful 
as I am to you for the service you once rendered 
myself, bound as I am by every tie of thankful- 
ness, by the greater one to my father, yet do I 
feel that in the impulse I had given to your life, 
if so be that to me you owe it, I have done more 
to repay my debt to you, than by all the friend- 
ship, all the esteem I owe you; if, indeed, by my 
means you became a soldier, if my few and ran- 
dom words raised within your breast that fire of 
ambition which has been your beacon-light to 
honor and glory, then am I indeed proud." 

"Alas, alas! Lucy — Miss Dashwood, I would 
say — forgive me if I know not the very words I 
utter. How has my career fulfilled the promise 
that gave it birth? For you, and you only, to 
gain your affection, to win your heart, I became 
a soldier; hardship, danger, even death itself, 
were courted by me, supported by the one 
thought that you had cared for, or had pitied 
me; and now, and now " 

" And now," said she, while her eyes beamed 
upon me with a very flood of tenderness, " is it 
nothing that in my woman's heart I have glowed 
with pride at triumphs I could read of, but dared 
not share in? Is it nothing that you have lent 
to my hours of solitude and of musing the fer- 
vor of that career, the maddening enthusiasm of 
that glorious path my sex denied me? I have 
followed you in my thoughts across the burning 
plains of the Peninsula, through the long hours 
of the march in the dreary nights, even to the 
battle-field. I have thought of you, I have 
dreamed of you; I have prayed for you." 

"Alas! Lucy, but not loved me." 

The very words, as I spoke them, sank with a 
despairing cadence upon my heart. Her hand, 
which had fallen upon mine, trembled violently; 
I pressed my lips upon it, but she moved it not. 
I dared to look up; her head was turned away, 
but her heaving bosom betrayed her emotion. 

"No, no, Lucy," cried I, passionately, "I will 
not deceive myself; I ask for more than you can 
give me. Farewell !" 

Now, and for the last time, I pressed her hand 



CHARLES 0"MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



513 



once more to tny lips; my liot tears fell fast upon 
it. I turned to go, and threw one last look ujjon 
her. Our eyes met — I cannot say what it was — 
hut in a moment the whole current of my thoughts 
was changed; her look was bent upon me beam- 
ing with softness and affection, her hand gently 
pres.sed my own, and her lips murmured my 
name. 

'I'he door burst open at this moment, and .Sir 
George Dashwood appeared. Lucy turned one 
fleeting look upon her father, and fell fainting 
into my arms. 

" God bless you, my boy!" said the old gen- 
eral, as he hurriedly wi[)ed a tear fr(jm his eye; 
" I am now, indeed, a happy father." 



CHAPTER CXXIL 



CONCLUStON. 



****** 

The sun had set about half an hour. Already 
were the dusky shadows blending with the faint 
twilight, as on a lovely July evening we entered 
the little village of Portumna: — we, I say; for 
Lucy was beside me. For the last few miles of 
the way I had spoken little; thouglits of the 
many times I had travelled that same road, in 
how many moods, occupied mv mind; and al- 
though, as we flew rapidly along, some well-known 
face would every now and then present itself, I 
iiad but time for the recognition ere we were 
past. Arousing myself from my reverie, I was 
[jointing out to Lucy certain well-known spots in 
the landscape, and directing her attention to 
places with the names of which she had been for 
some time familiar, when suddenly a loud shout 
rent the air, and the next moment the carriage 
was surrounded by hundreds of country people, 
some of whom brandished blazing pine torches; 
others carried rude banners in their hands; but 
all testified the most fervent joy as they bade us 
welcome. The horses were speedily unharnessed, 
and their places occupied by a crowd of every 
age and sex, who hurried us along through the 
straggling street of the village, now a perfect 
bla/.e of bonfires. 

Mounds of turf, bog-frr, and tar-barrels sent up 
their ruddy blaze, while hundreds of wild, but 
happy faces, flitted around and through them — 
now dancing merrily in chorus; now j)lunging 
madly into the midst of the fire, and scattering 
the red embers on every side. Pipers were there 
loo, mounted upon cars or turf-kishes; even the 
very roof-tops rang out their merry notes; the 
ensigns of the little fishing-cr.aft waved in the 
breeze, and seem to feel the general jov around 
tliem; while over the door of the village inn 
stood a brillianti)' lighted transparency, repre- 
senting the head of the O'Malleys holding a very 
scantily-robed young lady by the tips of the fin- 
gers; but whether this damsel was intended to 
represent the genius of the west, or my wife, I 
did not venture to inquire. 

If the welcome were rude, assuredly it was a 
hearty one. Kind wishes and blessings poured 



in on every side, and even our own happiness 
took a brighter coloring from the beaming looks 
around us. The scene was wild; the lurid glare 
of the red torchlight, the frantic gest\ires, the 
maddening shouts, the forked flames rising amidst 
tlie dark shadows of the little hamlet, had some- 
thing stiange and almost unearthly in their ef- 
fect; but Lucy showed no touch of fear; it is 
true she grasped my hand a little closer, but her 
fair cheek glowed with pleasure, and her eye 
brightened as she looked; and, as the rich light 
fell upon her beauteous features, how many a 
blessing, heartfelt and deep, how many a word of 
fervent praise was spoken. 

"All! then, the Lord be good to you; it's 
yourself has the darling blue eyes. Look at 
them, Mary; ain't they like the blossoms on a 
peacock's tail ? — Musha, may sorrow never put a 
crease in that beautiful cheek! The saints watch 
over you! for your mouth is like a moss-rose. 
Be good to her, yer honor, for she's a raal gem; 
devil fear you, Mr. Charles, but you'd have a 
beauty." 

We wended our way slowly, the crowd ever 
thickening around us, until we reached the 
market-place. Here the procession came to a 
stand, and I could perceive, by certain efforts 
around me, that some endeavor was making to 
enforce silence. 

" Whist there; hould your prate; be still, 
Paddy. Tear an' ages, Molly Blake, don't be 
holding me that way; let us hear his reverence; 
put him up on the barrel; haven't you got a chair 
for the priest? Run, and bring a table out of 
Mat Haley's. Here, father — here, your rever- 
ence; — take care, will you? — you'll have the hob,' 
man in the blaze!" 

By this time I could perceive that my worthy 
old friend. Father Rush, was in the midst of the 
mob, with what appeared to be a written oration, 
as long as the tail of a kite, between his hands. 

"Be aisy, there, ye savages — who's tearing the 
back of. my neck? — howld me up straight — 
steady, now — hem!" 

"Take the laste taste in life to wet your lips, 
your riverence," said a kind voice, while at the 
same moment a smoking tumbler of what seemed 
to be punch appeared on the heads of the 
crowd. 

"Thank ye, Judy," said the father, as he 
drained the cup. " Howld the light uj) higher; I 
can't read my speech; there now; be quiet, will 
ye? Here goes. Peter, stand to me now, and 
give me the word." 

This admonition was addressed to a figure on 
a barrel behind the priest, who, as well as the 
imperfect light would permit me to descry, was* 
the coadjutor of the parish, Peter Nolan. Silence 
being perfectly established, F'ather Rush began: 



' When Mars, tlie pen! of w.ii, on high, 

Of bailies first ihil think, 
He girt his sworil iipon his thigh, 
And 



.\nd — what is't, Peter ?" 

" AiiJ mixed a dinp o( ihink." 



514 



CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



"And mixed a drop of drink," quoth Fatlier 
Rush, with great emphasis; when scarcely were 
the words spoken than a loud shout of laughter 
showed him his mistake, and lie overturned upon 
the luckless curate the full vial of his wrath. 

"What is it you mean, Father Peter? I'm 
ashamed of ye; faith it's maybe yourself, not 
Mars, you are speaking of." 

The roar of merriment around prevented me 
hearing what passed; but I could see by Peter's 
gestures — for it was too dark to see his face- — that 
he was expressing deep sorrow for the mistake. 
After a little time, order was again established, 
and Father Rush resumed: 

" But love drove battles from his head 
And sick of wounds and scars, 
To Venus bright he knelt, and said 

And said — and said; what the blazes did he 
say?" 

" I'll make you Mrs. Mars." 

shouted Peter, loud enougli to be heard. 

" Bad luck to you, Peter Nolan, it's yourself's 
the ruin of me this blessed night. Here have 
I come four miles with niy speech in my pocket, 
' periiiibres et ignes.' " Here the crowd crossed 
themselves devoutly. "Ay, just so; and he 
spoilt it for me entirely." At the earnest en- 
treaty, however, of the crowd. Father Rush, with 
renewed caution to his unhappy prompter, again 
returned to the charge: 

"Thus love compelled (he god to yield 
And seek for purer joys; 
He laid aside his helm and shield, 
And took 

Took— took " 



"And took to corduroys." 

cried Father Nolan. 

This time, however, the good priest's patience 
could endure no more, and lie levelled a blow at 
his luckless colleague, which, missing his aim, 
lost him his own balance, and brought him down 
from his eminence upon the heads of the mob. 

Scarcely had I.recovered the perfect convulsion 
of laughter into whicii this scene had tlirown me, 
when the broad brim of Father Nolan's hat ap- 
peared at the window of the carriage. Before I 
had time to address him, he took it reverently 
from his head, disclosing in the act the ever- 
memorable features of Master Frank Webber! 

"What! Eh!— can it be?" said I. 

"It is surely not——" said Lucy, hesitating at 
the name. 

" Your aunt. Miss Judy Macan, no more than 
the Rev. Peter Nolan, I assure you; though, I 
confess, it has cost me much more to personate 
the latter character than the former, and the re- 
ward by no means so tempting." 

Here poor Lucy blushed deeply at the remem- 
brance of the scene alluded to; and, anxious to 
turn the conversation, I asked by what stratagem 
he had succeeded to the functions of the worthy 
Peter? 

" At the Cost of twelve tumblers of the strong- 



est punch ever brewed at the O'Malley Arms. 
The good father gave in only ten minutes be- 
fore the oration began, and I had barely time to 
change my dress and mount the barrel, without a 
moment's preparation." 

The procession once more resumed its march, 
and hurried along through the town; we soon 
reached tiie avenue. Here fresh preparations 
for welcoming us had also been made; but, re- 
gardless of blazing tar-barrels and burning logs, 
the reckless crowd pressed madly on, their wild 
cheers waking the echoes as they went. \\'e soon 
reached the house, but with a courtesy which 
even the humblest and poorest native of this 
country is never devoid of, the preparations of 
noise and festivity had not extended to the pre- 
cincts of the dwelling. With a tact which those 
of higher birth and older blood might be proud 
of, they limited the excesses of their reckless and 
careless merriment to their own village; so that, 
as we approached the terrace, all was peaceful, 
still, and quiet. 

I lifted Lucy from the carriage, and, passing 
my arm around her, was assisting iier to mount 
the steps, when a bright gleam of moonlight burst 
forth, and lit up the whole scene. It w as, indeed, 
an impressive one. Among tiie assembled hun- 
dreds there who stood bare-headed, beneath the 
cold moonlight, not a word was now spoken — 
not a whisper heard. I turned from the lawn, 
where the tall beech-trees were throwing their 
gigantic shadows, to where the river, peering at 
intervals through the foliage, was flowing on its 
silvery track, ])lashing amid the tall flaggers that 
lined its banks — all were familiar, all -were dear 
to me from childhood. How doubly were they 
so now! I lifted up my eyes towards the door, 
and what was my surprise at the object before 
them! Seated in a large chair was an old man, 
w^hose white hair, flowing in straggling masses 
upon his neck and shoulders, stirred with the night 
air; his hands rested ujjon his knees, and his 
eyes, turned slightly upwards, seemed to seek 
for some one he found it difficult to recognize. 
Changed as he was by time, heavily as years had 
done their work upon him, liie stern features 
were not to be mistaken; but, as I looked, he 
called out, in a voice whose unshaken firmness 
seemed to defy the touch of lime: 

"Charley O'Malley! ccme here, my boy. Bring 
hertome, till I blessyou bolh. Come here, Lucy: 
I may call you so. Ccme here, my children. I 
have tried to live on to see this day, when the 
head of an old house comes back with honor, 
with fame, and witii fortune, to dw ell amidst his 
own people in the old home of his fathers." 

The old man bent above us, his white hair 
falling upon the fair locks of her who knelt be- 
side him, and pressed his cold and quivering 
hand within her own. 

"Yes, Lucy," said I, as I led her v/ithin the 
house, " this is home." 

Here now ends my story. The patient reader 
who has followed me so far, deserves at my hands 
that I should not trespass upon his kindness one 
moment beyond the necessity; if, however, any 
lurking interest may remain for some of those 



CHARLES OiMALLEY, THE IRISH DRAGOON. 



515 



who have accompanied me through this my his- 
tory, it may be as well that I should say a few 
words further, ere they disappear forever. 

Power went to India immediately after his 
marriage, distinguished himself repeatedly in the 
Burmese war, and finally rose to a high command, 
that he this moment holds, with honor to himself 
and advantage to his country. 

O'Shauglinessy, on half-pay, wanders about the 
Continent; passing his summers on the Rhine, 
his winters in Florence or Geneva. Known to 
and by everybody, his interest in the service 
keeps him an courant to every change and regu- 
lation, rendering him an invaluable companion to 
all to whom an army list is inaccessible. He is 
the same good fellow he ever was, and adds 
to his many excellent qualities the additional one 
of being the only man who can make a bull in 
French! 

Monsoon, the major, when last I saw him, was 
standing on the pier at Calais, endeavoring with 
a cheap telescope, to make out the Dover cliffs, 
from a nearer prospect of which certain little 
family circumstances might possibly debar him. 
He recognized me in a moment, and held out 
his hand, while his eye twinkled with its ancient 
drollery. 

"Charley, my son, how goes it? delighted to 
see you. What a pity I did not meet you yester- 
day! Had a little dinner at Crillon's. Hard- 
ing, Vivian, and a few others. They all wished 
for you; 'pon my life they did." 

" Civil, certainly," thought I, " as I have not the 
honor of being known to them." 

"You are at Meurice's," resumed he; " a very 
good house, but give you bad wine, if they don't 
know you. They know me," added he in a whis- 
per; "never try any tricks upon me. I'll just 
drop in upon you at six." 

"It is most unfortunate, major; I can't have 
the pleasure you speak of; we start in half an 
hour." 

"Never mind, Charley, never mind; another 
time. By-the-by, now I think of it, don't you 
remember something of a ten-pound note you 
owe me?" 



" As well as I remember, major, the circum- 
stance was reversed; you are the debtor." 

" Upon my life you are right; how droll. No 
matter, let me have the ten, and I'll give you a 
checque for the whole." 

The major thrust his tongue into his cheek as 
he spoke, gave another leer, pocketed the note, 
and sauntered down the pier muttering some- 
thing to himself about King David and green- 
horns; but how they were connected I could not 
precisely overhear. 

Baby Blake, or Mrs. Sparks, to call her by her 
more fitting appellation, is as handsome as ever, 
and not less good-humored and light-hearted, her 
severest trials being her ineflectual efforts to con- 
vert Sparks into something like a man for Gal- 
way. 

Last of all, Mickey Free. Mike remains at- 
tached to our fortune firmly, as at first he opened 
his career, the same gay, rollicksome Irishman, 
making songs, making love, and occasionally 
making punch, he spends his days and nights 
pretty much as he was wont to do some thirty 
years ago. He obtains an occasional leave of 
absence for a week or so, but for what precise 
purpose, or with what exact object, I have never 
been completely able to ascertain. I have heard 
it as true, that a very fascinating companion and 
a most agreeable gentleman frtcjutnts a certain 
oyster-house in Dublin, called Burton Bindon's. 
I have also been told of a distinguished foreigner, 
whose black moustache and broken English were 
the admiration of Cheltenham for the last two 
winters. I greatly fear from the high tone of the 
conversation in the former, and for the taste in 
continental characters in the latter resort, that I 
could fix upon the individual « hose convivial and 
social gifts have won so much of their esteem and 
admiration; but were I to run on thus, I should 
recur to every character of my story, with each 
and all of whom you have, doubtless, grown well 
wearied; so here, for the last time, and with every 
kind wish, I say— adieu! 



THE END. 



PAUL GOSSLETTS CONFESSIONS 



IN 



LOVE, LA\V, AND THE CIVIL SERVICE. 



MV FIRST MISSION UNDER F.O. 

I WAS walking very sadly across the Green 
Park one day, mv hat pressed over my eyes, not 
looking to right or left, but sauntering slowly 
along, depressed and heavy-hearted, when I felt 
a friendly arm slip softly within my own, while 
a friendly voice said — 

" I think I have got something to suit you, for 
a few months at least. Don't you know 
Italian?" 

" In a fashion, I may say I do. I can read the 
small poets, and chat a little. I'll not say much 
more about my knowledge." 

■' Quite enough for what I mean. Now, tell me 
another thing. You're not a very timid fellow, I 
know. Have you any objection to going amongst 
tlie brigands in Calabria — on a friendly mission, 
of course — where it will be their interest to treat 
you well ?" 

" Explain yourself a little more freely. What 
is it I should have to do?" 

" Here's the whole affair; the son of a wealthy 
baronet, a Wiltshire M.P., has been captured and 
carried off by these rascals. They demand a 
heavy sum for his ransom, and give a very short 
time for the payment. Sir Joseph, the youth's 
father, is very ill, and in such a condition as 
would make any appeal to him highly dangerous; 
tlie doctors declare, in fact, it would be fatal; 
and L.ady Mary S. has come up to town, in a state 
bordering on distraction, to consult Lord Scat- 
terdale, the Foreign Secretary, who is a personal 
friend of her husband. The result is that his 
lordship has decided to pay the money at once; 
and the only question is now to find the man to 
take it out, and treat with these scoundrels." 

"That ought not to be a very difficult matter, 
one would say; there are scores of fellows with 
pluck for such a mission." 

"So there are, if pluck were the only requis- 
ite; but something more is needed. If Sir Jo- 
seph should not like to acknowledge the debt — 
if, on his recovery, he should come to think that 
the thing might have been better managed, less 
cost incurred, and so on — the government will 
feel embarrassed; they can't well (piarrel with an 
old supporter; they can't well stick the thing in the 
estimates; so that, to cover the outlay in some 
decent fashion, they must give it a public-service 



look before they can put it into the extraordinaries; 
and so Lord S. has hit upon this scheme. You 
are aware that a great question is now dis- 
puted between the Bourbonists of Naples and the 
party of New Italy — whether brigandage means 
mere highway robbery, or is the outburst of na- 
tional enthusiasm in favor of the old dyn.^sty. 
The friends of King Bomba, of course, call it a 
'La Vendee;' the others laugh at this, and say 
that the whole affair is simply assassination and 
robbery, and totally destitute of any political col- 
oring. Who knows on which side the truth lies, 
or whether some portion of truth does not attach 
to each of these versions? Now, there are, as you 
said awhile ago, scores of fellows who would have 
pluck enough to treat with the brigands; but 
there are not so many who could be trusted to 
report of them — to give a clear and detailed ac- 
count of what he saw of them — of their organiza- 
tion, their sentiments, their ambitions, and their 
political views, if they have any. You are just 
the man to do this. You have that knack of ob- 
servation and that readiness with your pen which 
are needed. In fact, you seem to me the very 
fellow to do this creditably." 

" Has Lord S. any distinct leanings in the mat- 
ter?" asked I. " Does he incline to regard these 
men as political adherents, or as assassins ' purs 
et simples' ?" 

" I see what you mean," said my friend, pinch- 
ing my arm. " You want to know the tone of 
vour employer before you enter his service. You'd 
like to be sure of the tints that would please him." 

" Perhaps so. I won't go so far as to say it 
would frame my report, but it might serve to 
tinge it. Now, do you know his proclivities, as 
Jonathan would call them?" 

"I believe they are completely with the Italian 
view of the matter. I mean, he will not recognize 
anything political in these scoundrels." 

"I thought as much. Now as to the appoint- 
ment. Do you think you could obtain it for me?" 

"You are ready to take it, then?" 

"Perfectly." 

".\nd ready to start at once?" 

"To-night." 

" Come back with me now, and I will inquire 
if Lord S. will see us. He spoke to me yester- 
day evening on the matter, and somehow your 
name did not occur to me, and I certainly recom- 

517 



618 



PAUL GOSSLETT'S CONFESSIONS. 



mended another man; — Hitcliins, of the Daily 
News; but I'm sure lie will not have sent for liim 
yet, and that we shall be in good time." 

As we walked back towards Downing street my 
friend talked on incessantly about the advantages 
I might derive from doing this tiling creditably. 
They were sure to make a Blue Book out of my 
report, and who knows if my name would not be 
mentioned in the House-' At all events, the news- 
papers would have it; and the Government would 
be obliged — they couldn't help giving me some- 
thing. "You'll have proved yourself a man of 
capacity," said he, "and that's enough. S. does 
like smart fellows under him, he is so quick him- 
self, sees a thing with half an eye, and reads men 
just as he reads a book." He rattled along in 
this fashion, alternately praising the great man 
and assuring me that I was e.xactly the sort of 
fellow to suit him. "He'll not burden you with 
instructions, but what he tells you will be quite 
sufificient; he is all clearness, conciseness, and 
accuracy. There's only one caution I have to 
give you — don't ask him a question, follow closely 
all he says, and never ask him to e.xplain any- 
thing that puzzles you. To sujipose that he has 
not expressed himself clearly is a dire offence, 
mind that; and now, here we are. Crosby, is my 
lord up-stairs?" asked he of the porter; and re- 
ceiving a bland nod in reply, he led the way to 
the minister'o cabinet. 

" I'll ask to see him first myself," whispered 
he, as he sent in his card. 

Now, though my friend was an M. P., and a 
staunch supporter of the party, he manifested a 
considerable amount of anxiety and uneasiness 
when waiting for the noble secretary's reply. It 
came at last. 

"Can't possibly see you now, sir. Will meet 
you at the House at five o'clock." 

" Will you kindly tell his lordship I have 
brought with me the gentlenian I spoke to him 
about yesterday evening? He will know for what." 

The private secretary retired, sullenly, and 
soon returned to say, "The gentleman may come 
in; my lord will speak to him." 

The next moment I found myself standing in a 
comfortably-furnished room, in front of a large 
writing-table, at which an elderly man with a small 
head, scantily covered with grey hair, was writing. 
He did not cease his occupation as I entered, nor 
notice me in any manner as I approached, but 
went on repeating to himself certain words as he 
wrote them; and at last, laying down his pen, 
said aloud, with a faint chuckle, " And your ex- 
cellency may digest it how you can." 

" I gave a very slight cough. He looked up. 
stared at me, arose, and, walking to the fire, 
stood with his back to it for a couple of seconds 
without speaking. I could see that he had some 
difficulty in dismissing the topic which had just 
occupied him, and was only arriving at nie by 
very slow stages and heavy roads. 

"Eh!" said he, at last; "you are the man of 
the paper. Not the Times — but the — the — what's 
it?" 

"No, my lord. I'm the other man," said I 
quietly. 

■' Ah, you're the other man." .\nd as iie spoke, 



he hung his head, and seemed hopelessly lost in 
thought. " Have you seen Mr. Hammil ?" asked 
he. 

" No, my lord." 

"You must see Mr. Hammil. Till you see 
Mr. Hammil, you needn't come to me." 

" Very well, my lord," said I, moving towards 
the door. 

'Wait a moment. You know Italy well, I am 
told. Do you know Cavor?" 

" No, my lord," said I. 

"Ah! They say he over-eats; have you heard 
that?" 

"I can't say that I have, my lord; but my ac- 
quaintance with Italy and with Italians is very 
slight indeed." 

" Why did they recommend you, then, for this 
affair. I told Gresson that I wanted a man who 
could have ready access to their public men, who 
knew Balbi, Gino Capponi, Ricasoli, and tlie 
rest of them. Now, sir, how is it possible, with- 
out intimacy with these men and their opinions, 
that you could write such leading articles as I 
suggested in their papers? How could you ever 
get admission to the columns of the ' Opinione 
and the ' Pfiseverni?za,' eh? Answer me that." 

" I am afraid, my lord, there is some grave 
misunderstanding here. I never dreamed of pro- 
posing myself for such a difficult task. I came 
here on a totally different mission. It was to 
take *your lordship's orders about the ransom 
and rescue of a young Englishman wlio has been 
captured by the brigands in Southern Ital)— " 

" That scamp St. John. A very different 
buisness, indeed. Why, sir, they value him at one 
thousand pounds, and I'll venture to assert that 
his friends — if that be the name of the people 
who know him — would call him a dear bargain 
at twenty. I'm certain his own father would say 
so; but, poor fellow he is very ill, and can't 
talk on this or any other matter Just now. I,ady 
Mary, however, insists on his release, and we 
must see what can be done. You know the 
habits and ways of these rascals — these brigands 
— don't you?" 

"No, my lord; nothing whatever about them." 

"Then, in Heaven's name, sir, what do you 
know?" 

"Very little about anything, my lord, I must 
confess; but as I am sorely juished to find a 
livelihood, and don't fancy being a burden to my 
friends, I told Mr. Gresson tiiis morning that I 
was quite ready to undertake the mission, if 1 
should be entrusted with it; and that so far as 
bail or security went, my uncle Rankin, of 
Rankin and Bates, would unquestionably afford 
it." 

" Ah, this is very different indeed," said he, 
ponderingly, and with a look of compassionate 
interest I had not thought his face capable of. 
"Gone too fast, perhaps; have been hit hard at 
Doncaster or (loodwood ?" 

"No, my lord; I never lietted. I started with 
a few thousand pounds and lost them in a specu- 
lation." 

"Well, well. I have no right to enter into 
these tilings. Go and see Mr. Temple, the finan- 
cial clerk. Take this to him, and see what he 



PAUL GOSSLETT'S CONFESSIONS. 



519 



says to you. If lie is satisfied, come down to the 
House to-night. But stay! You ought to start 
this evening, oughtn't you.?" 

'' I believe, my lord, the time is very short. 
They require the money to be paid by the 
twelfth." 

" Or they'll cut his ears off, I suppose," said he, 
laughing. "Well, he's an ugly dog already; not 
that cropping will improve him. Here, take this 
to Temple, and arrange the matter between you." 

.\nd he hurriedly wrote half a dozen lines, 
which he enclosed and addressed, and tlien re- 
turning to his seat, said, "Bonne chance! I wish 
you success and a pleasant journey." 

I will not dwell upon the much longer and 
more commonplace interview that followed. Mr, 
Temple knew all about me — knew my uncle, and 
knew the whole story of my misfortunes. He 
was not, liowever, the less cautious in every step 
he took; and as the sum to be entrusted to me 
was so large, he filled in a short bail-bond, and, 
while I sat with him, despatched it by one of 
his clerks to Lombard street, for my uncle's 
signature. This came in due time; and, furnished 
with instructions how to draw on the paymaster- 
general, some current directions how to proceed 
till I presented myself at the Legation at Naples, 
and a sum sufficient for the travelling expenses, 
I left London that night for Calais, and l^egan 
my journey. If I was very anxious to acquit 
myself creditably in this my first employment in 
the public service, and to exhibit an amount of 
zeal, tact, and discretion that might recommend 
me for future employment, I was still not indif- 
ferent to the delights of a journey paid for at the 
Queen's expense, and which exacted from me 
none of those petty economies which mar the 
perfect enjoyment of travelling. 

If I suffer myself to dwell on this part of my 
history I shall be rained, for I shall never get on; 
and you will, besides, inevitably — and as unjustly 
as inevitably — set nie down for a snob. 

I arrived at Naples at last. It was just as the 
day was closing in, but there was still light 
enough to see the glorious bay and the outline 
of Vesuvius in the background. I was, however, 
too full of my mission now to suffer my thoughts 
to wander to the picturesque, and so I made 
straight for the Legation. 

I had been told that I should receive my last 
instructions from H. M.'s Minister, and it was a 
certain Sir James Magruber that then held that 
office at Na])les. I know so very little of people 
in his peculiar walk, that I can only liope he may 
not be a fair sample of his order, for he was the 
roughest, the rudest, and most uncourteous gen- 
tleman it has ever been my fortune to meet. 

He was dressing for dinner when I sent up my 
card, and at once ordered that I should be shown 
up to his room. 

"Where's your bag?" cried he roughly, as I 
entered. 

Conceiving that this referred to my personal 
luggage, and was meant as the preliminary to in- 
viting me to put up at his house, I said that I 
had left my " traps" at tlie hotel, and with his 
permission would install myself there for the 
few hours of m)' stay. 



'"Confound your ' traps,' as you call them," 
said he. " I meant your despatches — the bag 
from F.O. Ain't you the messenger?" 

"No, sir; I am not the messenger," said I, 
haughtily. 

" And what the devil do you mean, then, by 
sending me your card, and asking to see me at 
once?" 

" Because my business is peremptory, sir." 
said I, boldly, and proceeded at once to explain 
who I was, and what I had come for. "To- 
morrow will be the tenth, sir," said I, "and I 
ought to be at Rocco d'Anco by the morning of 
the twelfth at farthest." 

He was brushing his hair all the time I was 
speaking, and I don't think that he heard above 
half of what I said. 

"And do you mean to tell me they are such 
infernal fools at F.O. that they're going to pay 
one thousand ]iounds sterling to liberate this 
scamp St. John?" 

" I think, sir, you will find that I have been 
sent out with this object." 

" Why, it's downright insanity! It is a thou- 
sand pities they hadn't caught the fellow years 
ago. Are you aware that there's scarcely a 
crime in the statute-book he has not committed? 
I'd not say murder wasn't amongst them. Why, 
sir, he cheated me — me — the man who now 
speaks to you — at billiards. He greased my cue, 
sir. It was proved — proved beyond the shadow 
of a doubt. The fellow called it a practical joke, 
but he forgot I had five ducats on the game; and 
he had the barefaced insolence to amuse Nayiles 
by a representation of me as I sided my ball, 
and knocked the marker down afterwards, think- 
ing it was his fault. He was attached, this St. 
John was, to my mission heie at the time; but I 
wrote home to demand — not to ask, but demand 
— his recall. His father's vote was, however, of 
consequence to the Government, and they re- 
fused me. Yes, sir, they refused me; they told 
me to give him a leave of absence if I did not 
like to see hira at the Legation; and I gave it, 
sir. And, thank Heaven, the fellow went into 
Calabria, and fell into the hands of the brigands 
— too good company for him, I'm certain. I'll 
be shot if he couldn't corrujjt them; and now 
you're come out here to pay a ransom for a fel- 
low that any other country but England would 
send to the galleys." 

" Has he done nothing worse, sir," asked I, 
timidly, "than this stupid practical joke?" 

" What, sir, have you the face to ]iut this ques- 
tion to me — to H.M.'s Minister at this court- 
the subject of this knavish buffoonery? Am 1 a 
fit subject for a fraud — a — a freedom, sir? Is it 
to a house which displays the royal arms over the 
entrance-door men come to play blackleg or 
clown? Where have you lived; — with whom 
have you lived; — what pursuit in life have you 
followed — that you should be sunk in such utter 
ignorance of all the habits of life and civiliza- 
tion?" 

I replied that I was a gentleman, I trusted as 
well educated, and I knew as well born as him- 
self. 

He sprang to the bell as I said this, and rang 



520 



PAUL GOSSLETT'S CONFESSIONS. 



on till the room was crowded with servants, who 
came rushing in under the belief that it was a 
fire alarm. 

"Takeliim away — put him out — Giacomo — 
Hippolyte — Francis!" screamed he. "See that 
he's out of the house this instant. Send Mr. 
Carlyon here. Let the police be called, and 
order gendarmes if he resists." 

While he was thus frothing and foaming I took 
my hat, and passing quietly through the ranks of 
his household, descended the stairs, and pro- 
ceeded into the sireet. 

I reached tlie " Vittoria" in no bland humor. 
I must own tiiat I was flurried and irritated in no 
common degree. I was too much excited to be 
able clearly to decide how far the insult I had 
received required e.xplanation and apology, or if 
it had passed the limits in which apology is still 
possible. 

Perhaps, thought I, if I call him out he'll hand 
me over to the police; perhaps he'll have me 
sent over the frontier. Who knows what may 
be the limit to a minister's power? While I was 
thus speculating and canvassing with myself, a 
card was presented to me by the waiter — " Mr. 
Sponnington, .\ttache, H.M.'s Legation, Naples," 
and as suddenly the owner of it entered the 
room. 

He was a fair-faced, blue-eyed young man, 
very short-sighted, with a faint lisp and an ef- 
feminate air. He bowed slightly as he came 
forward, and said, "You're Mr. Gosslett, ain't 
you?" And not waiting for any reply, he sat 
down and opened a roll of papers on the table. 
" Here are your instructions. You are to follow 
them when you can, you know, and diverge from 
them whenever you must. That is, do whatever 
you like, and take the consequences. Sir James 
won't see you again. He says you insulted him, 
but he says that of almost every one. The cook 
insults him when the soup is too salt, and I in- 
sulted him last week by writing with pale ink. But 
you'd have done better if you'd got on well with 
liim. He writes home — do you understand ? — he 
writes hiome." 

" So do most people," I said, dryly. 

" .\\i\ but not the way he does. He writes 
home and has a fellow black-listed. Two crosses 
agiinst you sends you to Greece, and three is 
ruin! Three means the United States." 

" I assure you, sir, that as regards myself your 
chiefs good opinion or good word are matters 
of supreme indifference." 

H ul I uttered an outrageous blasphemy, he 
could not have looked at me with greater horror. 

'"Well," said he at last, "there it is; read 
it over. Bolton will cash your bills, and 
give you gold. You must have gold; they'll not 
take anything else. I don't believe there is much 
more to say." 

" Were you acquainted with Mr. St John?'' 
asked I. 

" I should think T was. Rodney St. John and 
I joined together." 

"And what sort of a fellow is he? Is he such a 
scamp as his chief describes?" 

" He's fast, if you mean that; but we're all 
fast." 



" Indeed!" said I, measuring him with a look, 
and thinking to compute the amount of his col- 
league's inicpiity. 

"But he's not worse than Stormont,Dr Mosely, 
or myself; only he's louder than we are. He 
must always be doing something no other fellow 
ever thought of. Don't you know the kind of thing 
I mean? He wants to be original. Bad style that, 
very. That's the way he got into this scrape. 
He made a bet he'd go up to Rocco d'Anco, and 
pass a week with Stoppa, the brigand — the crud- 
est dog in Calabria. He didn't say when he'd 
come back again, though, and there he is still, 
and Stoppa sent one of his fellows to drop a letter 
into the Legation demanding twenty-five thousand 
francs for his release, or saying that his ears, nose, 
&c., will be sent on by instalments during the 
month. Ugly, ain't it?" 

" I trust I shall be in time to save Iilm. I sus- 
pect he's a good fellow." 

" Yes, I suppose he is," said he, with an air of 
uneasiness; onlv I'd not go up there, where you're 
going, for a trifle, I tell you that." 

" Perhaps not," said 1, quietly. 

"For," resumed he, "when Stoppa sees that 
you're a nobody, and not worth a iansom,he'd as 
soon shoot you as look at you." And this thought 
seemed to amuse him so much, that he laughed 
at it as he quitted the room and descended the 
stairs, and 1 even heaid him cackling over it in 
the street. 

Before I went to bed that night I studied the 
map of Calabria thoroughly, and saw that by tak- 
ing the diligence to Atri the next day, I should 
reach Valdenone by about four o'clock, from 
which a guide could conduct me to Rocco d'Anco 
— a mountain walk of about sixteen miles' — a feat 
which my pedestrian habits made me fully equal 
to. If the young attache's attempt to terrorize 
over me was not a perfect success, I am free to 
own that my enterprise appeared to me a mere 
daring exploit than I had believed it when I 
thoDglit of it in Piccadilly. It was not merely 
that I was nearer to the peril, but everything con- 
spired to make me more sensible to .'he danger. 
The very niaj), wiiere a large tract was marked 
"little known," suggested a terror of its own; 
and I fell asleep at last, to dream of every wild 
incident of brigand life I had seen in pictures or 
witnessed on the stage. 

As that bland young gentleman so candidly 
told me, I was a " nobody," and consequently of 
no interest to any one. Who would think of 
sending out an express messenger to rarf cm Paul 
Gosslet? At all events I could console myself 
with the thought, that if the world would give 
little for me, it would grieve even less; and with 
this not very cheering consolation I mounted to 
the banquette of the diligence, and started. 

After passing through a long, straggling suburb, 
not remarkable for anything but its squalor and 
poverty, we reached the sea-shore, and continued 
to skirt the bay for miles. I had no conception 
of anything so beautiful as the great sheet of blue 
water, seen in the freshness of a glorious sunrise, 
with the white-sailed lateener skimming silently 
along, and reflected, as in a mirror, on the im- 
rufiled surface. There was a peaceful beauty in 



PAUL GOSSLETT'S CONFESSIONS. 



521 



all around, that was a positive enchantment, and 
the rich odors of the orange and the verbena 
filled the air almost to a sense of delicious stupe- 
faction. Over and over did I say to myself, "Why 
cannot this delicious dream be prolonged for a life 
, time? If existence could but perpetuate such a 
scene as this, let me travel along the shore of such 
a sea, over- shadowed by the citron and the vine — I 
ask for no more." The courier or conductor was 
my only companion — an old soldier of the first 
emiiire, who hart fought on the Beresina and in 
S[)ain — a rough old sabreur, not to be apijeased 
by my best cigars, and my brandy-flask, into a 
good word for the English. He hated them 
formerly, and he hated them still. There might 
be, he was willing to believe, one or two of the 
nation that were not cani; but he hadn't met 
them himself, nor did lie know anyone who had. 
I relished liis savagery, and somehow never felt in 
the slightest degree baffled or amazed by his 
rudeness. I asked him if he had heard of that 
unlucky countryman of mine who had. been cap- 
tured by the brigands, and he said that he had 
heard that Stoppa meant to roast hini alive, for 
that Stoppa didn't like the English — a rather 
strong mode of e.xpressing a national antijiathy, 
but one, on the whole, he did not entirely disap- 
prove of. 

"Stoppa, however," said I, assuming as a fact 
what I meant for a question — " Stoppa is a man 
of his word. If he offered to take a ransom he'll 
keep his promise?" 

"That he will, if the money is paid down in 
zecchin gold. He'll take nothing else. He'll give 
up the man; but I'd not fancy being the fellow 
who brought the ransom, if there was a light piece 
in the mass." 

" He'd surely respect the messenger who carried 
the money?" 

" Just as' much as I respect that old mare who 
won't come up to her collar;" and he snatched 
the whip as he s|Doke from the driver, and laid a 
heavy lash over the sluggish beast's loins. " Look 
here," said he to me, as we parted company at 
Corallo, " you're not bad — for an Englishman, at 
least — and I'd rather you didn't come to trouble. 
Don't you get any furtlier into these mountains 
than St. Andrea, and don't stay even there too 
long. Don't go in Stoppa's way, for if you have 
money, he'll cut your throat for it, and if you 
haven't, he'll smash your skull for being without 
it. I'll be on the way back to Naples on Satur- 
day, and if you'll take a friend's advice you'll be 
beside me." 

I was not sorry to get away from my old grum- 
bling companion; but his words of warning went 
with me in the long evening's drive up to St. 
Andrea, a wild mountain road, over which I jog- 
ged in a very uncomfortable barroccino. 

Was I really rushing into such peril as he de- 
scribed? And if so, why so? I could scarcely af- 
fect to believe that any motives of humanity 
moved me; — still less any sense of persona! regard 
or attachment. I had never known — not even 
seen — Mr. St. John. In what I had heard of him 
there was nothing that interested me. It was true 
that I expected to be rewarded for my services; 
but if there was actual danger in what I was about 



to do, what recompense would be sufificient? And 
was it likely that this consideration would Mcigh 
heavily on the minds of those who employed me? 
Then, again, this narrative, or report, or whatever 
it was, how was I to find the material for it? Was 
it to be imagined that 1 was to familiarize myself 
with brigand life by living amongst these rascals, so 
as to be able to make a Blue Book about them? Was 
it believed that I could go to them, like a census 
commissioner, and ask their names and ages, how 
long they had been in their present line of life, 
and how they throve on it? I'll not harass myself 
more about them, thouglit I at last. I'll describe 
my brigand as I find him. The fellow who comes 
to meet me for the money shall be the class. 
" Ex pede Herculem" shall serve one here, and I 
have no doubt I shall be as accurate as the others 
who contribute to this soit of literature. 

I arrived at St. Andrea as the Angekis was ring- 
ing, and saw that pretty sight of a whole village 
on their knees at evening prayer, which would 
have been prettier had not the devotees been im- 
pressed with the most rascally countenances I ever 
beheld. 

From St. Andrea to Rocco was a walk of sev- 
enteen miles, but I was not sorry to exchange the 
wearisome barroccino I had been jolting in for 
the last six hours, for my feet, and after a light 
meal of bread and onions, washed down with a 
very muddy imitation of vinegar, I set forth with 
a guide for my destination. There was not much 
companionship in my conductor, who spoke a 
patois totally unintelligible to me, and who could 
only comprehend by signs. His own pantomime, 
however, conveyed to me that we were approach- 
ing the brigand region, and certain significant 
gestures about his throat and heart intimated to 
me that sudden death was no unusual casualty in 
these parts. An occasional rude cross erected on 
the roadside, or a i)ainted memorial on the face of 
a rock, would also attest some bygone disaster, at 
the sight of which he invariably knelt and uttered 
a prayer, on rising from which he seemed to me 
each time but half decided whether he would ac- 
company me farther. 

At last, after a four hours' hard walk, we gained 
the crest of a mountain ridge, from which the de- 
scent seemed nearly ])recipitous, and here my com- 
panion showed me by the faint moonlight a small 
heap of stones, in the midst of which a stake was 
placed upright: he muttered some words in a 
very low tone, and held uj) eight fingers, ]<ossibly 
to convey that eight people had been murdered 
or buried in that place. Whatever the idea, one 
thing was certain — he would go no farther. He 
pointed to the zigzag path I was to follow, and 
stretched out his hand to show me, as I supjiosed, 
where Rocco lay, and then, unslinging from his 
shoulder the light carpet-bag he had hitherto car- 
ried for me, he held out his palm for payment. 

I resolutely refused, however, to accept his 
resignation, and ordered him by a gesture to re- 
sume his load .nnd m.Trch on, but the fellow shook 
his head doggedly, and pointed with one finger 
to the open palm of the other hand. The gesture 
was defiant and insolent, and as we were man to 
man, I felt it would be an ignominy to submit to 
him, so I again showed signs of refusal, and 



522 



PAUL GOSSLETT'S CONFESSIONS. 



pointed to the bag. At thi.s he drew a long thin- 
bladed knife from his garter, but as quickly I 
pulled out a revoher from my breast-pocket. The 
fellow's sharp ear caught tlie click of the lock, 
and with a spring he darted over the low parapet 
and disapi^eared. I never saw him more. 

A cold sweat broke over me as I took up my 
burden and resumed my way. There was but 
one path, so that I could not hesitate as to the 
road, but I own that I began that descent with a 
heart-sinking and a terror that I have no words to 
convey. That the fellow would spring out upon 
me at some turn of the way seemed so certain, 
that at each sharp angle I halted and drew breath 
for the struggle I thought was coming. My pro- 
gress was thus much retarded, and my fatigue 
greatly increased. Tlie day broke at last, but 
found me still plodding on in a dense pine-wood 
which clothed tlie lower sides of the mountain. 
In addition to my carpet-bag 1 had the heavy 
belt in which the gold pieces were secured, and 
the weight of which became almost insupportable. 

What inconceivable folly had ever involved me 
in such an adventure? How could I have been 
so weak as to accept such a mission? Here was 
I, more than a thousand miles away from home, 
alone, on foot, in the midst of a mountain tract, the 
chosen resort of the worst assassins of Europe, and. 
as if to insure m\' ruin, with a large sum in gold 
on my person. What could my friend have meant 
by proposing the enterprise to me? Did he im- 
agine the mountain-paths of the Basilicata were 
like Pall Mall ? or did he — an J this seemed more 
likely — did he deem that the man who had so 
little to live for must necessarily care less for life? 
If I must enter the public service, thought I, at 
the peril of my neck, better to turn to some other 
means of living. Then I grew sardonic and mali- 
cious, declaring to myself how like a rich man it 
was to offer such an employment to a poor man, 
as though, when existence had so little to charm, 
one could not hold to it with any eagerness. The 
peojjle, muttered I, who throw these things to us 
so contemptously are careful enough of themselves. 
You never find one of them risk his life, no, nor 
even peril his health, in any enterprise. 

As the sun shone out and lit up a mag- 
nificent landscaiie beneath me, where, in the 
midst of a wooded plain, a beautiful lake lay 
stretched out, dotted over with little islands, I 
grew in better humor with myself and with the 
world at large. It was certainly very lovely. 
The snow-peaks of the Abruzzi could be seen 
here and there topping the clouds, which floated 
lightly up from the low-lying lands of the valley. 
Often and often had I walked miles and miles to 
see a scene not fit to be compared with this. If 
I had only brought my colors with me what a 
bit of landsca|ie I might have carried away. The 
pencil could do nothing where so much depended 
on tint and glow. A thin line of blue smoke 
rose above the trees near the lake, and this I 
guessed to proceed from the village of Rocco 
d'Anco. I plucked up my courage at the sight 
and again set forth, weary and foot-sore, it is true, 
but in a cheerier, heartier spirit than before. 

Four hours' walking, occasionally halting for a 
little rest, brought me to Rocco, a village of 



about twenty houses, straggling up the side of a 
vine-clad hill, the crest of which was occu]iied by 
a church. The population were all seated at 
their doors, it being some festa, and were, I am 
bound to admit, about as ill-favored a set as one 
would wish to see. In the aspect of the men, and 
indeed still more in that of the women, one could 
at once recognize the place as a brigand resort. 
There were, in the midst of all the signs of 
squalor and poverty, rich scarfs and cosily shawls 
to be seen, while some of the very poorest wore 
gold chains round their necks, and carried hand- 
somely ornamented jMStols and daggers at their 
waist-belts. I may as well mention here, not to 
let these worthy people be longer under a severe 
aspersion than needful, that they were not them- 
selves brigands, but simply the friends and par- 
tisans of the gangs, who sold them tlie different 
spoils of which they had divested the travellers. 
The village was in fact little else than the recept- 
acle of stolen goods until opportuniiy offered to 
sell them elsewhere. I had been directed to piit 
up at a little inn kept by an ex-friar who went by 
the name of Fra Bartolo, and I soon found the 
place a very pleasant contrast, in its neatness and 
comfort, to the dirt and wretchedness around it. 
The Frate, too, was a fine, jovial, hearty-looking 
fellow, with far more the air of a Sussex farmer 
in his appearance than a Calabrian peasant. He 
set me at ease at once by saving that of course I 
came for the fishing, and added that the lake was 
in prime order and the fish plenty. This was 
said with such paljiable roguerx.that I saw it was 
meant for the bystanders, and knew at once he 
had been prepared for my arrival and expected 
me. I was, however, more in need of rest and 
refreshment than of conversation, and after a 
hearty but hurried meal I turned in and fell off 
to sleep as I had never slept before. Twice or 
thrice I had a faint consciousness that attempts 
were made to awaken me, and once that a candle 
was held close to my eyes, but these were very 
confused and indistinct sensations, and my stupor 
soon conquered them. 

" That's pretty well for a nap. Just nine hours 
of it," said the Frate, as he jogged my shoulder 
and insisted on arousing me. 

"I was so tired," said I, stretching myself, and 
half turning to the wall for another bout. 

" No, no; you mustn't go to sleep again," said 
he, bending over me. " He's come," and he made 
a gesture with his thumb towards an adjoining 
room. " He's been there above an hour." 

" Do you mean " 

" Hush!" he said, cautiously. " Vv^e name no 
names here. Get up and see him; he never likes 
loitering down in these places. One can't be 
sure of everybody in this world." .And here he 
threw up his eyes, and seemed for a moment over- 
whelmed at the thought of human Irailty and 
corruption. 

" He is expecting me then?" said I. 

" Very impatiently, sir. He wanted to arouse 
you when he arrived, and he has been twice in 
here to see if you were really aslee]i." 

Something like a thrill ran through me to think 
that, as I lay there, this brigand, this man of 
crimes and bloodshed — for of course he was such 



PAUL GOSSLETT'S CONFESSIONS. 



523 



— had stood by my bedside, and bent over me. 
Tlie Frate, however, urging me to activity, left 
me no time f'or these refiections, and I arose 
quickly and followed him. I was eager to know 
what manner of man it was to whom I was about 
to make my approach; but I was hurried along 
a passage, and half pushed into a room, and the 
door closed behind me, before I had time for a 
word. 

On a low settle-bed, just in front of me, as I 
entered, a man lay smoking a short meerscha'um, 
whose dress and get-up, bating some signs of 
wear and ill-usage, would have made the fortune 
of a small theatre. His tall hat was wreathed 
with white roses, from the midst of which a tall 
feather, spray-like and light, stood up straight. 
His jacket of bright green, thrown open wide, 
displayed a scarlet waistcoat perfectly loaded 
with gold braiding. Leather breeches, ending 
above the knee, showed the great, massive limb 
beneath to full advantage; while the laced 
stocking that came up to the calf served on one 
side as a belt for a stiletto, whose handle was en- 
tirely incrusted with jirecious stones. " You 
are a good sleeper, Signor Liglese," said he in a 
pleasant, richly-toned voice, " and I feel sorry to 
have disturbed you." This speech was delivered 
with all the ease and courtesy of a man accus- 
tomed to the world. " You may imagine, how- 
ever, that I cannot well delay in places like this. 
Rocco, I believe, is very friendly to me, but 
where there are three hundred people there may 
easily be three traitors." 

I assented, and added that from what Fra 
Bartolo had told me, neither he nor his had much 
to fear in those parts. 

"I believe so, too," added he, caressing his 
immense moustache, which came down far below 
his chin on either side. " We have between us 
the best bond of all true friendship — we need 
each other. You have brought the ransom in 
gold, I hope?" 

"Yes; in gold of the English mint, too." 

" Ld rather have our own. The zecchin has 
less alloy than your coin, and as what we take 
generally goes into the crucible, the distinction 
is of value." 

" If I had only known " 

" Never mind. It is too late now to think of 
it. Let us conclude the matter, for I wish to be 
away by daybreak." 

I unfastened my waist-belt, and opening a 
secret spring, poured forth a mass of bright .sov- 
ereigns on the table. 

" I have such perfect reliance in your honor, 
signor," said I, "that I make no conditions — 
I ask no (juestions. That you will at once 
release mv countryman, I do not doubt for an 
instant." 

" He is already at liberty," said he, as he con- 
tinued to pile the coin in little heaps of ten each. 
" F.very step you took since you arrived at Naples 
was known to me. I knew the moment you 
came, the hotel you stopped at. the visit you paid 
to your minister, the two hours passed in the 
bank, your departure in the diligence; and the 
rascal you engaged for a guide came straight to 
me after he left you. My police, signor mio, is 



somewhat better organized than Count Cavour's," 
said he, with a laugh. 

The mention of the count's name reminded me 
at once to sound him i.n politics, and see if he, 
and others like him, in reality interested them- 
selves as partisans on either side. 

" Of course, "said he, " we liked the old dynrsty 
better than the i^resent people. A splendid 
court and brilliant capital attracted strangers 
from all quarters of Europe. Strangers visited 
Capri, Amalfi, Pocstum; they went here, and 
there, and everywhere. And they paid for their 
pleasures like gentlemen. The officials, too, of 
those days -were men with bowels, who knew 
every one must live. What have we now? Picd- 
montese dogs, who are not Italians; who speak 
no known tongue, and who have no other wor- 
ship than the house of Savoy." 

"Might I venture to ask," said I, obsequi- 
ously, "how is it that I find a man of your ac- 
quirements and ability in such a jiosilion as this?" 

"Because I like this life better than that of an 
' Impiegato' with five hundred ducats a year! 
Perhaps I don't follow it all from choice. Per- 
haps I have my davs of regrets, and such like. 
But for that, are you yourself so rightly fitted 
in life — I ask at random — that you feel you 
are doing the exact thing that suits you? Can 
you say, as you rise of a morning, ' I was cut out 
for this kind of existence — I am exactly where 
I ought to be?' " 

I shook my head in negative, and for some 
seconds nothing was said on either side. 

" The score is all right," said he, at last. "Do 
you know" — here he gave a very peculiar smile; 
indeed, his fac?, so far as I could see, beneath 
the shadow of his hat and his bushy beard, ac- 
tually assumed an ex])ression of intense drollery, 
" do you know, ] begin to think we have made a 
bad bargain here!" 

" How so?" asked I. 

" I begin to suspect," said he, " that our pris- 
oner was worth a much heavier ransom, and that 
his friends would willingly have paid lour times 
this sum for him." 

" You are entirely mistaken there," said I. " It 
is the astonishment of every one that he has been 
ransomed at all. He is a good-for-nothing 
spendthrift fellow, whom most families would be 
heartily glad to be rid of; and so far from be- 
ing worth a thousand ]jounds, I believe nine out 
of ten parents wouldn't have paid as many shil- 
lings for him." 

" We all liked him," said he. "We found him 
pleasant company, and he fell into all our ways 
like one of ourselves." 

" A scamp was sure to do that easier than an 
honest man," said I, forgetting in my eagerness 
how rude my speech was. 

" Perhaps there is truth in what you say, sir," 
said he, haughtily. " Communities like ours 
scarcely invite men of unblemished morals, and 
therefore I do not ask you to return with me." 

He arose as he spoke, and swept the coin into 
a bag which he wore at his side. Still, thought 
I, he might tell me something more about these 
brigands. Are they partisans of the Bourbons, 
or are they mere highwaymen? Here is a man 



524 



PAUL GOSSLETT'S CONFESSIONS. 



fully equal to tlie discussion of such a question. 
Shall I ask him to decide the matter? 

" I see," said he, laughing, as I propounded 
my mystery. " You want to make a book about 
us; but our people don't understand iliat sort 
of curiosity; they distrust, and they occasionally 
resent it. .Stay a week or ten days where you are. 
Fra Bartolo will feed you better than we should, 
and cram you with brigand stories better still. 
You'll find it far pleasanter, and your readers 
will think so too. Addio;" and he touciied his 
hat in a half-haughty way, and strolled out. I 
sat down for an instant to recover myself, when 
the quick clatter of a horse's feet aroused me, 
and he was gone. 

Tliere was no doubt of it; he was a very re- 
markable man; one who, in ha])pier circum- 
stances, might have made a figure in life, and 
achieved a conspicuous position. Who was he. 
whence came he? The Frate could tell me all 
these things. As the robber said, he could cram 
me admirably. I arranged at once to stay a 
week there. My week was prolonged to a fort- 
night, and I was well into the third week ere I 
shook his great hand and said good-bye. 

During all this I wrote, I may say, from morn- 
ing till night. At one time it was my Blue Book; 
at another I took a spell at stories of robber life. 
I wrote short poems — songs of the brigands I 
called them. In fact, I dished up my highway- 
man in a score of ways, and found liuii good in 
all. The ])ortmanteau which 1 had brought out 
full of gold I now carried back more closely 
packed with MSS. I hurried to England, only 
stopping once to call at the Legation, and learn 
that Mr. St. John had returned to his post, and 
was then hard at work in the Chancellerie. When 
1 arrived in London my report was ready, but as 
the ministry had fallen the week before, I was 
obliged to re-write it every word. Lord Muddle- 
more had succeeded my patron, Lord Scatter- 
dale, and as he was a strong Tory, the brigands 
must be Bourbons for him; and they were so. I 
had lived amongst them for months, and had eaten 
of their raw lamb and drank of their fiery wine, 
and pledged toasts to the health of Francesco, 
and " Morte" to everybody else. What splendid 
fellows I made them! Every chief was a La 
Rochejaquelin, and as for the little bit of rob- 
bery they did now and then, it was only to pay 
for masses for their souls when they were shot 
by the Bersaglieri. My Blue Book was printed, 
quoted by the Times, cited in the house; 1 was 
called "the intrepid and intelligent witness" by 
Disraeli; and I was the rage. Dinners fell in 
showers over me, and invitations to country- 
houses came by every post. Almost worn out by 
tliese flatteries, I was resolving on a course of 
abstinence, when a most pressing invitation came 
to a county gathering where Mr. St. John was to 
be of the party. I had never met hinj, and, in- 
deed, was rather irritated at the ingratitude he 
had displayed in never once acknowledging, e\en 
by a few lines, the great service I had rendered 
him. Still I was curious to see a man whose fig- 
ure occupied so important a place in nn life's 
tableau. 

I went; but St. John had not arrived; he was 



detained by important affairs in town, and feared 
he should not be able to keep his promise. For 
myself, perhaps, it was all the better. I had the 
whole field my own, and discoursed brigandage 
without the fear of a contradiction. 

A favorite representation with me was my first 
night at Rocco. ] used to give it with consider- 
able success. I described the village and the 
Frate, and then went on to my first sight of the 
renowned chief himself; for of course I never 
hesitated to call in Stoppa, any more than to im- 
part to his conversation a much higher and wider 
reach than it actually had any claim to. 

My "Stoppa" was pronounced admirable. I 
lounged, smoked, gesticulated, and declaimed him 
to perfection. I made him something between 
William Tell and the Corsican brothers, and nerv- 
ous people wouldn't have seen him, I ween, for 
worlds. 

On -the occasion that I speak of, the company 
was a large one, and I outdid myself in my pains 
to succeed. I even brought down with me the 
identical portmanteau, and actually appeared in 
the veritable hat and coat of the original ad- 
venture. 

My audience was an excellent one; they laughed 
where 1 was droll, and positively shrieked where 
I became pathetic. 1 had sent round little water- 
colors of the scenery, and was now juoceeding 
to describe the inn of the Frate, and my first 
arrival there. 

"1 will not affect to declare," said L "that it 
was altogether without some sense of anxiety — I 
might even say fear — that I approached the room 
where this man of crime and bloodshed awaited 
me. Stoppa! a name that brought terror wher- 
ever it was uttered, the word that called the 
soldiers to arms from the bivouac, and silenced 
the bal)e as it sobbed on its mother's breast. I 
entered the room, however, boidly, and advanc- 
ing to the bed where he lay, said, in a careless 
tone, 'Capitano' — they like the title; — ' capitano, 
how goes it ?' " 

Just as I uttered the words a heavy hand fell 
on my shoulder! I turned, and there — there at 
my side — stood Stoppa himself, dressed exactly 
as I saw him at Rocco. 

Whether it was the terrible look of the fellow, 
or some unknown sense of fear, that his presence 
revived, or whether it was a terror lest my senses 
were deceiving me, and that a wandering brain 
alone had conjured up the image, I cannot say; 
but I fainted, and was carried senseless and un- 
conscious to my room. A doctor was sent for, 
and said something about "meningitis." "I had 
overworked my brain, overstrained my faculties, 
and so forth;" with rest and repose, however, I 
should get over the attack. I had a sharp at- 
tack, but, in about a week, was able to get up 
again. As all were enjoined to avoid strictly any 
reference to the topic which it was believed had 
led to my seizure, and as I myself did not ven- 
ture to approach it, days passed over with me in 
a half-dreamy state, my mind continually dwell- 
ing on the late incident, and striving to find out 
some exiilnn.ition of it. 

"Mr. St. lohn, sir, wishes to pay you a visit," 
said the servant one morning, as I had just finished 



PAUL GOSSLETT'S CONFESSIONS. 



525 



my breakfast; and as the man retired St. John 
entered the room. 

" I am sorry I gave you such a start the other 
evening," he began; but I could not suffer him 
to proceed; for, clutching him by the arm, I cried 
out, "For Heaven's sake, don't trillewith a brain 
so distracted as mine, but tell me at once, are 
you " 

"Of course I am," said he, laughing. "You 
don't fancy, do you, that you are the only man 
with a gift for humbug?" 

"And it was to you I paid the ransom?" 
gasped I out. 

" Who had a better right to it, old fellow? Tell 
me that?" said he, as he drew forth a cigar and 
lighted it. " You see, the matter was thus: I had 
lost very heavily at ' Baccarat' at the club; and 
having already overdrawn my allowance, I was 
sorely put to. My chief had no great affection 
for me, and had intimated to the banker that, if 
I wanted an advance, it would be as well to refuse 
me In a word, I found every earth stopped, 
and was driven to my wits' end. I thought I'd 
turn brigand — indeed, if the occasion had offered, 
perhaps I should — and then I thought I'd get 
myself captured by the brigands. No man could 
complain of a fellow being a defaulter if he had 
been carried off by robbers. With this intention 
I set out for Rocco, which had got tlie reputation 
of being a spot in favor with these gentry; but to 
my surprise, on arriving there, I discovered Rocco 
was out of fashion. No brigand had patronized the 
place for the last three years or more, and the 
landlord of the White Fo.x told me tliat the vil- 
lage was going fast to decay. The Basilicata, in 
fact, was no longer ' the mode;' and every brig- 
gand, who had any sense of dignity, had betaken 
himself to the mountains below Atri. Fra Bar- 
tolo's account of Stoppa was not so encouraging 
that I cared to follow him there. He had taken 
a fancy of late for sending the noses as well as 
the ears of the captives to their friends at Naples, 
and I shrank from contributing my share to this 
interesting collection: and it was then it occurred 
to me to pretend I had been captured, and ar- 
range the terms of mv own ransom. Fra Bartolo 
helped me througliout — provided my costume, 
wrote my letters, and, in a word, conducted the 
whole negotiation like one thoroughly acquainted 
with all the details. I intended to have confided 
everything to you as soon as I secured the money, 
but I saw you so bent on being the hero of a great 
adventure, and so full of that blessed Blue Book 
you had come to write, that I felt it would be a 
sin to disenchant you. There's the whole story; 
and if you only keep my secret, I'll keep yours. 
I'm off this week to Rio as second secretary, so 
that, at all events, wait till I sail." 

" You may trust my prudence for a longer term 
than that," said I. 

" I rather suspect so," said he, laughing. 
" They say that your clever report on brigandage 
is to get you a good berth, and I don't think you'll 
spoil your advancement by an indiscreet dis- 
closure." 

We parted with a hearty shake-hands, and 
I never met him till ten years after. How 
that meeting came about, and why I now re- 



veal this incident, I may relate at another time. 



AS TO LOVE 



CHAPTER I. 



IN DOUBT. 



The door into the ante-room where I was wait- 
ing stood halfropen, and I heard a very imperious 
voice say, " Tell Mr. Gosslett it is impossible — 
quite impossible! There ai'e above three hun- 
dred applicants, and I believe he is about the 
least suitable amongst them." A meek-looking 
young gentleman came out after this; and, clos- 
ing the door cautiously, said, " My lord regrets 
extremely, Mr. Gosslett, that you should have 
been so late in forwarding vour testimonials. He 
has already filled the place, but if another va- 
cancy occurs, his lordship will bear your claims 
in mind." 

I bowed in silent indignation, and withdrew. 
How I wished there had been any great meeting 
— any popular gathering — near me at that mo- 
ment, that I might go down and denounce, with 
all the force of a wounded and insulted spirit, 
the insolence of cfifice and the tyranny of the 
place-holder! With what withering sarcasm I 
would have flayed those parasites of certain great 
houses who, without deserts of their own, regard 
every office under the Crown as their just pre- 
rogative! Who was Heniy Lord .Scatterdale that 
he should speak thus of Paul Gosslett? What 
evidences of ability had he given to the world? 
What illustrious jjroofs of high capacity as a min- 
ister, that he should insult one of those who, by 
the declared avowal of his party, are the bone 
and sinew of England ? Let Beales only call 
another meeting, and shall I not be there to ex- 
pose these men to the scorn and indignation of 
the country? Down with the whole rotten edifice 
of pampered menials and corrupt place-men! 
Down with families jiatented to live on the na- 
tion! Down with a system which perpetuates the 
worst intrigues that ever disgraced and demoral- 
ized a people! — a system vorse than the corrupt 
rule of the Bourbons of Naples, and more de- 
grading than " 

" Now, stoopid!" cried a cabman, as one of his 
shafts struck me on the shoulder, and sent me 
spinning into an apple-stall. 

I recovered my legs, and turned homewards to 
my lodgings in a somewhat more subdued spirit. 

" Please, sir," said a dirty maid-of-all-work, 
entering my room after me. "Mrs. Mechim says 
the apartment is let to another gentleman after 
Monday, and please begs you have to pay one 
pound fourteen and threepence, sir." 

" I know, I know," said I, impatiently. 

"Yes, sir," replied the smutty face, still stand- 
ing in the same place. 

" Well, I have told you I know all that. You 
have got your answer, haven't you?" 

" Please yes, sir, but not the money." 



526 



PAUL GOSSLETT'S CONFESSIONS. 



" Leave the room," said I, liaughtily; and my 
grand imperious air had its success; for I believe 
she suspected I was a little deranged. 

I locked the door to be alone with my own 
thoughts, and opening my writing-desk, I spread 
before me four sovereigns and some silver. " Barely 
my funeral expenses," said I, bitterly. I leaned 
my head on my hand, and fell into a mood of sad 
thought. I wasn't a bit of a poet. 1 couldn't have 
made three lines of verse had you given me a million 
for it; but somehow I bethought me of Chatterton 
in his garret, and said to myself, " Like him, poor 
Gosslet sunk, famished in the midst of plenty — 
a man in all the vigor of youth, able, active, and 
energetic, with a mind richly gifted, ancj a heart 
tender as a woman's." I couldn't go on. I 
blubbered out into a fit of crying that nearly 
choked me. 

" Please, sir," said the maid, tapping at the 
door, " the gentleman in the next room begs you 
not to laugh so loud." 

" Laugh!" burst I out. " Tell him, woman, to 
take care and be present at the inquest. His 
evidence will be invaluable." As I spoke 1 threw 
myself on my bed, and fell soon after into a sound 
sleep. 

When I woke it was night. The lamps were 
lighted in the street, and a small, thin rain was 
falling, blurring tlie gas flame, and making every- 
thing look indistinct and dreary. I sat at the 
window and looked out, I know not how long. 
The world was crape-covered to me; not a thought 
of it that was not dark and dismal. I tried to 
take a retros[)ect of my life, and see where and 
how 1 might have done better; but all I could 
collect was, that I had met nothing but ingrati- 
tude and injustice, while others, with but a tithe 
of my capacity, had risen to wealth and honor. 
I, fated to evil from my birth, fought my long 
fight with fortune, and sank at last, exhausted. 
" I wonder will anv one ever say, ' Poor Goss- 
lett?' 1 wonder will there be— even late though 
it be — one voice to declare, ' That was no com- 
mon man! Gosslett, in anycountry but our own, 
would have been distinguished and honored. To 
great powers of judgment he united a fancy rich, 
varied, and picturesque, his temperament was 
poetic, but his reasoning faculties asserted the 
mastery over his imagination.' Will they be 
acute enough to read thus? Will they know — in 
one word — will they know the man they have 
suffered to perish in the midst of them?" My 
one gleam of comfort was the unavailing regret I 
should leave to a world that had neglected me. 
" Yes," said I bitterly, " weep on, and cease 
not." 

I made a collection of all my papers — some of 
them very curious indeed — stray fragments of 
my life — brief jottings of my opinions on the cur- 
rent topics of the day. I sealed these carefully 
up, and began to bethink me whom I should ap- 
point my literary executor. I had not the honor 
of his acquaintance, but how I wished I had 
known Martin Tupper. There were traits in that 
man's writings that seemed to vibrate in the closer 
chambers of my heart. While others gave you 
words and phrases, he gave you the outgushings 
of a warm nature — the overflowings of an affec- 



tionate heart. I canvassed long with myself 
whether a stranger might dare to address him, 
and prefer such a request as mine; but I could 
not summon courage to take the daring step. 

After all, thought I, a man's relatives are his 
natural heirs. My mother's sister had married 
a Mr. Morse, who had retired from business, and 
settled down in a cottage near Rochester. He 
had been "in rags," — I mean the business of that 
name — lor forty years, and made a snug thing of 
it; but by an unlucky speculation, had lost more 
than half of his savings. Being childless, and 
utterly devoid of affection for any one, he had 
purchased an annuity on the joint lives of his 
wife and himself, and retired to pass his days 
near his native town. 

I never liked him, nor did he like me. He was 
a hard, stern, coarse-natured man, who thought 
that any one who had ever failed in anything was 
a creature to be despised, and saw nothing in 
want of success but an innate desire to live in in- 
dolence, and be sup])orted by others. He often 
asked me why I didn't turn coal-heaver? He 
said he would have been a coal-heaver rather than 
be dependent upon his relations. 

My aunt might originally have been somewhat 
softer-natured, but time and association had 
made her very much like my uncle. Need I say 
that I saw little of them, and never, under any 
circumstances, wrote a line to either of them? 

I determined I would go down and see them, 
and not waiting for morning nor the rail, that I 
would goon foot. It, was raining torrents by this 
time, but what did I care for that? \\'hen the 
shi]) was drifting on the rocks, what mattered a 
leak more or less? 

It was dark night when I set out; and when 
day broke, dim and dreary, I was soaked thor- 
oughly through, and not more than one-fifth of 
the way. There was, however, that in the exer- 
cise, and in the spirit it called forth, to rally me 
out of my depression, and I plodded along through 
mud and mire, breasting the suoo]iing rain in a 
far cheerier frame than I could ha\e thought i)os- 
sible. It was closing into darkness as I reached 
the little inn where the cottage stood, and I was 
by this time fairly beat between fatigue and 
hunger. 

" Here's a go'" cried my uncle, who opened 
the door for me. " Here's Paul Gosslett, just as 
we're going to dinner." 

"The very time to suit him," said I, trying to 
be jocular. 

"Yes, lad, Init will it suit us? We've an Irish 
stew, and not too much of it, either." 

"How are you, Paul?" said my aunt, offering 
her hand. " You seem wet through. Won't you 
dry vour coat?" 

"bh, it's no matter," said I. " !: never mind 
wet." 

" Of course he doesn't," said my uncle. " What 
would he do if he was up at the ' diggins'? What 
would he do if he had to pick rags as I have, ten, 
twelve hours at a stretch, under heavier rain than 
this?" 

" Just so, sir," said I, concurring with all he 
said. 

" And what brought you down, lad?" asked he. 



PAUL GOSSLETT'S CONFESSIONS. 



mi 



" I think, sir, it was to see you and my aunt. 
I haven't been very well of late, and I fancied a 
day in the country might rally me." 

"Stealing a luiliday — the old st(jry," muttered 



he. 



Are vou doin^ anything now; 



" No, sir. I have unfortunately nothing to do." 
"Why not go on the ([uay then, and turn coal- 
heaver? I'd not eat bread of another man's earn- 
ing when I could carry a sack of coals. Do you 
underst.md th.U.'" 

" Perhrips I do, sir; but I'm scarcely strong 
enough to be a coal-porter." 

"Sell matches then — lucifer matches!" cried 
he, witli a bang of his hand on the table, " or be 
a poister." 

"Oh, 'I'oni ! " cried my aunt, who saw that I 
iiad grown first red, and then sickly pale all 
over. 

"As good men as he have done both. But 
here's the dinner, and I supjiose you must have 
your share of it." 

I was in no mood to resent this invitation, dis- 
courteous as it was, for I was in no mood to re- 
sent anything. I was crushed and humbled to a 
degree that I began to regard my abject condi- 
tion as a martyr might his martyrdom. 

The meal went over somewhat silently; little 
was spoken on any side. A half jocular re- 
mark on the goodness of my appetite was the 
only ap|)roach to a pleasantry. My uncle drank 
something which by the color 1 judged to be 
port, but he neither offered it to my aunt nor 
myself. She took water, and I drank largely of 
beer, which once more elicited a compliment to 
me on my powers of suction. 

" Better have you for a week than a fortnight, 
lad," said my uncle, as we drew round the fire 
after dinner. 

My aunt now armed herself with some knitting 
apparatus, while my uncle, flanked by a smoking 
glass of toddy on one side and the " 'Tizer" on 
the other, jiroceeded to fill his pipe with strong 
tobacco, puffing out at intervals short and pithy 
apothei;ms about youth being the season for work 
and age for repose, — under the influence of whose 
drowsy wisdom, and overcome bv the hot fire, I 
fell off fast asleep. For a while I was so com- 
pletely lost in slumber that I heard nothing around. 
At last I began to dream of my long journey, 
and the little towns I had passed through, and 
the places I fain would have stopped at to bait and 
rest, but nobly resisted, never breaking bread nor 
tasting water till I had reached my journey's end. 
At length I fancied I heard people calling me by 
my name, some saying words of warning or cau- 
tion, and others jeering and bantering me; and 
then quite distinctly — as clearly as thouL;h the 
words were in my ear — I heard my aunt say — 

" I'm sure Lizzy would take him. She was 
shamefully treated by that heartless fellow, but 
she's getting over it now, and if any one, even 
Paul there, offered, I'm certain she'd not refuse 
him." 

" She has a thousand pounds," grunted out 
my uncle. 

"Fourteen hundred in the bank; and as they 
have no other child, they must leave her every- 
thing they have, when they die." 



I " It won't be much. Old Dan has little more 
than his vicarage, and he always ends each year 
a shade deeper in debt than the one before it." 

" Well, she has her own fortune, and nobodv 
can touch that." 

I roused myself, yawned aloud, and opened my 
eyes. 

"Pretty nigh as good a hand at sleeping as 
eating," said my uncle gruffly. 

" It's a smart bit of a walk from Duke street, 
Piccadilly," said I, with more vigor than I had yet 
assumed. 

" Why, a fellow of your age ought to do that 
twice a week, just to keep him in wind " 

" I say, Paul," said my aunt, "weie you ever 
in Ireland.'" 

" Never, aunt. Why do you ask me?" 

" Because you said a while back that you felt 
rather poorly of late — low and weakly 

" No loss of appetite, though," chuckled in my 
uncle. 

" And we're thinking," resumed she, " of send- 
you over to stay a few weeks with an old friend 
of ours in Donegal. He calls it the finest air in 
Europe; and I know he'd treat you with every 
kindness." 

" Do you shoot?" asked my uncle. 

" No, sir." 

" Nor fish?" 

" No, sir." 

" What are you as a sportsman? Can you ride? 
Can you do anything?" 

" Nothing whatever, sir. I once carried a 
game-bag, and that was all." 

" .\nd you're not a farmer nor a judge of cat- 
tle. How are you to pass your time, I'd like to 
know?" 

"If there were books, or if there were people 
to talk to " 

"Mrs. Dudgeon's deaf- — she's been deaf these 
twenty years; but she has a daughter Is Lizzy 
deaf?" 

"Of course she's not," rejoined my aunt, 
tartly. 

" Well, she'd talk to you; and Dan would talk. 
Not much, I believe, though; he ain't a great 
fellow for talk." 

"They're somelhing silent, all of them, but 
Lizzy is a nice girl, and very pretty — at least, 
she was when I saw her here two years ago." 

".^t all events, they are distant connections of 
your mother's; and as you are determined to live 
on your relations, I think you ought to give them 
a turn." 

"There is some justice in that, sir," said I, 
determined now to resent no rudeness, nor show 
offence at any coarseness, however great it 
might be. 

" Well, then, I'll write to-morrow, and say you'll 
follow my letter, and be with them soon after 
they receive it. I believe it's a lonely sort of 
place enough. Dan calls it next door to Green- 
land; but there's good air and plenty of it." 

We talked for some time longer over the fam- 
ily whose guest I was to be, and I went off to 
bed, determined to see out this new act of my 
life's drama before 1 whistled for the curtain to 
drop. 



528 



PAUL GOSSLETT'S CONFESSIONS. 



It gave a great additional interest besides to 
my journey to have overlieard the hint my aunt 
threw out about a marriage. It was something 
more than a nitre journey for change of air. Il 
might be a journey to change the whole charac- 
ter and fortune of my life. And was it not thus 
one's fate ever turned.' You went somewhere by 
a mere accident, or you stopped at home. You 
held a hand to help a lady into a boat, or you 
assisted her off her horse, or you took her in to 
dinner; and out of something insignificant and 
trivial as this your whole life's destiny was 
altered. And not alone your destiny, but your 
very nature; your tentjjer, as fashioned by an- 
other's temper; your tastes, as moulded by 
others' tastes; and your morality, your actual 
identity, was the sport of a casualty too small 
and too poor to be called an incident. 

"Is this about to be a turning-point in my 
life?" asked I of myself. " Is fortune at last dis- 
posed to bestow a smile upon me? Is it out of 
the very depth of my despair I'm to catch sight 
of the first gleam of light that has fallen upon 
my luckless career?" 



CHAPTER II. 

THE REV. DAN DUDGEON. 

My plan of procedure was to be this: I 
was supposed to be making a tour in Ireland, 
when, hearing of certain connections of my 
mother's family living in Donegal, I at once 
wrote to my Uncle Morse for an introduction to 
them, and he not only provided me with a letter 
accrediting me, but wrote by the same jjost to 
the Dudgeons to say I was sure to pay them a 
visit. 

On arriving in Dublin I was astonished to find 
so much that seemed unlike what 1 liad left be- 
hind me. That intense pre-occupation, that 
anxious, eager look of business so remarkable in 
Liverpool, was not to be found here. If the 
people really were busy, they went about their 
affairs in a half lounging, half jocular humor, 
as though they wouldn't be selling hides, or sliip- 
ping pigs, or landing sugar hogsheads, if they had 
anything else to do; — as if trade was a dirty ne- 
cessity, and the only thing was to get through with 
it with as little interruption as possible to the 
pleasanter occupations of life. 

Such was the aspect of things on the quays. 
The same look pervaded the Exchange, and the 
same air of little to do, and of deeming it a joke 
while doing it. abounded in the law courts, where 
the bench excliaiiged witty passages with the bar. 
and the prisoners, the witnesses, and the jury 
fired smart things at each other with a seeming 
geniality and enjoyment that were very remark- 
able. I was so much amused by all I saw, that I 
would willingly have delayed some days in the 
capital; but my uncle had charged me to present 
myself at the vicarage without any unnecessary 
delay, so I determined to set out at once. 

I was not, I shame to own, much lietter up in 
the geography of Ireland than in that of Central 



Africa, and had but a very vague idea whither I 
was going, 

" Do you know Donegal?" asked I of the waiter, 
giving to my pronunciation of the word a long 
second and a short third syllable. 

" No, your honor, never heard of him," was 
the answer. 

"But it's a place I'm asking for, — a coutity," 
said I, with some impatience. 

" Faix, maybe it is," said he, "but it's new to 
me all the same." 

' He means Donegal," said a red-whiskered 
man with a bronzed, weather-beaten face, and a 
stern, defiant air, that invited no acquaintanceship. 

" Oh. Donegal," chimed in the waiter. " Be- 
gorra! it wouldn't be easy to know it by the 
name your honor gav' it." 

" Are you looking for any particular place in 
that county?" asked the stranger, in a tone sharp 
and imperious as his foimer s])tech. 

" Yes," said I, assuming a degree of courtesy 
that I thought would be the best rebuke to his 
Lluntness; "but I'll scarcely trust myself with 
the pronunciation after my late failure. This is 
the i.>lace I want;" and I drew forth my uncle's 
letter and showed tlie address. 

"Oh, that's it, is it?" cried he, reading aloud. 
"'The Reverend Daniel Dudgeon, Killyrotherum, 
Donegal.' And are you going there? Oh, I see 
you are," said he, turning his eyes to the foot of 
the address. " ' Fa\ored by Paul Gosslett, Esq.;' 
and you are Paul Gosslett." 

" Yes, sir, with your kind permission, I am 
Paul Gosslett," said I, with what I hoped was a 
chilling dignity of manner. 

" If it's only my permission you want, you may 
be anything you please," said he, turning his inso- 
lent stare full on me. 

I endeavored not to show any sensitiveness to 
this impertinence, and went on with my dinner, 
the stranger's table being quite close to mine. 

" It's your first appearance in Ireland, I sus- 
jiect," said he, scanning me as lie picked his 
leetli, and sat carelessly with one leg crossed over 
the other. 

I bowed a silent acquiescence, and he went on. 
" I declare that I believe a cockney, though 
he hasn't a word of French, is more at home on 
the Continent than in Ireland." He paused for 
some expression of opinion on my part, but I 
gave none. I filled my glass, and affected to 
admire the color of the wine, and sipped it 
slowly, like one thoroughly engaged in his own 
enjoyments. 

" Don't you agree with me?" asked he, fiercely. 

" Sir, I have not given your proposition such 
consideration as would entitle me to say I concur 
with it or not." 

"That's not it at all!" broke he in. with an in- 
solent laugh; "but you won't allow that you're a 
cockney." 

" 1 protest, sir," said I, sternly, " I have yet 
to learn that I'm bound to make a declaration of 
my birth, parentage, and education to the first 
stranger I sit beside in a coffee-room." 

"No, you're not; — nothing of the kind;- -for 
it's done for you. It's done in spite of you, when 
you open your mouth. Didn't you see the waiter 



PAUL GOSSLETT'S CONFESSIONS- 



529 



running out of the room with the napkin in his 
mouth when you tried to say Donegal? Look here, 
Paul," said he, drawing his chair confidentially 
towards my table. "We don't care a rush what 
you do with your H's, or your VV's either; but, if 
we can help it, we won't have-our national names 
miscalled. We have a pride in them, and we'll 
not suffer them to be mutilated or disfigured. 
Do you understand me now ?" 

"Sufficiently, sir, to wish you a very good- 
night," said I, rising from the table, and leaving 
my pint of sherry, of which I had only drunk one 
glass. 

As I closed the coffee-room door, I thought — 
indeed, I'm certain — I heard a loud roar of 
laughter. 

" Who is that most agreeable gentleman I sat 
next at dinner?" asked I of the waiter. 

" Counsellor MacNamara, sir. Isn't he a nice 
man?" 

" A charming person," said I. 

" I wish you heard him in the coort, sir. By 
my conscience, a witness has a poor time under 
him! He'd humbug you if you was an arch- 
bishop." 

"Call me at five," said I, passing up the stairs, 
and impatient to gain my room and be alone with 
my indignation. 

I passed a restless, feverish night, canvassing 
with myself whether I would not turn back and 
leave forever a country whose first aspect was so 
forbidding and unpromising. What stories had 
I not heard of Irish courtesy to strangers — Irish 
wit and Irish pleasantry! Was this, then, a spe- 
cimen of that captivating manner which makes 
these people the French of Great Britain ? Why, 
this fellow was an unmitigated savage! 

Having registered a vow not to open my lips 
to a stranger till I reached the end of my journey, 
and to affect deafness rather than be led into 
conversation, I st.t off the next day, by train, for 
Derry. True to my resolve, I only uttered the 
word "beer" till I arrived in the evening. The 
next day I took the steamer to a small village 
called Cushnagorra, from whence it was only ten 
miles by a good mountain-road to Killyrotherum 
bay. I engaged a car to take me on, and at last 
found myself able to ask a few questions without 
the penalty of being cross-examined by an im- 
pertinent barrister, and being made the jest of a 
coffee-room. 

I wanted to learn something about the people 
to whose house I was going, and asked Pat ac- 
cordingly if he knew Mr. Dudgeon. 

"Troth I do, sir, well," said he. 

" He's a good kind of man, I'm told," said I. 

" He is indeed, sir; no betther." 

"Kind to the poor, and charitable?" 

"Thrue for you; that's himself." 
And his family is well liked down here ?" 

" I'll be bound they are. There's few like them 
to the fore. ' 

Rather worried by the persistent assent he 
gave me, and seeing that I had no chance of de- 
riving anything like an independent opinion from 
my courteous companion, I determined to try 
another line. After smoking a cigar and giving 
one to ray friend, who seemed to relish it vastly. 



I said, as if incidentally, "Where I got that 
cigar, Paddy, the people are better off than 
here." 

" And where's that, sir?" 

" In America, in the State of Virginia." 

"That's as thrue as the Bible. It's elegant 
times they have there." 

"And one reason is," said I, "every man can 
do what he likes with his own. You have a bit 
of land here, and you daren't plant tobacco; or 
if you sow oats or barley, you mustn't malt it. 
The law says; 'You may do this, and you shan't 
do that;' and is that freedom, I ask, or is it 
slavery ?" 

" Slavery — devil a less," said he, with a cut of 
his whip that made the horse ])lunge into the air. 

"And do you know why that's done? Do you 
know the secret of it all ?" 

" Sorra a bit o' me." 

" I'll tell you, then. It's to keep up the Church; 
it's to feed the parsons that don't belong to the 
people ; — that's what they put the taxes on tobacco 
and whiskey for. VA'hat, I'd like to know, do you 
and I want with that place there with the steeple? 
What does the Rev. Daniel Dudgeon do for you 
or me? Grind us — squeeze us — maybe, come 
down on us when we're trying to scrape a few 
shillings together, and carry it off for tithes." 

" Shure and he's a hard man' He's taking the 
herrins out of the net this year — for every ten 
herrins he takes one." 

"And do they bear that?" 

"Well, they do," said he, mornfully; "they've 
no spirit down here; but over at Muggle-na-garry 
they put slugs in one last winter." 

"One what?" 

"A parson, your honor; and it did him a dale 
o' good. He's as meek as a child now about his 
dues, and they've no trouble with in him in life." 

" They'll do that with Dudgeon yet, maybe?" 
asked I. 

" With the Lord's blessing, sir," said he, piously. 

Satisfied now that it was not a very hopeful 
task to obtain much information about Ireland 
from such a source, I drew my hat over my eyes 
and affected to doze for the remainder of the 
journey. 

We arrived at length at the foot of a narrow 
road, impassable by the car, and here the driver 
told me I must descend and make the rest of my 
way on foot. 

"The house wasn't far," he said; "only over 
the top of the hill in front of me — about half-a- 
quarter of a mile away." 

Depositing my portmanteau under a clump of 
furze, I set out, drearily enough I will own. The 
scene around me for miles was one of arid desola- 
tion. It was not that no trace of human habita- 
tion, nor of any living creature, was to be seen, 
but that the stony, shingly soil, totally destitute 
of all vegetation, seemed to deny life to anything. 
The surface rose and fell in a monotonous un- 
dulation, like a great sea suddenly petrified, while 
here and there soine greater bowlders represented 
those mighty waves which, in the ocean, seem to 
assert supremacy over their fellows. 

At last I gained the crest of the ridge, and could 
see the Atlantic, which indented the shore be- 



530 



PAUL GOSSLETT'S CONFESSIONS. 



neath into many a little bay and inlet; but it was 
some time ere I could distinguish a house which 
stood in a narrow cleft of the mountain, and 
whose roof, kept down by means of stones and 
rocks, had at first appeared to me as a part of 
the surface of the soil. The strong wind almost 
carried me off my legs on this exposed ridge, so, 
crouching down, I began my descent, and after 
half an hour's creeping and stumbling, I reached 
a little enclosed place, where stood the house. It 
was a long, one-storied building, with cow-house 
and farm-offices under the same roof. The hall- 
door had been evidently long in disuse, since it 
was battened over with strong planks, and secured 
besides against the north-west wind by a rough 
group of rocks. Seeing entrance to be denied on 
this side, I made for the rear of the house, where 
a woman beating flax under a shed at once ad- 
dressed me civilly, and ushered me into the house. 

"His riv'rence is in tliere," said she, ])ointing 
to a door, and leaving me to announce myself. I 
knocked, and entered. It was a small room, with 
an antiquated fireplace, at which the parson and 
his wife and daughter were seated — he reading a 
very much-crumpled newspaper, and they knitti-ng. 

"Oh, this is Mr. Gosslett. How are you, sir?" 
asked Mr. Dudgeon, seizing and shaking my hand; 
while his wife said, "We were just saying we'd 
send down to look after you. My daughter 
Lizzy Mr. Gosslett." 

Lizzy smiled faintly, but did not speak. I saw, 
however that she was a pretty, fair-haired girl, 
with delicate features and a very gentle e.xpression. 

" It's a wild bit of landscape here, Mr. Gosslett, 
but of a fine day, with the sun on it and the wind 
not so strong, it's handsome enough." 

' It's grand," said I, rather hesitating to find 
the epithet I wanted. 

Mrs. D. sighed, and I thought her daughter 
echoed it, but as his reverence now bustled away 
to send some one to fetch my trunk, I took my 
place at the fire, and tried to make myself at home. 

A very brief conversation enabled me to learn 
that Mr. Dudgeon came to the parish on liis mar- 
riage, about four-and-twenty years before, and 
neither he nor his wife had ever left it since. 
They had no neighbors, and only six parish- 
ioners of their own persuasion. The church was 
about a mile off, and not easily approached in 
bad weather. It seemed, too, that the bishop and 
Mr. D. were always at war. The diocesan was 
a Whig, and the parson a violent Orangeman, who 
loved loyal anniversaries, demonstrations, and 
processions, the latter of which came twice or 
thrice a year from Derry to visit him, and stir up 
any amount of bitterness and party strife; and 
though the Rev. Dan, as he was familiarly called, 
was obliged to pass the long interval between 
these triumphant exhibitions exposed to the in- 
solence and outrage of the large masses he had 
offended, he never blinked the peril, but actually 
dared it; wearing his bit of orange ribbon in his 
button-hole as he went down the village, and 
meeting Father Lafferty's scowl with a look of 
defiance and insult fierce as his own. 

After years of episcopal censure and reproof, 
administered without the slightest amendment — 
for Dan never appeared at a visitation, and none 



were hardy enough to follow him into his fast- 
ness — he was suffered to do what he pleased, and 
actually' abandoned as one of those hopeless 
cases which time alone can clear off and remedy. 
An incident, however, which had befallen about 
a couple of years back, had almost released the 
bishop from his difficulty. 

In an affray, following on a twelfth of July 
demonstration, a man had been shot, and though 
the Rev. Dan was not in any degree implicated 
in the act, some imprudent allusion to the event 
in his Sunday's discourse got abroad in the press, 
and was so severely commented on by a young 
barrister on the trial, that an inhibition was 
issued against him, and his church closed for 
three months. 

I have been thus far prolix in sketching the 
history of those with whom I was now to be 
domesticated, because once placed before the 
reader, my daily life is easily understood. We 
sat over the fire nearly all day, abusing the 
Papists, and wondering if England would ever 
produce one man who could understand the fact 
that unless you banished the priests and threw 
down the chapels there was no use in making 
laws for Ireland. 

Then we dined, usually on fish and a bit of 
bacon, after which we drank the glorious, pious, 
and immortal memory, with the brass money, the 
wooden shoes, and the rest of it — the mild Lizzy 
herself being " told off" to recite the toast, as her 
father had a sore throat and couldn't utter; and 
the fair, gentle lips, that seldom parted save to 
smile, delivered the damnatory clause against all 
who wouldn't drink that toast, and sentenced 
them to be " rammed, jammed, and crammed," 
as the act declares, in a way that actually amazed 
me. 

If the peasant who drove me over to Killyro- 
theruni did not add much to my knowledge of 
Ireland by the accuracy of his facts or the fixity 
of his opinions, the Rev. Dan assuredly made 
amends for all these shortcomings; for he saw 
the whole thing at a glance, and knew why 
Ireland was ungovernable, and how she could be 
made prosperous and happy, just as he knew 
how much poteen went to a tumbler of punch; 
and though occasionally despondent when the 
evening began, as it drew towards bedtime and' 
the decanter waxed low, he had usually arrived 
at a glorions millennium, when every one wore 
an orange lily, and the whole world was employed 
in singing " Croppies lie down." 



CHAPTER IIL 



THE RUNAWAY. 



I SUPPOSE I must be a very routine sort of 
creature, wlio loves to get into a groove and 
never leave it. Indeed, I recognize this feature of 
my disposition in the pleasure I feel in being 
left to myself, and my own humdrum way of 
diverting my time. At all events, I grew to like 
my life at Killyrotherum. The monotony that 



PAUL GOSSLETT'S CONFESSIONS. 



631 



would have driven most men to despair was to 
me soothing and grateful. 

A breezy walk with Lizzy down to the village 
after breakfast, where she made whatever pur- 
chases the cares of household demanded, sufficed 
for exercise. After that I wrote a little in my 
own room — short, jotting notes, that might serve 
to recall, on some future day, the scarcely tinted 
surface ot my quiet existence, and occasionally 
putting down such points as puzzled me — prob- 
lems whose solution I must try to arrive at with 
time and opportunity. Perhaps a brief glance at 
the pages of this diary, as I open it at random, 
may serve to show how time went over with me. 

Here is an entry. [Friday, 17th November. — 
Mem., to find out from U. L). the exact explana- 
tion of his words last night, and which possibly 
fatigue may have made obscure to me. Is it Sir 
Wm. Vernon or the Pope who is Antichrist? 

Query: also, would not brass money be better 
than no halfpence? and are not wooden shoes as 
good as bare feet? 

Why does the parish clerk always bring up a 
chicken when he comes with a message? 

Lizzy did not own she made the beefsteak 
dumpling, but the maid seemed to let the secret 
out by bringing in a little amethyst ring she had 
forgotten on the kitchen table. I wish she knew 
that I'd be glad she could make dumplings. I 
am fond of dumplings. To try and tell her this. 

Mrs. D. suspects Lizzy is attached to me. I 
don't think slie approves of it D D. would not 
object if I became an Orangeman. Query, what 
effect would that have on m/ future career? 
Could I be an Orangeman without being able to 
sing the " Boyne Water?" for I never could hum 
a tune in my life. To inquire about this. 

Who was the man who behaved badly to 
Lizzy? And how did he behave badly? This is a 
vital point, though not easy to come at. 

iSth.^Lizzy likes, I may say loves me. The 
avowal was made tliis morning, when I was carry- 
ing up two pounds of sugar and one of soap 
from the village. She said, "Oli, Mr. Gosslett, 
if you knew how unhappy I am!" 

.And I laid down the parcel, and taking her 
hand in mine, said, " Darling, tell me all!" and 
she grew very red and flurried, and said, " Non- 
sense, don't be a fool! Take care Tobias don't 
run away with the soap. I wanted to confide in 
you; to trust you. I don't want to— — -" And 
there she fell a-crying, and sobbed all the way 
home, though I tried to console her as well as 
the basket would permit me. Mem. — Not to be 
led into any tendernesses till the marketing is 
brought home. Wonder does Lizzy require me 
to fight the man who behaved badly? What on 
earth was it he did ? 

A great discovery coming home from church 
to-day. D. D. asked me if I had detected any- 
thing in his sermon of that morning which I 
could possibly call violent, illiberal, or uncharit- 
able. As I had not listened to it I was the bet- 
ter able to declare that there was not a word of 
it I could object to. " Would you believe it, 
Ciosslett," said he— and he never had called me 
Gosslett before— "that was the very sermon they 
arraigned me for in the queen's bench; and that 



mild passage about the Virgin Mary, you'd im- 
agine it was murder I was instilling. You heard 
it to-day, and know if it's not true. Well, sir," 
continued he, after a pause, " Tom MacNamara 
blaguarded me for twenty minutes on it before 
the whole court, screeching out, ' This is your 
parson! this is your instructor of tlie poor man! 
your Christian guide! your comforter! These 
are the teachings that are to wean the nation 
from bloodshed, and make men obedient to the 
law and grateful for its protection!' Why do 
you think he did this? Because I wouldn't give 
him my daughter — a Papist rascal as he is! 
That's the whole of it. I published my sermon 
and sent it to the bishop, and he inhibited me! It 
was clear enough what he meant; he wanted to 
to be made archbishop, and he knew what would 
please the Whigs. 'My lord,' said I, these are 
the principles that placed the queen on the 
throne of this realm. If it wasn't to crush 
Popery he came. King William crossed the 
Boyne for nothing.'" 

He went on thus till we reached home; but I 
had such a headache from his loud utterance, 
that I had to lie down and sleep it off. 

Monday, 31st. — A letter from Aunt Morse. 
Very dry and cold. Asks if I have sufficiently 
recovered from my late attack to be able to re- 
sume habits of activity and industry? Why, she 
knows well enough I have nothing to engage my 
activity and industry, for I will not be a coal- 
heaver, let uncle say what he likes. Aunt sur- 
mises that possibly some tender sentiment may 
be at the bottom of my attachment to Irehnd, 
and sternly recalls me to the fact that I am not 
the possessor of landed property and an ancient 
family mansion in a good county. ^Vhat can she 
mean by these warnings? Was it not herself 
that I overheard asking my uncle, "Would not 
he do for Lizzy?" How false women are! I 
wish I could probe the secret about that man that 
behaved ill; there are so many ways to behave 
ill, and to be behaved ill by. ' Shall 1 put a bold 
face on it, and ask Lizzy? 

Great news has the post brought. Sir Morris 
Stamer is going out Lord High Commissioner 
to the Ionian Islands, and offers to take me as 
private sec. 

It is a brilliant position, and one to marry on. 
I shall ask Lizzy to-day. 

Wednesday, all settled; — but what have I not 
got through these last three days! She loves me 
to distraction; but she'll tell nothing — nothing 
till we're married. She says, and with truth, 
"confidence is the nurse of love." I wish she 
wasn't so coy. I have not even kissed her hand. 
She says Irish girls are all coy. 

We are to run away, and be married at a 
place called Articlane. I don't know why we 
run away; but this is another secret I'm to 
hear later on. Quiet and demure as she looks, 
Lizzy has a very decided disposition. She over- 
bears all opposition, and has a peremptory way 
of saying, "Don't be a fool, G. !" — she won't 
call me Paul, only G. — "and just do as I bade 
you." I hope she'll explain why this is so — after 
our marriage. 

I'm getting terribly afraid of the step we're 



532 



PAUL GOSSLETT'S CONFESSIONS. 



about to take. I feel quite sure it was the Rev. 
Dan who shot the Papist on that anniversary 
affair; and I know he'd shoot me if he thought I 
had wronged him. Is there any way out of this 
embarrassment? 

What a headache I have! We have been sing- 
ing Orange songs for four hours. I think I hear 
that odious shake on the word "ba-a-ttle," as it 
rhymes to "rat — tie," in old Dan's song. It 
goes through my brain still; and to-morrow at 
daybreak we're to run away! Lizzy's bundle is 
here, in my room; and Tom Ryan's boat is all 
ready under the rocks, and we're to cross the bay. 
It sounds very rash when one comes to think of 
it. I'm sure my Aunt Morse will never forgive 
it. But Lizzy, all so gentle and docile as she 
seems, has a very peremptory way with her; and 
as she promises to give me explanations for 
everything later on, I have agreed to all. How 
it blows! There has not been so bad a night 
since I came here. If it should be rough to- 
morrow morning, will she still insist on going? 
I'm a poor sort of a sailor at the best of times; 
but if there's a sea on, I shall be sick as a dog! 
And what a situation — a sea-sick bridegroom 
running off with his bride! That was a crash! 
I thought the old house was going clean away. 
Tlie ploughs and harrows they've put on the 
roof to keep the slates down perform very wild 
antics in a storm. 

I suppose this is the worst climate in Europe. 
D. D. said yesterday that the length of the day 
made the only difference between summer and 
winter; and, oh dear! what an advantage does 
this confer on winter. 

Now to bed — though I'm afraid not to sleep; 
— amid such a racket and turmoil, rest is out of 
the question. Who knows when, where, and 
how I shall make the ne.xt entry in this book? 
But, as Mr. Dudgeon says when he finishes his 
tumbler, " Such is life! such is life!" 

I wonder will Lizzy insist on going on if the 
weather continues like this? I'm sure no boat- 
man with a wife and family could be fairly asked 
to go out in such a storm. I do not think I 
would have the right to induce a poor man to 
peril his life, and the support of those who de- 
pend upon him, for my own — what shall I call 
it? — my own gratification — that might be for a 
picnic; — my own — no, not happiness, because that 

is a term of time and continuity; — my own 

There goes a chimney, as sure as fate! How 
they sleep here through everything! There's 
that fellow who minds the cows, snoring through 
it all in the loft overhead; and he might, for all 
he knew, have been squashed under that fall of 
masonry. Was that a tap at the door? I thought 
I heard it twice. 

Yes, it was Lizzy. She had not been to bed. 
She went out as far as the church rock to see the 
sea. She says it was grander than she could de- 
scribe. There is a faint moon, and the clouds 
are scudding along, as though racing against the 
waves below; but I refuse to go out and see it 
all the same. I'll turn in, and try to get some 
sleep before morning. 

I was sound asleep, though the noise of the 
storm was actually deafening, when Lizzy again 



tapped at my door, and at last opening it slightly, 
pushed a lighted candle inside, and disappeared. 
If there be a dreary thing in life, it is to get up 
before day of a dark, raw morning, in a room 
destitute of all comfort and convenience, and 
proceed to wash and dress in cold, gloom, and 
misery, with the consciousness that what you are 
about to do not only might be safer and better 
undone, but mav, and not at all improbably will, 
turn out the rashest act of your life. 

Over and over I said to myself, " If I were to 
tell her that I have a foreboding — a distinct fore- 
boding of calamity; — that I dreamed a dream, 
and saw myself on a raft, while waves, mountain 
high, rose above me, and depths yawned beneath 
— dark, fathomless, and terrible — would she mind 
it? I declare, on my sacred word of honor, I 
declare I think she'd laugh at me! 

" Are you ready?" whispered a soft voice at 
the door; and I saw at once my doom was pro- 
nounced. 

Noiselessly, stealthily, we crept down the stairs, 
and, crossing the little flagged kitchen, undid the 
heavy bars of the door. Shall I own that a 
thought of treason shot through me as I stood 
with the great bolt in my hands, and the idea 
flashed across me, "What if I were to let it fall 
with a crash, and awake the household ?" Did 
she divine what was passing in my head, as she 
silently took the bar from me and put it away? 

We were now in the open air, breasting a 
swooping nor'-wester that chilled the very mar- 
row of my bones. She led the way through the 
dark night as though it were noonday, and I fol- 
lowed, tumbling over stones and rocks and tufts 
of heather, and falling into holes, and scramb- 
ling out again like one drunk. I could hear her 
laughing at me too; she who so seldom laughed; 
and it was with difficulty she could muster gravity 
enough to say she hoped I had not hurt myself. 

We gained the pier at last, and, guided by a 
lantern held by one of the boatmen, we saw the 
boat bobbing and tossing some five feet down be- 
low. Lizzy sprang in at once, amidst the applaud- 
ing cheers of the crew, and then several voices 
cried out, " Now, sir! Now, your honor!" while 
two stout fellows pushed me vigorously, as though 
to throw me into the sea. I struggled ajjd fought 
manfully, but in vain. I was jerked cff my legs, 
and hurled headlong down, and found myself 
caugh t below by some strong arms, though not until 
I had half sprained my wrist, and barked one of 
my shins from knee to instep. These sufferings 
soon gave way to others, as I became sea-sick, 
and lay at the bottom of the boat, praying we 
might all go down, and end a misery I could no 
longer endure. That spars struck me, and bal- 
last rolled over me; that heavy-footed sailors 
trampled me, and seemed to dance on me, were 
things I minded not. Great waves broke over 
the bows, and came in sheets of foam and water 
over me. What cared 1 ? I had that death-like 
sickness that makes all life hideous, and I felt I 
had reached a depth of degradation and misery 
in which there was only one desire — that for 
death. That we succeeded in clearing the point 
which formed one side of the bay was little short 
of a miracle, and I remember the cheer the boat- 



PAUL GOSSLETT'S CONFESSIONS. 



533 



men gave as the danger was passed, and my last 
hope of our going down left me. After this, I 
know no more. 

A wild confusion of voices, a sort of scuffling 
uproar, a grating sound, and more feet dancing 
over me, aroused me. I looked up. It was dawn; 
a grey murky streak lay towards the horizon, and 
sheets of rain were carried swiftly on tiie winds. 
We were being dragged upon a low shingly shore, 
and the men — up to their waists in water — were 
carrying the boat along. 

As I looked over the gunwale, I saw a huge 
strong fellow rush down the slope, and breasting 
the waves as they beat, approach the boat. Lizzy 
sprang into his arms at once, and he carried her 
back to laud triumphantly. 1 suppose at any 
other moment a pang of jealousy might have shot 
through me. Much sea-sickness, like perfect 
love, overcometh all things. I felt no more, as I 
gazed, than if it had been a bundle he had been 
clasping tcv his bosom. 

They lifted me up, and laid me on the shingle. 

"Oh, do, Tom; he is such a good creature!" 
said a voice which, low as it was, 1 heard dis- 
tinctly. 

"By all that's droll ' this is the cockney I met 
at Morrisson's!" cried a loud voice. I looked 
up: and there, bending over me, was Counsellor 
MacNamara, the bland stranger I had fallen in 
with at Dublin. 

" Are you able to get on your legs?" asked he, 
"or shall we have you carried ?" 

"No," said I, faintiv; " Ld rather lie here." 

"Oh, we can't leave him here, Tom; it's too 
cruel." 

"I tell you, Lizzy," said he, impatiently, 
"there's not a minute to lose." 

" Let them carry him, then," said she, plead- 
ingly. 

I mildly protested my wish to live and die 
where I lay; but they carried me up somewhere, 
and they put me to bed, and they gave me hot 
drinks, and I fell into, not a sleep, but a trance, 
that lasted twenty odd hours. 

"Faix! they had a narrow escape of it," were 
the first intelligible words I heard on awaking. 
"They were only just married and driiv off when 
old Dan Dudgeon came up, driving like mad. 
He was foaming with passion, and said if he went 
to the gallows for it, he'd shoot the rascal that 
abused his hospitality and stoL his daughter. 
The lady left this note for your honor." 

It went thus- — 

"Dear Mr. Gosslett, — "You will, I well 
know, bear me no ill-will for the little fraud I 
have practiced on you. It was an old engage- 
ment, broken off by a momentary imprudence 
on Tom's part; but as I knew he loved me, it 
was forgiven. My father would not have ever 
consented to the match, and we were driven to 
this strait. I entreat you to forgive and believe 
me, " Most truly yo\irs, 

" Lizzv MacN.\."iI.\r.'\." 

I stole quietlv nut of Ireland after this, and got 
over to the Isle of ?\Ian. where I learned that my 
patron had thrown up his Ionian appointment, 
and I was once again on the world. 



AS TO LAW. 



I DO not exactly know why I sit down to make 
this my last confession. I can scarcely be a 
guide to any one. I even doubt if I can be a 
warning, for when a man is as miserably unlucky 
as I have proved myself, the natural inference is 
to regard him as the exception to the ordinary 
lot ol mortals — a craft fated to founder ere it was 
launched. It's all very well to deny the existence 
of such a thing as luck. It sounds splendidly wise 
in the Latin moralist to say, " Non numen habes 
fortuna si sit prudentia," which is the old story 
of putting the salt on the bird's tail over again, 
since, I say, we can always assume the "pruden- 
tia" where there is the "fortuna ' and in the same 
v,'ay declare that the unlucky man failed because 
he was deficient in that same gift of foresight. 

Few men knew life so thoroughly in every 
condition, and under every aspect, as the first 
Napoleon, and he invariably asked, when inquir- 
ing i»ito the fitness of a man for a great command, 
" Is he lucky?" To my own thinking, it would 
be as truthful to declare that there was no ele- 
ment of luck in whist, as to say there was no such 
thing as luck in life. Now, all the " prudentia" 
in the world will not give a man four by honors; 
and though a good player may make a better 
fight with a bad hand than an indifferent per- 
former, there is that amount of badness occasion- 
ally dealt out, that no skill can compensate; and do 
what he may, he must lose the game. 

Now, I am by no means about to set up as a 
model of prudence, industry, or perseverance; as 
little can I lay claim to anything like natural abil- 
ity or cleverness, lam essentially commonplace — 
one of those men taken " ex medio acervo" of 
humanity, whose best boast is, that they form the 
staple of the race, and are the majority in all na- 
tions. 

There is a very pleasant passage in Lockhart's 
Life of Scott. I cannot lay my hand on it, and 
may spoil it in the attempt to quote, but the pur- 
port is, that one day when Lockhart had used the 
word "vulgar" in criticizing the manners of some 
people they had been discussing. Sir Walter re- 
buked him for the mistaken sense lie had ascribed 
to the expression. Vulgar, said he, is only com- 
mon, and common means general; and what is 
the general habit and usage of mankind has its 
base and foundation in a feeling and sentiment 
that we must not lightly censure. It is, at all 
events, human. 

I wish I could give the text of the passage, for 
I see how lamentably I have rendered it, but 
this was the meaning it conveyed to me, and I 
own I have very often thought over it with com- 
fort and with gratitude. 

If the great thinkers — the men of lofty intel- 
lects and high-soaring faculties — were but to 
know how, in vindicating the claims of every- 
day peo]ile to respect and regard, in shielding 
them from the sneers of smart men, and the 
quips of witty men, they were doing a great and 
noljle work, for which millior.s of people like my- 
self would bless them, I am certain we should 



534 



PAUL GOSSLETT'S CONFESSIONS. 



find many more such kindly utterances as that of 
the great Sir Walter. 

I ask pardon for my digression, so selfish as it 
is, and return to my narrative. 

After that famous "fiasco" I made in Ireland, 
I — as the cant phrase has it — got dark for some 
time. My temper, which at first sustained me 
under any amount of banter and ridicule, had 
begun to give way, and I avoided my relations, 
who certainly never took any ])eculiar pains to 
treat me with delicacy, or had the slightest hesi- 
tation in making me a butt for very coarse jokes 
and very contemptible drollery. 

I tried a number of things — that is, I begun 
them. I begun to read for the law; I begun a 
novel: I begun to attend divinity lectures; I got 
a clerkship in a public office, as supernumerary; 
I was employed as traveller to a house in the 
wooden-clock trade; I was secretary to an As- 
sociation for the Protection of Domestic Cats, 
and wrote the prospectus for the "Cats' Home;" 
but it's no use entering into details. I failed in 
all, and to such an extent of notoriety had my 
ill-fortune now attained, that the very mention 
of my name in connection with a new project 
would have sentenced it at once to ruin. 

Over and over again have I heard my " friends," 
when whispering together over some new scheme, 
mutter, " Of course Paul is to have nothing to do 
with it," "Take care that Paul Gosslett isn't in 
it," and such-like •intimations, that gave me the 
sensation of being a sort of moral leper, whose 
mere presence was a calamity. The sense of 
being deemed universally an unlucky fellow is 
one of the most depressing things imaginable — 
to feel that your presence is accounted an.evH 
agency — and that your co-operation foreshadows 
failure — goes a considerable way towards ac- 
complishing the prediction announced. 

Though my uncle's stereotyped recommenda- 
tion to become a coal-heaver was not exactly to 
my taste, I had serious thoughts of buying a 
sack, and, by a little private practice, discovering 
whether the profession might not in the end be- 
come endurable. I was fairly at my wits'-ends 
for a livelihood, and the depression and misery 
my presence occasioned wherever I went re-acted 
on myself, and almost drove me to desperation. 

I was actually so afraid of an evil temptation 
that I gave up my little lodging that I was so 
fond of, near Putney, and went to live at Hamp- 
stead, where there was no water deep enough to 
drown a rat. I also forewent shaving, that I 
might banish my razors, and in all respects set 
myself steadily to meet the accidents of life with 
as near an approach to jollity as I could muster. 

The simple pleasures of nature — the enjoyment 
of the fields and the wild flowers — the calm con- 
templation of the rising or setting sun — the 
varied forms of insect life — the many-tinted 
lichens, the ferns — the mosses that clothe the 
banks of shady alleys — the limpid pools, starred 
and broken by the dragon-fly, so full of their own 
especial charm for the weary voluptuary sick of 
pampered pleasures and exotic luxuries, do not 
ap|)eal to the senses of the poor man with that 
wonderful force of contra.st which gives them all 
their excellence. I have seen an alderman ex- 



press himself in ecstasies over a roast potato, 
which certainly would not have called forth the 
same show of appreciation from an Irish peasant. 
We like what awakens a new sensation in us; 
what withdraws us even in imagination from the 
routine of our daily lives. There is a great self- 
esteem gratified when we say, how simple we can 
be — how happy in humility — how easily satisfied, 
and how little dependent on mere luxury or 
wealth. 

The postman who passed my window every 
morning had long ceased to be an object of in- 
terest or anxiety to me; for others he brought 
tidings, good or ill, as it might be, but to me, 
forgotten and ignored of the world, no news 
ever came; when one day, to my intense sur- 
prise, at first to my perfect incredulity, I saw 
him draw forth a letter, and make a sign to me 
to come down and take it. Yes, there it was, 
"Paul Gosslett, Esq., The Flaggers, Putney," 
with " Try Sandpit Cottages, Hampstead, ' in 
another hand, in the corner. It was from my 
aunt, and ran thus: — 

" The Briars, Rochester. 
" Dear Paul, — " I am rejoiced to say, there 
is a good chance of a situation for you with 
handsome pay, and most agreeable duty. You 
are to come down here at once, and see your 
uncle, but on no account let it be known that I 
have mentioned to you the prospect of employ- 
ment. 

" Your affectionate aunt, 

" Jane Morse.'' 

I took the morning train, and arrived at 
Rochester by nine o'clock, remembering, not 
without pain, my last experiences of my uncle's 
hospitality. I breakfasted at the inn, and only 
arrived at the house when he had finished his 
morning meal, and v.as smoking his pipe in the 
garden, 

" What wind blows you down here, lad?" cried 
he. " Where are you bound for now?" 

"You forget, my dear," said my aunt, "you 
told me the other evening, you would be glad to 
see Paul." 

" Humph!" said he, with a grunt. "I've been 
a-tliinking over it since, and I suspect it wouldn't 
do. He'd be making a mess of it, the way he 
does of everything; that blessed kick of his 
ne\er leaves him, eh?" 

Seeing that this was meant as an interroeation, 
I replied faintly: "You're quite right, untie. If 
I am to depend on my good fortune, it will be a 
bad look-out for me." 

" Not that I value what is called luck a rush," 
cried he, with energy. "I have had luck, but I 
had energy, industry, thrift, and perse\ erance. 
If I had waited for luck, I'd have li\ed pretty 
much like yourself, and I don't know anything to 
be very proud of in that, eh?" 

" I am certainly not proud of my position, sir." 

" I don't understand what you mean by your 
position; but I know I'd have been a coal-lieaver 
rather than live on my relations. I'd have sold 
sulphur-matches, I'd have been a porter!" 

" Well, sir, I suppose I may come to something 



PAUL GOSSLETT'S CONFESSIONS. 



535 



of tliat kind yet: a little more of the courteous 
language I am now listening to will make the 
step less difficult." 

"Eh? — What! I don't comprehend. Do you 
mean anything offensive?" 

" No, dear, he does not," broke in my aunt, 
" he only says, he'd do anything rather than be a 
burden to his family, and I'm sure he would; he 
seems very sorry about all the trouble he has 
cost them." 

My uncle smoked on for several minutes with- 
out a word; at last, he came to the end of his 
pipe, and having emptied the ashes, and gazed 
ruefully at the bowl, he said: "There's no more 
in the fellow than in that pipe! Not a bit. I 
say," cried he, aloud, and turning to me, "you've 
had to my own knowledge as good as a dozen 
cliances, and you've never succeeded in one of 
thc;m." 

" It's all true," said I, sorrowfully. 

"Owing to luck, of course," said he, scorn- 
fully; "luck makes a man lazy, keeps him in 
bed when he ought to be up and at work, luck 
makes him idle, and gets him plucked for his 
examinations. I tell you this, sir, I'd rather a 
man would give me a fillip on the nose than talk 
to me about luck. If there's a word in the lan- 
guage I detest and hate, it is luck." 

" I'm not in love with it myself, sir," said I, 
trying to smile. 

" Did you ever hear of luck mending a man's 
shoes, or paying his washerwoman? Did luck 
ever buy a beef-steak, eh?" 

"That might admit of discussion." 

"Then let me have no discussion. 1 like 
work, and I dislike wrangling. Listen to me, 
and mend now, sir. I want an honest, sober, 
fixed determination; — no caprice, no passing 
fancy. Do you believe you are capable of turn- 
ing over a new leaf, and sitting down steadily to 
the business of life, like a patient, industrious, 
respectable man, who desires to earn his own 
bread, and not live on the earnings of others?" 

" I hope so." 

" Don't tell me of hope, sir. Say you will or 
you will not." 

" I will," said I, resolutely. 

" You will work hard, rise early, live frugally, 
give up dreaming about this, that, or the other 
chance, and set to like a fellow that wants to do 
his own work with his own hands?" 

" I promise it all." 

My uncle was neither an agreeable nor a very 
clear exponent of his views, and I shall save my 
reader and myself some time and unpleasantness 
if I reduce the statement he made to me to a few 
words. A company had been formed to start an 
hydropathic establishment on a small river, a 
tributary of the Rhine — the Lahn. They had 
acquired at a very cheap rate of purchase ?n old 
feudal castle and its surrounding grounds, and 
had converted the building into a most coniplete 
and commodious residence, and the part which 
bordered the river into a beautiful pleasure- 
ground. The tinted drawings which represented 
various views of the castle and the terraced 
gardens, were something little short of fairyland 
in captivation. Nor was the pictorial effect les- 



sened by the fact that figures on horseback and 
on foot, disporting in boats, or driving in car- 
riages, gave a life and movement to the scene, 
and imparted to it the animation and enjoyment 
of actual existence. The place of director was 
vacant, and I was appointed to it. My salary 
was to be three hundred a year, but my table, my 
horses, my servants — in fact, all my household, 
were to be maintained for me on a liberal scale, 
and my duties were to be pretty much what I 
pleased to make them. My small sjnattering of 
two or three languages — exalted by my uncle into 
the reputation of a polyglot — had recommended 
me to the " Direction;" and as my chief function 
was to entertain a certain number of people twice 
or thrice a week at dinner, and suggest amuse- 
ments to fill up their time, it was believed that 
my faculties were up to the level of such small 
requirements. 

From the doctor down to the humblest menial, 
all were to be under my sway; and as the estab- 
lishment numbered above a hundred officials, the 
command was extensive, if not very dignified. I 
will own frankly, I was out of myself with joy at 
the prospect; nor could all the lowering sugges- 
tions of my uncle, and the vulgar cautions he in- 
stilled, prevent my feeling delighted with my 
good fortune. I need not say what resolves I 
made; what oaths I registered in my own heart 
to be a good and faithful steward, and while en- 
joying to the full the happiness of my fortunate 
existence, to neglect no item of the interests con- 
fided to me. 

All that I had imagined or dreamed of the 
place itself was as nothing to tlie reality; nor 
shall I ever forget the sense of overwhelming de- 
light in which I stood on the crest of the hill 
that looked down over the wooded glen and 
winding river; the deep-bosomed woods, the- 
wandering paths of lawn or of moss, the gently- 
flowing stream in which the castle, wilh its tall- 
towers, was tremblingly reflected, seemed to me 
like a princely possession, and for once I thought 
that Paul Gosslett had become the favorite child 
of fortune, and asked myself what had 1 done to 
deserve such luck as this! 

If habit and daily use deaden the pangs of 
suffering, and enable us to bear with more of 
patience the sorrows of adverse fortune, tliey, on- 
the other hand, serve to dull the generous 
warmth of that gratitude we first feel for benefits, . 
and render us comparatively indifl'erent to enjoy- 
ment which, when first tasted, setmed the very 
ecstasy of bliss. I am sorry to make this con- 
fession; sorry to admit that after some months at 
" Lahneck," I was, aliliovgh very happy and 
satisfied, by no means so much struck by th.e- 
beauty of the place and the loveliness of the 
scenery as on my first arrival, and listened to the^- 
raptures of the new-comers with a sort of ccm- 
passionate astonishment. Not but I was proud 
of the pretentious edifice, proud of its lofty towers ■ 
and battlemented terraces, its immense proper-- 
tion, and splendid extent. It was, besides a com- 
plete success as an enterprise. We were always, 
full; applications for rooms poured in inces- 
santly, and when persons vacated their quarters, 
any change of mind made restitution impossible. 



536 



PAUL GOSSLETTS CONFESSIONS. 



K 



I believed I liked the despotism I exercised; it 
was a small, commonplace sort of sovereignty 
over bath-men and kitchen-folk, it is true; but in 
the extent of my command I discovered a kind 
of dignity, and in the miplicit obedience and 
deference, I felt something like princely sway. 

As the host, too, I received a very flattering 
amount of homage; foreigners always yield a 
willing respect to anything in authority, and my 
own countrymen soon caught up the habit, as 
though it implied a knowledge of life and the 
world, I had not the slighest suspicion that my 
general manners or bearing were becoming af- 
fected by these deferences, till I accidentally over- 
heard a cockney observe to his wife, " I think he's 
pompious," a censure that made me very un- 
happy, and led me to much self-examination and 
reflection. 

Had I really grown what the worthy citizen 
called " pompious?" had I become puffed up by 
prosperity, and over exalted in self-conceit? If 
so, it were time to look to this at once. 

The directors generally were well pleased with 
me. Very gratifying testimonials of their ap- 
proval reached im; and it was only my uncle's 
opposition prevented my salary being augmented. 
"Don't spoil the fellow," he said; " you'll have 
him betting on the Djrby, or keeping a yacht at 
Cowes, if you don't look out sharp. I'd rather 
cut him down a hundred than advance him fifty." 
This fiat from my own tlesh and blood decided 
the matter. I sulked on this. I had grown pro- 
sperous enough to feel indignant, and I resolved 
to afford myself the well-to-do luxury of discon- 
. tent. I was therefore discontented. I professed 
that to maintain my position — whatever that 
meant— I was obliged to draw upon my own pri- 
vate resources; and I went so far as to intimate 
to the visitors that if I hadn't been a man of 
some fortune the place would be my ruin! Of 

■ course my hint got bruited about, and people 
commonly said, " If Gosslett goes, the whole con- 
cern will break up. They'll not easily find a 
nun of good private fortune willing to spend his 
mjney here, like Gosslett," and such like, till I 
vow and declare I began to believe my own fic- 

: tion, and regard it as an indelible fact. If my 

letter was not on record, I would not now believe 

. the fact, but the document exists, and I have 

: seen it, where I actually threaten to send my 

resignation if something — I forget what — is not 

speedily conceded to my demands; and it was 

, only on receiving an admonition in the mild 

, vein peculiar to my uncle that I awoke to a sense 

r. of my peril, and of what became me. 

! I know that there are critics who, pronouncing 

f upon this part of my career, will opine that the 

jj . cockney was right, and that I had really lost my 

i head in my prosperity. I am not disposed to say 

j now that there might not have been some truth 

in this judgment. Things are generally going on 

tolerably well with a man's material interests when 

he l:as time to be dyspeptic. Doctors assure us 

that savage nations, amidst whom the wants of 

life call for daily, hourly efforts, amidst whom all 

is exigency, activity, and resource, have no 

: dyspepsia. If, then, I had reasoned on my con- 

■ ditioa — which I did not — I should have seen that 



the world went too smoothly with me, and that, 
in consequence, my health suffered. Just as the 
fish swallow stones to aid the digestion, we need 
the accidents and frictions of life to triturate our 
moral jjabulum, and render it more easily as- 
similable to our constitutions. With dyspepsia I 
grew dull, dispirited, and dissatisfied. I ceased 
to take pleasure in all that formerly had interested 
me. I neglected duty, and regarded my occupa- 
tion with dislike. My "house dinners, which once 
I took an especial pride in. seeking not only that 
the wines and the cookery should be excellent, 
but that their success as social gatherings should 
attract notoriety, I now regarded with apathy. I 
took no pains about either company or cookery, 
and, in consequence, contrarieties and bad con- 
trasts now prevailed, where before all had been in 
perfect keeping and true artistic shading. My 
indolence and indifference extended to those 
beneath me. Where all had once been order, 
discipline, and propriety, there now grew up care- 
lessness, disorder, and neglect. The complaints 
of the visitors were incessant. My mornings 
were passed in reading. I rarely replied to the 
representations and demands of outraged guests. 
At last the public press becrme the channel of 
these complaints, and " Publicola," and " One 
who had Suffered," and a number of similarly 
named patriots declared that the hydropathic ts- 
tablishment at Lahneck was a delusion and a 
sham; that it was a camp of confusion and mis- 
management, and that though a certain P. 
Gosslett was the nominal director, yet that visit- 
ors of three months' standing averred they had 
never seen him, and the popular belief was that 
he was a nervous invalid who accepted a nominal 
duty in recompense for the benefit of air and 
climate to himself. " How," wrote one indignant 
correspondent of the Times, "how the ccnipany 
who instituted this enterprise, and started it on a 
scale of really great proportions, can find it to 
their advantage to continue this Mr. Gosslett in a 
post he so inadequately fills, is matter of daily 
astonishment to those who have repaired toLah- 
nech for healthful exercise and amusement, and 
only found there indifferent attendance and uni- 
versal inattention." 

From the day this appeared I was peppered at 
every ])ost with letters for the secretary, demand- 
ing explanations, reports, returns, what not. The 
phrase, " the managing ccmmittee, ■\\ho are hourly 
less and less satisfied viith Mr. Gosslett's con- 
duct," used to pass through all my dreams. 

As for my uncle, his remarks were less meas- 
ured. One of his epistles, I have it still by me, 
runs thus: "What do you mean? Are you only 
an idiot, or is there some deeper rascality under 
all this misconduct? Before I resigned my place 
at the Board yesterday, I gave it as my deliberate 
opinion that a warrant should be issued against 
you for fraud and malversation, and that I would 
hail your conviction as the only solace this nefar- 
ious concern could afford me. Never dare to 
address me again. I have forbidden your ai.nt 
to utter your name in my presence." 

I don't know how it was, but I read this with 
as much unconcern as though it had been an .id- 
vertiseuient about the Sydenham trousers or 



PAUL GOSSLETT'S CONFESSIONS. 



537 



Glenfield starch. There must be a great dignity 
in a deranged digestion, for it certainly raises 
one above all the smaller excitements and condi- 
tions of passing events; and when on the same 
morning that this epistle arrived the steward came 
to inform me that of three hundred and twenty- 
four rooms twelve only were occupied, though 
this was what might be called the height of the 
season, I blandly remarked, " Let us not be im- 
patient, Mr. Deechworth, they'll come yet." This 
was in June; by July the twelve diminished to 
eight. No new arrival came; and as August drew 
to a close we had three! All September — and 
the place was then in full beauty — the mountains 
glowing with purple and scarlet heath, the cac- 
tus plants of the terrace in blossom, the Virginian 
acanthus hanging in tangled masses of gorgeous 
flowers from every tree, the river ever plashing 
with the leaping trout — we had not one stranger 
within our gates. My morning report ran, "Ar- 
rivals, none; departures, none; present in house, 
none;" and when I put " Paul Gosslett" at the 
bottom of this, I only wonder why I did not take 
a header into the Lahn! 

As we had at this period eighty-four servants 
in the house, sixteen horses in the stables, and a 
staff of thirty-two gardeners and boatmen, not to 
speak of runners, commissionaries, and general 
loungers, I was not amazed when a telegram came 
in these words: "Close the house, place Deech- 
worth in charge, and come over to London." To 
this [ replied, "Telegram received; compliance 
most undesirable. Autumn season just opening. 
Place in full beauty. — P. G." 

I will not weary the reader with a mere commer- 
cial wrangle; how the committee reproached me, 
and howl rejoined; how they called names, and I 
hinted at defamation ; how they issued an order for 
my dismissal, and I demurred and demanded due 
no ice. We abused each other all September, and 
opened October in full cry of mutual attack and 
defence. By this time, too, we were at law. 
They applied for a" mandamus" to get rid of me, 
and my counsel argued that I was without the 
four seas of the realm, and could not be attacked. 
They tried to reach me by the statute of frauds, 
but there was no treaty with Nassau, and I could 
not be touciied. All this contention and quar- 
relling was like sulphate of quinine to me — I grew 
robust and strong under the excitement, and dis- 
covered a lightness of heart and a buoyancy of 
nature, I had believed hid long left me forever; 
and though they stopped my salary and dishon- 
ored my drafts, I lived on fruits and vegetables, 
and put the garrison on the same diet, with a 
liberal allowance of wine, which more than recon- 
ciled them to the system. 

So matters went on till the ninth of October — a 
memorable day to me, which 1 am not like to for- 
get. It was near sunset, and I sat on the terrace, 
enjoying the delicious softness of the evening air 
and watching the varying tints on the river, as the 
golden and green light came slanting through the 
trees and fell upon the water, when I heard the 
sounds of wheels approaching. There liad been 
a time when such sounds would have awakened 
no attention, when arrivals poured in incessantly, 
and the coming or the departing guest evoked 



nothing beyond the courtesy of a greeting. Now, 
however, a visitor was an event; and as the post- 
horses swept round the angle of the wood, and 
disappeared behind a wing of the castle, I felt a 
strange sensation through my heart, and a soft 
voice seemed to say, ''Paul, fate is dealing with 
you." I fell into a reverie, however, and soon for- 
got all about the arrival, till Mr. Deechworth came 
up with a card in his hand. " Do you know this 
name, sir — Mrs. Pultney Dacre? She has only 
her maid with her, but seems a person of condi- 
tion." I shook my head in ignorance of the 
name, and he went on: "She wants rooms on the 
ground floor, where she can walk out into the 
garden; and I have thought of No. 4." 

"No. 4, Deechworth? that apartn;ent costs 
sixty francs a day." 

" Well, sir, as there are few people now in the 
house," — this was an euphemism for none — " I 
have said she might have the rooms for forty." 

" It may be done for one week," said I, "but 
take care to caution her not to mention it to her 
friends. We have trouble enough with those 
tiresome people in London without this. What 
is she like?" 

" A very handsome figure, sir; evidently young; 
but had a double veil down, and I couldn't see 
her face." 

" How long does she talk of staying?" 

" A month, sir. A husband is expected back 
from India early in November, and she is to ivait 
for him here." 

" So," said I, thoughtfully, and I am sure I can- 
not say why, thoughtfully, " she is waiting for her 
husband's arri\al." 

" Those young women whose husbands are in 
India are always pretty; haven't you remarked 
that, sir ?" 

" I can't say that I have, Deechworth. These 
are speculations of a kind that do not occur to 
me. Let her have No, 4," and with the air of 
one who dismissed the theme, I waved my hand. 
and sent him away. 

No. 4 — for so the occupant was caller! — lur 
name being entirely merged in her nun 1 er, — 
never appeared in the grounds, nor showed in 
any way. The small garden which belonged to 
her apartment had a separate enclosure of its own, 
and within this she walked every evening. How 
she passed her days I know not. I was told that 
she sang like an angel, but I never heard her. 
She was, however, a most persistent bather. There 
was not a douche in the establishment she did 
not try, and, possibly by way of pastime, she was 
constantly experimenting on new modes and fash- 
ions of bathing. 

When the establishment had been crowded and 
in full work, I had rny time so completely 
occupied that I had little difficulty in keeping 
my mind estranged from the gossip and tutle- 
tattle which beset such places; but now, when 
the roof sheltered a single guest, it was wonderful 
how, in spite of myself, in spite of all my determ- 
ination on the subject; I became perversely un- 
easy to hear about her; to know whether she 
read or wrote; whether she got letters or answered 
them; what she thought of the place; ^^helher 
she was or was not pleased with it; did she praise 



538 



PAUL GOSSLETT'S CONFESSIONS. 



the camelias? Wliat did she think of the cook? 
She was evidently " gourmet,'' and the little din- 
ners she ordered were remarkable for a taste and 
piquancy that stimulated my curiosity, for there 
is something very significant in this phase of the 
feminine nature; and when I heard she liked her 
orlolans " au beurred'anc'aois," I confe s I warned 
much to see her. 

This evidently was not an easy matter, for she 
courted retirement, and her maid let it be known 
that if her mistress found herself in the slightest 
degree molested by strangers, or her privacy in- 
vaded, she would order her horses, and set off 
for somewhere else without a moment's hesitation. 
I was obliged, therefore, to respect this intima- 
tion. First of all, I felt that as long as No. 4 re- 
mained, I was sustained in my resolve not to close 
the establishment. I was like a deposed monarch 
at whose residence one envoy still remained, and 
whose sovereignty therefore was yet recognized, 
and I clung to this last link that united me to 
the world of material interest with intense eager- 
ness. 

I ventured to present Mr. Gosslett's respectful 
compliments in a small note, and inquire if Mrs. 
Pultney Dacre would wish to see the Park, in 
which case his phaeton and ponies were always 
at her disposal, as also his boat if she felt dis- 
posed to take an airing on the river; but a few 
lines declined these offers, in very polite terms, 
it is true, yet in a fashion that said, " No more 
of these attentions, Paul," — at least it was thus I 
read her. 

Although my contention with the company still 
continued, and some new menace of law was sure 
to reach me by every second post, and my own 
counsel feelingly warned me that I hadn't an inch 
of ground to stand on, and my costs when " cast" 
would be something overwhelming, I had steeled 
myself so thoroughly to all consequences, had so 
resolved to make the most of the present, that I 
read these minatory documents with an unmoved 
heart, and a degree of placid composure that now 
strikes me as something heroic. 

I was sitting one evening in study, thinking 
over these things — not depressively, not desper- 
ately; for, strangely enough, since misfortune had 
befallen me, I had acquired a most wonderful 
stock of equanimity, but I was canvassing with 
myself what was to come next, when the fatal 
liour struck, as strike it must, that sounded my 
expulsion from Eden, when a gentle tap came to 
my door. I said, " Come in," and Virginie, Mrs. 
Dacre's French maid, entered. She was profuse 
of apologies for " deranging" me. She was in 
despair at the bare thought of interrupting I do 
not know what or which of mv learned occupa- 
tions, but her mistress had had an accident! 

'■ .A.n accident!" I started as 1 repeated the 
word. 

" Oh! it was not serious," she said, with a 
sweet smile. " It was only troublesome, as oc- 
curring in a remote spot, and to a person who 
like Madame was of such refined delicacy, and 
who could not bear consulting a strange phys- 
ician — her own doctor was on his way from India," 
— she went on rambling thus, so that it was with 
difficulty I learned at last that Madame, when 



feeding the gold fish in the pond of the garden, 
had stepped on the rock-work and turned her 
ankle. The pain was very great, and Virginie 
feared something had been broken, though 
Madame was certain it was a mere sprain; and 
now, as the doctor has been dismissed, Madame 
wished to know where medical advice could be 
soonest obtained. I at once declared I was fuOy 
competent to treat such an injury. I had studied 
surgery, and could certainly pronounce whether 
the case was a grave one or a mere oassing acci- 
dent. Virginie smiled dubiously. 

" Monsieur was very voung. Madame never 
consulted a doctor under fifty-five or sixty." 

'' Possibly," suggested I, "in an ordinary case, 
and where there were time and opportunity to 
choose; but here, and with an accident, an acci- 
dent that if neglected or improperly treated " 

".A.h, mon Dieu!" cried she, "don't say it! 
Don't say there might be unhappy results; come 
at once and see her!" She almost dragged me 
along, such was her impatience, to her mistress's 
room, and in less than a minute I was standing 
beside a sofa in a half-darkened room, where a 
lady lay, her face closely veiled, and a large shawl 
so enveloping her that all guess as to her figure 
or probable age was impossible. A light cam- 
bric handkerchief was spread over one fcot, 
which rested on a cushion, and this kerchief the 
maid hastily snatched away as I approached, 
saying: 

" Monsieur is a doctor himself, madanie, and 
will cure you immediately." 

" La!" cried she, pointing to the foot. "L4!" 

And certainly I needed no more formal invi- 
tation to gaze on a foot and ankle of such fault- 
less mould and symmetry as never, even in the 
Greek statues, had I seen equalled. Whether 
there had not been time for the process of inflam- 
mation to have set up swelling or disfigurement, 
or whether the injury itself bad been less grave 
than might have been ai>prehended. I am not 
able to say; but the beautiful proportions of that, 
rounded instep, the tajjcring of the foot, the hol- 
lowing of the sole, the slightly mottled marble of 
the flesh, the blue veins swelling through the 
transparent skin, were all uninjured and un- 
marred. Ivory itself could not have been more 
smoothly turned than the ankle, nor of a more 
dazzling whiteness. To have been permitted to 
kneel down and kiss that foot, I would have 
sworn myself her slave forever. I suppose I 
must have shown some signs of the rapture that 
was consuming me, for the maid said: 

"What does the man mean? has he lost his 
senses?" 

"I must examine the part," said I, and kneel- 
ing down, I proceeded with what I imagined to 
be a most chirurgical air, to investigate ihe injury. 
.Asa viforshipper might have touched a holy lelic, 
I suffered my hand to glide o\er that beautifully 
rounded instep, but all so delicately and gently 
that I could not say whether the thrill that touch 
sent through me was not the act of my own 
nerves. She seemed, however, to tremble, her 
foot moved slightly, and a gentle action of her 
shoulders like a shudder bespoke pain. It was 
the sort of movement that one might make in 



PAUL GOSSLETT'S CONFESSIONS. 



539 



being tickled, and as great agony causes this move- 
ment occasionally, I said, " I trust I have not 
hurt you? I'd not have done so for worlds." 
.She took her handkerchief and pressed it to her 
face, and I thought she sobbed, but she never 
said a word. 

" Alors!" cried the maid. " What do you say 
is to be done?" 

"Ice," said I. "Iced water and perfect re- 
pose." 

" And where are we to get ice in this barbarous 
place?" 

" Madame," said I, " the place is less savage 
than you deem, and ice shall be procured. There 
is a monastery at Offenbach where they have ice 
throughout the year. I will despatch an estafette 
there at once." 

The lady bent forward and whispered some- 
thing in the maid's ear. 

''Madame desires me to thank you sincerely," 
said the maid. " She is much impressed by your 
consideration and kindness." 

" I will return in a couple of hours," said I, 
with a most doctorial sententiousness, and in re- 
ality eagerly desiring to be alone, and in the 
])rivacy of my own room, before I should break 
out in those wild ecstasies which I felt were strug- 
gling within me for utterance. 

I sat down to make a clean breast of it in 
these confessions, but I must ask my reader to 
let me pass over unrecorded the extravagances I 
gave way to when once more alone. 

There are men — I am one of them — -who re- 
quire — constitutionally require — to be in love. 
That necessity which Don Quixote proclaimed to 
be a condition of knightly existence — tlie devo- 
tion to a mistress — is an essential to certain na- 
tures. This species of temperament pertained to 
me in my boyhood. It has followed me through life 
with many pains and suffering, but also with great 
compensations. I have ever been a poor man — 
my friends can tell that I have not been a lucky 
one — and yet to be rich and fortunate together, I 
would not resign that ecstasy, that sentiment of 
love which, though its object may have changed, 
has still power to warm up the embers of my 
heart, and send through me a glow tliat revives 
the days of my hot youth and my high hopes. 

I was now in love, and cared as little for boards 
of directors and resolutions passed in committee 
as for the ordinances of the Grand Lama. It- 
might rain mandamuses and warrants, they had 
no power to trouble me. As I wended my way 
to No. 4 with my bowl of ice, I felt like a votary 
bearing his offering to the shrine of his patron 
saint. My gift might lie on the altar, but the 
incense of my devotion soared up to heaven. 

I would gladly have visited her every hour, hut 
she would only permit me to come twice a day. 
I was also timed, and when Virginie said my ten 
minutes were up, I was dismissed. I tried to 
bribe Virginie, but the unworthy creature im- 
agined, with the levity of her nation, I had 
designs on her own affections, and threatened to 
denounce me to her mistress, a menace wiiich 
cost me much mortification and more money. 

I don't know that the cure made great pro- 
gress, perhaps I have learned since why this 



was so — at all events, I pursued my treatment 
with assiduity, and was rewarded with a few soft- 
voiced words, as thus: " How kind you are!" 
"What a gentle hand you have!" "How pleas- 
ant that ice is!" At length slie was able to move 
about the room. I wished to offer my arm, but she 
declined, Virginie was strong enough to supjjort 
her. How I detested that woman! But for her, 
how many more opportunities had I enjoyed of 
offering small services and attentions! Her very 
presence was a perpetual restraint. She never 
took her eyes off me while I was in the room 
with her mistress — black-beady, inexpressive eyes 
for the most part, but with something devilish in 
their inscrutability that always frightened me. 
That she saw the passion that was consuming 
me, tliat she read me in my alternate paroxysms 
of delight or despair, was plain enough to me, 
but I could not make her my friend. She would 
take my presents freely, but always with the air 
of one whose silence was worth buying at any 
price, but whose co-operation or assistance no 
sum could compass. Her very mode of accept- 
ing my gifts had something that smote terror into 
me. She never thanked me, nor even affected 
gratitude. Slie would shake her head mourn- 
fully and gloomily, as though matters had come 
to a pretty pass between us, and as though seme 
dreadful reckoning must one day be expected to 
account for all this corruption. "Ah, Monsieur 
Gosslett," said she one day, with a sigh, "what a 
precipice we are all standing beside! Have you 
thought of the ruin you are leading us to?" 
These were very strange words, and though I 
took my watch and chain from my pocket, 
and gave them to her-in order to induce her to 
explain her meaning, she only burst into tears 
and rushed out of the rocni. Was I then the 
happiest of mortals, or the most wretched? such 
was the problem that drove sleep that long night 
from my eyelids, and found me still trying to 
solve it when the day broke. 

Days would often pass now without Mrs. 
Dacre permitting me to visit her, and then Vir- 
ginie significantly hinted that she was right in 
this, that it was for my good as well as her own, 
and so on. I mourned over my banishment and 
bewailed it bitterly. "One would think, sir, you 
forget my mistress was married," said Virginie 
to me one day; and I protest it was no more 
than the truth. I had completely, utterly, for- 
gotten it, and the stern fact thus abruptly an- 
nounced almost felled me to the earth. 

Mrs. Dacre had promised to take a drive with 
me as soon as she felt able to bear the motion of 
a carriage, but though I often recalled the pledge, 
she found excuses of one kind or other to defer 
performance, and as I now rarely saw her, she 
would write me a line, sometimes two lines, on a 
scrap of paper, which Virginie would lay open on 
my table and generally shake her head very 
meaningly as I read it. 

If Mrs. Dacre's notes were very brief, they were 
not less enigmatical— she was the strangest 
writer that ever put pen to paper. Thus to give 
an instance; the ice application she always re- 
ferred to as "my coldness," and she would say, . 
" How long is your coldness to continue; have I 



540 



PAUL GOSSLETT'S CONFESSIONS. 



not had enough of it yet? This coldness is be- 
coming tiresome, and if it be continued, how am 
I to go out with you?" In anothernote, referring to 
our intended drive, slie says, "If it is a question 
of running away, I must liave a word to say first, 
for though I believe you have no fears on that 
score, I am not so courageous." Virginie had 
been telling stories about my ponies; they were 
frisky, it is true, and it was thus her mistress 
alluded to them. Some disparagement of me as 
a whip provoked this remark from her. "As the 
time draws nearer I ask myself, Shall I trust my- 
self to your guidance? Who can say what may 
come of it?" 

At last came this one line; "I have summoned 
up all my courage, and I will go with you this 
evening. Come up at eight, and I will be ready." 
I ought to have mentioned before this that for 
nigli three weeks a vulgar-looking man, middle- 
aged and robust, had come to take the waters, 
and though he only spoke a few words of bad 
French, being English, had contrived to put 
himself on terms of intimacy with all the subor- 
dinates of the household, and was constantly 
seen laughing with the boatmen, and trying to 
converse with the gardeners. 

Deechworth had conceived suspicion about 
him from the first, he connected him with the 
law proceedings that the company had instituted 
against me, and warned me to be cautious of the 
man. His opinion was that he belonged to the 
"Force." ' I know it, sir," said he, "by his 
walk and his laugh." The detectives, according 
to Deechworth, have a laugh quite peculiar to 
themselves; it never takes them off what they are 
saying or thinking about. In fact, it is like the 
bassoon in a band, it serves just to mark the 
time while the air is being played by the other 
instruments. 

"I don't like that Mr. Bracken, sir," Deech- 
worth would say, "he ain't here for. no good, 
you'll see, sir;" and it is not improbable that I 
should have perfectly agreed with this opinion if 
I had ever troubled my head about him at all, 
but the fact was my mind was very differently 
occupied. All Scotland Yard and Sir Richard 
himself might have been domiciled at the estab- 
lishment without their ever giving me a moment 
of uneasy reflection 

Whether Mrs. Dacre's scruples were those of 
prudery or cowardice, whether she dreaded me 
as a companion or feared me as a coachman, I 
cannot say, but she constantly put off our in- 
tended drive, and though occasionally the few 
words in which she made her apologies set my 
heart half wild with delight, simjaly because I 
pleased to read them in a sense of my own in- 
vention, yet I grew feverish and uneasy at these 
delays. At last there came the one line in pencil, 
" I have made up my mind; I will go with you to- 
morrow evening." It is in no extravagance or 
mock rapture I say it, but in plain homely truth, 
I would not have changed that scrap of paper 
for a cheque of ten thousand on Coutts. 

It was my habit to lay all the little notes I re- 
ceived from her before me on my writing-table, 
and as I passed them under review to weave out 
for myself a story of the progress of my love. 



The servants who waited on me, and who alone 
entered my study, were foreigners, and ignorant 
of English, so that I could permit myself this 
indulgence without fear. Now, on the afternoon 
on which I had received the latest of her de- 
spatches, I sauntered out into the wood to be alone 
with my own thoughts unmolested and undis- 
turbed. I wandered on for hours, too happy to 
count the time, and too deeply lost in my imagin- 
ings to remember anything but my own fancies. 
What was to come of this strange embroglio in 
which I now stood? how was Fate about to deal 
with me? I had clearly arrived at a point where 
the roads led right and left. Which was I to 
take, and which was the right one? 

Thus canvassing and discussing with myself, it 
was very late ere I got back to the castle, but 1 
carried the key of a small portal gate that ad- 
mitted me to my own quarters unobserved, and I 
could enter or pass out unnoticed. As I found 
myself in my study and lit my lamp, I turned to 
my writing-table. I started with amazement on 
discovering that the little notes and scraps of 
paper which bore Mrs. Dacre's writing had dis- 
appeared. These, and a small note-book, a sort 
of diary of my own, had been taken away; and 
that the act was not that of a common thief was 
clear, from the fact that a valuable silver inkstand 
and an onyx seal mounted in gold, and some other 
small objects of value lay about untouched. A 
cold sweat broke over me as I stood there over- 
whelmed and ])anic-stricken by this discovery. 
The terrors of a vague and undefined danger 
loom over a man with an intensity far greater 
than the fears of a known and ])alpable peril. I 
examined the fastenings of the door and the win- 
dows to see whether force had been used, but 
there was no sign of such. And as I had locked 
the door when leaving and found it locked on my 
return, how had this thief found entrance e.\ce])t 
by a key? I rung the bell, but the servants were 
all in bed, and it was long before any one replied 
to my summons. Of course, servant-like, they 
had seen nothing, heard nothing. I sent for 
Deechworth he was asleep, and came unwillingly 
and angry at being routed out of bed. He, tco, 
knew nothing He questioned me closely as to 
whether I had seen the papers on my table before 
I left home for my walk, and half vexed me by 
the pertinacity of his examination, and, finally, 
bv the way in which he depreciated the value of 
my loss, and congratulated me on the circum- 
stance that nothing of real worth had been ab- 
stracted. This was too much for my patience, 
and I declared that I had rather the thief had left 
me without a coat, or without a shilling, than 
taken these precious scraps of paper. " Oh," said 
he, with a sort of sneer, "I had not the slightest 
suspicion of the value you attached to them." 
"Well, sir," said I, losing all control over my pas- 
sion, "now that you see it, now that you hear it, 
now you know it, will you tell me at what price 
you will restore them to me?"' 

"You mean that it was I who took them?" said 
he quietly, and without any show of warmth. 

"I don't suppose you will deny it," was my 
answer. 

"That will do, Mr. Gosslett," said he; "that's 



PAUL GOSSLETT'S CONFESSIONS. 



541 



quite enough. I hope to be able to teach you 
that it's one thing to det'y a board of directors, 
and it's another to defame a respectable man. 
I'll make you smart for this, sir," and with these 
words he turned away, and left the room. 

I don't know when or how the servants retired, 
whether I dismissed them, or whether they went 
of their own accord. I was like a madman. My 
, temper e,\cited to the last limits of reason, im- 
pelled me to this or that act of insanity. At one 
moment I thought of hastening after Deechworth, 
and with a revolver in my hand compelling him 
to give up the stolen papers, and I shuddered as 
to what I should do if he refused. At another, 
I determined to follow him, and offer him every- 
thing I had in the world for them: for all this 
time I had worked myself up to the conviction 
that he, and he alone, was the thief. Oh, thought 
I, if I had but the aid of one of those clever fel- 
lows of the detective order, whose skill wants but 
the faintest clue to trace out these mysteries! and 
suddenly I bethought me of Mr. Bracken, whom 
Deechworth, himself had pronounced to be "one 
of the Force." 

I rung my bell, and desired Mr. Bracken might 
be sent to me. The messenger was a long time 
absent, and came at last to say that Mr. Bracken 
had left the castle that evening, and taken all his 
luggage with him. The tidings struck me like a 
blow — here, then, was the thief! And for what 
purpose could such a theft have been accom- 
plished? "Tell Mr. Deechworth I want him," 
cried I, being no less eager to make him my 
deepest apologies for my false accusation, than 
to consult his strong common sense in my diffi- 
culty. 

The servant returned to say Mr. Deechworth 
had gone too.. He had left the castle almost im- 
mediately after our stormy interview, and was 
already miles away on his road to the Rhine. 

In my misery and desolation, in that abandon- 
ment to utter terror and confusion in which, with 
the drowning instinct, one snatches at straws, I 
sent to know if I could speak to Mrs. Dacre, or 
even her maid. How shall I describe my horror 
as I heard that they also were gone! They had 
left soon after Mr. Bracken, in fact, the post- 
horses that took them away had passed Mr. 
Bracken at the gate of the park. 

I know no more how the rest of the night was 
passed by me, how the hours were spent till day- 
break, than I could recount the incidents of de- 
lirium in fever. I must have had something like 
a paroxysm of insanity, for I appear to have 
rushed from room to room, calling for different 
people, and in tones of heartrending entreaty 
begging that I might not be deserted. Towards 
morning I slept, slept so soundly, that the noises 
of the house did not disturb me. It was 
in the afternoon when I awoke. The servant 
brought me my coffee and my letters, but I bade 
him leave me, and fell off to sleep again. In this 
way, and with only such sustenance as a cup of 
milk or coffee would afford, I passed fourteen days, 
my state resembling that of a man laboring under 
concussion of the brain; indeed, so closely did 
the symptoms resemble those of this affection, 
that the doctor carefully examined my head to 



sec whether I had not incurred some actual in- 
jury. It was five weeks before I could leave my 
bed and crawl down with difficulty to my study. 
The table was covered with the accumulated let- 
ters of thirty odd posts, and I turned over the 
envelopes, most of which indicated communica- 
tions from the company. There was also one 
in my uncle's hand. This I opened and read. 
It was in these words: — 

"So, sir, not satisfied with a life of indolence 
and dependence, you have now added infamy to 
your worthlessness, and have not even spared the 
members of your own family the contagion of 
your vice. If you can give information as to the 
present abode of your wretched victim, do so, as 
the last amends in your power, and the last act 
of reparation, before you are consigned to that 
gaol in which it is to be hoped you will end your 
days." 

I read this till my head reeled. Who were the 
members of my family I had contaminated or 
corrupted? Who was my wretched victmi? And 
why I was to die in prison I knew not. And the 
only conclusion I could draw from it all was, that 
my uncle was hopelessly mad, and ought to be 
shut up. 

A strange-looking, coarse-papered document, 
that till then had escaped my notice, now caught 
my eye. It was headed " Court of Probate and 
divorce," and set forth that on a certain day in 
term the case of " MacNamara versus MacNamara, 
Gosslett, co-respondent," would come on for trial; 
the action being to obtain a rule nisi for divorce, 
with damages against the co-respondent. 

A notice of service, duly signed by one of my 
own people, lay beside this; so that at last I got 
a faint glimmering of what my uncle meant, and 
clearly descried what was implied by my " vic- 
tim." 

I believe that most readers of the Times or 
the Mor7iing Post could finish my story; they at 
all events might detail the catastrophe with more 
patience and temper than I could. The MacNa- 
mara divorce was a nine-days' scandal. And 
"if the baseness of the black-hearted iniquity of 
the degraded creature who crept into a family as 
supplicant that he might pollute it with dishonor, 
who tracked his victim, as the Indian tracks his 
enemy, from lair to lair- — silent, stealthily, and 
with savage intensity^never faltering from any 
momentary pang of conscience, nor hesitating in 
his vile purpose from any passing gleam of vir- 
tue; if this wretch, stigmatized by nature with 
a rotten heart, and branded by a name that will 
sound appropriately in the annals of crime, for 
he is called Gosslett;" — if all this, and a great 
deal more in the same fashion, is not familiar to 
the reader, it is because he has not carefully 
sludied the Demosthenic orations of the Court 
of Arches. In one word, I was supposed to have 
engaged the affections and seduced the heart of 
Mrs. MacNamara, who was a cousin of my own, 
and the daughter of the Rev. D. Dudgeon, in 
whose house I had been "brought up," &;c. I 
had withdrawn her from her husband, and taken 
her to live with me at Lahneck under the name of 
Dacre, where our course of life — openly, fear- 
lessly infamous — was proved by a host of wit- 



542 



PAUL GOSSLETT'S CONFESSIONS. 



nesses; in particular by a certain Virginie, maid 
of the respondent, who deposed to having fre- 
quently found me at her feet, and who confessed 
to have received costly presents to seduce her 
into favoring the cause of the betrayer. Mr. 
Bracken, a retired detective, who produced what 
were called the love-letters, amused the jury con- 
siderably by his account of my mad freaks and 
love-sick performances. As for Mrs. MacNamara 
herself, she entered no appearance to the suit; 
and the decree nisi was pronounced, with dam- 
ages of five thousand pounds, against Paul Goss- 
lett, who the counsel declared was in " a position 
to pay handsomely for his vices, and who had 
ample means to afford himself the luxury of 
adultery." I was told that the mob were pre- 
pared to stone me if I had been seen; and that, 
such was the popular excitement about me, a 
strong police force was obliged to accompany a 
red-whiskered gentleman to his house because 
there was a general impression abroad that he 
was Gosslett. 

Of course I need not say I never ventured 



back to England, and I indite this, my last con- 
fession, from a small village in Bohemia, where 
I live in board — partial board it is — with a very 
humble family, who, thought not complimentary 
to me in many things, are profuse in the praises 
of my ajjpetite. 

I rarely see an English newspaper, but a Gali- 
gnani fell in my way about a week ago, in which 
I read the marriage of Mrs. MacNamara with K. 
St. John, Esq., the then secretary of Legation at 
Rio. This piece of news gave me much matter 
of reflection as to my unhappy victim, and has 
also enabled me to unseal my lips about the 
bridegroom, of whom I knew something once be- 
fore. 

The man who is always complaining is the ter- 
ror of his friends; hence, if nothing but bad luck 
attend me, I shall trouble the world no more with 
my Confessions; if Fate, however, should be 
pleased to smile ever so faintly on me, you shall 
hear once more from poor Paul Gosslett. 

THE END. 



CONTENTS. 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



Preface g 

CHAPTER PAGE 

I. — A Family Party lo 

II.— The Irish Packet 12 

III.— The Casllb .. 14 

IV.— The Breakfast 18 

V. — The Review in the Phosnix 23 

VI. — The Sham Battle. .. 25 

VII. — ^The Rooneys 29 

VIII.— The Visit 32 

IX.— The Ball 34 

X. — -A Finale to an Evening 3g 

XI. — A Negotiation 43 

XII.— A Wager 46 

XIII.— A Night of Trouble 49 

XIV.— The Parting 54 

XV.— The Letter from Home 55 

XVI. — A Morning in Town 57 

XVII. — An Evening in Town 61 

XVIII.— A Confidence 66 

XIX.— The Canal-Boat 69 

XX. — Sliannon Harbor 71 

XXI. — Loughrea 75 

XXII. — A Nloonlight Canter 79 

XXIII. — Major Mahon and his Quarters 82 

XXIV.— The Devil's Grip 84 

XXV.— The Steeple-Chase 87 

XXVI. — The Dinner Party at Mount Brown. .. 92 

XXVII.— The Race Ball 94 

XXVIII.— The Inn Fire 98 

XXIX.— The Duel 102 

XXX. — A Country Doctor 104 

XXXI.— The Letter- Bag 106 



CHAPTER 

XXXII.- 

XXXIII.- 

XXXIV.- 

XXXV.- 

XXXVI.- 

XXXVII- 

XXXVIII.- 

XXXIX.- 

XL.- 

XLI.- 

XLIL- 

XLIII- 

XLIV.- 

XLV.- 

XLVI.- 

XLVIL- 

XLVIIL- 

XLIX.- 

L.- 

LI.- 

LII.- 

LIII.- 

LIV.- 

LV.- 

LVI.- 

LVII.- 

LVIII.- 

LIX.- 

LX.- 

LXI.- 

LXIL- 



PAGK 

Bob Mahon and the Widow 109 

■The Priest's Gig Ill 

•The Mountain Pass 113 

The Journey 117 

'Murranakilty r. 122 

■Sir Simon * 124 

-St. Senan's Well 127 

■An Unlooked-for Meeting 13I 

■The Priest's Kitchen 134 

■Tipperary Joe 137 

■The High Road 138 

■The Assize Town 141 

■The Bar Dinner 142 

■The Return 144 

Farewell to Ireland 145 

■London 148 

■An Unhappy Disclosure 150 

-The Horse Ciuards 153 

■The Retreat from Burgos. ., 155 

■A Mishap 157 

The March 160 

■Vittoria 161 

•The Retreat 163 

■The Four-inHand 168 

St. Denis 1 70 

Paris in 1814 172 

•The' Roni Fete" 176 

" Frascati" 181 

DiNclnsures 186 

New Arrivals l8g 

Conclusion 191 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



Preface 193 

CHAPTER PACE 

I. — Glenflesk 194 

II. — The Wayside Inn 196 

III. — The "Cottage and the Castle" igS 

IV. — Kerry O'Leary 204 

V. — Impressions of Ireland 207 

VI.—" The Black Valley" 210 

VII. — Sir Archy's Temper Tried 214 

VIII. — The House of Sickness 218 

IX. — A Doctor's Visit 220 

X. — An Evening at "Mary" M'Kelly's 223 

XI. — Mistakes on all Sides 230 

XII. — The Glen at Midnight 234 

XIII. — " The Guardsman" 237 

XIV. — The Comments on a Hurried Depart- 
ure 240 

XV. — Some of the Pleasures of Property. . . , 243 

XVI. — The Foreign Letter '>47 

XVII. — Kate O'Donoghue 251 

XVHL— A Hasty Pledge 254 

XIX. — A Diplomatist Defeated 256 

XX. — Temptation in a Weak Hour 260 



CHAPTER PAGE 

XXI. — The Return of the Envoy 263 

XXII.— A Morning Visit 265 

XXIII. — Some Opposite Traits of Character.... 268 

XXIV.— A Walk bv Moonlight 274 

XXV.— A Day of Difficult Negotiations 275 

XXVI. — A Last Evening at Home 279 

XXVII.— A Supper Parly 282 

XXVIII.— The C.Tpilal and its Pleasures 287 

XXIX. — First Inipressirns 2g2 

XXX.— Old Characters with New Faces 294 

XXXI— .Some Hints about Harry Talbot 2g7 

XXXII. — A Presage of Danper 300 

XXXIII.— The St. Patrick's Ball 303 

X.XXIV.— The Daybreak on the Strand 309 

XXXV.— The Wanderer's Return 3^4 

XXXVI. — Suspicions on every Side 318 

XXXVII.— Hemsvorlh's Letter 321 

XXXVIIL— Tampering and Plotting 323 

XXXIX— The Brothers..: 3^7 

XL.— The Lull before the Storm 32g 

XLL— A Discovery 332 

XLIL— The Shealing 336 



CONTENTS. 



CHAPTER PACE I 

XLIII.— The Confederates 339 | 

XLIV. — The Mountain at Sunrise 340 ; 

XLV. — The Progress of Treachery 344 | 

XLVI.— The Priest's Cottage 347 I 



CHAPTER PAGK 

XLVII.— The Day of Reckoning 350 

XLVIII.— The Glen and the Bay 355 

XLIX.— The End 361 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



Preface to First Edition 365 

Preface to Second Edition 365 

CHAPTER ' PAGE 

I. — Don Pedro's Guests 366 

II. — A Challenge — And how it Ended 369 

III.— Mr. Simms on Life at the Villa 375 

IV. — The Kennyfeck Household 377 

V. — How Roland became Entitled to the 

Godfrey Browne Property 380 

VI. — A Fracas in the Helting-Ring 381 

VII. — Peeps behind the Curtain 38(1 

Vm. — Love V. Law 3S9 

IX. — An Exciting Adventure 393 

X. — The Coming Dinner Parly Discussed.. 399 

XI. — A Drive with the Ladies 403 

XIL— The Great Kennyfeck Dinner 407 

XIIL— Tnbber-I5eg 414 

XIV. — Mr. Linton Reveals his Designs 420 

XV. — At the fJaming-Tahle 425 

XVI. — What Roland Overheard at the Money 

Lenders 429 

XVII. — Scanning the Political Horizon 432 

XVIII. — " Under the Green-Wood Tree" 434 

XIX. — The Domestic Detective Cousulted... 440 
XX. — How Enrique's Letter was Lost and 

Found 444 

XXI. — The Conspirators Disturbed 447 

XXII. — Visit to the "Cashel Picture Gallery".. 449 

XXIII. — Linton Visits his Estate '. . . 457 

XXIV. — Breakfast with Mr. Corrigan 459 

XXV. ^ — Tubbermore Transformed 460 

XXVI. — Bad Generalship 463 

XXVII. — Lieutenant Sicklelon's Patent Pump.. 466 

XXVIII. — A Split in the Kennyfeck Cabinet. . . . 471 

XXIX.— Storm and Wreck 474 

XXX. — Miss Leicester's Dream and its Fulfil- 
ment 480 

XXXI. — The Guests begin to Arrive 484 

XXXII.— IIow the Visitors Fared 488 

XX.XIII. — Roland's Introduction to Mr. Corrigan 490 
XXXIV. — Roland " Hears Something to his Ad- 

vantage" 492 

XXXV.— Miss Jemima Meek 495 

XXXVI. —An " Unlimited" Monarchy 498 

XXXVII.— Lady Kilgoff at Bay 501 



CHAPTER 
XXXVIII.- 

XXXIX.- 

XL.- 

XLL- 

XLIL- 

XLIIL- 

XLIV.- 

XLV.- 

XLVL- 

XLVIL- 

XLVIII.- 

XLIX.- 

I..- 

LL- 

LIL- 

LIII.- 

LIV.- 

LV.- 

LVL- 

LVIL- 

LVIIL- 

LIX.- 
LX.- 

LXL— 

LXII. 

LXIII.— : 

LXIV.- 

LXV.- 

LXVL- 

LXVII. 

LXVIIL 

LXIX.- 

LXX. 

LXXI. 

LXXII. 



PAGE 

A Partial Recovery and a Relapse. . . . 504 

More Kennyfeck Intriguing 507 

Linton's Mysterious I Jisapi>earance. . . . 511 

The Reason of Linton's Flitting 514 

Forgery : 515 

Roland Discovers that he has Over- 
drawn 518 

-The Burnt Letter — "Great Expecta- 
tions" 521 

A Startling Intrusion 535 

Scandal and General 111 humor 529 

Shylock Demands his Bond 532 

Cigars, Ecarte, and Hazard 536 

Mr. Kennyfeck among tWe Bulls 539 

Political Aspirations 542 

A Wet Day — the False Signal 540 

The Sh.idijw in the Mirror 550 

The old Friends in Council 555 

A Tete-a-Tete interrupted 556 

Lord Kilgofl determines to "Meet" 

Roland 559 

The Second Shock 563 

•Linton iiisligalcs Ke.me to Murder.. . . 566 
-Linton is b.iffled — His Rage at the Dis- 
covery 5^9 

Giovanni Unmasked 573 

■Tiernav intimidated — The abstracted 

Deeds 577 

An Understanding between the Dupe 

and his Victim 5^3 

Murder of Mr. Kennyfeck — Cashel de- 
tained on Suspicion 586 

Scene of the Murder — The Coroner's 

Verdict 59" 

The Trial— The Prosecution 59<> 

The Defence 603 

"Not Guilty" 607 

On the Track 1)10 

-La Ninetta • • • • ^"3 

The Fate of Keane — His Deposition. . 616 

■The " Bank of Rouge et Noir" 621 

■A rrest of Linton 623 

All Mystery ceasei — Marriage and Gen- 
eral Joy 628 




.JAr OW/fr J/////^///>//a^^t/i^ (2}'/^^^^^' 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



PREFACE. 

The unlooked-for favor with which the public received 
Charles O'Malley, and the pleasant notices forwarded to 
mc from my publisher, gave me great courage: and wnen 
asked if I could be ready by a certain dale with a new story, 
I never hesitated to say, Yes. My first thought wns;, that 
in the campaign of the Great Napoleon, I might find what 
would seive as a "pendant" to the story I had just com- 
pleted, and that by making — as there would he no impro- 
priety in doing — an Irishman a .soldier of France, I could 
still have on my side certain sympathies of my reader which 
would not so readily attach to a foreigner. I surrounded my- 
self at once with all the histories and memoirs I could lind 
of the Consulate and the Empire; and, so far as I could, 
withdrew my mind from questions of home interest, and 
hved entirely amidst the mighty events that began at .Ma- 
rengo and ended at Waterloo. 

Whether I failed to devise such a narrative as I needed, or 
whether — and I suspect this must have been the real reason 
— I found that the vastness of the theme overpowered me, 
I cannot at this distance of time remember. l^»ut so it was, 
ihat r found much time had slipped over, and that beyond 
-Nomefew notes and some scattered references, I had actually 
done nothnig; and my publisher had applied to me for the 
title of my siory for advertisement, before I had begun or 
written one line of it. 

S*inie disparaging remarks on Ireland and Irishmen in the 
l.ondon pri'ss, nnc very unfrequent at the time, nar alto- 
gether obsolete even now, had provoked me at the moment; 
and tlie sudden thought occurred of a reprisal by showing 
the many instances in which the Englishman would almost 
M necessity mistake and misjudge my countr}'men. and that 
out of these blunders and misapprehensions, situations 
might arise that, if weldeil into a story, might be made to 
l>e amuslnsj. I knew that there was not a class nor a con- 
dition in Ireland which had not marked differences from 
tlu: (-"rrelative rank in England; and that not only the Irish 
^'luiri'. the Irish priest, nnd the Irish peasant, were unlike 
anything in the larger island, but that the Dublin proft-s- 
siunjl man. tiie ofVicial, and the shopkeeper had traits and 
(ii>.tinction> essentially their own. I had frequently heaid 
opinions pronounced on Irish habits which I could easily 
trace to that quizzing habit of my countrymen, who never 
can deny themselves the enjoyment of playing on the 
or.'dulity of the traveller — all the more eagerly when thev 
see his note-book taken out to record their shortcomings 
and absurdities. 

'rht:se thoughts suggested Jack Hinton. and led me to 
turn from my intention to follow the French arms, or 
rather to postpone the plan to another opportunity, for it 
U:i<l got too strong hold on me to be utterly abandoned. 

I have already acknowledged, in a former notice to this 
■.lory, that I strayed from the path I had determined on, 
and with very little reference to my original intention, suf- 
fered Tnyhero to take his chance among the natives. In- 
deerl, I soon found him too intensely engaged in the cares of 
selfqireservation to have much time or taste for criticism on 
his neighi^ors. 

1 have owned elsewhere, that for Mr. Paul Rooney, 
Father Tom Loftus, Bob Mahon. O'Grady, Tipperary Joe. 
.uid even Corny Delany, I had not to draw on imagina- 
i;on. but I never yet heard one correct guess as to the 
tiriginals. While on this theme, I may recall an incident 



which occurred about three years after the story was pub- 
lished, and which, if only for the trait of good humor it 
displayed, is worth remembering. I was making a little 
rambling tour through Ireland with my wife, following for 
the most part, the seaboard, and only taking such short 
cuts inland as should bring us to some spot of especial in- 
terest. We journeyed with our own horses, and conse- 
quently rarely exceeded five-and-twcnty or thirty miles in 
a day. While I was thus refreshing many an old memory, 
and occasionally acquiring some new experience, the ramble 
interested me much. It was in the course of this almost 
capricious journey — for we really had nothing like a plan 
— we reached the little town of Gort, where, to rest our 
horses, we were obliged to remain a day. 1 here was net 
much to engage attention in the pisce. It was, perhaps, 
less marked by poverty than most Irish towns of its class, 
and somewhat cleaner snd more orderly; but the same 
distinctive signs were there of depression, the same look 
of inertness that one remarks almost universally through 
the land. 

In strolling half listlessly about on the outskirts of the 
town, we were overtaken by a heavy thunderstorm, and 
driven to take shelter in a little shop where a number of 
other people had also sought refuge. As \vc stood there, 
an active-looking but elderly mnn in the neat black of an 
ecclesiastic, and with a rosetie in his hat, politely ad- 
dressed us; and proposed that instead of standing there in 
the crowtl we would accept the ho:^pitality of his lodging, 
which was in the s.ime house, till such time ?.s the storm 
should have passed over. His manner, his voice, and his 
general appearance convinced me he was a dignitary of our 
church. I thanked him at once for his courtesy and ac- 
cepted his offer. He proceeded to show us the way, and 
we entered a very comfortably furnished sitting-room 
where a pleasant fire was burning, and sat down well 
pleased with our good fortune. 

While we chatted freely over the weather and the crops, 
some chance expression escaped me to show that I had re- 
garded him as a clergyman of the established Church. He 
at once, but with peculiar delicacy, hastened to correct my 
mistake and introduced himself as the Roman Catholic 
Dean O'Shaughnessy. " I am aware whom I am speaking 
to," added he, pronouncing my name. Before I could 
express more than my surprise at being recognized where 
I had not one acquaintance, he explained that he had read 
of my being in the neighborhood in some local paper, 
which described our mode of travelling, and led him at 
once to guess our identity. 

After a few very flattering remarks on the pleasure 
something of mine had afforded him. he said, *' You 
are very hard upon us, Mr. Lever. You never let us 
off easily, but I assure you for all that wc ber-.r you 
no ill-will. There is a strong national tie betwecr, us, and 
we can stand a great deal of quizzing for th^ sake of that 
bond." 

I knew that he was alluding to his order, and when I said 
something — I cannot remember what — about the freedoms 
that fiction led to, he stopped, saying, "Well! well! The 
priests are not ver)' angry with you after all; if it wasn't for 
one thing." 

"Oh. I know," cried I, *' that stupid stoiy of Father 
Darcy and the Pope." 

"No. no, not that; we laughed at that as much as any 
Protestant of you all. What we couldn't bear so well was 
ixn ugly remark you made in ' Harry Lorrcqucr,* where— 



10 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



when there was a row at a wake and the money was scat- 
tered over the floor — you say that the priest gathered more 
than his share because — and iiere was the bitterness — old 
habit had accustomed him to scrape up his corn in low 
places! Now, Mr. Lever, that was not fair, it was not 
generous, surely." 

The good temper and the gentleman-Iike quietness of the 
charge made me very uncomiortable at the time, and now, 
after many years, I recall the incident to show the impres- 
sion it made on me — the only atonement I can make for 
the flippancy. 

I had begun this story of Jack Hinton at Brussels, but 
on a proposition made to me by the puljlisher and proprie- 
tor of the Diililin Mugaziite to take the editorship of that 
Journal, I determined to return to Ireland. 

To do this I was not alone to change my abode and 
country, but to alter the whole destiny of my life. I was 
at the time a practising physician attached to the British 
Legation, with the best practice of any Englishman in the 
place, a most pleasant society, and. what I valued not less 
than them all, the intimacy of the most agreeable and com- 
panionable man I ever knew in my life, whose friendship I 
have never ceased to treasure with pride and affection. I 
dedicated to liim my first book, and it is with deep gratitu<le 
and pleasure I recall him while I give tlie last touches to 
these volumes. 

There is one character in this story, and only one, to 
which imagination contributed scarcely anything in the 
portraiture, tliough I do not pretend to say that the situa- 
tions in which I have placed him are derived from facts. 
Tipperary Joe was a real personage; and if there are among 
my readers any who roinember the old coaching days 
between Dublin and Kilkenny, they cannot fail to recall 
the curious fij;ure, clad in a scarlet hunting coat, and black 
velvet cap. who used, at the stage between Carlow and the 
Royal Oak, to emerge from some field beside the road, 
and after a trot of a mile or so beside the horses, crawl up 
at the back of t'le coach and over the roof, collecting what 
he called his r.;nt from the passengers. A very humble 
tribute generally, but the occasion ftjr a good deal of jest- 
ing and merriment; — not diminished if by any accident an 
English traveller were present, who could neither compre- 
hend the relations between Joe and the gentlemen, nor 
the marvellous freedom with which this poor ragged fellow 
discussed the passengers and their opinions. 

Joe — I must call him so, for his real name has escaped 
me — -once came to see me in Trinity College, and was curi- 
ous to visit the chapel, the library, and the examinaliun 
hall. I will not pretend that I undertook my office of 
cicerone without some misgivings, for though I was pre- 
pared to endure all the qui/./.ings of my friends and ac- 
quaintances, I was not quite at my ease as to how the au 
thorities — the dons — as they are called elsewhere, would 
regard this singular apparition within academic precincts. 
Joe's respectful manner, and an air of interest that bespoke 
how much the place engaged his curiosity, soon set me at 
ease, while the ready tact with which he recognized and 
uncovered to such persons as held" rank or station, at once 
satisfied me that I was incurring no risk whatever in my 
office of guide. 

The kitchen and the sight of those gigantic spits, on 
which a whole series of legs of mutton were turning slowly, 
overcame all the studied reserve of his manner, ami he 
burst out into a most enthusiastic encomium on the merits 
of an institution so admirably suited to satisfy human re- 
quirements. 

When he learned, from what source I do not know, that 
I h-td put him in a book, he made it — not unreasonably, 
perhaps — the ground of a demand on my purse, and if the 
talented artist who had illustrated the tale had been .acces- 
sible to him, I suspect that he, too. would have had to sub- 
mit to the levy of a blackmail; all the more heavily, as 
Joe was by no means pleased with a portrait which really 
only self-flattery could have objected to. 

Hablot K. Browne never saw him, and yet in his sketch 
of him standing to say his "good-bye" to Jack Hinton, at 
Kingston, he has caught the character of his figure and 
the moping lounge of his attitude to perfection. Indeed, 
though there is no resemblance in the face to Joe, the 
pose of the he.ad and the position of the limbs recall him 
at once. 

I have already said elsewhere that the volume amused 
me while I was writing it. Indeed, I had not at that time 



exhausted, if I had even tapped, the cask of a buoyancy 
of temperament which carried me along through my tlaiU- 
life in the sort of spirit one rides a fresh horse over a 
swelling sward. If this confession will serve to apologize 
for the want of studied coherency in the narrative, and the 
reckless speed in which events succeed events throughout, 1 
shall deem myself much indebted to the generous indulg- 
ence of my readers. 

I am now, so far as this book is concerned, at the end < i 
my explanations. My excuses for its shortcomings, its 
errors, and extravagances, would not — were 'I to undertake 
them — be so easily dismissed. For my reader's sake, and 
for my own, I will not enter upon them, but write myself 
— for the favor which has not remembered these blemishes, ^ 
nor suffered them to damage the tale in its effect as a 
whole — 

Most gratefully and sincerely, 



Trieste, 1872. 



CHARLES LEVER. 



CHAPTER I. 



A FAMILY PARTY. 



It was on a dark and starless night in February, 
iSi — , as the last carriage of a dinrer-party had 
driven f.rom the door of a large house in St. 
James's square, when a parly drew closer around 
the drawing-room fire, apparently bent upon thtit 
easy and familiar chit-ch,at the presence of com- 
pany interdicts. 

One of these was a large and fine-looking man 
of about five-and-forty, who, dressed in the full 
uniform of a general officer, wore besides the 
ribbon of the Bath; he leaned negligently upon 
the chimney-piece, and, with his back towards 
the fire, Fecnied l6 follow the current of his own 
reflections: this was my father. 

Beside liim, but almost concealed in the deep 
recess of a well-cushioned aimchair, sat, or rather 
lav, a graceful figure, who with an air of languid 
repose was shading her fine ccniplexion as well 
from the glare of the fire as from the trjing bril- 
liancy of an argand lamp upon the mantelpieco. 
Her rich dress, resjilendent with jewels, while it 
strangely contrasted with the careless ease of her 
attitude, also shewed that she had bestowed a 
more than common attention that day upon her 
toilette: this, fair reader, was my moiher. 

Opposite to her, and disposed in a position of 
r.Tther studied gracefulness, lounged a tall, thin, 
fashionable-looking man, with a dark olive com- 
plexion, and a short black moustache. He wore 
in tlie btitlon-hole of his blue coat the ribbon of 
St. T.otiis. 'J'he Count de Granimont, for such he 
was, was an c'iiit\Q;re noble, who, attached to the 
fortunes of the Bourbons, had resided for some 
years in London, and who, in the double capacity 
of adviser of my father and admirer of my lady-' 
mother, obtained a considerable share of inntiencc 
in the family and a seat at its councils. 

At a little distance from the rest, and appar- 
ently engaged with her embroidery, sat a very 
beautiful girl, whose dark hair and long lashes 
deepened the seeming paleness of features a Greek 
sculptormight have copied. While nothingcould 
be more perfect than the calm loveliness of her 
face and the delicate pencilling of her slightly- 
arched eyebrows, an accurate observer could de- 



JACK HINION, THP: GUARDSMAN. 



■11 



tect that her tremulous lip occasioiiallj' curled 
with a passing expression of half scorn, as from 
time to time she turned her eyes towards each 
speaker in turn, wiiile she herself maintained a 
perfect silence. My cousin, Lady Julia Egerton, 
had indeed but that one fault; shall I venture to 
call by so harsh a name that spirit of gentle malice 
which loved to look for the ludicrous features of 
everything around her, and inclined her to in- 
dulge what the French call the esprit moqueur 
even on occasions where her own feelings were 
interested ? 

The last figure of the group was a stripling of 
some nineteen years, who, in the uniform ot the 
Guards, was endeavoring to seem perfectly easy 
and unconcerned, while it was evident that his 
sword-knot divided his attention witli some secret 
thoughts that rendered liim anxious and excited: 
this was myself ! 

A silence of some moments was at length broken 
by my mother, who, with a kind of sigh Miss 
O'Neill was fond of, turned towards the count, 
and said — ■ 

" Do confess, count, we were all most stupid 
to-day. Never did a dinner go off so heavily. 
But it's always the penalty one pays for a royal 
duke. A propos, general, what did he say of 
Jack's appointment?" 

" Nothing could be more kind, nothing more 
generous than his royal highness. The very first 
thing he did in the room was to place this de- 
spatch in my hands. This, Jack," said my father, 
turning tome, "this is your appointment as an 
extra aide-de-camp." 

"Very proper, indeed," interposed my mother; 
"I am very liappy to think you'll be about the 
Court. Windsor, to be sure, is stupid." 

" He is not likely to see much of it," said my 
father, dryly. 

"Oh, you think he'll be in town then?" 

"Why, not exactly that either." 

"Then, what can you mean?" said she, with 
more of animation than before. 

" Simply, that his appointment is on the staff 
in Ireland." 

"In Ireland!" repeated my mother, with a 
tragic start. " In Ireland!" 

"In Ireland!" said Lady Julia, in a low, soft 
voice. 

" En Irlande!" echoed the count, with a look 
of well got up horror, as he elevated his eye- 
brows to the very top of his forehead; while I 
myself, to whom the communication was as sud- 
den and as unexpected, assumed a kind of sol- 
dierlike indifference, as though to say, " What, 
matters it to me? what do I care for the rigors 
of climate? the snows of the Caucasus, or the 
suns of Bengal, are quite alike; even Ireland, if 
liis Majesty's service require it." 

" Ireland?" repea-ted mv mother once more; " I 
really never heard anything so very shocking. 
But, my dear Jack, you can't think of it. Surely, 
general, you had presence of mind to decline." 

"To accept, nnd to thank most gratefully his 
royal highness for such a mark of his favor, for 
this I had cpiite presence of mind," said my 
f.Tther. somewhat haughtily. 

" .\nd you really will go. Jack?" 



" Most decidedly," said I, as I put on a kind 
of Godefroyde Bouillon look, and strutted about 
the room. 

"And pray what can induce you to such a 
step?" 

" Oui, 'que diable allait-il faire dans cctte 
galere?' " said the count. 

"By Jove!" cried my father, hastily, "you arc 
intolerable; you wished your boy to be a Guards- 
man in opposition to mydesiie for a regiment on 
service. You would have him an aide-de-cani|j: 
now he is both one and the other. In Heaven's 
name, what think ye of getting him made a lady 
of the bedchamber? for it's the only ajipoint- 
ment I am aware of " 

"You are too absurd, general," said my 
mother, pettishly. " Count, pray touch the bell: 
the fire is so very hot, and I really was quite un- 
prepared for this piece of news." 

"And you, Julia," said I, leaning over the 
back of my cousin's chair, "what do you say to 
all this?" 

"I've just been thinking what a pity it is I 
should have wasted all my skill and my worsted 
on this foolish rug, while I could ha.ve been em- 
broidering a gay banner for our young knight 
bound for the wars. 'Partant pour la Syrie,' " 
hummed she, half pensively, while I could see a 
struggling effort to su|ipress a laugh. I turned 
indignantly away, and walked towards the fire, 
where the count was expending his consolations 
on my mother. 

" After all, Miladi, it is not so bad as you 
think in the provinces; I once spent three weeks 
in Brittany, very pleasantly indeed: otii, panlieu, 
it's quite true. To be sure, we had Perlet, and 
Mademoiselle Mars, and got up the Precieuscs 
Ridicules as well as in Paris." 

The application of this very apposite fact to 
Ireland was clearly satisfactory to my motlier. 
who smiled benignly at the speaker, while my 
father turned upon him a look of the most inde- 
scribable import. 

" Jack, my boy!" said he, taking roe by the 
sfrm, "were I your age, and had no immediate 
prospect of active service, I should prefer Ire- 
land to any country in the world. I have plenty 
of old friends on the staff there. The duke 
himself was my schoolfellow " 

"I hope he will be properly attentive," inter- 
rupted my mother. " Dear Jack, remind me to- 
morrow to write to Lady Mary." 

" Don't mistake the country you are going to." 
continued my father; " you will find many things 
very different from what you are leaving; and. 
above all, be not over ready to resent, as an in- 
jury, what may merely be intended as a joke: 
your brother officers will always guide you on 
these points." 

" .\nd above all things," said my mother, with 
great earnestness, "do not adopt that odious 
fashion of wearing their hair. I've seen nitni- 
bers of both Houses, and particularly that little 
man they talk so much of, Mr. Grattan, I belicxe 
they call him- " 

" Make your mind perfectly easy on that head, 
my lady," said my father, dryly, " your son is not 
particularly likely to resemble Henry Grattan." 



12 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



My cousin Julia alone seemed to relish the 
tone of sarcasm he spoke in, for she actually be- 
stowed on him a look of almost grateful ac- 
knowledgment. 

"The carriage, my lady," said the servant. 
And at the s.nme moment my mother, possibly 
not sorry to cut short the discussion, rose from 
her chair. 

" Do you intend to look in at the duchess 's, 
general .■'" 

" For half an hour," replied my father; "after 
that I have my letters to write. Jack, you know, 
leaves us to-morrow." 

" 'Tis really very provoking," said my mother, 
turning at the same time a look towards the 
count. 

"A vos ordres, madame," said he, bowing with 
an air of most deferential politeness, while he 
presented his arm for her acceptance. 

"Good-night, then," cried I, as the party left 
the room; "I have so much to do and to think 
of, I shan't join you." I turned to look for Lady 
Julia, but she was gone, when and how I knew 
not; so I sat down at the fire to ruminate alone 
over my present position, and my prospects for 
the future. 

****** 

These few and imperfect passages may put the 
reader in possession of some, at least, of the cir- 
cumstances which accompanied my outset iji 
life; and if they be not sufficiently explicit, I can 
only say, tliat he knows fully as much of me as 
at the period in question I did of myself. 

At Eton, I had been what is called rather a 
smart boy, but incorrigibly idle; at Sandhurst, 
t showed more ability, and more disinclination 
to learn. By the favor of a royal duke (who had 
been my godfather), my commission in a march- 
ing regiment was exchanged for a lieutenancy in 
the Guards; and at the time I write of I had 
been some six months in the service, which I 
spent in all the whirl and excitement of London 
society. My father, who, besides being a dis- 
tinguished officer, was one of the most iiopular 
men among the clubs, my mother, a London 
beauty of some twenty years' standing, were 
claims sufficient to ensure me no common share 
iif attention, while I added to the number what, 
in my own estimation at least, were certain very 
derided advantages of a purely personal nature. 

To obviate, as far as might be, the evil results 
ot such a career, my father secretly asked for the 
appointment on the staff of the noble duke then 
viceroy of Ireland, in preference to what my 
mother contemplated — my being attached to the 
rnyal household. To remove me alike from the 
enervating influence of a mother's vanity, and the 
extravagant profusion and voluptuous abandon- 
ment of London habits, this was his obiect. He 
calculated, too, that by new ties, new associations, 
and new objects of ambition, 1 should be Ijctler 
prepared, and more desirous of that career of 
real service to w-hich in his heart he destined 
me. These were his notions, at least: the result 
must be gleaned from my story. 



CHAPTER II. 



THE IRISH PACKET. 



A FEW nights after the conversation I have 
briefly alluded to, and pretty much about the 
same hour, I aroused myself from the depression 
of nearly thirty hours' sea-sickness, on hearing 
that at length we were in the bay of Dublin. 
Hitherto I had never left the precincts of the 
narrow den denominated my berth; but now I 
made my way eagerly on deck, anxious to catch 
a glimpse, however faint, of that bold coast I had 
more than once heard compared with, or even 
preferred to, Naples. The night, however, vas 
falling fast, and, worse still, a i)erfect downpour 
of rain was falling with it; the sea ran high, and 
swept the little craft from stem to stern; the spars 
bent like whips, and our single tcpsail strained 
and stretched as though at every fresh plunge it 
would part company with us altogether. No 
trace or outline of the coast could I detect on 
any side; a deep red light appearing and di.'ap- 
pearing at intervals, as we rode upon or sank 
beneath the trough of the sea, was all that my 
eye could perceive: this the dripping helmsman 
briefly informed me was the " Kith," but, as he 
seemed little disposed for ccnveisation, 1 was 
left to my unassisted ingenuity to make out 
whether it represented any point of the capital 
we were approaching or not. 

The storm of wind and rain increasing at each 
moment, drove me once more back to the cabin, 
where, short as had been the period of my ab- 
sence, the scene had undergone a most important 
change. Up to this moment my sufferings and my 
seclusion gave me little leisure or opportunity to 
observe my fellow-travellers. The stray and 
scattered fragments of conversation that reached 
me, rather puzzled than enlightened me. Of the 
tojucs which I innocently supposed occupied all 
human attention, not a word was dropped; Carl- 
ton House was not once mentioned; the St. Leger 
and the Oaks not even alluded to; whether the 
Prince's breakfast was to ccme cff at Knights- 
bridge or Frogmore, no one seemed to know, or 
even care; nor was a hint dropped as to the 
fashion of the new bearskins the Guards were to 
sport at the review on Hounslow. The price of 
pigs, however, in Ballinaslce, they were perffct 
in. Of a late row in Kil — something, where 
one-half of the population had massacred the 
other, they knew everything, even to the names 
of the defunct. A few of the better dressfd 
chatted over country matters, from which I could 
glean that game and gentry were growing gradu- 
ally scarcer, but a red-nosed, fat old gentleman, 
in rusty black and high boots, talked down the 
others by an eloquent account of the mawling 
that he, a certain Father Tom Loftus, had given 
the Reverend Paul Strong, at a late controversial 
meeting in the Rotunda. 

Through all this " bald, disjointed chat." un- 
: ceasing demands were made for bottled porter, 
' "uKitarials," or spirits and wather, of which, were 
I to judge from the frequency of the requests, 
I the consumption must have been awful. 
I There would seem something in the very atti- 



JACK HINTON. THE GUARDSMAN. 



13 



tude of lying down that induces reflection, and, 
thus stretched at full length in my berth, I could 
not help ruminating upon the land I was ap- 
proaching, in a spirit which, I confess, accorded 
much more with my mother's prejudices than my 
father's convictions. From the few chance 
phrases dropped around me, it appeared that 
even the peaceful pursuits of a country market, 
or the cheerful sports of the field, were followed 
up in a spirit of recklessness and devilment; so 
that many a head that left home without a care 
went back with a crack in it. But to return 
once more to the cabin. It must be borne in 
mind that some thirty odd years ago the passage 
between JJverpool and Dublin was not, as at 
present, the rapid flight of a dozen hours, from 
shore to shore; where, on one evening, you left 
the thundering din of wagons, and the iron 
crank of cranes and windlasses, to wake the ne.xt 
morning with the rich brogue of Paddy floating 
softly around you. Far from it! the thing was 
then a voyage. You took a solemn leave ofyour 
friends, you tore yourself from the embraces of 
your family, and, with a tear in your eye and a 
hamper on your arm, you betook yourself to the 
pier to watch, with an anxious and a beating heart, 
every step of the three hours' proceeding that 
heralded your departure. In those days there 
was some honor in being a traveller, and the man 
who had crossed the Channel a couple of times 
became a kind of Captain Cook among his ac- 
quaintances. 

The most singular feature of the whole, how- 
ever, and the one to which I am now about to al- 
lude,' proceeded from the fact that the steward in 
those days, instead of the extensive resources of 
the present period, had little to offer you, save 
some bad brandy and a biscuit, and each travel- 
ler had to look to his various wants with an ac- 
curacy and foresight that required both tact and 
habit. The mere demands of hunger and thirst 
were not only to be considered in the abstract, 
but a point of far greater difficulty, the probable 
length of the voyage, was to be taken into con- 
sideration, so that you bought your beefsteaks 
with your eye upon the barometer, and laid in 
your mutton by the age of the moon. While 
thus the agency of the season was made to react 
upf>n your stomach, in a manner doubtless highly 
conducive to the interests of science, your part 
became one of the most critical nicety. 

Scarce were you afloat, and on the high seas. 
when your appetite was made to depend on the 
aspect of the weather. Did the wnid blort' fresh 
and f^^ir, you ate away with a careless ease and a 
happy conscience, highly beneficial to voiir 
digestion. With a glance through the skylight at 
the blue heaven, with a sly look at the prosper- 
ous dog-vane, you helped yourself to the liver 
wing, and took an extra glass of your sherrv. 
[,et the breeze fall, however, let a calm come on, 
or, worse still, a trampling noise on deck, and a 
certain rickety motion of the craft betoken a 
change of wind, the knife and fork fell listlessly 
from your hand, the uplifted cutlet was consigned 
to your plate, the very spoonful of gra\ v voii had 
devoured in imagination was dropped upon the 
dish, and you replaced the cork in vour bottle. 



with the sad sigh of a man who felt that, instead 
of his income, he has been living on the princi 
pal of his fortune. 

Happily, there is a reverse to the medal, and 
this it was to which now my attention was di- 
rected. The trip, as occasionally hajipened, was 
a rapid one; and while under the miserable im- 
pression that a fourth part of the journey had 
not been accomplished, we were blessed with the 
tidings of land. Scarcely was the word uttered, 
when it flew from mouth to mouth; and 1 thought 
I could trace the elated look of proud and happ-\ 
hearts, as home drew near. What was my sui- 
prise, however, to see the enthusiasm take 
another and very different channel. With one 
accord a general rush was made upon the hampers 
of prog. Baskets were burst open on every side. 
Sandwiches and sausages, porter bottles, cold 
punch, chickens, and hard eggs, were strewn 
about with a careless and reckless profusion; 
none seemed too sick or too sore for this general 
epidemic of feasting. Old gentlemen sat up in 
their beds and bawled for beef; children of 
tender years brandished a drumstick. Individuals 
who but a short half-hour before seemed to have 
made a hearty meal, testif'ed by the ravenous ex- 
ploits of their appetites to their former forbearance 
and abstemiousness. Even the cautious little man 
in the brown spencer, who wrapped up the remnant 
of his breakfast in the Times, now opened his whole 
store, and seemed bent upon a day of rejoicing. 
Never was such a scene of riotous noise aid 
tumultuous mirth. Those who scowled at each 
other till now, hob-nobbed across the table; ar.d 
simpering old maids cracked merry thoughts 
with gay bachelors, without even a passing fear 
for the result. '"Thank Heaven," said I, aloud, 
"that I see all this with my sense and my intel- 
lects clear about me. Had I suddenly awoke 
to such a prospect from the disturbed slumber of 
sickness, the chances were ten to one I had 
jumped overboard, and swam for my life. In 
fact, it could convey but one image to the mind, 
such as we read of. when some infuriated and 
reckless men, despairing of safety, without a ho[;e 
left, resolve upon closing life in the mad orgies 
of drunken abandonment. 

Here were the meek, the tranquil, the humble- 
minded, the solitary, the sea-sick, all suddenly 
converted into riotous and roystering feasters. 
The lips that scarcely moved, now blew the froth 
from a porter cup with the blast of a Boreas: 
and even the small urchin in the green face anti 
nankeen jacket, bolted hard eggs with the dex- 
terity of a clown in a pantomime. The end ct 
all things (eatable) had certainly come. Chickens 
were dismembered like felons, and even jokt s 
and witticisms were bandied upon the victuals. 
" What, if even yet," thought I, " the wind should 
change!" The idea was a malicious one, too 
horrible to indulge in. At this moment the noi.'^e 
.nnd turmoil on deck apprised me that our voyage 
was near its termination. 

The night, as I have said, was dark and storm) . 
It r.iined too — as it knows only how to rain in 
Ireland. There was that steady persistence, that 
)icrsevering mf notonv of downpour, which, not 
satisfied with wetting you to the skin, seems bent 



14 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



upon converting youv very blood into water. The 
wind swept in long and moaning gusts along the 
bleak pier, which, late and inclement as it was, 
seemed crowded with people. Scarcely was a 
rope thrown ashore, when we were boarded on 
every side, by the rigging, on the shrouds, over 
the bulwarks, from the anchor to the taffrail; 
the whole population of the island seemed to 
flock in upon us; while sounds of welcome and 
recognition resounded on all sides — 

"How are you. Mister Maguire?" "Is the 
mistress with you'" " Is that you, Mr. Tierney?" 
"How are you, ma'am?" "And yourself, 
Tim?" " Beautiful, glory be to God!" "A great 
passage, entirely, ma'am." "Nothing but rain 
since I seen you." " Take the trunks up to 
Mrs. Turnstall; and, Tim, darling, oysters and 
punch for four." 

"Great mercy!" said I, "eating again!" 

" Morrisson, your honor," said a ragged ruffian, 
nudging me bv the elbow. 

" Rfcilly, sir; isn't it? It's me, sir — the Club. 
I'm the man always drives your honor!" 

" Arrah, howld your prate," said a deep 
voice, "the gentleman hasn't time to bless him- 
self." 

" It's me, sir; Owen Daly, that has the black 
horse." 

"More by token, with a s[)uvin," whispered 
another; while a roar of laughter followed the 
joke. 

"A car, sir — take you up in five minutes." 

"A chaise, your honor — do the thing dacently." 

Now, whether my hesitation at this moment 
was set down by the crowd of my solicitors to 
some doubt of my solvency or not, I cannot say; 
but true it is, their tone of obsequious entreatv 
gradually changed into one of rather caustic 
criticism. 

"Maybe it's a gossoon you'd like to carry the 
little trunk." 

" Let him alone; it's only a carpet-bag; he'll 
carry it himself." 

" Don't you see? the gentleman would rather 
walk; and as the night is fine, 'tis pleasanter — 
and — cheaper." 

"Take you for a fipp'ny bit and a glass of 
sparits," said a gruff voice in my ear. 

By this time I had collected my luggage to- 
gether, whose imposing appearance seemed once 
more to testify in my favor, particularly the case 
of my cocked-hat, which to my ready-witted ac- 
quaintances proclaimed me a military man. A 
general rush was accordingly made upon my lug- 
gage; and while one man armed himself with a 
portmanteau, another laid hands on a trunk, a 
third a carpet-bag, a fourth a gun-case, and so 
on until I found myself keeping -watch and ward 
over my epaulet-case and my rimbrella, the sole 
remnant of my effects. At the same moment a 
burst of laughter and a half shout broke from the 
crowd, and a huge, powerful fellow jumped on 
the deck, and, seizing me by the arm, cried out, — 

■"Come along now, captain, it's all right. This 
way — tliis way, sir." 

" But why am I to go with you?" said I, vainly 
struggling to escape his grasp. 

"Why, is it?" said he, with a chuckling laugh; 



"reason enough — didn't we toss up for ye, and 

didn't I win ye?" 

" Win me!" . 

".'Vy; just that same." 

By this time I found myself beside a car, upon 
which all my luggage was already placed. 

"Get up, now," said he. 

" It's a beautiful car, and a dhry cushion," added 
a voice near, to the manifest mirth of the by- 
standers. 

Delighted to escape my tormentors, I sprang up 
opposite to him, wliile a cheer, mad and wild 
enough for a tribe of Iroquois, yelled behind us. 
.\way we rattled over the pavement, without lamn 
or lantern to guide our path, while the sea dashed 
its foam across our faces, and the rain beat in tor- 
rents upon our backs. 

"Where to, captain?" inquired my companion, 
as he plied his whip without ceasing. 

" The Castle; you know where that is?" 

" Faix I ought," was the reply. "Ain't I there 
at the levees. But howld fast, your honor; the 
road isn't good; and there is a hole somewhere 
hereabouts." 

"A hole! For heaven's sake, take care. Do 
you know where it is?" 

"Begorra! you're in it," was the answer; and, 
as he spoke, the horse went down head foremost, 
the car after him; away flew the driver on one 
side, while I myself was shot some half-dozen 
yards on the other, a perfect avalanche of trunks, 
boxes, and portmanteaux rattling about my 
doomed head. A crashing shower of kicks, the 
noise of the flying splinters, and the imprecations 
of the carman, were the last sounds I heard, as a 
heavy im])erial full of books struck me on the 
head, and laid me prostrate. 

Through my half consciousness, I could still 
feel the rain as it fell in sheets; the heavy plash 
of the sea sounded in my ears; but, somehow, a 
feeling like sleepiness crept over me, and 1 be- 
came insensible. 



CHAPTER III. 



THE CASTLE. 



When I next came to my senses, I found my- 
self lying upon a sofa in a large room, of whi( h 
I appeared the only occupant. A confused and 
misty recollection of rny accident, some scattere<l 
fragments of my voyage, and a rather aching 
sensation in my head, were the only impressions 
of which I was well conscious. The last even- 
ing I spent at home was full in my memory, ard 
I could not help thinking over my poor mothoi's 
direful anticipations in my vain endeavors to pene- 
trate what I felt had been a misfortune of sonic 
kind or other. The mystery was, however, too 
deep for my faculties; and so, in despair of un- 
ravelling the past, I set myself to work to decipher 
the present. The room, I have already said, was 
large; and the ceiling, richly stuccoed and orna- 
mented, spoke of a day whose architecture was 
of a grand and massive character. The fiirni- 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



15 



ture, now old and time-worn had once been hand- 
some, even magnificent — rich curtains of lieav v 
brocaded silk, with deep gold fringes, gorgeously 
carved and gilded ciiairs, in the taste of Louis 
XV.; marble consoles stood between the windows, 
and a mirror of gigantic proportions occupied the 
chimney-breast. Years and neglect had not only 
done their worst, but it was evident that the hand 
of devastation had also been at work. The mar- 
bles were cracked; few of the chairs were avail- 
able for use; the massive lustre, intended to shine 
with a resplendent glare of fifty wax-lights, was 
now made a resting-place for shakos, bearskins, 
and foraging caps; an ominous-looking star in 
the looking-glass bore witness to the bullet of a 
pistol; and the very CuiJids carved upon the 
frame, who once were wont to smile blandly at 
each other, were now disfigured with cork mous- 
taches, and one of them even carried a short pipe 
in his mouth. Swords, sashes, and sabretasches, 
spurs and shot-belts, with guns, fishing-tackle, 
and tandem whips, were hung here and there 
upon the walls, which themselves presented the 
strangest spectacle of all, there not being a por- 
tion of them uiioccupied by caricature sketches, 
executed in every imaginable species of taste, 
style, and coloring. Here was a field-day in the 
Park, in which it was easy to see the prominent 
figures were portraits; there an enormous nose, 
surmounted by a grenadier cap, was passing in 
review some trembling and terrified soldiers. In 
another, a commander of the forces was seen 
galloping dow.i the lines, holding on by the pom- 
mel of tlie saddle. Over the sofa I occupied, a 
lev^e at the Castle was displayed, in which, if the 
company were not villanously libelled, the viceroy 
had little reason to be proud of his guests. There 
were also dinners at the Lodge; guards relieved 
by wine puncheons dressed up like field-officers; 
the whole accompanied by doggerel verses explana- 
tory of the views. 

The owner of this singular chamber had, how- 
ever, not merely devoted his walls to the purposes 
of an album, but he had also made them perform 
the part of a memorandum-book. Here were 
the "meets" of the Kildare and the Dubber for 
the month of March; there, the turn of duty for 
the garrison of Dublin, interspersed with such 
fragments as the following: — " Mem. To dine 
at Mat Kean's on Tuesday, 4th. — Not to pay 
Hennesy till he settles about the handicap. — To 
ask Courtenay for Fanny Burke's fan, the same 
Fanny has pretty legs of her own. — To tell 
Holmes to have nothing to do with Lanty Moore's 
niece, in regard to a reason! — Five to two on 
Giles's two-year old, if Tom likes. N.B. The 
mare is a roarer. — A heavenly day; what fun 
they must have! — may the devil fire Tom O'Fla- 
herty, or I would not be here now." These and 
a hundred other similar passages figured on every 
side, leaving me in a state of considerable mysti- 
fication, not as to the character of my host, of 
which I could guess something, but as to the na- 
ture of his abode, which I could not imagine to 
be a barrack-room. 

As I lay thus pondering, the door cautiously 
opened, and a figure appeared, which, as I had 
abundant leisure to examine it. and as the indi- 



vidual is one who occasionally turns up in the 
course of my history, I may as well take the 
present opportunity of presenting to n.y reader. 
The man who entered, scarcely more than four 
feet and a half high, might be about sixty years 
of age. His head, enormously dispro])ortiontd 
to the rest of his figure, presented a number of 
flat surfaces, as though nature had originally des- 
tined it for a crystal. Upon one of these planes 
the eyes were set; and although as far apart as 
possible, yet upon such teims of distance were 
they, that they never, even by an accident, 
looked in the same direction. The nose was 
short and snubby; the nostrils wide andex])anded, 
as if the feature had been pitched against the 
face in a moment of ill-temper, and flattened by 
the force. As for the mouth, it looked like the 
malicious gash of a blunt instrument, jagged, rag- 
ged, and uneven. It had not even the ccirman- 
place advantage of being parallel to the horizon, 
but ran in an oblique direction from right to 
left, enclosed between a parenthesis of the crank- 
iest wrinkles that ever human cheek was creased 
by. '^riie head would have been bald but for a 
scanty wig, technically called a "jasy," which 
slirunk by time, now merely occupied the apex of 
the scalp, -.vhere it moved about with every ac- 
tion of th-; forehead and eyebrows, and was thus 
made to minister to the expression of a hundred 
emotions ll at other men's wigs know nothing 
about. Truly, it was the strangest peruke that 
ever covered a human cranium. I do not be- 
lieve that another like it ever existed. It had 
nothing in common with other wigs. It was like 
its owner, perfectly siii generis. It had not the 
easy flow and wavy curl of the old beau. It had 
not the methodical precision and rectilinear pro- 
priety of the elderly gentltman. It was rot full, 
like a lawyer's, nor hoise-shoed, like a bishop's. 
No. It was a cross-grained, ill-Umpered, ill- 
conditioned old scratch, that looked like nothing 
under heaven save the husk of a hedgehog. 

The dress of this strange figure was a suit of 
very gorgeous light brown livery, with orange 
facings, a green plush waistcoat and f-horts, 
frogged, flapped, and embroidered most lavishly 
with gold lace, silk stockings, with shoes, whose 
enormous buckles covered nearly the entire foot, 
and rivalled, in their paste brilliancy, the piercing 
brightness of the wearer's eye. Having closed 
the door carefully behind him, he walked towards 
the chimney, with a certain air of solemn and 
imposing dignity that very nearly overcame all 
my efforts at seriousness; his outstretclud and 
expanded hands, his averted toes and waddling 
gait, giving him a most distressing resemblance 
to the spread eagle of Prussia, had that respecta- 
ble bird been pleased to take a promenade in a 
showy livery. Having snuffed the candles, and 
helped himself to a pinch of snuff frcni a gold 
box on the mantelpiece, he stuck his arms, nearly 
to the elbows, in the ample pockets of his coat, 
and with his head a little elevated, and his under- 
lip slightly protruded, seemed to meditate upon 
the mutability of human affairs, and the vanity 
of all worldly pursuits. 

I coughed a couple of times to attract his 
attention, and, having succeeded in catching his 



16 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



eye, I begged, in my blandest imaginable voice, 
to know wliere I was. 

" Where are ye, is it?" said he, repeating; my 
question in a tone of the most sharp and queru- 
lous intonation, to which not even his brogue could 
lend one touch of softness—" where are ye? and 
where would you like to be? or where would any 
one be that was disgracing himself, or blackguard- 
ing about the streets till he got his head cut and 
his clothes torn, but in Master Phil's room: devil 
other company it's used to. Well, well! It is 
more like a watchouse nor a gentleman's parlor, 
this same room. It's little his father, thejidge" — 
here he crossed himself piously — " it is little he 
thought the company his son would be keeping; 
but it is no matter. I gave him warning last Tues- 
dav, and with the blessin' o' God " 

The remainder of this speech was lost in a low 
muttering grumble, whicli I afterwards learnt was 
his usual manner of closing an oration. A few 
broken and indistinct ])hrases being only audible, 
such as — " Sarve you right" — "Fifty years in 
the family" — " Slaving like a negur" — " Oh, 
the Turks! the haythins!" 

Having waited what I deemed a reasonable 
time for his honest indignation to evaporate, I 
made another effort to ascertain who my host 
might be. 

■' Would you favor me," said I, in a tone still 
more insinuating, "with the name of " 

" It's my name ye want? Oh, sorrow bit I am 
ashamed of it! Little as you think of me, Cor- 
nelius Delany is as good a warrant for family as 
many a one of the dirty spalpeens about the coort, 
that haven't a civiler word in their mouth than 
Cross Corny! Bad luck to them for that same." 

This honest admission as to the world's opin- 
ion of Mister Delany's character was so far satis- 
factory as it enabled me to see with whom I had 
to deal; and, althoug!i for a moment or two it was 
a severe struggle to prevent myself from bursting 
into laughter, I fortunately obtained the mastery, 
and once more returned to the charge. 

■' .'Xnd now, Mister Delany, can you inform me 
how I came here? I remember sometliing of an 
accident on my landing; but when, where, and 
how, I am totally ignorant." 

" An accident!" said he, turning up his eyes; 
"an accident, indeed! that's what they always call 
it when they wring off the rappers, or bate the 
watch: ye came here in a hackney-coach, with the 
police, as mmy a one came before you." 

" But where am I ?" said I, impatiently. 

■' In D'.ililin Castle; bad luck to it for a riotous, 
disorderly place." 

"Well, well," said I, half angrily, "I want to 
know whose room is this?" 

" Captain O'Grady's. What have you to say agin 
the room? Maybe you're used to worse. There 
now, that's what you got for that. I'm laving 
the place ne.\t week, but that's no ravson " 

Here he went off, diniinucnd:i, again, with a few 
flying imprecations upon several things and per- 
sons unknown. 

Mr. Delaney now dived for a few seconds into 
asmiiU pantry at the end of the room, from which 
he emerged with a trny between his hands, and 
two decanters under his arms. 



" Draw the little table this way," he cried, 
" more towards the fire, for, av coorse, you're 
fresh and fastin'; there now, take the sherry from 
under my arm — the other's port: that was a ham, 
till Captain Mills cut it away, as ye see — there's 
a veal pie.and here's a cold grouse — and, maybe, 
you've eat worse before now — and will again, 
plaze God." 

I assured him of the truth of his observation in 
a most conciliating tone. 

■'Oh, the devil fear ye," was the reply, while 
he murmured somewhat lower, " the half of yees 
isn't used to meat twice in the week." 

"Capital fare this, Mr. Delany," said I, as, 
lalf famished with long fasting, I helped myself 
a second time. 

"You're eating as if you liked it," said he, with 
a shrug of his shoulders. 

"Upon my word," said I, after throwing down 
a bumper of sherry, "that's a very pleasant glass 
of wine; and on the whole, I should say, there 
are worse places than this in the world." 

A look of unutterable contempt — whether at 
me for my discovery, or at the opinion itself, I 
can't say — was the sole rejjly of my friend; who, 
at the same moment, presuming 1 had sufficient 
opportunities for the judgment I pronounced, 
replaced the decanters upon the tray, and disap- 
peared with the whole in the most grave and 
solemn manner. 

Repressing a very great inclination to laughter, 
I sat still; and a silence of a few moments ensued, 
when Mr. Delany walked towards the window, 
and, drawing aside the curtains, looked out. All 
was in darkness save on the o])posite side of the 
court-yard, where a blaze of light fell upon the 
pavement from over the half shutters of an ap- 
parently spacious apartment. "Ay, ay, there you 
go; hip, hi]), hurrah! you waste more liquor every 
night than would float a lighter; that's all you'ie 
good for. Bad luck to your grace — making fun 
of the people, laughing and singing as if the po- 
tatoes wasn't two shillings a stone." 

" What's goirg on there?" said I. 

" The ould work, nallier more nor less. The 
lord-lifiinnant, and the bishops, and the jidges, 
and all the privy councillors roaring drunk. 
Listen to them. May I never, if it isn't the 
dean's voice I hear — the ould beast; he is sing- 
ing ' The Night before Larry was stret( bed.' " 

"That's a good fellow. Corn) — Mr. Delany I 
mean — do open the window for a little, and let's 
hear them." 

" It's a blessed night you'd have the window 
open to listen to a set of drunken devils; but 
here's Master Phil; I know his step well. It's 
long before his father that's gone would come 
tearing up the stairs that way as if the bailiffs 
was after him; rack and ruin, sorrow else, a\ I 
never got a place — the haythins! the Turks!" 

Mr. Delany, who, probably from motives of 
delicacy, wished to spare his master the ])ain of 
an interview, made his exit by one door as he 
came in at the other. I had barely time to see 
that the person before me was in every respect 
the very opposite of his follower, when he called 
out in a rich, mellow voice — 

"All right again, I hope, Mr. Hinton; it's the 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



17 



first moment I could get a\v;iy; we liad a dinner 
of the privy council, and some of them are 
rather late sitters; you're not hurt, I trust?" 

"A little bruised or so, nothing more; but, 
pray, how did I fall into such kind hands?" 

" Oh! the watchman, it seems, could read, and, 
as your trunks were addressed to the Castle, they 
concluded you ought to go there also. You have 
despatches, haven't you?" 

" Yes," said I, ])roducing the packet; " when 
must they be delivered?" 

"Oh, at once. Do you think you could make 
a little change in your dress, and manage to come 
over? his grace always likes it better, there's no 
stiffness, no formality whatever; most of the 
dinner-party have gone home; there are only a 
few of the government people, the duke's 
friends, remaining, and besides, he's always kind 
and good-natured." 

" I'll see what I can do," replied I, as I rose 
from the sofa; " I put myself into your hands 
altogether." 

"Well, come along," said he; "you'll find 
everything ready in this room. I hope that old 
villain has left hot water. Corny? Corny, I say. 
Confound him, he's gone to bed, I suppose." 

Having no p.irticular desire for Mr. Delany's 
attentions, I prevailed on his master not to dis- 
turb him, and proceeded to make my toilette as 
well as I was able. 

" Didn't that stupid scoundrel come near you 
at all ?" cried O'Grady. 

" Oh, yes, we have had a long interview; but. 
somehow, I fear I did not succeed in gaining his 
good graces." 

"The worst-tempered old villain in Europe." 

"Somewhat of a character, I take it." 

"A crab-tree planted in a lime-kiln, cranky and 
cross-grained ; but he is a legacy, almost the 
only one my father left me. I've done my best 
to part with him every day for the last twelve 
years, but he sticks to me like a poor relation, 
giving me warning every night of his life, and 
every morning kicking up such a row in the 
house that every one is persuaded I am beating 
him to a jelly before turning him out to starve in 
the streets." 

"Oh, the haythins! the Turks!" said I, slyly. 

"Confound it!" cried he, "the old devil has 
been opening upon you already; and yet, with 
all that, I don't know how I should get on 
without Corny; his gibes, his jeers, his everlasting 
ill-temper, his crankiness that never sleeps, seem 
to agree with me; the fact is, one enjoys the 
world from all its contrasts. The olive is a poor 
thing in itselt, but it certainly improves the smack 
of your Burgundy. In this way Corny Delany does 
me good service. Come, by Jove, you have not 
been long dressing. This way; now follow me." 
So saying. Captain O'Grady led the way down the 
stairs to the colonnade, following which to the op- 
posite side of the quadrangle we arrived at a bril- 
liantly lighted hall, where several servants in full- 
dress liveries were in waiting. Passing hastily 
through this, we mounted a handsome stair-case, 
and, traversing several ante-chambers, at length 
arrived at one whose contiguity to the dinner-room 
1 could guess at from the loud sound of many 



voices. "Wait one moment here," said my com- 
panion, "until I speak to his grace." He dis- 
appeared as he spoke, but before a minute had 
elapsed he was again beside me. "Come this 
way; it's all right, " said he. The next moment 1 
found myself in the dinner-roopi. 

Tiie scene before me was altogether so differ- 
ent from what I had expected, that for a moment 
or two I could scarce do aught else than stand 
still to survey it. At a table which had been laid 
for about forty persons, scarcely mere than a 
dozen were now present. Collected together at 
one end of the board, the whole party were roar- 
ing with laughter at seme story of a strange, 
melancholy-looking man, whose whining voice 
added indescribable ridicule to the diollery of 
his narrative. Grey-headed general officers, 
grave-looking divines, lynx-eyed lawyers, had all 
given way under the irresistible impulse, and the 
very table shook with laughter. 

" Mr. Hinton, your excellency," said O'Grady 
for the third time, while the duke wiped his eye 
with his napkin, and, pushing his chair a little 
back from the table, motioned me to approach. 

"Ah, Hinton, glad to see )cii; how is your 
father?- — a very old friend of mine, indeed; and 
Lady Charlotte — well, I hope? O'Grady tells 
me you've had an accident — something slight, I 
trust. So these are the despatches?" Here he 
broke the seal of the envelope, and ran his eye 
over the contents. " There, that's your concern." 
So saying, he pitched a letter across the table to 
a shrewd-looking personage in a horse-shoe wig. 
"They won't do it, dean, and we must wait. 
.\h! — so they don't like my, new commissioners; 
but, Hinton, my boy, sit down. O'Grady, have 
you room there? A glass of wine with you." 

" Nothing the worse of your mishap, sir?" said 
the melancholy-looking man who sat opposite to 
me. 

I replied by briefly relating my accident. 

" Strange enough," said he, in a compassionate 
tone, "your head should have suffered; your 
coimtrymen generally fall upon their legs in 
Ireland." This was said with a sly look at the 
viceroy, who, deep in his despatches, paid no at- 
tention to the allusion. 

"A very singular thing, I must confess," said 
the duke, laying down the paper. "This is the 
fourth time the bearer of despatches has met 
with an accident. If they don't run foul of 
a rock in the Channel, they are sure to have a 
delay on the pier." 

" It is so natural, my lord," said the gloomy 
inan, " that the carriers should stop at the pigeon- 
house." 

"Do be quiet, Curran," cried the duke, "and 
pass round the decanter. They'U not take the 
duty off claret, it seems." 

"And Day, my lord, won't put the claret on 
duty; he has kept the wine at his elbow for the 
last half-hour. Upon my soul, your grace ought 
to knight hiin." 

" Not even his excellency's habits," said a 
sharp, clever-looking man, " would excuse his 
converting Day into knight." 

.■\mid a shower of smart, caustic, and witty 
sayings, droll stories, retort and repartee, the 



18 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



wine circulated freely from hand to hand; the 
presence of the duke adding fresh impulse to the 
sallies of fun and merriment around him. An- 
ecdotes of the army, the bench, and the bar, 
poured in unceasingly, accompanied by running 
commentaries of the hearers, who never let slip 
an opportunity for a jest or a rejoinder. To me, 
the most singular feature of all this was, that no 
one seemed too old or too dignified, too high in 
station, or too venerable from office, to join in 
this headlong current of conviviality. Austere 
churchmen, erudite chief-justices, profound poli- 
ticans, privy councillors, military officers of 
high rank and standing, were here all mixed up 
together into one strange medley, apparently 
bent on throwing rtn air of ridicule over the .graver 
business of life, and laughing alike at themselves 
and the world. Nothing was too grave for a jest, 
nothing too solemn for a sarcasm. All the sol- 
dier's experience of men and manners, all the 
lawyer's acuteness of perception and readiness 
of wit, all the politican's practised tact and hab- 
itual subtlety, were brought to bear upon the 
common topics of the day with such promptitude 
and such power, that one knew not whether to 
be more struck by the mass of information they 
possessed, or by that strange fatality which could 
make men, so great and so gifted, satisfied to 
jest where they might be called on to judge. 

Play and politics, wine and women, debts and 
duels, were discussed, not only with an absence 
of all restraint, but with a deep knowledge of 
the world and a profound insight into the heart, 
which often imparted to the careless and random 
speech the sharpness of the most cutting sarcasm. 
Personalities, too, were rife; no one spared his 
neighbor, for he did not expect mercy for him- 
self; and the luckless wight who tripped in his 
narrative, or stumbled in his story, was assailed 
on every side, until some happy expedient of 
his own, or some new victim being discovered, 
the attack would take another direction, and 
leave him once more at liberty. I feel how sadly 
inadequate I am to render even the faintest tes- 
timony to the talents of those, any one of whom, 
in after life, would have been considered to have 
made the fortune of a dinner-party, and who now 
were met together, not in the careless ease and 
lounging indifference of relaxation, but in the 
open arena where wit met wit, and where even 
the most brilliant talker, the happiest relator, the 
quickest in sircasm, and the readiest in reply, 
felt he hatl need of all his weapons to defend 
and protect him. This was a melee tournament 
where each man rode down his neighbor, with 
no other reason for attack than detecting a rent 
m his armor. Even the viceroy himself, who as 
judge of the lists, might he supposed to enjoy 
an immunity, was not safe here, and many an 
arrow, apparently shot at an adversary, was sent 
quivering into his corslet. 

As I watched, with all the intense excitement 
of one to whom such a display was perfectly 
new, I could not help feeling how fortunate it 
was that the grave avocations and the venerable 
pursuits of the greater number of the party should 
prevent this firework of wit from bursting into 
the blaze of open animosity. I hinted as much 



to my neighbor, O'Grady, who at once broke into 
a fit of laughter at my ignorance; and I now 
learnt to my amazement that the Common Pleas 
had winged the exchequer that the attorney- 
general had pinked the rolls, and, stranger than 
all, that the provost of the University himself 
had planted his man in the Phoenix. 

'■ It is just as well for us," continued he, in a 
whisper, "that the churchmen can't go out; for 
the dean, yonder, can snuff a candle at twenty 
paces, and is rather a hot-tempered fellow to 
boot. But come, now, his grace is about to rise. 
We have a field-day to-morrow '\w the Park, and 
break up somewhat earlier in consequence." 

As it was now near two o clock, 1 could see 
nothing to cavil at as to the earliness of the hour, 
although, I freely confess, tired and exhausted as 
I felt, I could not contemplate the nicment of 
separation without a sad foreboding that 1 ne'er 
should look upon the like again. The party 
rose at this moment, and the duke, shaking 
hands cordially with each person as he passed 
down, wished us all a good-night. I followed 
with O'Grady and some others of the household, 
but when I reached the ante-chamber, my new 
friend volunteered his services to see me to my 
quarters. 

On traversing the lower castle yard, we mounted 
an old-fashioned and rickety stair, which con- 
ducted to a gloomy, ill-lighted corridor. I was 
too much fatigued, however, to be critical at the 
moment, and so. having thanked O'Grady for all 
his kindness, 1 threw off my clothes hastily, and, 
before my head was well upon my jjillow, was 
sound asleep. 



CHAPTER IV. 



THE BREAKFAST. 



There are few persons so nnreflective as not 
to give way to a little self-examination on waking 
for the first time in a strange place. The very 
olijects about are so many appeals to your inge- 
nuity or to your memory, that you cannot fail 
asking )ourself how )ou became acquainted with 
them; the jiresent is thus made the herald of the 
past, and it is difficult, when unravelling the 
tangled web of doubt that assails you, rot to 
think over the path by which you have been 
travelling. 

As for me, scarcely were my eyes opened to 
the light, I had barely thrown one glance aroimd 
my cold and comfortless chamber, when thoughts 
of home came rushing to my mind. The warm 
earnestness of my father, the timid dreads of my 
poor mother, rose up before me, as I felt myself, 
for the first time, alone in the world. The ele- 
vating sense of heroism, that more or less blends 
with every young man's dreams of life, gilds our 
first journey from our father's re of. There is 
a feeling of freedom in being the arbiter of one's 
actions, to go where you will and w hen you will. 
Till that moment the world has been a compara- 
tive blank, the trammels of school or the ties of 
tutorship have bound and restrained you. Vou 



•JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



19 



have been living, as it were, within the rules of 
court — certain petty privileges permitted, certain 
small liberties allowed; but now you come forth 
disenchanted, disenthralled, emancipated, free to 
come as to go — a man in all the plenitude of his 
volition; and, better still, a man without the 
heavy, depressing weight of responsibility that 
makes manhood less a blessing than a burden. 
The first burst of life is indeed a glorious thing; 
youth, health, hope, and confidence have each a 
force and vigor they lose in after years; life is 
then a splendid river, and we are swimming with 
the stream — no adverse waves to weary, no 
billows to buffet us, we hold on our course re- 
joicing. 

The sun was peering between the curtains of 
my window, and playing in fitful flashes on the 
old oak floor, as I lay thus ruminating and dream- 
ing over the future. How m-any a resolve did I 
then make for my guidance — how many an in- 
tention did I form — how many a groundwork of 
principle did I lay down, with all the confidence 
of youth! I fashioned to myself a world after 
my own notions; in which I conjured up certain 
imaginary difficulties, all of which were sur- 
mounted by my admirable tact and consummate 
cleverness. I remembered how, at both Eton and 
Sandhurst, the Irish boy was generally made the 
subject of some jest or quiz, at one time for his 
accent, at another for his blunders. As a Guards- 
man, short as had been my experience of 
the service, I could plainly see that a certain 
indefinable tone of superiority was ever asserted 
towards our friends across the sea. A wide- 
sweeping prejudice, whose limits were neither 
founded in reason, justice, or common sense, had 
thrown a certain air of undervaluing import over 
every one and everything from that country. 
Not only were its faults and its follies heavily 
visited, but those accidental and trifling blem- 
ishes—those slight and scarce perceptible devi- 
ations from the arbitrary standard of fashion — 
were deemed the strong characteristics of the 
nation, and condemned accordingly; while the 
slightest use of any exaggeration in speech — the 
commonest employment of a figure or a meta- 
phor — the casual introduction of an anecdote or 
a repartee, were all heavily censured, and pro- 
nounced '■ so very Irish!" Let some fortune- 
hunter carry off an heiress — let a lady trip over 
her train at the drawing-room — let a minister 
blunder in his mission — let a powder magazine 
explode and blow up one-half of the surrounding 
population, there was but one expression to 
qualify all — "how Irish! how very Irish!" The 
adjective had become one of depreciation; and 
an Irish lord, an Irish member, an Irish estate, 
and an Irish diamond, were held pretty much 
in the same estimation. 

Reared in the very hot-bed, the forcing-house, 
of such exaggerated prejudice, while imbibing a 
very siifticient contempt for everything in that 
country, I obtained proportionably absurd no- 
tions of all that was Irish. Our principles may 
come from our fathers; our prejudices certainly 
descend from the female branch. Now, my 
mother, notwithstanding the example of the 
prince regent himself, wliose chosen associates 



were Irish, was most thoroughly exclusive on 
on this point. She would admit that a native of 
that country could be invited to an evening party 
under extreme and urgent circumstances — that 
some brilliant orator, whose eloquence was at 
once the dread and the delight of the House — that 
some gifted poet, whose verses came home to the 
heart alike of prince and peasant — that the 
painter, whose canvas might stand unblushingly 
amid the greatest triumphs of art — could be 
asked to lionize for those cold and callous vot- 
aries of fashion, across the lake of whose stag- 
nant nature no breath of feeling stirred, esteem- 
ing it the while, that in her card of invitation he 
was reaping the proudest proof of his success; 
but that such could be made acquaintances or 
companions, could be regarded in the light of 
equals or intimates, the thing never entered into 
her imagination, and she would as soon have made 
a confidant of the king of Kongo as a gentleman 
from Connaught. 

Less for the purposes of dwelling upon my 
lady-mother's " Hibernian horrors," than of show- 
ing the school in which I was trained, I have 
made this somewhat lengthened expose. It may, 
however, convey to my reader some faint im- 
pression of the feeling which animated me at the 
outset of my career in Ireland. 

I have already mentioned the delight I experi- 
enced with the society at the viceroy's table. So 
much brilliancy, so much wit, so much of con- 
versational power, until that moment I had no 
conception of. Now, however, while reflecting 
on it, I was actually astonished to find how far 
the whole scene contributed to the support of 
my ancient prejudices. I well knew that a party 
of the highest functionaries — bishops and law- 
officers of the crown- — would not have conducted 
themselves in the same manner in England. I 
stopped not to inquire whether it was more the wit 
or the will that was wanting; I did not dwell upon 
the fact that the meeting was a purely convivial 
one, to which I was admitted by the kindness 
and condescension of the duke; but, so easily 
will a warped and bigoted impression find food 
for its indulgence, I only saw in the meeting an 
additional evidence of my early convictions. 
How far my theorizing on this point might have 
led me — whether eventually I should have come 
to the conclusion that the Irish nation were lying 
in the darkest blindness of barbarism, while, by 
a special intervention of Providence, I was about 
to be erected into a species of double revohing 
light — it is difficult to say, when a tap at the 
door suddenly aroused me from my musings. 

" Are ye awake, yet?" said a harsh, husky voice, 
like a bear in bronchitis, which I had no diffi- 
culty in pronouncing to be Corny's. 

"Yes, come in," cried I; "what hour is it?" 

"Somewhere after ten," replied he, sulkily; 
" you're the first I ever heerd ask the clock, in the 
eight years I have lived here. Are ye ready for 
your morning?" 

" My what?" said I, with some surprise. 

" Didn't I say it plain enough? Is it the brogue 
that bothers you?" 

As he said this with a most sarcastic grin, he 
poured, from a large jug he held in one hand- 



30 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



a brimming goblet full of some white compound, 
and handed it over to me. Preferring at once to 
explore, rather than to question the intractable 
Corny, I put it to my lips, and found it to be 
capital milk punch, concocted with great skill, 
and seasoned witli what O'Grady aftersvards 
called "a notion of nutmeg." 

" Oh! devil fear you, that ye'll like it. Sorrow 
one of you ever left as much in the jug as 'ud 
make a foot-bath for a flea." 

" They don't treat you over well, then. Corny?" 
said I, purposely opening the sorest wound of 
his nature. 

" Trate me well! faix, them that 'ud come here 
for good tratement, would go to the devil for 
divarsion. There's Master Phil himself, that I 
used to bate, when he was a child, many's the 
time, when his father, rest his sowl, was up at the 
coorts — ay, strapped him, till he hadn't a spot 
that wasn't sore an him — and look at him now! 
oh, wirra! — you'd think I never took a ha'porth 
of pains with him. Ugh! — the haythins! — the 
Turks!" 

" This is all very bad. Corny; hand me those 
boots." 

"And thim's boots!" said he, with a contempt- 
uous expression on his face that would have 
struck horror to the heart of Hoby. " Well, 
well." Here he looked up as though the pro- 
fligacy and degeneracy of the age were trans- 
gressing all bounds. " When you're ready, come 
over to the master's, for he's waiting breakfast for 
you. A beautiful hour for breakfast, it is! Many's 
the day his father sintenced a whole dockful 
before the same time!" 

With the comforting reflection that the world 
went better in Kis youth. Corny drained the few 
remaining drops of the jug, and muttering the 
while somethuig that did not sound exactly like a 
blessing, waddled out of the room with a gait of 
the most imposing gravity. 

I had very little difficulty in finding my friend's 
quarters; for, as his door lay open, and as he 
himself was carolling away, at the very top of his 
lungs, some popular melody of the day, I speed- 
ily found myself beyond the threshold. 

" Ah! Hinton, my hearty, how goes it? your 
headpiece nothing the worse, I hope, for either 
the car or the claret? By-the-bye, capital claret 
that is! you've nothing like it in England." 

I could scarce help a smile at the remark, as 
he proceeded, 

" But come, my boy, sit down; help yourself to a 
cutlet, and make yourself quite at home in Mount 
O'Grady." 

"Mount O'Grady," repeated I. "Ha! in al- 
lusion, I suppose, to these confounded two flights 
one has to climb up to you." 

" Nothing of the kind; the name has a very 
different origin. Tea or coffee? there's the tap! 
Now, my boy, the fact is, we O'Gradys were 
once upon a time very great folk in our way; 
lived in an uncouth old barrack, with battle- 
ments and a keep, upon the Shannon, where we 
ravaged the country for miles round, and did as 
much mischief, and committed as much pillage 
upon the peaceable inhabitants, as any respect- 
able old family in the province. Time, however, 



wagged on; luck changed; your countrymen 
came pouring in upon us with new-fangled no- 
tions of reading, writing, and road-making; 
police and petty sessions, and a thousand other 
vexatious contrivances followed, to worry and 
puzzle the heads of simple country gentlemen: 
so that, at last, instead of taking to tlie hill-side 
for our mutton, we were reduced to keep a 
market-cart, and employ a thieving rogue in Dub- 
lin to supply us with poor claret, instead of 
making a trip over to Galway, where a smugcjiing 
craft brought us our liquor, with a bouquet fresh 
from Bordeau.x. But the worst wasn't come; for, 
you see, a litigious spirit grew up in the country, 
and a kind of vindictive habit of pursuing you for 
your debts. Now, we always contrived, somehow 
or other, to have rather a confused way of manag- 
ing our exchequer. No tenant on the property 
ever precisely knew what he owed; and, as we pos- 
sessed no record of what he paid, our income was 
rather obtained after the manner of levying a trib- 
ute, than receiving a legal debt. Meanwhile, 
we pushed our credit like a new colony; when- 
ever a loan was to be obtained, it was little we 
cared for ten, twelve, or even fifteen per cent.; 
and as we kept a jolly house, a good cook, good 
claret, and had the best pack of beagles in the 
country, he'd have been a hardy creditor who'd 
have ventured to push us to extremities. Even 
sheep, however, they say, get courage when they 
flock together, and so this contemptible herd of 
tailors, tithe- proctors, butchers, barristers, and 
bootmakers, took heart of grace, and laid siege to 
us in all form. My grandlather, PhiV — for I was 
called after him — who always si)ent his money 
like a gentleman, had no notion of figuring in 
the Four Courts; but he sent Tern Darcy, his 
cousin, up to town, to call out as nniny of the 
])laintiffs as would fight, and to threaten the re- 
mainder that, if they did not withdraw theirsuits, 
they'd have more need of the surgeon than the 
attorney-general; for they shouldn't have a whole 
bone in their body by Michaelmas-day. Another 
cutlet, Hinton? But I am tiring you with all these 
family matters." 

" Not at all; go on, I beg of you. I want 
to hear how your grandfather got out of his 
difficulties." 

" Faith, I wish you could! it would be equally 
pleasant news to myself; but, unfortunately, his 
beautiful plan only made bad worse, for they 
began fresh actions. Some, for provocation to 
fight a duel; others, for threats of assault and bat- 
tery; and the short of it was, as my grandfather 
wouldn't enter a defence, they obtained their 
verdicts, and got judgment, with all the costs." 

"The devil they did! That must have pushed 
him hard." 

" So it did; indeed it got the better of his 
temper, and he that was one of the heartiest, 
pleasantest fellows in the province, became, in a 
manner, morose and silent; and, instead of sur- 
rendering possession, peaceably and quietly, he 
went down to the gate, and took a sitting shot at 
the sub-sheriff, Vk-ho was there in a tax-cart." 

" Bless my soul! Did he kill him?" 

" No; he only ruffled his feathers, and broke 
his thigh; but it was bad enough, for he had to 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



21 



go over to France till it blew over. Well, it was 
either vexation, or the •climate, or, maybe, the 
weak wines, or, perhaps, all three, undermined 
his constitution, but he died at eighty-four — the 
only one of the family ever cut off early, except 
such as were shot, or the like. 

" Well, but your father " 

" I am coming to him. My grandfather sent 
for him from school when he was dying, and he 
made him swear he would be a lawyer. ' Morris 
will be a thorn in their flesh, yet,' said he; 'and look 
to it, my boy,' lie cried, ' I leave you a Chancery 
suit that has nearly broke eight families and the 
hearts of two chancellors; — see that you keep it 
going — -sell every stick on the estate — put all the 
beggars in the barony on the property — beg, bor- 
row, and steal them — plough up all the grazing- 

land;and I'll tell you a better trick than all ' 

Here a fit of coughing interrupted the pious old 
gentleman, and, when it was over, so was he!" 

" Dead! " said I. 

" As a door-nail! Well, my father was dutiful; 
he kept the suit moving till he got called to the 
Bar! Once there, he gave it all his spare 
moments; and when there was nothing doing in 
the Common Pleas or King's Bench, he was sure 
to come down with a new bill, or a declaration, 
before the master, or a writ of error, or a point 
of law for a jury, till at last, when no case was 
ready to come on, the sitting judge would call 
out, ' Let us hear O'Grady,' in appeal, or in error, 
or whatever it was. But, to make my story short, 
my father became a first-rate lawyer, by the 
practice of his own suit — rose to a silk gown — 
was made solicitor and attorney-general — after- 
wards chief-justice " 

"And the suit?" 

"Oh! the suit survived him, and became my 
property; but, somehow, I didn't succeed in the 
management quite as well as my father; and I 
found that my estate cost me somewhere about 
fifteen hundred a year — -not to mention more 
oaths than fifty years of purgatory could pay off. 
This was a high premium to pay for figuring 
every term on the list of trials, so I raised a 
thousand pounds on my commission, gave it to 
Nick M'Namara, to take the property off my 
hands, and as my father's last injunction was, 
'Never rest till you sleep in Mount O'Grady,' — 
why, I just baptized my present abode by that 
name, and here I live with the easy conscience 
of a dutiful and affectionate child that took the 
shortest and speediest way of fulfilling his 
father's testament." 

"By Jove! a most singular narrative. I 
shouldn't like to have parted with the old place, 
however." 

" Faith, I don't know! I never was much 
there. It was a rackety, tumble-down old con- 
cern, with rattling windows, rooks, and rats, 
pretty much like this; and, what between my duns 
and Corny Delany, I very often think I am back 
there again. There wasn't as good a room as 
this in the whole house, not to speak of the 
pictures. Isn't that likeness of Darcy capital? 
You saw him last night. He sat next Curran. 
Come, I've no cura9oa to offer you, but try this 
usquebaugh." 



" By-the-bye, that Corny is a strange charac- 
ter. I rather think, if I were you, I should have 
let him go with the property." 

" Let him go! Egad, that's not so easy as you 
think. Nothing but death will ever part us." 

" I really cannot comprehend how you endure 
him; he'd drive me mad." 

" Well, he very often pushes me a little hard 
or so; and, if it wasn't that, by deep study and 
minute attention, I have at length got some 
insight into the weak parts of his nature, I frankly 
confess I couldn't endure it much longer." 

" And, pray, what may these amiable traits 
be?" 

''You will scarcely guess." 

" Love of money, perhaps?" 

"No." 

" Attachment to your family, then?" 

" Not that either." 

'■ I give it up." 

"Well, the truth is. Corny is a most pious 
Catholic. The Church has unbounded influence 
and control over all his actions. Secondly, he 
is a devout believer in ghosts, particularly my 
grandfather's, which, I must confess, I have per- 
sonated two or three times myself, when his 
temper had nearly tortured me into a brain fever; 
so that between purgatory and apparitions, fears 
here and hereafter, I keep him pretty busy. 
There's a friend of mine, a priest, one Father 
Tom Loftus— — " 

" I've heard that name before, somewhere." 

"Scarcely, I think; I'm not aware that he was 
ever in England; but he's a glorious fellow; I'll 
make you known to him, one of these days; and 
when you have seen a little more of Ireland, I am 
certain you'll like him. But I'm forgetting; it 
must be late; we have a field-day, you know, in 
the Park." 

" What am I to do for a mount? I've brought 
no horses with me." 

" Oh, I've arranged all that. See, there are the 
nags already. That dark chestnut I destine for 
you; and, come along, we have no time to lose; 
there go the carriages, and here comes our 
worthy colleague and fellow aide-de-camp. Do 
you know him?" 

" Who is it, pray?" 

" Lord Dudley de Vere, the most confounded 
puppy, and the emptiest ass But here he is." 

" De Vere, my friend Mr. Hinton — one of 
ours." 

His lordship raised his delicate-looking eye- 
brows as high as he was able, letting fall his glass 
at the same moment from the corner of his eye; 
and while he adjusted his stock at the glass, 
lisped out — 

" Ah — yes — very happy. In the Guards, I 
think. Know Douglas, don't you?" 

"Yes, very slightly." 

"When did you come — to-day?" 

" No; last night." 

" Must have got a buffeting; blew very fresh. 
You don't happen to know the odds on the 
Oaks?" 

" Hecate, they say, is falling. I rather heard 
a good account of the mare." 

" Indeed," said he, while his cold, inanimate 



22 



JACK HINTON, TIIE GUARDSMAN. 



features brightened up with a momentary flush 
of excitement. " Take you five to two, or give 
you the odds, you don't name the winner oh the 
double event." 

A look from O'Grady decided me at once on 
declining tlie proffered wager; and his lordship 
once more returned to the mirror and his self- 
admiration. 

" 1 say O'Grady, do come here for a minute. 
What the dense can that be?" 

Here an immoderate fit of laughter from his 
lordship brought us both to the window. The 
figure to which his attention was directed was 
certainly not a little remarkable. Mounted upon 
an animal of the smallest possible dimensions, 
sat, or rather stood, the figure of a tall, gaunt, 
raw-boned looking man, in a livery of the guadi- 
est blue and yellow, his hat garnished with silver 
lace, while long tags of the same material were 
festooned gracefully from his shoulder to his 
breast; his feet nearly touched the ground, and 
gave him rather tlie appearance of one progress- 
ing with a pony between his legs, than of a figure 
on horseback; he carried under one arm a 
leather pocket, like a despatch bag; and, as he 
sauntered slowly about, with his eyes directed 
hither and thither, seemed like some one in search 
of an unknown locality. 

The roar of laughter which issued from our 
window drew his attention to that quarter, and 
he immediately touched his hat, while a look of 
pleased recognition played across his coun- 
tenance. 

" Holloa, Tim!" cried O'Grady, "what's in the 
wind now?" 

Tim's answer was inaudible, but inserting his 
hand into the leathern conveniency already men- 
tioned, he drew forth a card of most portentous 
dimsnsions. By this time Corny's voice could be 
heard joining the conversation, 

■' Arrah, give it here, and don't be making a 
baste of yourself. Isn't the very battle-axe 
Guards laughing at you? I'm sure I wonder how 
a Christian would make a merry-andrew of him- 
self by wearing such clothes; you're more like a 
a play-actor nor a respectable servant." 

With these words he snatched rather than ac- 
cepted the proffered card; and Tim, with an- 
other flourish of his hat, and a singularly droll 
grin, meant to convey his appreciation of Cross 
Corny, plunged the spurs till his legs met under 
the belly of the little animal, and cantered out 
of the court-yard amid the laughter of the by- 
standers, in which even the sentinels on duty 
could not refrain from participating. 

■' What the devil can it be?" cried Lord 
Hiidley, "he evidently knows you, O'Grady." 

"And you, too, my lord; his master has helped 
you to a cool hundred or two more than once 
before now." 

■"Eh — what — you don't say so! Not our 
worthy friend Paul — eh? Why, confound it, I 
never should have known Timothy in that dress." 

"No," said O'Grady, slyly; "I acknowledge 
it is not exactly his costume when he serves a 
Luitat." 

" Ha, ha!" cried the other, trying to laugh at 
the joke, which he felt too deeply; " I thought I 



knew the pony, though. Old three-and-four- 
pence; his infernal canter always sounds in my 
ears like the jargon of a bill of costs." 

" Here comes Corny," said O'Grady. "What 
have you got there?" 

" There, 'tis for you," replied he, throwing, 
with an air of the most profound disdain, a large 
card upon the table; while, as he left the room, 
he muttered some very sagacious reflections 
about the horrors of low company — his father 
the jidge — the best in the land — riotous, disor- 
derly life, the whole concluding with an impre- 
cation upon heathens and Turks, with which he 
managed to accomplish his exit. 

"Capital, by Jove!" said Lord Dudley, as he 
surveyed the card with his glass. 

" ' Mr. and Mrs. Paul Rooney presents'- — the 
devil they does — 'presents their compliments, 
and requests the honor of Captain O'Grady's 
company at dinner on Friday, the 8th, at half- 
past seven o'clock.'" 

"How good! glorious, by Jove! eh, O'Grady? 
You are a sure ticket there — I' ami de la 
maisoii!" 

O'Grady's cheek became red at these words; 
and a flashing expression in his eyes told how 
deeply he felt them. He turned sharply round, 
his lips quivering with passion; then, checking 
himself suddenly, he burst into an affected 
laugh. 

"You'll go too, won't you?" 

"I? No, faith, they caught me once; but 
then the fact was, a protest and an invitation 
were both served on me together. I couldn't 
accept one, so I did the other." 

" Well, I must confess," said O'Grady, in a 
firm, resolute tone, " there may be many more 
fashionable people than our friends; but I, for 
one, scruple not to say I have received many 
kindnesses from them, and am deeply, sincerely 
grateful." 

"As far as doing a bit of paper now and then, 
when one is hard up," said Lord Dudley, "why, 
perhaps, I'm somewhat of your mind; but if one 
must take the discount out in dinners, it's an in- 
fernal bore." 

"And yet," said O'Grady, maliciously, " I've 
seen your lordship tax your powers to play the 
agreeable at these same dinners; and I think 
your memory betrays you in supposing you have 
only been there once. I myself have met you at 
least four times." 

" Only shows how devilish hard up I must 
have been," was the cool reply; "but now, as 
the governor begins to behave better, I think 
I'll cut Paul." 

"I'm certain you will," said O'Grady, with an. 
emphasis that could not be mistaken. " But, 
come, Hinton, we had better be moving; there's 
some stir at the portico yonder, I suppose they're 
coming." 

At this moment the tramp of cavalry an- 
nounced the arrival of the guard of honor; the 
drums beat, the troops stood to arms, and we 
had barely time to mount our horses, when the vice- 
regal party took their places in the carriages, and 
we all set out for the Phoenix. 

" Confess, Hinton, it is worth while being a 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



23 



soldier to be in Ireland." This was O'Grady's 
observation as we rode down Parliament street, 
beside the carriage of the viceroy. It was the 
first occasion of a field-day since the arrival of 
his excellency, and all Dublin was on the tiptoe 
of expectation at the prospect. Handkerchiefs 
were waved from the windows, streamers and 
banners floated from the house-tops; patriotic 
devices and allegoric representations of Erin sit- 
ting at a plentiful board, opposite an elderly 
gentleman with a ducal coronet, met us at every 
turn of the way. The streets were literally 
crammed with people. The band played "Patrick's 
Day:" the mob shouted; his grace bowed; and 
down to Phil O'Grady himself, who winked at 
the pretty girls as he passed, there did not seem 
an unoccupied man in the whole procession. On 
we went, following the line of the quays, threading 
our way through a bare-legged, ragged popula- 
tion, bawling themselves hoarse with energetic 
desires for prosperity to Ireland. " Yes," thought 
I, as I looked upon the worn, dilapidated houses, 
the faded and bygone equipages, the tarnished 
finery of better days — " yes, my father was right, 
these people are very different from their neigh- 
bors; their very prosperity has an air quite pe- 
culiar to itself." Everything attested a state of 
Doverty, a lack of trade, a want of comfort and 
of cleanliness; but still there was but one ex- 
pression prevalent in the mass — that of unbound- 
ed good humor and gayety. With a philosophy 
quite his own, poor Paddy seemed to feel a re- 
flected pleasure from the supposed happiness of 
those around him, the fine clothes, the gorgeous, 
equipages, the prancing chargers, the flowing 
plumes — all, in fact, that forms the appliances 
of wealth — -constituting in his mind a kind of 
paradise on earth. He thought their possessors 
at least ought to be happy; and, like a good- 
hearted fellow, he was glad of it for their sakes. 
There had been in the early part of the day an 
abortive effort at a procession. The lord 
mayor and the sheriffs, in their state liveries, 
had gone forth with a proud following of their 
fellow-citizens; but a manoeuvre, which hitherto 
has been supposed exclusively the province of 
the navy, was here employed with unbounded 
success; and the hackney-coachmen, by "cutting 
the line" in several places, had completely disor- 
ganized the procession, which now presented the 
singular spectacle of an aldermanic functionary 
witli emblazoned panels and bedizened horses, 
followed by a string of rackety jaunting-cars, or 
a noddy with its fourteen insides. Horsemen 
there were, too, in abundance. Were I to judge 
from the spectacle before me, I should say that 
the Irish were the most equestrian people of the 
globe; and at what a pace they went! Caring 
little or nothing for the foot-passengers, they 
only drew rein when their blown steeds were una- 
ble to go farther, and then dashed onwards like a 
charge, amid a shower of oaths, curses, and im- 
precations, half drowned in the laughter that 
burst on every side. Deputations there were 
also from various branches of trade, entreating 
their graces to wear and to patronize the manu- 
facture of the country, and to conform in many 
respects to its habits and customs: by all of 



which, in my then ignorance, I could only under- 
stand the vehement desire of the population that 
the viceregal court should go about in a state of 
nature, and limit their diet to poteen and potatoes. 

" Fine sight this, Hinton! Isn't it cheering?" 
said O'Grady, as his eye beamed with pleasure 
and delight. 

"Why, yes," said I, hesitatingly; "but don't 
you think if they wore shoes — " 

" Shoes!" repeated he, contemptuously, " they'd 
never suffer such restrictions on their liberties. 
Look at them! they are the fellows to make sol- 
diers of! The only fear of half-rations with them 
would be the risk of indigestion." 

On we went, a strange and motley mass, the 
only grave faces being a few of those who sat in 
gilded coaches, with embroidered hammercloths, 
while every half naked figure that flitted past 
had a countenance of reckless jollity and fun. 
But the same discrepancy that pervaded the 
people and the procession was visible even in 
their dwellings, and the meanest hovels stood 
side by side with the public and private edifices 
of elegance and beauty. 

" Thiscertainly," thought I, "is a strange land." 
A reflection I had reason to recur to more than 
once in my after experience of Ireland. 



CHAPTER V, 

THE REVIEW IN THE PHCENIX. 

Winding along the quays, we crossed an old 
and dilapidated bridge; and after traversing 
some narrow and ruinous-looking streets, we 
entered the park, and at length reached the 
Fifteen Acres. 

The carriages were drawn up in a line; his 
grace's led horses were ordered up, and staff- 
officers galloped right and left to announce the 
orders for the troops to stand to arms. 

.4s the duke descended from his carriage he 
caught my eye, and turning suddenly towards the 
duchess, said, "Let me present Mr. Hinton to 
your grace." 

W' hile I was making my bows and acknowledg- 
ments, his grace put his hand upon my arm. 

"You know Lady Killimore, Hinton? Never 
mind, it's of no consequence. You see her car- 
riage yonder — they have made some blunder in 
the road, and the dragoons, it seems, won't let 
them pass. Just canter down and rescue them." 

"Do, pray, Mr. Hinton," added the duchess. 
" Poor Lady Killimore, is so very nervous she'll be 
terrified to death if they make any fuss. Hercar- 
riage can come up quite close; there is plenty of 
room." 

"Now, do it well," whispered O'Grady; 
" there is a pretty girl in the case; it's your first 
mission; acquit yourself with credit." 

An infernal brass band playing " Rule Britannia" 
within ten paces of me. the buzz of voices, the 
crowd, the novelty of the situation, the excite- 
ment of the moment, all conspired to addle and 
confuse me; so that when I put spurs to my horse 
and struck out into a gallop, I had no very pre- 



24 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



cise idea of what I was to do, and not the slight- 
est upon earth of where I was to do it. 

A pretty girl in a carriage beset by dragoons 
was to be looked for — Lady Kil — somebody's 

equipage "Oh! I have it, there they are," 

said I, as a yellow barouche, with four steaming 
posters, caught my eye in a far part of the field. 

From the number of dragoons that surrounded 
the carriage, no less than their violent gestures, 
I could perceive that an altercation had taken 
place; pressing my horse to the top of his speed, 
I flew across the plain, and arrived flushed, 
heated, and breathless beside the carriage. 

A large and strikingly handsome woman in a 
bonnet and plumes of the most gaudy and showy 
character, was standing upon the front seat, and 
carrying on an active, and, as it seemed, acri- 
monious controversy with the sergeant of the 
horse police. 

" You must go back — -can't help it, ma'am — 
nothing but the members of the household can 
pass this way." 

"Oh dear! where's Captain O'Grady? — sure 
it's not possible I could be treated this way. 
Paul, take that man's name, and mind you 
have him dismissed in the morning. Where 
are you, Paul? Ah! he's gone. It is the way 
with him always; and here you sit. Bob Dwyer, 
and you are no more good than a stick of sealing- 
wax!" 

Here a suppressed titter of laughter from the 
back of the carriage induced me to turn my eyes 
in that direction, and I beheld one of the most 
beautiful girls I ever looked at, holding her hand- 
kerchief to her mouth to conceal her laughter. 
Her dark eyes flashed, and her features sparkled, 
while a blush, at being so discovered, if possible 
added to her beauty. 

"All right," said I to myself, as taking off my 
hat I bowed to the very mane of my horse. 

"If your ladyship will kindly permit me," said 
I, "his grace has sent me to show you the way." 

The dragoons fell back as I spoke; the horse 
police looked awfully frightened; while the lady 
whose late eloquence manifested little of fear or 
trepidation, threw herself back into her carriage, 
and, covering her face with her handkerchief 
sobbed violently. 

"Ah, the duchess said she was nervous. Poor 
Lady Kil " 

" Speak to me, Louisa, dear. Who is it? Is it 
Mr. Wellesly Pole? Is it " 

I did not wait for a further supposition, but in 
a most insinuating voice added, — 

"Mr. Hinton, my lady, extra aide-de-camp on 
his excellency's staff. The duchess feared you 
would be nervous, and hopes you'll get as close 
to her as possible." 

" Where's Paul?" said the lady, once more re- 
covering her animation. " If this is a hoax, 
young gentleman " 

"Madam," said I, bowing stiffly, ''I am really 
at a loss to understand your meaning." 

" Oh, forgive me, Mr. Hilton." - 

" Hinton, my lady." 

"Yes, Hinton," said she. " I am a beast to 
mistrust you, and you so young and so artless; 
the sweetest blue eyes I ever looked at." 



This was said in a whisper to her young friend, 
whose mirth now threatened to burst forth. 

"And was it really his royal highness that sent 
you?" 

" His grace, my lady, I assure you, despatched 
me to your aid. He saw your carriage through 
his glass, and, guessing what had occurred, di- 
rected me to ride over and accompany your 
ladyship to the viceregal stand." 

Poor Lady Kil 's nervousness again seized 

her, and, with a faint cry for the ever-absent 
Paul, she went off into rather smart hysterics. 
During this paroxysm I could not help feeling 
somewhat annoyed at the young lady's conduct, 
who, instead of evincing the slightest sympathy 
for her mother, held her head down, and seemed 
to shake with laughter. By this time, however, 
the postilions were again under way, and, after 
ten minutes' sharp trotting, we entered the grand 
stand, with whips cracking, ribbons fluttering, 
and I myself caracoling beside the carriage with 
an air of triumphant success. 

A large dusky travelling carriage had mean- 
while occupied the place the duchess designed 
for her friend. The only thing to do, therefore, 
was to place them as conveniently as I could, 
and hasten back to inform her grace of the suc- 
cess of my mission. As I approached her car- 
riage I was saluted by a burst of laughter from 
the staff, in which the duke himself joined most 
extravagantly; while O'Grady, with his hands on 
his sides, threatened to fall from the saddle. 

"What the deuse is the matter?" thought I; 
"I didn't bungle it?" 

"Tell her grace," said the duke, with his hand 
upon his mouth, unable to finish the sentence 
with laughter. 

I saw something was wrong, and that I was in 
some infernal scrape; still resolved to go through 
with it, I drew near, and said: 

"I am happy to inform your grace that Lady 
Kil " 

" Is here," said the duchess, bowing haughtily, 
as she turned towards a spiteful-looking dowager 
beside her. 

Here was a mess! So, bowing and backing, I 
dropped through the crowd to where my com- 
panions still stood convulsed with merriment. 

"What, in the devil's name, is it?" said I to 
O'Grady. " Whom have I been escorting this 
half hour?" 

" You've immortalized yourself^" said O'Grady, 
with a roar of laughter. " Your bill at twelve 
months for five hundred pounds is as good this 
moment as bank paper." 

" What is it?" said I, losing all patience. " "Who 
is she?" 

" Mrs. Paul Rooney, my boy, the gem of attor- 
neys' wives, the glory of Stephen's green, with a 
villa at Bray, a box at the theatre, champagne 
suppers every night in the week, dinners pro- 
miscuously, and lunch ti discretion; there's glory 
for you You may laugh at a latitat, sneer at 
the King's Bench, and snap your fingers at any 
process-server from here to Kilmainham!" 

"May the devil fly away with her!" said I, 
wiping my forehead with passion and excitement. 

"The heavens forbid !" said O'Grady, piously. 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



^ 



"Our exchequer maybe guilty of many an ex- 
travagance, but it could not permit such a flight 
as that. It is evident, Hinton, tiiat you did not 
see the pretty girl beside her in the carriage?" 

"Yes, yes, I saw her," said I, biting my lip 
with impatience, "and she seemed evidently en- 
joying tlie infernal blunder I was committing. 
And Mrs. Paul — oh, confound her! I can never 
endure the sight of lier again!" 

" My dear young friend," replied O'Grady, 
with an affected seriousness, " I see that already 
the prejudices of your very silly countrymen have 
worked their effect upon you. Had not Lord Dud- 
ley de Vere given you such a picture of the 
Rooney family, you would probably be much 
more lenient in your judgment; besides, after all, 
the error was yours, not hers. You told her that 
the duke had sent you; you told her the duchess 
wished her carriage beside her own. ' 

"You take a singular mode," said I, pettishly, 
" to bring a man back to a good temper, by show- 
ing him that he has no one to blame for his mis- 
fortunes but himself. Confound them! look how 
they are all laughing about us. Indeed, from the 
little I've seen, it is the only thing they appear to 
do in this country." 

At a signal from the duke, O'Grady put spurs 
to his horse and c.mtered down the line, leaving 
me to such reflections as I could form beneath 
the gaze of some forty persons, who could not 
turn to look without laughing at me. 

" This is pleasant," thought I, " this is really 
a happy debut; that I, whose unimpeachable accu- 
racy of manner and address should have won fpr 
me, at the prince's levee, the approbation of the 
first gentlemen of Europe, should here, among 
these semi-civilized savages, become an object of 
ridicule and laughter. My father told me they 

were very different; and my mother '' I had 

not patience to think of the frightful effects my 
absurd situation might produce upon her nerves. 
" Lady Julia, too — ah! there's the rub — my beau- 
tiful cousin, who, in the slightest solecism of 
London manners, could find matter for sarcasm 
and raillery. What would she think of me now? 
And this it is they persuaded me to prefer to 
active service! What wound to a man s flesh 
could equal one to his feelings? I would rather 
be condoled with than scoffed at any day, and 
see! by Jove, they're laughing still. I would 
wager a fifty that I furnish the dinner conversa- 
tion for every table in the capital this day." 

The vine twig shows not more ingenuity, as it 
traverses some rocky crag in search of the cool 
stream, at once its luxury and its life, than does 
our injured self-love, in seeking for consolation 
from the inevitable casualties of fate, and the 
irresistible strokes of fortune! Thus I found 
comfort in the thought that the ridicule attached 
to me rather proceeded from the low standard 
of manners and habits about me than from any- 
thing positively absurd in my position; and, in 
my warped and biassed imagination, I actually 
preferred the insolent insipidity of Lord Dudley 
de Vere to the hearty raciness and laughter- 
loving spirit of Phil O'Grady. 

My reflections were now cut short by the order 
for the staff to mount, and, following the current 



of my present feelings, I drew near to Lord 
Dudley, in whose emptiness and inanity I felt a 
degree of security from sarcasm, that I could by no 
means be so confident of in O'Grady's company. 
Amid, the thunder of cannon, the deafening 
roll of drums, the tramp of cavalry, and the 
measured footfall of the infantry columns, these 
thoughts rapidly gave way to others, and I soon 
forgot myself in the scene around me. The 
siglit, indeed, was an inspiriting one; for although 
but the mockery of glorious war, to my unprac- 
tised eye the deception was delightful: the bracing 
air, the bright sky, the scenery itself, lent 
their aid, and, in the brilliant panorama before me, 
I soon regained my light-heartedness, and felt 
happy as before. 



CHAPTER VL 



THE SHAM BATTLE. 



I HAVE mentioned in my last chapter how very 
rapidly I forgot my troubles in the excitement of 
the scene around me. Indeed, they must have 
been much more important, much deeper woes, 
to have occupied any place in a head so addled 
and confused as mine was. The manoeuvres of 
the day included a sham battle; and scarcely had 
his excellency passed down the line, when prep- 
arations for the engagement began. The heavy 
artillery was seen to limber up, and move slowly 
across the field, accompanied by a strong detach- 
ment of cavalry, columns of infantry were 
marched hither and thither with the most press- 
ing, eager haste; orderly dragoons and stafl'-offi- 
cers galloped to and fro like madmen; red-faced 
plethoric little colonels bawled out the word of 
command till one feared they might burst a 
blood-vessel; and already two companies of 
light infantry might be seen stealing cautiously 
along the skirts of the wood, with the apparently- 
insidious design of attacking a brigade of guns. 
As for me, I was at one moment employed carry- 
ing despatches to Sir Charles Asgill, at another 
conveying intelligence to Lord Harrington; these, 
be it known, being the rival commanders, whose 
powers of strategy were now to be tested before the 
assembled and discriminating citizens of Dublin. 
Not to speak of the eminent personal hazard of 
a service which required me constantly to ride 
between the lines of contending armies, the fa- 
tigue alone had nigh killed me. Scarcely did I ap- 
pear, breathless, at head-quarters on my return 
from one mission, when I was despatched on 
another. Tired and panting, I more than once 
bungled my directions, and communicated to Sir 
Charles the secret intentions of his lordship, 
while with a laudable impartiality I disarranged 
the former's plans by a total misconception of 
the orders. Fatigue, noise, chagrin, and incess- 
ant worry had so completely turned my head, 
that I became perfectly incapable of the com- 
monest exercises of reason. Some of the artil- 
lery I ordered into a hollow, where I was told to 
station a party of riflemen. Three squadrons of 
cavalry I desired to charge up a hill, which the 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



71st Highlanders were to Have scrambled up if 
they were able. Light dragoons I posted in 
situations so beset with brushwood and firs, 
that all movements became impossible; and, in a 
word, when the signal-gun announced the com- 
mencement of the action, my mistakes had intro- 
duced such a new feature into tactics, that neitlier 
party knew what his adversary was at, nor, 
indeed, had any accurate notion of which were 
his own troops. The duke, who had watched 
with the most eager satisfaction the whole of my 
proceedings, sat laughing upon his horse till the 
very tears coursed down his cheeks; and, as all 
the staff were more or less participators in the 
secret, I found myself once more the center of a 
grinning audience, perfectly convulsed at my ex- 
ploits. Meanwhile, the guns thundered, the 
cavalry charged, the infantry poured in a rattling 
roar of small arms; while the luckless com- 
manders, unable to discover any semblance of a 
plan, and still worse, not knowing where one-half 
of their forces were concealed, dared not ad- 
venture upon a movement, and preferred trusting 
to the smoke of the battle as a cover for their 
blunders. Thefusilade, therefore, was hotly sus- 
tained; all the heavy pieces were brought to the 
front; and while the spectators were an.\iously 
looking for the manoeuvres of a fight, the ammuni- 
tion was waxing low, and tlie day wearing apace. 
Dissatisfaction at length began to show itself on 
every side; and the duke assuming, as well as he was 
able, somewhat of a disappointed look, the un- 
happy generals made a final effort to retrieve tlieir 
mishaps, and aides-de-camp were despatclied 
through all the highways and byways, to bring up 
whoever they could find as quickly as possible. 
Now then began such a scene as few even of the 
oldest campaigners ever witnessed the equal of. 
From every dell and hollow, from every brake and 
thicket, burst forth some party or other, who up to 
this moment believed themselves lying in ambush. 
Horse, foot, and dragoons, artillery, sappers, light 
infantry, and grenadiers, rushed forward wher- 
ever chance or their bewildered officers led them. 
Here might be seen one-half of a regiment blaz- 
ing away at a stray company of their own people, 
running like devils for shelter; here some squad- 
rons of horse, who, indignant at their fruitless 
charges and unmeaning movements, now dog- 
gedly dismounted, were standing right before a 
brigade of tvvelve-pounders, thundering merci- 
lessly amongst them. Never was witnessed such 
a scene of riot, confusion, and disorder. Colonels 
lost their regiments, regiments their colonels. 
Tiie Fusiliers captured the band of the Royal 
Irish, and made them play through the heat of 
the engagement. Those who at first expressed 
en/!!/ 1 and fatigue at the sameness and monotony 
of the scene, were now gratified to the utmost 
by its life, bustle, and animation. Elderly cit- 
izens in drab shorts and buff waistcoats ex- 
plained to their listening wives and urchins the 
plans and intentions of the rival heroes, pro- 
nouncing the whole thing the while the very best 
field-day that ever was seen in the Phoenix. 
. In the midst of all this confusion, a new ele- 
ment of discord suddenly displayed itself. That 
loyal corps, the Cork militia, who were ordered 



up to attack close to where the duke and his 
staff were standing, deemed that no better moment 
could be chosen to exhibit their attachment to 
church and state than when marching on to glory, 
struck up, with all the discord of their band, the 
redoubted air of " Protestant Boys." A cheer 
burst from the ranks as the loyal strains filled 
the air; but scarcely had the loud burst subsided, 
when the Louth militia advanced with a quick- 
step, their fifes playing " Vinegar Hill." 

For a moment or two the rivalry created a per- 
fect roar of laughter, but this very soon gave 
way, as the two regiments, instead of drawing up 
at a reasonable distance for the interchange of 
an amicable blank cartridge, rushed down upon 
each other with the fury of madmen. So sudden, 
so impetuous was the encounter, all effort to pre- 
vent it was impracticable. Muskets were clubbed 
or bayonets fixed, and in a moment really serious 
battle was engaged; the musicians on each side 
encouraging their party, as they racked their 
brains for party-tunes of the most bitter and 
taunting character; while cries of " Down with 
King William!" " To hell with the pope!" rose 
alternately from either side. 

How far this spirit might have extended, it is 
difficult to say, when the duke gave orders for 
some squadrons of cavalry to charge down upon 
them, and separate the contending forces. This 
order was fortunately in time; for scarcely was 
it issued, wlien a west country yeomanry corps 
came galloping up to the assistance of the bra\ e 
Louth. 

" Here we are boys!" cried Mike Westropjj, 
their colonel — " here we are! lave the way for 
us! and we'll ride down the murthering Orange 
villains, every man of them!" 

The Louth fell back, and tlie yeomen came 
forward at a charge; Westropp standing high in 
his stirrups, and flourishing his sabre above his 
head. It was just then that a heavy brigade of 
artillery, unconscious of the hot work going for- 
ward, were ordered to open their fire upon the 
Loutli militia. One of the guns, by some acci- 
dent, contained an undue proportion of wadding, 
and to this casual circumstance may, in a great 
degree, be attributed the happy issue of what 
threatened to be a serious disturbance; for, as 
Westropp advanced, cheering and encouraging 
his men, he received this wadding slap in his 
face. Down he tumbled at once, rolling over 
and over with the shock; wliile, believing that 
he had got his death-wound, he bellowed out. — 

"Oh! blessed Virgin! there's threason in the 
camp! hit in the face by a four-pounder, by Jove! 
Oh! duke, darling! Oh! your grace! Oh! holy 
Joseph, look at this! Oh! bad luck to the arthil- 
lery, for spoiling afair fight! Peter" — thiswasthe 
major of the regiment — " Peter Darcy, gallop into 
town and lodge informations against the brigade 
of guns. I'll be dead before you come back." 

A perfect burst of laughter broke from the 
opposing ranks, and while his friends crowded 
round the discomfited leader, the rival bands 
united in a roar of merriment that for a moment 
caused a suspension of hostilities. For a moment, 
I say; for scarcely had the gallant Westropp 
been conveyed to the rear, when once more the 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



27 



bands struck up their irritatingstrains, and prep- 
arations for a still more deadly encounter were 
made on every side. The matter now assumed 
so serious an aspect, that tlie duke was obliged 
himself to interfere, and order both parties off 
the ground; the Cork deploying towards the 
Lodge, while the brave Louth marched off with 
banners flying and drums beating in the direc- 
tion of Knock maroon. 

These movements were conducted with a 
serio-comic solemnity of the most ludicrous 
kind; and although the respect for viceregal au- 
thority was great, and the military devotion of 
each party strong, yet neither one nor the other 
was sufficient to prevent the more violent on 
both sides from occasionally turning, as they 
went, to give expression to some taunting 
allusion or some galling sarcasm, well calculated, 
did the oi)portunity permit, to renew the conflict. 

A hearty burst of laughter from the duke in- 
dicated pretty clearly how he regarded the 
matter; and, however the grave and significant 
looks of others might seem to imply that there 
was more in the circumstance than mere food 
for mirth, he shook his sides merrily; and, as his 
bright eye glistened with satisfaction, and his 
cheek glowed, he could not help whispering his 
regret that his station compelled him to check 
the very best joke he ever witnessed in his life. 

"This is hot work. Sir Charles," said he, 
wiping his foreliead as he spoke; ."and, as it is 
now past three o'clock, and we have a privy 
council at four, I fear I must leave you." 

" The troops will move past in marching order," 
replied Sir Charles, pompously: "will your grace 
receive the salute at this point?" 

"Wherever you like, Sir Charles; wherever 
you like. Would to heaven that some good 
Samaritan could afford me a little brandy-and- 
water from his canteen. I say, Hinton, they 
seem at luncheon yonder in "that carriage: do 
you think your diplomacy could negotiate a 
glass of sherry for me?" 

"If yoLi'll permit me, my lord, I'll try," said 
I, as, disengaging myself from the crowd, I set 
off in the direction he pointed. 

As 1 drew near the carriage — from which the 
horses had been taken — drawn up beside a 
clump of beech-trees for the sake of shelter — I 
was not long in perceiving that it was the same 
equipage I had so gallantly rescued in the morn- 
ing from the sabres of the horse police. Had I 
entertained any fears for the effects of the 
nervous shock upon the tender sensibilities of 
Mrs. Paul Rooney, the scene before me must 
have completely dispelled my uneasiness. Never 
did a merrier peal of laughter ring from female 
lungs than hers as I rode forward. Seated in 
the back of the carriage, the front cushion of 
which served as a kind of table, sat the lady in 
question. One hand, resting upon her knee, 
held a formidable carving-fork, on the summit 
of which vibrated the short leg of a chicken; in 
the other she grasped a silver vessel, which, were 
I to predicate from the froth, I fear I should 
pronounce to be porter. A luncheon on the 
most liberal scale, displayed, in all the confusion 
and disorder inseparable from such a situation, a 



veal-pie, cold lamb, tongue, chickens, and sand- 
wiches; drinking vessels of every shape and 
material; a smelhng-bottle full of mustard, and a 
newspaper paragraph full of salt. Abundant as 
were the viands, the guests were not wanting: 
crowds of infantry officers, flushed with victory 
or undismayed by defeat, hob-nobbed from the 
rumble to the box; the steps, the springs, the 
very splinter-bar had its occupant; and, truly, a 
merrier partv, or a more convivial, it were diffi- 
cult to conceive. 

So environed was Mrs. Rooney by her friends, 
that I was enabled to observe them some time, 
myself unseen. 

"Captain Mitchell, another wing? Well, the 
least taste in life of the breast? Bob Dwyer, 
will ye never have done drawing that cork?" 

Now this, I must aver, was an unjust reproach, 
inasmucli as to my own certain knowledge he had 
accomplished three feats of that nature in about as 
many minutes; and, had the aforesaid Bob been 
reared from his infancy in drawing corks, instead 
of declarations, his practice could not have been 
more expert. Pop, pop, they went; glug, glug, 
glug, flowed the bubbling liquor, as sherry, shrub, 
cold punch, and bottled porter succeeded each 
other in rapid order. Simpering ensigns, with 
elevated eyebrows, insinuated nonsense, soft, 
vapid, and unmeaning as their own brains, as 
they hel|)ed themselves to ham or dived into the 
pasty; while a young dragoon, who seemed to 
devote his attention to Mrs. Rooney's companion, 
amused himself by constant endeavors to stroke 
down a growing moustache, whose downy white- 
ness resembled nothing that 1 know of save the ill- 
omened fur one sees on an antiquated apple-pie. 

As I locked on every side to catch a glance at 
him whom I should suppose to be Mr. Rooney, 
I was myself detected by the watchful eye of Bob 
Dwyer, who, at that moment having his mouth 
full of three hard eggs, was nearly asjihyxiated 
in his endeavors to telegraph my approach to Mrs. 
Paul. 

" The edge-du-cong, by the mortial !" said he, 
spluttering out the words, as his bloodshot eyes 
nearly bolted out of his head. 

Had I been a Bengal tiger, my advent might 
have caused less alarm. The officers not know- 
ing if the duke himself were coming, wiped their 
lips, resumed their caps and shakos, and sprang 
to the ground in dismay and confusion; as Mrs. 
Rooney herself, with an adroitness an Indian 
juggler might have envied, plunged the fork, 
drumstick and all, into the recesses of her muff; 
while with a back hand she decanted the XX upon 
a bald major of infantry, who was brushing the 
crumbs from his facings. One individual alone 
seemed to relish and enjoy the discomfiture of the 
others; this was the young lady v hom I before 
remarked, and whose whole air and appearance 
seemed strangely at variance vith everything 
around her. She gave free current to her mirth; 
while Mrs. Paul, now suddenly restored to a sense 
of her nervous constitution, fell back in her car- 
riage, and appeared bent upon a scene. 

"You caught us enjoying ourselves, Mr. Stil- 
ton?" 

" Hinton, if you'll allow me, madam." 



'28 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



" Ay, to be sure — Mr. Hinton. Taking a little 
snack, which I am sure you'd be the better for 
after the fatigues of the day." 

" Eh, au, au! a devilish good luncheon," chimed 
in a pale sub., the first who ventured to pluck up 
his courage. 

"Would a sandwich tempt you, with a glass of 
champagne?" said Mrs. Paul, with the blandest 
of smiles. 

" I can recommend the lamb, sir," said a voice 
behind. 

"Begad, I'll vouch for the porter," said the 
major. " I only hope it is a good cosmetic." 

" It is a beautiful thing for the hair," said Mrs. 
Rooney, half venturing upon a joke. 

" No more on that head, ma'am," said the little 
major, bowing pompously. 

By this time, thanks to the assiduous attentions 
of Bob Dwyer, I was presented with a plate, 
which, had I been an anaconda instead of an 
aide-de-camp, might have satisfied my appetite. 
A place was made for me in the carriage; and the 
faithful Bob, converting the skirt of his principal 
blue into a glass cloth, polished a wine-glass for 
my private use. 

" Let me introduce my young friend, Mr. Hin- 
ton," said Mrs. Paul, with a graceful wave of her 
jewelled hand towards her companion. " Miss 
Louisa Bellew, only daughter of Sir Simon Bel- 
lew, of " what the place was I could not well 

hear, but it sounded confoundedly like Kill- 
himan-smotherum — "a beautiful place in the 
county Mayo. Bob, is it punch you are giving?" 

"Most excellent, I assure you, Mrs. Rooney." 

"And how is the duke, sir? I hope his grace 
enjoys good health. He is a darling of a man." 

By-the-bye, it is perfectly absurd the sympathy 
your third or fourth-rate people feel in the health 
and habits of those above them in station, pleased 
as they are to learn the most commonplace and 
worthless trifles concerning them, and happy 
when, by any chance, some accidental similitude 
would seem to e.vist even between their misfor- 
tunes. 

" And the dear duchess," resumed Mrs. Rooney, 
" she's troubled with the nerves like myself. Ah! 
Mr. Hinton, what an affliction it is to have a sen- 
sitive nature, that's what I often say to my sweet 
young friend here. It's better for her to be the 
gay, giddy, thoughtless, happy thing she is than — " 
Here the lady sighed, wiped her eyes, flourished 
her cambric, and tried to look like Agnes in the 
" Bleeding Nun." " But here they come. You 
don't know Mr. Rooney? Allow me to introduce 
him to you." 

As he spoke, O'Grady cantered up to the car- 
riage, accompanied by a short, pursy, round-faced 
little man, who, with his hat set knowingly on 
one side, and his top-boots scarce reaching to 
llie middle of the leg, bestrode a sharp, strong- 
boned hackney, with cropped ears and short tail. 
He carried in his hand a hunting-whip, and 
seemed, by his seat in the saddle and the easy 
finger upon the bridle, no indifferent horseman. 

" Mr. Rooney," said the lady, drawing herself 
up with a certain austerity of manner, " I wish 
you to make the acquaintance of Mr. Hinton, the 
aide-de-camp to his grace." 



Mr. Rooney lifted his hat straight above his 
head, and replaced it a little more obliquely than 
before over his right eye. 

" Delighted, upon my honor — faith, quite 
charmed— hope you got something to eat — there 
never was such a murthering hot day — Bob 
Dwyer, open a bottle of port — the captain is 
famished." 

" I say, Hinton," called out O'Grady, "you 
forgot the duke, it seems; he told me you had 
gone in search of some sherry, or something of 
the kind; but I can readily conceive how easily a 
man may forget himself in such a position as 
yours." 

Here Mrs. Paul dropped her head in deep 
confusion, Miss Bellew looked saucy, and I, for 
the first time remembering what brought me 
there, was perfectly overwhelmed with shame at 
my carelessness. 

" Never mind, boy, don't fret about it, his 
grace is the most forgiving man in the world; 
and when he knows where you wert " 

"Ah, captain!" sighed Mrs. Rooney. 

" Master Phil, it's yourself can do it," mur- 
mured Paul, who perfectly appreciated O'Grady's 
powers of "blarney," when exercised on the 
susceptible temperament of his fair spouse. 

" I'll take a sandwich," continued the captain. 
"Do you know, Mrs. Rooney, I've been riding 
about this half hour to catch my young friend, 
and introduce, him to you; and here I find him 
comfortably installed, without my aid or assist- 
ance. The fact is, these English fellows have a 
flattering, insinuating way of their own there's 
no coming up to. Isn't that so. Miss Bellew?" 

"Very likely," said the young lady, who now 
spoke for the first time; "but it is so very well 
concealed that I for one could never detect it." 

This speech, uttered with a certain pert and 
saucy air, nettled me for the moment; but as no 
reply occurred to me, I could only look at the 
speaker a tacit acknowledgment of her sarcasm; 
while I remembered, for the first lime, that, 
although seated opposite my very attractive 
neighbor, I had hitherto not addressed to her a 
single phrase of even commonplace attention. 

"I suppose you put up in the Castle, sir?" 
said Mr. Rooney. 

" Yes, two doors lower down than Mount 
O'Grady," replied the captain for me. "But 
come, Hinton, the carriages are moving, we must 
get back as quick as we can. Good-bye, Paul. 
Adieu, Mrs. Rooney. Miss Bellew, good- morn- 
ing." 

It was just at the moment when I had sum- 
moned up my courage to address Miss Bellew, 
that O'Grady called me away: there was nothing 
for it, however, but to make my adieux; while, 
extricating myself from the debris of the luncheon, 
I once more mounted my horse, and joined 
the viceregal party as they drove from the 
ground. 

" I'm delighted you know the Rooneys," said 
O'Grady, as we drove along; " they are by far 
the best fun going. Paul good, but his wife 
superb!" 

"And the young lady?" said I. 

" Oh, a different kind of thing altogether. By- 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



29 



the-bye, Hinton, you took my hint, I hope, about 
your English manner?" 

" Eh — why — how — what do you mean?" 
" Simply, my boy, that your Coppermine-river 
kind of courtesy may be a devilish fine thing in 
Hyde Park or St. James's, but will never do with 
us poor people here. Put more warmth into it, 
man. Dash the lemonade with a little maras- 
chino: you'll feel twice as comfortable yourself, 
and the girls like you all the better. You take 
the suggestion in good part, I'm sure." 

" Oil, of course," said I., somewhat stung that 
I should get a lesson in manner where I had 
meant to be a model for imitation; "if they like 
that kind of thing, I must only conform." 



CHAPTER VII. 



THE ROONEYS. 



I CANNOT proceed farther in this my veracious 
history without dwelling a little longer upon the 
characters of the two interesting individuals I 
have already presented to my readers as Mr. and 
Mrs. Rooney. 

Paul Rooney, attorney-at-lavv, 42, Stephen's 
green. North, was about as well known in his 
native city of Dublin as Nelson's Pillar. His 
reputation, unlimited by the adventitious circum- 
stances of class, spread over the wliole surface of 
society; and, from the chancellor down to the 
carman, his claims were confessed. 

It is possible that, in many other cities of the 
world, Mr. Rooney might have been regarded as 
a commonplace, everyday personage, well-to-do 
in the world, and of a free-and-easy character, 
which if it left little for reproach, left still less 
for remark: but in Ireland, whether it was the 
erimate or the people, the poteen or the potatoes, 
I cannot say, but certainly he "came out," as the 
painters call it, in a breadth of color quite sur- 
prising. 

The changeful character of the skies has, they 
tell us, a remarkable influence in fashioning the 
ever-varying features of Irish temperament; and, 
certainly, the inconstant climate of Dublin had 
much merit if it produced in Mr. Rooney the 
versatile nature he rejoiced in. 

About ten o'clock, on every morning during 
term, might be seen a shrewd, cunning-looking, 
sly little fellow, who, with pursed-uj) lips and 
slightly elevated nose, wended his way towards 
the Four Courts, followed by a ragged urchin 
with a well-filled bag of purple stuff. His black 
coat, drab shorts, and gaiters, had a plain and 
business-like cut; and the short, square tie of 
his white cravat had a quaint resemblance to a 
flourish on a deed; the self-satisfied look, the 
assured step, the easy roll of the head — all be- 
spoke one with whom the world was thriving; 
and it did not need the additional evidence of a 
certain habit he had of jingling his silver in his 
breeches-pocket as he went, to assure you that 
Rooney was a warm fellow, and had no want of 
cash. 

Were you to trace his steps for the three or 



four hours that ensued, you would see him bust- 
ling through the crowded hall of the Four 
Courts — now, whispermg some important point 
to a leading barrister, while he held another by 
the gown lest he should escape him; now, he 
might be remarked seated in a niche between the 
pillars, explaining some knotty difficulty to a west- 
ern client, whose flushed cheek and flashing eye 
too plainly indicated his impatience of legal 
strategy, and how much more pleased he would 
feel to redress his wrongs in his own fashion: 
now brow-beating, now cajoling, now encourag- 
ing, now condoling, he edged his way through 
the bewigged and dusty throng, not stopping to 
reply to the hundred salutations he met with, 
save by a knowing wink, which was the only civ- 
ility lie did not put down at three-and-four- 
pence. If his knowledge of law was little, his 
knowledge of human nature — at least of such of 
it as Ireland exhibits — was great; and no case of 
any importance could come before a jury, where 
Paul's advice and opinion were not deemed of 
considerable importance. No man better knew 
all the wiles and twists, all the dark nooks and 
recesses of Irish character. No man more quickly 
could ferret out a hoarded secret; no one so soon 
detect an attempted imposition. His was the se- 
cret /ti//Vi? of law; he read a witness as he would 
a deed, and detected a flaw in him to the full as 
easily. 

As he sat near the leading counsel in a cause, 
he seemed a kind of middle term between the 
lawyer and the jury. Marking by some slight 
but significant gesture every point of the former, 
to the latter he impressed upon their minds every 
favorable feature of his client's cause; and 
twelve deaf men might have followed the plead- 
ings in a cause, thro.ugh the agency of Paul's 
gesticulations. The consequence of these varied 
gifts was, business flowed in upon him from 
every side, and few members of the bar were in 
the receipt of one-half his income. 

Scarcely, however, did the court rise, when 
Paul, shaking from his shoulders the learned 
dust of the e.xchequer, would dive into a small 
apartment which, in an obscure house in Mass 
lane, he dignified by the name of his study. 
Short and few as were his moments of seclusion, 
they sufficed to effect in his entire man a com- 
plete and total change. The shrewd little attor- 
ney that went in with a nisi prizis grin, came out 
a round, pleasant-looking fellow, with a green 
coat of jockey cut, a buff waistcoat, white cords, 
and tops; his hat set jauntily on one side, his 
spotted neckcloth knotted in a bang-up mode — 
in fact, his figure the l>cau ideal oi a west-country 
squire taking a canter among his covers before 
the opening of the hunting. 

His grey eyes, expanded to twice their former 
size, looked the very soul of merriment; his 
nether lip slightly dropped, quivered with the last 
joke it uttered. Even his voice partook of the 
change, and was now a rich, full, mellow Clare 
accent, which, with the recitative of his country, 
seemed to Italianize his English. While such was 
Paul, his accessoij-es — as the French would call 
them — were in admirable keeping; a dark chest- 
nut cob, a perfect model of strength and sym- 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN; 



metry, would be led up and down by a groom, 
also mounted upon a strong hackney, whose flat 
rib and short pastern showed his old Irish breed- 
ing; the well-fitting saddle, the well-balanced 
stirrup, the plain but powerful snaffle, all looked 
like the appendages of one whose jockeyism was 
no assumed feature; and, indeed, you had only 
to see Mr. Rooney in his seat, to confess that he 
was to the full as much at home there as in the 
court of chancery. 

From this to the hour of a late dinner, the 
Phcenix Park became his resort. There, sur- 
rounded by a gay and laughing crowd, Paul can- 
tered along, amusing his hearers with the last mot 
from the King's Bench, or some stray bit of humor 
or fun from a case on circuit. His conversation, 
however, principally ran on other topics; tlie 
Curragh meeting, the Loughrea steeplechase, the 
Meath cup, or Lord Boyne's handicap; with these 
he was thoroughly familiar. He knew the odds of 
every race, could apportion the weights, describe 
the ground, and, better than all, make rather a 
good guess at the winner. In addition to these 
gifts, he was the best judge of a horse in Ireland; 
always well mounted, and never without at least 
two hackneys in his stable, able to trot their fif- 
teen Irish miles within the hour. Such qualities 
as these might be supposed popular ones in a 
country proverbially given to sporting; but Mr. 
Rooney had other and very superior powers of 
attraction, — he was the Amphitryon of Dublin. 

It was no figurative expression to say that he 
kept open house. Dejedncrs, dinners, routs, and 
balls followed each other in endless succession. 
His cook was French, his claret was Sneyd's; he 
imported his own sherry and Madeira, both of 
which he nursed with a care and affection truly 
parental. His venison and black-cock came from 
Scotland, every Holyhead packet had its consign- 
ment of Welsh mutton; and, in a word, what- 
ever wealth could purchase, and a taste, nurtured 
as his had been by the counsel of many who fre- 
quented his table, could procure, such he possessed 
in abundance, his greatest ambition being to out- 
shine in splendor, and surpass in magnificence, 
all the other dinner-givers of the day, filling his 
house with the great and titled of the land, who 
ministered to his vanity with singular good-nature, 
while they sipped his claret, and sat over his 
Burgundy. 

His was indeed a pleasant house. Tlie boiis 
vivants liked it for its excellent fare, the perfec- 
tion of its wines, the certainty of finding the first 
rarity of the season before its existence was heard 
of at other tables; the lounger liked it for its 
ease and informality; the humorist, for the amus- 
ing features of its host and hostess; and not a few 
were attracted by the gracefulness of one, who, 
by some strange fatality of fortune seemed to have 
been dropped down into the midst of this sin- 
gular mi'nage. 

Of Mr. Rooney, I have only further to say that, 
hospitable as a prince, he was never so happy as 
at the head of his table; for, although his natural 
sharpness could not but convince him of the 
footing which he occupied among his high and 
distinguished guests, yet he knew well there are 
few such levellers of rank as riches, and he had 



read in his youth that even the lofty Jove himself 
was accessible by the odor of a hecatomb. 

Mrs. Rooney — or as she wrote herself upon her 
card, Mrs. Paul Rooney (there seemed something 
distinctive in the prenom.) — was a being of a very 
different order. Perfectly unconscious of the 
ridicule that attaches to vulgar profusion, she be- 
lieved herself the great source of attraction of 
her crowded staircase and besieged drawing-room. 
True it was, she was a large and very handsome 
woman. Her deep, dark, brown eyes, and bril- 
liant complexion, would have been beautiful, had 
not her mouth somewhat marred their effect, by 
that coarse expression which high living and a 
voluptuous life is sure to impress upon those not 
born to be great. There is no doubt of it, the 
mouth is your thoroughbred feature. You will 
meet eyes as softly beaming, as brightiv speaking, 
among the lofty cliffs of the wild Tyrol, or in 
the deep valleys of the far west; I have seen, 
too, a brow as fairly pencilled, a nose no Grecian 
statue could surpass, a skin whose tint was fair 
and transparent as the downy roseleaf, amid 
the humble peasants of a poor and barren 
land; but never have I seen the mouth whose 
clean-cut lip and chiselled arch betokened 
birth. No: that feature would seem the prerog- 
ative of the highly born; fashioned to the ex- 
pression of high and holy thoughts; moulded to 
the utterance of ennobling sentiment, or proud 
desire. Its every lineament tells of birth and 
blood. 

Now, Mrs. Rooney's mouth was a large and 
handsome one, her teeth white and regular withal, 
and, when at rest, there was nothing to find fault 
with; but let her speak — was it her accent? — was 
it the awful provincialism of her native city? — 
was it that strange habit of contortion any patois 
is sure to impress upon the speaker? — I cannot 
tell, but certainly it lent to features of very con- 
siderable attraction a vulgarizing character of 
expression. 

It was truly provoking to see so handsome a 
person mar every effect of her beauty by somS 
extravagant display. Dramatizing every trivial 
incident in life, she rolled her eyes, looked horror- 
struck or happy, sweet or sarcastic, lofty or lan- 
guishing, all in one minute. There was an eter- 
nal play of feature of one kind or other; there 
was no rest, no repose. Her arms — and they 
were round, and fair, and well-fashioned — were 
also enlisted in the service; and to a distant ob- 
server Mrs. Rooney's animated conversation ap- 
peared like a priest performing mass. 

And that beautiful head, whose fair and classic 
proportions were balanced so equally upon her 
white and swelling throat, how tantalizing to 
know it full of low and petty ambitions, of vul- 
gar tastes, of contemptible rivalries, of insignifi- 
cant triumph. To see her, amid the voluptuous 
splendor and profusion of her gorgeous liouse, 
resplendent with jewelry, glistening in all the 
blaze of emeralds and rubies; to watch how the 
poisonous venom of innate vulgarity had so 
tainted that fair and beautiful form, rendering 
her an object of ridicule who should have been 
a thing to worship. It was too bad; and, as she 
sat at dinner, her plump but taper fingers grasp- 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



31 



ing a cliampagne glass, she seemed like a Ma- 
donna enacting the ixut of Moll Flagon. 

Now, Mrs. Paul's manner had as many dis- 
crepancies as her features. She was by nature a 
good, kind, merry, coarse personage, who loved 
a joke not the less if it were broad as well as 
long. Wealth, however, and its attendant evils, 
suggested the propriety of a very different line; 
and catching up as she did at every opportunity 
that presented itself such of the airs and graces 
as she believed to be the distinctive traits of high 
life, she figured about in these cast-off attrac- 
tions, like a waiting-maid in the abandoned finery 
of her mistress. 

As she progressed in fortune, she " tried back" 
for a family, and discovered that she was an 
O'Toole by birth, and consequently of Irish 
blood-royal; a certain O'Toole being king of a 
nameless tract, in an unknown year, somewhere 
about the time of Cromwell, who, Mrs. Rooney 
had heard, came over with the Romans. 

"Ah, yes, my dear," as she would say, when, 
softened by sherry and sorrow, she would lay 
her hand upon your arm — ''ah, yes, if every one 
had their own, it isn't married to an attorney I'd 
be, but living in regal splendor in the halls of 
my ancestors. Well, well '" Here she would 
throw up her eyes with a mixed expression of 
grief and confidence in heaven, that if she hadn't 
got her own, in this world, Oliver Cromwell, at 
least, was paying off, in the other, his foul wrongs 
to the royal house of O'Toole. 

I have only one person more to speak of ere 
I conclude my rather proli.\ account cf the family. 
Miss Louisa Bellew was the daughter of an Irish 
baronet, who put the keystone upon his ruin by 
his honest opposition to the passing of the union. 
His large estates, loaded with debt and encum- 
bered by mortgage, had been for half a century 
a kind of battle-field for legal warfare at every 
assizes. Through the medium of his difificulties 
he became acquainted with Mr. Rooney, whose 
craft and subtlety had rescued him from more 
than one difSculty, and whose good-natured as- 
sistance had done still more important service by 
loans upon his property. 

At Mr. Rooney's suggestion. Miss Bellew was 
iiivited to pass her winter with them in Dublin. 
This proposition, which, in the palmier days of 
tlie baronet's fortune, would in all probability 
never have been made, and would certainly never 
have been accepted, was now entertained with 
some consideration, and finally acceded to, on 
prudential motives. Rooney had lent him large 
sums he had never been a pressing, on the con- 
trary he was a lenient creditor; possessing great 
power over the property, he had used it spar- 
ingly, even delicately, and showed himself, upon 
more than one occasion, not only a shrewd ad- 
viser, but a warm friend. " 'Tis true," thought 
Sir Simon, "they are vulgar people, of coarse 
tastes and low habits, and those with whom they 
associate laugh at, though they live upon them; 
yet, after all, to refuse this invitation may be 
taken in ill part; a few months will do the whole 
thing. Louisa, although young, has tact and 
cleverness enough to see the difficulties of her 
position; besides, poor child, the gayety and life 



of a city will be a relief to her, after the dreary 
and monotonous existence she has passed with 
me." 

This latter reason he plausibly represented to 
himself as a strong one for complying with what 
his altered fortunes and ruined prospects seemed 
to render no longer a matter of choice. 

To the Rooneys, indeed, Miss Bellew's visit 
was a matter of some consequence; it was like 
the recognition of some petty state by one of the 
great powers of Europe. It was an acknowl- 
edgement of a social existence, an evidence to 
the world not only that there was such a thing 
as the kingdom of Rooney, but also that it was 
worth while to enter into negotiation with it, 
and even accredit an ambassador to its court. 

Little did that fair and lovely girl think, as 
with tearful eyes she turned again and again to 
embrace her father, as the hour arrived, when 
for the first time in her life she was to leave her 
home, little did she dream of the circumstances 
under which her visit was to be paid. Less a 
guest than a hostage, she was about to quit the 
home of her infancy, where, notwithstanding the 
inroads of poverty, a certain air of its once 
greatness still lingered; the broad and swelling 
lands, that stretched away with wood, and cop- 
pice, far as the eye could reach — the woodland 
walks — the ancient house itself, with its discord- 
ant pile, accumulated at different times by dif- 
ferent masters- — all told of power and supremacy 
in the land of her fathers. The lonely solitude 
of those walls, peopled alone by the gnm-visaged 
portraits of long-buried ancestors, were now to 
be exchanged for the noise and bustle, the glit- 
ter and the glare of second-rate city life; pro- 
fusion and extravagance, where she had seen but 
thrift and forbearance; the gossip, the scandal, 
the tittle-tattle of society, with its envies, its 
jealousies, its petty rivalries, and its rancors, 
were to supply those quiet evenings beside the 
winter hearth, when reading aloud some old and 
valued volume she learned to prize the treasures 
of our earlier writers under the guiding taste of 
one whose scholarship was of no mean order, 
and whose cultivated mind was imbued with all 
the tenderness and simplicity of a refined and 
gentle nature. 

When fortune smiled, when yonth and wealth, 
an ancient name and a high position, all 
concurred to elevate him, Sir Gimon Bellew was 
courteous almost to humility; but when the cloud 
of misfortune lowered over his house, when diffi- 
culties thickened around him, and every effort 
to rescue seemed only to plunge him deeper, then 
the deep-rooted pride of the man shone forth: 
and he who in happier days was forgiving even to 
a fault, became now scrupulous about every 
petty observance, exacting testimonies of respect 
from all around him, and assuming an almost 
tyranny of manner totally foreign to his tastes, 
his feelings and his nature; like some mighty oak 
of the forest, riven and scathed by lightning, its 
branches leafless and its roots laid bare, still 
standing erect, it stretches its sapless limbs proudly 
towards heaven, so stood he, reft of nearly all, 
yet still presenting to the adverse wind of fortune 
his bold, unshaken front. 



32 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



Alas, and alas! poverty has no heavier evil in 
its train than its power of perverting the fairest 
gifts of our nature from their true channel — 
making the bright sides of our character dark, 
gloomy, and repulsive. Thus the high-souled 
pride that in our better days sustains and keeps 
us far above the reach of sordid thoughts and 
unworthy actions, becomes in the darker hour of 
our destiny, a misanthropic selfishness, in which 
we wrap ourselves as in a mantle. The caresses 
of friendship, the warm affections of domestic 
love, cannot penetrate through this; even sym- 
pathy becomes suspected, and then commences 
that terrible struggle against the world, whose only 
termination is a broken heart. 

Notwithstanding, then, all Mr. Rooney's ad- 
dress in conveying the invitation in question, it 
was not without a severe struggle that Sir Simon 
resolved on its acceptance; and when at last he 
did accede, it was with so many stipulations, so 
many express conditions, that, had they been 
complied with de facto, as they were acknowl- 
edged by promise, Miss Bellew would, in all 
probability, have spent her winter in the retire- 
ment of her own chamber in Stephen's green, 
without seeing more of the capital and its inhabit- 
ants than a view from her window presented. 
Paul, it is true, agreed to everything; for, al- 
though, to use his own language, the codicil re- 
voked the entire body of the testament, he de- 
termined in his own mind to break the will. 
"Once in Dublin," thought he, " the fascinations 
of society, the pleasures of the world, with such 
a guide as Mrs. Rooney" — and here let me men- 
tion, that for his wife's tact and social cleverness 
Paul had the most heartfelt admiration — " with 
advantages like these, she will soon forget the 
humdrum life of Kilmorran Castle, and become 
reconciled to a splendor and magnificence un- 
surpassed by even the viceregal court." 

Here, then, let me conclude this account of 
the Rooneys, while I resume the thread of my 
own narrative. Although I feel for and am 
ashamed of the proli.xity in which I have in- 
dulged, yet, as I speak of real people, well 
known at the period of which I write, and as 
they may to a certain extent convey an impress- 
ion of the tone of one class in the society of 
that day, I could not bring myself to omit their 
mention, nor even dismiss them more briefly. 



CHAPTER VHI. 



THE VISIT. 

I HAVE already recorded the first twenty-four 
hours of my life in Ireland: and, if there was 
enough in them to satisfy me that the country 
was unlike, in many respects, that which I had 
left, there was also some show of reason to con- 
vince me that, if I did not conform to the habits 
and tastes of those around me, I should incur a 
far greater chance of being laughed at by them 
than be myself amused by their eccentricities. 
The most remarkable feature that struck me was 
the easy, even cordial manner with which ac- 



quaintance was made. Every one met you as if 
he had in some measure been prepared for the 
introduction; a tone of intimacy sprang up at 
once; your tastes were hinted, your wishes guessed 
at with an unaffected kindness that made you 
forget the suddenness of the intimacy, so that, 
when at last you parted with your dear friend of 
some half an hour's acquaintance, you could not 
help wondering at the confidences you had made, 
the avowals you had spoken, and the lengths to 
which you had gone in close alliance with one 
you had never seen before, and might possibly 
never meet again. Strange enough as this was 
with men, it was still more singular when it ex- 
tended to the gentler sex. Accustomed as I had 
been all my life to the rigid observances of 
etiquette in female society, nothing surprised me 
so much as the rapid steps by which Irish ladies 
passed from acquaintance to intimacy, from inti- 
macy to friendship. The unsuspecting kindliness 
of woman's nature has certainly no more genial 
soil than in the heart of Erin's daughters. There 
is besides, too, a winning softness in their man- 
ner towards the stranger of another land, that 
imparts to their hospitable reception a tone of 
courteous warmth I have never seen in any other 
country. 

The freedom of manner I have here alluded 
to, however delightful it may render the hours of 
one separated from home, family, and friends, is 
yet not devoid of its inconveniences. How 
many an undisciplined and uninformed youth 
has misconstrued its meaning and mistaken its 
import! How often have I seen the raw subal 
tern elated with imaginary success — flushed with 
a fancied victory — where, in reality, he had met 
with nothing save the kind looks and the kind 
words in which the every-day courtesies of life 
are couched, and by which what, in less favored 
lands, are the cold and chilling observances of 
ceremony, are here the easy and familiar inter- 
course of those who wish to know each other. 

The coxcomb, who fancies that he can number 
as many triumphs as he has passed hours in 
Dublin, is like one who, estimating the rich pro- 
ductions of the southern clime by their exotic 
value in his own colder regions, dignifies by the 
name of luxury what are in reality but the every- 
day productions of the soil; so he believes pecul- 
iarly addressed to himself, the cordial warmth 
and friendly greeting which make the social at- 
mosphere around him. 

If I myself fell deeply into this error, and if 
my punishment was a heavy one, let my history 
prove a beacon to all who follow in my steps; for 
Dublin is still a garrison city, and I have been 
told that lips as tempting and eyes as bright are 
to be met there as heretofore. Now to my story. 

Life in Dublin, at the time I write of, was 
about as gay a thing as a man can well fancy. 
Less debarred than in other countries from juir- 
taking of the lighter enjoyments of life, the mem- 
bers of the learned professions mixed much in 
society; bringing with them stores of anecdote 
and information unattainable from other sources, 
they made what elsewhere would have proved 
the routine of intercourse, a season of intellect- 
ual enjoyment. Thus, the politician, the church- 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



33 



man, the barrister, and the military man, shaken, 
as they were, together in close intimacy, lost in- 
dividually many of the prejudices of their caste, 
and learned to converse with a wider and more 
extended knowledge of the world. Wliile this 
was so, another element, peculiarly characteristic 
of the country, had its share in modelling social 
life; that innate tendency to drollery, that bent 
to laugh at every one and at everything, so em- 
inently Irish, was now in the ascendant. From 
the viceroy downwards, the island was on the 
broad grin. Every day furnished its share, its 
quota of merriment. Epigrams, good stories, 
repartees, and practical jokes, rained in showers 
over the land. A privy-council was a covvena- 
zione of laughing bishops and droll chief-justices. 
Every trial at the bar, every dinner at the court, 
every drawing-room, afforded a theme for some 
ready-witted absurdity, and all the graver business 
of life was carried on amid this current of unceas- 
ing fun and untiring drollery, juSt as we see the 
serious catastrophe of a modern opera assisted 
by the crash of an orchestral accompaniment. 

With materials like these society was made up; 
and into this I plunged with all the pleasurable 
delight of one who, if he could not appreciate the 
shar[)ness, was at least dazzled by the brilliancy of 
the wit that flashed around him. My duties as 
aide-de-camp were few, and never interfered with 
my liberty; while, in my double capacity of mili- 
tary man and attache to the court, I was invited 
everywhere, and treated with marked' courtesy 
and kindness. Thus passed my life pleasantly 
along, when, a few mornings after the events I 
have mentioned, I was sitting at my breakfast, 
conning over my invitations for the week, and 
meditating a letter home, in which I should de- 
scribe my mode of life with as much reserve as 
might render the record of my doings a safe dis- 
closure for the delicate nerves of my lady-mother. 
In order to accomplish this latter task with suc- 
cess, I scribbled with some notes a sheet of paper 
that lay before me. "Among other particularly 
nice people, my dear mother," wrote I, " there 
are the Rooneys. Mr. Rooney — a member of 
the Irish bar, of high standing and great reputa- 
tion — is a most agreeable and accomplished 
person. How much I should like to present him 
to you." I had got thus far, when a husky, 
asthmatic cough, and a muttered curse on the 
height of my domicile, apprised me that some 
one was at my door. At the same moment a 
heavy single knock, that nearly stove in the 
panel, left no doubt upon my mind. 

"Are ye at home, or is it sleeping ye are? 
May I never, if it's much else the half of ye's fit 
for. Ugh, blessed hour! three flights of stairs, 
vi'ith a twist in them instead of a landing. Ye see, 
he's not in the place- I tould you that before I 
came up; but it's always the same thing Corny, 
run here. Corny, fly there; get me this, take 
that. Bad luck to them! One would think they 
badgered me for bare divarsion, the haythins, 
the Turks!" 

A fit of coughing, that almost convinced me 
that Corny had given his last curse, followed this 
burst of eloquence, just as I appeared at the door. 

"What's the matter, Corny.'" 



"The matter? — ugh, ain't I coughing my soul 
out with a wheezing and whistling in my chest 
like a creel of chickens. Here's Mr. Rooney 
wanting to see ye; and, faith," as he added, in 
an undertone, " it's not long you wor in making 
his acquaintance; that's his room," added he, 
with a jerk of his thumb. "Now lave the way, 
if you plase, and let me get a howld of the 
banisters." 

With these words Corny began his descent, 
while I, apologizing to Mr. Rooney for not 
having sooner perceived him, bowed him into the 
room with all proper ceremony. 

"A thousand apologies, Mr. Hinton, for the 
unseasonable hour of my visit, but businesi- " 

" Pray, not a word," said I, "always delighted 
to see you. Mrs. Rooney is well, I hope." 

"Charming, upon my honor. But, as I was 
saying, I could not well come later; there is a 
case in the King's Bench- — Rex verszis Ryves — a 
heavy record, and I want to catch the counsel to 
assure him that all's safe. God knows, it has 
cost me an anxious night. Everything depended 
on one witness, an obstinate beast, that wouldn't 
listen to reason; we got hold of him last night; 
got three doctors to certify he was out of his 
mind; and, at this moment, with his head shaved, 
and a gray suit on him, he is the noisest inmate 
in Glasnevin mad-house." 

" Was not this a very bold, a very dangerous 
expedient?" 

"So it was; he fought like a devil, and his 
outrageous conduct has its reward, for they put 
him on low diet and handcuffs the mcment he 
went in. But excuse me, if I make a hurried 
visit. Mrs. Rooney requests that — that — but 
where the devil did I put it?" 

Here Mr. Rooney felt his coat-pockets, dived 
into those of his waistcoat, patted himself all 
over, then looked into his hat, then round the 
room, on the floor, and even outside the door 
upon the lobby. 

" Sure it is not possible I've lost it." 

" Nothing of consequence, I hope?" said I. 

"What a head I have," replied he, with a know- 
ing grin, while at the same moment throwing up 
the sash of my window, he thrust out the head in 
question, and gave a loud, shrill whistle. 

Scarcely was the casement closed, when a 
ragged urchin appeared at the door, carrying on 
his back the ominous stuff-bag containing the 
record of Mr. Rooney's rogueries. 

'Give me the bag, 1'im," quoth he; at the 
same moment he plunged his hand deep among 
the tape-tied parcels, and extricated a piece of 
square pasteboard, which, having straightened 
and flattened upon his knee, he presented to me 
with a graceful bow, adding, jocosely, " an am- 
bassador without his credentials would never 
do." 

It was an invitation to dinner at Mr. Rooney's 
for the memorable Friday for which my friend 
O'Grady had already received his card. 

"Nothing will give me more pleasure " 

" No, will it though? How very good of you! 
a small, cosy party — Harry Burgh, Bowes Daley, 
Barriiigton, the judges, and a few more; there, 
now, no ceremony, I beg of you. Come along, 



34 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



Joe. Good-morning, Mr. Hinton: not a step 
farther." 

So saying, Mr. Rooney backed and shuffled 
himself out of my room, and, followed by his 
faithful attendant, hurried down-stairs, mutter- 
ing a series of self-gratulations, as he went, on 
the successful result of his mission. Scarcely 
had he gone, when I heard the rapid stride of 
another visitor, who, mounting four steps at a 
time, came along chanting, at the top of his voice, 

"My two back teeth I will bequeath 
To the Reverend .Michael Palmer 
His wife has a tongue that'll match them well. 
She's a devil of a scold, God d — n her!" 

" How goes it, Jack, my hearty?" cried he, as 
he sprang into the room, flinging his sabre into 
the corner, and hurling his foraging-cap upon the 
sofa. 

" You have been away, O'Grady? What be- 
came of you for the last two days?" 

" Down at the Curragh, taking a look at the 
nags for the spring meeting Dined with the bar 
at Naas; had a great night with them; made old 
Moore gloriously tipsy, and sent him into court 
the next morning with the Overttire to Mother 
Goose in his bag instead of his brief. Since day- 
break I've been trying a new horse in the park, 
screwing him over all the fences, and rushing 
him at the double rails in the pathway, to see if 
he can't cross the country." 

"Why, the hunting season is nearly over." 
" Quite true; but it is the Loughrea steeple- 
chase I am thinking of. I have promised to name 
a horse, and I only remembered last nigiit that I 
had but twenty-four hours to do it. The time was 
short, but by good fortune I heard of this grey 
on my way up to town." 
" And you think he'll do?" 
"He has a good chance, if one can only keep 
on his back, but what between bolting, plunging, 
and rijshing through his fences, he is not a beast 
for a timid, elderly gentleman. After all, one must 
have something: the whole world will be there; 
the Rooneys are going; and that pretty little 
girl with them. By-the-bye, Jack, what do you 
think of Miss Bellew?" 

"I can scarcely tell you; I only saw her for'a 
moment, and then that Hibernian hippopotamus, 
Mrs. Paul, so completely overshpdowed her, 
there was no getting a look at her." 

" Devilish pretty girl, that she is; and one 
day or other, they say, will have an immense for- 
tune. Old Rooney always shakes his head when 
the idea is thrown out, which only convinces me 
the more of her chance." 

" Well, then. Master Phil, why don't you do 
something in that quarter?" 

"Well, so I should; but, somehow, most unac- 
countably you'll say, I don't think I made any 
impression. To be sure, I never went vigorously 
to work; I couldn't get over ray scruples of mak- 
ing up to a girl who may have a large fortune, 
while I myself am so confoundedly out at the 
elbows; the thing would look badly, to say 
the least of it; and so, when I did think I was 
making a little running, I only ' held in' the faster, 
and at length gave up the race. You are the 



man, Hinton. Your chances, I should 
Ah, I don't know 



say- 



Just at this moment the door opened, and Lord 
Dudley de Vere entered, dressed in colored 
clothes, cut in the most foppish style of the day, 
and with his hands stuck negligently behind in 
his coat-pockets. He threw himself affectedly 
into a chair, and eyed us both without speaking. 

"I say, messieurs, Rooney, or not Rooney? 
that's the question. Do we accept this invitation 
for Friday?" 

''I do, for one," said I, somewhat haughtily. 

"Can't be, my boy," said O'Grady, "the thing 
is most unlucky; they have a dinner at court 
that same day; our names are all on the list; and 
thus we lose the Rooneys, which, from all I hear, 
is a very serious loss indeed. Daley, Barrington, 
Harry Martin, and half a dozen others, the first 
fellows of the day, are all to be there." 

"What a deal they will talk," yawned out 
Lord Dudley; "I feel rather happy to have .es- 
caped it. There's no saying a word to the 
woman beside you, as long as those confounded 
fellows keep up a roaring fire of what they think 
wit. What an idea! to be sure; there is not a 
man among them that can tell you the odds 
upon the Derby, nor what year there was a dead 
heat for the St. Leger. That little girl the 
Rooneys have got is very pretty, I must confess; 
but I see what they're at; won't do, though. Ha! 
O'Grady, you know what I mean!" 

" Faith, I am very stupid this morning; can't 
say that I do." 

"Not see it! It is a hollow thing; but per- 
haps you are in the scheme, too. There, you 
needn't look angry; I only meant it in joke — ha! 
ha! ha! I say, Hinton, do you take care of 
yourself. Englishers have no chance here; and 
when they find it won't do with vie, they'll take 
you in training." 

"Anything for a. fis-a/lrr," said O'Grady, sar- 
castically; "but let us not forget there is a levee 
to-day, and it is already past twelve o'clock." 

"Ha! to be sure, a horrid bore." 

So saying. Lord Dudley lounged once more 
round the room, looked at himself in the glass, 
nodded familiarly to his own image, and took his 
leave. O Grady soon followed; while I set about 
my change of dress with all the speed the time re- 
quired. 



CHAPTER IX. 



THE HALL. 



As the day of Mr. Rooney 's grand entertain- 
ment drew near, our disappointment increased 
tenfold at our inability to be present. The only 
topic discussed in Dublin was the number of the 
guests, the splendor and magnificence of the din- 
ner, which was to be followed by a ball, at which 
above eight hundred guests were expected. The 
band of the F"ermanagh militia, at that time the 
most celebrated in Ireland, was brought up ex- 
pressly for the occasion. All that the city could 
number of rank, wealth, and beauty, had received 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



m 



invitations, and scarcely a single apology had 
been returned. 

"Is there no possible way," said I, as I chatted 
with O'Grady on the morning of the event; "is 
there no chance of our getting away in time to 
see something of the bail at least.'" 

"None whatever," replied he, despondingly; "as 
ill luck would have it, it's a command-night at 
the theatre. The duke has disappointed so 
often, that he is sure to go now, and for the 
same reason he'll sit the whole thing out. By 
that time, it will be half-past twelve; we shan't 
get back here before one; then comes supper; 
and — in fact, you know enough of the habits 
of this place now to guess that after that there 
is very little use of thinking of going anywhere." 

" It is devilisli provoking," said I. 

"That it is; and you don't know the worst 
of it. I've got rather' a heavy book on the 
Loughrea race, and shall want a few hundreds 
in a week or so, and, as nothing renders my 
friend Paul so sulky as not eating his dinners, it 
is five-and-twenty per cent, at least out of my 
pocket, for this confounded disappointment. — 
There goes De Vere. I say, Dudley, who have 
we at dinner to-day?" 

" Harrington, and the Asgills, and that set," 
replied he, with an insolent shrug of liis shoulder. 

"More of it, by Jove," said O'Grady, biting 
his lip. "One must be as particular before 
these people, as a young sub. at a regimental 
mess. There's not a button of your coat, not a 
loop of your aiguillette, not a twist of your sword- 
knot, little Charley won't note down; and, as 
there is no orderly-book in the drawing-room, 
he'll whisper it to his grace, before coffee." 

"What a bore!" 

" Ay, and to think that all that time we might 
have been up to the very chin in fun. The 
Rooneys to-day will outdo even themselves. 
They've got half a dozen new lords on trial; all 
the judges, a live bishop; and, better than all, 
every pretty woman in the capital. I've a devil 
of a mind to get suddenly ill, and slip off to 
Paul's for the dessert." 

"No, no, that's out of the question: we must 
only put up with our misfortunes as well as we 
can. As for me, the dinner here is, I think, the 
worst part of the matter." 

" I estimate my losses at a very different rate. 
First, there is the three hundred, which I should 
certainly have had from Paul, and which now 
becomes a very crooked contingency. Then 
there's the dinner and two bottles — I speak 
moderately — of such Burgundy as nobody has 
but himself. These are the positive /'omi fide 
losses; then, what do you say to my chance of 
picking up some lovely girl, with a stray thirty 
thousand, and the good taste to look out for a 
j)roper fellow to spend it witli? Seriously, Jack, 
f must think of sometliing of that kind one of 
these days. It's wrong to lose time; for, by 
waiting, one's chances diminish, while becoming 
more difficult to please. So you see what a heavy 
blow this is to me: not to mention my little gains 
at short-whist, which in the half hour before 
supper I may fairly set down as a fifty." 

" Vours is a very complicated calculation; for, 



e.xcept the dinner, and I suppose we shall have 
as good a one here, I have not been able to see 
anything but problematic loss or profit " 

"Of course you haven't; your English educa- 
tion is based upon grounds far too positive for 
that; but we mere Irish get a habit of looking at 
the possible as probable, and the probable as 
most hkel)'. I don't think we build castles more 
than our neighbors, but we certainly go live in 
them earlier; and if we do, now and then, get a 
chill for our pains, why, we generally haye 
another building ready to receive us elsewhere 
for change of air." 

" This is, I confess, somewhat strange phil- 
osophy." 

"To be sure it is, my boy; for it is of pure 
native manufacture. Every other people I ever 
heard of, deduce their happiness from their ad- 
vantages and prosperity. As we have very little 
of the one or the other, we extract some fun out of 
our misfortunes: and, what between laughing occa- 
sionally at ourselves, and sometimes at our neigh- 
bors, we push along through life right merrily, 
after all. So now, then, to apply my theory: let 
us see what we can do to make the best of this 
disajipoinlment. Shall I make love to Lady 
Asgill ? Shall I quiz Sir Charles about the re- 
view? Or can you suggest anything in the way 
of a little extemporaneous devilry, to console us 
for our disajipointment? But, come along, my 
boy, we'll take a canter; I want to show you 
Moddiridderoo. He improves every day in his 
training; but tliey tell me there is only one man 
can sit him across a country, a fellow I don't 
much fancy, by-the-bye; but the turf, like poverty, 
leads us to form somewhat strange acquaintances. 
Meanwhile, my boy, here come the nags; and now 
for the park till dinner." 

During our ride, O'Grady informed me that 
the individL:al to whom he so slightly alluded, 
was a Mr. Ulick Burke, a cousin of Miss Bellew. 
This individual, who by f.nmily and connections 
was a gentleman, had contrived by his life and 
habits to disqualify himself from any title to the 
appellation in a very considerable degree. Hav- 
ing squandered the entire of his patrimony on 
the turf, he had followed the apparently immuta- 
ble law on such occasions, and ended by becc m- 
ing a hawk, where he had begun as a pigeon. 
For many years past he had lived by the exercise 
of those most disreputable sources, his own wits. 
Present at every race-course in the kingdom, and 
provided with that under-current of information 
obtainable from jockeys and stable-men, he un- 
derstood all the intrigue, all the low cunning of 
the course; he knew when to back the fa^orite, 
when to give — when to take the odds; and if 
upon any occasion he was seen to lay heavily 
against a well-known horse, the presumption be- 
came a strong one, that he was either " wrong" 
or withdrawn. But his qualifications ended not 
here; for he was also that singular anomaly in 
our social condition, a gentleman-rider, ready 
upon any occasion to get into the saddle for any 
one that engaged his services; a flat race, or a 
steepkchase, all the same to him. His neck 
was his livelihood, and to support, he must risk 
it. A racing-jacket, a pair of leathers and tops, 



36 



JACK HINTON, THE: GUARDSMAN. 



a heavy handled-whip, and a sliot-belt, were his 
stock in trade, and he travelled through the 
world, a species of sporting Dalgetty, tiniius the 
probity which made the latter firm to his engage- 
ments, so long as they lasted; at least, report de- 
nied this ([uality to Mr. Burke, and those who 
knew him well scrupled not to say that fifty 
pounds liad exactly twice as many arguments in 
its favor, as five-and-twenty. 

So much then, in brief, concerning a character 
to whom I shall hereafter have occasion to recur; 
and now to my own narrative. 

O'Grady's anticipations as to the Castle-dinner 
were not in the least exaggerated; nothing could 
possibly be more stiff or tiresome; the entertain- 
ment being given, as a kind of ex-officio civility, 
to the commander of the forces and his staff, the 
conversation was purely professional, and never 
ranged beyond the discussion of military topics, 
or such as bore in any way upon the army. 
Happily, however, its duration was short. We 
dined at six, and by half-past eight we found our- 
selves at the foot of the grand staircase of the 
theatre in Crow street, with Mr. Jones, in the full 
dignity of his managerial costume, waiting to re- 
ceive us. 

"A little late, I fear, Mr. Jones," said his 
grace, with a courteous smile; " what have we 
got?" 

" Your excellency selected the Inconstaut," said 
the obsequious manager; while a lady of the 
party darted her eyes suddenly towards the duke, 
and, with a tone of marked sarcastic miport, ex- 
claimed, " How characteristic!" 

"And the after-piece, what is it," said the 
duchess, as she fussed her way up-stairs. 

^^ Tiinour the Tartar, your grace." 

The next moment the thundering applause of 
the audience informed us that their excellencies 
had taken their places. Cheer after cheer re- 
sounded through the building, and the massive 
lustre itself shook under the deafening acclama- 
tions of the audience. The scene was truly a 
brilliant one. The boxes presented a perfect 
blaze of wealth and beauty; nearly every person 
in the pit was in full dress; to the very ceiling it- 
self the house was crammed. The progress of the 
piece was interrupted; while the band struck up 
" God save the king," and, as I looked upon the 
brilliant dress circle, I could not but think that 
0"Grady had been guilty of some exaggeration 
when he said that Mrs. Rooney's ball was to mo- 
nopolize that evening the youth and beauty of the 
capital. The national anthem over, "Patrick's 
Day" was called for loudly from every side, and the 
whole house beat time to the strains of their na- 
tive melody, with an energy that showed it came 
as fully home to their hearts as the air that pre- 
ceded it. For ten minutes at least the noise 
and uproar continued; and, although his grace 
bowed repeatedly, there seemed no prospect to 
an end of the tumult, when a voice from the gal- 
lery called out, " Don't make a stranger of your- 
self, my lord ; take a chair and sit down." A roar 
of laughter, increased as the duke accepted the 
suggestion, shook the house; and poor Talbot, 
who all this time was kneeling beside Miss Wal- 
stein's chair, was permitted to continue his 



tale of love, and take up the thread of his devo- 
tion where he had left it twenty minutes before. 

While O'Grady, who sat in the back of the box, 
seemed absorbed in his chagrin and disappoint- 
ment, I myself became interested in the play, 
which was admirably performed; and Lord Dud- 
ley, leaning affectedly against a pillar, with his 
back towards the stage, scanned the house with 
his vapid, unmeaning look, as though to say they 
were unworthy of such attention at his hands. 

The comedy was at length over, and her grace 
with the ladies of her suite retired, leaving only 
the Asgills and some members of the household 
in the box with his excellency. He apparently 
was much entertained by the performance, and 
seemed most resolutely bent on staying to the 
last. Before the first act, however, of the after- 
piece was over, many of the benches in the dress- 
circle became deserted, and the house altogether 
seemed considerably thinner. 

" I say, O'Grady," said he, " what are these good 
people about? there seems to be a general move 
amongst Ihem. Is there anything going on?" 

" Yes, your grace," said Phil, w hose impatience 
now could scarcely be restrained, " they are going 
to a great ball in Stephen's green; the most 
splendid thing Dublin has witnessed these fifty 
years. 

"Ah, indeed! Where is it? who gives it?" 

" Mr. Rooney, a well-known attorney, and 
a great character in the town." 

"How good! And he does the thing well?" 

"He flatters himself that he rivals your grace!" 

" Better still! But who has he? — what are his 
people?" 

"Every one: there is nothing too high, nothing 
too handsome, nothing too distinguished for him; 
his house, like the Holyhead packet, is open to 
all comers, and the conseqiience is, his parties are 
by far the pleasanlest thing going. One lias such 
strange rencontres, sees such odd people, hears 
such droll things; for, besides having everything 
like a character in the city, tlie very gravest cf 
Mr. Rooney's guests seems to feel his house as a 
place to relax and unbend in; thus, I should not 
be the least surprised to see the chief-justice and 
the attornev-gcneral playing small plays, nor the 
bishop of Cork dancing Sir Roger de Coverley." 

"Glorious fun, by Jove! but why are you net 
there, lads? Ah! I see: on duty. I wish you 
had told me. But come, it is not too late yet. 
Has Hinton got a card?" 

" Yes, your grace." 

"Well, then, don't let me detain you any 
longer. I see you are both impatient; and faith, 
if I must confess it, I half envy you; and mind 
you give me a full report of the proceedings to- 
morrow morning." 

" How I wish your grace could only witness it 
yourself !" 

"Eh? Is it so very good, then?" 

" Nothing ever was like it; for, although the 
company is admirable, the host and hostess are 
matchless." 

"Egad! you've quite excited my curiosity. I 
say O'Grady, would they know me, think ye? 
Have you no uncle or country cousin about my 
weight and build ?" 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



37 



" Ah, my lord, that is out of the question; you 
are too well known to assume an incognito; but 
still, if you wish to see it for a few minutes nothing 
could be easier than just to walk through the 
rooms and come away. The crowd will be such, 
the thing is quite practicable, done in that way." 

" By Jove, I don't know; but if I thought 

To be sure, as you say, for five minutes or so one 
might get through. Come, here goes; order up 
the carriages. Now, mind, O'Grady, I am under 
your management, do the thing as quietly as you 
can." 

Elated at the success of his scheme, Phil scarcely 
waited for his grace to conclude, but sprang 
down the box-lobby to give the necessary orders, 
and was back again in an instant. 

"Don't you think I had better take this star 
off?" 

" Oh, no, my lord, it will not be necessary. By 
timing the thing well, we'll contrive to get your 
grace into the midst of tlie crowd without attract- 
ing observation. Once there, the rest is easy 
enough." 

Many minutes had not elapsed ere we reached 
the corner of Grafton street. Here we became en- 
tangled with the line of carriages, which extended 
more than halfway round .Stephen's green, and, late 
as was the hour, were still thronging and pressing 
onwards towards the scene of festivity. O'Grady, 
who csntrived entirely to engross his grace's at- 
tention by many bits of the gossip and small- 
talk of the day, did not permit him to remark 
that the viceregal liveries and the guard of honor 
that accompanied us enabled us to cut the line 
of carriages, and taking precedence of all others, 
arrive at the door at once. Indeed, so occupied 
was the duke with some story at the moment, that 
he was half provoked as the door was flung open, 
and the clattering clash of the steps interrupted 
the conversation. 

" Here we are, my lord," said Phil. 

" Well, get out, O'Grady. Lead on; don't for- 
get, it is my first visit here; and you, I fancy, 
know the map of the country." 

The h:tll in which we found ourselves, bril- 
liantly lighted and thronged with servants, pre- 
sented a scene of the most strange confusion and 
tumult; for, such was the eagerness of the guests 
to get forward, many persons were separated 
from their friends; turbaned old ladies called 
in cracked voices for their sons to rescue them, 
and desolate daughters seized distractedly the 
arm nearest them, and implored succor with an 
accent as agonizing as though on the eve of ship- 
wreck. Mothers screamed, fathers swore, foot- 
men laughed, and high above all came the 
measured tramp of the dancers overhead, while 
fiddles, French horns, and dulcimers scraped 
and blew their worst, as if purposely to increase 
the inextricable and maddening confusion that 
prevailed. 

"Sir Peter and Lady Macfarlane!" screamed 
the servant, at the top of the stairs. 

"Counsellor and Mrs. Blake." 

" Captain O'Ryan, of the Rifles" — " Lord Dum- 
boy" — 

" Dunbovne, you villain!" 

"Ay, Lord Dunbovne, and five ladies." 



Such were the announcements that preceded 
us as we wended our way slowly on, while I 
could distinguish Mr. Rooney's voice receiving 
and welcoming his guests, for which purpose lie 
used a formula, in part derived from the practice 
of an auction-room. 

" Walk in, ladies and gentlemen, walk in. Whist, 
tea, dancing, negus, and blind-hookey — delighted 
to see you — walk in;" and so, da capo, only vary- 
ing the ritual when a lord or a baronet necessi- 
tated a change of title. 

" You're quite right, O'Grady; I wouldn't have 
lost this for a great deal," whispered the duke. 

" Now, my lord, permit me," said Phil. "Hin- 
ton and I will engage Mr. Rooney in conversa- 
tion, while your grace can pass on and mix with 
the crowd." 

" Walk in, walk in, ladies and Ah! how are 

you, captain? — this is kind of you — Mr. Hinton, 
your humble servant. Whist, dancing, blind- 
hookey, and negus. Walk in, and. Captain 
Phil," added he, in a whisper, "a bit of supper, 
by-and-bye, below stairs." 

"I must tell you an excelknt thing, Rooney, 
before I forget it," said O'Grady, turning the 
host's attention away from the door as he spoke, 
and inventing some imaginary secret for the 
occasion; while I followed his grace, who now 
was so inextricably jammed up in the dense mob, 
that any recognition of him would have been 
very difficult, if not actually impossible. 

For some time I could perceive that the duke's 
attention was devoted to the conversation about 
him. Some half-dozen ladies were carrying on 
a very active and almost acrimonious contro- 
versy on the subject of dress; not, however, with 
any artistic pretension of regulating costume or 
color, not discussing the rejection of an old, or 
the adoption of a new mode, but, with a much 
more practical spirit of inquiry, they were ap- 
praising and valuing each other's finery, in the 
most sincere and simple way imaginable. 

" Seven-and-sixpence a yard, my dear; you'll 
never get it less, I assure you." "That's ele- 
gant lace, Mrs. Mahoney; was it run, ma'am?" 
Mrs. Mahoney bridled at the suggestion, and re- 
plied that, " though neither her lace nor her 

diamonds were Irish " "Six breadths, ma'am, 

ahvays in the skirt," said a fat, little, dumpy 
woman, holding up her satin petticoat in evi- 
dence. 

"I say, Hinton," whispered the duke, "I hope 
they won't end by an examination of us. But 
what the dense is going on here?" 

This remark was caused by a very sirgular 
movement in the room. The crowd whith h;;il 
succeeded to the dancers, and filled the large 
drawing-room from end to end, now fell back to 
either wall, leaving a space of about a yard wide 
down the entire centre of the room, as though 
some performance was about to be enacted, or 
some procession to march there. 

"What can it be?" said the duke; "some 
foolery of O'Grady's, depend upon it, for look at 
him up there, talking to the band." 

As he spoke, the musicians struck up the grand 
march in Blue Beard and Mrs. Paul Rooney 
ap;ieared in the open space, in all the plenitude 



38 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



of her charms — a perfect blaze of rouge, red 
feathers, and rubies — marching in solemn state. 
She moved along in time to tlie music, followed 
by Paul, whose cunning eyes twinkled with more 
than a common shrewdness, as he peered here 
and there through the crowd. They came straight 
towards where we were standing; and while a 
whispered murmur ran'through the room, the va- 
rious persons around us drew back, leaving the 
duke and myself completely isolated. Before his 
grace could recover his concealment, Mrs. Rooney 
stood before him. 'I'he music suddenly ceased; 
while the lady, disposing Ijer petticoats as though 
the object were to conceal all the company be- 
liind her, curtsied down to the very floor. 

"Ah! your grace," uttered in an accent of the 
most melting tenderness, were the only words 
she could speak, as she bestowed a look of 
still more speaking softness. "Ah, did I ever 
hope to see the day when your highness would 
honor — - — " 

" My dear madam," said the duke, taking her 
hand with great courtesy, "pray, don't over- 
whelm me with obligations. A very natural, I 
hope a very pardonable, desire to witness hospi- 
tality I have heard so much of, has led me to 
intrude thus uninvited upon you. Will you al- 
low me to make Mr. Rooney's acquaintance?" 

Mrs. Rooney moved gracefully to one side, 
waving her iiand with the air of a magician about 
to summon an attorney from the earth, when sud- 
denly a change came over his grace's features; 
and, as he covered his mouth with his handker- 
chief, it was with the greatest difficulty he refrained 
from an open burst of laughter. The figure be- 
fore him was certainly not calculated to suggest 
gravity. Mr. Paul Rooney, for the first time in 
his life, found himself the host of a viceroy, and, 
amid the fumes of his wine and the excitement 
of the scene, entertained some very confused no- 
tion of certain cere nonies observable on such oc- 
casions. He had read of curious observances in 
the east, and strange forms of etiquette in Cliina, 
and, probably, had tlie khan of Tart.iry dropped 
in on the evening in question, his memory would 
liave supplied him with some hints for his recep- 
tion; but, with the representative of Britannic 
majesty, before whom he was so completely 
overpowered, he could not think of, nor decide 
upon anything. A very misty impression flitted 
through his mind, that people occasionally knelt 
before a lord-lieutenant; but whether they did so 
at certain moments, or as a general practice, for 
the life of him he could not tell. While, tiiere- 
fore, the dread of omitting a customary etiquette 
weighed with iiim on one hand, the fear of ridi- 
cule actuated liim on the other: and thus he ad- 
vanced into the presence with bent knees and a 
supplicating look eagerly turned towards the 
duke, ready at any moment to drop down or 
stand upright before him, as the circumstances 
might warrant. 

Entering at once into the spirit of the scene, 
the duke bowed with the most formal courtesy, 
while he vouchsafed to Mr. Roonev some few ex- 
pressions of compliment. .At the same time draw- 
ing Mrs, Rooney's arin within liisown, heled her 
down the room with a grace and dignity of manner 



no one was more master of than himself. As for 
Paul, apparently unable to stand upright under 
the increasing load of favors that fortune was 
showering upon his head, he looked over his 
shoulder at Mrs. Rooney, as she marched off ex- 
ultingly, with the same exuberant triumph Young 
used to throw into Othello, as he passionately 
exclaims — 

" Excellent wench! perdition catch my soul, but I do love 
thee!" 

Not but that, at the very moment in question, 
the object of it was most ungratefully oblivious 
of Mr. Rooney and his affection. 

Had Mrs. Paul Rooney been asked on the 
morning after her ball, what was her most accur- 
ate notion of Elysian bliss, she probably would 
have answered — leaning upon a viceroy's arm in 
her own ball-room, under the envious stare and 
jealous gaze of eight hundred assembled guests. 
Her flushed look, her flashing eye, the trembling 
hand with which she waved her fan, the proud, 
imperious step, all spoke of triumpli. In fact, 
such was the halo of reverence, such the reflected 
brightness the representative of monarchy then 
bore, she felt it a prouder honor to be thus es- 
corted, than if the emperor of all the Russias 
had deigned to grace her mansion with his pres- 
ence. How she loved to run over every imagin- 
able title she conceived applicable to his rank, 
"Your royal highness," "Your grace," "Your 
noble lordship," varying and combining them, 
like a child who runs his erring fingers over the 
keys of a piano-forte, and is delighted with the 
efforts of his skill. 

While this kingly scene was thus enacting, the 
ball-room resumed its former life and vivacity. 
This, indeed, was owing to O'Grady; no sooner 
had his scheme succeeded of delivering up the 
duke into the hands of the Rooncys, than he 
set about restoring such a degree of turmoil, tu- 
mult, noise and merriment, as, while it should 
amuse his grace, would rescue liim from the an- 
noyance of being stared at by many who never 
had walked the boards with a live viceroy. 

" Isn't it gloriously done, Hinton?" he whispered 
in my ear as he passed. " Now, lend me your 
aid, mv boy, to keep the whole thing moving. 
Get a partner as quick as you can, and let us 
try if we can't do the honors of the house, while 
the master and mistress are basking in the sun- 
shine of royal fa\or." 

As he spoke, the band struck up " Haste to 
the wedding!" The dancers assumed their 
places; Phil himself flying hither and thither, 
arranging, directing, ordering, countermanding, 
providing partners for persons he had never seen 
before, and introducing individuals of whose very 
names he was ignorant. 

"Push along, Hinton," said he, " only set 
them going — speak to every one — half the men 
in the room answer to the name of 'Bob,' and 
all the young ladies are 'Miss Magees.' Go it, 
my boy; this is a great night for Ireland!" 

This happy land, indeed, which, like a vast 
powder-magazine, only wants hut the smallest 
spark to ignite it, is always prepared for an ex- 
plosion of fun. No sooner, tiien, did O'Grady, 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



:39 



taking out the fattest woman in the room, pro- 
ceed to lead her down tlie middle to the liveliest 
imaginable country-dance, than at once the con- 
tagious spirit flew througli the room, and dancers 
l)ressed in from every side. Champagne, served 
round in abundance, added to the excitement; 
and, as eight-and-thirty couples made the fioor 
vibrate beneath them, such a scene of noise, 
laughter, uproar, and merriment ensued, as it 
were difficult to conceive or describe. 



CHAPTER X. 

A FINALE TO AN EVENI.VG. 

A BALI., like a battle, has its critical moment; 
that one sliort and subtle point, on which its 
trembling fate would seem to hesitate, ere it in- 
cline to this side or that. In both, such is the 
time for generalslii[) to display itself, and of this 
my friend O'Grady seemed well aware; for, call- 
ing up his reserve for an attack in force, he or- 
dered strong negus for the band; and ere many 
minutes the increased vigor of the instruments 
attested that the order had been attended to. 

'• Right and left!" "Hands across!" "Here 
we are!" "This vmy, Peter!" "Ah! captain, 
you're a droll crayture!" " Move along, alder- 
man!" "That negus is mighty strong!" "The 
Lord grant the house is!" 

Such and such like phrases broke around me, 
as, under the orders of the irresistible Phil, I 
shuffled down the middle with a dumpv little 
school-girl, with red hair and red shoes; which 
added to her capering motion, gave her a most 
unhappy resemblance to a cork fairy. 

"You are a trump. Jack," said Phil. "Never 
give in. I never was in such spirits in my life. 
Two bottles of champagne under my belt, and a 
check for three hundred Paul has just given nie 
without a scrape of my pen; it might have been 
five, if I had onlv had jiresence of mind." 

" Where is Miss Bellew all this time?" in- 
quired I. 

"I only saw her for a moment; she looks 
saucy, and won't dance." 

My pride, somewhat stimulated by a fact 
which I could not help interpreting in Miss 
Bellew's favor, I went through the rooms in 
search of her, and at length, discovered her in a 
boudoir, where a whist party were assembled. 
She was sitting upon a sofa, beside a tall, venera- 
ble-looking old man, to whom she was listening 
with a semblance of the greatest attention as I 
entered. I had some time to observe her. and 
could not help feeling struck how much hand- 
somer she was than I had formerly supposed. 
Her figure, slightly above the middle size, and 
most graceful in all ils proportions, was, perhaps, 
a little too much disposed to fulness; the 
character of her features, however, seemed to 
suit, if not actually to require, as much. Her 
eyes of deep blue, set well beneath her brow, 
had a look of intensity in them tliat evidenced 
thouglit; but the other features relieved by their 
graceful softness this strong expression, and a 



nose short and slight, very slightly, retrousse, 
with a mouth, the very perfection of eloquent 
and winning softness, made ample amends to 
those who prefer charms purely feminine to 
beauty of a severer character. Her hair, too, 
was of that deep auburn through which a golden 
ligiu seems forever playing; and this, contrary 
to the taste of the day, she wore suiiply bi aided 
upon her temples and cheeks, marking the oval 
contour of her face, and displaying, by ihis grace- 
ful coquetry the perfect chiselling of her fea- 
tures. Let me add to this, that her voice was 
low and soft in all its tones, and, if the provin- 
cialism with which she spoke did at first offend, 
my ear, I learned afterwards to think that the 
musical intonations of the west lent a chaim 
of their own to all she said, deepening the pathos 
of a simjile story, or heighlcning the drollery of 
a merry one. Yes, laugh if you will, ye high- 
bred and high-born denizens of a richer sphere, 
whose ears, attuned to the rhythm of Metastasio, 
softly borne on the strains of Donizetti, can 
scarce ])ardon the intiusion of your native 
tongue in the everyday concerns of life — smile, if 
it so please ye; but from the lips of a lovely 
woman, a little, a very little, of the brogue is most 
seductive. Whether the subject be grave or gay, 
whether mirth or melancholy be the mood, like 
the varnish ii])on a jiicture, it brings out all the 
color into strong effect, biightening the lights, 
and deepening the shadows, and then, somehow, 
there is an air of r.artite', a tone of simplicity 
about it, that appeals equally to ) our heart as 
your hearing. 

Seeing that the conversation in which she was 
engaged seemed to engross her entire attention, 
I was about to retire without addressing her, 
when suddenly she turned round, and her eyes 
met mine; I accordingly came forward, and, after 
a few of the commonplace civilities of the mo- 
inent, asked her to dance. 

" Pray, excuse me, Mr. Hinton, I have de- 
clined already several times; I have been fortu- 
nate enough to meet with a very old and dear 
friend of my fallit ■ " 

" Who is too much attached to his daughter, 
to permit her to waste an entire evening upon 
him." "No, sir, if you will allow me, I will 
resign Miss Bellew to your care." 

She said something in a low voice, to which 
he muttered in reply, the only words which I 
could catch — " No, no; very different, indeed—- 
this is a most proper person'- — feim«d, as they 
were accompanied by a smile of much kindness, 
in some way to concern me; and the next mo- 
ment Miss Bellew took my arm and accompanied 
me to the ball-room. 

As I passed the sofa where the duke and Mrs. 
Rooney were still seated, his grace nodded fam- 
iliarly to me, with a gesture of approval; while 
Mrs. Paul clasped both her hards lefore her with 
a movement of ecstasy, and ;i enied as if about 
to bestow upon us a maternal blessing. Fearful 
of incurring a scene, Miss Bellew hastened on, 
and, as her arm trembled within mine, I could 
]ierceive how deeply the ridicule of her friend's 
position wounded her o\\ n pride. Meanwhile, I 
could just catch if.e tones of Mrs. Rooney's 



40 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDS?vIAN. 



voice, explaining to the duke Miss Bellew's ped- 
igree. " One of the oldest families of the land, 
your grace, came over with Romulus and Remus; 
and if it were not for Oliver Cromwell and the 
Danes," — theconfouided fiddles lost me the rest, 
and I was left in the dark, lo guess what these 
strange allies had inllicted upon the Bellew fam- 
ily The dancing now began, and only between 
the intervals of the dance had I an oppor- 
tunity of conversing with my partner. Few and 
brief as these occasions were, I was delighted to 
find in her a tone and manner quite different 
from anything I had ever met before. Although 
having seen scarcely anything of the world, her 
knowledge of character seemed an instinct, and 
her quick appreciation of the ludicrous features 
of many of the company was accompanied by a 
sly expression, and at the same time a witty 
terseness of phrase, that showed me how much 
real intelligence lay beneath that laughing look. 
Unlike my fair cousin. Lady Julia, her raillery 
never wounded, hers were the fanciful combina- 
tions which a vivid and sparkling imagination 
conjures up, but never the barbed and bitter 
arrows of sarcasm. Catching up in a second any 
passing absurdity, she could laugh at the scene, 
yet seem to spare the actor. Julia, on the con- 
trary, never felt that her wit had hit its mark 
till she saw her victim writhing and quivering 
beneath it. 

There is always something in being the partner 
of the belle oi a ball-room. The little bit of envy 
and jealousy, whose limit is to be the duration of 
a waltz or quadrille, has somehow its feeling of 
jjleasure. There is a reflective flattery in the 
thought of a fancied preference, that raises one 
in his own esteem, and, as the muttered comjjli- 
ments and half spoken praises of the bystanders 
fall upon your eais, you seem to feel that you are 
a kind of shareholder in the company, and ought 
to retire from business with your portion of the 
profits. Such, I know, were some of my feelings 
at the period in question; and, as I pulled up my 
stock and adjusted my sash, 1 looked upon the 
crowd about me with a sense of considerable satis- 
faction, and began heartily to enjoy myself. 

Scarcely was the dance concluded, when a 
general movement was perceptible towards the 
door, and the word "supper," repeated from voice 
to voice, announced that the merriest hour in 
Irish life had sounded. Delighted to have Miss 
Bellew for my companion, I edged my way into 
the mass, and was borne along on the current. 
The view from the top of the staircase was suffi- 
ciently amusing; a waving mass of feathers of every 
shape and hue; a crowd of spangled turbans; 
bald and powdered heads, seemed wedged inex- 
tricably together, swaying backwards and for- 
wards with one impulse, as the crowd at the door 
of the supper-room advanced or receded. The 
crash of plates and knives, the jingling of glasses, 
the popping of champagne corks, told that the 
attack had begun, had not even the eager faces 
of those nearer the door indicated as much. 
"No look behind" seemed the motto of the 
day, save when some anxious mother would turn 
a backward and uneasy glance towards the stair- 
case, where her daughter, preferring a lieutenant 



to a lobster, was listening with elated look to his 
tale of love and glory. " Eliza, my dear, sit next ■ 
me." " Anna, my love, come down here." These I 
brief commands, significantly as they were uttered, 
would be lost to those for whom intended, and 
only serve to amuse the bystanders, and awaken 
them to a quicker perception ot the passing flirta- 
tion. Some philosopher has gravely remarked, 
that the critical moments of our life are the transi- 
tions from one stage or state of our existence to 
another; and that our fate for the future depends 
in a great measure upon those hours in which we 
emerge from infancy to boyhood, frcm boOicod 
to manhood, from manhood to malurer years. 
Perhaps the arguments of time might be applied to 
place, and we might thus be enabled to show 
how a staircase is the most dangerous portion of 
a building; I speak not here "of the insecurity of 
the architecture, nor, indeed, of any staircase 
whose well-tempered light shines down at noon- 
day through the perfumed foliage of a conserva- 
tory, but of the same place, a blaze of lamp-light, 
about two in the morning, crowded, cr;n.mid, 
and creaking by an anxious and elated throng 
pressing towards a supper-rccni. Whether it is 
the supper or the squeeze, the odor of balmy lips, 
or the savory smell of roast partridges^whether it 
be the approach to silk tresses, or silleiy wovsscvx 
— whatever the provocation, 1 cannot ex|ilain it; 
but the fact is to; one is tremendously gi-\en in 
such a place, at such a lime, lo the most bare- 
faced and palpable flirtation. So strongly do I 
feel this point, that, were 1 a lawgiver, I would 
never award damages for a breach of contract, 
where the ])rornise was made on a staircase. 

As for me, my acquaintance with Miss Bellew 
was not of more than an hour's standing; duiing 
that time we had contrived to discuss the ball- 
room, its guests, its lights, its decorations, the 
music, the dancers; in a word, all the common- 
places of an evening party; thtnce we wandered 
on to Dublin, society in general, lo Ireland, and 
Irish habits, and Irish tastes; quizzed each other 
a little about our respective peculiarities, and had 
just begun to discuss the distinctive features 
which characterize the softer emotions in the two 
nations, when the announcement of supper brought 
us on the staircase. A p)opos,QiX vuil a pi ofos,\\\\<i 
turn of our conversation, let tlie reader decide 
by what 1 have already stated; so it was, however, 
and in a little nook of the landing I found my- 
self with my fair comjianion's aim jucssed closely 
to my side, engaged in a warm contro\ersy on 
the trite subject of English coldness of manner. 
Advocating my country, I deemed that no more 
fitting defence could be entered, than by evi- 
dencing m myself the utter absence of ihe frigidity 
imputed. Champagne did something for me; 
Louisa's bright eyes assisted; but the staircase, 
the confounded staircase, crowned all. In fact, 
the undisguised openness of Miss Bellew's man- 
ner, the fearless simplicity with which she had 
ventured upon topics. a hardened coquette would 
not dare to touch upon, led nie into the com- 
mon error of imputing to flirtation, what was only 
due to the untarnished freshness of happy girl- 
hood. 

Finding my advances well received, I began to 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



41 



feel not a liltle proud of my success, and disponed 
to plume myself upon ihe charm ot iny eloipience, 
when, as I concluded a high-flown and inflated 
phrase of sentimental aLs irdity, she suddenly 
turned round, h^ced her bri.^ht eyes upon me, and 
burst out into a fit of laughter. 

" There, there; pray don't try that; no one but 
an Irishman ever succeeds in blarney. It is our 
national dish, and can never be seasoned by a 
stranger." 

This pidl-up, for such it most effectually was, 
completely unmanned me. 1 tried to stammer 
out an e.vplanation, endeavored to laugh, coughed, 
blundered, and broke down; while merciless in 
Iter triumph, she only laughed the more, and 
seemed to enjoy my confusion. 

With such a fadure hanging over me, I felt 
happy when we reached the supper-room; and 
the crash, din, and confusion about us once more 
broke in upon our conversation. It requires far 
less nerve for the dismounted jockey, whose gay 
jacket has been roiled in the mud of a race-course, 
resuming his saddle, to ride in amid the jeers and 
scoffs of ten thousand s|)ectators, than tor the 
gallant who has blundered in the lull tide of a 
flirtation, to recover his lost position and sustain 
the current of his courtship. The sarcasm of our se.x 
is severe enough, heaven knows; but no raillery, 
no ridicule, cuts half so sh:irp or half so deep as 
the bright twinkle of a pretty girl's eye, when, de- 
tecting some exhibition of dramatized passion, 
some false glitter of pinchbeck sentiment, she 
exchanges her look of gr.itified attention for the 
merry mockery of a hearty laugh: no tact, no 
savoir fairc\ no knowledge of the world, no old 
soldierism, that ever I heard of, was proof against 
this. To go back is bad; to stand still, worse; 
to go on, impossible. The best— for I believe it 
is the only thing to do — is to turn approver on 
your own misdeeds and join in the laughter 
against yourself; now this requires no common 
self-mastery, and, a readiness few yoimg gentle- 
men under twenty possess, hence both my failure 
and its punishment. 

That staircase which, but a moment before I 
wished might be as long as a journey to Jerusa- 
lem, I now escaped from with thankfulness. 
Concealing my discomfiture as well as I was able, 
I bustled about, and finally secured a place for 
my companion at one of the side tables, we were 
too far from the head of the table, but the clear 
ringing of his grace's laughter informed me of his 
vicinity, and, as I saw Miss Bellew shrank from 
approaching that part of the room, I surrendered 
mv curiosity to the far more grateful task of cul- 
tivating her acquaintance. 

All the ardor of my attentions — and I had re- 
sumed them with nearly as much warmth, although 
less risk of discomfiture; for I began to feel 
what before I had only professed- — all the preoc- 
cupation of my mind, could not prevent my 
hearing high above the crash and clatter of the 
tables the rich roundness of Mrs. Rooney's brogue, 
as she recounted to the duke some interesting 
trait of the O'Toole family, or adverted to some 
classical era in Irish history, when, possibly, 
Mecasnas was mayor of Cork, or Diogenes an 
alderman of Skinner's alley. 



" Ah I my dear — the Lord forgive me, I mean 
your grace." 

" I shall never forgive you, Mrs. Rooney, if 
you change the epithet." 

"Ah! your grace's worship, them was fine 
times; and the husband of an O'Toole, in them 
days, spent more of his time harreying the country 
with his troops at his back, than driving about in 
an old gig full of writs and latitats, with a 
process-server beside him." 

Had Mr. Rooney, who, at that moment was 
carving a hare in total ignorance of his wife's 
sarcasm, only heard the speech, the chances are 
ten to one lie would have figured in a steel 
breastplate and an iron headpiece before the 
week was over. I was unable to hear more of 
the conversation, notwithstanding my great wish 
to do so, as a movement of those ne.xt the door 
implied that a large instalment of the guests vho 
had not supped would wait no longer, but were 
about to make^vhat Mr. Rooney called a forcible 
entry on a summary process, and eject the tenant 
in possession. 

We accordingly rose, and all (save the party 
round the viceroy) along with us, once more to 
visit the ball-room, where already dancing had 
begun. While I was eagerly endeavoring to 
persuade Miss Bellew that there was no cause or 
just impediment to prevent her dancing the next 
set with me. Lord Dudley de Vtre loimged af- 
fectedly forward, and mumbled out seme broken, 
indistinct phrases, in which the word " da^ance" 
was alone audible. Miss Bellew colored slightly, 
turned her eyes towards me, courtesied, took his 
arm, and the next moment was lost amid the 
crowd. 

I am not aware of any readier method of 
forming a notion of the perpetual motion, than 
watching the performance of Sir Roger de 
Coverley at an evening party in Dublin. It 
seems to be a point of honor never to gi\e in; 
and thus the same complicated figures, the ;■; me 
mystic movements that )ou see in the beginning, 
continue to succeed each other in a never-tnd- 
ing series. You endeavor in vain to detect the 
plan, to unravel the tangled web of this strange 
ceremony; but somehow it woidd seem as if the 
who'le thing was completely discVetioiiaiy with 
the dancers, there being only one point of agree- 
ment among them, which is, whenever blown and 
out of breath, to join in a vigorous hands-round; 
and, the motion being confined to a slAiffling of the 
feet and a shaking of the elbows, little fatigue is 
incurred. To this succeeds a capeving, forward 
movement of a gentleman, which seemingly mag- 
netizes an opposite lady to a similar e.xhibition. 
Then, after seizing each other raptuVously by the 
hands, they separate to run the gauntlet in and 
out down the whole line of dancers, to meet at the 
bottom, when, apparently reconciled, they once 
more enibrace. What follows, the devil himself 
may tell. As for me, I heard only laughing, 
tittering, now and then a slight .scream, and a cry 
of "Behave, Mr. Murphy!" etc.; hut the move- 
ments themselves were conic sections to me, and 
I closed my eyes as I sat alone in my corner, 
and courted sleej) ns a short oblivion to the 
scene. Unfortunately, I succeeded; for, wild 



42 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



and singular as the gestures, the looks, and the 
voices were before, they now became to my 
dreaming senses something too terrible. I thought 
myself in the centre of some hobgoblin orgie, 
where demons, male and female, were perform- 
ing their fantastic antics around me, grinning 
hideously, and uttering cries of menacing im- 
port. Tam-o'-Shanter's vision was a respectable 
tea-party of Glasgow matrons, compared to my 
imaginings; for, so distorted were the pictures 
of my brain, that the leader of the band, a peace- 
able-looking old man in shorts and spectacles, 
seemed to me like a grim-visaged imp, who 
flourished his tail across the strings of his instru- 
ment in lieu of a bow. 

I must confess that the dancers, without any 
wish on my part to detract from their efforts, 
had not the entire merit of this transmutation. 
Fatigue, for the hour was late, chagrin at being 
robbed of my ]3artner, added to the heat and the 
crowd, had all their share in the mystification. 
Besides, if I must confess it, Mr. Rooney's cham- 
pagne was strong. My friend O'Grady, however, 
seemed but little of my opinion; for, like the 
master spirit of the scene, he seemed to direct 
every movement and dictate everv change. No 
touch of fatigue, no semblance of exhaustion 
about him. On the contrary, as the hour grew 
later, and the pale gray of morning began to min- 
gle with tbe glare of wax-lights, the vigor of his 
performance only increased, and several new 
steps were displayed, which, like a prudent gen- 
eral, he seemed to have kept in reserve for the 
end of the engagement. And what a sad thing 
is a ball as it draws towards the close! What an 
emblem of life at a similar period! How much of 
freshness has faded! how much of beauty has 
passed away! how many illusions are dissipated! 
how many dreams, the lamp light and chalk 
floors have called into life, fly like spirits with 
the first beam of sun-light! The eye of proud 
bearing is humbled now! the cheek, whose 
downy softness no painter could have copied, 
has grown pale, and wan,and haggard : the beaming 
looks, the graceful bearing, the elastic step, where 
are they? Only to be found where youth — bright 
joyous, and elastic youth — unites itself to beauty. 

Such were my thoughts as the dancers flew 
past; and many whom I had remarked at the be- 
ginning of the evening as handsome and attrac- I 
live, seemed now without a trace of either, when 
suddenly Louisa Bsllew came by, her step as 
light, her every gesture as graceful, her cheek as 
blooming, and her liquid eye as deeply beaming 
as when first I saw her. The excitement of the 
dance had slightly flushed her face, and height- 
ened the expression its ever-varying emotions 
lent it. 

Handsome as I before had thought her, there 
was a look of pride about iier now that made her 
lovely to my eyes. As I continued to gaze after 
her, I did not perceive for some time that the 
guests were rapidly taking their leave, and already 
the rooms were greatly thinned. Every moment 
now, however, bore evidence-of the fact; the un- 
ceasing roll of carriages to the door, the clank of 
the steps, the reiterated cry tn drive on, followed 
by the call for the next carriage, all betokened 



departure. Now and then, too, some cloaked and 
hooded figure would appear at the door of the 
drawing-room, peering anxiously about for a 
daughter, a sister, or a friend, who still lingered 
in the dance, averring it "was impossible to go, 
that slie was engaged for another set." The dis- 
consolate gestures, the impatient menaces of the 
shawled spectres — for, in truth, they seemed like 
creatures of another world come back to look 
upon the life they left — are of no avail. The 
seductions of the "major" are stronger than the 
frowns of mamma, and though a scolding may 
come in tlie morning, she is resolved to have a 
waltz at night. 

An increased noise and tumult below stairs at 
the same moment informed me that the supper 
party were at length about to separate. I started 
up at once, wishing to see Miss Bellew again ere 
I took my leave, when O'Grady seized me by the 
arm and hurried me away. " Come along, Hinton! 
Not a moment to lose; the duke is going." 

"Wait an instant," said I; "I wish to speak 
to " 

"Another time, my dear fellow; another time. 
The duke is delighed with the Rooneys, and we 
are going to have Paul knighted!" 

With these words he dragged me along, dash- 
ing down the stairs like a madman. As we reached 
the door of the dining-room we found his grace, 
who, with one hand on Lord Dudley's shoulder, 
was endeavoring to steady himself by the other. 

" I say, O'Grady, is that you? Very power- 
ful Burgundy this. It's not possible it can be 
morning!" 

"Yes, your grace, half-past seven o'clock." 

"Indeed, upon my word, your friends are very 
charming people. What did you say about knight- 
ing some one? Oh! I remember. Mr. Rooney, 
wasn't it? Of course, nothing could be better!" 

" Come, Hinton, have you got a sword?" said 
O'Grady; " I've mislaid mine, somehow. There, 
that'll do. Let us try and find Paul now." 

Into the supper-room we rushed: but what a 
change was there! The brilliant tables, resplend- 
ent with gold plate, candelabras, and flowers, were 
now despoiled and dismantled. On the floor, 
among broken glasses, cracked decanters, pyra- 
mids of jelly, and pagodas of blanc mange, lay 
scattered in every attitude the sleeping figures of 
the late guests. Mrs. Rooney alone maintained 
her position; seated a large chair, her eyes 

closed, a smile of P^lysian happiness playing upon 
her lips, her right arm hung gracefully over the 
side of the chair, where lately his grace had 
kissed her hand at parting. t)vercome, in all 
probability, by the more than human hajjpiness 
of such a moment, she had sunk into slumber, and 
was murmuring in her dreams such short and 
broken phrases as the following: "Ah! happy 
day — What will Mrs. Tait say? — The lord mayor, 
indeed! — Oh! my poor head! I hope it won't 
be turned — Holy Agatha, pray for us! your grace, 
pray for us! — Isn't he a beautiful man? hasn't he 
the darling white teeth?" 

"Where's Paul.'" said O'Grady. "Where's 
Paul. Mrs. Rooney?" as he jogged her rather 
rudely by the arm. 

"Ah! who cares for Paul?" said she, still 




"■l-f« 



y//'<' (Z^/f//?//^ /r r/// (^/yy/o/a. 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



4<i 



sleeping. "Don't be bothering nie about the like 
of hiin." 

"Egad! this is conjugal at any rate," said 
Phil. 

" I have hini!'\ried I, " here he is!'" as I stum- 
bled over a short, thick figure, who was propped 
up in a corner of the room. There he sat, his 
ht-ad sunk upon his bosom, his hands listlessly 
re.sting on the floor A large jug stood beside 
him, in the concoction of whose contents he ap- 
peared to have spent the last moments of his 
waking state. We shook him, and called him by 
his name, but to no purpose; and, as we lilted 
up his head, we burst out laughing at the droll 
expression of his face; for he had gone asleep 
in the act of squeezing a lemon in his teeth, the 
half of which not only remained there still, but 
imparted to his features the twisted and con- 
torted expression that act suggests. 

"Are you coming, O'Grady?" cried the duke, 
impatiently. 

" Yes, my lord," cried Phil, as he rushed 
towards the door. "This is too bad, Hinton: 
th:it confounded fellow could not ]30ssibly be 
moved; I'll try and carry him." As he spoke he 
hurried back towards the sleeping figure of Mr. 
Rooney, while I made towards the duke. 

.\s Lord Dudley had gone to order up the 
carriages, his grace was standing alone at the 
foot of the stairs, leaning his back against the 
banisters, his eyes opening and shutting alter- 
nately, as his head nodded every now and then 
forward, overcome by sleep and the wme he had 
drunk. E.xactly in front of him, but crouching 
in the attitude of an Indian monster, sat Corny 
Delany: to keep himself from the cold, he had 
wraj)ped himself up in his master's cloak, and the 
only part of his face perceptible was the little 
wrinkled forehead, and the malicous-looking fiery 
eyes beneath it, firmly fi.xed on the duke's coun- 
tenance. 

" Give me your sword," said his grace, turning 
to me, in a tone half sleeping, half commanding, 
" give me your sword, sir." 

Drawing it from the scabbard, I presented it 
respectfully. 

" Stand a little on one side, Hinton Where is 
he.-" Ah! quite right. Kneel down, sir; kneel 
d ).vn, I say !" These words, addressed to Corny 
produced no other movement in him than a slight 
change in his attitude, to enable him to extend 
his expanded hand above his eyes, and take a 
clearer view of the duke. 

" Does he hear me, Hinton? Po you hear me, 
sir?" 

'■ Do you hear bis grace?" said I, endeavoring 
with a sharp kick of my foot to assist his per- 
ceptions. 

"To be sure I hear him," said Corny; "why 
wouldn't I hear him?" 

" Kneel down, then," said I. 

" Devil a bit of me'll kneel down. Don't I 
know what he's after well enough? Ac/t na 
hocklish! Sorrow else he ever does nor make 
fun of people." 

" Kneel down, sir," said his grace, in an accent 
there was no refusing to obey. " What is your 
name?" 



"O murther' O heavenly Joseph! cried 
Corny, as I hurled him down upon his knees, 
"that I'd ever lived to see the day!" 

" What is his d — d name?" said the duke, pas. 
sionately. 

"Corny, your grace, Corny Delany." 

" There, that'll do," as with a hearty slap of 
the sword, not on his shoulder, but on his bullet 
head, lie cried out, " Rise, Sir Corny Delany!" 

"Och! the devil a one of me will e\er get up 
out of this same spot. O wirra, wirra! how 
will I ever show myself again after this dis- 
grace?" 

I. caving Corny to his lamentations, the duke 
walked towards the door. Here above a hun- 
dred people were now assembled, their curiosity 
excited in no small degree by a picket of light 
dragoons, who occupied the middle of the street, 
and were lying upon the ground, or leaning on 
their saddles, in all the wearied attitudes of a 
night-watch. In fact, the duke had forgotten to 
dismiss his guard of honor, who had accompa- 
nied him to the theatre, and thus had they s])ent 
the dark hours of the night keeping watch and 
ward over the proud dwelling of the Rooneys. 
.\ dark frown settled on the duke's features as 
he perceived the mistake, and muttered between 
his teeth, "How they \\ ill talk of this in Eng- 
lan d!" The next moment, bursting into a hearty 
fit of laughter, he stejiped into the carriage, 
and, amid a loud cheer from the mob, by whom 
he was recognized, drove rapidly away. 

Seated beside his grace, I saw nothing more of 
O'Grady, whose efforts to ennoble the worthy 
attorney only exposed him to the risk of a black 
eye; for no sooner did Paul perceive that he was 
undergoing rough treatment, than he immedi- 
ately resisted, and gave open battle. 

O'Grady accordingly left him, to seek his 
home on foot, followed by Corny, whose cries 
and heartrending exclamations induced a consid- 
erable crowd of well-dis])osed citizens to accom- 
pany them to the Castle gate. And thus ended 
the great Rooney ball. 



CHAPTER XI. 



A NEGOTIATION. 



From what I have already stated, it may be in- 
ferred that my acquaintance with the Rooneys 
was begun under favorable auspices; indeed, 
from the evening of the ball the house was open 
to me at all hours; and, as the hour of luncheon 
was known to every lounger about town, by 
dropping in at three o'clock, one was sure to hear 
the chit-chat and gossip of the dav. All the din- 
ners and duels of the capital, all its rows and 
runaway matches were there discussed, while 
future parties of pleasure were planned and de- 
cided on; the Rooney equipages, horses, servants, 
and cellar being looked upon as common 
property, the appropriation of which was to be 
determined on by a vote of the majority. At all 



44 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



these domestic parliaments O'Grady played a 
prominent part; he was the speaker and the 
whipper-in; he led for both the government and 
the opposition; in fact, since the ever-memorable 
visit of the viceroy, his power in the house was 
iibsoUite. How completely they obeyed, and how 
implicitly they followed him, may be guessed 
when I say that he even persuaded Mrs. Rooney 
herself not only to abstain from all trium|)h on 
the subject of their illustrious guest, but actually 
to maintain a kind of diplomitic silence on the 
subject; so that many simple-minded people be- 
gan to suspect that his grace had never been there 
at all, and that poor Mrs. Rooney, having detected 
the imposition, prudently held her tongue, and 
said nothing about the matter. 

As this influence might strike my reader as 
somewhat difficult in its exercise, and also as it 
presents a fair specimen of my friend's inge- 
nuity, I cannot forbear mentioning the secret of 
its success. 

When the duke awoke late in the afternoon 
that followed Mrs. Rooney's ball, his first impres- 
sion was one bordering on irritation with 
O'Grady. His quick-sightedness enabled him 
at once to see how completely he had fallen into 
the trap of his worthy aide-de-camp; and al- 
though he had confessedly spent a very pleasant 
evening, and laughed a great deal, now, that all 
was over, he would have preferred if the wjiole 
affair could be quietly consigned to oblivion, or 
only remembered as a good joke for after dinner. 
The scandal and the eclat it must cause in the 
capital annoyed him considerably, and he knew 
that before a day passed over, the incident of the 
guard of honor, lying in bivouac around their 
horses, would furnish matter for every caricature- 
shop in the capital. Ordering O'Grady to his 
presence, and with a severity of manner in a 
great degree assumed, he directed him to 
remedy, as far as mi^ht be, the consequences of 
this blunder, and either contrive to give a to- 
tally different version of the occurrence, or else 
by originating some new subject of scandal, to 
eclipse the memory of this unfortunate evening. 

O'Grady promised and pledged himself to 
everything; vowed that he would give such a 
turn to the affair, that nobody would ever be- 
lieve a word of the story; assured the duke (God 
forgive him!) that, however ridiculous the 
Rooneys at night, by day they were models of 
discretion; and at length took liis leave to put 
his scheme into execution, heartily glad to dis- 
cover that his grace had forgotten all about 
Corny and the knighthood, the recollection of 
which might have been attended with grave re- 
.sults to himself 

So mach for his interview with the duke. 
Now for his diplomacy with Mrs. Rooney! It 
was about five o'clock on the following day, 
when O'Grady cantered up to the door, giving 
his horse to his groom, he dashed boldly up- 
stairs, passed through the antechamber and the 
drawing-room, and, tapping gently at the door 
of a little boudoir, opened it at the same moment, 
and presented himself before Mrs. Paul. 

That amiable ladv, reclining a la Princess 
O'Toole, was gracefully disposed on a small 



sofa, regarding, with fixed attention, a little 
plaster bust of his grace, which, witli consid- 
erable taste and propriety, was dressed in a 
blue coat and bright buttons, with a star on the 
breast, a bit of sky-blue satin representing the 
ribbon of the Bath; nothing was forgotten; and 
a faint attempt was even made to represent 
the coloring of the viceregal nose, which, I am 
bound to confess, was not flattered in the 
model. 

"Ah, captain! is it you?" said Mrs. Paul, 
with a kind of languisliing condescension, very 
different from her ordinary reception of a Castle 
aide-de-camp. " How is his grace this morning?" 

Drawing his chair beside her, Phil proceeded 
to reply to her questions, and assured her that, 
whatever her admiration for the duke, the feel- 
ing was perfectly mutual. "Egad," said he, 
" the thing may turn out very ill for me, when 
the duchess finds out that it was all my doing. 
Speaking in confidence to you, my dear Mrs. 
Paul, I may confess that, although without ex- 
ception she is the most kind, amiable, excel- 
lent soul breathing, yet she has one fault We 

all have our faults." 

" Ah!" sighed Mrs. Rooney, as she threw 
down her eyes, as though to say, that's very 
true, but you will not catch me telling what 
mine is. 

" As I was observing, there never was a more 

estimable being, save in this one respect 

You guess it; 1 see you do." 

"Ah! the creature, she drinks!" 

The captain found it not a little difficult to 
repress a burst of laughter at Mrs. Rooney's sug- 
gestion. He did so, however, and proceeded; 
" No, my dear madam, you mistake: jealousy 
is her failing; and when I tell you this, and 
when I add that, unhajipily for her, the evtnts 
of last night may only affoi d but too much cause, 
you will comprehend the embarrassment of my 
present position." 

Having said thus much, he walked the room 
for several minutes as if sunk in nit dilation, 
while he left Mrs. Rooney to ruminate over an 
announcement, the bare possibility of which was 
ecstasy itself. To be the rival of a peeress; that 
peeress a duchess; that duchess the lady of the 
viceroy! These were high thoughts indeed. What 
would Mrs. Riley say now ? How would ihe Malo- 
neys look? Wouldn't Father Glynn be jiicud to 
meet her at the door of Liffe)' street chapel in full 
pontificals as she drove up. w ho knows but with a 
guard of honor beside her? Running on in this war, 
she had finally got so far as to be discussing with 
herself what was to be done with Paul; not that 
her allegiance was shaken towards that excellent 
individual: not a single unworthy thought crossed 
her mind; far from it. Poor Mrs. Rooney was 
purity itself; she merely dreamt of those out- 
ward manifestations of the viceroy's preference, 
which were to procure for her consideration in 
the world, a position in society, and those atten- 
tions from the hands of vhe great and the titled 
which she esteemed at higher price than the real 
gifts of health, wealth, and beauty, so bounteously 
bestowed upon her liy Pro\idence. 

She had come then to that difficult point in 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



45 



her mind, as to what was to be done with Paul; 
what ]5eculiai" course could he be submitted to 
to make him more presentable in the world; how 
were they to break hmi ol't" whisky-and-water and 
small jokes? "Ah! " thought slie, " it's very hard to 
make a real gentleman out of such materials as 
grog and drab gaiters;" when suddenly O'Cirady, 
wiping iiis foreliead with his handkerchief, and 
then flourishing it theatrically in the air, ex- 
claimed — 

"Yes, Mrs. Rooney, everytliing depends on 
you. His grace's visit^I have just been with 
him talking thj whole thing over — must be kept 
a profound secret. If it ever reach the ears of 
the duchess, we are ruined and undone." 

Here was a total overthrow to all Mrs. Paul's 
speculations. Here was a beautiful castle up- 
rooted from its very foundation: all her triumph, 
all her vaunted superiority over her city acquaint- 
ance, was vanishing like a mirage before her. 
What was the use of his coming, after all; what 
was the good of it, if not to be spoken of, if not 
talked over at tea, written of in notes, discussed 
at dinner, and displayed in the morning papers? 
Already was her brow contracted, and a sHght 
flush of her cheek showed the wily captain that 
resistance was in preparation. 

" I know, my dear Mrs. Paul, how gratifying 
it would be for even the highest in the land to 
speak of his grace's condescension in such terms 
as you miglit speak; but then, after all, liow very 
fleeting such a triumphi Many would shrug 
their shoulders, and not believe the story. Some 
of those who believed would endeavor to account 
for i: as a joke: one of those odd, wild fancies 
tite duke is ever so fond of." Here she reddened 
deeply. " In fact, the malevolence and the envy 
o' the world will give a thousand turns to the 
circumstance. Besides that, after all, they would 
seem to have some reason on their side; for the 
publicity of the affair must forever jjrevent a 
repetition of the visit; whereas, on the other side, 
by a little discretion, by guarding our own 
secret " — here Phil looked knowingly in he r eyes, 
as though to say they had one — "not only will 
the duke be delighted to continue his intimacy, 
but from the absence of all mention of the matter, 
all display on the subject, the world will be ten 
times more disposed to give credence to the fact 
than if it were paragraphed in every newspaper 
in the kingdom." 

This was hitting the nail on the head with a 
vengeance. Here was a picture — here a vision 
of happiness! Only to think of the duke drop- 
]iing in, as a body might say, to take his bit of 
dinner or his dish of tea in the evening, just in a 
(|uiet, homely, family way. She thought slie saw 
him sitting with his feet on the fender, talking 
about the king and the queen, and "the rest of 
the royal family," just as he would of herself and 
Paul, and her eyes involuntarily turned towards 
the little bust, and two round, full tears of pure 
joy trickled slowly down her cheeks. 

Yielding at length to these and similar argu- 
ments, Mrs. Rooney gave in her adhesion, and a 
treatv was arranged and agreed upon between 
the High Contracting Parties, which ran some- 
what to this effect: 



" In the first place, for the enjoyment of certain 
advantages to be hereafter more fully set forth, 
the lady was bound to maintain in all large com- 
panies — balls, dinners, drums, and dejeuners — a 
rigid silence regarding the duke's visit to her 
house; never speaking of, nor alluding to it, in 
any manner whatever; and, in fact, conducting 
herself in all respects as if such a thing had never 
taken place. 

" Secondly, she was forbid from making any 
direct inquiries in public respecting the health 
of the duke or duchess, or exercising any overt 
act of personal interest in these exalted indi- 
viduals. 

"Thirdly, so long as Mrs. Rooney strictly 
maintained the teims of the covenant, nothing 
in the foregoing was to preclude her from certain 
other i)rivileges — viz., blushing deeply when the 
duke's name was mentioned, throve ing down her 
eyes, gently clasping her hands, and even occa- 
sionally proceeding to a sigh; neither was she 
interdicted from regarding any portion of her 
domicile as particularly sacred in consequence 
of its viceregal associations. A certain arm- 
chair might be selected for peculiar honors, and 
preserved inviolate, &c. 

"And lastly, ne\ertheless nothwilhstanding 
that in all large assemblies Mrs. Rooney was to 
conduct herself with the reserve and restrictions 
aforesaid, yet in small ininions dc Janiille ' — this 
O'Grady purposely inserted in French, for, as 
Mrs. Paul could not confess her ignorance of 
that language the interpretation must rest with 
himself — " she was to enjoy a perfect liberty of 
detailing his grace's advent, entering into all its 
details, discussing, explaining, expatiating, in- 
quiring with a most minute particularity concern- 
ing his health and habits, and, in a word, conduct 
herself in all respects, to use her own expressive 
phrase, ' as if they were thick since they were 
babies.' " 

Armed with this precious document, formally 
signed and healed by both parties, O'Grady 
took his leave of Mrs. Rooney, not, indeed, in 
his usual free-and-easy manner, but with the re- 
spectful and decorous reserve of one addressing 
a favorite near the throne. Nothing could be 
more perfect than Phil's profound obeisance, 
except perhaps tlie queenly demeanor of Mrs. 
Rooney herself; for, with the ready tact of a 
woman, she caught up in a moment the altered 
phase of her position, and in the reflective light 
of O'Grady's manner she learnt to appreciate 
her own brilliancy. 

" From this day forward." muttered O'Grady, 
as he closed the door behind him and hurried 
down-stairs, "from this day forward she'll be 
greater than ever. Heaven help the lady may- 
oress that ventures to shake hands with her, and 
the attorney's wife will be a bold woman that 
asks her to a tea-party henceforth." 

With these words he threw himself upon his 
horse and canjered off towards the park to inform 
the duke that all was happily concluded, and 
amuse him with a sight of the great Rooney 
treaty, which he well knew would throw the vice- 
roy into convulsions of laughter. 



46 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



CHAPTER XII. 



A WAGER. 



In a few weeks after the events I have men- 
tioned, the duke left Irehmd, to resume his par- 
liamentary duties in the House of Lords, where 
some measure of considerable importance was at 
that lime under discussion. Into the hands of 
the lords justices, therefore, the government lui 
tiiteriin was delivered; while upon Mrs. Paul 
Rooney devolved the more pleasing task of be- 
coming the leader of fasliion, the head and foun- 
tain of all the gayeties and amusements of the 
capital. Indeed, O'Grady half hinted that his 
grace relied upon her to supply his loss, which 
manifestation of his esteem, so perfectly in ac- 
cordance with her own wishes, she did not long 
hesitate to profit by. 

Had a stranger on his first arrival in Dublin 
passed along that part of Stephen's green, in 
which the " Hotel Rooney," as it was familiarly 
called, was situated, he could not have avoided 
being struck, not only with the appearance of 
the house itself, but with that of the strange and 
incongruous assembly of all ranks and condi- 
tions of men, that lounged about its doors. The 
house, large and spacious, with its windows of 
plate-glass, its Venetian blinds, its gaudily gilt 
and painted balcony, and its massive brass 
knocker, betrayed a certain air of pretension, 
standing as it did among the more sombre-look- 
ing mansions, where the real rank of the country 
resided. Clean windows and a bright knocker, 
however — distinctive features as they were, in 
the metropolis of those days — would not have 
arrested the attention of the passing traveller to 
the extent I have supposed, but that there were 
other signs and sights than these; at the open 
hall door, to which you ascended by a flight of 
granite steps, lounged some half-dozen servants 
in powdered iieads and gaudy liveries — the venera- 
ble porter in his leather chair, the ruddy coach- 
man in his full-bottomed wig, tall footmen with 
bouquets in their button-holes, were here to be 
seen reading the morning papers, or leisurely 
strolling to the steps to take a look at the 
weather, and cast a supercilious glance at the 
insignificant tide of population that flowed on 
beneath them; a lazy and an idle race, they 
toiled not, neither did they spin, and I sincerely 
trust that Solomon's costume bore no riSemblance 
to theirs. More imaiediately in 'front of the 
house stood a mi,\ed society of idlers, beggars, 
horse-boys, and grooms, assembled there from 
motives of curiosity or gain. Indeed, the rich 
odor of savory viands that issued from the open 
kitchen-windows and ascended through the area 
to the nostrils of these without, might, in its 
appetizing steam, have brought the dew upon the 
lips of greater gourmands than they were. All 
that French cookery could suggest to impart va- 
riety to the separate meals of breakfast, lunch- 
eon, dinner, and supper, here went fo' ward un- 
ceasingly; and the beggars who thronged around 
the bars, and were fed from the rich man's table, 
became by degrees so ii.ibituated to the delica- 
cies and refinements of good living, that they 



would have turned up their noses with contempt 
at the humble and more homely fare of the re- 
spectable shopkeeper. Truly, it was a strange 
picture to see these poor and ragged men as 
they sat in groups upon the steps and on ihe 
bare flagway, e.\posed to every wind of heaven, 
the drifting rain soaking through their frail and 
threadbare garments, yet criticizing with prac- 
tised acumen the savory food before them. Con- 
sommes, ragouts, pates, potages, jellies, with an 
infinity of that smaller grape-shot of epicurism 
with which fine tables are filled, all liere met a 
fair and a candid appreciation. A little farther 
off, and towards the middle of the street, stood 
another order of beings, who, with separate and 
peculiar privileges, maintained llitmselves as a 
class apart; these were the horse-boys, half-naked 
urchins, whose ages varied from eicht to fourteen 
— but whose looks of mingled cunning and droll- 
ery would defy any guess as to their time of life 
— here sported in all the wild untrammelled lib- 
erty of African savages; the only art they pr-ic- 
tised was to lead up and down the horses of the 
various visitors whom the many attractions of the 
" Hotel Rooney" brought daily to the house; and 
here you saw the proud and pampered steed, wiih 
fiery eye and swelling nostrils, led about by this 
ambulating mass of rags and poverty, whose 
bright eye wand.ered ever from his own tattered 
habiliments to the gorgeous trappings and gold 
embroidery of the sleek charger beside him. In 
the midst of these, such as were not yet em- 
ployed amused themselves by cutting summer- 
sets, standing on their heads, walking crab-fash- 
ion, and other classical performances, which form 
the little distractions of life for this strange 
sect, 

Jaunting-cars, there were too, whose numerous 
fastenings of rope and cordage looked as though 
they were taken to pieces every night and put 
together in the morning, while the horse, a care- 
worn and misanthropic-looking beast, would turn 
his head sideways over the shaft, to give a glance 
of compassionating scorn at the follies and vani- 
ties of a world he was sick of. Not so the driver: 
equally low in condition, and fully as ragged in 
coat, the droll spirit that made his birthriglit was, 
with him, a lamp that neither poverty nor penury 
could quench. Ever ready .with his joke, never 
backward with his re])artee, prepared to comfort 
you with assurances of the strength of his car and 
the goodness of his horse, while his own laughing 
look ga\e the lie to his very words, he would 
persuade you that with him alone there was safety, 
while it was a risk of life and limb to travel with 
his rivals. 

These formed the ordinary dramatis persona, 
while every now and then some flashy equipage, 
with armorial bearings and skowy liveries, would 
scatter the crowd right and left, set the led horses 
lashing among the by-standers, and even break 
up the decorous conviviality of a dinner-party 
gracefully disposed upon the flags. Curricles, 
tandems, tilburies, and dennets, were constantly 
arriving and departing. Members of Daly's with 
their green coats and buff waistcoats, whiskered 
dragoons, and jilumed aides-de-camp were all 
mixed up together, while on ihe open balcony an 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



47 



indiscriminate herd of loungers telegraphed the 
conversation from the drawing-room to the street, 
and thus all the bon mots, all the jests, all the 
witticisms that went forward within doors, found 
also a laughing auditory without; for it is a 
remarkable feature of this singular country, that 
there is no turn of expression wliose raillery is 
too delicate, no repartee whose keenness is too 
fine, for the appreciation of the poorest and 
meanest creature that walks the street. Poor 
I'addy, if the more substantial favors of fortune 
be not your lot, nature has linked you by a strong 
sympathy with tastes, habits, and usages which, 
by s\3nie singular intuition, you seem thoroughly 
to comprehend. One cannot dwell long among 
them without feeling this, and witnessing how 
gelierally, how almost universally, poverty of con- 
dition and wealth of intellect go hand in hand 
together; and, as it is only over the bleak and 
barren surface of some fern-clad heath, the wild- 
fire flashes through the gloom of night, so, it 
would seem, the more brilliant fire-work of fancy 
would need a soil of poverty and privation to 
produce it. 

But, at length, to come back, the Rooneys now 
were installed as the great people of the capital; 
many of the aiicien regime who held out sturdily 
before, and who looked upon the worthy attorney 
in the light of an usurper, now gave in their 
allegiance, and regarded him as the true monarch: 
what his great prototype effected by terror, he 
brought about by turtle; and if Napoleon ' "n- 
solidated his empire, and propped his thio:u by 
the bayonets of the grand army, so did .Mr. 
Rooiiey establish his claims to power by the more 
satisfactory arguments — which, appealing, not 
only to tile head, but to the stomach, convince, 
while they conciliate. You might criticize his 
courtesy, but you could not condemn his claret. 
You might dislike his manners, but you could not 
deny his mutton. Besides, after all, matters 
took pretty much the same turn in Paris, as 
in Dublin: public opinion ran strong in both 
cases, the mass of the world consists of those who 
receive benefits, and he who confers them de- 
serves to be respected. We certainly thouglit 
so; and among those of darker hue who frequented 
Mr. Rooney's table, three red coats might daily 
be seen, whose unchanged places, added to their 
indescribable air of at-homeishness, bespoke them 
as the friends of the family. 

O'Gradv, at Mrs. Rooney's right hand, did the 
honors of the soup; Lord Dudley, at the other 
end of the table, supported Mr. Rooney, while to 
my lot Miss Bellew feii; btit as our places at table 
never changed, there was nothing marked in my 
thus every day finding myself beside her, and 
resuming my place on our return to the drawing- 
room. To me, I confess, she formed the great 
attraction of the house: less imbued, than my 
friend O'Grady, witlf the spirit of fun, I could 
not have gone on from day to day to amuse myself 
with the eccentricities of the Rooneys, while I 
could not, on the other hand, have followed Lord 
Dudley's lead, and continued to receive the 
hospitalities of a house, that I might sneer at the 
pretensions of its owner. 

Under any circumstances, Louisa Bellew might 



be considered a very charming person; but, con- 
trasted with those by whom she was surrounded, 
her attractions were very great; indeed, her youth, 
her light-heartedness, and the buo\ancy of her 
spirit, concealed to a great degree the sorrow it 
cost her to be associated with her present hosts; 
for, although they were kind to her, and she felt 
and acknowledged their kindness, yet the humil- 
iating sense of a position which exjJOfed her to 
the insolent familiarity of the idle, the dissipated, 
or the underbred visitors of the house, gradually 
impressed itself upon her manner, and tempered 
her mild and graceful nature with a certain air 
of pride and distance. A circumstance, slight 
in itself, but sufficiently indicative of this, took 
place some weeks after what 1 have mentioned. 
Lord Dudley de Vere, who, from his rank and 
condition, was looked upon as a kind of privi- 
leged person in the Rooney family, sitting rather 
later than usual after dinner, and having drunk a 
great deal of wine, offered a wager that, on his 
appearance in the drawing-room, not only would 
he propose for, but be accepted by, any unmar- 
ried lady in the room. The pujipyism and cox- 
combery of such a wager might have been par- 
doned, were it not that the character of the 
individual, when sober, was in perfect accordance 
with this drunken boast. The bet, which was for 
three hundred guineas, was at once taken up, 
and one of the party running hastily up to the 
drawing-room, obtained the names of the ladies 
there, which, being written on slips of paper, 
were thrown into a hat, thus leaving chance to 
decide upon whom the happy lot was to fall. 

" Mark you, Upton," cried Lord Dudley, as he 
prepared to draw forth his prize, "mark you, I 
didn't say I'd marry her." 

"No, no," resounded from different parts of 
the room; "we understand you jierfectl)." 

"My bet," continued he, "is this- — I have 
booked it." With these words he opened a small 
memorandum book and read forlli the following 
paragraph: — 'Three hundred with Upton that I 
ask and be accepted by any girl in Paul's 
drawing-room this evening, after tea. The choice 
to be decided by lottery." Isn't that it?" 

"Yes, yes, quite right, perfectly correct," said 
several persons round the table. " Come, my 
lord, here is the hat." 

" Shake them up well, Upton." 

" So here goes," said De Vere, as affectedly 
tucking up the sleeves of his coat, he inserted 
two fingers and drew forth a small piece of paper 
carefully folded in two. " I say, gentlemen, this 
is your affair; it don't concern me." With these 
words he threw it carelessly on the table, and 
resuming his seat, leisurely filled his glass, and 
sipped his wine. 

"Come, read it, Blake; read it up; who is 
she?" 

" Gently, lads, gently; patience for one mo- 
ment. How are we to know if the wager be lost 
or won? Is the lady herself to declare it?" 

" Whv, if you like it; it is perfectly the same 
to me." 

"Well, then," rejoined Blake, "it is Miss 

Bellew." 

No sooner was the name read aloud, than, in- 



48 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



stead of the roar of laughter which it was ex- 
pected would follow the announcement, a kind of 
awkward and constrained silence settled on the 
party. Mr. Rooney himself — who felt shocked 
beyond measure at this result, had been so long 
habituated to regard himself as nothing at the 
head of his own table, accepiing, not dictating, 
its law.s — would, had he dared, have at once in- 
terfered to stay any further proceedings. Many 
of those, too, around the table, who knew Sir 
Simon Bellew, and felt how unsuitable and inad- 
missible such a jest as this would be, if practised 
upon his daughter, whispered among themselves 
a hope tliat the wager would be abandoned, and 
never thought of more by either party. 

" Yes, yes," said Upton, who was an officer in 
a dragoon regiment, and although of a high family 
and well connected, was yet very limited in his 
means. "Yes, yes, I quite agree. This foolery 
might be very good fun with some young I'adies 
we know, but with Miss Bellew the circumstances 
are quite different; and, for my part, I withdraw 
from the bet." 

" Eh — aw! Pass down the claret, if you 
please. You withdraw from the bet, then? that 
means, you pay me three hundred guineas; for 
d — n me if I do! No, no; I am not so young as 
that. I haven't lost fifteen thousand on the 
Derby without gaining some little insight into 
these matters — every bet is a p. p., if not stated 
to be the reverse. I leave it to any gentleman in 
the room." 

"Come, come, De Vere," said one, " listen to 
reason, my boy." 

" Yes, Dudley," cried another, " only think over 
the thing. You must see " 

"I only wish to see a cheque for three hundred. 
And I'll not be done." 

"Sir!" said Upton, springing from his chair, as 
his blood mounted to his face and temples, "did 
you mean that expression to apply to me?" 

"Sit down, Mr. Upton, for the love of heaven! 
Sit down; do, sir; his lordship never meant it at 
all. See, now, I'll pay the money myself. Cive 
me a pen and ink. I'll give you a cheque on the 
bank this minute. Wliat the devil signifies a trifle 
like that!" stammered out poor Paul, as he wiped 
his forehead with his napkin, and looked the very 
picture of terror. "Yes, my lord and gentlemen 
of the jury, we agree to pay the whole costs of 
this suit." 

A perfect roar of laughter interrupted the 
worthy attorney, and as it ran from one end of 
the table to the other, seemed to promise a hap- 
pier issue to this unpleasant discussion. 

" There now," said honest Paul, " the Lord be 
praised, it is all settled! so let us have another 
cooper up, and then we'll join the ladies." 

"Then I understand it thus," said Lord Dud- 
ley; "you jiay the money for Mr. Upton, and I 
may erase the bet from my book." 

" No, sir!" cried Upton, passionately. "I pay 
my own wagers — and if you still insist " 

" No, no, no," cried several voices; while at 
the same time, to put an end at once to any 
further dispute, the party suddenly rose to repair 
to the drawing-room. 

On passing through the hall, chance, or perhaps 



design, on Lord Dudley's part, brought him be- 
side Upton. "I wish you to understand, once 
more," said he, in a low whisper, " that I consider 
this bet to hold." 

" Be it so," was the brief reply, and thev 
separated. 

O'Grady and myself having dined that day in 
the country, only arrived in the Rooneys' draw- 
ing-room as the dinner-party was entering it 
Contrary to their wont, there was less of loud 
talking, less of uproarious and boisterous mirth, 
as they came up the stairs, than usual. O'Grady 
remarked this to me afterwards. At the time, 
however, I paid but little attention to it The 
fact was, my thoughts were principally running in 
another channel. Certain inuendoes of Lord 
Dudley de Vere, certain bread hints he liad 
ventured upon before Mrs. Rooney had left 
upon my mind a kind of vague, undecided ini 
pression ihnt, somehow or other, I was regarded 
as their dupe. Miss Bellew's manner vas cer- 
tainly more cordial, more kind to me than to any 
of the others who visited the house. The Roon- 
eys themselves omitted nothing to humor my cap- 
rices, and indulge my fancies, affording me, at all 
times, opportunities of being alone with Louisa, 
joining in her walks, and acctmpanying her on 
iiorseback. Could there be cn\ thing in all this? 
Was this the quarter in which the mine was to 
explode? This painful doubt hanging upon my 
mind, I entered the draw irg-rccm. 

The drawing-room of 42, Stephen's green, had 
often afforded me an amusing study. Its strange 
confusion of rank and classes, its mi.xture of 
lordly loungers and city beauties; the discordant 
tone of conversation, where each person dis- 
cussed the \ ery thing he knew least' of; the 
blooming daughters of a lady mayoress talking 
"fashion and the musical glasses;" while the wit- 
less scion of a noble l.ciiie was €ndea\oring to 
pass himself off as a sayer of good things- — these 
now, however, afforded me neither interest nor 
pleasure; bent solely upon one thought, eager 
alone to ascertain how far Louisa Bellew's man- 
ner towards me was the fruit of artifice, or the 
offspring of an artless and unsuspecting mind, 1 
left O'Grady to entertain a whole circle of tur- 
baned ladies, while I directed my course to- 
wards the little boudoir where Louisa usually sat. 

In a house where laxity of etiquette and a 
freedom of manner prevailed to the extent I ha\e 
mentioned, Miss Bellew's more cautious and re- 
served demeanor was anything but lopular, and. 
as there was no lack of beauty, men found it 
more suitable to their lounging and indolent 
habits, to engage those in conversation who were 
less exacting in their demands for respect, and 
were equally merry themselves, as mercifully dis- 
posed when the mirth became not only easy but 
free. 

Miss Bellew, therefore, was permitted to in- 
dulge many of her tastes unmolested: and, ns one 
of these was to work at embroidery in the small 
room in question, few persons intruded them- 
selves upon her; and even they but for a short 
time, as if merely paying their required homage 
to a member of the family. 

As I approached the door of the boudoir, my 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



4J) 



surprise was not a little to hear Lord Dudley de 
Vere's voice, the tones of vvliich, though evidently 
subdued by design, h.ad a clear distinctness that 
made them perfectly audible where I stood. 

"Eh! you can't mean it, though? Ton my 
soul it is too bad! You know I shall lose my 
money if you persist." 

" I trust Lord Dudley de Vere is too much of 
a gentleman to make my unprotected position in 
this house the subject of an insolent wager; I'm 
sure nothing in my manner could ever have given 
encouragement to such a liberty." 

"There now; I knew you didn't understand 
it. The whole thing was a chance; the odds 
were at least eighteen to one against you — ha! 
ha! I mean in your favor. Devilish good mis- 
take that of mine. Tiiey were all shaken up in 
a liat. You see there was no collusion — could 
be none." 

" My lord, this impertinence becomes past en- 
during; and if you persist " 

" Well, then, why not enter into the joke? It'll 
be a devilish e.vpensive one to me if you don't, 
that I promise you. What a confounded fool I 
was not to draw out when Upton wished it! 
D — n It! I ought to have known there is no 
trusting to a woman." As he said this, he walked 
twice or thrice hurriedly to and fro, muttering 
as he went, with ill-suppressed passion, " laughed 
at, d — n me! that I shall be, all over the king- 
dom. To lose the money is bad enough; but the 
ridicule of the thing, that's the devil ! Stay, Miss 
BtUew, stop one ininute; I have another propo- 
sition to make. Begad! I see nothing else for 
it. This, you know, was all a humbug; mere 
joke, nothing more. Now^ I can't stand the way 
I shall be quizzed about it at all. So, here goes! 
hang me, if I don't make the proposition in real 
earnest! There, now, say yes at once, and we'll 
see if I can't turn the laugh against them." 
There was a pause for an instant, and then Miss 
Bellew spoke. I would have given worlds to have 
seen her at that moment; but the tone of her 
voice, firm and unshaken, sank deep into my heart. 

"My lord," said she, "this must now cease; 
but, as your lordship is fond of a wager, I have 
one for your acceptance. The sum shall be 
your own choosing. Whatever it be, I stake it 
freely, that, as I walk from this room, the first 
gentleman I meet — you like a chance, my lord, 
and you shall have- one — will chastise you before 
the world for your unworthy, unmanly insult to 
a weak and unoffending girl." As she spoke, 
she sprang from the room, her eyes flashing with 
indignant fire, while her cheek, pale as death, 
and her heaving throat, attested how deep was 
her passion. As she turned the corner of the 
door, her eyes met mine. In an instant the 
truth flashed upon her mind. She knew I had 
overheard all that passed; she gasped painfully 
for breath; her lips moved with scarce a sound; 
a violent trembling shook her from head to foot, 
and she fell fainting to the ground. 

I followed her with my eyes as they bore her 
from the room; and then, without a thought for 
anything around me, I hurriedly left the room, 
dashed down the stairs, and hastened to my 
quarters in the Castle. 



CHAPTER Xin. 



A NIGHT OF TROUBLE. 



Until the moment when I reached the room and 
threw myself into a chair, my course respecting 
Lord Dudley de Vere seemed to present not a 
single difficulty. The appeal so unconsciously 
made to me by Miss Bellew, not less than my 
own ardent inclination, decided me on calling 
him out. No sooner, however, did calm reflec- 
tion succeed to the passionate excitement of the 
moment, than at once I perceived the nicely of 
my position. Under what possible prete.M could 
I avow myself as her ihami)ion; not as of her own 
choosmg? for I knew perfectly well that the 
words she uttered were merely intended ns a 
menace, without the slightest idea of being 
acted on. To suffer her name, therefore, to 
transpire in the affair would be to compromise 
her in the face of the world. Again, the confu- 
sion and terror she evinced when she beheld me 
at the door proved to me that, perhaps of all 
others, I was the last person she would have 
wished to have been a witness to the interview. 
What was to be done? The very difficulty of 
the affair only made my determination to go 
through with it the stronger. I have already 
said my inclination also prompted me to this 
course. Lord Dudley's manner to me, without 
being such as I could make a plea for resenting, 
had ever been of a supeicilious and almost of- 
fensive character If there be anything which 
more deeply than another wounds our self- 
esteem, it is the assumed superiority of those 
whom we heartily despise. More than once he 
ventured upon hinting at the plans of the 
Rooneys respecting me, suggesting that their 
civilities only concealed a deeper object; and all 
this he did with a tone of half insolence, that ir- 
ritated me ten times more than an open affront. 

Often and often had I promised myself that a 
day of retribution must come. Again and again 
did I lay this comfort to my heart; that one 
time or other his habitual prudence would de- 
sert him; that his transgression would e.xceed 
the narrow line that separates an impertinent 

freedom from an insult; and then Now, 

this time had come at last. Such a chance might 
not again present itself, and must not be thrown 
away. 

My reasonings had come to this point, when a 
tremendous knocking at the door, and a loud 
shout of "Jack! Jack Hinton!" announced 
O'Grady. This was fortunate. He was the 
only man whom I knew well enough to constilt 
in such a matter; and, of all others, he was the 
one on whose advice and counsel I could place 
implicit reliance. 

" What the dense is all this, my dear Hinton?" 
said he, as he grasped my hand in both his. " I 
was playing whist with the tabbies when it oc- 
curred, and saw nothing of the whole matter. 
She fainted, didn't she? What the deuse could 
you have said or done?" 

" Could I have said or done? What do yon 
mean, O'Grady?" 

"Come, come — be frank with me; what was it? 



50 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



If you are in a scrape, I am not the man to 
leave you in it." 

" First of all," said I, assuming with all my 
might a forced and simulated composure — " first 
of all, tell me what you heard in the drawing- 
room." 

"What I heard? Egad, it was plain enough. 
In the beginning, a young lady came souse down 
upon tlie rloor — screams and smelling-bottles 
followed — a general running hither and thither; 
in which confusion, by-the-ljve, our adversaries 
contrived to manage a new deal, though I had 
four by honors in my hand. Old Miss Macan 
upset my markers, drank my negus, and then 
fainted off herself, with a face like an apothe- 
cary's rose." 

"Yes, yes: but," said I impatiently, "what of 
Miss Bellew?" 

"What of her.' That you must know best. 
You know, of course, what occurred between 
you." 

"My dear O'Grady," said I with passionate 
eagerness, "do be explicit. What did they say 
in the drawing-room? What turn has been given 
to this affair?" 

"Faith! I can't tell you; I am as much in the 
dark as my neighbors. After the lady was car- 
ried out and you ran away, they all began talking 
it over. Some said you had been proposing an 
elopement; others said you hadn't. The Rileys 
swora you had asked to have your picture back 
again; and old Mrs. Ram, who had planted her- 
self behind a curtain to overiiear all, forgot, it 
seems, that the window was open, and caught 
such a cold in her head, and such a deafness 
that she heard nothing. She says, however, that 
your conduct was abominable; and, in fact, my 
dear Hinton, the whole thing is a puzzle to us 
all." 

"And Lord Dudley de Vere," said I, "did he 
offer no explanation?" 

" Oh, yes, something pretty much in his usual 
style: pulled up his stock, ran his fingers through 
his hair, and muttered some indistinct phrases 
about lovers' quarrels." 

" Capital!" exclaimed I, with delight; "noth- 
ing could be better, nothing more fortunate than 
this! Now, O'Grady, listen to my version of the 
matter, and then tell me how to proceed in it." 
I here detailed to my friend every circumstance 
that had occurred from the moment of my enter- 
ing to mv departure from the drawing-room. 

"As to the wager," said I, "what it was, when 
nvide. and with whom, I know not." 

"Yes, yes; I know all that," interrupted 
O'Grady; " 1 have the whole thing perfectly be- 
fore me. Now, let us see what is to be done; 
and, first of all, allow me to ring the bell for some 
sherry and water — that's the head and front of a 
consultation." 

When O'Grady had mixed his glass, sipped, 
corrected, and sipped again, he beat the bars of 
the grate a few moments contemplativelv with 
tlie poker, and then turning to me, gravelv said, 
" We must parade him. Jack, that's certain. Now 
for the how. Our friend Dudley is not much 
given to fighting, and it will be rather difficult to 
olitain his consent. Indeed, if it had not been 



for the insinuation he threw out, after you had 
left the room, I don't well see how you could 
push him to it." 

" Why, my dear O'Grady, wasn't there quite 
cause enough?" 

" Plenty, no doubt, my dear Jack, as far as 
feeling goes; but there a e innumerable cases in 
this life, which, like breaches of trust in law, es- 
cape with slight punishment. Not but that, when 
you owe a man a grudge, you have it always in 
your power to make him sensible of it; and 
among gentlemen there is the same intuitive per- 
ception of a contemplated collision as you see at 
a dinner party, when one fellow putsliis hand on 
a decanter — his friend at the end of tlie table 
smiles, and cries, 'With pleasure, my boy!' There 
is one thmg, however, in your favor." 

"What is that?" said I, eagerly, 

" Wliy, he has lost his wager; that's pretty 
clear; and, as that won't improve his temper, it's 
possible — mind, I don't say more — but it's possi- 
ble he may feel better disposed to turn his irri- 
tation into valor; a much more common process 
in metaphysical chemistry than the world wots 
of. Under these circumstances, the best thing 
to do, as it strikes me, is to try the cause, as our 
friend Paul would say, on the general issue. 
That is, to wait on De Vere; tell him we wish to 
have a meeting; that, after what has passed — 
that's a sweet phrase, isn't it? and has got more 
gentlemen carried home on a door than any 
other I know- — that after what has passed, the 
thing is unavoidable, and the sooner it comes off 
the better. He can't help referring me to a 
friend, and he can scarcely find any one that 
won't see the thing with our eyes. It's quite 
clear Miss Bellew's name must be kept out of 
the matter. And now, my boy, if you agree 
with me, leave the whole affair in my hands, 
tumble into bed, and go to sleep as fast as you 
can." 

" I leave it all to you, Phil," said I, shaking 
his hand warmly; "and, to prove my obedience, 
I'll be in bed in ten minutes." 

O'Grady finished the decanter of sherry, but- 
toned up his coat, and, slapping his boot with his 
cane, sauntered down-stairs, whistling an Irish 
quickstep as he went. 

When I had half accomplished my undressing, 
I sat down before the fire, and, unconsciously to 
myself, fell into a train of musing about my 
present condition. I was very young, knew 
little of the world; the very character of my 
education liad been so much under the eye and 
direction of my mother, that my knowledge was 
even less than that of the generality of young 
men of my own time of life. It is not surprising, 
then, if the events which my new career hurried 
so rapidly one upon another in some measure 
confused me. Of duelling I had, of course, 
heard repeatedly, and had learned to look upon 
the necessity of it as more or less imperative 
upon every man in the outset of his career. Such 
was, in a great measure, the tone of the day: 
and the man who attained a certain period of 
life without having had at least one affair of 
honor, was rather suspected of using a degree of 
prudent caution in his conduct with the world. 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



51 



than of following the popular maxim of the 
period, whicii said, "Be always ready with the 
pistol." 

The affair with Lord George, therefore, I 
looked upon rather as a lucky hit; I might as 
well make my debut with liim as with any other. 
So much, then, for the prejudice of the period. 
Now for my private feelings on tiie subject; they 
were, I confess, anything but satisfactory. Witli- 
out at all entering into any anticipation I might 
have felt as to the final result, I could not avoid 
feeling ashamed of myself for my total ignorance 
about tiie whole matter; not only, as I have said, 
had I never seen a duel, but I never had fired a 
pistol twice in my life. I was naturally a nerv- 
ous fellow, and the very idea of firing, at a 
word, would, I knew, render me more so. My 
dread that the peculiarity of my constitution 
might be construed into want of courage in- 
creased my irritability; while I felt that my en- 
deavor to acquit myself with all tlie etiquette and 
punctilio of the occasion, would inevitably lead 
me to the commission of some mistake or blunder. 

And then, as to my friends at home, what 
would my father say? His notions on the sub- 
ject I knew were very rigid, and only admitted 
the necessity for an appeal to arms as the very 
last resort. What account could I give him suf- 
ficiently satisfactory of my reasons for going out? 
How would my mother feel, with all her aristo- 
cratic prejudices, when she heard of the society 
where the affair originated — wlien some glowing 
description of the Rooneys should reach her? — 
and this some kind friend or other was certain 
to undertake — and, worse tlian all. Lady Julia, 
my high-born cousin, whose beauty and sarcasm 
had inspired me with ami.xtureof admiration and 
dread. How should I ever bear the satirical 
turn she would give the whole affair? her malice 
increased, as it would be, by the fact that a young 
and pretty girl was mi.\ed up in it; for, somehow, 
I must confess, a kind of half flirtation had al- 
ways subsisted between my cousin and me. Her 
beauty, her wit, her fascinating manner, rendering 
me at times over head and ears in love with her; 
while, at others, the indifference of her manner 
towards me, or, still worse, the ridicule to which 
she exposed me, would break the spell and dissi- 
pate the enchantment. Thoughts like these were 
far from assuring me, and contributed but little 
towards tliat confidence in myself I stood so much 
in need of. And, again, what if I were to fall ? 
As this thought settled on my mind, I resolved 
to write home — not to my father, however. I 
felt a kind of constraint about unburdening my- 
self to him at such a moment. My mother was 
equally out of the question; in fact, a letter to 
her could only be an apologetic narrative of my 
life in Ireland; softening down what she would 
call the atrocities of my associates, and giving a 
kind of Rembrandt tint to the Rooneys, which 
might conceal the more vivid coloring of their 
vulgarity. At such a moment I had no heart for 
this; such trifling would ill suit me now. To 
Lady Julia, then, I detenv.ined to write; she 
knew me well. Besides, I felt that, when 1 was 
no more, th; kindliness of her nature would pre- 
vail, and she would remember me but as the little 



lover that brought her flowers from tiie conserv- 
atory; that wrote letters to her from Eton; that 
wore her picture round his neck at Sandhurst — 
and, by-the-bye, that picture I had still in my pos- 
session; this was the time to restore it. I opened 
my writing-desk and took it out. It was a strange 
love-gift, painted when she was barely ten years 
old. It represented a very lovely child, with daik 
eyes, and a straight regularity of feature, like a 
Cirecian statue. The intensity of look that after 
years developed more fully, and the slight curl 
of the lip, that betrayed the incipient spirit of 
mockery, were both there; still was she very 
beautiful. I placed the miniature before me, and 
fi.xed my eyes u]jon it, while, carried away by the 
illusion of the moment, 1 burst into a rhapsody 
of proffered affection, while I vindicated myself 
against any inputation my intimacy with Miss 
Bellew might give rise to. As I proceeded, how- 
ever, I discovered that my pleading scarce estab- 
lished my innocence even to myself; so I turned 
away, and once more sat down moodily before 
the fire. 

Th e Castle clock struck two; I started up some- 
what ashamed of myself at not having complied 
with O'Crady's advice, and at once threw myself 
on my bed, and fell sound asleep. Some con- 
fused impression upon my mind of a threatened 
calamity, gave a gloomy character to all my 
dreams; and more than once I awoke with a sud- 
den start, and looked about me. The flickering 
and uncertain glare of the dying embers threw 
strange and goblin shapes ujjon the wall, and on 
the old oak floor. The window-curtains waved 
mournfully to and fro, as the sighing night wind 
pierced the openings of the worn casements, 
adding, by some unknown sympathy, to my gloom 
and depression; and although I quickly rallied 
myself from these foolish fancies, and again sank 
into slumber, it was always again to wake with 
the same unpleasant impressions, and with the 
same sights and sounds about me. Towards 
morning, at length I fell into a deep, unbroken 
sleep, from which I was awakened by the noise 
of some one rudely drawingmy curtains. I looked 
up, as I rubbed my eyes; it was Corny Uelany, 
who with a mahogany box under his arm, and a 
little bag in his hand, stood eyeing me with a 
look, in which his habitual ill-temper was dashed 
with a slight mixture of scorn and pity. 

'"So you are awake at last!" said he; "faith, 
and you sleep sound, and"- — this he muttered be- 
tween his teeth — "and maybe, it's sounder you'll 
sleep to-morrow night! The captain bid me call 
you at seven o'clock, and it's near eight now. 
That bla-guard of a servant of yours wouldn't get 
up to open the door till I made a cry of fire out- 
side, and puffed a few mouthfuls of smoke through 
the keyhole!" 

" Well done, Corny! But where's the captain?" 
"Where is he? sorrow one o' me knows! Maybe 
at the watch house, maybe in George street bar- 
rack, maybe in the streets, maybe Och, troth! 

there's many a place he might be, and good 
enough for him any of them. Them's the tools, 
well oiled. I put flints in them." 

"And what have you got in the bag. Corny?" 
" Maybe you'll see time enough. It's the lint, 



52 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



the sticking-plaster, and tlie bandages, and tlie 
turn-an'-tvvist." This, be it known, was the 
Delany for " tourniquet." " And, faith, it's a queer 
use to put the same bag to; his honor the judge 
had it made to carry his notes in. Ugh, ugh, ugh! 
a bloody little bag it always was! Many's the 
time I seen the poor creatures in the dock have to 
hould on by the spikes when they'd see him put 
his hands in it! It's not lucky, the same bag! 
Will you have some brandy-and-water and a bit 
of dry toast? It's what the captain always gives 
them the first time they go out. When they're 
used to it, a cup of chocolate with a spoonful of 
whisky is a fine thing for the hand." 

I could scarce restrain a smile at the notion of 
dieting a man for a duel, though, I confess, tliere 
seemed something excessively bloodthirsty about 
it. However, resolved to give Corny a favorable 
impression of my coolness, I said, " Let me have 
the chocolate and a couple of eggs." 

He gave a grin a demon might have envied, as 
he muttered to himself, " he wants to try and die 
game, ugh, ugh!" With these words he waddled 
out of the room to prepare my breakfast; his 
alacrity certainly increased by the circumstance 
in which he was employed. 

No sooner was I alone than I opened the pistol- 
case to examine the weapons; they were doubtless 
good ones; but a ruder, more ill-fashioned, clumsy 
pair it would be impossible to conceive. The 
stock, whicli extended nearly to the en.d of the 
barrel, was notched with grooves for the fingers 
to fit in; the wliole terminating in an uncouth 
knob, inlaid with small pieces of silver, which 
at first I imagined were purely ornamental. 
On looking closer, however, I perceived that 
each of them contained a name and a date, 
with an ominous phrase beneath, which ran thus, 
" Killed!" or tluis; " Wounded!" 

"Egad," thought I, " they are certainly the 
coolest people in the world in tjiis island, and 
have the strangest notions withal of cheering a 
man's courage!" It was growing late, meanwhile 
so that, witliout furtlier loss of time, I sprang out 
of bed, and set about dressing, huddling my 
papers and Julia's portrait into my writing-desk. 
I threw into the fire a few letters, and was looking 
about my room lest anything should have escaped 
me, when suddenly tlie quick' movement of 
horses' feet on the pavement beneath drew me to 
the window. As I looked out, I could just catch 
a glimpse of O'Grady's figure as he sprang from 
a high tandem; I then heard his foot as he 
mounted the stairs, and the next moment he was 
knocking at my door. 

"Holloa!" cried he; "by Jove, I have had a night 
of it! Help me off with the coat, Jack, and order 
breakfast, with any number of mutton chops you 
please; I never felt so voracious in my life. 
Early rising must be a bad thing for the liealth, 
if it makes a man's appetite so painful." 

" While I was giving my necessary directions, 
O'Grady stirred up the fire, drew his chair close 
to it, and planting his feet upon the fender, and 
expanding his hands before the blaze, called 
out, — • 

" Yes, yeS, quite right: cold ham and a devilled 
drumstick by all means; the mulled claret must 



have nothing but cloves and a slice of pine-apple 
in it; and, mind, don't let them fry the kidneys 
in champagne; they are fifty times better in 
Moselle; we'll have the champagne an naUircl : 
there, now, shut tlie door, there's a confounded 
current of air comes up that cold staircase. So, 
come over, my boy; let me give you all the news, 
and to begin: After I parted with you, I went 
over to De Vere's quarters, and heard that he 
had just changed his clothes and driven over to 
Clare street; I followed immediately, but, as ill- 
luck would have it, he left that just five minutes 
before, with Watson of the 5th, who lives in one 
of the hotels near; this, you know, locked like 
business, and, as they told me they were to be 
back in half an liour, I cut into a rubber of whist 
with Darcy and the rest of thtm, where, what 
between losing heavily, and waiting for those fel- 
lows, I never got up till half-past four; vhith I 
did, minus Paul's cheque, all the loose cash around 
me, and a bill for cne hundred and thirty 10 
Vaughan. Pleasant, all that, wasn't it? Monk, 
who took my place, told me that De Vere and 
Watson were gone out together, 10 the Park, 
where I should certainly find tlitm. Off then I 
set for the Phoenix, and, just as I was entering 
the gate of the lodge, a chaife, covered with ] ort- 
manteaux and hat-boxes, drove past me; I had 
just time to catch a glimpse of De Vere's face, 
as the light fell suddenly upon it; I turned as 
quickly as possible, and gave chase down Ear- 
rack street; we flew, he leading, and I endeavor- 
ing to keep up; but my poor hack was so done 
up, between waiting at the club and the sharp 
drive, that I found we couldn't keep up the pate 
fortunately, however, a string of real cars 
blocked up Essex Bridge, upon which my friend 
came to a check, and I also. I jumped out im- 
mediately, and running forward, just got up in 
the nick, as they were once more about to move 
forward. 'Ah! Dudley,' cried I, 'I've had a 
sharp run for it, but by good fortune have found 
you at last.' I wish you had seen his face as I 
said these words; he leaned forward in the car- 
riage, so as completely to prevent Watson, who 
was with him, overhearing what passed. 

" ' May I ask,' said he, endeavoring to get up 
a little of his habitual coolness — ' may I ask, 
what so very pressing has sent you in pursuit of 
me?' 

" ' Nothing w-hich should cause your present 
uneasiness,' replied I, in a tone and a look he 
could not mistake. 

"'Eh — aw! don't take you exactly; anything 
gone wrong?' 

" ' You've a capital memory, my lord, when it 
suits you; pray call it to your aid for a few mo- 
ments, and it will save us both a deal of trouble. 
My business with you is on tlie (lart of Mr. Hin- 
ton, and I have to request you will, at once, re- 
fer me to a friend.' 

"'Eh! you want to fight? is that it? I say, 
Watson, they want to make a quarrel out of that 
foolish affair I told you of.' 

" ' Is Major Watson your friend on this occa- 
sion, my lord?' 

" ' No; oh no; that is, I didn't say — I /old 
Watson how they walked into me for three }iun- 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



53 



dred at Rooney's — must confess I deserved it 
riclily for dining among such a set of fellows; 
and, as I've paid the money, and cut the whole 
concern, I don't see what more's expected of 
uie.' 

" ' We have very little expectation, my lord, 
but a slight hope that you'll not disgrace the 
cloth you wear, and the profession you follow.' 

" ' I say, Watson, do you think. I ought to take 
notice of these words?' 

"'Would your lordship like them stronger?' 

"'One moment, if you please, Captain 
O'Grady,' said Major Watson, as, opening the 
door of the chaise, he sprang out. ' Lord Dud- 
ley de Vere has detailed to me, and of course 
correctly, the whole of his last night's proceed- 
ings. He has expressed himself as ready and 
anxious to apologize to your friend for any of- 
fence he may have given him; in fact, that their 
families are in some way connected, and any 
falling out would be a very unhappy thing be- 
tween them; and, last of all. Lord Dudley has 
resigned his appointment as aide-de-camp, and 
resolved on leaving Ireland. In two hours more 
he will sail from this; so I trust that, under every 
circumstance, you- will see the propriety of not 
pressing the affair any farther.' 

" ' With the apology ' 

" ' That, of course,' said Watson. 

"'I say,' cried De Vere, 'we shall be late at 
the Pigeon-house, it's half-past seven.' 

" Watson whispered a few words into his ear, 
he was silent for a second, and a slight crimson 
Hush settled on his cheek. 

" ' It won't do for me if they talk of this 
afterwards; but tell him — I mean Hinton — that I 
am sorry; that is, I wish him to forgive^ — -' 

" ' There, there,' said I, unpatiently, ' drive on, 
that is quite enough.' 

" The next moment the chaise was out of sight, 
and I leaned against the b.alustrade of the bridge, 
with a sick feeling at my heart I never felt be- 
fore. . Vaughan came by at the moment with his 
tandem; so I made him turn about and set me 
down; and here I am, my boy, now that my 
qualmishness has passed off, ready to eat you out 
of house and home, if the means would only pre- 
sent themselves." 

Here ended O'Grady's narrative, and, as break- 
fast very shortly after made its ap]3earance, our 
conversation dropped into broken, disjointed sen- 
tences, the burden of which, on his part, was, 
that although no man could deserve more grati- 
tude from the household and the garrison gener- 
ally than niyself for being the means of export- 
ing Lord George, yet, that under every view of 
the case, all effort should be made to prevent pub- 
licity, and stop the current of scandal such an 
event was calculated to give rise to in the city. 

" No fear of that, I hope!" said I. 

" Every fear, my dear boy. We live in a vil- 
lage here; every man hears his friend's watch 
tick, and every lady knows what her neighbor 
paid for her paste diamonds. However, be com- 
forted; your reputation will scarcely stretch across 
the channel; and one's notoriety must have 
strong claims before it pass the custom-house at 
Liverpool." 



" Well, that is something; but hang it, O'Grady, 
I wish I had had a shot at him." 

" Of course you do; nothing more natural, and, 
at the same time, if you care for the lady, noth- 
ing more unreasonable. Do what you will, her 
name will be mixed up in the matter; but had it 
gone farther she must have been deeply compro- 
mised between you. You are too young. Jack, 
to understand much of this; but, take my word 
for it — fight about your sister, your aunt, your 
maternal grandmother, if you like, but never for 
the girl you are about to marry. It involves a 
false position to both her and yourself; and now 
that I am giving advice, just give me another 
cutlet. I say, Corny, any hot potatoes?" 

" Thim was hot a while ago," said Corny, 
without taking his hands from his pockets. 

" Well, it is pleasant to know even that. Put 
that pistol-case back again. Ah! there goes 
Vaughan; I want a word with him." 

So saying, he sprang up and hastened down- 
stairs. 

" What did he say I was to do with the pistols?" 
said Corny, as he polished the case with the 
ample cuff of his coat. 

" You are to put them by — we shan't want 
them this morning." 

■' And there is to be no dewil after all," said 
he, with a most fiendish grin. " Ugh, ugh, didn't 
I know it. Ye's come from tlie wrong side of 
the water for that. It's little powder ye blaze, 
for all your talking." 

Taking out one of the pistols as he spoke, he 
examined the lock for a few minutes patiently, 
and then nmttered to himself — " Wasn't I right to 
put in the ould flints? The devil a more ye'd be 
doing, I guessed, nor making a flash in the pan!" 

It was rather difficult, even with every allow- 
ance for Mr. Delany's temper, to submit to his 
insolence patiently. After all, there was nothing 
better to be done; for Corny was even greater in 
reply than attack, and any rejoinder on my part 
would unquestionably have made me fare the 
worse. Endeavoring, therefore, to hum a tune, 
I strolled to the window and looked out; while 
the imperturbable Corny, opening the opposite 
sash, squibbed off both pistols previous to replac- 
ing them in the box. 

I cannot say what it was in the gesture and 
the action of this little fiend, but, somehow, the 
air of absurdity thus thrown over our quarrel by 
this ludicrous termination, hurt me deeply; and 
Corny's face, as he snapped the trigger, was a 
direct insult. All my self-respect, all my self- 
approval, gave way in a moment, and I could 
think of nothing but Cross Corny's commentary 
on my courage. 

" Yes," said I, half aloud, " it is a confounded 
country! If for nothing else, that every class and 
condition of man thiflks himself capable to pro- 
nounce upon his neighbor. Hard drink and 
duelling are the national pcnatcs; and Heaven 
help him who does not adopt the religion of the 
land! My English servant would as soon have 
thought of criticizing a chorus of Euripides as 
my conduct; and yet this little wretch not only 
does so, but does it to my face, superadding a 
sneer upon my country," 



54 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



This, like many other of my early reflections 
on Ireland, had its grain of truth and its bushel 
of fallacy; aud before I quitted the land I learned 
to make the distinction. 



CHAPTER XIV. 



THE PARTING. 



From motives of delicacy towards Miss 
Bellew, I did not call that day at the Rooneys'. 
For many months such an omission on my part 
had never occurred. Accordingly, when O'Grady 
returned at night to the Castle, he laughingly 
told me that the house was in half-mourning. 
Paul sat moodily over his wine, scarce lifting his 
head, and looking what he himself called non- 
suited. Mrs. Paul, whose grief was always in 
the active mood, sobbed, hiccupped, gulped, 
and waved her arms as if she had lost a near 
relative. Miss Bellew did not appear at all; and 
Phil discovered that she had written home that 
morning, requesting her father to send for her 
without loss of time. " The affair, as you see," 
continued O'Grady, "has turned out ill for all 
parties. Dudley has lost his post, you your 
mistress, and I my money; a pretty good illus- 
tration how much mischief a mere fool can at 
any moment mike in society." 

It was about four o'clock in the afternoon when 
I mounted my horse to ride over to Stephen's 
green. As I passed slowly along Dame Street, 
my attention was called to a large placard which, 
in front of a house opposite the lower Castle 
gate, had attracted a considerable crowd around 
it. I was spared the necessity of stopping to 
read by the hoarse shout of a ragged ruffian who 
elbowed his way through the mob, carrying on 
one arm a mass of printed handbills, the other 
hand he held beside his mouth to aid the energy 
of his declamation. " Here's the full and true 
account," cried he, "of the bloody and me-lan- 
cho-ly duel that tuk place yesterday morning in 
the Phaynix Park between Lord Dudley de Vere 
and Mr. Hinton, two edge-du-congs to his Grace 
the Lord-Liftinint, wid all the particulars, for 
one ha'penny." 

"Here's the whole correspondence between the 
Castle bucks," shouted a rival publisher — the 
Colbourn to this Bentley — " wid a beautiful new 
song to an old tune, 

" 'Bang it up, b.ing it up to the lady in the green.' " 

" Give me one, if you please," said a motherly- 
looking woman in a grey cloak. 

"No, ma'am, a penny," responded the vendor. 
" The bloody fight for a half-penny! What?" said 
he, "would you have an Irish melody and the pic- 
ture of an illigant female for a copper?" 

" Sing us the song, Peter," called out another. 

"This is too bad!" said I, passionately, as 
driving the spurs into my horse, I dashed through 
the ragged mob, upsetting and overturning all 
before me. Not, however, before I was recog- 
nized; and, as I cantered down the street, a 



shout of derision, and a hailstorm of offen.sive 
epithets, followed me as I went. 

It was, I confess, some time before I recovered 
my equanimity enough to think of my visit. For 
myself, individually, I cared little or nothing; 
but who could tell in what form these things 
might reach my friends in England? How gar- 
bled! how exaggerated! how totally perverted! — 
and then, too. Miss Bellew! It was evident that 
she was alluded to. I treniHaled to think that her 
name, polluted by the li]is of such wretches as 
these, should be cried through the dark alleys 
and purlieus of the capital, a scoff and a mockery 
ainong the very outcasts of vice! 

As I turned the corner of Grafton street, a 
showy carriage with four grey horses passed me 
by. I knew it was the Rooney equijiage, and, 
although I was chagrined that the object of my 
visit was defeated, on second thoughts I satis- 
fied myself that, perhaps, it was quite as well; 
so I rode on to leave my card. On reaching the 
door, from which already some visitors were turn- 
ing away, I discovered that I had forgotten my 
ticket-case; so I dismoimted to write my n;ime in 
the visiting-book, for this observance among great 
people Mrs. Rooney had borrowed, to the mani- 
fest horror and dismay of many respectable 
citizens. 

"A note for you, sir," said the butler, in his 
most silvery accent, as he placed a small sealed 
billet in my hand. I opened it hastily. It con- 
tained but two lines: "Miss Bellew requests Mr. 
Hinton will kindly favor her with a few moments' 
conversation at an early opportunity." 

" Is Miss Bellew at home?" 

" Yes, sir," said the servant, who stood writing 
to precede me up-stairs and announce me. 

"Mr. Hinton," said the man; and the words 
echoed in the empty drawing-room as he closed 
the door behind me: the next moment I heard 
the rustle of a silk dress, and Miss Bellew came 
out of the boudoir and walked towards me. 
Contrary to her usual habit — whicli was to'hold 
out her hand to me — she now came timidly, hesi- 
tatingly forward; her eyes downcast, and her 
whole air and appearance indicating not only the 
traces ol sorrow, but of physical suffering. 

"Mr. Hinton," said she, in a voice every accent 
of which vibrated in my heart, "I have taken the 
liberty to ask a few moments' interview with you; 
for although it is not only probable, but almost 
certain, we shall not meet again, yet I wish to 
explain certain portions of my conduct, and, 
indeed, to make them the reason of a favor I have 
to ask at your hand." 

" Permit me to interrupt you for a moment," 
said I. "It is evident how painful the matter 
you would speak of is to you; you have no need 
of explanation, least of all to me. By accident 
I overheard that which, however high my esteem 
for Miss Bellew before, could but elevate her in 
iny eyes. Pass then at once, I beseech you, to 
what you call a favoi ; there is no service you 
can seek for " 

" I thank you,'' replied she, in a voice scarcely 
articulate; "you have, indeed, spared me much, 
in not asking me to speak of what it is misery 
enough to remember; but it is not the first time 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



55 



my unprotected position in this house has exposed 
me to outrage, though assuredly it shall be the 
last." The tone of indignation she spoke in 
supplied her with energy, as she hurriedly con- 
tinued: "Already, Mr. Hinton, persons have dared 
to build a scandal upon the frail foundation of 
this insolent wager. Your name has been mijced 
up with it in such a way that no possible inter- 
course could exist between us without being 
construed into evidence of afalseliood; therefore, 
1 have made upmy mind to ask you to discontinue 
your visits here for the few days I may yet remain. 
I have already written home — the answer may 
arrive the day after to-morrow; and, while I feel 
that I but ill repay the hospitality and kindness 
I have received and have met with, in closing the 
door to a most valued guest, I am assured you 
will understand and approve my motives, and 
not refuse me my request." 

Delighted at the prospect of being in some 
way engaged in her service, I had listened with 
a throbbing heart up to the moment she con- 
cluded. Nothing could so completely overthrow 
all my hopes as these last few words. Seeing my 
silence and my confusion — for I knew not what 
to say — she added, in a slightly tremulous voice — 

" 1 am sorry, Mr. Hinton, that my little knowl- 
edge of the world should have led me into this 
indiscretion. I perceive from your manner that 
I have asked a sacrifice you are tmwilling to 
make. I ought to have known that habits have 
their influence as well as inclinations, and that 
this house being the resort of your friends " 

" Oh, how much — how cruelly you have mis- 
taken me! Not on this account — not for such 
reasons as you sup"iiose, did I hesitate in my 
reply, far from it; indeed, the very cause which 
made me a frequent visitor ■.' 'his house is that 
which now renders me unable f answer you." 
A sliglit flush upon her cheek and a tremulous 
motion of her lip prevented ray adding more. 
" Fear not. Miss Bellew," said 1 — " fear not from 
me: however different the feeling that would 
prompt it, no speech of mine shall cause you 
pain to listen to, however the buried thought 
may rack my own bosom. You shall have your 
request, good-bye." 

'' Nay. nay, not so," said she, as she raised her 
handkerchief to her eyes, and gave a soft but 
sickly smile; "you mustn't go without my thank- 
ing you for all your kindness. It may so chance 
that one day or other you will visit the wild 
west; if so, pray don't forget that my father, of 
whom you. have heard me speak so much, would 
be but too happy to thank one who has been so 
kind to his daughter; and if that day should 
come" — here a slight gleam of animation shot 
across her features — " I beseech you not to 
think, from what you will see of me there, that I 
have forgotten all your good teaching, and all 
your lessons about London manners, though I 
sadly fear that neither my dress nor deport- 
ment will testify in my favor; and so good-bye." 
She drew her glove from her hand as she spoke. 
I raised the taper fingers respectfully to my lips, 
and, without venturing another look, muttered 
"Good-bye," and left the room. 

As step by step I loitered on the stairs, I 



struggled vvith myself against the rising tempta- 
tion to hurry back to her presence, and tell her 
that, although hitherto the fancied security of 
meeting her every day had made me a stranger 
to my own emotions, the hour of parting had 
dispelled the illusion — the thought of separation 
had unveiled the depths of my heart, and told 
me that I loved her. Was this true? It was. 



CHAPTER XV. 

THE LETTER FROM HOME. 

Feigning illness to O'Grady as the reason of 
my not going to the Rooneys', I kept my quar- 
ters for several days; during which time it required 
all my resolution to enable me to keep my prom- 
ise; and scarcely an hour of the day went over 
without my feeling tempted to mount my horse 
and try if, perchance, I could not catch even 
a passing look at her once more. Miss Bellew 
was the first woman who had ever treated 
me as a man: this, in itself, had a strong hold 
on my feelings, for, after all, what flattery is 
there so artful as that which invests us with a 
character to which we feel in our hearts our pre- 
tension is doubtful? Why has college life^ — why 
has the army — such a claim upon our gratitude 
at our outset in the world? Is it not the acknowl- 
edgment of our manhood? And for the same 
reason the man who first discounts our bill, and 
the woman who first receives our addresses, have 
an unqualified right to our regard forevermore. 

It is the sense of what we seem to others that 
moulds and fashions us through life; and how 
many a character that seems graven in letters of 
adamant, took its type, after all, from some chance 
or casual circumstance, some passing remark, 
some hazarded expression! We begin by simu- 
lating a part, and we end by dovetailing it into 
ournature; thence the change which a first passion 
works in every young mind. The ambition to 
be loved, the desire to win affection, teach us 
those ways of pleasing, which, whether real or 
affected, become part and parcel of ourselves. 
Little know we that in the passion we believe to 
be the most disinterested, how much of pure 
egotism is mixed up: and well is it for us such 
is the case. The imaginary standard we set up 
before ourselves is a goal to strive for, an object 
of high hope befere us; and few, if any, of our 
bolder enterprises in after life have not their 
birth in the cradle of first love. 

The accolade that in olden days by its magic 
touch converted the humble squire into the 
spurred and belted knight, had no such charm as 
the first beam from a bright eye when, falling 
upon the hidden depths of our heart, it has 
shown us a mine of rich thoughts, of dazzling 
hopes, of bright desires. This, indeed, is a 
change; and who is there, having felt it, has not 
walked forth a prouder and a nobler spirit? 

Thoughts like these came rushing on my mind 
as I reflected on my passion for Louisa Bellew; 
and as I walked my room my heart bounded 
with elation, and my step grew firm in its tread; 



66 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



for I felt that already a new influence was beam- 
ing on me, a new light was shining upon my 
. path in life. Musing thus, I paid but little at- 
tention to my servant, who had just left a letter 
upon my table; my eye, at length, glanced at the 
address, which I perceived was in my mother's 
handwriting; I opened it somewhat carelessly, 
for somehow my dear mother's letters had grad- 
ually decreased in their interest as my anti-Irish 
prejudices grew weaker by time; her exclusively 
English notions I could no longer respond to so 
freely as before; and as I knew the injustice of 
some of her opinions, I felt proportionably dis- 
posed to mistrust the truth of many others. The 
letter, as usual, was crossed and recrossed: for 
nothing, after all, was so thorough a criterion of 
fashion as a penurious avoidance of postage, and, 
in consequence, scarcely a portion of the paper 
was uncovered by ink. The detail of balls and 
dinners, the on dits of the town, the rumored 
changes in the ministry, who was to come in 
and who to go out, whether Lord Arthur got a 
regiment, or Lady Mary a son, had all become 
comparatively uninteresting to me. What we 
know and what we live in is the world to us; and 
the arrival of a new bear is as much a matter 
of interest in the prairies of the far West, as the 
first night of a new ballet in the circles of Paris. 
In all probability, therefore, after satisfying my- 
self that my friends were well, I should have 
been undutiful enough to put my mother's letter 
to bed in a card rack without any very immediate 
attention of disturbing its slumbers, when sud- 
denly the word Rooney attracted my eye, and at 
once awakened my curiosity. How the name of 
these people should have come to my mother's 
aristocratic ears I could not conceive; for, al- 
though I had myself begun a letter about them, 
yet, on second thoughts, I deemed it better to 
consign it to the fire than risk a discovery by no 
means necessary. 

I now sat patiently down before the fire, re- 
solved to spell over the letter from beginning to 
end, and suffer nothing to escape me. All her 
letters, like the preamble of a deed, began with 
a certain formula — a species of lamentation over 
her wretched health; the difficulty of her case, 
which, consisting in the absence of all symptoms, 
had puzzled the faculty for years long — the in- 
clemency of the weather, which by some fatality 
of fortune was sure to be rainy when Dr. Y 



said it ought to be fine, and oppressively hot 
when he assured her she required a bracing ele- 
ment; besides, it was evident the medical men 
mistook lier case, and what chance had she with 
Providence and the College of Physicians against 
her! Then every one was unkind — nobody be- 
lieved her sick, or thought her valuable life in 
danger, although from four o'clock in the after- 
noon to the same hour the next morning, she 
was continually before their eyes, driving in the 
Park, visiting, dining, and even dancing; in fact, 
exerting herself in every imaginable shape and 
form for the sake of an ungrateful world that had 
nothing but hollow civilities to show her, instead 
of tears for her sufferings. Skimming my eye 
rapidly over this, I came at length to the well- 
known paragraph which always concluded tills 



exordium, and which I could have repeated by 
heart, the purport of it being simply a propheiic 
menace, of what would be the state, and what the 
feelings of various persons unknown, when at 
her demise they discovered how unjustly, how 
ungenerously, how cruelly they had compliment- 
ed her upon her health and looks during her 
lifetime. The undying remorse of those unfeel- 
ing wretches, among whom it was very plain 
my father was numbered, was expatiated upon 
with much force and Christian charity; for as 
certain joint-stock companies contrive in their 
advertisements to give an apparent stability to 
their firm, by quoting some well-known Coutts 
or Drummond as their banker, so my poor mother, 
by simply introducing the word " Providence" 
into all her worldly transactions, thought shewas 
discharging the most rigid of Christian duties, 
and securing a happy retreat for her when that 
day should arrive, when neither rouge, nor false 
hair, would supply the deficiencies of youth, and 
death should unlock the jaw the dentist had 
furnished. 

After this came the column of court gossip, 
the last pun of the prince, and a "mot" of Mr. Can- 
ning. "We hope," continued she, "poor Som- 
erset will go to Madrid as ambassador; to refuse 
him would be a great cruelty, as he has been 
ordered by his medical men to try a southerly 
climate — hum — ha — Lady Jane to replace Miss 
Barclay with the Landgravine." Very stupid all 
this; but come, here we have it, the writing too 
changes, as if a different spirit had dictated it. 
"Two o'clock. I've just returned from the 
Grevilles', seriously ill from the effects d the 
news that has reached me. Wretched boy! what 
have you done? What frightful career of impru- 
dence have you entered upon? Write to me at 
once; for although I shall take innnediate steps 
for your recall, I shall be in a fever of impatience 
till you tell me all about it. Poor dear Lord 
Dudley de Vere, how I love him for the way he 
speaks of you; for although, evidently, your con- 
duct to him has been something very gross, yet 
his language respecting you is maiked, not only 
by forbearance, but by kindness. Indeed, he at- 
tributes the spirit you have manifested, to the 
instigation of another member of the staff, whose 
name, with his habitual delicacy, we could not 
prevail upon him to disclose. His account of 
that wretched country is distressing indeed; the 
frightful state of society, the barbarism of the 
natives, and the frequency of bloodshed. I shall 
not close my eyes to-night thinking of you; 
though he has endeavored to reassure me, by 
telling us, that as the Castle is a strong place, 
and a considerable military force always there, 
you are in comparative safety But, my dear 
child, who are these frightful Rooneys, with the 
odious house where all this gambling and ruin 
goes forward ? How feelingly poor Lord Dudley 
spoke of the trials young men are exposed to. 
His parents have indeed a treasure in him. 
Rooney appears to be a money-lender, a usurer 
— most probably a Jew. His wretched wife, 
what can she be?. and that designing minx, niece, 
daughter, or whatever this Miss Eelloo — what a 
shocking name — may be! To think you should 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



57 



have fallen among such people! Lord George's 
debts are, they say, very considerable, all owing, 
as he assures me, to his unforluuate acquaintance 
with this Rooney, with whom he appears to have 
had bill transactions for some time past. If 
your difiiculties were only on the score of money, 
I should think little of it; but a quarrelsome, 
rancorous spirit, a taste fur low company and 
vulgar associates, and a tendency to drink — 
these, indeed, are very sliocking features, and 
calculated to inflict much misery on your parents. 

'■ However, let us, as far as possible, endeavor 
to repair the mishap. I write by this post to 
this Mr. Rooney, re([uesting him to send in his ac- 
count to your father, and that in future any din- 
ners, or wine, you may have at his house, will 
not be paid for, as you are under age. I shall 
also let him know that the obscurity of his rank 
in life, and the benighted state of the country he 
lives in, shall prove no safeguard to him from 
our vigilance; and as the chancellor dines with 
us to-morrow, I think of asking him if he couldn't 
be punished some way. Transportation, they 
tell me, has already nearly got rid of the gipsies. 
As for yourself, make your arrangements to re- 
turn immediately; for although your father knows 
nothing about it, 1 intend to ask Sir Henry Gor- 
don to call on the duke of York, and contrive 
an exchange for you. How I hate this secret 
adviser of yours — how I detest the Rooneys — 
how I abhor the Irish. You have only to come 
back with long hair, and the frightful accent, to 
break the heart of your affectionate, but afflicted 
mother. 

" Your cousin Julia desires her regards. I 
must say, she has not shown a due respect to my 
feelings since the arrival of this sad intelligence; 
it is only this minute she has finished a carica- 
ture of you, making love to a wild Irish girl with 
wings. This is not only cruel towards me, but 
an unbecoming sarcasm towards a wretched peo- 
ple, to whom the visitations of Providence should 
not be made matters of reproach." 

Thus concluded this famous epistle, at which, 
notwithstanding that every line offended me 
deeply, I could not refrain from bursting into 
laughter. My opinion of Lord Dudley had cer- 
tainly not been of the highest; but yet was I 
totally unprepared for the apparent depth of vil- 
lany his character possessed. But I knew not 
then how strong an alloy of cunning e.xists in 
every fool; and how, almost invariably, a narrow 
intellect and a malevolent disposition are asso- 
ciated in the same individual. 

There is no prejudice more popular, nor is 
there any which is better worth refuting, than 
that which attributes to folly certain good qual- 
ities of heart, as a kind of compensation for 
the deficiency in those of the head. Now, al- 
though there are of course instances to the con- 
trary, yet will the fact be found generally true, 
that inferiority of mind has its influence in pro- 
ducing a mischievous disposition. Unable to 
carry on any lengthened chain of reasoning, the 
man of narrow intellect looks for some immedi- 
ate result, and in his anxiety to attain his object, 
forgetful of the value of both character and 
credit he is p'repared to sacrifice the whole game 



of life, provided he secures but the odd trick. 
Besides, the \ery insufficiency of his resources 
leads him out of himself for his enjoyments and 
his occupations. Watching, therefore, the game 
of life, he gradually acijuires a certain loiv and 
underhand cunning, which, being mistaken by 
himself for ability, he omits no occasion to dis- 
lilay it; and hence begins the petty warfare of 
malice he wages against the world with all the 
spiteful ingenuity and malevolence of a monkey. 

I could trace through all my mother's letter 
the dexterity with which Lord Dudley avoided 
committing himself respecting me, while his del- 
icacy regarding O'Grady's name was equally con- 
spicuous to a certain extent. He might have 
been excused if he bore no good-will to one or 
other of us; but what could palliate his ingrat- 
itude to the Rooneys? what could gloss over the 
base return he made them for all their hospital- 
ities and attention? For nothing was more clear 
than that the light in which he represented them 
to my mother made them appear as low and in- 
triguing adventurers. 

This was all bad enough; but what should I 
say of the threatened letter to them? In what 
a position would it place me before those who 
had been uniformly kind and good-natured 
towards me! The very thought of this nearly 
drove me to distraction; and I confess it was 
in no dutiful mood I crushed up the epistle in 
my hand, and walked my room in an agony o£ 
shame and vexation. 



CHAPTER XVL 



A MORNING IN TOWN. 



The morning after the receipt of the letter, 
the contents of which I have in part made known 
to the reader, O'Grady called on me to accom- 
pany him into the city. 

"I am on a borrowingexpedition, Jack," cried 
he, " and there's nothing like having a new face 
with one. Cavendish, Hopeton, and the rest of 
them are so well known, it's of no use having 
them. But you, my boy. you're fresh; your 
smooth chin does not look like a protested bill, 
and you have got an easy, careless manner, a 
kind of unsuspicious look about you, a man 
never has after a bailiff has given him an epau- 
lette of five dirty fingers." 

" But, Phil," said I, " if you really want 



money 

" My very excellent young friend," interrupted 
he, in a kind of sermon voice, " don't finish it, 
I beseech you; that is the very last thing in the 
way of exchequer a gentleman is ever driven to 
— borrowing from a friend. Heaven forbid! but 
even supposing the case that one's friend has 
money, why, the presumption is, that he must 
have borrowed it himself; so that you are spong- 
ing upon his ingenuity not his income; besides, 
why riddle one's own ships while there is an en- 
emy before us to fight? Please to remember the 
money-lenders, the usurers, the stock-broking 
knaves at fifty per cent, that the world is glutted 



58 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



with, these are the true game for a sporting gen- 
tleman, who would rather harpoon a shark any 
day than spear a salmon." 

" But what's become of Paul? Is he not availa- 
ble?" 

" Don't you know what has happened there? 
But I was forgetting, you've kept the house this 
week past. In the first place, la /'(V/i" Louise has 
gone home; Paul has taken his departure for the 
circuit; and Mrs. Paul, after three days' sharp 
hysterics, has left town for her villa near Bray — 
old Harvey finding it, doubtless, more convenient 
to visit her there with twenty guineas for his fee, 
than to receive one for his call at Stephen's 
green. 

" And what is supposed to be the cause of all 
this?" said I, scarce able to conceal my agitation. 

" The report goes," replied he, " that some 
bank has broke in Calcutta or the Caucasus, or 
somewhere; or that some gold-mine in Peru, in 
which Paul had a share, has all turned out to be 
only plated goods; for it was on the receipt of a 
letter, on the very morning of Paul's departure, 
that she took so dangerously ill; and as Paul, in 
his confusion, brought the attorney instead of 
the surgeon-general, the case became alarming; 
and they gave her so much ether and sal vola- 
tile, that it required the united strength of the 
family to keep her from ascending like a balloon. 
However, the worst of it all is, the house is shut, 
the windows closed, and where lately on the door- 
steps, a pair of yellow-plushed breeches figured 
bright and splendent as the glorious sun, a dusky- 
looking planet in threadbare black now informs 
you that the family are from home, and not 
expected back for the summer." 

" Perhaps I can explain the mystery," said I, 
as a blush of shame burnt on my cheek; " read 
this." So saying, I handed O'Grady the letter, 
doubled down at the part where Lord Dudley's 
mention of the Rooneys began. Grieved as I 
felt thus to expose the absurd folly of my mother's 
conduct, yet I felt the necessity of having at 
least one friend to advise with, and that, to ren der 
his counsel of any value, a perfect candor on 
my part was equally imperative. 

While his eye glanced overihe lines, I walked 
towards the window, expecting at each moment 
some open burst of indignation would escape 
him — some outbreak of passionate warmth — at 
the cold-blooded ingratitude and malevolence of 
one whom previously we had regarded but as a 
fool. Not so; on the contrary, he read the letter 
to the end with an unchanged countenance, 
folded it up with great composure, and then, 
turning his back to the fire, he burst out into a 
fit of the most immoderate laughter. 

" Look you. Jack," cried he, in a voice almost 
suffocated with the emotion, " I am a poor man, 
have scarcely a guinea I can call my own, yet 
I'd have given the best hack in my stable to have 
seen the Rooneys reading that letter. There, 
there; don't talk to me, boy, about villany, in- 
gratitude-, and so forth. Trie fun of it, man, 
covers al\ the rest. Only to think of Mr. Paul 
Rooney, the Amphitryon of viceroys, chancel- 
lors, bishops, major-generals, and lord mayors, 
asked for his bill; to score up all your champagne 



and curaijoa — your turtle, your devilled kidneys 
— all the lieavy brigade of your grand dinners, 
and all tlie light infantry of luncheons, break- 
fasts, grilled bones, and sandwiches! The Lord 
forgive your mother for putting it in his head! 
Aly chalk would be a fearful one — not to speak 
of the ugly item of 'cash advanced.' Oh! it'll 
kill me — I know that. Don't look so serious, 
man; you may live fifty years, and never have 
so good a joke to laugh at. Tell me, Jack, do 
you think your mother has kept a copy of the 
letter? I would give my right eye for it. What 
a fearful temper Paul will be in on circuit; and 
as to Mrs. Rooney, it will go hard with her but 
she cuts the whole aristocracy for at least a 
week! There never was anything like it — to 
hint at transporting the Princess O'Toole, whose 
ancestor was here in the time of Moses. Ah, 
Jack; how little respect your mother appears to 
have for an old family! She evidently has no 
classical associations to hallow her memory 
withal." 

"I confess," said I, somewhat tartly, "had I 
anticipated the spirit with which you have taken 
up this matter, I doubt whether I should have 
shown you the letter." 

" And if you had not," replied he, "I'd not 
have forgiven you till the day of my death. 
Next to a legacy, a good laugh is the best thing 
I know; indeed, sometimes it is better, for )ou 
can't be choused out of it by your lawyer." 

" Laughing is a very excellent practice, no 
doubt; but I looked for some advice." 

" Advice! to be sure, my boy; and so you shall 
have it. Only give me a good training-canter 
of a hearty laugh, and you'll see what running 
I'll make when it conies to sound discretion after- 
wards. The fun of a man's temperament is like 
the froth on your champagne— ■« hile it gives a 
zest to the liquor of life by its lightness and its 
spa rkle, it neither detracts from the flavor nor 
the strength of the beverage. At the same time, 
when I begin to froth up, don't expect me to 
sober down before twenty-four hours. So take 
your hat, come along into town, and thank your 
stars that you have been able to delight theheait 
of a man who's trying to get a bill discounted. 
Now hear me. Jack," said he, as we descended 
the stairs, "if you expect me to conduct myself 
with becoming gravity and decorum, you had 
better avoid any mention of the Rooneys for the 
rest of the day; and now a I'ottvrage." 

As we proceeded down Dame street, my friend 
scientifically explained to me the various modes 
there were of obtaining money on loan. 

"I don't speak," s-aid he, "of those cases 
where a man has landed security, or property of 
one kind or other, or even expectations, because 
all these are easy — the mere rule of three in 
financial arithmetic. What I mean are the deci- 
mal fractions of a man's difficulties; when, with 
as many writs against him as would make a car- 
pet for his bedroom, he can still go out with an 
empty pocket in the morning, and come back 
with it furnished at night. And now to begin. 
The maxims of the sporting world are singularly 
applicable to the practice before us. You're 
told that before you enter a preserve, your first 



JACK IIINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



09 



duty is to see that your gun is properly loaded — 
all the better it it be a double-barrelled one. 
Now, look here," — as he spoke, he drew from 
his sabretasche five bills for one hundred pounds 
each, — "you see I am similarly prepared. The 
game may get up at any moment, and not find 
me at half-cock; and although I only go out for 
a single bird — that is but one hundred — yet, if 
by good luck I flush a covey, you see I am ready 
for them all. The doctrine of chances shows us 
that five to one is better than an even bet; so, 
by scattering these five bills in different direc- 
tions, the odds arc exactly so many in my favor 
that I raise a hundred somewhere." 

"And now," said I, "where does the game 
lie?" 

" I'm coming to that. Jack. Your rich pre- 
serves are all about the neighborhood of Clare 
street. Park street, Merrion street, and that di- 
rection. With them, alas! I have nothing to do. 
My broad acres have long since taken wings to 
themselves; and I fear a mortgage upon Mount 
O'Grady, as it at present exists, would be a poor 
remedy for an empty pocket. The rich money- 
lenders despise poor devils like me; they love 
not contingencies; and, as Macbeth says, ' They 
have no speculation in their eyes.' For tlieni, 
my dear Jack, you must have messuages, and 
tenements, and out-houses, town-lands, and tur- 
baries; corn, cattle, and cottages; pigs, potatoes, 
and peasantry. They love to let their eye range 
over a rich and swelling scene of woodland and 
prairie; for they are all the landscape gardeners 
of usury — they are the Hobbimas and Berg- 
hems of the law. 

" Others, again, of smaller range and humbler 
practice, there are, to whom, upon occasion, you 
assign your grandfather's plate and the pictures 
of your grandaunts for certain moneyed con- 
veniences you stand in need of. These are a 
kind of Brobdignag pawnbrokers, who have fine 
houses, the furniture of which is everlastingly 
changing, each creditor sending his representa- 
tive, like a minister to a foreign court; with 
them, also, I have nothing to do. The family 
have had so little to eat for the last two genera- 
tions, that they trouble themselves but slightly, 
on the score of silver dishes; and as to pictures, 
I possess but one in the world — a portrait of my 
father, in his wig and robes. This, independent 
of other reasons, I couldn't part with, as it is one 
of the only means I possess of controlling Corny, 
when his temper becomes more than usually un- 
tractable. Upon these occasions, I hang up the 
'jidge' over the chimney-piece; and the talisman 
has never failed yet. 

"Now, Jack, my constituency live about Fleet 
street, and those small, obscure, dingy-looking 
passages that branch from it on either side. 
Here live a class of men who, having begun life 
as our servants or valets, are in perfect posses- 
sion of all our habits of life, our wants, and our 
necessities. Having amassed enough by retail 
robbery of us, while in our service, to establish 
some petty tavern, or some low livery-stable, 
they end by cheating us wholesale, for the loan 
of our own money at their rate of interest. Well 
aware that, however deferred, we must pay 



eventually, they are satisfied, good, easy souls, 
to renew and renew bills, whose current per-cen- 
tage varies from five-and-twenty to forty. And 
even, notv>'ithstanding all this. Jack, they are 
difficult devils to deal with; any appearance of 
being hard up, any show of being out at elbows, 
rendering a negotiation as difficult as the assur- 
ance of a condemned ship for a China voyage. 
No, my boy; though your house be besieged by 
duns, though in every passenger you see a 
bailiff, and never nap after dinner without dream- 
ing of the Marshalsea, yet still, the very moment 
you cross the precincts of their dwelling, you 
must put your care where your cash ought to be 
—in your pocket You must wear the easy 
smile of a happy conscience, and talk of your 
want of a few hundreds as though it were a 
question of a pinch of snuff, or a glass of brandy- 
and- water, while you ague to the exorbitant de- 
mands they exact, with the careless indifference 
of one to whom money is no object, rather than 
with the despair of a wretch, who looks for no 
benefit in life, save in the act for insolvent 
debtors. This, you'll say, is a great bore; and 
so I once thought too; now, however, I have got 
somewhat used to it, and sometimes don't actu- 
ally dislike the fun. Why, man, I have been at 
it for three months at a time. I remember when 
I never blew my nose without pulling out a writ 
along with my pocket-handkerchief, and I never 
was in better spirits in all my life. But here we 
are. This is Billy Pagan's, a well-known dry- 
salter; you'll have to wait for me in the front 
parlor for a moment while I negotiate with 
Billy." 

Elbowing our way through a squalid and miser- 
able-looking throng of people that filled the nar- 
row hall of a house in Fleet street, we forced on 
till we reached an inner door, in which a sliding 
panel permitted those within to communicate with 
others on the outside. Tapping at this with his 
cane, O'Grady called out something which I could 
not catch, the panel at once flew back, a red car- 
bun cled face appeared at the opening, the owner 
of which, with a grin of very peculiar signification, 
exclaimed — 

"Ah! is't yourself, captain ? Walk in, sir?" 

With these \t'ords the door was opened, and we 
were admitted into the inner hall. This was also 
crowded, but with a different class frcm what I 
had seen without. These were apparently men 
in business, shopkeepers and traders, who, re- 
duced by some momentary pressure to effect a 
loan, were content to prop up their tottering 
credit by sapping the very cere of their prosperity. 
Unlike the others, on whom habitual poverty and 
daily misery had stamped its heavy impress, and 
whose faces, too, inured to suffering, betrayed no 
shame at being seen, these, on the contrary, 
looked downward or aside, seemed impatient, 
fretful, and peevish, and indicated in a hundred 
ways how unused they were to exigencies of this 
nature, muttering to themselves, in angry mood, 
at being detained, and feigning a resolution to 
depart at every moment. O'Grady, after a con- 
ference of a few moments with the rubicund 
Cerberus I have mentioned beckoned to me to 
follow him. We proceeded accordingly up a nar- 



60 



JACK HINTON. THE GUARDSMAN. 



row creaking stair, into a kind of front drawing- 
room, in which about a dozen persons were seated, 
or listlessly lounging in every imaginable attitude, 
some on chairs, some on the window-sills, some 
on the tables, and one even on the mantelpiece, 
with his legs gracefully dan2liiig in front of the 
fire. Perfectly distinct from the other two classes 
I have mentioned, these were all young men, 
wliose dress, look, and bearing bespoke them of 
rank and condition. Cliatting away gayly, laughing, 
joking, and telling good stories, they seemed but 
little to care for the circumstances which brought 
them there; and, while they quizzed each other 
about their various debts and difificulties, seemed 
to think want of money as about the very best 
joke a gentleman could laugh at. By all of these 
O'Grady was welcomed with a burst of applause, 
as they eagerly pressed forward to shake hands 
with him. 

"I say, O'Grady," cried one, " we muster strong 
this morning. I hope Pagan's bank will stand 
the run on it. What's your figure.'" 

"Oh, a couple of hundreds," said Phil, care- 
lessly; "I have got rather a heavy book on the 
steeplechase." 

"Sol hear," said another; " and they say Ulick 
Burke won't ride for you; he knows no one can 
sit the horse but himself; and Maher, the story 
goes, has given him a hundred and fifty to leave 
you in the lurch!" 

"How good!" said Phil, smiling; for although 
this intelligence came upon him thus suddenly, 
he never evinced the slightest surprise, nor the 
most trifling irritation. 

" You'll pay forfeit, of course, Phil," said the 
grntleman on the chimney. 

' I fancy not." 

" Then, will you take two fifties to one against 
your horse?" 

" Will you give it?" was the cool reply. 

"Yes." 

" And I — and I also," said different voices 
round the room. 

"Agreed, gentlemen, with all of you. So, if 
you please, we'll book this. Jack, have you got 
a pencil ?" 

As I drew forth my pocket-book, I could not 
help whispering to O'Grady that' there seemed 
something like a coalition among his opponents. 
Before I could conclude, the red face appeared 
at the door. O'Grady hastily muttered, " Wait 
for me here," and left the room. 

During his absence, I had abundant time to 
study those about me; indeed, a jjerfect same- 
ness in their characters, as in their pursuits, 
rendered it an easy process; for, as with un- 
guarded frankness they spoke of their several 
difficulties, their stories presented one uniform 
feature — reckless expenditure and wasteful ex- 
travagance, with limited means and encumbered 
fortunes; they had passed through every phase 
of borrowing, every mode of raising money, and 
were now reduced to the last rung of the ladder 
of expediency, to become the prey of the usurer, 
who meted out to them a few more months of 
extravagance at the cost of many a future year 
of sorrow and repining. 

I was beginning to grow impatient, as the door 



gently opened and I saw my friend, as he emerged 
from the back drawing-room. Without losing a 
moment's time, I joined him. We descended 
the stairs together, and walked out into the 
street. 

" Are you fond of pickled herrings. Jack?" 
said O'Grady, as he took my arm. 

" Pickled herrings! Why, what do you mean''" 

"Probably," resumed he, in the same dry tone 
of voice, "you prefer ash bark, or asafcetida?" 

" Why, I can't say." 

"Ah, my boy! you're difficult to please. Then, 
what do you say to whale oil and Welsh wigs?" 

" Confound me if I understand you." 

" Nothing more easy, after all, for of each of 
these commodities I'm now a possessor to the 
amount of some two hundred and twenty pounds. 
You look surprised, but such is the nature of 
our transactions here; and for my bill of five 
hundred, payable in six months, I have bectme 
a general merchant to the extent I've told >ou, 
not to mention paying eighty more for a certain 
gig and horse, popularly known in this city as 
'the discount dennet.' This," continued he, with 
a sigh, "is about the tenth time I've been the 
owner of that vile conveyance; for you must 
know, whenever Fagan advances a gocd round 
sum, he always insists upon something of this 
kind forming part of it; and thus, according to 
the figure of your loan, you may drive frcm his 
door in anything, from a wheelbarrow to a stage- 
coach. As for the discount dennet, it is as well- 
known as the black-cart that conveys the prisoners 
to Newgate; and the reputation of him who 
travels in either is pretty much on a par. From 
the crank of the rusty springs to the limping 
amble of. the malicious old black beast in the 
shafts, the whole thing has a look of beggary 
about it. Every jingle of the ragged hainess 
seems to whisper in your ear fifty per cent.; and 
drive which way you will, it is impossible to get 
free of the notion that you're not trotting along 
the road to ruin. To have been seen in it once 
is as though you had figured in the pillory; and 
the very fact of its being in your possession, is a 
blow of a battering-ram to your credit forever:" 

" But why venture into it? If you must have 
it, let it be like the pickled herrings and the pav- 
ing stones — so much of pure loss." 

" The fact is. Jack, it is generally passed off on 
a young hand the first time he raises nione) ;^ — he 
knows little of the town, less of its secret prac- 
tices, and not until he has furnished a hearty 
laugh to all his acquaintances does he discover 
the blunder he has committed; — besides, some- 
times you're hard up for something to bring you 
about. I remember once keeping it an entire 
winter; and as I painted Latitat a good piebald, 
and had his legs whitewashed every morning, few 
recognized him, except such as had paid for their 
acquaintance. After this account, probably, 
you'll not like to drive witli nie; but as I'm go- 
ing to Loughrea for the race, I'm determined to 
take the dennet down, and try if I can't find a 
purchaser among the country gentlemen. And 
now, let's think of dinner. What do you say to 
a cutlet at the club? and perhaps we shall strike 
out something there to finish our evening." 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



61 



CHAPTER XVII. 



AN EVENING IN TOWN. 



We dined at the club-house, and sat chatting 
over our wine till near ten o'clock. The events 
of the morning were our principal topics for al- 
though I longed myself to turn the conversation 
to the Rooneys, I was deterred from doing so by 
the fear of another outbreak of O'Grady's mirth. 
Meanwhile, the time rolled on, and rapidly too, 
for my companion, with an earnestness of manner 
and a force of expression I little knew he pos- 
sessed, detailed to me many anecdotes of his own 
early career. From these I could glean, that 
while O'Grady suffered himself to be borne along 
the current of dissipation and excess, yet in his 
heart he repudiated the life he led, and, when a 
moment of reflection came, felt sorrow for the 
])ast, and but little hope for the future. 

"Yes, Jack," said he, on concluding a narra- 
tive of continual family misfortune, "there would 
seem a destiny in these things; and if we look 
about us in the world, we cannot fail to see that 
families, like individuals, have their budding 
spring of youth and hope, their manhood of 
pride and power, and their old age of feebleness 
and decay. As for myself, I am about the last 
branch of an old tree, and all my endeavor has 
been to seem green and cheerful to the last. 

" My debts have hung about my neck all through 
life; the extravagances of my early years have 
sat like a millstone upon me, and I who began 
the world with a heart brimful of hope, and a 
soul bounding with ambition, have lingered on 
my path like a truant schoolboy; and here I am, 
at the age of three-and-thirty, without having 
realized a single promise of my boyhood, the 
poorest of all imaginable things — a gentleman, 
without fortune — -a soldier, without service— a 
man of energy, without hope." 

"But why, Phil," said I, "how comes it that 
you never went out to the Peninsula?" 

"Alas, my boy! from year to year I have gone 
on expecting my gazette to a regiment on service 
— too poor to purchase, too proud to solicit, I 
have waited in anxious expectancy, from some 
of those with whom, high as was their station, I've 
lived on terms of intimacy and friendship, that 
notice they extended to others less known than 
I was; but somehow the temperament, that would 
seem to constitute my happiness, has proved my 
bane, and those qualities which have made me a 
boon companion, have left me a beggar. Handed 
over from one viceroy to another, like a state 
trumpeter or a butt of sherry, I have been left 
to linger out my best years a kind of court jester; 
my only reward being, the hour of merriment 
over, that they who laughed with, should laugh 
at, me." 

There was a tone of almost ferocity in the way 
he spoke these words; while the trembling lip, 
the flashing eye, and the swollen veins of his tem- 
ple, betrayed that the very bitterest of all emo- 
tions — self-scorn — was racking his heart within 
him. 

For some time we were both silent; had I even 
known what to say at such a moment, there was 



that comfortless expression about his face, that 
look of riveted despair, which would have ren- 
dered any effort, on my part, to console him, a 
vain and presumptuous folly. 

"But come. Jack" said he, filling his glass 
and pushing over the decanter to me, " I have 
learned to put little faith in patrons; and although 
the information has been long in acquiring, still 
it has come at last, and I am determined to profit 
by it. I am now endeavoring to raise a little 
money to pay off the most pressing of my cred- 
itors, and have made an application to the Horse 
Guards to be appointed to any regiment on ser- 
vice, wherever ft may be. If both these succeed, 
and it is necessary both should, then, Jack, I'll 
try a new path, and even though it lead to noth- 
ing, yet, at least, it will be a more manly one to 
follow; and if I am to linger on to that period of 
life, when to look back is nearly all that's left us 
— why then the retrospect will be less dashed 
with shame than with such a career as this is. 
Meanwhile, my boy, the decanter is with you, so 
fill your glass; I'll join you presently." 

As he spoke, he sprang up and walked to the 
other end of the room, where a party of some 
half-dozen persons were engaged in putting on 
greatcoats, and buttoning up previous to dejiart- 
ure. In an instant I could hear his voice high 
above the rest — that cheerful, ringing tone that 
seemed the very tocsin of a happy heart, while, 
at some observation he made, the whole party 
around him were convulsed with laughter. In 
the midst of all this, he drew one of them aside, 
and conversing eagerly with him for a few sec- 
onds, pointed to me as he spoke. 

" Thank you, my lord, thank you," said he, 
as he turned away. " I'll be answerable tor my 
friend. Now, Hinton," whispered he,' as he 
leaned his hand upon my shoulder and leant 
over me, " we're in luck to-night, at all events, 
for I have just got permission to bring you with 
me where I am to spend the evening — it's no 
small favor, if you knew but all; so finish your 
wine, for my friends there are moving already." 

All my endeavors to ascertain where we were 
going, or to whose house, were in vain; the only 
thing I could learn was, tliat my admission was a 
prodigious favor — while, to satisfy my scruples 
about dress, he informed me that no change of 
costume was necessary. 

" I perceive," said O'Grady, as he drew the 
curtain and looked out into the street, " the night 
is fine and starlight; so what say you if we walk? 
I must tell you, however, our place of rendez- 
vous is somewhat distant." 

Agreeing to the proposition with pleasure, I 
took his arm, and we sallied forth together. Our 
way led at first through a most crowded and fre- 
quented part of the capital. We traversed Dame 
street, passed by the Castle, and ascended a 
steep street beyond it; after this we took a turn- 
ing to the left, and entered a part of the city, to 
me, at least, utterly unknown; for about half an 
hour we continued to wander on, now to the 
right, now to the left, the streets becoming gradu- 
ally narrower, less frequented, and less lighted; 
the shops were all closed, and few persons stirred 
in the remote thoroughfares. 



62 



JACK IIINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



"I fear I must have made a mistake," said 
O'Grady, "endeavoring to take a short cut; but 
there comes a watchman. I say, is this Kevin 
street?" 

" No, sir; the second turning to your right 
brings you into it." 

" Kevin street!" said I, repeating the name half 
aloud to myself. 

"Yes, Jack, so it is called: but all your ingen- 
uity will prove too little in discovering whither 
you are going; so come along — leave time to 
tell you, what guessing never will." 

By this time we arrived at the street in ques- 
tion, when very soon after O'Grady called 
out, — 

" All right — here we are!" 

With these words he knocked three times in a 
peculiar manner at the door of a large and 
gloomy-looking house. An ill-trimmed lamp 
threw a faint and flickering light upon the old 
a,nd ruined building, and I could trace here and 
there, through all the wreck of time, some rem- 
nants of a better day. The windows now, how- 
ever, were broken in several places, those on the 
lower story being defended on the outside by a 
strong iron railing. Not a gleam of light shone 
through any one of tliem; but a darkness unre- 
lieved save by the yellow gleam of the street 
]amp, enveloped the entire building. O'Grady's 
summons was twice repeated ere there seemed 
any chance of its being replied to, when, at last, 
the step of a heavy foot descending the stairs an- 
nounced the approach of some one. While I con- 
tinued my survey of the house O'Grady never 
spoke, and, perceiving that he made a mystery of 
our visit, I resolved to ask no further questions, 
but patiently await the result; my impression, 
however, was that the place was the resort either 
of thieves or of some illegal association, of which 
more than one, at that time, were known to 
have their meetings in the capital. While I was 
thus occupied in my conjectures, and wondering 
within myself how O'Grady had become ac- 
quainted with his friends, the door opened, and 
a diminutive, mean-looking old man, shading the 
candle with his hand, stood at the entrance. 

"Good evening, Mickey," cried O'Grady, as 
he brushed by him into the hall. " Are they 
come?" 

" Yes, captain," said the little man, as, snuff- 
ing the long wick with his fingers, he held the 
light up to O'Grady's face. " Yes, captain, about 
fifteen." 

" This gentleman's with me — come along. Jack, 
—he is my friend, Mickey." 

" Oh, I can't do it, by no means, Master Phil," 
said the dwarf, opposing himself as a barrier to 
my entrance — " you know what they said the last 
night :" here he strained himself on his toes, and, 
as O'Grady stooped down, whispered some 
words I couldn't catch, while he continued aloud, 
"and you know, after that, captain, I daren't 
doit." 

" I tell you, you old fool, I've arranged it all ; 
so get along there, and show us the light up 
these confounded stairs. I suppose they never 
mended tlie hole on the lobby?" 

" Troth they didn't," growled the dwarf; " and 



it would be chaper for them nor breaking theit 
shins every night." 

I followed O'Grady up the stairs, which creaked 
and bent beneath us at every step; the handrail, 
broken in many places, swung to and fro with 
every motion of the stair, and the walls, covered 
with green and damp mould, looked the very pic- 
ture of misery and decay. Still grumbling at the 
breach of order incurred by my admission, tlie 
old man shuffled along, wheezing, coughing, and 
cursing between times, till at length we reached 
the landing-place, where the hole of which I 
heard them speak permitted a view of the hall 
beneath. Stepping across this, we entered a 
large room lighted by a lamp upon the chimney- 
piece; around the walls were hung a variety of 
what appeared to be cloaks of a lightish drab 
color, while over each hung a small skull-cap of 
yellow leather. 

" Don't you hear the knocking below, Mickey? 
There's some one at the door," said O'Grady. 

The little man left the room, and as we were 
now alone, I expected some explanation from my 
friend as to the place we were in, and the people 
who frequented it. Not so, however; Phil 
merely detached one of the cloaks from its peg, 
and proceeded to invest himself in its folds; he 
placed the skull-cap on his head, after which, 
covering the whole with a hood, he fastened the 
garment around his waist with a girdle of rope, 
and stood before me the perfect picture of a 
monk of St. Benedict, as we see them represented 
in old pictures; the only irregularity of costume 
being that instead of a rosary, the string from his 
girdle supported a corkscrew and a horn spoon 
of most portentous proportions. 

" Come, my son," said he, reverently, " indue 
thy garment;" so saying, he proceeded to clothe 
me in a similar manner, after which he took a 
patient survey of me for a few seconds. "You'll 
do very well: wear the hood well forward; and 
mark me. Jack, I've but one direction to give 
you — never speak a word, not a syllable, so long 
as you remain in the house; if spoken to, cross 
your arms thus upon your breast, and bow your 
head in this manner. Try that — perfectly — you 
have your lesson; now don't forget it." 

O' Grady now, with his arms crossed upon his 
bosom, and his head bent slightly forward, 
walked slowly forth, with a solemn gravity well 
befitting his costume. Imitating him as well as 
I was able, I followed him up the stairs. On 
reaching the second landing, he tapped twice 
with his knuckles at a low door, whose pointed 
arch and iron grating were made to represent the 
postern of a convent. 

" Benedicite," said Phil, in a low tone. 

" Et tu quoque, frater," responded some one 
from within, and the door was opened. Saluting 
a venerable-looking figure, who, with a I6ng grey 
beard, bowed devoutly as we passed, we entered 
an apartment, where, so sudden was the change 
from what I had hitherto seen, I could scarcely 
trust my eyes. A comfortable, well-carpeted 
room, with curtained windows, cushioned chairs, 
and, not least inviting of all, a blazing fire of 
wood upon the hearth, were objects I was little 
prepared for; but I had little time to note them, 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



G3 



my attention being directed with more curiosity 
to the living occupants of this strange dwelhng. 
Some fifteen or sixteen persons, costumed liice 
ourselves, either walked up and down engaged in 
conversation, or sat in little groups around the 
fire. Card-tables there were in different parts of 
the room, but one only was occupied. At this a 
party of reverend fathers were busily occupied 
at whist. 

In the corner next the fire, seated in a large 
chair of carved oak, was a figure, whose air and 
bearing bespoke authority, the only difference 
in his costume from the others being a large em- 
broidered corkscrew, which he wore on his left 
shoulder. 

" Holy prior, your blessing," said Phil, bowing 
obsequiously before him. 

" You have it, my son; much good may it do 
you," responded the superior, in a voice which, 
somehow or other, seemed not perfectly new to 
me. While O'Grady engaged in a whispered 
conversation with the prior, I turned my eyes 
towards a large-framed paper which hung above 
the chimney. It ran thus: — " Rules and Regu- 
lations to be observed in the monastery of the 
venerable and pious brothers, the Monks of the 
Screw." Conceiving it scarcely delicate in a 
stranger to read over the regulations of a society 
of which he was not a member, I was turning 
away, when O'Grady, seizing me by the arm, 
whispered, "'Remember your lesson;" then added 
aloud, " Holy father, this is the lay brother of 
whom I spoke." The prior bowed formally, and 
extended his hands towards me with a gesture of 
benediction. 

" Accipe benedictionem " 

" Supper, by the Lord Harry!" cried a jolly 
voice behind me, and at the same moment a 
general movement was made by the whole party. 

The prior now didn't wait to conclude his ora- 
tion; but, tucking up his garments, put himself 
at the head of the procession, which had formed 
two-and-two in order of march. At the same 
moment, two fiddles from the supper-room, after 
a slight prelude, struck up the anthem of tlie 
order, which was the popular melody of '" The 
Night before Larry was Stretched." 

Marching in measured tread, we entered the 
supper-room, when, once having made the cir- 
cuit of the table, at a flourish of the fiddles we 
assumed our places, the superior seating himself 
at the head in a chair of state, slightly elevated 
above the rest. A short Latin grace, which I 
was unfortunate enough not to catch, being said, 
the work of eating began; and certainly, what- 
ever might have been the feats of the friars of 
old when the bell summoned them to the refect- 
ory, their humble followers, the Monks of the 
Screw, did them no discredit. A profusion of 
dishes covered the table, and al' hough the entire 
service was of wood, and the whole "equipaa;e" 
of the most plain and simple description, vet the 
cookery was admirable, and the wines perfection 
itself. While the supper proceeded, scarcely a 
word was spoken. By the skilful exercise of 
signs, with which they all seemed familial, roast 
ducks, lobsters, veal pies, and jellies flew from 
hand to hand; the decanters also paraded up 



and down the table with an alacrity and despatch 
I had seldom seen equalled. Still, the pious 
bretiiren maintained a taciturn demeanor tli.it 
would have done credit to La Trappe itself. As 
for me, my astonishment and curiosity increased 
every moment. What could they be.' AVhat 
could they mean? There was something too 
farcical about it all to suppose thai any political 
society or any dangerous association could be 
concealed under such a garb; and if mere con- 
viviality and good-fellowship were meant, their 
unbroken silence and grave demeanor struck me 
as a most singular mode of promoting either. 

Supper at length concluded, the dishes were 
removed by two humble brethren of the order, 
dressed in a species of gray serge; after which, 
marching to a solemn tune, another monk ap- 
peared, bearing a huge earthenware bowl brimful 
of steaming punch — at least, so the odor and the 
floating lemons bespoke it. Each brother was 
now provided with a small, quaint-looking pip- 
kin; after which the domestics withdrew, leaving 
us in silence as before. For about a second or 
two this continued, when suddenly the fiddles 
gave a loud twang, and each monk, springing to 
his legs, threw back his cowl, and, bowing to the 
superior, reseated himself. So sudden was the 
action, so unexpected the effect, for a moment 
or two I believed it a dream. What was my sur- 
prise, what my amazement, that this den of 
thieves, this horde of burglars, this fecrtt (cin- 
cil of rebels, was nothing more nor less than an 
assemblage of nearly all the first men of the dav 
in Ireland! And as my eye ran ra])idly over the 
party, here I could see the chief baron, with a 
venerable dignitary of St. Patrick's on his right; 
there was the attorney-general; there the pro- 
vost of Trinity College; lower down, with his 
skull-cap set jauntily on one side, was "Wellesley 
Pole, the secretary of state — Yelverton, Day, 
Plunket, Parsons, Toler; in a word, all those 
whose names were a guarantee for ever) thing 
that was brilliant, witty, and amusing were there; 
while, conspicuous among the rest, the prior him- 
self was no other than John Philpot Curran! 
Scarcely was my rapid survey of the party com- 
pleted, when the superior, filling his pipkin irom 
the ample bowl before him, rose to give the 
health of the order. Alas, me! that time should 
have so sapped my memory; I can but give my 
impression of what I heard. 

The speech, which lasted about ten minutes, 
was a kind of burlesque on speeches from the 
throne, describing in formal phrase the prosper- 
ous state of their institution, its amicable foreign 
relations, the flourishing condition of its finances 
— Brother Yelverton having paid in the two-and- 
sixpence he owed for above t\\o years; conclud- 
ing all with the hope that, by a rigid economy — 
part of which consisted in limiting John Toler 
to ten pipkins — they would soon be enabled 
to carry into effect tjie projiosed works on the 
frontier, and expend the sum of four shillings 
and ninepence in the repair of the lobby; wind- 
ing up all with a glowing eulogium on monastic 
institutions in general, he concluded with recom- 
mending to their special devotion and unanimous 
cheers "the Monks of the Screw." Never, cer- 



G4 



JACK IIINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



tainly, did men compensate for their previous 
silence better than the worthy brethren in C|ues- 
tion. Cheering with an energy I never heard 
the like of, each man finished his pipkin with 
just voice enough left to call for the song of the 
order. 

Motioning with his hand to the fiddlers to 
begin, the prior cleared his throat, and, to the 
same simple but touching melody they had 
marched in to supper, sang the following chant: 

" GOOD LUCK TO THE FRIARS OF OLD." 

" Of all trades that flourished of old. 

Before men knew re.adiiiij ind writing, 
The friars' was best I am toiti, 
■ If one wasn't much given to fighting, 
For, rent free, you lived at your ease — 

Vou had neither to work nor to labor — 
You might eat of wliatever you please. 

For the prog was supplied by your neighbor. 
Oil. good luck to the friars of old! 

" Your dress was convenient and cheap — 
A loose robe, like this I am ivearing: 
It was pleasant to eat in or sleep 

And never much given to tearing. 
Not tightened nor squeezed in the least — 

How of modern days you might shame us! 
With a small bit of cord round yi;uir waist — 
With what vigor you'd chant the oremus' 

Oh, good luck to the friars of old' 

" What miracles then, too, you made. 
The fame to this hour is lasting; 
But the strangest of all, it is said. 

You grew mi:;;hty fat upon fasting' 
And though strictly forbid to touch wine. 

How the fact all your glory enhances! 
You well knew the taste of the vine — 
Some miraculous gift of Saint Francis. 

Oh, good luck to the friars of old' 

" To trace an example so meek. 

And repress all our carnal desires. 
We mount two pair stairs every week. 

And put on the garment of friars" 
And our order itself it is old — 

The oldest between me and you, sir; 
For King David, they say, was enrolled. 
And a capital Monk of the Screw, sir. 

So, good luck to the friars of old!" 

The song over, and another cheer given to the 
Brethren of the Screw, the pipkins were re- 
plenished, and the conversation, so long pent up, 
burst forth in all its pleiMtude. Nothing but fun, 
nothing but wit, nothing but merriment, was 
heard on either side. Here were not only all 
the bright spirits of the day, but they were met 
by appointment; they came prepared for the 
combat, armed for the fi.giit; and certainly never 
was such a joust of wit and brilliancy. Good 
stories rained around; jests, repartees, and epi- 
grams flew like lightning; and one had but time 
to catch some sparkling gem as it glittered, ere 
another and another succeeded. 

But even already I grow impatient with myself 
wiiile I speak of these things. How poor, how 
vapid, and how meagre, is the effort to recall the 
wit that set the table in a roar! Not only is the 
memory wanting, but how can one convey the 
incessant roll of fun, the hailstorm of pleasantry 
that rattled about our ears, each good thing that 



was uttered ever suggesting something still better, 
the brightest fancy and the most glowing imagina- 
tion stimulated to their utmost exercise; while 
powers of voice, of look, and of mimicry un- 
equalled, lent all their aid to tlie scene. 

While I sat entranced and delighted with all I 
saw and all I heard, I had not remarked that 
O'Grady had been addressing the thair for some 
time previous. 

"Reverend brother," replied the prior, "the 
prayer of thy petition is inacmissible. The 
fourth rule of our faith says, i/f con/issicnc. No 
subject, mirthful, witty, or jocose, known to, or 
by, any member of the order, shall be withheld 
from the brotlierhood, under a penalty of the 
heaviest kind. And it goes on to say, that 
whether the jest involves your father or your 
mother, your wife, your sister, or the aunt trom 
whom you expect a legacy, no exception can be 
made. Wliat you then look for is clearly im- 
possible; make a clean breast ot it, and begin." 

This being a question of order, a silence was 
soon established, when, what was my horror to 
find that Phil O'Grady began the whole narrative 
of my mother's letter on the subject of tlie 
Rooneys! not limiting himself, however, to the 
meagre document in (piestion, but coloting the 
story with all the force of his imagination, he dis- 
played to t.he brethren the ludicrous extremes of 
character personated by the London fine lady, and 
the Dublin attorney's wife! ShockedasI was at first, 
he had not proceeded far, when 1 was forced to join 
the laughter; the whole table pounced upon the 
story; the Rooneys were well known to them all; 
and the idea of poor Paul, who dispensed his 
hospitalities with a princely liand, liaving his 
mansion degraded to the character of a chop-house, 
almost convulsed them with laughter. 

" I am going over to London next week," said 
Parsons, " willi old Lambert; and if I thought 1 
should meet this Lady Charlotte Hinion, I'd 
certainly contrive to have him presented to her 
as Mr. Paul Rooney." 

This observation created a diversion in favor 
of my lady-mother, to which 1 had the satisfac- 
tion of listening, without the power to check. 

" She has," said Dawson, "most admirable and 
original views about Ireland; and were it only 
for the fact of calling on the Rooneys for their 
bill, deserves our gratitude. I humbly move, 
therefore, that we drink to the health of our 
worthy sister. Lady Charlotte Hinton." 

The next moment found me hip, hipping, in 
derision, to my mother's health, the only consol- 
ation being, that I was escaping unnoticed and 
unknown. 

" Well, Barrington, the duke was delighted with 
your corps: nothing could be more soldier-like 
than their appearance as they marched past." 

"Ah, the attorneys', isn't it? the Devil's Own, as 
Curran calls them." 

" Yes, and remarkably well they looked. I 
say. Parsons, you heard what poor Rooney said, 
when Sir Charles Asgill read aloud the general 
order complimenting them. 'May I beg. Sir 
Charles,' said he, ' to ask if the document in your 
hand be an attested copy?' " 

" Capital, faith! By-the-bye, what's the reason, 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



65 



can anyone tell me, Paul has never invited me to 
dine for tlie last two years?" 

" Indeed!" said Curran; " tlien your chance is 
a bad one, for the statute of limitations is clearly 
against you." 

"Ah, Kellar, the Rooneys have cut all their 
low acquaintances, and your prospects look very 
gloomy. You know what took place between 
Paul and Lord Manners?" 

" No, Harrington, let's hear it, by all means." 

" Paul had met him at Kinnegad, where both had 
stopped to change horses. 'A glass of sherry, 
my lord ?' quoth Paul, with a most insinuating 
look. 

" 'No, sir, thank you,' was the distant reply. 

" 'A bowl of gravy, then, my lord ?' rejoined 
he. 

" ' Pray excuse me,' more coldly than before. 

" Maybe a chop and a crisped potato would 
tempt your lordship?' 

" ' Neither, sir, I assure you.' 

"'Nor a glass of egg-flip?" repeated Paul, in an 
accent bordering on despair. 

"' Nor even the egg-flip,' rejoined his lordship, 
in the most pompous manner. 

"'Then, my lord,' said Paul, drawing himself 
up to his full height, and looking'him firmly in 
the face, 'I've only to say the "onus" is now on 
you.' With wliich he stalked out of the room, 
leaving the chancellor to his own reflections." 

"Brethren, the saint.'^' cried out the prior, as 
he rose from the chair. 

"The saint! the saint!" re-echoed from lip to 
lip; and at the same moment the door opened, 
and a monk appeared, bearing a silver image of 
St. Patrick, about a foot and a half high, which 
he deposited in the middle of the table with the 
iitmo-it reverence. All the monks rose, filling 
their pipkins, while tjie junior of the order, a fat 
little monk with spectacles, began the following 
ditty, in which all the rest joined, with every 
energy of voice and manner: — • 

"When St. Patrick our order createcV 
And called us the Monks of the Screw, 
Good rules he revealed to our ab'oot 
To guide us in what we should do. 

"But first he replenished his fountain 
With liquor the best in the sky, 
And he swore l)y the word of his saintship 
That fountain should never run dry. 

" My children, be chaste, till you're tempted; 
While sober be wise and discreet; 
And humble your bodies with fasting 
Whene'er you've nothing to eat. 

" Then be not a tjlass in the convent, 
Except on a festival found; 
And this rule to enforce, I ordain it 
A festival all the year round." 

A hip, hip, hurrah! that made the very saint 
totter on his legs, shook the room; and once 
more the reverend fathers reseated themselves to 
resume their labors. 

Again the conversation flowed on in its broader 
channel, and scarcely was the laughter caused 
by one anecdote at an end when another suc- 
ceeded: the strangest feature of all this being, 



that he who related the story was, in almost 
every instance, less tlie source of amusement to 
the party than they who, hstening to tlie recital, 
threw a hundred varied lights upon it, making 
even the tamest imaginable adventure the origin 
of innumerable ludicrous situations, and absurd 
fancies. Besides all this, there were char- 
acteristic differences in the powers of the 
party, wliich deprived the disjslay of any trace or 
appearance of sameness; the epigrammatic terse- 
ness and nicety of Curran — the jovial good-humor 
and mellow raciness of Lawrence Parsons-- 
the happy facility of converting all before him into 
a pun or a repartee so eminently possessed by 
Toler — and, perhaps, more striking than all, the 
caustic irony and piercing sarcasm of Yelverton's 
wit, relieved antl displayed each other; each 
man's talent having only so much of rivalry as 
to excite opposition and give interest to tlie com- 
bat, yet never by any accident originating a jiar- 
ticle of animosity, or even eliciting a shade of 
passing irritation. 

With what pleasure could I continue to re- 
count the stories, the songs, the sayings I listened 
to. With what satisfaction do I yet look back 
upon tliat brilliant scene, nearly all the actors in 
which have since risen to high rank and eminence 
in the country. How often, too, in their bright 
career, when I have heard the warm praise of 
tlie world bestowed upon their triumphs and 
their successes, has my memory carried me back 
to that glorious night when, with hearts untram- 
melled by care, high in hope, and higher in am- 
bition, these briglit spirits sported in all the wan- 
ton exuberance of their genius, scattering with 
profusion the rich ore of their talent, careless of 
the depths to which the mine should be shafted 
hereafter. Yes, it is true, there were giants in 
those days! However much one may be disposed 
to look upon the eulogist of the past as one 
whose fancy is more ardent than his memory is 
tenacious, yet, vith respect to this, there is no 
denial of the fact, that great convivial gifts, 
great conversational power, no longer exist as 
they did some thirty or forty years "ago. I speak 
more particularly of the country where I passed 
my youth — of Ireland; and who that remembers 
those names I have mentioned — who that can 
recall the fascination and charm which almost 
every dinner-party of the day could boast- — who 
that can bring to mind the brilliancy of Curran, 
the impetuous power of Plunket, or the elegance 
of manner and classical perfection of wit that 
made Burke the Cicero of his nation — who, I say, 
with all these things before his memory, can ven- 
ture to compare the society of that period with 
the present? No, no; the grey hairs that mingle 
with our brown may convict us of being a preju- 
diced witness, but we could call into court every 
one whose testimony is available, and confidently 
await the verdict. 

"And so they ran away!" said the prior, turn- 
ing towards a tall, gaunt-looking monk, who, 
with a hollow voice and solemn manner, was re- 
cording the singular disappearance of the militia 
regitnent he commanded, on the morning they 
were to embark for England. " The story we 
heard," resumed the prior, "was, that when 



66 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



drawn up in the Fifteen Acres, one of the light 
company caught sight of a hare, and flung his 
musket at it. The grenadiers followed the ex- 
ample, and that then the whole batallion broke 
loose, with a loud yell, and set off in pur- 
suit " 

" No, sir," said the gaunt man, waving his 
hand to suppress the laughter around him. 
" They were assembled on the lighthouse wall, 
as it might be here, and we told them off by 
tallies as they marched on board, not perceiving, 
however, that as fast as they entered the packet 
on one side they left it on the opposite, there 
being two jolly-boats in waiting to receive them; 
and, as it was dusk at the time, the scheme was 
undetected until the corporal of a flank company 
shouted out for them to wait for him, that being 
his boat. At this time we had fifty men of our 
four hundred and eighty." 

"Ay, ay, holy father," cried the prior, as he 
helped himself to a devilled bone, 'your fellows 
were like the grilled bone before me; when they 
were mustered, they would not wait to be pep- 
pered." 

This sally produced a roar of laughter, not the 
less hearty that the grim-visaged hero it was ad- 
dressed to never relaxed a muscle of his face. 
It was now late, and what between the noise, the 
wine, and the laughter, my faculties were none 
of the clearest. Without having drunk much, I 
felt all the intoxication of liquor, and a whirl- 
wind of confusion in my ideas that almost re- 
sembled madness. To this state one part of their 
proceedings in a great measure contributed; for 
every now and then, on some signal from the 
prior, the whole party would take hands and 
dance round the table to the measure of an Irish 
jig, wilder and even more eccentric than their 
own orgies. Indeed, I think this religious ex- 
ercise finished me; for, after the third time of its 
performance, the whole scene became a confused 
and disturbed mass, and, amid the crash of voices, 
the ringing of laughter, the tramping of feet, I 
sank into something which, if not sleep, was at 
least unconsciousness; and thus is a wet sponge 
drawn over the immediately succeeding portion 
of my history. 

Some faint recollection I have of terrifying old 
Corny by my costume; but what the circumstances, 
or how they happened, I cannot remember. I 
can only call to mind one act in vindication of 
my wisdom — I went to bed. 



CHAPTER XVIII. 



A CONFIDENCE. 



I SLEPT late on the morning of my introduc- 
tion to the Monks of the Screw, and probably 
should have continued to indulge still longer had 
not O'Grady awoke me. 

" Come, Jack," he cried, " this is the third time 
I have been here to-day. I can't have mercy on 
you any longer; so rub your eyes, and try if you 
can't wake sufificiently to listen to me. I have 
just received my appointment to a company in 



the 41st, with an order to repair immediately to 
Chatham to join the regiment, which is under 
orders for foreign service." 

"And when do you go, Phil?" 

" To-night, at eight o'clock. A private note 
from a friend at the Horse Guards tells me not 
to lose a moment, and as I shall have to wait on 
the duke to thank him for his great kindness to 
me, I have no time to spare." 

This news so stunned me, that for a moment 
or two I couldn't reply. O'Grady perceived it, 
and patting me gayly on the shoulder, said — 

"Yes, Jack, I am sorry we are to separate; 
but, as for me, no other course was open; and as 
to you, with all your independence from fortune, 
and with all your family influence to push your 
promotion, the time is not very distant when you 
will begin to feel the life you are leading vapid 
and tiresome. You will long for an excitement 
more vigorous and more healthy in its character; 
and then, my boy, my dearest hope is, that we 
may be thrown once more together." 

Had my friend been able at the moment to 
have looked into the secret recesses of my heart, 
and read there my inmost thoughts, he could not 
more perfectly have depicted my feelings, nor 
pictured the impressions that, at the very moment 
he spoke, were agitating my mind. The time he 
alluded to had indeed arrived. The hour had 
come when I wished to be a soldier in more than 
the mere garb, but with that wish came linked 
another even stronger still; and this was, that; 
before I went on service, I should once more see 
Louisa Bellew, explain to her the nature and ex- 
tent of my attachment to her, and obtain, if pos- 
sible, some, pledge on her part that, with the dis- 
tinction I hoped to acquire, I should look to the 
possession of her love as my reward and my re- 
compense. Young as I was, I felt ashamed at 
avowing to O'Grady the rapid progress of my 
passion. I had not courage to confess upon 
what slight encouragement I built my hopes, 
and, at the same time, was abashed at being 
compelled to listen tamely to his prophecy, when 
the very thoughts that flashed across me would 
have indicated my resolve. 

While I thus maintained an awkward silence, 
he once more resumed: 

" Meanwhile, Jack, you can serve me, and I 
shall make no apologies for enlisting you. You've 
heard me speak of this great Loughrea steeple- 
chase; now, somehow or other, with my usual 
prudence, I have gone on adding wager to wager, 
until at last I find myself with a book of some 
eight hundred jiounds — to lose which at a mo- 
ment like this, I need not say would almost ruin 
all my ])lans. To be free of the transaction, I this 
morning off'ered to pay half forfeit, and they re- 
fused me. Yes, Hin'ton, they knew, every man 
of them, the position I stood in. They saw, 
that not only my prospects, but my honor, was 
engaged; that before a week I should be far 
away, without any power to control, without any 
means to observe them; they knew well that, thus 
circumstanced, I must lose; and if I lost, I must 
sell my commission, and leave the army beggared 
in character and fortune." 

"And now, my dear friend," said I, interrupting, 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



67 



"how happens it that you bet with men of this 
stamp? I understood you it was a friendly match, 
got up at a dinner-party." 

" Even so, Jack. The dinner was in my own 
rooms, the claret mine, the men my friends. Vou 
niav smile, but so the world is pleased to call 
those with whom from day to day we associate, 
with no othir bond of union than the similarity 
of a pursuit which has nothing more reprehensible 
in it than the character of the imtimacies it en- 
genders. Yes, Hinton, these are my sporting 
friends, sipping my wine while they plot my 
wretchedness. Conviviliaty with them is not the 
happy abandonment of good-fellowship and en- 
joyment, but the season of cold and studied cal- 
culation — the hour when, unexcited themselves, 
they trade upon the unguarded and unwary feel- 
ings of others. They know how imperative is the 
code of honor as regards a bet, and they make a 
virtue to themselves in the unflmching firmness 
of their exaction, as a cruel judge would seek 
applause for the stern justice with which he con- 
demns a felon. It is usual, however, to accept 
half forfeit in circumstances like these of mine; 
the condition did not happen to be inserted, and 
they rejected my offer." 

'' Is this possible?" said I; " and that these men 
call tliemselves your friends?" 

"Yes, Jack; a betting-book is like Shylock's 
bond, and the holder of one pretty much about 
as merciful as the worthy Israelite. But come, 
come; it is but boyish weakness in one like me 
to complain of these things; nor, indeed, would 
I speak of them now, but with the hope that my 
words may prove a warning to you, while they 
serve to explain the service I look for from you, 
and give you some insight into the character of 
those with whom you'll have to deal." 

" Only tell me," said I, " Only explain, my dear 
O'Grady, what I can do, and how; it is needless 
for me to say I'm ready " 

"I thought as much: now listen tome. When 
I made this unlucky match, it was, as I have said, 
over a dinner party, when, excited by wine, and 
carried a.vay by the enthusiasm of the moment, 
I made a proposition which with a calmer head, 
I should never have ventured. For a second or 
two it was not accepted, and Mr. Burke, of 'vhom 
you've heard me speak, called out from the end 
of the t.able, 'A sporting offer, by Jovel and I'll 
ride for you myself.' This I knew was to give 
me one of the first horsemen in Ireland; so while 
filling my glass, I nodded to him, and accepted 
his offer. I cried out, 'Two to one against any 
horse named at this moment.' The words were 
not spoken, when I was taken up, at both sides of 
the table: and, as I leaned across to borrow a 
pencil from a friend, I saw that a smile was curl- 
ing every ii]), and that Burke himself endeavored, 
with his wine-glass, to conceal the expression of 
his fac3. I needed no stronger proof that the 
whole match had been a preconcerted scheme 
between the parties, and that I had fallen into a 
snare laid purposely to entrap me. It was too 
late, however, to retract — I booked my debts, 
drank niv wine, took leave of my friends, went to 
bed, and woke the next morning to feel myself a 
dupe. But come. Jack; at this rate, I shall never 



have done. The match was booked, the ground 
chosen, Mr. Burke to be my jockey; and in fact, 
everything arranged, when, what was my surprise, 
my indignation, to find that the horse I destined 
for the race (at that time in the possession of a 
friend) was bouglit up for five hundred and sent 
off to England. This disclosed to me how com- 
pletely I was entrajiped. Nothing remained for 
me then but to purchase one which offered at the 
moment, and this one, I've told you already, has 
the pleasant reputation of being the most wicked 
devil and the hardest to ride in the whole west; 
in fact, except Burke himself, nobody would 
mount him on a road, and as to crossing a country 
with him, even /ic, they say, has no fancy for it. 
In any case, he made it the ground of a demand 
which I could not refuse — that, in the event of 
my winning, he was to claim a third of the stakes. 
At length the horse is put in training, improves 
ever hour, and matters seem to be taking a favor- 
able turn. In the midst of this, however, the re- 
port reaches me, as you heard yourself yesterday- 
morning, that Burke will not ride; however I af- 
fected to discredit it at the moment, I had great 
difficulty to preserve the appearance of calm. 
This morning settles the question by this letter: 

" ' Dear Sir, — A friendly hint has just reached 
me that I am to be arrested on the morning of 
the Loughrea race for a trifle of a hundred and 
eighteen pounds and some odd shillings. If it 
suits your convenience to pav the money, or 
enter into bail for the amount, I'll be very happy 
to ride your horse: for, although I don't care 
for a double ditch, I've no fancy to take the 
wall of the county gaol, even on the back of as- 
good a horse as Moddiridderoo. 
" ' Yours truly, 

" ' Ulick Burke. 

"'Wednesday morning, Red House.'" 

"Well," said I, as, after some difficulty, F 
spelled through this ill-written and dirty epistle, 
" and what do you mean to do here?" 

" If you ask me," said Phil, " -n hat I'd like ta 
do, I tell you fairly it would be to horse^^hip 
my friend Mr. Burke as a preliminary, pay the 
stakes, withdraw my horse, and cut the wliole 
concern; but my present position is, unliappily, 
opposed to each of these steps. In the first ]jlace, 
a rencontre wiih Burke would dome infinite dis- 
service at the Horse Guards, and as to the pay- 
ment of eight hundred pounds, I don't think I 
could raise the money, without some one would 
advance five hundred of it for a mortgage en 
Corny Delany. But to be serious. Jack — and, 
as time presses, I must be serious — I believe the 
best vi'ay on this occasion is to give Burke the 
money (for as to the bill, that's an invention); 
but, as I must start to-night for England, and 
the affair will require some management, I must 
put the whole matter into your hands, with full 
instructions how to act." 

" I am quite ready and willing," said I; "only 
give me the ' carte du pays' " 

"Well, then, my boy, you'll go down to 
Loughrea for me the day before the race, estab- 
lish yourself as quietly as you can in the hoteV 



68 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



and, as the riders must be named on the day 
before the ruiinmg, contrive to see Mr. Burke, 
and inform him that his demand will be comphed 
with. Have no delicacy with him, it is a mere 
money question and although, by the courtesy 
of the turf, he is a gentleman, yet there is no 
occasion to treat him with more of ceremony 
than is due to yourself in your negotiation. This 
letter contains the sum he mentions. In addi- 
tion to that, I have enclosed a blank cheque 
for whatever vou like to give him; only remem- 
ber one thing, Hinton — he must ride, and / 
must win." 

All the calmness with which O'Grady had 
hitherto spoken deserted him at this moment! 
his face became scarlet, his brow was ben't, and 
his lip quivered with passion, while, as he walked 
the room with hurried steps, he muttel-ed be- 
tween his teeth, — 

" Yes, though it cost my last shilling, Til win 
the race. They thouglit to ruin me; the scheme 
was deeply bid and well planned, too, but they 
shall fail. No, Hinton," resumed he in a louder 
tone, — " Hinton, believe me, poor man that I am, 
this is not with me a question of so many pounds. 
It is the wounded self-esteem of a man who, all 
through his life, held out the right hand of fel- 
lowship to those very men who now conspire to 
be his ruin. And such, my dear boy, such, for 
the most part, are the dealings of the turf. I do 
not mean to say that- men of high honor and 
unblemished integrity are not foremost in the 
encouragement of a sport which, from its bold 
and manly character, is essentially an English 
one; but this I would assert, that probity, truth, 
.and honor are the gifts of but a very small num- 
ber of those who make a traffic of the turf, and 
are what the world calls ' racing men.' And oh.' 
how very hard the struggle; how nice the diffi- 
culty of him who makes these men his daily com- 
panions, to avoid the many artifices which the 
etiquette of the race-course permits, but which 
the feelings of a gentleman would reject as unfair 
and unworthy' How contaminating that laxity 
■of principle that admits of every stratagem, every 
trick, as legitimate, with the sole provipo that it 
be successful! and what a position is it that admits 
■of no alternuive save being the dupe of the 
blackleg! Ho.vhard for the young fellow enter- 
ing upon life with all the ardor, all the unsus- 
pecting freshness of youth about him, to stop 
■short at one, without passing to the other stage! 
How difficult, with offended pride and wounded 
self-love, to find himself the m;re tool of sharp 
ers! How very difficult to check the indignant 
•spirit, that whispers retaliation by the \erv arts 
by which he has been cheated! Is not such a 
trial as this too much for any boy of twenty? and 
is it not to be feared that, in the estimation he 
sees those held in whose blackguardism is their 
pre-eminence, a perverted ambition to be what is 
called a sharp fellow, may sap and undermine 
every honorable feeling of the heart, break down 
the barriers of rigid truth and scrupulous fidelity, 
teaching him to exult at what formerly he had 
blushed, and to recognize no folly so contempti- 
ble as that of him who believes the word of 
another? Such a career as this has many a one 



pursued, abandoning, bit by bit, every grace, 
every virtue, and every charm of his character, 
that, at the end, he should come forth a ' sporting 
gentleman.' " He paused for a few seconds, and 
then, turning towards me, added, in a voice 
tremulous from emotion, " And yet, my boy, to 
men like this I would now expose you! No, no. 
Jack; I'll not do it. I care not what turn the 
thing may take; I'll not embitter my life with 
this reflection." He seized the letter, and crush- 
ing it in his hand, walked towards the window. 

"Come, come, O'Grady," said I, " this is not 
fair; you first draw a strong picture of these 
men, and then you deem me weak enough to fall 
into their snares; that would hardly say much 
for my judgment and good sense; besides, you 
have stimulated my curiosity, and I shall be sadly 
disappointed if I'm not to see them." 

"Be it so. Jack," said he, with a sigh; "I 
shall give you a couple of letters to some friends 
of mine down there, and I know but one re- 
compense you'll have for all the trouble and 
annoyance of this business — your pretty friend. 
Miss Bellew, is on a visit in the neighborhood, 
and is cert;iin to be rt the race." 

Had O'Grady looked at me while he spoke, 
he would have seen how deeply this intelligence 
affected me, while I myself could with diff cult\' 
restrain the increased interest I now felt in all 
about the matter, questioning him on every partic- 
ular, inquiring into a hundred minute points, and, 
in fact, displaying an ardor on the subject that 
nothing short of my friend's preoccupation cc<. Id 
have failed in detecting the source of. My 
mind now fixed on one object, I could scarcely 
follow him in his directions as to how I was to 
travel. 

I heard something about the canal-boat, and 
some confused impression was on my mind about 
a cross-road and a jaunting-car; but the pros- 
pect of meeting Louisa, the hope of again being 
in her society, rendered me indifferent to ail 
else; and as I thrust the letters he gave me into 
my coat pocket, and promised an implicit ob- 
servance of all his directions, I should have 
been scM^ely puzzled had he asked me to repeat 
them. 

"Now," continued O'Grady, at the end of 
about half an hour's rapid speaking, "I believe 
I've put you in possession of all the bearings of 
this case. You understand, I hope, the kind of 
men you have to deal with, and I trust Mr. 
Ulick Burke is thoroughly known to you by this 
time?'' 

" Oh, perfectly," said I, half mechanically. 

" Well, then, my boy, I believe 1 had better 
say good-bye, something tells me we shall meet 
ere long; meanwhile. Jack, you have my best 
wishes." He paused for a moment and turned 
away his head, evidently affected, then added, 
"You'll write to me soon, of course, and as 
that old fool. Corny, follows me in a week " 

' And is Corny going abroad ?" 

" .^y! confound him, like the old man in Sin- 
bad, there's no getting him off one's shoulders; 
besides, he has a kind of superstition that he 
ought to close the eyes of the last of the fam- 
ily; and, as he has frankly confessed to me this 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



G9 



morning, ht knows I am in that predicament, 
he esteems it a point of duty to accomijany me. 
Poor fellow, with all his faults I can't help feel- 
ing attached to him, and were I to leave him 
beliind me, what would become of him? No, 
Jack, I am fully sensible of all the inconven- 
ience, all the ridicule of this step, but, faith, I 
prefer both to the embittering reflections I should 
have, did 1 desert liim." 

" Why does he remain after you, Phil ? — he'll 
never find his way to London 

"Oh, trust him! What with scolding, cursing, 
and abusing every one he meets, he'll attract 
notice enough on the road never to be forgotten 
or left behind. But the fact is, it is his own 
proposition, and Corny has asked for a few days' 
leave of absence for the first time for seven-and- 
twenty years!" 

" And what the deuce can that be for?" 

"You'd never guess if you tried until to-mor- 
row — to see his mother." 

"Corny's mother! — Corny Delany's mother!" 

"Just so — his mother. Ah, Hinton! you still 
have much to learn about us all here, and now, 
before we part, let me instruct you on tliis point; 
not that I pretend to have a reason for it, nor do 
I know that there is any, but somehow I'll ven- 
ture to say, that whenever you meet with a little, 
cross-grained, ill-thriven old fellow, with p face 
as if carved in the knot of a crab-tree, the odds 
are about fifteen to one that the little wretch has 
a mother alive; whether it is that the tenacity 
of life among such people is greater, or whether 
nature has any peculiar objects of her own in 
view in the matter, I can't say; but trust me for 
the fact. And novv, I believe, I have run mvself 
close to time, so once more. Jack, good-bye, and 
God bless you!" 

He hurried from the room as he spoke, but as 
the door was closing, I saw that his lip trembled 
and his cheek was pale; while I leaned against 
the window-shutter and looked after him with a 
heavy and oppressed heart, for he was my first 
friend in the world! 



CHAPTER XIX. 



THE C A N A L-B OAT. 



In obedience to O'Grady's directions, of wliich, 
fortunately for me, he left a memorandum in 
writing, I started from Portobello in the canal- 
boat on the afternoon of the day after his de- 
parture. The day was dark and lowering, with 
occasional showers of cold and sleety rain; how- 
ever, the casual glance I took of the gloomy cell 
denominated cabin, deterred nie from seeking 
shelter there, and, buttoned up in my greatcoat, 
and with my travelling cap drawn firmly over my 
eyes, I walked the deck for several hours, my 
own thoughts affording me sufficient occupation, 
and even had the opportunity presented itself, I 
should not have desired any other. On this 
score, however, there was no temptation, and as 
1 looked at my fellow-passengers, there was noth- 
ing either in their voice, air, or appearance, to 



induce me to care for any closer intimacy. The 
majority of them were stout, plain-looking coun- 
try folk, with coats of brown or grey frieze, 
leather gaiters, and thick shoes, returning, as I 
could guess from some chance expressions they 
dropped, from the Dublin market, whither thty 
had proceeded with certain droves of bullocks, 
wedders, and hoggets, the qualities of whicii 
formed the staple of conversation; there were 
also some lady passengers, one a rather good-look- 
ing woman, with a certain air of half gentility 
about her, which enabled her at limes to display 
to her comDanion her jirofound contempt for the 
rest of the company; this companion was a poor, 
subdued-looking girl of about eighteen or twenty 
years, who scarcely ventured to raise her haggard 
eyes, and spoke with an accent painful frcm agi- 
tation; her depressed look and her humble man- 
ner did not conceal, however, a certain air of 
composed and quiet dignity, which spoke of hap- 
pier days. A host of ill-bred, noisy, and unman- 
nerly children accompanied them, and I soon 
discovered that the mother was the wife of the 
great shopkeeper in Loughrea. and her pale com- 
panion a governess she had just procured in 
Dublin, to initiate the promising offspring in the 
accomplished acquirements of P'rench and Ital- 
ian, music and painting; their only acquaintance 
on board seemed to be a jolly-looking man, vho, 
although intimate with every one, seemed, some- 
how, not to suffer in the grand lady's esteem fioni 
the familiarities he dispensed on all sides. He 
was a short, florid-looking little fellow, with a 
round, bullet head, the features of which seemed 
at first sight- so incongruous, that it was difficult 
to decide on their prevailing expression; his 
large grey eyes, which rolled and twinkled with 
fun, caught a character of severity from his 
heavy overhanging eyebrows, and tliere was a 
stern determination in his comi)resftd lips that 
every moment gave way to some burst of jocular 
good humor, as he accosted one or oth.er of his 
friends; his voice, however, was the most remark- 
able thing about him, for while at one moment 
he would declaim in the full round tone of a per- 
son accustotned to speak in public, in the next 
he would drop down into an easy and familiar 
accent, to which the mellowness of his brogue 
imparted a raciness quite peculiar. 

His dress was a suit of rusty black, with leather 
breeches of the sane color, and high boots: this 
costume, which pronounced him a priest, might 
also, had I known more of the country, have ex- 
plained the secret cf that univers;il understand- 
ing he maintained with all on board. He knew 
every one's business — whither they were going, 
where they had been, what success had attended 
them in the market, how much the black heifer 
brought, what the pigs sold for; he asked why 
Tim didn't come to his duties, and if Molly's 
child was well of the measles; he had a word, 
too, for the shopkeeper's wife, but that was said 
in a whisper; and then producing a copper snuff- 
box, about the size of a saucer, he presented it to 
me with a graceful bow, saying — 

"This is not the first time I have had the honor 
of being your fellow-traveller, captain. We caoie 
over from Liverpool together." 



ro 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



I now remembered that this was the same 
priest whose controversial powers had kept nie 
awake for nearly half the night, and whose con- 
vivial ones filled up the remainder. I was de- 
lighted, however, to renew my acqaintance, and 
we soon cemented an intimacy, which ended in 
liis proposing that we should sit together at din- 
ner, to which 1 at once assented. 

'"Dacent people, dacent people, captain, but 
bastes after all in the ways of the world: none of 
the iisa^:;e de socie'te, as we used to say at St. 
Omer's. No, no — fc'ia; naturoe, devil a more. 
But here comes the dinner: the ould story — leg 
of mutton and turnips, boiled chickens and liam, 
a cod and potatoes. By the mass! they would 
boil one's father if they had him on board;" 
while he added, in a whisper, ''by rason tliey 
can't roast. So now, will you move down, if you 
please?" 

" After your reverence, if you'll permit Anna 
cedant to^^ca." 

"riirue for you, my son — sacerdotcs priores; 
and though I am only a priest " 

" More's the pity," said I. interrupting. 

"You're right," said he, with a slight pinch of 
my arm, "whether you are joking or not." 

I'hs dinner was not a very appetizing one, nor 
indeed, the company over seductive; so that I 
disappeared with the cloth, glad to find myself 
once more in the open air, with the deck to my- 
self; for my fellow-travellers had one and all be- 
gun a very vigorous attack upon sundry jugs of 
hot water and crucibles full of whisky, the tumes 
of which, added to the heat, the smoke, and 
other disagreeables, made me right liappy to es- 
cajje. 

As the evening wore late, the noise and uproar 
grew louder and more vociferous, and had not 
frequent bursts of laughter proclaimed the spirit 
of the conviviality, I should have been tempted 
to believe the p:irty were engaged in deadly 
strife. Sometimes a single narrator would 
seem to hold the company in attentive si- 
lence; tien a general chorus of the whole would 
break in, with shouts of merriment, knocking of 
knuckles on the table, stamping of feet, and 
other signs of approbation and applause. As 
this had now continued for some time, and it was 
already verging towards midnight, I began to 
grow impatient, for, as sleep stole over my eve- 
lids, I was desirous of some little quiet to indulge 
myself in a nap. Blessings on my innocent de- 
lusion! the gentlemen below stairs had as much 
notion of swinlmingas sleeping. Of this, a rapid 
glance through a little window at the extrem- 
ity of the cabin soon satisfied me. As well as 
the steamed and heated glass would permit my 
seeing, the scene was a strange one. About forty 
persons were seated around a narrow table, so 
closely packed that any attitude but the bolt up- 
right was impracticable. There they were, of 
every age and sex; some asleep, with Welsh wigs 
and red pocket-handkerchiefs, screening their 
heads from cold, and their ears, as well as 
might be, from uproar; some were endeavoring 
to read by the light of mutton candles, with wicks 
like a light infantry feather, with a nob at the 
head; others, with thtir heads bent down to- 



gether, were confidently exchanging the secrets 
of the last market; while here and there were 
scattered about little convivial knots of jolly souls, 
whose noisy fun and loud laughter indicated but 
slight respect for their drowsy neighbors. 

The group, however, which attracted most of 
my attention was one near the fire at the end, 
this consisted of his reverence. Father Tom, a 
stout, burly-looking old farmer opposite him, the 
austere lady from Loughrea, and a litile dried-up 
potted-herring of a man, who, with a light-brown 
coat and standing collar, sat up perpendicularly 
on his seat, and looked about him with an eye as 
lively, and an accent as sharp, as though it were 
only noonday. This little personage, who came 
from that Irish Pennsylvania called Moate, was 
endeavoring to maintain a controversy with the 
wortliy priest, who, in addition to his polemics, 
was deep in a game of spoiled five with the far- 
mer, and carrying on besides another species of 
warfare with his fair neighbor. The diversity of 
all these occupations might possibly have been 
overmuch for him, were it not for the aid ot a 
suspicious-looking little kettle that sat hissing 
and rocking on the hob, with a look of pert sat- 
isfaction, that convinced me its contents were 
something stronger than water. 

Perceiving a small space yet unoccupied in 
the party, I made my way thither by the stair 
near it, and soon had the satisfaction to find 
myself safely installed, without attracting any 
other notice from the party than a proud stare 
from the lady, as she removed a little farther 
from beside the priest. 

As to liis reverence, far too deeply interested 
in his immediate pursuits to pay any attention to 
me, he had quite enough on his hands with his 
three antagonists, none of whom did he ever for 
a moment permit to edge in even a word. Con- 
ducting his varied warfare with the skill of a 
general, who made the artillery, the inf.antry, and 
the cavalry of mutual aid and assistance to each 
other, he continued to keep the chuich, the 
courtship, and the cards all moving together, In 
a manner perfectly miraculous, the vtlunience 
with which he thumped down a trump n]'on the 
table serving as a point in his argument, while 
the energy of the action permitted a squeeze of 
the lady's hand with the other. 

" There ye go, six of spades. Play a spade, 
av ye have one, Mr. Larkins. For a set of 
shrivelled-up craytures, with nothing but thee 
and thou for a creed, to deny the real ould 

ancient faith, that St. Peter and the ace of 

diamonds, that tickled you under the short ribs 
— not you, Mrs. Carney — for a sore time you 
have of it; and an angel of a woman ye are; and 
the husband that could be cruel to you, and take 
the odd trick out of you, Mr. Larkins. No, 



no, I deny it — nes;o in omnibus, Domine. ^^''llat 
does Origen say? The rock, says he. is Peter; 
and if you translate the passage without — An- 
other kettleful, if you please. I go for the ten, 
Misther I^arkins! Trumps! another— another — 
hurroo! By the tower of Clonmacnoise, I'll 
beggar the bank to-night. Malhetireux au jeu, 
heuraix en atnotir, as we used to say formerly. 
God forgive usi" 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



71 



Whether it was the French, or the look that 
accompanied it I cannot aver, but certainly the 
lady bUished and looked down. In vain did the 
poor Quaker essay a word of explanation. In 
vain (lid Mrs. Carney herself try to escape from 
the awkward inferences some of his allusions 
seemed to /ead to. Even the old farmer saw his 
tricks confiscated, and his games estreated, witii- 
out a chance of recovery; for, like Coeur 
de Lion with his iron mace, the good priest aid 
about him, smashing, slaying, and upsetting all 
before him, and never giving his adversaries a 
moment to recover from one blow ere he dealt 
another -at their heads. 

"To be sure, Mrs. Carney, and why not? it's 
as mild as mother's milk. Come, ould square- 
toes, take a thimbleful of it, and maybe it'll lead 
you to a better understanding. I pla_y the five 
fingers, Mr. Larkins. There goes Jack, my 
jewel. Play to that — the trick is mine. Don't 
be laughing. I've a bit of fat in the heel of my 
fist for you ye"t. There now, what are you look- 
ing at? Don't you see the cards? Troth, you're 
as bad as the Quaker, you won't believe your 
own eyes; and ye see, ma'am" — here he whisp- 
ered something in the lady's ear for a few seconds, 
adding, as he concluded — "and thim, Mrs. 
Carney, thim's the rightsof thechuuh. Friends, 
indeed! ye call yourselves friends! faix, ye're the 
least sociaJ friends lever foregathered with, even 
if the bare look of you wasn't an antidote to all 
kinds of amusements. Cut, Mr. Larkins. And 
it's purgatory ye don't like. Ye know what 
Father O'Leary said — some of ye may go farther 
and fare worse— not to speak of what a place 
heaven would be with the likes of -you in it. Av 
it was Mrs. Carney, indeed. Yes, Mary, your 
own beautiful self, that's fit to be an angel any 
day, and discoorse with angels. Howld, av you 
please, I've a club for that. Don't you see what 
nonsense you're talking, the little kettle is laugh- 
ing at you. What's that you're mumbling about 
my time of life? Show me the man that'll carry 
twelve tumblers with me — show me the man 
that'll cross a country — show me the man that'll 

Never mind, Mrs. Carney. Time of life, 

indeed! Faix, I'll give you a song." 

With these words the priest pushed the cards 
aside, replenished the glasses, and began the 
following melody, to an air much resembling Sir 
Roger de Coverley: — 

" To-morrow I'll just be threescore; 
May never worse fortune betide me. 
Than to have a hot tumbler before. 

And a beautiful urayture beside me. 
If this world's a stage, as they say. 

And that men are the actors, I'm certain, 
In the afterpiece I'd like to ]5lav. 

And be there at the fall of the curtain. 
Whack! fol Icl." 

" No, no, Mrs. Carney. I'll take the vestment 
on it, nothing of the kind — the allusion is most 
discreet — but there is more: — 

'* For the pleasures of youth are a flam; 
To try them again, pray excuse me; 
I'd rather l)e priest that I am, 

With the rights of the church to amuse me. 



Sure there's nought like a jolly old age, 
And the patriarchs knew this, it said is; 

For though they looked sober and sage, 

Faith they had their own fun with the ladies! 
Whack! follol." 

" Come now, captain, you are a man that 
knows his humanities; I'll be judged by you." 

" I protest," said I, laughingly, " I'd rather 
pronounce on. your punch than your polemics." 

" No, would you, though?" said the priest, 
with a joyous twinkle in his eye that showed 
which controversy had more attraction for him. 
" Faix, then, you shall have a fair trial. Reach 
me that glass, Mr. Larkins, and, if it isn't sweet 
enough, maybe Mrs. Carney would stir it for you 
with her finger. There now, we'll be comforta- 
ble and social, and have no more bother about 
creeds nor councils; for, although it is only 
child's play for me to demolish a hundred like 
you, I'd rather be merciful, and leave you, like 
Alexander the coppersmith, to get the reward 
of your works." 

Whether it was the polite attention bestowed 
upon me by his reverence, or that the magical 
word " Captain," so generic for all things mili- 
tary in Ireland, had its tffect, or that any purely 
personal reasons were the cause, I cannot aver; 
but, certainly, Mrs. Carney's manner became 
wonderfully softened. She smikd at me slyly, 
when the priest wasn't looking, and vouchsafed 
an inquiry as to whether I had ever served in the 
Roscommon Yeomanry. 

The kettle once more sent forth its fragrant 
steam, the glasses were filled, the vanquished 
Quaker had extinguished both himself and his 
argument beneath his broad beaver, and Father 
Tom, with a glance of pleasure at the party, pro- 
nounced our arrangements perfect, and sug- 
gested a round game, by way of passing the 
time. 

" We are now," said he, "on the long level for 
eighteen miles; there's neither a lock nor a town 
to disturb us. Give Mrs. Carney the cards." 

The proposition was met with hearty approv- 
al; and thus did I, Lieutenant Hinton, of the 
Grenadier Guards, extra aide-de-camp to the 
viceroy, discover myself at four in the morning 
engaged at a game of loo. whose pecuniary lim- 
its'were fourpence, but whose boundaries as to 
joke and broad humor were wide as the great 
.Atlantic. Day broke, and I found myself richer 
by some tumblers of the very strongest whiskey- 
punch, a confounded headache, and two and 
eightpence in bad copper jingling in my pocket. 



CHAPTER XX. 

SHANNON HARBOR. 



Little does he know who voyages in a canal- 
boat, dragged along some three miles and a half 
per hour,"ignominiously, at the tails of tw'O am- 
bling hackneys, what pride, pomp, and circtim- 
stance await 'him at the first town he enters. 
Seated on the deck, watching with a Dutchman's 
aoathy the sedgy bank, whose tall flaggers bow 



72 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



their heads beneath the ripple that eddies from 
the bow; now lifting his eyes from earth to sky, 
with nothing to interest, nothing to attract him; 
turning from the gaze of the long, dreary tract 
of bog and moorland, to look upon his fellow- 
travellers, whose features are perhaps neither 
more striking nor more pleasing — -the monotonous 
jog of the postilion before, the impassive placid- 
ity of the helmsman behind — tire lazy smoke, 
that seems to lack energy to issue from the little 
chimney — the brown and leaden look of all 
around — have something dreamy and sleep-com- 
pelling, almost impossible to resist. And al- 
ready, as the voyager droops his head, and lets 
fall his eyelids, a confused and misty sense of 
some everlasting journey, toilsome, tedious, and 
slow, creeps over his besotted faculties; when 
suddenly the loud bray of the horn breaks upon 
his ears — -the sound is re-echoed from a distance 
— the far-off tinkle of a bell is borne along the 
water, and he sees before him, as if conjured up 
by some magician's wand, the roofs and chim- 
neys of a little village. Meanwhile the excite- 
ment about him increases; the deck is lumbered 
with hampers, and boxes, and parcels; the note 
of departure to many a cloaked and frieze- 
coated passenger has rung; for, strange as it may 
seem, in that little assemblage of mud hovels, 
with their dunghills and their duck-pools around 
them, with its one slated house and its square 
chapel — yet there are people who live there; 
and, stranger still, some of those who have left 
it, and seen other places, are going back there 
again, to drag on life as before. But the plot is 
thickening; the large brass bell at the stern of 
the boat is thundering away with its clanging 
sound; the banks are crowded with people; and, 
as if to favor the melodramatic magic of the 
scene, the track-rope is cast off, the weary 
])osters trot away towards their stable, and the 
stately barge floats on to its destined haven 
without the aid of any visible influence. He 
who watches the look of proud important bear- 
ing that beams upon "the captain's" face at a 
moment like this, may philosophize upon the 
charms of that power which man wields above 
his fellow-men; such, at least, were some of my 
reflections, and I could not help muttering to 
myself, "If a man like this feel pride of station, 
what a glorious service must be the navy!" 

Watching with interest the nautical skill with 
which, having fastened a rope to the stern, the 
boat was swung round, with her head in the 
direction from whence she came, intimating 
thereby the monotonous character of her avoca- 
tions, I did not perceive that, one by one, the 
passengers were taking their departure. 

"Good-bye, captain!" cried Father Tom, as he 
extended his ample hand to me; "we'll meet 
again in Loiighrea. I'm going on Mrs. Carney's 
car, or I'd be delighted to join you in a convey- 
ance, but you'll easily get one at the hotel " 

I had barely time to thank the good father for 
his kind advice, when I perceived him adjusting 
various duodecimo Carneys in the well of tlie car, 
and then, having carefully included himself in 
the frieze coat that wrapt Mrs. Carney, he gave 
the word to drive on. 



As the day following was the time appointed 
for naming the horses and the riders, 1 had no 
reason for haste. Loughrea, from what I had 
heard, was a commonplace country town, in 
which, as in all similar places, every new-comer 
was canvassed with a prying and searching curi- 
osity. I resolved, therefore, to stop wjiere I was; 
not, indeed, that the scenery jjossessedany attrac- 
tions — a prospect more bleak, more desolate, 
and more barren, it w^ould be impossible to con- 
ceive; a wide river with low and reedy banks, 
moving sluggishly on its yellow current, between 
broad tracts of bog or callow meadow-land; no 
trace of cultivation, not even a tree, was to be 
seen. 

Such is Shannon Harbor. " No matter," 
thought I, " the hotel at least looks well." This 
consolatory reflection of mine was elicited by the 
prospect of a large stone building of some stories 
high, whose granite [lortico and wide steps stood 
in strange contrast to the miserable mud hovels 
that flanked it on either side. It was a strange 
thought to have.placed such a building in such a 
situation. I dismissed the ungrateful notion as 
I remembered my own position, and how happy 
I felt to accept its hospitality. 

A solitary jaunting-car stocd on the canal side, 
the poorest specimen of its class I had ever seen; 
the car — a few boards cobbled up by some country 
carpenter — seemed to threaten disunion even 
with the coughing of the wretched beast that 
wheezed between its shafts, while the driver, an 
emaciated creature of any age from sixteen to 
sixty, sat shivering upon the seat, striking from 
time to time with his whip at the flies th^t played 
about the animal's ears, as though anticipating 
their prey. 

" Banagher, your honor? Loughrea, sir? Rowl 
yetover in an hour and a half. Is it Portumna, 
sir?" 

" No, my good friend," replied I, " I stop at 
the hotel." 

Had 1 proposed to take a sail down the Shan- 
non on my portmanteau, I don't think the aston- 
ishment could have been greater. The bystanders 
— and they were numerous enough by this time — 
looked from one to the other with expressions of 
mingled surprise and dread; and, indeed, had I, 
like some sturdy knight-errant of old, announced 
my determination to pass the night in a haunted 
chamber, more unequivocal evidences of their 
admiration and fear could not have been evoked. 

" In the hotel ?" said one. 

" He is going to stop at the hotel !" cried an- 
other. 

"Blessed hour!" said a third; "wonders will 
never cease!" 

Short as had been my residence in Ireland, it 
had at least taught me one lesson- — never to be 
surprised at anything I met with. So many views 
of life peculiar to the land met me at every turn 
— so many strange prejudices — so many singular 
notions — that were I to apply my previous knowl- 
edge of the world, such as it was, to my guid- 
ance here, I should be like a man endeavoring to 
sound the depths of the sea with an instrument 
intended to ascertain the distance of a star. 
Leaving, therefore, to time the explanation of the 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



73 



mysterious astonishment around me, I gathered 
together my baggage, and left tlie boat. 

The first impressions of a traveller are not un- 
commonly his best. The finer and more distinct- 
ive features of a land require deep study and 
long acquaintance, but the broader traits of na- 
tionality are caught in an instant, or not caught 
• at all. Familiarity with them destroys them, and 
it is only at first blush that we learn to appreciate 
them with force. Who that has landed at Calais, 
at Rotterdam, or at Leghorn, has not felt this? 
The Flemish peasant, with her long-eared cap 
and heavy sabots — the dark Italian, basking his 
swarthy features in tlie sun, are striking objects 
when we first look on them. But days and weeks 
roll on, the wider characteristics of human na- 
ture swallow up the smaller and more narrow 
features of nationality, and in a short time we 
forget that the things which have surprised us 
at first are not what we have been used to from 
our infancy. 

Gifted with but slender powers of observation, 
such as they were, this was to me always a mo- 
ment of their e.xercise. How often in the rural 
districts of my own country had the air of cheery 
and healthy contentment spoken to my heart; 
how frequently in the manufacturing ones had the 
din of hammers, the black smoke, or the lurid 
flame of furnaces, turned my thoughts to those 
great sources of our national wealth, and made 
me look on every dark and swarthy face that 
passed, as on one who ministered to his country's 
weal. But now I was to view a new and very dif- 
ferent scene. Scarcely had I put foot on shore, 
when the whole population of the village thronged 
around me. " What are these?" thought I, ''What 
art do they practise? What trade do they pro- 
fess?" Alas! their wan looks, their tattered gar- 
ments, their outstretched hands, and imploring 
voices, gave the answer — they were all beggars! 
It was not as if the old, the decrepit, the sickly, 
or the feeble, had fallen on the charity of their 
fellow-men in their hour of need; but here were 
all — all — -the old man and the infant, the husband 
and the wife, the aged grandfather and the tot- 
tering grandchild, the white locks of youth, the 
whiter hairs of age — pale, pallid, and sickly — 
trembling between starvation and suspense, 
watching, with the hectic eye of fever, every ges- 
ture of him on whom their momentary hope was 
fixed; canvassing, in muttered tones, every step 
of his proceeding, and hazarding a doubt upon 
its bearing on their own fate. 

"Oh! the heavens be your bed, noble gentle- 
man, look at me. The Lord reward you for the 
little sixpence that you have in your fingers there. 
I"m the mother of ten of them." 

"Billy Cronin, yer honor. I'm dark since I 
was nine years old." 

" I'm the ouldest man in the town-land," said 
an old fellow with a white beard, and a blanket 
strapped round him. 

While bursting through the crowd came a 
strange, odd-looking figure, in a huntsman's coat 
and cap, but both so patched and tattered, it was 
difficult to detect their color. 

" Here's Joe, your honor," cried he, putting 
his hand to his mouth at the same moment. 



" Tally-ho! ye ho! ye ho!" he shouted with a mel- 
low c.\dence I never heard surpassed. " Yow! yow! 
yow!" he cried, imitating the barking of dogs, 
and then uttering a long low wail, like the bay of 
a hound, he shouted out, " Hark away! hark 
away!" and at the same moment pranced into 
the thickest of the crowd, upsetting men, women, 
and children, as he went, the curses of some, the 
cries of others, and the laughter of nearly all, 
ringing through the motley mass, making their 
misery look still more frightful. 

Throwing what silver I had about me amongst 
them, I made my way towards the hotel, not 
alone, however, but heading a procession of my 
ragged friends, who, with loud praises of my lib- 
erality, testified their gratitude by bearing me 
company. Arrived at the porch, 1 took my lug- 
gage from the carrier, and entered the house. 
Unlike any other hotel I had ever seen, there 
was neither stir nor bustle, no burly landlord, no 
buxom landlady, no dapper waiter with napkin 
on his arm, no pert-looking chambeimaid with a 
bedroom candlestick. A large hall, dirty and 
unfurnished, led into a kind of bar, upon whose 
unpainted shelves a few straggling bottles were 
ranged, together with some jiewter measures and 
tobacco pipes; while the walls were covered with 
placards, setting forth the regulations for the 
"Grand Canal Hotel," with a list, copious and 
abundant, of all the good things to be found 
therein, with the prices annexed; and a pressing 
entreaty to the traveller, should he not feel sat- 
isfied with his reception, to mention it in a " book 
kept for that purpose by the landlord." I cast 
my eye along the bill of fare, so ostentatiously 
put forth — I read of rump-steaks, and roast 
fowls, of red rounds and sirloins, and I turned 
from the spot resolved to explore farther. The 
room opposite was large and spacious, and prob- 
ably destined for the coffee-rocm, but it also was 
empty; it had neither chair nor table, and save 
a pictorial representation of a canal-boat, drawn 
by some native artist with a buint stick upon 
the Mall, it had no decoration. Having emused 
myself with the Lady Cahe} — such was the ves- 
sel called — I again set forth on my voyage of 
discovery, and bent my steps towards the 
kitchen. Alas! my success was no better there 
— the goodly grate before which should have 
stood some of that luscious fare of which I had 
been reading, was cold and deserted; in one cor- 
ner, it was true, three sods of earth, scarce 
lighted, supported an antiquated kettle, whose 
twisted spout was turned up, with a misanthropic 
curl at the misery of its existence. I ascended 
the stairs; my footsteps echoed along the silent 
corridor, but still no trace of human habitant 
could I see, and I began to believe that even the 
landlord had departed with the larder. 

At this moment the low murmur of voices 
caught my ear; I listened, and could distinctly 
catch the sound of persons talking together at 
the end of the corridor. Following along this, 
I came to a door, at which, having knocked 
twice with my knuckles, I waited for the invita- 
tion to enter. Either indisposed to admit me, 
or not having heard my summons, they did not 
reply; so turning the handle gently, I opened 



74 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



the door, and entered the room unobserved. 
For some minutes I profited but little by this 
step, tiie apartment, a small one, was literally 
full of smoke, and it was only when 1 had wiped 
the tears from my eyes three times that I at 
length began to recognize the objects before me. 

Seated upon two low stools, beside a miserable 
fire of green wood, that smoked, not blazed, 
upon the hearth, were a man and woman; be- 
tween them a small and rickety table supported 
a tea equipage of the humblest description, and 
a plate of fish whose odor pronounced them red 
herrings. Of the man I could see but little, as 
his back was turned towards me, but, had it 
been otherwise, I could scarcely have withdrawn 
my looks from the figure of his companion. 
Never had my eyes fallen on an object so strange 
and so unearthly She was an old woman — so 
old, indeed, as to have numbered nearly a hun- 
dred years; her head, uncovered by cap or coif, 
displayed a mass of white hair that hung down 
on her back and shoulders, and even partly 
across her face, not sufficiently, however, to con- 
ceal two dark orbits, within which her dimmed 
eyes faintly glimmered, her nose was thin and 
pointed, and projecting to the very mouth, 
which, drawn backwards at the angles by the 
tense muscles, wore an expression of hideous 
laughter. Over her coarse dress of some country 
stuff, she wore for warmth the cast-off coat of a 
soldier, giving to her uncouth figure the sem- 
blance of an aged baboon at a village show. 
Her voice, broken with coughing, was a low, 
feeble treble, that seemed to issue from passages 
where lingering life had left scarce, a trace of 
vitality; and yet she talked on without ceasing, 
and moved her skinny fingers among the teacups 
and knives upon the table, with a fidgety rest- 
lessness, as though in search of something. 

"There, acushla, don't smoke; don't now; 
sure it's at the ruin of your complexion. I 
never see boys take to tobacco this way when I 
was young " 

"Whist, mother, and don't be bothering me," 
was the cranky reply, given in a voice which, 
strange to say, was not quite unknown to me. 

"Ay, ay," said the old crone; "always the 
same, never mindin' a vvord I say; and maybe in 
a few years I won't be to the fore to look after 
you, and watch you.'' 

Here the painful thought of leaving a world, 
so full of its seductions and sweets, seemed too 
much for her feelings, and she began to cry- 
Her companion, however, appeared but little 
affected, but puffed away his pipe at his ease, 
waiting with patience till the paroxysm was past. 

"There, now," said the old lady, brightening 
up. " take away the tay-things, and you may go 
and take a run on the common; but mind you 
don't be pelting Jack Moore's goose, and take 
care of Bryan's sow; she is as wicked as the divil 
now that she has boneens after her. D'ye hear 
me, darlin', or is it sick you are? Och! wirra! 
wirra! What's the matter with you. Corny, 
Ilia hoiichall" 

"Corny!" exclaimed I, forgetful of my incog- 
nito. 

" Ay, Corny, nayther more nor less than Corny 



himself," said that redoubted personage, as rising 
to his legs he deposited his pipe upon the table, 
thrust his hands into his pockets, and seemed 
jjrepared to give battle. 

"Oh, Corny," said I, " I am delighted to find 
you here. Perhaps you can assist nie. 1 thought 
this was an hotel." 

"And why wouldn't you think it an hotel? 
Hasn't it a bar and a toffee-rocm? Isn't the 
regulations of the house printed, and stuck up 
on all the walls? Ay, that's what the directors 
did — put the price on everything, as if one was 
going to cheat the people. And signs on it, 
look at the place now — ugh! the hay thins! the 
Turks!" 

" Yes, indeed. Corny, look at the place now;" 
glad to have an opportunity to chime in with my 
friend's opinions. 

"Well, and look at it," replied he, bristling 
up; " and what have you to say agin it? Isn't 
it the Grand Canal Hotel?" 

" Yes; but," said I, conciliatingly, "an hotel 
ought at least to have a landlord or a land 
lady." 

" And what do you call my mother there?" 
said he, with indignant energy. 

"Don't bate Corny, sir! don't strike thechild'" 
screamed the old woman, in an accent of heart- 
rending terror. " Sure he doesn't know ■v\hat he 
is saying." 

" He is telling me it isn't the Grand Canal 
Hotel, mother," shouted Corny in the old lady's 
ears, while at the same moment he burst into a 
fit of most discordant laughter. By some strange 
sympathy the old woman joined in, and I myself, 
unable to resist the ludicrous tffect of a scene 
which still had touched my feelings, cave way 
also, and thus we all three laughed on for seveial 
minutes. 

Suddenly recovering himself in the midst of 
his cachinnations, Corny turned briskly round, 
fixed his fiery eves upon me, and said, — 

"And did you come all the way from town to 
laugh at my mother and me?" 

I hastened to exonerate myself frrm such a 
charge, and in a few words informed him of ihe 
object of my journey, whither I was going, and 
under what painful delusion I labored in sup- 
posing the internal arrangements of the Grand 
Canal Hotel bore any i elation to its imposing 
exterior. 

"I thought I could have dined here?" 

"No, you can't," was the reply, " av ye're not 
fond of herrins." 

" And had a bed too?" 

" Nor that, either, av ye don't like straw." 

"And has your mother nothing better than 
that?" said I, pointing to the miserable plate of 
fish. 

"^Vhisht, I tell you, and don't be putting the 
like in her head; sometimes she hears as well as 
you or me" — here he dropped his voice to a 
whisper — "herrins is so cheap that we always 
make her believe it's Lent: this is nine years now 
she's fasting." Here a fit of laughing at the 
success of this innocent ruse again broke from 
Cornv, in which, as before, his mother joined. 

" Then what am I to do," asked I, " if I can 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



75 



get nothing to eat here? Is there no other house 
in the village'" 

'■ No, devil a one." 

" How far is it to Loiighrea?" 

"Fourteen miles and a bit." 

" I can get a car, I suppose?" 

" Ay, if Mary Doolan's boy is not gone 
back." 

The old woman, whose eyes were impatiently 
fixed upon me during this colloquy, but who 
heard not a word of what was going forward, 
now broke in: 

'■ Why doesn't he pay the bill and go away? 
Devil a farthing I'll take off it. Sure av ye were 
a raal gentleman ye'd be givin' a fippenny-bit to 
the gossoon there, that sarved you. Never mind, 
Corny, dear, I'll buy a bag of marbles for you at 
Banagher." 

Fearful of once more giving way to unseasona- 
ble mirth, I rushed from the room, and hurried 
down-stairs; the crowd that had so lately accom- 
panied me was now scattered, each to his several 
home. The only one who lingered near the door 
was the poor idiot l^for such he was) that wore 
the huntsman's dress. 

"Is the Loughrea car gone, Joe?" said I, for 
I remembered his name. 

" She is, yer honor; she's away." 

" Is there any means of getting over to-night?" 

" Barrin' walking, there's none." 

"Ay; but," said I, " were I even disposed for 
that, I have got my luggage." 

" Is it heavy?" said Joe. 

" This portmanteau, and the carpet-bag you 
see there." 

"I'll carry them," was the brief reply. 

"You'll not be able, my poor fellow,' 

"Ay, and you on the top of them." 

"You don't know how heavy I am," 
laugliingly. 

"Begorra, I wish you was heavier." 

"And why so, Joe?" 

" Because one that was so good to the poor, is 
worth his weight in goold any day." 

I do not pretend to say whether it was the 
flattery, or the promise these words gave me of 
an agreeable companion en route, but, certain it 
is, I at once closed with his proposal, and, with a 
ceremonious bow to the Grand Canal Hotel, took 
my departure, and set out for Loughrea. 



said I. 
said I, 



CHAPTER XXI. 



LOUGHREA. 



With the innate courtesy of his country, my 
humble companion endeavored to lighten the 
road by song and story. Tliere was not a black- 
ened gable, not a ruined tower, not even a well 
we passed, without its legend. The very moun- 
tains themselves, that reared their mighty peaks 
towards the clouds, had their tale of superstitious 
horror; and, though these stories were simple in 
themselves, there was sometliing in the associa- 
tion of the scene, something in the warm fervor 



of his enthusiasm that touched and thrilled my 
heart. 

Like a lamp, whose fitful glare flickers through 
the gloomy vault of some rocky cavern, too fee- 
ble to illumine it, but yet calling up wild and 
goblin shapes on every side, and peopling space 
with flickering spectres; so did the small modi- 
cum of intellect this poor fellow possessed enable 
him to look at life with strange, distorted views. 
Accustomed to pass his days in the open air — 
the fields, the flowers, the streams, his compan- 
ions — he had a symjiathy in the eddying current 
that flowed on beneath- — in the white clouds that 
rolled above him; happy, for he had no care, he 
Journeyed about from one county to another. 
In the hunting season he would be seen loung- 
ing about a kennel, making or renewing his inti- 
macy with the dogs, who knew and loved him; 
then he was always ready to carry a drag, to 
stop an earth, or do a hundred other of tb.ose 
minor services that are ever wanted. Many who 
lived far from a post-town knew the comfort of 
falling in with poor "Tipperary Joe," for such 
was he called. Not more fleet of foot than hon- 
est in heart, oftentimes was a letter entrusted to 
his keeping, that with any other messenger would 
have excited feelings of anxiety. 

His was an April-day temperament — ever vary- 
ing, ever changing. One moment would he tell 
with quivering li]j and broken voice some story 
of wild and thrilling interest; the next, breaking 
suddenly off, he would burst out into some joy- 
ous rant, generally ending in a loud "tally-ho!" 
in which all his enthusiasm would shine forth, 
and in his glistening eye and flushed cheek one 
could mark the pjleasure that stirred his heart. 
He knew every one, not only in this, but in the 
surrounding counties; and they stood severally 
classed in his estimation by their benevolence to 
the poor, and their prowess in the hunting-field. 
These with him, were the two great qualities of 
mankind. The kind man and the bold rider 
made his beau ideal of all that was excellent, and 
it was strange to watch with what ingenuity he 
could support his theory. 

" There's Burton Pearse — that's the darling of 
a man; it's he that's good to the poor, ard l:ikes 
his walls flying — it isn't a lock of bacon or a bag 
of meal he cares for — begorra, it's not that, not 
a double ditch would ever stop him. Hurroo! 
I think I'm looking at him throwing up his wliip- 
hand this way, going over a gate and calling out 
to the servant, ' Make Joe go in for his dinner, 
and give him half-a-crown' — devil a less; and 
then there's Mr. Power of Kilfane — ma) be your 
honor knows him? Down in Kilkenny, there; 
he's another of them — one of the right sort. I 
wish ye seen him facing a leap — a little up his 
stirrups, just to look over and see the ground, 
and then — hoo! he's across and a\vay. A beau- 
tiful place he has of it, and an elegant pack of 
dogs, fourteen hunters in the stable, and as pleas- 
ant a kitchen as ever I broke my fast in. The 
cook's a mighty nice woman — a trifle fat, or so; 
bi:t a good sowl, and a raal warrant for an Irish 
stew." 

"And Mr. Ulick Burke, Joe; do you know 
him!" 



76 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



"Is it blazing Burke? — faix, I do know him! 
I was as near him as I am to you when he shot 
Matt Callanan at the mills. ' There, now,' says 
he, when he put a ball in his hip, and lamed him 
for life, ' you were always fond of your trade, and 
I'll make you a hopper.' And, sure enough, this 
is the way he goes ever since." 

" He is a good horseman, they tell me, Joe?" 

"The best in Ireland: for following the dogs, 
flat race, or steeple-chase, show me his equal. 
Och! it's himself has the seat in a saddle. 
Mighty short he rides with his knees up, this 
way, and his toes out. Not so purty to look at, 
till you are used to it; but watch him fingering 
his baste — feeling his mouth w-ith the snaffle — 
never tormenting, but just letting him know who 
is on his back. It's raal pleasure to look at him; 
and then to see him taking a little canter before he 
sets off, with his hand low, and just tickling the 
flanks with his spurs, to larn the temper of the 
horse. May I never! If it isn't a heavenly sight!" 

" You like Mr. Burke, then, I see, Joe?" 

"Like him! — who wouldn't like him a horse- 
back? Isn't he the moral of a rider, that knows 
his baste better than I know my Hail Mary; but 
see him a foot, he's the greatest divil from here 
to Croaghpatrick — nothing civiler in his mouth 
than a curse and a 'bloody end' to ye! Och! 
it's himself hates the poor, and they hate him; 
the beggars run away from him as if he was the 
police; and the blind man that sits on Banagher 
Bridge takes up his bags, and runs for the bare 
life the minit he hears the trot of his horse. 
Isn't it a wonder how he rides so bowld with all 
the curses over him? Faix, myself wouldn't cross 
that little stream there if I was like him. AVell 
well, he'll have a hard reckoning at last; he's 
killed five men already, and wounded a great 
many more; but they say he won't be able to go 
on much further, for when he kills another the 
divil's to come for him — the lord be about us! 
by rason he never lets any one kill more nor 
six." 

Thus chatting away, the road passed over, and 
as the sun was setting we came in sight of the 
town, now not above a mile distant. 

"That's Loughrea you see there — it's a mighty 
fine place," said Joe. " There's slate houses, and- 
a market, and a barrack; but you'll stop a few 
days in the town?" 

" Oh, certainly; I wish to see this race." 

" That will be the fine race. It is a great 
country entirely — every kind of fence, gates, 
ditches, and stone walls as thick as they can lie. 
I'll show you all the course, for I know it well, 
and tell you the names of all the gentlemen, and 
the names of their horses, and their servants* 
and I'll bring you where you will see the wholei 
race, from beginning to end without stirring an 
inch. Are you going to bet any money?" 

"I believe not, Joe; but I'm greatly interested 
for a friend." 

" And who is he?" 

" Captain O'Grady." 

" Master Phil! Tcar-an'-ages. are you a friend 
of Master Phil's? Arrah, why didn't you tell me 
that before? Why didn't you mintion his name 
to me? Och! isn't myself proud this evening to 



be with a friend of the captain's. See, now, 



what' 



s your name.'' 



" Hinton," said I. 

"Ay, but your Christian name?" 

" They who know me best call me Jack 
Hinton." 

"Musha! but I'd like to call you Jack Hinton 
just for this once. Now, will you do one thing 
for me?" 

"To be sure, Joe; what is it?" 

" Make them give me a half pint to drink your 
health and the captain's; for, faix, you must be 
the right sort, or he wouldn't keep company with 
you. It's ]ust like yesterday to me, the day I 
met him, down at Bishop's Loch; the hounds 
came to a check, and a hailstorm came on, and 
all the gentlemen went into a little shebeen 
house for shelter. I was standing outside, as it 
may be her£, when Master Phil saw me. ' Come 
in, Joe,' says he; 'you're the best company, and 
the pleasantest fellow over a mug of egg-flip;' 
and, may I never! if he didn't make me sit down 
fornint him, at a little table, and drink two 
quarts of as beautiful flip as ever I tasted. And 
Master Phil has a horse here, ye tell me^what's 
his name?" 

" That, Joe, I am afraid I can't pronounce for 
you; it's rather beyond my English tongue; but 
I know that his color is grey, and that he has 
one cropped ear." 

"That's Moddiridderoo!" shouted Joe, as, 
throwing my portmajiteaii to the ground, he 
seated himself leisurely on it, and seemed lost in 
meditation. 

"Begorra," said he at length, " he chose a 
good-tempered one, when he was about it; there 
never was such a horse foaled in them parts. Ye 
heard what he did to Mr. Shea, the man that 
bred him? He threw him over a wall, and then 
jumped after him, and if it wasn't that his guar- 
dian angel made his leather breeches so strong, 
he'd have ate him up entirely. Sure, there's 
no one can ride him, barrin' the man I was talk- 
ing of." 

" Well, Joe, I believe Mr. Burke is to ride 
him." 

" Musha! but I am sorry for it." 

" And why so? you seem to think highly of his 
horsemanship." 

" There's no misliking that, av it was fair; but, 
then, you see, he has as many tricks in him as 
the devil. Sometimes he'll break his stirrup 
leather, or he'll come in a pound too heavy, or 
he'll slip the snaffle out of the mouth; for he 
doesn't care for his neck. Once I see him stake 
his baste, and bring him in dead lame." 

Here ended our conversation; for by this time 
we entered the town, and proceeded to Mrs. 
Doolan's. The house was full, or the apartments 
bespoke; and I was turning away disappointed, 
when I accidentally overheard the landlady men- 
tion the two rooms ordered by Captain O'Grady. 
A little explanation ensued, and I discovered, to 
my delight, that these were destined for me by 
my friend, who had written some time before to 
secure them. A few minutes more saw me com- 
fortably installed in the little inn, whose unpre- 
tending exterior, and cheerful comfort within 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



77 



doors, were the direct antithesis to the solemn 
humbug I had left at Shannon Harbor. 

Under Joe's auspices — for he had established 
himself as my own man — tea and rashers made 
their appearances. My clothes were unpacked 
and put by; and as he placed my dressing-gown 
and slippers in readiness before the fire, 1 could 
not help observing the servant like alacrity of 
his manner, perfect in everything, save in his 
habit of singing to himself as he went; which I 
can't say, however, that I disliked, and certainly 
never dreamed of checking. 

Having written a few lines to Mr Burke, ex- 
pressing my desire for a few minutes' interview 
the following morning, I despatched the note 
and prepared for bed. 

I had often listened with apathy to the wise 
saws of people who, never having felt either 
hunger or fatigue, are so fond of pronouncing a 
glowing eulogium on such luxuries when the 
period of their gratification has arrived; but, I 
confess, as I lay down that night in bed, and 
drew the clothes around me, 1 began to believe 
that they had underrated the pleasures they 
spoke of. The house clock ticked pleasantly in 
the room without: the cheerful turf fire threw its 
mild red light across the room; the sounds from 
the street were those of happy voices and merry 
laughter; and when I ceased to hear them, I had 
fallen into a sound and peaceful sleep. 

It was after about a dozen efforts, in which 1 
had gone through all the usual formula on such 
occasions— rubbing my eyes, stretching, and even 
pinching myself, before I could awake on the 
following morning. I felt somewhat stiffened 
from the unaccustomed exertions of the day be- 
fore, but somehow my spirits were unusually 
high, and my heart in its very lightest mood. I 
looked about me through the little room, where 
all was order, neatness, and propriety. My 
clothes carefully brushed and folded, my boots, 
resplendent in their blacking, stood basking be- 
fore the fire; even my hat, placed gently on one 
side, with my gloves carefully flattened, were laid 
out in true valet fashion. The door into ray 
little sitting-room lay open, and I could mark the 
neat and comfortable preparations for my break- 
fast, while at a little distance from the table, 
and in an attitude of patient attention, stood 
poor Joe himself, who, with a napkin across 
his arm, was quietly awaiting the moment of 
awaking. 

I know not if my reader will have any sympathy 
with the confession, but I own I have always felt 
a higher degree of satisfaction from the unbought 
and homely courtesy chance has thrown in my 
way, than from the more practised and dearly 
paid for attentions of the most disciplined house- 
hold. There is something flattering in the per- 
sonal devotion which seems to spring from pure 
good-will, that insensibly raises one in their own 
esteem. In some such reflection as this was I 
lost, when the door of my outer room was opened, 
and a voice inquired if Mr. Hinton stopped there. 

"Yes sir," replied Joe; "he is in bed, and 
asleep." 

"Ah! is it you, Joe?" replied the other; "so 
you are turned footman, I see. If the master be 



like the man, it ought to be a shrewd establisli- 
ment." 

"No," replied Joe, carelessly; "he's not very 
like anything down in these parts; for he appears 
to be a gentleman." 

" Tell him I am here, and be d — d to you," was 
the indignant reply, as the speaker threw himself 
into his chair, and stirred the fire with his foot. 

Suspecting at once who my visitor was 1 mo- 
tioned to Joe to leave the room, and proceeded 
to dress niyself with all despatch. During the 
operation, however, my friend without manifested 
several symptoms of impatience, now walking the 
room with rapid strides, as he whistled a quick- 
step; now beating the bars of the grate with a 
poker; and occasionally performing that popular 
war dance, "The Devil's Tattoo," with his 
knuckles upon the table. At length his endur- 
ance seemed pushed to its length, and he knocked 
sharply at the door, calling out at the same mo- 
ment, 

" I say, sir, time's up, if you pler.se." 

The next moment I was before him. 

Mr. Ulick Burke — for I need not say it was he 
— was a well-looking man, of about eight-and- 
twenty or thirty years of age. Although his 
height was below the middle size, he was powei- 
fully and strongly made; his features would have 
been handsome, were it not for a certain expies- 
sion of vulgar suspicion that played about the 
eyes, giving him a sidelong look when he spoke; 
this, and the loss of two front teeth, from a fall, 
disfigured a face originally pleasing. His whisk- 
ers were large, bushy, and meeting beneath his 
chin. As to his dress, it was in character wiih 
his calling; a green coat, cut round in jockey 
fashion, over which he wore a white "bang-up," 
as it was called, in one pocket of which was care- 
lessly thrust a lash whip; a Belcher handkerchief 
knotted loosely about his neck, buckskin breeches, 
reaching far down upon the leg, and top-boots 
completed his costume. I had almost fo/gotten 
a hat, perhaps the most characteristic thing of all. 
This, which once had been white, was now, by 
stress of time and weather, of a dirty drab color, 
its crown dinged in several places, and the leaf 
jagged and broken, be.'.poke the hard usage to 
which it was subjected. While speaking, he held 
it firmly clutched in his ungloved hand, and, from 
time to time, struck it against his thigh with an 
energy of manner that seemed habitual. His 
manner was a mixture of timid embarrassment 
and vulgar assurance, feeling his way, as it were, 
with one while he forgot himself with the other. 
With certain remnants of the class he originally 
belonged to, he had associated the low habitudes 
and slang phraseology of his daily associates, 
making it difficult for one, at first sight, to dis- 
cover to which order he belonged. In the lan- 
guage of his companions, Ulick Burke "could be 
a gentleman when he pleased it." How often 
have we heard this phrase; and with what a fatal 
mistake is it generally applied! He who can be 
a gentleman when he pleases, never pleases to be 
anything else. Circumstances may, and do, every 
day in life, throw men of cultivated minds and 
refined habits into the society of their inferiors; 
but while, with the tact and readiness that is their 



78 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



especial prerogative, they make themselves wel- 
come among those with whom they have few, if 
any, sympathies in common, yet never by any 
accident do they derogate from that high stan- 
dard that m.ikes them gentlemen. So, on the 
other hand, the man of vulgar tastes and coarse 
propensities may simulate, if he be able, the out- 
ward habitudes of society, speaking with prac- 
tised intonation and bowing with well-studied 
grace, yet is he no more a gentleman in his thought 
or feeling than is the tinselled actor, who struts 
the board the monarch his costume would bespeak 
him. This being the '"gentleman when he likes" 
is but the mere performance of the character. It 
has all the smell of the orange-peel and the foot- 
lights about it, and never can be mistaken by any 
one who knows the world. But to come back to 
Mr. Burke. 

Having eyed me for a second or two, with a 
look of mingled distrust and impertinence, he 
unfolded my no'te, which he held beneath his 
fingers, and said, — 

" I received this from you last night, Mr. " 

"Hinton,'' said I, assisting him. 
" Mr. Hinton," repeated he, slowly. 
" Won't you be seated?" said I, pointing to a 
chair, and taking one myself. 

He noddedfamiliarly, and placing himself on the 

window-sill, with one foot upon a chair,resumed: 

" It's about O'Grady's business, I suppose, 

you've come down here; the captain has treated 

me very ill." 

"You are quite right," said I, coolly, " in 
guessing the object of my visit; but I must also 
let you know that in any observations you make 
concerning Captain O'Grady, they are made to a 
friend, who will no more permit his name to be 
slightingly treated than his own." 

"Of course," pronounced with a smile of the 
most insulting coolness, was the only reply. 
" That, however, is not the matter in hand 
Your friend, the captain, never condescended to 
answer my letter." 

" He only received it a few days ago." 
"Why isn't he here himself? Is a gentleman 
rider to be treated like a common jockey that's 
paid for his race?" 

I confess the distinction was too subtle for me, 
but I said nothing in reply. 

" I d«n't even know wliere tlie horse is, nor if 
he is here at all— will you call that handsome 
treatment. Mr. Hinton?'' 

" One thing I am quite sure of, Mr. Burke — 
Captain O'Grady is incapable of anything un- 
worthy or unbecoming a gentleman; the haste of 
his departure for foreign service may hafe pre- 
vented hiin observing certain matters of etiquette 
towards you, but he has commissioned me to ac- 
cept your terms. The horse is, or will be here 
to-night, and I trust nothing will interrupt the 
good understanding that has hitherto subsisted 
between you." 

" And will he take up the writ?" 
" He will," said I, firmly. 
" He must have a heavy book on the race." 
"Nearly a thousand pounds." 
"I'm sorry for it, for liis sake." was the cool 
reply, " for he'll lose his money." 



" Indeed!" said I; "I understand that you 
thought well of his horse, and that with your 

riding " 

"Ay; but I won't ride for him." 
"You won't ride! — not on your own terms?" 
"No; not even on my own terms. Uon't be 
putting yourself into a passion, Mr. Hinton^ — 
you've come down to a country where that never 
does any good; we settle all our little matters 
here in a social, pleasant way of our own — but 
I repeat it, I won't ride for your friend; so you 
may ' scratch' his horse as soon as you like, ex- 
cept," added he, with a most contemptuous 
sneer, "you have a fancy for riding \\vm. your- 
self." 

Resolving that whatever course I should fol- 
low, I should at least keep my temper for the 
present, I assimied as much calmness as I could 
command, and said, — 

''And what is there against 0'Grad)'s liorse?" 
"A chestnut mare of 'i'oni Molloy's, that can 
beat him over any country — the rest are with- 
drawn; so that I'll have a 'ride-over' for my 
pains." 

'"Then you ride for Mr. Molloy?" said I. 
"You've guessed it," replied he, with a vink, 
as throwing his hat carelessly on one side of his 
head, he gave me an insolent nod, and lounged, 
out of the room. 

I need not say that my breakfast appetite was. 
not improved by Mr. Burke's visit; in fact, ne^Lr 
was a man more embarrassed than I was. Inde- 
pendent of the loss cf his money, I knew how 
poor Phil would suffer from the duplicity of the 
transaction ; and in my sorrow for his sake, I could 
not help accusing myself of ill-management in the 
matter. Had I been more conciliating, or more 
blunt — had I bullied, 'or bid higher, perhaps a 
different result might have followed. Alas! in 
all my calculations, I knew little or nothing cf 
him with whom I had to deal. Puzzled and per- 
plexed, uncertain how to act, now resolving on 
one course, now deciding on the opposite, I paced 
my little room for above an hour, the only con- 
viction I could come to being the unhappy choice 
that poor O'Grady had made when he selected 
me for his negotiator. 

The town clock struck twelve. I remembered 
suddenly that was the hour when the arrangements 
for the race were to be ratified; and without a 
thought of what course I should pursue, what 
plan I should adopt, I took my hat and sallied 
forth. 

The main street of the little town wascrowded 
with people, most of them of that class \vhii'h,in 
Iri.sh phrase, goes by the appellation of squireen, 
a species of human lurcher, without any of the 
good properties of either class from which it de- 
rives its origin, but abounding in ilie bad traits 
of both. They lounged along, followed by point- 
ers and wire-haired greyhounds, their hands 
stuck in their coat pockets, and their hats set 
well back on tlieir heads. Followingin the train 
of this respectable cortege, I reached the market- 
house, upon the steps of which several "sporting 
gentlemen" of a higher order were assembled. 
Elbowing my way. wiih some difficulty, through 
these, I mounted a dirty and sandy stair, to a 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



79 



large room, usually employed by the magistrates 
for their weekly sessions; here, at a long table, 
sat the race committee, an imposing display of 
books, pens, and papers before them. A short 
little man, with a powdered head, and a certain 
wheezing chuckle, when he spoke, that involun- 
tarily suggested the thought of apoplexy, seemed 
the president of the meeting. 

The room was so crowded with persons of 
every class, that I could with difficulty catch what 
was going forward. I looked anxiously round to 
see if I could not recognize some friend or ac- 
quaintance, but every face was strange to me. 
The only one I had ever seen before was Mr. 
Burke himself, who, with his back to the fire, was 
edifying a select circle of his friends by what I 
discovered, from the laughter of his auditory, was 
a narrative of his visit to myself. The recital 
must have owed something to his ingenuity in 
telling, for, indeed, the gentlemen seemed con- 
vulsed with mirth; and when Mr. Burke conclu- 
ded, it was plain to see that he stood several feet 
higlier in the estimation of his acquaintance. 

"Silence!" wheezed the little man with the 
white head; " it is a quarter past twelve o'clock, 
and I'll not wait any longer." 

"Read the list, Maurice," cried some one. 
" As it is only ' a walk-over,' you needn't lose anv 
time." 

"Here, then, No. i: Captain Fortescue's 
Tramp." 

" Withdrawn," said a voice in the crowd. 

" No. 2: Harry Studdart's Devil-may-care!" 

" Paid forfeit," cried another. 

" No. 3: Sir George O'Brien's Billy-the- 
Bowl!" 

"Gone home again," was the answer. 

"No. 4: Tom Molloy's Cathleen!" 

" All right!'" shouted Mr Burke, from the fire- 
place. 

"Who rides?" asked the president. 

"Ulick!" repeated half a dozen voices to- 
gether. 

" Eleven stone eight," said the little man. 

"And a pound for the martingale," chimed in 
Mr. Eurke. 

"Well, I believe that's all — No; there's an- 
other horse — Captain O'Grady's Moddiridderoo." 

"Scratch him out with the rest," said Mr, 
Burke. 

" No!" said I, from the back of the room. 

The word seemed electric; every eve was turned 
towards the quarter where I stood , and as I moved 
forward towards the table, the crowd receded to 
jtermit my passage. 

" Are you on the part of Mr O'Grady, sir?" 
said the little man with a polite smile. 

I bowed an affirmative. 

" He does not withdraw his horse, then?" said 
he. 

" No!" said I again. 

"But you are aware, sir, that Mr. Burke is 
going to ride for my friend Mr. Molloy here. 
Are you prepared with another gentleman?" 

I nodded shortly. 

" His name, may I ask?" continued he. 

' Mr Hinton." 

By this time Mr. Burke, attracted by the col- 



loquy, had approached the table, and, stooping 
down, whispered some words in the president's 
ear. 

" You will forgive me, I am sure," said the 
latter, addressing me, if I ask, as the name is un- 
known to me, if this be a gentleman rider?" 

The blood rushed to my face and temples. I 
knew at once from whom this insult proceeded. 
It was no time, however, to notice it, so I simply 
replied, — 

"Mr. Hinton is an officer of the Guards, an 
aide-de-camp to the lord lieutenant, and I beg 
leave respectfully to present him to you." 

The obsequious civility exhibited by the party, 
as I pronounced these few words, were an amp'e 
a7nende for what I had suffered a few minutes 
before. Meanwhile, Mr. Buike had resumed his 
place at the fire, once more surrounded by Ins 
admiring satellites. 

Being accommodated with a chair at the table 
I proceeded to read over and sign the usual 
papers, by which I bound myself to abide by the 
regulations of the course, and conform in all 
things to the decision of the stewards. .Scarcely 
had I concluded, when Mr. Burke called out, — 

"Who'll take eight to one on the race?" 

Not a word was spoken in reply. 

"Who'll take fifty to five?" cried he again. 

" I will," said a voice from the door. 

" Who is it that takes my bet? What is his 
name?" 

"Tom Loftus, P.P. of Murranakilty." 

" A better fellow nor an honester couldn't do 
it," said the president. 

"Book your bet, sir," said Mr. Burke; "or, if 
it is equally convenient to you, you can pay it at 
present." 

" I never make a memorandum of such trifles," 
said the priest; " but I'll stake the money in some 
decent man's hands." 

A roar of laughter followed the priest's pro- 
position, than which nothing could be less to 
Mr. Burke's taste. This time, however, he was 
in funds; and while the good father disengaged 
his five-pound note from the folds of a black 
leather pocket-book, as large as a portfolio, his 
antagonist threw a fifty on the table, with an 
air of swaggering importance. I turned now to 
shake hands with my friend, but, to my surjjrise 
and astonishment, he gave me a look of cold and 
impassive import, that showed me at once he did 
not wish to be recognized, and the next moment 
left the room. My business there was also con- 
cluded, and, having promised to be forthcoming 
the following day, at two o'clock, I bowed to the 
chairman and withdrew. 



CHAPTER XXII. 

A MOONLIGHT CANTER. 



I WAS not quite satisfied with the good priest 
for his having cut me, no matter what his reasons 
— I was not overmuch so with the tone of the 
whole meeting itself, and certainly I was very little 
satisfied with the part I had myself taken therein; 



80 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



for as cooler judgment succeeded to hot excite- 
ment, I perceived in what a mass of difficulty I 
had involved myself, ind how a momentary flush 
of passionate indignation had carried me away, 
beyond the bounds of reason and sense, to un- 
dertake what, but half an hour previously, I should 
have shrunk from with shame, and the very 
thought of whic;h now filled me with apprehen- 
sion and dread, not indeed as to the consequences 
to myself, physically considered, for most will- 
ingly would 1 have compounded for a fractured 
limb, or even two, to escape the ridicule I was 
almost certain of incurring, this it was which I 
could not bear, and my heart recoiled from the 
thought of being a laughing-stock to the under- 
bred and ill-born horde that would assemble to 
witness me. 

When I arrived at the inn, poor Joe was there 
awaiting me; he had been down to see the horse 
which for precaution's sake was kept at a mill a 
little distance from the town, and of whose heart 
and condition he spoke in glowing terms. 

"Och' he is a raal beauty — a little thick in fat 
about the crest, but they say he always trains 
fleshy, and his legs are as clean as a whistle. Sorra 
bit hut it'll give Mr. Ulick as much as he can do 
to ride him to-morrow. I know, by the way he 
turns his eyes round to you in the stable, he's in 
the devil's temper." 

''B.it it is not Mr. Burke, Jos — I am going to 
ride him." 

" You are .eoing to do iti You! Oh! by the 
powers, Mr. Ulick wasn't far out, when he said 
the master was as mad as the man. ' Tell me 
your company,' says the old proverb; and you 
see there it is— ,vhat comes of it? If you lie down 
with dogs, you'll get up with fleas; and that's the 
fruits of travelling with a fool." 

I was in no temper for badinage at the mo- 
ment, and replied to the poor fellow in a some- 
what harsher tone than I should have used; and 
as he left the room without speaking, I felt 
asiiam_"d and angry with myself for thus banish- 
ing the only one that seemed to feel an interest 
in my fortunes. 

I sat down to my dinner discontented and 
unhappy. But a few hours previous, and I 
awoke high in heart and hope; and now, without 
any adverse stroke of fortune, without any of 
those casualties of fate that come on us, un- 
looked for and unthought of, but simply by the 
unguided exercise of a passionate temperament, 
1 found myself surrounded by embarrassments, 
and environed by difficulties, without one friend 
to counsel or advise me. 

Yes, I could not conceal it from myself — my 
determination to ride the steeple-chase was the 
mere outbreak of passion. The taunting inso- 
lence of Burke had stung me to adopt a course 
which I had neither previously considered, nor, 
if suggested by another, could ever have con- 
sented to. True, I was what would be called a 
good horseman. In the two seasons I had spent 
in Leicestershire, on a visit to a relative, I had 
acquitted myself with credit and character; but 
a light-weight splendidly mounted on a trained 
hunter over his accustomed country, has no par- 
allel with the same individual upon a horse he 



has never crossed, over a country he has never 
seen. These, and a hundred similar considera- 
tions, came rushing on me now when it was too 
late; however, the thing was done, and there 
being no possible way of undoing it, there was 
but one road — the straightforward — to follow in 
the case. Alas! half of our philosophy in dif- 
ficulties consists in shutting our eyes firmly 
against consequences, and rushing headlong at 
the future. Thouyh few may be found willing to 
admit that the bull in the china-shop is the 
model of their prudence, I freely own it was 
mine, and that I made up my mind to ride the 
horse with the unspeakable name, as long as he 
would permit me to ride him, at everything, over 
everything, or through everything before me. 
This conclusion at length come to, I began to 
feel more easy in my mind. I-ike the felon that 
feels there is no chance of a reprieve, I could 
look my fate more steadily in the face 

I had no great appetite for my dinner, but I 
sat over an excellent bottle of port, sipping and 
sipping, each glass I swallowed lending a rose 
tint to the future. The second bottle had ivst 
been placed on the table before me, when 
O'Grady's grocm came in to receive his in- 
structions. He had heard nothing of my res- 
olution to ride, and certainly looked aghast when 
I announced it to him. By this time, however, 
I had combatted my cii<n fears, and 1 was not 
going to permit Jiis to terrify me. Affecting the 
easy indifference of that excellent type, Mr. 
Ulick Burke, I thrust my hands into my coat 
pockets, and standing with my back to the, fire, 
began questioning him alout the hori^e. Ctn- 
found it! there's noanan so hard to humbug as 
an Iiishman, but if he be a grocm, I pronounce 
the thing impossible. The fellow saw through 
me in a moment; and as he sipped the glass of 
wine I had filled out for him, he approached nie 
confidentially, while he said in a lov tone, — 

" Did you say you'd ride him?" 

" Yes, to be sure I did." 

"You did; well, well! there's no helping it, 
since you said it. There's only one thing to be 
done," — he looked cautiously about the rocm, 
lest any one should overhear him — " there's but 
one thing I know of — let him throw you at the 
first leap. Mind me, now, just leave it to him- 
self; he'll give you no trouble in life; and all 
)ou have to do is to choose the soft side. It's 
not your fault after that, you know, for I needn't 
tell )ou he won't be caught before night." 

I could not help laughing at this new receipt 
for riding a steeple-chase, although I confess it 
did not raise my courage regarding the task be- 
fore me. 

" But what does he do?" said I, "this infernal 
beast; what trick has he?" 

" It isn't one, but a hundred that he has. First 
of all, it isn't so easy to get on his back, for he 
is as handy with his hind foot as a fiddler; and 
if you are not mighty quick in mounting, he'll 
strike you down with it; then, when you are up, 
maybe he won't move at all, but stand with his 
fore-legs out, his head down, and his eyes turned 
back just like a picture, hitting his flanks be- 
tween times with his long tail. You may coax 



\ 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



81 



him, pet him, and pat him — faith, you might as 
well be tickling a milestone; for it's laughing at 
you he'll be all the time. Maybe at last you'll 
get tired, and touch him with the spur. Hur- 
loo! begorra, you'll get it then'" 

" Why — what hajipens then?" 

" What happens, is it? Maybe it's your neck 
is broke, or your thigh, or your collar-bone, at 
least; he'll give you a straight plunge up in the 
air, about ten feet high, throw his head forward, 
till he either pulls the reins out of your hand, 
or lifts you out of the saddle, and at the same 
moment he'll give you a blow with his hind- 
quarters in the small of the back Och, mur- 
ther!" said he, placing both hands upon his loins, 
and writhing as he spoke, "it'll be six weeks to- 
morrow since he made one of them buckleaps 
with me, and I neve«r walked straight since. But 
that is not all." 

" Come, come," said I, impatiently, " this is 
all nonsense; he only wants a man with a little 
pluck to bully him out of all this." 

As I said these valorous words, I own that, to 
my own heart, I didn't exactly correspond to 
the person I described; but as the bottle of port 
was now finished, I set forth with my companion 
to pay my first visit to this redoubted animal. 

The mill where the stable lay was about a mile 
from the town; but the night was a fine moon- 
ligiit one, with not an air of wind stirring, and 
the walk delightful. When we reached the little 
stream that turned the mill, over which a plank 
Avas thrown as a bridge, we perceived that a 
country lad was walking a pair of saddle-horses 
backwards and forwards near the spot. The 
suspicion of some trickery, some tampering with 
the horse, at once crossed me; and 1 hinted as 
much to the groom. 

"No, no," said he, laughing; " make your mind 
easy about that. Mr. Ulick Burke knows the 
horse well, and he'll leave all to himself." 

The allusion was a pleasant one; but I said 
nothing, and walked on. 

Having procured a lantern at the mill, the 
groom preceded me to the little outhouse, which 
acted as stable. He opened the door cautiously, 
and peeped in. 

" He's lying down," said he to me in a whis- 
per, and at the same moment taking the candle 
from the lantern, he held it up to permit my 
obtaining a better view; " don't be afeard," con- 
tinued he, "he'll not stir now, the thief of the 
arth; whdn once he's down that way, he lies as 
peaceable as a lamb." 

As well as I could observe him, he was a 
magnificent horse. A little too heovy perhaps 
about 'he crest and forehand, but then so strong 
behind, such powerful muscle about the haunches, 
his balance was well preserved. As I stood con- 
templating him in silence, I felt the breath of 
some one behind me. I turned suddenlv around- 
it was Father Tom Loftus himself. There was 
the worihy priest, mopping his forehead with a 
huge pocket-handkerchief, and blowing like a 
rhinoceros. 

"Ugh!" said he at length, "I have been run- 
ning up and down the roads this half hour after 
you, and there's not a puff left in me." 



"Ah! Father, I hoped to have seen you at the 
inn." 

"Whisht! I daren't. I thought I'd do it better 
my own way; but, see now, we've no time to lose. 
I know as well as yourself you never intended to 
ride this race. No matter; don't say a word, but 
listen to me: I know the horse better than any 
one in these parts; and it isn't impossible, if you 
can keep the saddle over the first two or three 
fences, that you may win. 1 say if you car. — 
for, faith, it's not in a ' swing-swong ' you'll be. 
But, come now, the course was marked out this 
evening. Burke was over it before dinner; and, 
with a blessing, we will before supper. I've got 
a couple of hacks here that'll take us over every 
bit of it, and perhaps it is not too much to say 
you might have a worse guide." 

" Faith, your reverence," chimed in the groom, 
" he'd find it hard to 1 ave a better." 

Thanking the kind priest for his good-natured 
solicitude, I followed him out upon the road, 
where the two horses were waiting us. 

" There now," said he, " get up; the stirrups 
are about your length. He looks a little low in 
flesh; but you'll not complain of him when he's 
under you." 

The next moment we were both in the saddle. 
Taking a narrow path that let off from the high 
road we entered a large tilled field; keeping 
along the headlands of which, we came to a low 
stone wall, through a gap cf which we passed, 
and came out upon an extensive piece of grass- 
land, that gently sloped away from where we were 
standing, to a little stream at its base, an ^rm 
of that which supplied the mill 

" Here now," said the priest, "a little to the 
left yonder is the start: you come down this hill, 
you take the water there, and you keep along by 
Freney's house, where you see the trees there. 
There's only a small stone wall, and a clay ditch, 
between this and that; afterwards you turn off 
to the right. But, come new, are you ready? 
We'll explore a bit." 

.A.S he i-poke, the good priest, putting spurs to 
"his hack, dashed on before me, and, mo'ioning 
me to follow, cantered down the slope. Taking 
the little mill-stream at a fly, he turned in his 
saddle to watch my performance. 

" Neat, mighty neat!" cried he, encouraging me. 
" Keep your hand a little low. The next is a 
wall- — " 

Scarcely had he spoke when we both came to- 
gether at a stone fence about three feet high. 
This time I was a little in advance, as my horse 
was fresher, and took it first. 

"Oh, the de\il a better!" said Father Tom. 
"Burke himself couldn't beat that. Here row; 
keep this way out of the deep ground, and rush 
him at the double ditch there." 

Resolved on securing his good opinion, I gripped 
my saddle firmly with my knees, and rode at 
the fence. Over we went in capital style, but, 
lighting on the top of a rotten ditch, the ground 
gave way, and my horse's hind-legs slipped back- 
wards into the ditch. Being at full stretch, the 
poor animal had no power to recover himself, so 
that disengaging his fore-legs, I pulled him down 
into the hollow, and then, with a vigorous dash 



82 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



of the spur, and a bold lift, carried him clean 
over it into the field. 

"Look, now!" said the priest; "that pleases 
me better than all you did before. Presence of 
mind — that's the real gift for a horseman, when 
he's in a scrape; but mind me, it was your own 
fault, for here's the way to take the fence." So 
saying, he made a slight semicircle in the field, 
and then, as he headed his horse towards the 
leap, rushed him at it furiously, and came over 
like the bound of a stag! 

" Now," said Father Tom, pointing with his 
whip as he spoke, "we have a beautiful bit of 
galloping ground before us; and if you ever 
reach this far, and I don't see why you shouldn't, 
here's where you ought to make play. Listen to 
me now," said he, dropping his voice. " Tom 
Molloy's mare isn't thorough-bred, though they 
think she is She has got a bad drop in her. 
Now, the horse is all right, clean-bred, sire and 
dam, by reason he'll be able to go through the 
dirt when the mare can't, so that all you've to 
do, if, as I said before, you get this far, is to keep 
straight down to the two thorn-bushes — there, 
you see them yonder — Burke won't be able to 
take that line, but must keep upon the headlands, 
and go all round yonder, look now, you see the 
difference — so that befi re he can get over that 
wide ditch you'll be across it, and making for 
the stone wall. After that, by the powers, if you 
don't win I can't help you'" 

" Where dots the course turn after, father?" 
said I 

"Oh! a beautiful line of flat country, inter- 
sprinkled wiih walls, ditches, and maybe a hedge 
or two, but all fair, and only one rasping fence, 
the last of all. After that, you have a clea«:i gal- 
lop of about a quarter of a mile, over as nice a 
sod as ever you cantered." 

" And that last feace, what is it like?" 

" Faith, it is a rasper; it's a wide gidlv, where 
there was a boreeii once, and they say it's every 
inch of sixteen feet, that'll make it close upon 
twenty when you clear the clay on both sides. 
The grey horse, I'm told, has a way of jumping 
in and jumping out of these narrow roads; but 
take my advice, and go it in a fly. And now, 
captain, what between the running, and the rid- 
ing, and the talking together, I am as dry as a 
lime-kiUi; so what do you say if we turn back 
to to»vn, and have a bit of supper together? 
There's a kind of a cousin of mine, one Bob 
Mahon, a major in the Roscommon, and he has 
got a grouse-pie, and something hot to dilute it 
witli waiting for us." 

" Nothing will give me more pleasure, father; 
and there's only one thing more — indeed, I had 
nearly forgotten it altogether " 

"VVhat's that?" said the priest, with surprise. 

"Not having any intention to ride, I left town 
without any racing equipment; breeches and 
boots I have, but as to a cap and a jacket " 

" I provided for both," said Father Tom. 
"You saw the little man with a white head that 
sat at the head of the table, Tom Dillon, of 
Mount Brown, you know him?" 

" I am not acquainted with him." 

" Well, he knows you, that's all the same; his 



son, that's just gone to Gibraltar with liis regi- 
ment, was about your size, and he had a new 
cap and jacket made for this very race, and of 
course they are lying there, doing nothing. So 
I sent over a little gossoon with a note, and I 
don't doubt but they are all at the inn this mo- 
ment." 

"By Jove, father!" said I, "you are a real 
friend, and a most thoughtful one, too." 

" Maybe I'll do more than that for you," said 
he, with a sly wink of his eye, that somehow sug- 
gested to my mind that he knew more of, and 
took a deeper interest in me, than I had reason 
to believe. 



CHAPTER XXIIL 

MAJOR MAHON AND HIS QUARTERS. 

The major's quarters were fixed in one of the 
best houses in the town, in the comfortable back 
parlor of which was now displayed a little table, 
laid for three persons: a devilled lobster, the 
grouse-pie already mentioned, some fried ham, 
and crisped potatoes, were the viands; but each 
was admirable in its kind, and with the assistance 
of an excellent bowl of hot puijch, and the friendly 
welcome of the host, left nothing to be wished for 
©r desired. 

ALTJor Bob Mahon was a short, thick-set little 
man, with round blue eyes, a turned-iip nose, and 
a full under-lip, which he had a habit of protrud- 
ing with an air of no mean pretension; a short 
crop of curly black hair covered a head as round 
as a billiard-ball; these traits, with a certain 
peculiar smack of his mouth, by which he oc- 
casionally testified the approval of his own elo- 
quence, were the most remarkable things about 
him. His great ambition was to be thought a 
military man; but somehow his pretensions in this 
respect smacked much more of the militia than 
the line. Indeed, he possessed a kind of adroit 
way of asserting the superiority of the former to 
the latter, averring that they who io\\<^X. fro aris 
et focis — the major was fond of Latin — stood on 
far higher ground than the travelltd mercenaries 
who only warred for pay. This peciiliaritv, and 
an absurd attachment to practical jokes, the result 
of Mhich had frequently through life involved him 
in lawsuits, damages, compensations, and even 
duels, formed the great staple of his character, 
of all which the good priest informecf me most 
fully on our way to the house. 

" Captain Hinton, I believe," said the major, 
as held out his hand in welcome. 

" Mr. Hinton, " said I, bowing. 

" Ay, yes; Father Tom there doesn't know 
much about these matters. What regiment, 
pray?" 

"The Grenadier Guards." 

"Oh! a very good corps — mighty respectable 
corps; not that, between ourselves, I think over- 
much of the regulars — between you and me, I 
never knew foreign travel do good to man or 
beast. What do they bring back with them, I'd 
like to know — French cookery and Italian licen- 
tiousness. No, no; give me the native troops! 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



83. 



You were a boy at the time, Init maybe you have 
lieard how they behaved in the West, when 
Hoche landed. Egad! if it wasn't for tiie militia, 
the country was sacked. I commanded a com- 
pany of the Roscommon at the time. I remem- 
ber well we laid siege to a windmill, held by a 
desperate fellow, the miller — a resolute character, 
Mr. Hinton — he had two guns in the place with 
him." 

" I wish to the Lord he had shot you with one 
of them, and we'd have been spared this long 
story!" 

"I opened a parallel " 

" Maybe you'd open the pie?" said the priest, 
as he drew his chair, and sat down to the table. 
" Perhaps you forget. Bob, we have had a sharp 
ride of it this evening." 

"Upon my conscience, so I did," replied the 
major, good humoredly. " So let us have a bit 
of supper now, Mr. Hinton, and I'll finish my 
story by-and-bye." 

"The Heavens forbid!" piously ejaculated the 
priest, as he helped himself to a very considerable 
portion of the lobster. 

"Is this a fast," said I, slyly, "Father Loft us?" 

" No, my son; but we'll make it one. That 
reminds me of what hapjiened to me going up in 
the boat. It was a Friday, and the dinner, as 
you may suppose, was not over good; but there 
was a beautiful cut of fried salmon just before 
me, about a pound and a half, maybe two pounds; 
this I sip >ed quietly on my plate, observing to 
the company, in this way — ' Ladies and gentle- 
men, this is a fast day with me' — when a big 
fellow, with red whiskers, stooped across the table, 
cut my bit of fish in two halves, calling out, as 
he carried off one, ' Bad scran to ye, d'ye think 
nobody has a sow! to be saved but yourself ?' " 

"Ah! they're a pious people, are the Irish," 
said the major, solemnly; "and you'll remark 
that when you see more of them. And now, 
captain, how do you like us here?" 

" Exceedingly," said I, with warmth. " I have 
had every reason to be greatly pleased with 
Ireland." 

" That's right! and I'm glad of it! though, to 
be sure, you have not seen us in our holiday 
garb. Ah! if you were here before the Union; 
if you saw Dublin as I remember it — and Tom, 
there, remembers it — 'that was a pleasant place.' 
It was not trusting to balls and parties, to din- 
ners and routs, but to all kinds of fun and devil- 
ment besides. All the members, of Parlfament 
used to be skylarking about the city, playing- 
tricks on one another, ar»d humbugging the 
Castle people — and, to be sure, the Castle was 
not the grave, stupid place it is now — they were 
convivial, jovial fellows " 

"Come, come, major," interrupted I; "you 
are really unjust — the present court is not the 
heavy " 

" Sure I know what it is well enough. Hasn't 
the duke all the privy council and the bishops as 
often to dinner as the garrison and the bar? 
Isn't he obliged to go to his own apartment 
when they want to make a night of it, and sing a 
good chorus? Don't tell me — sure, even as late 
as Lord Westmoreland's time, it was another thing 



— pleasant and happy limes they were, and the 
country will never be the same till we have them 
back again!" 

Being somewhat curious to ascertain in what 
particular our degeneracy consisted' — for, in my 
ignorance of better, I had hitherto supposed the 
present regime about as gay a thing as need be — 
I gradually led the major on to talk of those 
ha]3pier days, when Ireland kept all its fun for 
home consumption, and never'exported even its 
surplus produce. 

"It was better in every respect," responded 
the major. " Hadn't we all the patronage amongst 
us? There's Jonah, there — Barrington, I mean; 
well, he and I could make anything, from a tide- 
waiter to a master in chancery. It's little trouble 
small debts gave us then — a pipe of sherry never 
cost me more than a storekeeper in tlie ordnance, 
and I kept my horses at livery for three years 
with a washerwoman to Kilmainham Hospital, 
and as for fun — look at the Castle now! Don't 
I remember the time when we used to rob the 
coaches coming from the drawing-rooms; and 
pretty girls th^y were inside of them." 

" For shame, for shame!" cried Father Tom, 
with a sly look in the corner of his eye that by 
no means bespoke a suitable degree of horror at 
such unwarrantable proceedings. 

" Well, if it was a shame it was no sin,' re- 
sponded the major; "for we never took anything 
more costly than kisses. Ah, dear me! them was 
the times! And, to be sure, every now and theo. 
we got a pull up from the lady-lieutenant, and 
were obliged to behave ourselves for a week cr 
two together. One thing she never could endure 
— was a habit we had of leaving the Castle be- 
fore they themselves left the ball-room. I'm not 
going to defend it — it was not very polite, I con- 
fess; but somehow or other there was always 
something going on we couldn't afford to lose — 
maybe a supper at the barrack, or a snug party 
at Daly's, or a bit of fun elsewhere. Her excel- 
lency, however, got angry about it, and we got a 
quiet hint to reform our manners. This, I need 
not tell you, was a hopeless course; so we hit on 
an expedient that answered to the full as well. 
It was by our names being called out. as the 
carriages drove up. that our delinquency became 
known. So Matt Fortescue suggested that we 
should adopt some feigned nomenclature, which 
would totally defy every attempt at discovery; 
the idea was excellent, and we traded on it for 
nviny a day with complete success. One night, 
however, from some cause or other, the carriages 
were late in arriving, and we were all obliged to 
accompany the court into the supper-room; 
angry enough we were, but still, there was no 
help for it; and so 'smiling through tears,' as the 
poet says, in we went. Scarcely, however, had 
we taken our places, when a servant called out 
something from the head of the stairs; another 
re-echoed it at the ante-chamber, and a third at 
the supper-room, shouted out, ' Oliver Crom- 
well's carriage stops the way!' The roar of 
laughter the announcement caused shook the 
very room; but it had scarcely subsided when 
there was another call for 'Brian Boru's coach,' 
quickly followed by ' Guy Fawkes's, and ' Paddy 



84 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



O'Rafferty's jingle,' which latter personage was 
no other than the dean of Cork. I need not 
tell you that we kept our secret, and joined in 
the universal opinion of the whole room, 'that 
the household wasshamefully disguised in drink;' 
and indeed there was no end to the mistakes 
that night, for every now and then some cliar- 
acter in lieathen or modern history would turn 
up among the announcements; and as the laugh- 
ter burst forth, the servants would grow ashamed 
for awhile, and refuse to call any carriage where 
the style and title was a little out of the common. 
Ah! Mr. Hinton, if you had lived in those days 

Well, well, no matter — here's a glass to their 

memory, anyway. It is the first time you've 
been in these parts, and I suppose you haven't 
seen much of the country?" 

"Very little indeed," replied I; "and even 
that much only by moonlight." 

" I'm afraid," said Father Tom, half pensively, 
" that many of your countrymen take little else 
than a ' dark view' of us." 

" See, now," said the major, slapping his hand 
on the table with energy, " the English know as 
much about Pat as Pat knows of purgatory — no 
offence to you, Mr. Hinton. I could tell you a 
story of a circumstance that once happened to 
myself." 

"No, no. Bob," said the priest. "It is bad 
taste to tell a.%\.oxy en petit coiiiM. I'll leave it 
to the captain." 

" If I am to be the judge," said I, laughingly, 
"I decide for the story." 

" Let's have it then," said the priest. " Come, 
Bob, a fresh brew, and begin your tale." 

" You are a sensual creature. Father Tom," 
said the major, "and prefer drink to intellectual 
discussion; not but that you may have both here 
at the same time; but in honor of my friend be- 
side me, I'll not bear malice, but give you the 
story; and let me tell you, it is not every day in 
the week a man hears a tale with a moral to it, 
particularly down in this part of the country." 



CHAPTER XXIV. 



THE DEVIL S CRIP. 



"The way of it was this. There was a little 
estate of mine in the county of VV'aterford that I 
used now and then to visit in the shooting 
season. In fact, except for that, there was very 
little inducement to go there; it was a bleak, 
ugly part of the country, a bad market-town near 
it, and not a neighbor within twelve miles. Well, 
I went over there— it was, as well as I remem- 
ber, December two years — never was there such 
weather; it rained from morning till night, and 
blew and rained from night till morning; the 
slates were flying about on every side, and we 
used to keep fellows up all night that in case the 
chimneys were blown away we'd know where to 
find them in the morning. This was the pleasant 
weather I selected for my visit to the ' Devil's 
Grip' — that was the name of the town-land where 
the house stood; and no bad name either; for, 



faith, if he hadn't his paw on it, it might have 
gone in law, like the rest of the property. How- 
ever, down 1 went there, and only remembered 
on the evening of my arrival, that I had ordered 
my gamekeeper to poison the mountain to get 
rid of the poachers; so that, instead of shooting, 
which, as I said before, was all you could do in 
the ])lace, there I was, with three brace of dogs, 
and two guns, and powder enough to blow up a 
church, walking a bi.g dining-parlor, all alone by 
myself, as melancholy as may be. 

" You may judge how happy I was, looking out 
upon the bleak country side, with nothing to 
amuse me, except when now and then the roof of 
some cabin or other would turn upside down, 
like an umbrella, or watching an old windmill 
that had gone clean mad, and went round at such 
a pace that nobody dare go near it. All this was 
poor comfort, however; I got out of temper with 
the place; and so I sat down, and wrote a long 
advertisement for the English papers, describing 
the Devil's Grip as a little terrestrial paradise, 
in the midst of picturescpie scenery, a delightful 
neighborhood, and an Arcadian peasantry, the 
whole to be parted with — a dead bargain — as the 
owner was about to leave the country; I didn't 
add that he had some thought of blowing his 
brains out with sheer disgust of his family resi- 
dence. I wound up the whole with a paragra])h 
to the effect, that if not disposed of within the 
month, liie proprietor would break it up into 
small farms. I said this, because I intended to re- 
main so long there; and, although I knew no pur- 
chaser would treat after he saw the premises, yet 
still some one might be fool enough to come over 
and look at them, and even that would helj) me to 
pass the Christmas. My calculation turned out 
correct; for before a week was over, a letter 
reached me, stating that a Mr. Green, of No. 196 
High Holborn, would pay me a visit as soon as 
the weather moderated, and permitted him to 
travel. 'If he waits for that,' thought I, 'he'll 
not find me here; and if it blows as hard for the 
next week, he'll not find the house either;' so I 
mixed another tumbler of punch, and hummed 
myself to sleep with the ' Battle of Ross.' 

" It was about four or five evenings after I re- 
ceived this letter, that old Dan M'Coimick, a 
kind of butler I have, a handy fellow — he was a 
steward for ten years in the Holyhead packet — 
burst into the room about ten o'clock, when I 
was disputing with myself whether I took six 
tumblers or seven. I said one, the decanter said 
the other. 

" 'It's blowing terrible, Mr Bob,' says Dan. 

"'Let it blow — what else has it to do?' 

"'The trees is tumbling about as if they was 
drunk; there won't be one left before morn.' 

"'They're right,' says I, 'to leave that, for the 
soil was never kind for planting.' 

"'Two of the chimneys is down,' said he. 

"'Devil mend them,' said I, 'they were al- 
ways smoking.' 

"'And the hall door,' cried he, 'is blown flat 
into the hall.' 

'"It's little I care," said I; ' if it couldn't keep 
out the sheriff, it may let in the storm if it 
pleases.' 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



85 



"'Murther! murther!' said he, wringing his 
hands, ' I wish we were at say — it's a cruel thing 
to have one's hfe perilled this way'' 

"While we were talking, a gossoon burst into 
the room with the news that the Milford packet 
had just gone ashore somewhere below the Hook 
Tower, adding, as is always the case on such 
occasions, that they were all drowned. 

" I jumped up at this, put on my shooting-shoes, 
buttoned up my frieze coat, and, followed by 
Dan, took a short cut over the hills towards 
Passage, where I now found the packet had been 
driven in. Before we had gone half a mile, I 
heard the voices of some country people coming 
up the road towards me; but it was so dark you 
couldn't see your hand. 

" ' Who's there?" said I. 

" ' Tim Molloy, your honor,' was the ans\re-r. 

"'What's the matter, Tim!' said I. 'Is there 
anything wrong?' 

" ' Nothing, sir, glory be to God! — it's only the 
corpse of the gentleman that was drowned there 
below.' 

"'I ain't dead, I tell you; I'm only faint,' 
called out a shrill voice. 

"' He says he's better,' said Tim; 'and maybe 
it's only the salt water that's in him; and, faix, 
when we found him, there was no more spark in 
him than in a wet sod.' 

" Well, the short of it was we brought him up 
to the house, rubbed him with gunpowder before 
the fire, gave him about half a pint of burnt 
spirits, and put him to bed, he being just able to 
tell me, as he was dropping asleep, that he was 
my friend from No. 196 High Holborn. 

" The next morning I sent up Dan to ask how 
he was, and he came down with the news that he 
was fast asleep. 'The best thing he could do,' 
said I — and I began to think over what a mighty 
load it would be upon my conscience if the 
decent man had been drowned, 'for, maybe, 
after all,' thought I, 'he is in earnest; maybe he 
wished to buy a beautiful place like that I have 
described in the papers;' and so I began to 
relent, and wonder with myself how I could make 
the country pleasant for him during his stay. 
* It'll not be above a day or two at furthest, parti- 
cularly after he sees the place. Ay, there's the 
rub! the poor devil will find out then that I 
have been hoaxing him.' This kept fretting me 
all day and I was continually sending up word to 
l;now if he was awake, and the answer always 
was, 'Still sleeping.' Well, about four o'clock, 
as it was growing dark, Oakley, of the Fifth, and 
two of his brother officers, came bowling up to 
the door, on their way to Carrick. Here was a 
piece of luck! So we got dinner ready for the 
party, brought up a good store of claret at one 
side of the fireplace, and a plentiful stock of bog- 
fir at the other, and resolved to make a night of 
it; and just as I was describing to my friends 
the arrival of my guest above stairs, who should 
enter the room but himself. He was a round 
little fellow, about my size, with a short, quick, 
business-like way about him. Indeed, he was 
a kind of a drysalter, or something of that nature 
in London, had made a large fortune, and wished 
10 turn country gentleman. I had only time to 



learn these few particulars, and to inform him 
that he was at that moment in the mansion he 
had come to visit, when dinner was announced. 

" Down we sat; and, faith, a jollier party rarely 
met together. Poor Mr. Green knew but little of 
Ireland; but we certainly tried to enlighten him; 
and he drank in wonders with his wine, at such 
a rate that by eleven o'clock he was carried to his 
room, pretty much in the same state as on his 
arrival the night before, the only difference being 
it was Sneyd, not salt water this time, that filled 
him. 

'"I like the cockney,' said Oakley; 'that fel- 
low's good fun. I say, Bob, bring him over with 
Ypu to-morrow to dinner. We halt at Carrick 
till the detachment comes up.' 

"' Could you call it breakfast?' said I. 'There's 
a thought just strikes me; we'll be over in Car- 
rick with you about six o'clock; we'll have our 
breakfast — whatever you like to give us— and 
dine with you about eleven or twelve afterwards ' 

" Oakley liked the project well, and, before we 
parted, the whole thing was arranged for the next 
day. 

" Towards four o'clock in the afternoon of the 
following day, Mr. Green was informed by 
Daniel that, as we had made an engagement to 
take an early breakfast some miles off, he ought 
to be up and stirring; at the same time a jjair of 
candles were brought into the room, hot water for 
shaving, etc.; and the astonished cockney, who 
looked at his watch, perceived that it was but 
four. 

"'These are very early people,' thought he. 
However, the habits of the country must be com- 
plied with.' So saying, he proceeded with his 
toilet, and at last reached the drawing-room just 
as my drag dashed up to the door, the lamps 
fixed and shining, and everything in readiness 
for departure. 

"'We'll have a little shooting, Mr. Green,' said 
I. 'After breakfast, we'll see what my friend's 
preserves offer. I suppose you're a good shot?' 

" ' I can't say much for my performance; but 
I'm passionately fond of it.' 

"' Well,' added I, ' I believe I can answer for 
it, you'll have a good day here, 

"So chatting, we 
gradually thickening round us, and the way be- 
coming more gloomy and deserted. 

" ' It's strange,' says Mr. Green, after awhile — 
' it's strange, how very dark it grows before sun- 
rise; for I perceive it is much blacker now than 
when we set out.' 

"'Every climate has its peculiarities,' said I; 
'and now that we're used to this, we like it 
better than any other: but see, there — yonder, 
where you observe the light in the valley — that's 
Carrick. My friend's house is a little at the side 
of the town. I hope you've a good appetite for 
breakfast.' 

" ' Trust me, I never felt so hungry in my life.' 

"'Ah, here they come!' said Oakley, as he 
stood with a lantern in his hand, at the barrack- 
gate: ' here they are! Good-morning, Mr. Green, 
Bob, how goes it? Heavenly morning!' 

" ' Delightful, indeed,' said poor Green, though 
evidently not knowing why. 



rolled along, the darkness 



86 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



"'Come along, boys, now," said Oakley; 
' we've a great deal before us. though I am afraid, 
Mr. Green, you will think little of our Irish 
sporting after your Englisli ])reserves. However, 
I have kept a few brace of )ihcasants, very much 
at your service, in a snug clover field near the 
house. So now to breakfast.' 

" There were about half a dozen of the Fifth at 
that time in th° barrack, who all entered heart 
and hand in the scheme, and with them we sat 
down to a capital meal, which, if it was not for a 
big teapot and an urn that figured in the middle 
of the table, might very well have been called 
dinner Poor Mr. Green, who for old prejudice's 
sake began with his congo and a muffin, soon 
afterwards, and by an easy transition, glided into 
soup and fish, and w^nt the pace with the rest of 
«s. The claret began to circulate briskly, and 
after a couple of hours the whisky made its ap- 
pearance. The Englishman, whose attention was 
never suffered to flag, with singular anecdotes of 
a country whose eccentricities he already began 
to appreciate, enjoyed himself to the utmost. 
He laughed, he drank, he even proposed to sing, 
and with one hand on Oakley's shoulder, and the 
other on mine, he registered a vow to purchase an 
estate and spend the rest of his days in Ireland. 
It was now about eleven o'clock, when I pro- 
posed that we should have a couple of hours at 
the woodcocks before luncheon. 

"*Ah! yes,' said Green, rubbing his hands, 
' let us not forget the shooting. I'm passionately 
fond of sport.' 

"It took some time to caparison ourselves for 
the field. Shot-bags, flasks, and powder-horns 
Were distributed a'oout, while three brace of dogs 
caracoled round the room, and increased the 
uproar. We now sallied forth. It was a dark 
and starless night — the wind still blowing a 
hurricane from the north-east, and not a thing 
to be seen two yards from where you stood. 

"'Glorious weather,' said Oakley. 

" 'A delicious morning,' cried another. 'When 
those clouds blow over, we shall have no rain,' 

"' That's a fine line of country, Mr. Green,' 
said I. 

" ' Eh — -what — a fine what? I can see nothing 
— It's pitch dark!' 

" ' Ah, I forgot,' said I. How stupid we were, 
Oakley, not to remember that Mr. Green was 
not used to our climate^ We can see everything, 
you know; but come along, you'll get better by- 
and-bye.' 

'■ With this we hurried him down a laoe, through 
a hedge, and into a ploughed field, while on 
every side of him pop, pop went the guns, accom- 
panied by exclamations of enthusiastic pleasure 
and delight. 

"There they go — mark I — that's your's, Tom 
— well done — cock-pheasant, by Jove! Here, 
Mr. Green; this way, Mr. Green — that dog is 
pointing — there, there; don't you see there?' 
said I, almost lifting the gun to his shoulder, 
while poor Mr. Green, almost in a panic of ex- 
citement and trepidation, pulled both triggers, 
and nearly fell back with the recoil. 

"'Splendid shot, begad!— killed both,' said 
Oakley, 'Ah! Mr, Green, we have no chance 



with you. Give him another gun at onrp,' 

'' ' I should like a little brandy,' said ftir. 
Green, 'for my feet are wet.' 

" I gave him my flask, which he emptied at a 
pull; while, at the same time, animated with fresh 
vigor, he tramped manfully fcH-ward, without 
fear or dread. The firing still continued hotly 
around us; and as Mr. Green discharged his 
piece whenever he was bid, we calculated that, 
in about an hour and a half, he had fired abotit 
a hundred and fifty times. Wearied and fa- 
tigued by his e.xertions, at length he sat down 
ujion a bank, while one of the gamekeepers 
covered the ground about him with ducks, hens, 
and turkey-cocks, as the spoils of his e-xertions. 

"At Oakley's proposal we now agreed to go 
back to luncheon, which I need not tell you was 
a hot supper, followed by mulled claret and 
more punch. Here the cockney came out still 
better than before. His character as a sjjorts- 
man raised him in his own esteem, and he sang 
' The Poacher' for two hours, until he fell fast 
asleep on the carpet. He was then conveyed to 
bed, where, as on the former day, he slept till 
late in the afternoon. 

" Meanwhile, I had arranged another break- 
fast party at Ross, where we arrived aboui seven 
o'clock in the evening; and so on for the rest of 
the week, occasionally varying the amusement 
by hunting, fishing, or coursing. 

" At last poor Mr. Green, when called on one 
morning to dress, sent down Dan with his com- 
pliments, that he wished to speak to me I went 
to him at once, and found him sitting up in his 
bed. 

'"Ah! Mr. Mahon,' s;-;d he, ' this will nc^er 
do; it's a pleasant life no doubt, but I never 
could go on with it. Will you tell me one thing 
— do you never see the sun here'' 

"'Oh, bless you! yes, said I; 'repeatedly. 
He was out for two hours on last Patrick's Day, 
and we have him now and then, promiscioush '' 

" ' How very strange! how very remarkable,' 
said he, with a sigh, ' that we in England should 
know so little of all this! but to tell you the 
truth, I don't think I could ever get used to 
Lapland — it's Ireland I mean — I beg your pardon 
for the mistake; and now, may I ask you another 
question — is this the way you always live?' 

"' Why, pretty much in this fashion; during 
the hazy season we go about to each other's 
houses, as you see; and one gets so accustomed 
to the darkness ' 

" 'Ah, now, don't tell me that, I know I never 
could; it's no use my trying it; I'm used to the 
daylight; 1 have seen it, man and boy, for about 
fifty years, and 1 never could grope about this 
way. Not but that I am very grateful to you for 
all your hospitality; but I had rather go home.' 

"'"You'll wait for morning, at all events,' said 
I; 'you will not leave the house in the dead of 
the night.' 

" ' Oh, indeed, for the matter of that it doesn't 
signify much; night and day is much about the 
same thing in this country.' 

" And so he grew obstinate, and, notwithstand- 
ing all I could say, insisted on his departure; 
and the same evening he sailed from the tiuay 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



87 



of Waterford, wishing mo every health and hap- 
piness, while he added, with a voice of trembling 
earnestness, 

" ' Yes, Mr. Malion, pardon me if I am wrong, 
but I wish to Heaven you had a little 7iwre light 
in Ireland ! 

I am unable to say how far the good things of 
Major Mahon's table seasoned the story I have 
just related, but I confess I laughed at it loud 
and long — a testimony on my part which de- 
lighted the major's heart; for, like all anecdote- 
mongers, he was not indifferent to flattery. 

" The moral particularly pleases me," said I. 

" Ay, but the whole thing's true as I am here. 
Whist! there's somebody at the door. Come in, 
whoever you are." 

At these words the door cautiously opened, 
and a boy of about twelve years of age entered. 
He carried a bundle under one arm, and held a 
letter m his hand. 

"Oh, here it is!" said Father Tom. "Come 
here, Patsey, my boy; here's the penny I prom- 
ised you. There, now, don't make a bad use of 
your money." 

The little fellow's eyes brightened, and, with 
a happy smile and a pull of his forelock for a 
bow, he left the room delighted. 

"Twelve miles — ay, and long miles, too — ^in 
less than three hours; not bad travelling, captain, 
for a bit of a gossoon like that!" 

" And for a penny.'" said I, almost starting 
with surprise. 

"To be sure," said the priest, as he cut the 
cord of the package, and opened it on the table. 
" Here we are, as nate a jacket as ever I set my 
eyes on — green and white, with a cap of the 
same." So saying, he unfolded the racmg cos- 
tume, which, by the desire of both parties, I was 
obliged immediately to try on " There, now," 
resumed he, " turn about; it fits you like your 
skin." 

" It looks devilish well, upon my word," said 
the major; "put on the cap; and see, too, he 
has sent a whip — that was very thoughtful of 
Dillon. But what's this letter here? For you, I 
think, Mr. Hinton." 

The letter was in a lady's hand. I broke the 
seal, and read as follows: 

" Dear Sir, — My Uncle Dillon requests you 
will give us the pleasure of your company at 
dinner to-morrow, at six o'clock. I have taken 
the liberty to tell him that, as we are old ac- 
quaintances, you will perhaps kindly overlook 
his not having visited you today; and I shall 
feel happy if, by accepting the invitation, you 
will sustain my credit on this occasion. 

" He desires me to add, that the racing- 
jacket, etc., are most perfectly at your service, 
as well as any articles of horse-gear you maybe 
in want of. 

" Believe me, dear sir, truly yours, 

" Louisa Bellew. 

" Mount Brown, Wednesday evening." 

A thrill of pleasure ran through me as Iread 
these lines, and, notwithstanding my efforts to 
conceal my emotion from my comi)anions, they 
but too plainly saw the excitement I felt. 



" Something agreeable there. Yoii don't look, 
Mr. Hinton, as if that were a latitat or a bill of 
costs you were reading." 

"Not exactly," said I, laughing; "it is an in- 
vitation to dinner from Mount Brown — wherever 
that may be." 

"The best house in the county," said the 
major; " and a good fellow he is, Hugh Dillon. 
When is it for?" 

"To-morrow, at six." 

" Well, if he has not asked me to meet you, 
I'll invite myself, and we'll go over together." 

"Agreed," said I; "but how shall we send 
back the answer?" 

The major promised to send his servant over 
with the reply, which I penned at once. 

"Just tell Hugh," said the major, "that I'll 
join you." 

I blushed, stammered, and looked confused. 

" I am not writing to Mr. Dillon," said I, "for 
the invitation came through a lady of the fam- 
ily, Miss Bellew — his niece, I believe." 

"Whew!" said the major, with a long whistle; 
"is it there we are? Oh, by the powers! Mr. 
Hinton, that's not fair; to come down here, not 
only to win our money in a steeple-chase, but to 
want to carry off the belle of our country be- 
sides — that'll never do." 

" She doesn't belong to you at all," said 
Father Tom; " she is a parishioner of mine, and 
so were her father and grandfather before her; 
and moreover than that, she is the prettiest girl, 
and the best too, in the county she lives in, and 
that's no small praise — for it's Galway I'm talk- 
ing of. And now, here's a bumper to her — and 
who'll refuse it?" 

" Not I, certainly." 

" Nor I," said the major, as we drank her 
health with all the honors. " Now for another 
jug," quoth he, as he moved towards the fireplace 
in search of the kettle. 

" After that toast, not another drop," said I, 
resolutely. 

"Well said," chimed in the priest; "may I 
never, if that wasn't very Irish." 

Firmly resisting all the major's solicitations to 
resume my place at the table, I wished both my 
friends good-night; and having accepted Bob 
Mahon's offer of a seat ih his tax-cart to the 
race, I shook their hands warmly, and took my 
leave. 



CHAPTER XXV. 



THE STEEPLE-CHASE. 



I DID not awake till past noon the next day, 
and had only completed my dressing when Major 
Mahon made his appearance. Having pronounced 
my costume accurate, and suggested that, 
instead of carrying my racing cap in my hat. I 
should tie the string round my neck and let % 
hang down in front, he assisted me on with jny 
greatcoat, in which, notwithstanding that the 
season was summer and the day a hot one, he 
buttoned me up to t,he ,chin and ,dowo to the' 
knees. 



88 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



"There now," said he, "you look miglity like 
the thing — wiiere's your whip? We have no time 
to lose; so jump into the tax-cart, and let us be 
off." 

As my reader may remember, the race-ground 
lay about a mile from the town, but the road 
thither, unlike the peaceful quiet of the preced- 
ing night, was now thronged with people on foot 
and horseback. Vehicles, too, of every descrip- 
tion were there, — barouches and landaus, hack- 
chaises, buggies, and jaunting-cars, whiskies, 
noddies, and, in fact, every species of convey- 
ance pronounced capable of rolling upon its 
wheels, were put into requisition; nor was the turn- 
out of cavalry of a character less mixed. Horses 
of every shape and color — some fat from the 
grass; others lean, like anatomical specimens; 
old and young; the rich and the poor; the high 
sheriff of the county, with his flashy four-in-hand; 
the medicant on his crutches— all pressed eagerly 
forward; and as I surveyed the motley mass, I 
felt what pleasure I could take in the scene were 
I not engaged as a principal performer. 

On reaching the course, we found it already 
occupied by numerous brilliant equipages, and a 
strong cavalcade of horsemen; of these the 
greater number were well mounted, and amused 
themselves and the bystanders by leaping the 
various fences around, a species of pastime 
which occasionally afforded food for laughter, many 
a soiled coat and broken hat attesting the color 
and consistence of the clayey ground. There 
were also refreshment-booths, stalls for gaming 
on an humble scale, tables laid out with beer, 
hard eggs, and gingerbread — in a word, all the 
ordinary and extraordinary preparations which 
accompany any great assemblage of people whose 
object is amusement. 

A temporary railing of wood, rudely and hastily 
put togetlier, enclosed a little space, reserved as 
a weighing-stand; here the stewards of the course 
were assembled, along with " the dons" of the 
country, and into this privileged sanctum was I 
introduced by the major in due form. All eyes 
were turned on me as I entered, and, whether 
from the guardianship of him who acted as my 
chaperon, or that the costume of my coat and 
overalls had propitiated their favor, I cannot say; 
but, somehow, I felt that there was more cour- 
tesy in their looks, and an air of greater civility 
in their bearing, than I had remarked the preced- 
ing day at the town hall. True, these were, 
for the most part, men of better stamp — the real 
gentry of the country — who, devotedly attached 
to field sports, had come, not as betting charac- 
ters, but to witness a race. Several of them took 
off their hats as I approached, and saluted me 
with politeness. While returning their courtesy, 
I felt my arm gently touched, and. on looking 
around, perceived Mr. Dillon, of Mount Brown, 
who, with a look of most cordial greeting, and an 
out-stretched hand, presented himself before 
me. 

"You'll dine with us, Mr. Hinton, I hope?" 

said he. " No apology, pray. You shall not lose 

the ball, for my girls insist on going to it; so that 

•we can all come in together. There, now, that 

is settled. Will you permit me to introduce you 



to a few of my friends? Here's Mr. Barry Con- 
nolly wishes much to know you. You'll jjardon 
me, Mr. Hinton, but your name is so familiar to 
me through my niece, I forget that we are not 
old acquaintances." 

So saying, the little man took my arm, and led 
me about through the crowd, introducing me 
right and left. Of the names, the rank, and the 
residences of new friends, I knew as much as I 
did of the domestic arrangements of the king of 
Congo; but one thing I can vouch for — more 
unbounded civility and hospitable attention never 
did man receive. One gentleman begged me to 
spend a few days with him at his shooting-lodge 
in the mountains — another wanted to make up a 
coursing-party for me — a third volunteered to 
mount me if I'd come down in the hunting-sea- 
son; one and all gave me most positive assur- 
ances that if I remained in the country I should 
neither lack bed nor board for many a day to 
come. 

But a few days before, and, in my ignorance, 
I had set down this class as rude, under-bred, 
and uncivilized, and, had I left the country on the 
preceding evening, I should have carried away 
my prejudices with me. The bare imitation of 
his better that the squireen presents was the 
source of this blunder; the spurious currency had, 
by its false glitter, deteriorated the sterling coin 
in my esteem; but now I could detect the coun- 
terfeit from the genuine metal. 

" The ladies are on this side," said Mr. Dillon. 
" Shall we make our bow to them'" 

"You'll not have time, Dillon," said a friend 
who overheard his remark; 'here come the 
horses." 

As he spoke, a distant cheer rose from the bot- 
tom of tlie hill, which, gradually taken up by those 
nearer, grew louder and louder, till it filled the 
very air. 

" What is it?" said I, eagerly. 

"It's ' Cathleen,' " said a person beside me. 
" The mare was bred in the neighborhood, and 
excites a great interest among the country peo- 
ple." 

The crowd now fell back rapidly, and Mr. 
Burke, seated in a high tandem, dashed up to the 
weighing-stand, and, giving the reins to his ser- 
vant, sprang to the ground. 

His costume was a loose coat, of coarse drab 
cloth, beset on every side by pockets of various 
shapes and dimensions, long gaiters of the same 
material encased his legs, and the memorable 
white hat, set most rakishly on the head, com- 
pleted his equipment. Scarcely had he put foot 
to ground, when he was surrounded by a number 
of his obsequious followers; but, paying little or 
no attention to their proffered civilities, he 
brushed rudely through tjnem, and walked straight 
up to where I was standing. There was an air 
of swaggering insolence in his manner which 
could not be mistaken, and I could mark that, 
in the sidelong glance he threw about him, he 
intended that our colloquy should be for the 
public ear. Nodding familiarly, while he touched 
his liat with one finger, he addressed me: 

"Good-morning, sir; I am happy to have met 
you so soon. 'J'here is a report that we are to 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



89 



have no race. May I ask you if there be any 
ground for it?" 

" Not so'far as I am concerned," replied I, in 
a tone of quiet indifference. 

" At least," resumed me, " there would seem 
some color for the rumor. Your horse is not 
here — I understand he has not left the stable — 
and your groom is among the crowd below. I 
only ask the question, as it affects my betting- 
book; there are doubtless here many gentlemen 
among your friends who would wish to back you " 

This was said with an air of sneering mockery 
so palpable as to call forth an approving titter 
from the throng of satellites at his back. 

Without deigning any reply to his observation, 
I whispered a few words to the major, who at 
once, taking a horse from a farmer, threw him- 
self into the saddle, and cantered off to the mill. 

"In fifteen minutes the time will be up," said 
Mr. Burke, producing his watch, "Isn't that 
so, Dillon? You are the judge here." 

"Perfectly correct," replied the little man, 
with a hasty, confused manner, that showed me 
in what awe he stood of his redoubted relative. 

"Then in that time I shall call on you to give 
the word to start; for I believe the conditions 
require me to ride over the course, with or with- 
out a competitor." 

So saying, Mr. Burke proceeded leisurely to 
unbutton his greatcoat, which, with the assist- 
ance of his friends, he drew off. Two sedulous 
familiars were meanwhile unbuttoning his gaiters, 
and in a few seconds he stood forth, what even 
my most prejudiced judgment could not deny, 
the very fieau ideal of a gentleman rider. His 
jacket, of black and yellow, bore the stains of 
more than one race; but his whole carriage, not 
less than his costume, looked like one who fell 
ever.y inch the jockey. 

His mare was led within the ropes to be sad- 
dled — a proceeding conducted under his own 
eye, and every step of which he watched with 
critical nicety; this done, he sat down upon a 
bench, and, with watch in hand, seemed to count 
the minutes as they flew past. 

"Here we are — here we are — all right, Hin- 
tonl" shouted the major, as he galloped up the 
hill. "Jump into the scale, my lad, your saddle 
is beside you; don't lose a moment." 

"Yes, off with your coat," said another, "and 
jump in." 

Divesting myself of my outer garments with 
a speed not second to that of Mr. Burke, I took 
my saddle under my arm, and seated myself in 
the scale. The groom fortunately had left 
nothing to a moment, and my saddle being 
leaded to tlie required weight, the operation took 
not a minute. 

" Saddle now as quickly as you can," whis- 
pered Dillon. 

While he was yet speaking, the gallant grey 
was led in, covered with clothing from head to 
tail. 

" All was quite right," said Mahon, in a low 
whisper; " your horse won't bear a crowd, and 
the groom kept him stabled to the last moment; 
you are in luck, besides," continued he; "they 
say he is in a good temper this morning — and 



indeed he walked up from the mill as gently as 
a lamb." 

" Mount, gentlemen," cried Mr. Dillon, as, 
with watch in hand, he ascended a little platform 
in front of the weighing-stand. 

I had but time to throw one glance at my 
horse, when the major gave me his haiid to litt 
me into the saddle. 

"After you, sir," said Mr. Burke, with a mock 
politeness, as he drew back to permit me to pass 
out first. 

I touched my horse gently with the snaffle, 
but he stood stock still; 1 essayed again, but with 
no better success. The place was too crowded 
to jjermit of any attemjjt to bully him, so I once 
more tried gentle means; it was of no use; he 
stood rooted to the ground. Before I could 
determine what ne.xt to do, Mahon sprang for- 
ward and took him by the head, when the 
animal walked quietly forward without a show of 
restiveness. 

" He's a droll devil," said the groom, " and in 
one of his odd humors this morning, for that's 
what I never saw him do before." 

I could see, as I passed out, that this little 
scene, short as it was, had not impressed the 
bystanders with any exalted notion of my horse- 
manship; for although there was nothing actually 
to condemn, my first step did not seem to augur 
well. Having led me forth before the stand, the 
major pointed with his finger to the line of 
country before me, and was repeating the priest's 
injunctions, when Mr. Burke rode up to my side, 
and, with a smile of very peculiar meaning, 
said, — 

" Are you ready no7t\ sir?" 

I nodded assent — the major let go the bridle. 

"We are all ready, Dillon!" cried Burke, turn- 
ing in his saddle. 

"All ready!" repeated Dillon; "then away!" 

As he spoke, the bell rang, and off we went. 

For about thirty yards we cantered side by 
side, the grey horse keeping stroke with the 
other, and not betraying the slightest evidence 
of bad temper. Whatever my own surprise, the 
amazement of Burke was beyond all bounds. 
He turned completely round in his saddle to 
look, and I could see, in the workings of his 
features, the distrustful expression of one who 
suspected he had been duped. Meanwhile, the 
cheers of the vast multitude pealed high on 
every side; and as the thought flashed across 
me that I might still acquit myself with credit, 
my courage rose, and I gripped my saddle with 
double energy. 

At the foot of the slope there was, as I have 
already mentioned, a small fence; towards this 
we were now approaching at the easy sling of a 
hand-gallop, when suddenly Burke's features — 
whichi watched from time to time with intense 
anxiety — changed their expression of doubt and 
suspicion for a look of triumphant malice: putting 
spurs to his horse he sprang a couple of lengths 
in advance, and rode madly at the fence; the grey 
stretched out to follow: and already was I pre- 
paring for the leap, when Burke, who had now 
reached the fence, suddenly swerved his horse, 
round, and affecting to balk, cantered back 



90 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



towards the hill. The manoeuvre was perfectly 
successful. My horse, who up to that moment 
was going on well, threw his fore-legs far out, and 
came to a dead stop. In an instant the trick was 
palpable to my senses; and, in the heat of my 
passion, I dashed in both spurs, and endeavored 
to lift him by the rein. Scarcely had I done so, 
when, as if the very ground beneath had jerked 
ws upwards, he sprang into the air, dashing his 
head forward between the fore-legs, and throw- 
ing up his haunches behind, till I thought we 
should come clean over in the summersault. I 
kept my seat, however, and thinking that bold- 
ness alone could do at such a moment, I only 
waited till he reached the ground, when I again 
drove the spurs up to the rowels in his flanks; 
with a snort of passion he bounded madly up, and 
pawing the air for some moments with his fore- 
legs, lit upon the earth, panting with rage, and 
trembling in every limb. The shouts which now 
filled my ears seemed but like mocker,y and de- 
rision; and, stung almost to madness, I fi.xed my- 
self in my seat, pulled my cap upon my brows, 
and with clenched teeth gathered up the reins to 
renew the conflict; there was a pause now of a 
few seconds; both horse and man seemed to feel 
there was a deadly strife before them, and each 
seemed to collect his energy for the blow. The 
moment came; and, driving in the spurs with all 
my force, I struck him with the whip between the 
ears. With a snort like a yell, the savage animal 
sprang into the air, writhing his body like a fish. 
Bound after bound he made, as though goaded 
on to madness; and at length, after several fruit- 
less efforts to unseat me, he dashed straight up- 
wards, struck out with his fore-legs, poised for a 
second or two, and then with a crash fell back 
upon me, rolling me on the ground, bruised, 
stunned, and senseless. 

How long this state 1-asted I cannot tell, but 
when half-consciousness returned to me, I found 
myself standing in the field, my head reelmg with 
the shock, my clothes torn and ragged; my horse 
was standing beside me, with some one at his 
head, while another, whose voice I thought I 
could recognize, called out, 

"Get up, man, get up! you'll do the thing well 
yet. There, don't lose time." 

"No, no," said another voice, "it's a shame; 
the poor fellow is half killed already — and there, 
don't you see Burke's at the second fence?" 

Thus much I heard amid the confusion around 
me; but more I know not. The next moment I 
was in the saddle, with only sense enough left to 
feel reckless to desperation. I cried out to leave 
tlie way, and turned towards the fence. A tre- 
mendous cut of a whip fell upon the horse's 
quarter from some one behind, and, like a shell 
from a mortar, he sprang wildly out. With bne 
fly he cleared the fence, dashed across the field, 
and, before I was firm in my seat, was over the 
second ditch. Burke had barely time to look 
round him, ere I had passed. He knew that the 
horse was away with me, but he also knew his 
bottom, and that if I could but keep my saddle, 
the chances were now in my favor. Then com- 
menced a terrible struggle. In advance of him 
about four lengths, I took everything before me, 



my horse flying straight as an arrow. 1 dared 
not turn my head, but I could mark that Burke 
was making every effort to get before me. We 
were now approaching a tail hedge, beyond which 
lay the deep ground, of which the priest had al- 
ready spoken; so long as the fences presented 
nothing of height, the tremendous pace I was 
gomg was all in my favor; but now there was 
fully five feet of a hedge standing before me. 
Unable to collect myself, my horse came with his 
full force against it, and chesting the tangled 
branches, fell head foremost into the field. Spring- 
ing to my legs unhurt, I lifted him at once; but 
ere I could remount, Burke came bounding over 
the hedge, and lit safely beside me. With a grin 
of malice he turned one look towards me, and 
dashed on. For some seconds my horse was so 
stunned he could scarcely move, and as I pressed 
him forward, the heavy action of his shoulder, 
and his drooping head, almost bid me to despair. 
By degrees, however, he warmed up, and got into 
his stride; before me, and nearly a hundred yards 
in advance, rode Burke, still keeping up his pace, 
but skirting the headlands to my right. I saw 
now the force of the priest's remark, that were I 
to take a straight line through the deep ground, 
the race was still in my favor; but dare I do so 
with a horse so dead beat as mine was? The 
thought was quick as lightning; it was my only 
chance to win, and I resolved to take it. Plung- 
ing into the soft and marshy ground before me, 
I fixed my eye upon the blue flag that marked the 
course; at this moment Burke turned and saw 
me, and I could perceive that he immediately 
slackened his pace. " Yes," thought I, " he thinks 
I am pounded, but it is not come to that yet;" in 
fact, my horse was improving at every stride, and 
although the ground was trying, his breeding 
began to tell, and I could feel that he had plenty 
of running still in him. Affecting, however, to 
lift him at every stroke, and seemitjg to labor lo 
help him through, I induced Burke to hold in, 
until I gradually crept up to the fence before he 
was within several lengths of it. The grey no 
sooner caught sight of the wall than he pricked 
up his ears and rushed towards it; with a vigor- 
ous lift I popped him over, without touching a 
stone. Burke followed in splendid style, and in 
an instant, was alongside of me. 

Now began the race in right earnest. The 
cunning of his craft could avail him little here, 
except as regarded the superior management of 
his own horse; so Burke, abandoning every ruse, 
rode manfully on; as for me, my courage rose 
every moment, and so far from feeling any fear, 
I only wished the fences were larger, and, like a 
gambler who would ruin his adversary at one 
throw, I would have taken a precipice if he 
pledged himself to follow. For some fields we 
rode within a few yards of each other, side by 
side, each man lifting his horse at the same mo- 
ment to his leap, and alighting with the same 
shock beyond it. Already our heads were turned 
homewards, and I could mark on the distant hill 
the far-off crowds whose echoing shouts came 
floating towards us; but one fence of any con- 
seipience remained, that was the large grip that 
formed the last of the race; we had cleared a 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



91 



low stone wall, and now entered the field that 
led to the great leap. It was evident tliat Burke's 
horse, both from beinj,' spared the siiocks that 
mine had met with, and from his better riding, 
was the fresher of the two- we had neither of us, 
however, much to boast of on that score, and, 
perhaps, at a calmer moment, would have little fan- 
cied facing such a leap ^s that before us. It was 
evident that the first over must win, and as each 
man measured the other's stride, the intense 
anxiety of the moment nearly rose to madness. 
From the instant of entering the field, I had 
marked out with my eye where I meant to take 
tlie leap; Burke had evidently done this also, 
and we now slightly diverged, eacli to his allotted 
spot. The pace was awful. All thought of 
danger lost, or forgotten, we came nearer and 
nearer with knitted brow and clenched lip — I, 
the first. Already I was on the side, with a loud 
cry and a cut of my whip I rose my horse to it, 
the noble beast sprang forward, but his strength 
was spent, and he fell downwards on his head; 
recovering him without losing my seat, I scram- 
bled up the opposite bank and looked round. 
]>urke, who had pressed the pace so hotly be- 
fore, had only done so to blow my horse and 
break him down at his leap; and I saw him now 
approaching the fence with his mare fully in 
hand, and her haunches well under her. Una- 
ble to move forward, save at a walk, I turned in 
my saddle to watch him; he came boldly to the 
brink of the fence, his hand was prepared to 
strike, already the mare was collecting herself for 
the effort, when from the bottom of the grip a 
figure sprang wildly up, and as the horse rose 
into the air, he jumped at the bridle, pulling 
down both the horse and the rider with a crash 
upon him, a loud cry of agony rising 'mid the 
struggle. 

As they disappeared from my sight I felt like 
one in a trance; all thoughts, however, were lost 
in the desire to win, and collecting my energies 
for a last struggle, I lifted the gallant grey with 
both hands, and by dint of spurring and shaking, 
l)ressed him to a canter, and rode in the winner, 
amid the deafening cheers and cries of thousands. 

" Keep back — keep back," cried Mahon, re- 
straining with his whip the crowd that bore down 
upon me. " Hinton, take care that no one 
touch your horse; ride inside, take off your sad- 
dle, and get into the scale." 

Moving onwards like one in a dream, I me- 
chanically obeyed the direction, while the cries 
and shouts around me grew each moment louder 
and wilder. 

" Here he conies! — here he comes!" shouted 
several voices, and Burke galloped up, and with- 
out drawing rein rode into the weighing-stand. 

" Foul play," roared he, in a tone hoarse with 
passion. " I prote«st against 'this race. Holloa, 
sir!" he shouted, turning towards me. 

"There — there," said Mahon, as he hurried 
me along towards the scale; "you have nothing 
to do with him;" and at the same moment a 
nnmber of others pressed eagerly forward to 
shake my hand and wish me joy. 

" Look here, Dillon," cried the m.njor; " mark 
the weigiit — eleven stone two, and two pounds 



over, if he wanted it. There now," whispered 
he'in a voice which, though not meant for my 
hearing, I could distinctly catch — "there now, 
Dillon, take him into your carriage and get him 
off the ground as fast as you can." 

Just at this instant, Burke, who had been 
talking with loud voice and violent gesticula- 
tions, burst through the crowd, and stood before 
us. 

" Do you say, Dillon, that I have lost this 
race?" 

" Yes, yes, to be sure," cried out full twenty 
voices. 

" My question was not addressed to you, sirs," 
said he, boiling with passion; " I ask the judge 
of this course, have I lost?" 

" My dear Ulick " said Dillon, in a voice 

scarce audible from agitation. 

" No cursed palaver with nie," said he, inter- 
rupting. " Lost or won, sir — one word." 

" Lost, of course, " replied Dillon, with more 
of firmness than I had believed him callable. 

"Well, sir," said Burke, as he turned towards 
me, his teeth clenched with passion, "it may be 
some alloy to your triumph to know that your 
accomplice has smashed his thigh-bone in your 
service; and yet I can tell you, you have not 
come to the end of this matter." 

Before I could reply, Burke's friends tore him 
from the spot and hurried him to a carriage; 
while I, still more than ever puzzled by the words 
I had heard, looked from one to the other of 
those around for an explanation. 

" Niver mind, Hinton," said Mahon, as, half- 
breathless with running, he rushed up and seized 
me by the hand. "The poor fellow was dis- 
charging a double debt in his own rude way: 
gratitude on your score, vengeance on his own." 

" Tally-ho, tally-ho! hark, there- — stole away!" 
shouted a wild cry from without, and at the same 
instant four countrymen came forward, carrying 
a door between them, on uhich was stretched 
the pale and mangled figure of Tipperary Joe. 
"A drink of water — spirits — tay — anything, for 
the love of the Virgin! I'm famished, and I 
want to drink Captain Phil's health. Ah! darl- 
ing!" said he, as he turned his filmy eyes up 
towards me, "didn't I do it beautiful? didn't I 
pay him off for this?" With these words he 
pointed to a blue welt that stretched across his 
face, from the mouth to the ear. "He gave me 
that yesterday, for saying long life and success 
to you!" 

" Oh! this is too horrible," said I, gasping for 
breath, "my pocr fellow; and I who had treatfd 
you so harshly." I took his hand in mine, but 
it was cold and clammy; his features were sunken 
too — he had fainted. 

" Come, Hinton," said the major, " we can do 
no good here; let us move down to the inn at 
once, and see after this poor boy." 

" You are coming with us, Mr. Hinton!" cried 
Dillon. 

" Not now, not now," said I, while my throat 
was swelling with repressed emotion. Without 
suffering me to say more, Mahon almost lifted 
me into the tax-cart, and, jnitting his horse to 
the gallop, dashed towards the town, the cheers 



93 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



of llic people following us as we went: for, to 
tlicii- wild sense of justice, Joe was a genuine 
mart)-r, and I shared in the glory of his self-de- 
votion. 

The whole way towards Loughrea Mahon con- 
tinued to talk, but not a word could I catch; my 
thoughts were fixed on the poor fellow who had 
suffered for my sake, and I would have given all 
I possessed in the world to liave lost the race, 
and seen him safe and sound before me. 

"There! there!" said tlie major, as he shook 
me by the arm; " don't take it to heart this way; 
you know-little of Ireland, that's plain; that poor 
fellow will be prouder for the feeling you have 
shown towards him this night than many a king 
upon his throne. To have served a gentleman, 
to have put him under an obligation — that has a 
charm you can't estimate the extent of. Be- 
ware, only beware of one thing — do not, by any 
offer of money, destroy the illusion; do what 
you like for him, but take care of that." 

We now reached the little inn, and Mahon — 
for I was incapable of all thought or exertion — 
got a room in readiness for Joe, and summoning 
the doctor of the place, provided everything for 
his care and accommodation. 

" Now, Hinton," said he, as he burst into my 
room, "all's right; Joe is comfortable in bed; 
the fracture turns out not to be a bad one. So 
rouse yourself, for IJillon's carriage, with all the 
ladies, i-s waiting these ten minutes." 

" No, no," cried I; '"I can't go to this dinner- 
party; I'll not quit " 

"Nonsense, man!" said he, interrupting me; 
"you can only do harm here; the doctor says he 
must be left quite quiet, and alone; besides, Dil- 
lon has behaved so well to-day — so stoutly, for 
him — tliat you mustn't forget it. There, now, 
where are your clothes.' I'll pack them for 
you." 

I started up to obey him, but a giddiness came 
over me, and I sank into my chair weak and 
sick. 

"This will never do," said Mahon; "I had 
better tell them I'll drive you over myself; and, 
now, just lie down for an hour or two, and keep 
quiet." 

This advice I felt was good, and, thanking my 
kind friend with a squeeze of the band, for I 
cotdd not speak, I threw myself upon my bed, 
and, strange enough, while such contending emo- 
tions disturbed my brain, fell asleep almost im- 
mediately. 



CHAPTER XXVI. 

THE DINNER-P.\RTV AT MOUNT BROWN. 

I AWOKE refreshed after half an hour's doze, and 
then every circumstance of the whole day was clear 
and palpable before me. I remembered each 
minute particular, and could bring to my mind 
all the details of tlie race itself, notwithstanding 
the excitement they had passed in, and the ra- 
pidity with which they succeeded each other. 
My fust thought was to visil^ poor Joe, and, 



creeping stealthily to his room, I opened the 
door. The poor fellow was fast asleep, his feat- 
ures had already become colored with fever, and 
a red, hectic spot on either cheek told that the 
work of mischief had begun; yet still his sleep 
was tranquil, and a half smile curled his blood- 
less lip. On his bed his eld hunting-cap was 
jjlaced, a bow of white and green ribbons — I lie 
colors I wore — fastened gaudily in the front; 
upon this, doubtless, he had been [jazing to the 
last moment of his waking. I now stole noise- 
lessly back, and began a letter to O'Cirady, whose 
anxiety as to the result would, 1 kntw, be con- 
siderable. 

It was not without pride, I confess, that I nar- 
rated the events of the day; yet, when I came to 
that part of my letter in which Joe was to be 
mentioned, I could not avoid a sense of shame 
in acknowledging the cruel contrast between my 
conduct and his gratitude. I did not attempt to 
theorize upon what he had done, for I felt that 
O'Grady's better knowledge of his countrymen 
would teach him to sound the dejillis of a motive, 
the surface of which I could but skim. I told him 
frankly that the more I saw of Ireland, the less 
I found I knew about it; so much of sterling 
good seemed blended with unsettled notions and 
unfixed opinions, such warmth of heart, such 
frank cordiality, with such traits of suspicion and 
distrust, that I could make nothing of them. 
" Either," thought I, " these people are born to 
present the anomaly of all that is most opposite 
and contradictory in human nature, or else the 
fairest gifts that ever graced manhood have been 
perverted and abused by mismanagement and 
misguidance." 

I had just finished my letter, when Bob Mahon 
drove up, his honest face radiant with smiksand 
good-humor. 

"Well, Hinton," cried he, "the whole thing 
is properly settled; the money is paid over, and, 
if you are writing to O'Grady, you may mention 
that he can draw on the Limerick Bank, at sight, 
if he pleases. There's time enough, however, 
for all this; so get up beside me; we've only 
half an hour to do our five miles, and dress for 
dinner." 

I took my place beside the major, and, as we 
flew fast through the air, the cool breeze and his 
enlivening conversation rallied and refreshed me. 
.Such was our pace, we had ten minutes to spare, 
as we entered a dark avenue of tall beech-trees, 
and a few seconds after arrived at the door of a 
large, old-fashioned looking manor-house, on the 
steps of which stood Hugh Dillon himself, in all 
the plenitude of a white waistcoat and black 
silk tights. While he hurried me to a dressing- 
room, he overwhelmed me with felicitations on 
the result of the day. 

" You'll think it strange, Mr. Hinton, said he, 
"that I should congratulate you, knowing that 
Mr. Burke is a kind of relation of mine, but I 
have heard so much of your kindness to my 
niece, Louisa, that I cannot but rejoice in your 
success." 

" I should rather," said I, " for many reasons, 
had it been more legitimately obtained; and, in- 
deed, were 1 not acting for another, I doubt how 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



93 



far I should feel justified in considering myself 
a winner." 

" My dear sir," interrujated Dillon, " the laws 
of racing are imperative in the matter; besides, 
had you waived your right, all who backed you 
must have lost their money. 

"For that matter," said I, laughing, "the 
number of my supporters was tolerably limited." 

"No matter for that; and even if you had not 
a. single bet upon you, Ulick's conduct, in the 
beginning, deserved little favor at your hands." 

"I confess," said I, "that there you have 
touched on the saving clause to my feeling of 
sh.ime; had Mr. Burke conducted himself in a 
different spirit towards my friend and myself, I 
shoald feel sorely puzzled this minute." 

"Q^'its right, quite right," said Dillon, "and 
now try if you can't make as much haste with 
your toilet as you did over the clover-field." 

Within a quarter of an hour I made my ap- 
jiearance in the drawing-room, now crowded with 
company, the faces of many among vvhom I re- 
membered having seen in the morning. Mr. 
Dillon was a widower, but his daughters — three 
fine, tall, handsome-looking girls — did the honors. 
While I was making my bows to them. Miss Bel- 
lew came forward, and, with an eye bright with 
pleasure, held out her hand towards me. 

" I told you, Mr. Hinton, we should meet in 
tlie West, have I been as good a prophetess in 
saying that you would like it?" 

"if it afforded me but this one minute," said 
I, ill a half whisper. 

" Dinner!" said the servant, and, at the same 
moment, tliat scene of pleasant confusion ensued 
that preludes the formal descent of a party to 
the dining-room. 

The host had gracefully tucked a large lady 
under his arm, beside whose towering proportions 
he looked pretty much like wliat architects call 
"a lean-to," superadded to a great building. He 
turned liis eyes towards me to "go and do 
likewise," with a significant glance at a heaving 
mass of bugles and ostrich feathers, that sat pant- 
ing on a sofa. I parried the stroke, however, by 
drawing Miss Bellew's arm within mine, while I 
resigned the post of honor to my little friend the 
major 

The dinner passed off like all other dinners; 
there was the same routine of eating and drink- 
ing, and pretty much the same ritual of table- 
talk. As a kind of commentary on the superi- 
ority of natural gifts over the affected and imi- 
tated graces of society, 1 could not help remark- 
ing, that those things which figured on the table, 
of liomely origin, were actually luxurious, while 
the exotic resources of the cookery were in 
every instance miserable failures. Thus, the fish 
was excellent, and the mutton perfect, while the 
fricaiiiieaii was atrocious, and the pctits path 
execrable. 

Should my taste be criticized, that, with a 
lovely girl beside me, for whom 1 already felt 
a strong attachment, I could thus set myself 
to critize the ci/isiuc, in lieu of any other more 
agreeable occupation, let my apology be that 
my rellection was an a propos^ called forth by 
comparing Louisa Bellevv with her cousins, the 



Dillons. I have said they were liandsomc girls; 
they were more — they were beautiful, lliey had 
all that fine pencilling of the eyebrow, that deep, 
square orbit so characteristically Irish, and which 
gives an expression to the e)e, w hatever be its 
color, of inexpressible softness; their voices, too, 
albeit the accent was provincial, were soft and 
musical, and their manners quiet and lady-like, 
yet, somehow, they stood immeasurably apart 
from her. 

I have already ventured on one illustration 
from the cookery, may I take another fiom the 
cellar? How often in wines of the same vintage, 
of even the same cask, do we find one bottle, 
whose bouquet is more aromatic, whose flavor 
is richer, whose color is more ])urely brilliant? 
There seems to be no reason why this should 
be so, nor is the secret appreciable to our senses; 
however, the fact is incontestable. So among 
women: you meet some half-dozen in an evening 
party, equally beautiiul, equally lovely, yet will 
there be found one among the number, towards 
whom, without any assignable cause, more eyes are 
turned, and more looks bent; around whose chair 
more men are found to linger, and in whose 
slightest word some cunning cliarni seems ever 
mingled, ^\■hy is this so? I confess 1 cannot 
tell you, but trust me for the fact. If, however, 
it will satisfy you that I adduce an illustiation — 
Louisa Bellevv was one of these. With all the 
advantages of a cultivated mind, she possessed 
that fearlessness that only girls really innocent 
of worldly trickery and deceit ever have; and 
thus, while her conversation ranged far beyond 
the limits the cold ordeal of fashion ■would pre- 
scribe to a London beauty, the artless entluisiatm 
of her manner was absolutely captivating. 

In Dublin, the most maikcd feature about her 
was an air of lolly pride and hauteur, by which, 
in the mixed society of Rooney's house, was the 
alone enabled to repel the obtrusive and impertin- 
ent attentions it was the habit of the place to prac- 
tise. Surrounded by those who resorted there for 
a lounge, it was a matter of no common difficulty 
for her, a young and timid girl, to assert her own 
position, and exact the respect ihat was her due. 
Here, however, in her uncle's house, it was quite 
different. Relieved frcm all ptrfoimance of a 
part, she was natural, graceful, and easy; and 
her spirits, untrammelled by the dread of mis- 
construction, took their own free and happy 
flight without reproach. 

When we returned to the drawing-room, seated 
beside her, I entered into an exjilanation of all 
my proceedings since my arrival in the country, 
and had the satisfaction to perceive, that not only 
did she approve of everything I had done, but, 
assuming a warmer interest than I could credit 
in my fortunes, she counselled me resiuciing the 
future. Su])posing that my success might induce 
me to further trials of my horsemanship, she 
cautioned me about being drawn into any 
matches or wagers 

" My cousin Ulick," said she, " is one of those 
who rarely let a prey escape him. I speak frankly 
to you, for I know I may do so; therefore, \ 
would beseech you to take care of iiini, and, 
above all things, do not come into collision with 



94 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



him. I have told you, Mr. Hinton, that I wish 
you to know my father, for this object, it is es- 
sential you should have no misunderstanding 
with my cousin; for although his whole conduct 
througli life has been such as to grieve and afflict 
him, yet the feeling for his only sister's child has 
sustained him against all the rumors and reports 
that have reached him, and even against his own 
convictions." 

" You have, indeed," said I, "suggested a strong 
reason for keeping well with your cousin; my 
heart is not only bent on being known to your 
father, but, if I dare hope it, on being liked by 
him also." 

" Yes, yes," said she, quickly, blushing while 
she spoke, '"1 am sure he'll like you — and I 
know you'll like him. Our house, perhaps, I 
should tell you, is not a gay one; we lead a se- 
cluded and retired life; and this has had its 
effect upon my poor father, giving a semblance 
of discontent — only a semblance, though — to a 
nature mild, manly, and benevolent." 

She paused an instant, and, as if fearing that 
she had been led away to speak of things she 
should not have touched upon, added, with a 
more lively tone, — 

" Still, we may contrive to amuse you; you shall 
have plenty of fishing and coursing, the best 
shooting in the West, and as for scenery, I'll 
answer for it you are not disappointed." 

While we chatted thus, the time rolled on, and 
at last the clock on the mantelpiece apprised us 
that it was time to set out for the ball. This, as it 
may be believed, was anything but a promise of 
pleasure to me. With Louisa Bellew beside me, 
talking in a tone of confidential intimacy she had 
never ventured on before, I would have given 
worlds to have remained where I was; however, 
the thing was impossible; the ball — the ball! 
passed from lip to lip, and already the carriages 
were assembled before the door, and cloaks, 
hoods, and mantles were distributed on all sides. 
Resolving, at all events, to secure Miss Bellew 
as my fellow-traveller, I took her arm to lead 
her down-stairs. 

"Holloa' Hinton," cried the major, "you're 
coming with me, ain't you?" 

I got up a tremendous fit of coughing, as I 
stammered out an apology about night air, &c. 
" Ah, true, my poor fellow," said the simple- 
hearted Bob, "you must take care of yourself— 
this has been a severe day's work for you." 

"With such a heavy cold," said Louisa, laugh- 
ing, as her bright eyes sparkled with fun, "per- 
haps you'll take a seat in our carriage?" 

I pressed her arm gently, and whispering my 
assent, assisted her in, and placed myself beside 
her. 



CHAPTER XXVII. 

THE RACE BALL. 



Fast as had been the pace in the major's tax- 
cart, it seemed to me as though the miles flew 
much more quickly by as I returned to the town; 
how, indeed, they passed, I cannot well say; 



I but, from the moment that I quitted Mr. Dillon's 
house, to that of my arrival at Loughrea, there 
seemed to be but one brief, delightful moment. 
I have already sai'd that Miss Bellew's manner 
was quite changed; and, as I assisted her from 
the carriage, I could not but mark the flashing 
brilliancy of her eye and the sparkling animation 
of her features, lending, as they did, an added 
loveliness to her beauty. 

"Am I to dance with you, Mr. Hinton?" said 
she, laughingly, as I led her up the stairs. "If 
so, pray be civil enough to ask me at once; 
otherwise, I must accept the first partner that 
offers himself." 

"How very stupid I have been! Will you, 
pray, let me have the honor?" 

" Yes, yes — you shall have the honor; but now 
that I think of it, you mustn't ask me a second 
time: we country folks are very prudish about 
these things; and, as you are the lion of the 
party, I should get into a sad scrape were I to 
appear to monopolize you." 

" But you surely will have compassion on me," 
said I, in a tone of affected bashfulness. "You 
know I am a stranger here — neither known to 
nor by any one save you." 

"Ah, treve de modestie!" said she, coquet- 
tishly. " My cousins will be quite delighted, 
and, indeed, you owe them some amende already." 
" As how?" said I; "what have I done?" 
" Rather, what have you left undone? I'll tell 
you. You have not come to the ball in your fine 
uniform, with your aiguillettes and your showy 
feathers, and all the pride, pomp, and circum- 
stance of your dignity as aide-de-camp. Learn 
that in the West we love the infantry, dote on 
the dragoons, but we adore the staff. Now, a 
child would find it as difficult to recognize a 
plump gentleman with a star on his breast as a 
king, as we western ladies would to believe in 
the military features of a person habited in quiet 
black. You should, at least, have some symbol 
of your calling. A little bit of moustache, like a 
P'renchman — a foreign order at your button-hole 
— your arm in a sling, from a wound as it were 
— even a pair of brass spurs would redeem you. 
Poor Mary, here, won't believe that you wear a 
great sword, and are the most warlike-looking 
person imaginable on occasions." 

" Dearest Louisa, how silly you are!" said her 
cousin, blushing deeply. "Pray, Mr. Hinton, 
what do you think of the rooms?" 

This question happily recalled me to myself; 
for up to that very moment, forgetful of every- 
thing save my fair companion, I had not noticed 
our entrance into the ball room, around which 
we were promenading with slow steps. I now 
looked up, and discovered that we were in the 
town hall, the great room of which building was 
generally reserved for occasions like the present. 
Nothing could be more simple than the decora- 
tions of the apartment. The walls, which were 
whitewashed, were tastefully ornamented with 
strings and wreaths of flowers suspended between 
the iron chandeliers, while over the chimney- 
piece were displayed the colors of the marching 
regiment then quartered in the town; indeed, to 
do them justice, the garrison were the main con- 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



95 



tribiitors to tlie pleasures of the evening. By 
tli<-m were llie garlands so gracefully disposed; by 
thi'ni were the rit-holes and other dangerous 
crevices in the floor calked with oakum; tlwir 
band was now blowing " God save the King" and 
" Rule Britannia" alternately for the last hour; 
and tlieir officers, in all the splendor of scarlet, 
were parading the room, breaking the men's 
hearts with envy and the women's witli admiration. 

O'Grady was quite right — it is worth while 
being a soldier in Ireland; and, if such be the 
case in the capital, how much more true is it in 
Connaught? Would that some minute anatomist 
of human feeling could demonstrate that delicate 
fibre in an Irishwoman's heart that vibrates 
so responsively to everything in the army list! 
In this happy land you need no nitrous oxide to 
promote the high spirits of your party; I had 
rather have a sub. in a marching regiment, than a 
whole gasometer of it. How often have I watched 
the sleepy eye of languid loveliness brighten up 
— how often have I seen features, almost ulain in 
their character, assume a kind of beauty as some 
red-coat drew near? Don't tell me of your insur- 
rection acts, of your nightly outrages, your out- 
breaks, and your burnings, as a reason for keep- 
ing a large military force in Ireland; nothing of 
the kind! A very different object, indeed, is the 
reason — Ireland is garrisoned to please the ladies. 
The war-office is the most gallant of public bodies, 
and with a true ap])reciation of the daughters of 
the West, it inundates the land with red-coats. 
These observations were forced upon me as I 
looked about the room, and saw on every side 
how completely the gallant Seventy-something 
had cut out the country gentry. Poor fellows! 
you are great people at the assizes— you are strong 
men at road-sessions — but you're mighty small 
folk indeed before your wives and daughters, 
when looked at to the music of " Paddy Carey," 
and by the light of two hundred and fifty mutton 
candles. 

The country dance was at length formed, and 
poor Mr. Harkin, the master of the ceremonies 
and Coryphaeus in ordinary of Loughrea, had, by 
dint of scarce less fatigue than I experienced in 
my steeple-chase, by running hither and thither, 
imploring, beseeching, wheedling, coaxing, and 
even cursing, at length succeeded in assembling 
sixty-four souls, in a double file, upon the floor. 
Poor fellow! never was there a more disorderly 
force. Nobody would keep his own place, but 
was always trying to get above his neighbor. In 
vain did he tell tire men to stand at their own 
side. Alas! they thought that side their own 
where the ladies were also. Then the band added 
to his miseries; for scarcely had he told them to 
play "The Wind that shakes the Barley," when 
some one changed it to " The Priest in his Boots," 
and afterwards to "The Dead March in Saul." 
These were heavy afflictions: for be it known 
that he could not give way, as other men would 
in such circumstances, to a good outbreak of 
passion — for Mr. Harkin was a public functionary, 
who, like all other functionaries, had a character 
to sustain before the world. When kings are 
angry, we are told by Shakspeare, Schiller, and 
others, that they rant it in good royal style. Now, 



when a dancing-master is excited by passion, he 
never loses sight of the unities. If he flits down 
the floor to chide the little fat man that is talking 
so loud, he contrives to do it with a step, a spring, 
and a hop, to the time of one, two, three. Is 
there a confusion in the figure — he advances to 
rectify it with a chasse rigadoon. Does Mr. 
Somebody turn his toes too much out, or is Miss 
So-and-so holding her petticoats too high — he 
fugles the correction in his own person, first 
imitating the deformity he would expose, and then 
displaying the perfection he would point to. 

On the evening in question, this gentleman 
afforded me by far the most of the amusement 
of the ball; nearly half the company had been 
in time of yore his pupils, or were actually so at 
the very moment; so that, independent of his 
cares as conductor of the festivities, he had also 
the amour prop) e of one who saw his own tri- 
umphs reflected in the success of his disciples. 

At last the dancers were arranged. A certain 
kind of order was established in the party, and 
Mr. Harkin, standing in the fifth position, with 
all his fingers expanded, gave three symbolic 
claps of his hand, and cried out, "Begin'" Away 
went the band at once, and down the middle I 
flevv with my partner, to the measure of a quick 
country-dance, that no human legs could keep 
time to. Two others quickly followed, more 
succeeding them, like wave after wave — nothing 
was too fat, nothing too sliort, nothing too long 
to dance. There they were, as ill-paired as 
though, instead of treading a merry measure, 
they had been linked in the very bonds of mat- 
rimony — old and young, the dwarf and the brob- 
dignag, the plump and the lean, each laughing 
at the eccentricities of his neighbor, and happily 
indifferent to the mirth he himself afforded. By- 
the-bye, what a glorious thing it would be, if we 
could carry out this principle of self-esteem into 
all our reciprocity treaties, and, while we enjoyed 
what we derived from others, be unconscious of 
the loss we sustained ourselves! 

Unlike our English performance, the dance 
here was as free-and-easy a thing as needs be. 
Down the middle you went, holding, mayhap 
squeezing, your partner's hand, laughing, joking, 
flirting, venturing occasionally on many a bolder 
flight than at other times you could have dared; 
for there was no time for the lady to be anjiry as 
she tripped along to "The Hare in the Corn;" 
and besides, but little wisdom could be expected 
from a man while performing more antics than 
Punch in a pantomime. With all this, there was 
a running fire of questions, replies, and recog- 
nitions, from every one you passed: 

" That's it captain; push along — begad, you're 
doing it well!" — " Don't forget to-morrow!" — 
"Hands round!" — "Hasn't she a leg of her 
own!" — " Keep it up!" — " This way! — turn. Miss 
Malone!" — " You'll come to breakfast!" — " How 
are ye, Joe?" &c. 

Scarcely was the set concluded, when Miss 
Bellew was engaged by another partner; while 
I, at her suggestion, invited her cousin Mary to 
become mine. The ball-room was now crowded 
with people; the mirth and fun grew fast and 
furious; the country-dance occupied the whole 



90 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



length of the room — and round the walls were 
disposed tables for whist or loo, wliere tlie elders 
amused themselves with as nuicli pleasure and 
not less noise. 

I fear that I gave my fair partner but a poor 
impression of an aide-de-camp's gaUantry — an- 
swering at random, speaking vaguely and with- 
out colierence, my eyes fixed on Miss Bellew, 
delighted when by chance I could catch a look 
from her, and fretful and impatient when she 
smiled at some remark of her partner. In fact, 
love has as many stages as a fever, and I was in 
chat acute period of the malady when the feel- 
ing of devotion, growing every moment stronger, 
is chequered by a doubt lest the object of your 
affections should really be indifferent to you — 
thus suggesting all the torturing agonies of jeal- 
ousy to your distracted mind. At such times as 
these, a man can scarcely be very agreeable even 
to the girl he loves; but he is a confounded bore 
to a chance acquaintance. So, indeed, did poor 
'Mary Dillon seem to think; and as, at the con- 
clusion of the dance, I resigned '.ler hand to a 
Lieutenant Somebody, with pink cheeks, black 
eyebrows, and a most martial air, I saw she 
looked upon her escape as a direct mercy from 
Providence. Just as this moment Mr. Dillon, 
who had only been waiting for the propitious 
moment to pounce upon me, seized me by the 
arm, and led me down the room. There was a 
charming woman dying to know me in one cor- 
ner; — the best cock-shooter in Ireland wished to 
make my acquaintance in another; — thirty thou- 
sand pounds, and a nice bit of property in 
Leitrim, was sighing for me near the fire; and 
three old ladies, the " dignitaries" of the land, 
had kept the fourth place at the whist-table va- 
cant for my sake, and were at length growing 
impatient at my absence. 

Ncn sunt mea verba, good reader. — Such was 
Mr. Dillon's representation to me, as he hurried 
me along, presenting me as he went to every one 
we met — a ceremony in which I soon learned to 
perform my part respectably, by merely repeat- 
ing a formula I had adopted for my guidance — 
" Delighted to know you,Mr.Burke,"or " Cliarmed 
to make your acquaintance, Mrs. French;" for 
as nine-tenths of the men were called by the 
one, and nearly all tlie ladies by the other appel- 
lation, I seldom blundered in my addresses. 

The evening wore on, but the vigor of the 
party seemed unabated. The fatigues of fash- 
ionable life seemed to be as little known in Ire- 
land as its apathy and its ennui. Poor benighted 
people! you appear to enjoy society, not as a 
refuge for your own weariness, not as an escape- 
valve for your own vapors, but really as a source 
of pleasurable emotions — an occasion for draw- 
ing closer the bonds of intimacy, for being agree- 
able to your friends, and for making yourselves 
happy. Alas! you have much to learn in this 
res|)ect; you know not yet how jireferable is the 
languid look of tired beauty, to the brilliant eye 
and glowing cheek of happy girlhood; you know 
not how superior is the cutting sarcasm, the 
whispered equivoque, to the kind welcome and 
the affectionate greeting; and, while enjoying the 
pleasure of meeting your friends, you absolutely 



forget to be critical upon their characters or their 
costume! 

What a pity it is that good nature is under- 
lired, and good feeling is vulgarity; for, after all, 
while I contrasted the tone of everything around 
me with the supercilious cant and unimpassioned 
coldness of London manners, 1 could not but 
confess to myself that the difference was great, 
and the interval enormous. To which side my 
own heart inclined, it needed not my affection 
for Louisa Bellew to tell me. Yes, I had seen 
enough of life to learn how far are the real gifts 
of worth and excellence preferable to the adven- 
titious polish ol high society. While these tlioughts 
rushed through my mind, another flashed aooss 
it. What if my lady-mother were here! What 
if my proud cousin! How would her dark eyes 
brighten, as some absurd or ludicrous feature of 
the compiny would suggest its mot of malice or 
its speech of sarcasm! How would their air, 
their carriage, their deportment, appear in her 
sight! I could picture to myself the cold scorn 
of her manner towards the men, the insulting 
courtesy of her demeanor to the women; 
the affected innocence with which she would 
question them as to their every-day habits and 
habitudes, their usages and their wants, as though 
she were inquiring into the manners and customs 
of South-Sea Islanders! I could imagine the 
ineffable scorn with which she would receive wliat 
were meant to be kind and polite attentions; and 
I could fashion to myself her look, her manner, 
and her voice, when escaping, as she would call 
it, from her A'uit parmi les saiivagcs: she would 
caricature every trait, every feature of the party, 
converting into food for laughter their frank and 
hospitable bearing, and making their very warmth 
of heart the groundwork of a sarcasm! 

The ball continued with unabated vigor, and 
as, in obedience to Miss Bellew's request, 1 could 
not again ask her to dance, I myself felt little 
inclination to seek for another partner. The 
practice of the place seemed, however, as impera- 
tively to exclude idleness as the discipline of a 
man-of-war. If you were not dancing, you ought 
to be playing cards, making love, drinking negus, 
or exchanging good stories with some motherly fat 
old lady, too heavy for a reel, too stupid for loo. 
In this dilemma I cut into a round game, which I 
remember often to have seen at Rooney's, tech- 
nically called speculation. A few minutes before, 
and I was fancying to myself what my mother 
would think of all this; and now, as I drew my 
chair to the table, I muttered a prayer to my own 
heart that she might never hear of my doings. 
How strange it is that we would much rather be 
detected in some overt act of vice than caught in 
any ludicrous situation or absurd jjosition! 1 
could look my friends and family steadily enough 
in the face while standing amid all the blacklegs 
of Epsom and the swindlers at Ascot, exchang- 
ing with them the courtesies of life, and talking 
on terms of easy and familiar intercourse; yet 
would I rather have been seen with the veriest 
pickpocket in fashionable life than seated amid 
that respectable and irreproachable party who 
shook their sides with laughter around the card- 
table! 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



97 



Truly, it was a merry game, and well suited 
for a novice, as it required no teaching. Each 
])erson had his three cards dealt him, one of 
which was displayed to the company in rotation. 
Did this liappen to be a knave, or some other 
ei|ually reproachful character, the owner was 
nudcted to the sum of fivepence; and he must 
indeed have had a miser's heart who could re- 
gret a penalty so provocative of mirth! Often 
as the event took place, the fun never seemed to 
grow old; and from the e.xuberance of the de- 
light and the unceasing flow of the laughter, I 
began to wonder within myself if these same 
cards had not some secret and symbolic meaning 
unknown to the neophyte. But the drollery did 
not end here; you might sell your luck, and put 
up your hand to auction. This led to innumera- 
ble droll allusions and dry jokes, and, in fact, if 
ever a game was contrived to make one's sides 
ache, this was it. 

A few sedate and sober people there were, 
wlio, with bent brow and pursed-up lip, watched 
tlie whole proceeding; they were the secret po- 
lice of the card-table; it was in vain to attempt 
to conceal your luckless knave from their prying 
eyes; with the glance of a tax-collector they 
pounced upon the defaulter, and made him pay; 
rarely or never smiling themselves, they really 
felt all the eagerness, all the excitv,ment of gam- 
bling; and I question if, after all, their hard 
looks and stern features were not the best fun of 
the whole. 

After about two hours thus occupied, during 
which I had won the esteem and affection of sev- 
eral elderly ladies by the equanimity and high- 
mindedness with which I bore up against the loss 
of two whole baskets of counters, amounting to 
the sum of four-and sixpence, I felt my shoulder 
gently touched, and at the same moment Bob 
Mahon whispered in my ear, 

" The Dillons are going; and he wants to speak 
a word with you; so give me your cards, and slip 
away." 

, Resigning my place to the major, whose advent 
was received with evident signs of dissatisfaction, 
inasmuch as he was a shrewd player, I hurried 
through the room to find out Dillon. 

".\h.' here he is," said Miss Bellew to her 
uncle, while she pointed to me. " How provok- 
ing to go away so early — isn't it, Mr. Hinton?" 

" You, doubtless, feel it so," said I, with some- 
thing of pique in my manner; '' your evening has 
been so agreeably passed." 

" And yours, too, if I am to judge from the 
laughter of your card-table. I am sure I never 
heard so noisy a party. Well, Mary? does he 
consent.'" 

" No; papa is still obstinate; and the carriage 
is ordered. He says we shall have so much 
gayety this week that we must go home early to- 
night." 

"There — there! now be good girls. Get on 
your muffling, and let us be off! Ah! Mr. Hin- 
ton! — the very man I wanted. Will you do us 
the very great favor of coming over for a few 
days to Mount Brown? We shall have the part- 
ridge-shooting after to-morrow, and I think I can 
■show you some sport. May I. send in for you in' 



the morning? What hour will suit you? You will 
not refuse me, 1 trust?" 

" 1 need not say, my dear sir, how obliged I 
feel for, and with what pleasure I should accept 
your kind invitation; but the truth is, I've come 
away without leave of absence. The duke may 
return any day, and I shall be in a sad scrape." 

" Do you think a (k:w days ?" 

A look from Louisa BcUew at this moment 
came most powerfully in aid of her uncle's elo- 
quence. 

I hesitated, and looked uncertain how to an- 
swer. 

" There, girls! now is your time. He is half 
persuaded to do a kind thing; do try and con- 
vince him the whole way. Come, Mary! Fanny! 
Louisa!" 

A second look from Miss Bellew decided the 
matter; and as a flush of pleasure colored my 
cheek, I shook Dillon warmly by the hand, and 
promised to accept his invitation. 

" That is like a really good fellow," said the 
little man, with a face sparkling with pleasure. 
" Now, what say you if we drive over for you 
about two o'clock. The girls are coming in to 
make some purchases, and we can all drive out 
together." 

This arrangement, so very palatable to me, was 
agreed upon, and 1 now took Miss Bellew's arm 
to lead her to the carriage. On descending to 
the hall, a delay of a few minutes ensued, but 
the number of vehicles prevented the carriage 
coming up. The weather ap])eared to have 
changed; and it was now raining heavily and 
blowing a perfect storm. 

As the fitful gusts of wind howled along the 
dark corridors of the old building, dashing the 
rain upon our faces even where we stood, I drew 
my fair companion closer to my side, and held her 
cloak more firmly round her. \\ hat a moment 
was that! her arm rested on mine; her very 
tresses were blown each moment across my cheek! 
I know not what I said, but I felt that in the 
tones of my voice they were the utterings of my 
heart that fell from my lips. I had not remem- 
bered that Mr. Dillon had already ])laced his 
daughters in the carriage, and was calling to us 
loudly to follow. 

" No, no; I pray you not," said Louisa, in re- 
ply to I know not what. " Don't you hear my 
uncle?" 

In her anxiety to press forward, she had slight- 
ly disengaged her arm from mine as she spoke. 
At this instant a man rushed forward, and catch- 
ing her hand drew it rudely within his arm, call- 
ing out as he did so, — 

" Never fear, Louisa! you shall not be insulted 
while your cousin is here to protect you." 

She sprang round to reply. "You are mis- 
taken, Ulick! It is Mr. Hinton!" She could say 
no more; for he lifted her into the carriage, and, 
closing the door with a loud bang, desired the 
coachman to drive on. 

Stupefied with amazement, I stood still and 
motionless. My first impulse was to strike him 
to the ground; for although a younger and a 
weaker man, I felt within me at the moment the 
strength to do it. My next thot.ght was of 



98 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



Louisa's warning not to quarrel witli her cousin. 
The struggle indeed was a severe one, but I 
gained the victory over my passion. Unable, 
however, to quit the spot, I stood with my arms 
folded, and my eyes riveted upon him. He re- 
turned my stare; and with a sneer of insuffer- 
able insolence passed me by, and walked up-stairs. 
Not a word was spoken on either side! but there 
are moments in one's life in which a look or pas- 
sing glance rivets an undying hate. Such a one 
did we exchange, and nothing that the tongue 
could speak could compass that secret instinct 
by which we satisfied our enmity. 

With slow, uncertain steps, I mounted the 
stairs; some strange fascination led me, as it were, 
to dog his steps; and although in my heart 1 
prayed that no collision should ever come be- 
tween us, yet I could not resist the headlong im- 
pulse to follow, and to watch him. Like that un- 
explained temptation that leads the gazer over 
some lofty precipice to move on, step by step, yet 
nearer to the brink, conscious of his danger, yet 
unable to recede, so did I track this man from 
place to place, following him as he passed from 
one group to the other of his friends, till at length 
he seated himself at a table, around which a num- 
ber of persons were engaged in noisy and bois- 
terous conversation; he filled a tumbler to the 
brim with wine, and drinking it off at a draught 
refilled again. 

" You are thirsty, Ulick," said some one. 

"Thirsty! On fire, by G— ! You'll not be- 
lieve me when I tell you 1 can't do it; no, by 

Heaven! there is nothing in the way of provoca- 
tion " 

As he said thus much, some lady passing near 
induced him to drop his voice, and the remain- 
der of the sentence was inaudible to me. Hith- 
erto I had been standing beside his chair; I riow 
moved round to the opposite side of the table, 
and, with my arms folded and my eyes firmly 
fixed, stood straight before him. For an instant 
or two he did not remark me, as he continued to 
speak with his head bent downwards. Suddenly 
lifting up his eyes, he started^pushed his chair 
slightly back from the table, — 

"And look! — see!" cried he, as with out- 
stretched finger he pointed towards me — " see! 
if he isn't there again!" Then suddenly chang- 
ing the tone of his voice to one of affected soft- 
ness, he continued, addressing me: " I have been 
explaining, sir, as well as my poor powers will 
permit, the excessive pains I have taken to per- 
suade you to prove yourself a gentleman. One- 
half the trouble you have put me to, would have 
told an Irish gentleman what was looked for at 
his hands; you appear, however, to be the best 
tempered fellows in the world at your side of the 
Channel. Come, now, boys! if any man likes a 
bet, I'll wager ten guineas that even this won't 
ruffle his aimable nature. Pass the sherry here, 
Godfrey! Is that a clean glass beside vou?" 

So saying, he took the decanter, and leisurely 
filling the glass stood up as if to present it, but 
when he attained the erect position, he looked 
at me fixedly for a second, and then dashed the 
wine in my face. A roar of laughter burst 
around me, but I saw nor heard no more. The 



moment before, and my head was cool, my 
senses clear, my faculties unclouded; but now, 
as if derangement had fallen upon me, I could 
see nothing but looks of mockery and scorn, and 
hear nothing save the discordant laugh and the 
jarring accent of derision. 



CHAPTER XXVin. 



THE INN FIRE. 



How I escaped from that room, and by what 
means I found myself in the street, I know not. 
My first impulse was to tear off my cravat that I 
might breathe more freely; still a sense of suffo- 
cation oppressed me, and I felt stunned and 
stupefied, 

" Come along, Hinton — rouse yourself, my 
boy. See, your coat is drenched with rain," 
said a friendly voice behind me; while, grasp- 
ing me forcibly by the arm, the major led me 
forward. 

"What have I done?" cried I, struggling to 
get free. " Tell me — oh tell me, have I done 
wrong? Have I committed any dreadful thing? 
There is an aching pain here — here in my fore- 
head, as though — I dare not speak my shame." 

" Nothing of the kind, my boy," said Mahon; 
" you've conducted yourself admirably. Matt 
Keane saw it all, and he says he never witnessed 
anything finer, and he's no bad judge, let me tell 
you. So there now, be satisfied, and take off 
your wet clothes." 

There was something imperative in the tone in 
which he spoke; besides, the major was one of 
those people who somehow or other always con- 
trive to have their own way in the world, so that 
I yielded at once, feeling, too, that any ojiposi- 
tion would only defer my chance of an ex])lana- 
tion. 

While I was thus occupied in my inner room, 
I could overhear my friend without, engaged in 
the preparation of a little supper, mingling an 
occasional soliloquy with the simmering of the 
grilled bone that browned upon the fire. The 
clink of glasses and plates, and all the evidences 
of punchmaking, breaking every now and then 
amid such reflections as these, — 

"A mighty ugly business — nothing for it but 
meeting him — poor lad, they'll say we murdered 
him among us — och, he's far too young for Gal- 
way. Holloa, Hinton, are you ready? Now 
you look something reasonable; and when we've 
eaten a bit we'll talk this matter over coolly and 
sensibly; and to make your mind easy, I may 
tell you at once I have arranged a meeting for 
you with Burke at five to-morrow morning." 

I grasped his hand convulsively within mine, 
as a gleam of savage satisfaction shot through 
me. 

"Yes, yes," said he, as if replying to my look; 
" it's all as it ought to be. Even his own friends 
are indignant at his conduct; and, indeed, I may 
say it's the first time a stranger has met with 
such treatment in our country." 

"I can believe it well, major," said I; "for 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



99 



unless from the individual in question, I have met 
with nothing but kindness and good feeling 
amongst you; he indeed would seem an excep- 
tion to his countrymen." 

"Therefore the sooner you shoot him the bet- 
ter. But I wish I could see Father Tom." 

'^Aciest, domine! " cried the priest, at the same 
moment, as he entered the room; throwing his 
wet greatcoat into a corner, and giving himself 
a shake a Newfoundland dog might have envied. 
" Isn't this pretty work. Bob.''" said he, turning 
to his cousin with a look of indignant reproach; 
'■ he is not twenty-four hours in the town, and 
you've got him into a fight already; and sure 
it's my own fault that ever brought you together. 
A^t'C fortunain nee gratiam habes — no, indeed, 
you have neitlier luck nor grace. Mauvaise tete, 
as the French say— always in trouble. Arrah, 
don't be talking to me at all, at all — reach me 
over the spirits — sorra better I ever saw you! — 
disturbing me out of my virtuous dreams at two 
in the morning. True enough, die viihi soeieia- 
tein tuam ; but little I thought he'd be get- 
ting you shot before you left the place." 

I endeavored to pacify the good priest as well 
as I was able; the major, too, made every ex- 
planation, but what between his being called out 
of bed, his anger at getting wet, and his cous- 
in's well-known character for affairs of this na- 
ture, it was not before he had swallowed his 
second tumbler of punch that he would " listen 
to rayson." 

" Well, well, if it is so, God's will be done," 
said he, with a sigh. ^'Un bon coup d'e'pe'e, as we 
used to say formerly, is beautiful treatment for 
bad blood; but maybe you're going to fight with 
pistols — oh, murther, them's dreadful things!" 

" 1 begin to suspect," said the major, slyly, 
" that Father Tom's afraid if you shoot Ulick 
he'll never get that fifty pounds he won — ki/te 
iliv lacrymee — eh, Tom?" 

''Ah, the spalpeen," said the priest, with a 
deep groan. "Didn't he do me out of that 
money already." 

" How so, father?" said I, scarce able to re- 
press my laughter at the expression of his face. 

" I was coming down the main street yester- 
day evening, with Doctor Plunket, the bishop, 
beside me, discoursing a little theology, and 
looking as pious and respectable as may be, when 
that villain Burke came running out of a shop, 
and pulling out his pocket-book, cried — 

"'Wait a bit. Father Tom; you know I'm a 
little in your debt about that race, and as you're 
a sporting character, it's only fair to book up at 
once." 

'■'What is this I hear. Father Loftus?' says the 
bishop. 

'■'Oh, my lord,' says I, 'he's 3.joeosus pue; — a 
liumbugging bla-guard; a fareeur, your rever- 
ence, and that's the way he is always cutting 
ills jokes upon the people.' 

"'And so he does not owe you this money?' 
said the bishop, looking mighty hard at us both. 

" ' Not a farthing of it, my lord.' 

" ' That's comfortable, any how,' says Burke, 
putting up his pocket-book; 'and faith, my lord,' 
said he, with a wink, ' I wish I had a loan of you 



for an hour or two every settling day, for troth 
you're a trump;' and with that he went off 
laughing till ye'd have thought he'd split his 
sides, and I am sure I wish he had." 

I don't think Mr. Burke himself could have 
laughed louder or longer at his scheme, than did 
we in hearing it. The priest at length joined in 
the mirth, and I could perceive, as the punch 
made more inroads upon him and the evening 
wore on, that his holy horror of duelling was 
gradually melting away before the warmth of his 
Hibernian propensities. Like a wet sponge ])assed 
across the surface of a dark picture, bringing 
forth from the gloom many a figure and feature 
indistinct before, and displaying touches of light 
not hitherto appreciable, so whiskey setms to 
exercise some strange power of displaying its 
votaries in all their breadth of character, di\tst- 
ing them of the adventitious clothes in which 
position or profession has invested thtni; thus a 
tipsy Irishman stands forth in the exuberance of 
his nationality, Hibernicis Hibernior. Forgetting 
all his moral declamation on duelling, oblivious 
of his late indignation against his cousin, he 
rubbed his hands pleasontly, and related slory 
after story of his own early experiences, some of 
them not a little amusing. 

The major, however, seemed not fully to enjoy 
the priest's anecdotical powers, but sipped his 
glass with a grave and sententious air. 

" Very true, Tom," said he, at length breaking 
silence; "you have seen a fair share of these 
things for a man of your cloth, but where's the 
man living- — show him to me, 1 say — that has 
had my experience, either as principal or second ? 
Haven't I had my four men out in the same 
morning?" 

'"Why, I confess," said I, meekly, "that does 
seem an extravagant allowance." 

" Clear waste, downright profusion, du luxe, 
moil eher. nothing else," observed Father Tom. 
Meanwhile the major rolled his eyes fearfully at 
me, and fidgeted in his chair with impatience to 
be asked for his story, and, as I myself had some 
curiosity on the subject, I begged him to re- 
late it. 

" Tom, here, doesn't like a story at supper," 
said the major, pompously, for, perceiving our 
attitude of attention, he resolved on being a little 
tyrannical before telling it. 

The priest made immediate submission, and 
slyly hinting that his objection only lay again.st 
stories he had been hearing for the last thirty 
years, said he could listen to the narration in 
question with much pleasure. 

"You shall have it, then!" said the major, as 
he squared himself in his chair, and thus began: 

" You have never been in Castle Connel, 
Hinton? Well, there is a wide, bleak line of 
country there, that stretches away to the west- 
ward, with nothing but large, round-backed 
mountains, low, boggy swamps, with here and 
there a miserable mud hovel, surrounded by, 
maybe, half an acre of lumpers, or bad oats; a 
few small streams struggle through this on their 
way to the Shannon, but they are brown and 
dirty as the soil they traverse; and the very fish 
that swim in them are brown and smutty also. 



100 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



" In the very heart of this wild country, I took 
it into my head to build a hoijse. A strange no- 
tion it was, for there was no neighborhood and 
no sporting: but, somehow, I had taken a dis- 
like to mixed society some time before tliat, and 
I found it convenient to live somewhat in retire- 
ment; so that, if the partridges were not in abund- 
ance about me, neither were the process-servers; 
and the truth was, I kept a much sharper look-out 
for the sub-sheriff than I did for the snipe. 

"Of course, as I was over head and ears in 
debt, my notion was to build something very con- 
siderable and imposing; and, to be sure, I had a 
fine portico, and a flight of steps leading up to 
it; and there were ten windows in front, and a 
grand balustrade at the top; and, faith, taking it 
all in all, the building was so strong, the walls so 
thick, the windows so narrow, and the stones so 
black, tliat my cousin, Darcy Mahon, called it 
Newgate — -and not a bad name either — and the 
devil another it ever went by; and even that 
same had its advantages, for when the creditors 
used to read that at the top of my letters, they'd 
say, ' Poor devil! he has enough on his hands, 
there's no use troubling him any more.' Well, 
big as Newgate looked from without, it had not 
much accommodation when you got inside. 
There was, it is true, a fine hall, all flagged, and 
out of it you entered what ought to have been 
the dinner-room, thirty-eight feet by seven-and- 
tvventy, but which was used for herding sheep in 
winter. On the right hand there was a cosy little 
breakfast-room, just about the size of this we 
are in. At the back of the hall, but concealed 
by a pair of folding-doors, there vv'as a grand 
staircase of old Irish oak, that ought to liave led 
up to a great suite of bedrooms, but it only con- 
ducted to one, a little crib I had for myself. 
The remainder were never plastered nor floored; 
and, indeed, in one of them, that vvas over the 
big drawing-room, the joists were never laid, 
which was all the better, for it was there we used 
to keep our hay and straw. 

" Now, at the time I mention, the harvest was 
not brought in, and, instead of its being full, as 
it used to be, it was mighty low; so that, when 
you opened the door above-stairs, instead of 
finding the hay up beside you, it was about four- 
teen feet down beneath you. 

" I can't help boring you with all these details, 
first, because they are essential to my story; and 
next, because, being a young man, and a for- 
eigner to boot, it may lead you to a little better 
understanding of some of our national customs. 
Of all the partialities we Irish have, after wine 
and the ladies, I believe our ruling passion is to 
build a big house, spend every shilling we have, 
or that we have not, as the case may be, in get- 
ting it half finished, and then live in a corner of 
it ' just for grandeur," as a body may say. It's 
a droll notion, after all; but show me the county 
in Ireland that hasn't at least six specimens of 
what I mention. 

" Newgate was a beautiful one; and although 
the sheep lived in the parlor, and the cows were 
kept in the blue drawing-room, Darby Whaley 
slept in the boudoir, and two bulldogs and a buck 
goat kept house in the library, faith, upon the 



outside it looked very imposing, and not one 
that saw it from the high-road to Ennis — and 
you could see it for twelve miles in every direc- 
tion — didn't say, 'That Mahon must be a snug 
fellow; look what a beautiful place he has of it 
there!' Little they knew that it was safer to go 
up the ' Reeks' than my grand staircase, and it 
was like rope-dancing to pass from one room to 
the other. 

" Well, it was about four o'clock in the after- 
noon of a dark, leaden day in December, that I 
was treading homewards in no very good humor, 
for, except a brace and a half of snipe, and a 
grey plover, I had met with nothing the whole 
day. The night was falling fast, so I began to 
hurry on as quickly as I could, when I heard a 
loud shout behind me, and a voice called out, — 

'"It's Bob Mahon, boys! By the Hill of 
Scariff, we are in luck!' 

" I turned about, and what should I see but a 
parcel of fellows in red coats; they were the 
Blazers. There was Dan Lambert, Tom Burke, 
Harry Eyre, Joe M'Mahon, and the rest of them: 
fourteen souls in all. They had come down to 
draw a cover of Stephen Blake's, about ten miles 
from me, but in the strange mountain country 
they lost the dogs, they lost their way, and their 
temper; in truth, to all appearance they lost 
everything but their appetites. Their horses 
were dead beat, too, and they looked as misera- 
ble a crew as ever you set eyes on. 

"' Isn't it lucky. Bob, that we found you at 
home?' said Lambert. 

" ' They told us you were away,' says Burke. 

" ' Some said that you were grown so pious 
that you never went out except on Sundays,' 
added old Harry, with a grin. 

" ' Begad,' said I, ' as to the luck, I won't say 
much for it; for here's all I can give you for 
your dinner;' and so I pulled out the four birds 
and shook them at them; 'and as to the piety, 
troth, maybe, you'd like to keep a fast with as 
devoted a son of the church as myself." 

"'But isn't that Newgate up there?" said one. 

" 'That same." 

" ' And you don't mean to say that such a house 
as that hasn't a good larder and a fine cellar?' 

"'You"re right,' said I, 'and they're both full 
at this very moment — the one with seed-potatoes, 
and the other with Whitehaven coals.' 

" ' Have you got any bacon?' said Mahon. 

"'Oh, yes," said I, 'there's bacon." 

"'And eggs?' said another. 

'"For the matter of that, you might swim in 
batter.' 

"'Come, come,' said Dan Lambert, 'we're not 
so badly off after all.' 

"'Is there whiskey?* cried Eyre. 

"'Seventy-three gallons, that never paid the 
King sixpence!" 

" As I said thi's, they gave three cheers you'd 
have heard a mile off. 

"After about twenty minutes' walking we got 
up to the house, and when poor Darby opened 
the door, I thought he'd faint, for, you see, the 
red coats made him think it was the army coming 
to take me away, and he was for running off to 
raise the country, when I caught him by the neck. 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



101 



'"Its the Blazers! ye old fool,' said I. 'The 
gentlemen are come to dine here.' 

"'Hurrool' said he, clapping his hands on his 
knees, 'there must be great distress entirely down 
about Nenagh and them parts, or they'd never 
think of coming up here for a bit to eat.' 

" ' Which way lie the stables. Bob?' said Burke. 

"'Leave all that to Darby,' said I; for ye see 
he had only to whistle and bring up as many 
people as he liked — and so he did, too; and as 
there was room for a cavalry regiment, the horses 
were soon bedded down and comfortable, and in 
ten minutes' time we were all sitting pleasantly 
round a big fire, waiting for the rashers and eggs. 

" ' Now, if you'd like to wash your hands before 
dinner, Lambert, come along with me.' 

"'By all means,' said he. 

"The others were standing up too; but, I ob- 
served, that as the house was large, and the ways 
of it unknown to them, it was better to wait till 
I'd come back for them. 

'"This was a real piece of good luck. Bob,' 
said Dan, as he followed me up-stairs; 'capital 
quarters we've fallen into; and what a snug bed- 
room ye have here.' 

" ' Yes,' said I, carelessly, ' it's one of the small 
rooms — there are eight like this, and five large 
ones, plainly furnished, as you see, but for the 
present, you know ' 

'"Oh, begad; I wish for nothing better. Let 
me sleep here— the other fellows may care for 
your four-posters with satin hangings.' 

"'Well,' said I, 'if you are really not joking, I 
may tell you that the room is one of the warmest 
in the house,' and this was telling no lie. 

" ' Her^ I'll sleep,' said he, rubbing his hands 
with satisfaction, and giving the bed a most affec- 
tionate look. 'And now let us join the rest.' 

"When I brought Dan down, I took up Burke, 
and after him M'Mahon, and so on to the last; 
but every time I entered the parlor I found them 
all bestowing immense praises on my house, and 
each fellow ready to bet he had got the best 
bedroom. 

" Dinner soon made its appearance; for if the 
cookery was not very perfect, it was at least 
wonderfully expeditious. There were two men 
cutting rashers, two more frying them in the pan, 
and another did nothing but break the eggs; 
Darby running from the parlor to the kitchen and 
back again, as hard as he could trot. 

" Do you know now, that many a time since, 
when I have been giving venison, and Burgundy, 
and claret enough to swim a life-boat in, I often 
thought it was a cruel waste of money; for the 
fellows weren't half as pleasant as they were that 
evening on bacon and whiskey! 

"I've a theory on that subject, Hinton, I'll talk 
to you more about another time; I'll only observe 
now, that I'm sure we all over-feed our company. 
I've tried both plans; and my honest experience 
is, that as far as regards conviviality, fun, and 
good fellowship, it is a great mistake to provide 
too well for your guests. There is something 
heroic in eating your mutton-chop or your leg of 
turkey among jolly fellows; there is a kind of re- 
flective flattering about it that tells you you have 
been invited for your drollery, and not for your 



digestion; and that your jokes, and not your flat- 
tery, have been your recommendation. Lord 
bless you! I've laughed more over red herrings 
and poteen than ever I expect to do again over 
turtle and tokay. 

" My guests were, to do them justice, a good 
illustration of my theory. A pleasanter and a 
merrier party never sat down together. We had 
good songs, good stories, plenty of laughing, and 
plenty of drink; until at last poor Darby became so 
overpowered by the fumes of the hot water, I sup- 
pose, that he was obliged to be carried up to bed, 
and so we were compelled to boil the kettle in 
the parlor. This, I think, precipitated matters; 
for, by some mistake, they put punch into it in- 
stead of water, and the more you tried to weaken 
the liquor, it was only the more tipsy you were 
getting. 

" About two o'clock, five of the party were 
under the table, three more were nodding back- 
wards and forwards like insane pendulums, and 
the rest were mighty noisy, and now and then 
rather disposed to be quarrelsome. 

" ' Bob,' said Lambert to me, in a whisper, ' if 
it's the same thing to you, I'll slip away, and get 
into bed.' 

" ' Of course, if you won't take anything more. 
Just make yourself at home; and as you don't 
know the way here, follow me!' 

" ' I'm afraid,' said he, ' I'd not find my way 
alone.' 

" ' I think,' said I, ' it's very likely. But come 
along!' 

"I walked up stairs before him; but instead of 
turning to the left, I went the other way, till I 
came to the door of the large room that I have 
told you already was over the big drawing-room. 
Just as I put my hand on the lock, I contrived 
to blow out the candle as if it was the wind. 

"'What a draught there is here,' said I; "but 
just step in, and I'll go for a light.' 

" He did as he was bid; but instead of finding 
himself on my beautiful little carpet, down he 
went, fourteen feet into the hay at the bottom! I 
looked down after him for a minute or two, and 
then called out, — 

" ' As I am doing tbe honors of Newgate, the 
least I could do was to show you the drop. 
Good-night, Dan! but let me advise you to get 
a little farther from the door, as there are more 
coming.' 

"Well, sir, when they missed Dan and me out 
of the room, two or three more stood up, and 
declared for bed also. The first I took up was 
Ffrench, of Green Park; for, indeed, he wasn't a 
'cute fellow at the best of times; and if it wasn't 
that the hay was so low, he'd never have guessed 
it was not a feather bed till he woke in the morn- 
ing. Well, down he went. Then came Eyre! 
Then Joe Mahon — two-and-twenty stone — no 
less. Lord pity them! — this was a great shock 
entirely! But when I opened the door for Tom 
Burke, upon my conscience you'd think it was a 
Pandemonium they had down there. They were 
fighting like devils, and roaring with all their 
might. 

"'Good-night, Tom!' said I, pushing Burke 
forward. 'It's the cows you hear underneath.' 



102 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



'' Cows!' said he 'If they're cows, bedad 
they must have got at that seventy-three gallons 
of poteen yen talked of, for they're all drunk.' 

"With that he snatched the candle out of my 
hand, and looked down into the pit. Never was 
such a sight seen before or since. Dan was 
])itching into poor Ffrench, who, thinking he had 
an enemy before him, was hitting out manfully at 
an old turf-creel, that rocked and creaked at 
every blow, as he called out, — 

" ' I'll smash you! I'll dinge your ribs for you, 
}'ou infernal scoundrel!' 

" Eyre was struggling in the hay, thinking he 
was swimming for his life; and poor Joe Mahon 
was patting him on the head, and saying, ' Poor 
fellow! good dog!' for he thought it was Towser 
the bull terrier, that was prowling round the 
calves of his legs. 

" ' If they don't get tired, there'll not be a man 
of them alive by morning!' said Tom, as he closed 
the door. ' And now, if you'll allow me to sleep 
on the carpet, I'll take it as a favor.' 

" By this time they were all quiet in the parlor; 
so I lent Tom a couple of blankets and a bolster, 
and having locked my door, went to bed with an 
easy mind and a quiet conscience. To be sure, 
now and then a cry would burst forth, as if they 
were killing somebody below stairs, but I soon 
fell asleep, and heard no more of them. 

" By daybreak next morning they made their 
escape; and when I was trying to awake, at half- 
past ten, I found Colonel M'Morris, of the 
Mayo, with a message from the whole four. 

" ' A bad business this. Captain Mahon,' said 
he; 'my friends have been shockingly treated.' 

"'It's mighty hard,' said I, ' to want to shoot 
me, because I hadn't fourteen feather-beds in the 
house.' 

" ' They will be the laugh of the whole country, 
sir.' 

" ' Troth!' said I, ' if the country is not in very 
low spirits, I think they will.' 

'" There's not a man of them can see!— their 
eyes are actually closed up!' 

"'The Lord be praised!' said I. 'It's not 
likely they'll hit me.' 

" But to make a short story of it, out we went. 
Tom Burke was my friend. I could scarce hold 
my pistol with laughing; for such faces no man 
ever looked at. But for self-perservation sake, I 
thought it best to hit one of them; so I just 
pinked Ffrench a little under the skirt of the coat. 
' " 'Come, Lambert!' said the colonel, 'it's your 
turn now.' 

" ' Wasn't that Lambert,' said I, ' that I hit?' 

'■ ' No,' said he, ' that was Ffrench.' 

"'Begad, I'm sorry for it. Ffrench, my dear 
fellow, excuse me; for you see, you're all so like 
each o.ther aljout the eyes this morning ' 

" With this there was a roar of laughing from 
them all, in which, I assure you, Lambert took 
not a very prominent part; for somehow he didn't 
fancy my polite inquiries after him; and so we 
all shook hands, and left the ground as good 
friends as ever, though to this hour the name of 
Newgate brings less pleasant recollections to their 
minds than if their fathers had been hanged at 
its prototype." 



CHAPTER XXIX. 



THE DUEL. 



When morning broke I started up and opened 
the window. It was one of those bright and 
beauteous daybreaks which would seem to be the 
compensation a northern climate possesses for its 
want of the azure sky of noon and the silvery 
moonlight of night, the gifts of happier climes. 

The pink hue of the sky was gradually replacing 
the paler tints, like a deep blush mantling the 
cheek of beauty; the lark was singing high in the 
heaven, and the deep note of the blackbird came 
mellowed from the leafy grove; the cattle were 
still at rest, and seemed half unwilling to break 
the tranquil stillness of the scene, as they lay 
breathing the balmy odors from the wild flowers 
that grew around them. Such was the picture 
that lay on one side of me; on the other was the 
long street of a little town, on which yet the 
shadows of night were sleeping; the windows 
were closed; not a smoke-wreath rose from any 
chimney, but all was still and peaceful. 

In my little parlor I found the good priest and 
the major fast asleep in their chairs, pretty much 
in the same attitudes I had left them in some 
hours before. The fire had dic^! away; the 
square decanter of whiskey was emptied to its last 
drop, and the kettle lay pensively on one side, 
like some ship-wrecked craft, high and dry upon 
the shore. I looked at my watch; it' -as but four 
o'clock. Our meeting was appointed lor half- 
past five; so I crept noiselessly back to my room, 
not sorry to have half an hour to myself of un- 
disturbed reflection. When I had finished my 
dressing, I threw up the sash and sprang out into 
the garden. It was a wild, uncultivated spot, 
but still there was something of beauty in those 
old trees, whose rich blossoms scented the air, 
while the rank weeds of many a gay and gaudy 
hue shot up luxuriantly about their trunks, the 
pink marsh-mallow and the taper fox-glove 
mingling their colors with the sprayey meadow- 
sweet and the wild sweet-briar. There was an air 
of solitude in the neglect around me that seemed 
to suit the habit of my soul; and I strolled along 
from one walk to another, lost in my own thoughts. 

There were many things at a moment hkethat 
I would fain have written — fain have said; but 
so it is, in the wealth of our emotions we can 
give nothing; and I could not bring myself to 
write to my friends, even to say farewell. Al- 
though I felt that in every stage of this proceed- 
ing I had nothing to reproach myself with, this 
duel being thrust on me by one who had singled 
me out for his hatred, yet I saw, as its result, 
nothing but the wreck of all my hopes. Already 
had she intimated how strong was her father's at- 
tachment to his nepliew, and with an expressive 
fear cautioned me against any collision with him. 
How vain are all our efforts, how fruitless are all 
our endeavors to struggle against the current of 
our fate! We may stem for a short time the full 
tide of fortune — we may breast, with courage 
high and spirit fierce, the rough billows as they 
break upon us, but we are certain to succumb in 
the end. With some men failure is a question of 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



103 



fear — seme want the i^ersevering courage to drag 
on amid trials and difficulties — and some are de- 
ficient in the temper which, subduing our actions 
to a law, governs and presides over every moment 
of our lives, rendering us even in our periods of 
excitement and irritation amenable to the guid- 
ance of our reason. 

This was my case; and I felt that, notwith- 
standing all my wishes to avoid a quarrel with 
Burke, yet in my heart a lurking spirit urged me 
to seek him out and offer him defiance. While 
these thoughts were passing through my mind, I 
suddenly heard a voice which somehow seemed 
half familiar to my ear. I listened. It came from 
a room of which the window was partly open. I 
now remembered that poor Joe lay in that part 
of the house, and the next moment I knew it to 
be his. Placing a ladder against the wall, I crept 
quietly up till I could peep into the room. The 
poor fellow was alone — sitting up in his bed, with 
his hunting-cap on, an old whip in his hand, 
which he flourished from time to time with no 
small energy; his cheek was flushed; and his eye, 
prominent and flashing, denoted the access of 
high fever. It was evident that his faculties, 
clouded as they were even in his happiest mo- 
ments, were now under the wilder influence of 
delirium. He was speaking rapidly to himself in 
a quick undertone, calling the dogs by name; ca- 
ressing this one, scolding that; and then, burst- 
ing forth into a loud tally-ho! his face glowed 
with an ecstatic pleasure, and he broke forth 
into a rude chant, the words of which I have 
never forgotten; for as he sung them in a voice 
of wild and touching sweetness, they seemed the 
very outpourings of his poor simple heart: 

" I never yet owned a horse or hound, 
I never was lord of a foot of ground; 
Yet few are richer, I will be bound. 

Than me of a hunting morning. 

" I'm f.ir better off nor him that pays; 

For though I've no money, I live at my ease. 
With hunting and shooting whenever I please. 
And a tally-high-ho in the morning. 

"As I goon foot, I don't lose my sate, 
As I take the gaps, I don't break a gate; 
And if I'm not first, I'm seldom lale, 

With my tally-high-ho in the morning, 

'* And there's not a man, be lie high or low, 
In the par's down here, or wherever you go. 
That doesn't like poor Tipperary Joe, 

With his tally-highho in the morning." 

A loud view-halloo followed this wild chant, 
and then the poor fellow, as if exhausted by his 
efforts, sank back in the bed, muttering to him- 
self, in a low, broken voice, but with a look so 
happy and a smile so tranquil, he seemed more 
a thing to envy, than one to commiserate and 
pity. 

" I say, Hinton," shouted the major from the 
window of my bedroom, " what the deuce are 
you doing up that ladder there? Not serenading 
Mrs. Dnolan, I hope? Are you aware it is five 
o'clock?" 

I descended with all haste, and, joining my 
friend, took his arm, and set out towards the ren- 
dezvous. 



" I didn't order the horses." said Mahon, "for 
the rumor of such a thing as this always gets 
abroad through one's servants." 

" Ah, yes," said I; " and then you have the po- 
lice." 

"The police!" repeated he, laughing; "not a 
bit of it, my boy; don't forget you're in glorious 
old Ireland, where no one ever thinks of spoil- 
ing a fair fight. It is possible the magistrate 
might issue his warrant if you would not come 
up to time, but for anything else " 

" Well," said I, " that does afford me another 
glimpse of your habits. How far have we to go, 
major?" 

" You remember the grass field below the sunk 
fence, to the left of the mill ?" 

"Where the stream runs?" 

" Exactly; that's the spot. It was old Pigott 
chose it, and no man is a better judge of these 
things. By-the-bye, it is very lucky that Burke 
should have pitched upon a gentleman for his Iriend 
— I mean a real gentleman- — for there are plenty of 
his acquaintances who, under that name, would 
rob the mail." 

Thus chatting as we went, Mahon informed 
me that Pigott was an old half-pay colonel, whose 
principal occupation for thirteen years had been 
what the French would call "'to assist" at affairs 
of honor. Even the major himself looked up to 
him as a last appeal in a disputed or a difficult 
point; and many a reserved case was kept for his 
opinion with the same ceremonious observance as 
a knotty point of law for the consideration of 
the twelve judges. Crossing the little rivulet 
near the mill, we held on by a sinall by-path 
which brought us over the starting ground of the 
steeple-chase, by the scene of part of my pre- 
ceding day's exploits. While I was examining, 
with some curiosity, the ground cut up and trod 
by the horse's feet, and looking at the spot where 
he had taken the fence, the sharp sound of two 
pistols-shots quickly aroused me, and I eagerly 
asked what it was. 

" Snapping the pistols," said Mahon. "Ah, 
by-the-bye, all this kind 9f thing is new to you; 
never mind; put a careless, half indifferent kind 
of face on the matter. Do you take snuff? It 
doesn't signify; put your hands in your pockets, 
and hum 'Tatter Jack Walsh!' " 

As I supposed there was no specific charm in 
the melody he alluded to, nor, if there had been, 
had I any tiirie to acquire it, I consoled myself 
by observing the first part of his direction, and 
strolled after him into the field with an indiffer- 
ence only, perhaps, a little too perfect. 

Mr. Burke and his friends, to the number of 
about a dozen persons, were already assembled ; 
and were one to judge from their loud talking 
and hearty laughter as we came forward, it would 
seein difficult to credit the occasion that brought 
them there; so, at least, I thought. Not so, how- 
ever, the major; for, with a hop, step, and a jump, 
performed by about the shortest pair of legs in 
the barony, he sprang into the midst of the party, 
with some droll observation on the benefits of 
early rising, which once more called forth their 
merriment. Seating myself on a large moss- 
covered stone, I waited patiently for the prelim- 



104 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



iiiaries to be settled. As I threw my eye among 
• the i^roup, I perceived that Burke was not there; 
hut on turning my head, I remarked two men walk- 
ing arm-in-arm on the opposite side of the hedge. 
As they paced to and fro, I could see, by the vio- 
lence of his gesticulations, and the energy of his 
manner, that one was Burke. It seemed as though 
his companion was endeavoring to reason with, and 
dissuade him from some course of proceeding he 
appeared bent on following; but there was a savage 
earnestness in his manner that would not admit of 
persuasion; and at last, as if wearied and vexed 
by his friend's importunities, he broke rudely 
from him, and springing over the fence, called 
out, " Pigott, are you aware it is past six?" Then, 
pulling out his watch, he added, "I must be at 
Ballinasloe by eleven o'clock." 

" If you speak another word, sir," said the old 
colonel, with an air of offended dignity, " I leave 
the ground! Major Mahon, a word if you please." 

They walked apart from the rest for a few 
seconds, and then the colonel, throwing his glove 
upon the grass, proceeded to step off the ground 
■with a military precision and formality, that I 
am sure at any other time would have highly 
amused me. After a slight demur from the 
major, to which I could perceive the colonel 
readily yielded, a walking-stick was stuck at 
either end of the measured distance, while the 
two seconds, placing themselves beside them, 
looked at each other with very great satisfaction, 
and mutually agreed it was a sweet spot. 

" Would you like to look at these?" said Pigott, 
taking up the pistols from where they lay on the 
grass. 

"Ah, I know them well," replied the major, 
laughing, " these were poor Tom Casey's, and a 
better fellow, and a handier with his iron, never 
snapped a trigger. These are ours, colonel;" 
presenting, as he spoke, two splendid-look- 
ing Pylortimers, in all the brilliancy of their maiden 
^ freshness. A look of contempt from the colonel, 
and a most expressive shrug of his shoulders, 
was the reply. 

"Begad, I think so,", said Mahon, as if appre- 
ciating the gesture; " I had rather have that old 
tool with the cracked stock — not but this is a 
very sweet instrument, and elegantly balanced in 
the hand." 

"We are ready," said Pigott; "bring up your 
man, major." 

As I started up to obey the summons, a slight 
bustle near attracted me. Two or three of 
Burke's friends were endeavoring, as it were, to 
pacify and subdue him; but his passion knew no 
bounds, and as he broke from them, he said, in 
a voice perfectly audible where I stood, " Won't 
1, by G — ; then I'll tell you, if I don't shoot 
him " 

"Sir," said the colonel, turning on him a look 
of passionate indignation, " if it were not that 
you were here to answer the appeal of wounded 
honor, I'd leave you to your fate this moment; as 
it is, another such expression as that you have 
used, and I abandon you on the spot." 

Doggedly and without speaking, Burke drew 
bis hat far down upon his eyes, and took the 
place marked out for him. 



"Mr. Hinton," said the colonel, as he touched 
his hat with most courteous politenesss, "will 
you have the goodness to stand there?" 

Mahon, meanwhile, handed each man his pistol, 
and, whispering in my ear "Aim low," retired. 

" The word, gentlemen," said the colonel, 
"will be one, two, three. Mr. Hinton, pray ob- 
serve, I beg of you, you'll not reserve your fire 
after I say three." With his eyes fixed upon us, 
he walked back about ten paces. "Are you 
ready — are you both ready?" 

"Yes, yes," said Burke, impatiently. 

" Yes," said I. 

" One, two, three." 

I lifted my pistol at the second word, and as 
the last dropped from the colonel's lips one loud 
report rang through the air and both pistols 
went off together. A quick, sharp pang shot 
through my cheek, as though it had been seared 
by a hot instrument. I ]nit up my hand, but the 
ball had only touched the flesh, and a few drops 
of blood were all the damage. Not so Burke; my 
ball had entered above the hip, and already his 
trousers were stained with blood, and notwith- 
standing his endeavors, he could not stand up 
straight. 

"Is he hit, Pigott?" cried he, in a voice harsh 
from agony. "Is he hit, I say?" 

" Only grazed," said I, tranquilly, as I wiped 
the stain from my face. 

" Another pistol, quick! Do you hear me, 
Pigott?" 

" We are not the arbiters in this case," replied 
the colonel, coolly. "Major Mahon, is your 
friend satisfied?" 

"Perfectly satisfied on our own account," said 
the major; "but if the gentleman desires another 
shot- " 

" I do, I do!" screamed Burke, as, writhing 
with pain, he pressed both hands to his side, 
from which the blood, now gushing in torrents, 
formed a pool about his feet. "Be quick there, 
Pigott, I am getting faint." He staggered for- 
ward as he spoke, his face pale and his lips 
parted; then, suddenly clutching his pistol by the 
barrel, he fixed his eyes steadily on me, while 
with a curse he hurled the weapon at my head, 
and fell senseless to the earth. His aim was 
true, for straight between the eyes the weapon 
struck me, and felled me to the ground. Although 
stunned for the moiuent, I could hear the cry of 
horror and indignant shame that broke from the 
bystanders; but the next instant a dreamy con- 
fusion came over me, and I became unconscious 
of what was passing around. 



CHAPTER XXX. 



A COUNTRY DOCTOR. 



Should my reader feel any interest concern- 
ing that portion of my history which immediately 
followed the events of my last chapter, 1 believe 
I must refer him to Mrs. Doolan, the amiable 
hostess of the Bonaveen Arms. Shecou'd prob- 
ably satisfy any curious inquiry as to the coik- 



JACK HINTON. THE GUARDSMAN. 



105 



fusion produced in her establishment by the lively 
sallies of 'I'ipperary Joe in one quarter, and the 
more riotous madness of myself in another. The 
fact is, good reader, my head was an English 
one; and although its contents were gradually 
acclimatins; themselves to the habits of the coun- 
try, the external shell had not assumed that 
proper thickness and due power of resistance 
which Irish heads would appear to be gifted 
with. In plain words, the injury had brought 
on delirium. 

It was somewhere in the third week after this 
unlucky morning, that I found myself lying in 
my bed, with a wet cloth upon my temples; while 
over my whole frame was spread that depressing 
sense of great debility, more difficult to bear than 
acute bodily suffering. Although unable to speak, 
I could distinctly hear the conversation about 
me, and recognize the voices of both Father Tom 
and the major as they conversed with a third 
party, whom I afterwards learned was the Galen 
of Loughrea. Dr. Mopin, surgeon of the Ros- 
common militia, had been for forty years the 
terror of the sick of the surrounding country; 
for, independent of a naturally harsh and dis- 
agreeable manner, he had a certain slang and 
sneering way of addressing his patients, that was 
perfectly shocking. Amusing himself the while 
at their expense by suggesting the various un- 
happy and miserable consequences that might 
follow on their illness, he appeared to take a 
diabolical pleasure in the terror he was capable 
of eliciting. 

There was something almost amusing in the 
infernal ingenuity lie had acquired in this species 
of torture. There was no stage of your illness, 
no phase of your constitution, no character, no 
condition of your malady, that was not the im- 
mediate forerunner of one or more afflicting cal- 
amities. Were you getting weaker, it was "the 
way they always died out;" did you gain strength, 
it was a " rally before death;" were you despond- 
ent, it was " best for you to know your state;" 
were you sanguine, he would rebuke your good 
spirits, and suggest the propriety of a priest. 
However, with all these qualifications, people put 
Up with him; and, as he had a certain kind of 
rude skill, and never stuck at a bold method, he 
obtained the best practice of the country, and a 
wide-spread reputation. 

" Well," said Father Tom, in a low voice — 
" well, doctor, what do you think of him this 
evening?" 

" What do I think of him? Just what I thought 
before — congestion of the membranes. This is 
the low stage he is in now. I wouldn't be sur- 
prised if he'd get a little better in a few days, 
and then go off like the rest of them." 

" Go off! eh? Now, you don't mean " 

"Don't I? Maybe not. The ould story — 
coma, convulsions, and death." 

" Damn the fellow," said the major, in a mut- 
tering voice; " I feel as if I was in a well. But, 
I sav. doctor, what are we to do?" 

"Anything you please. They say his family 
is mighty respectable, and have plenty of money. 
I hope so; for here am I coming three times a 
day, and maybe when he dies it will be a mourn- 



ing ring they'll be sending me instead of my fee. 
He was a dissipated chap, I am sure; look at the 
circles under his eyes!" 

" Ay, ay," said the priest, " but they only came 
since his illness." 

" So much the worse," added the invincible 
doctor; " that's always a symptom that the base 
of the brain is attacked." 

" And what happens then?" said the major. 

" Oh, he might recover. I knew a man once 
got over it, and he is alive now, and in Swift's 
hospital." 

" Mad ?" said the priest. 

" Mad as a March hare," grinned the doctor; 
" he thinks himself the post-office clock, and 
chimes all the hours and half hours day and 
night." 

" The heavens be about us!" said Father Tom, 
crossing himself piously. " I had rather be dead 
than that." 

" When did you see Burke?" inquired the 
major, wishing to change the conversation. 

" About an hour ago; he is going fast." 

"Why, I thought he was better," said Father 
Tom; " they told me he eat a bit of chicken, and 
took a little wine and water." 

" Ay, so he did; I bid them give him what- 
ever he liked, as' his time was so short; so, after 
all, maybe it is as well for this young chap here 
not to get over it." 

" How so?" said the major; " what do you 
mean by that?" 

"Just that it is as good to die of a brain 
fever as be hanged, and it won't shock the 
family." 

"I'd break his neck," muttered Bob Mahon, 
" if there was another doctor within forty miles." 

Of all his patients, Tipperary Joe was the 
only one of whom he spoke without disparage- 
ment; whether that the poor fellow's indiffer- 
ence to his powers of terrorizing had awed or 
conciliated him, I know not; but he expressed 
himself favorably regarding his case, and his 
prospects of recovery. 

" Them chaps always recover," drawled out 
the doctor, in dolorous cadence. 

"Is it true," said the major, with a malicious 
grin — " is it true that he changed all the splints 
and bandages to the sound leg, and that you 
didn't discover the mistake for a week after- 
wards? Mary Doolan told me." 

"Mrs. Doolan," said the doctor, " ought to 
be thinking of her own misfortunes; and with a 
chronic inflammation of the pericardium, she 
might be making her sowl." 

" She ill? — that fine, fat, comfortable-looking 
woman!" 

"Ay, just so; they're always fat, and have a 
sleepy look about the eyes, just like yourself. 
Do you ever bleed at the nose?" 

" Never without a blow on it. Come, come, 
I know you well, doctor; you shall not terrify 
me." 

" You're right not to fret, for it will take you 
off suddenly, with a giddiness in your head, and 
a rolling in your eyes, and a choking feeling 
about your throat " 

"Stop and be d — d to you!" said the major, 



106 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



as he cleared his voice a couple of times, and 
loosed the tie of his cravat. " This room is 
oppressively hot." 

"I protest to God," said Father Tom, " my 
heart is in my mouth, and there isn't a bone in 
my body that's not aching." 

" I don't wonder," chimed in the doctor; " you 
are another of them, and you are a surprising 
man to go on so long. Sure, it is two years ago 
I warned your niece that when she saw you fall 
down, she must open a vein in your neck, if it 
was only with the carving-knife." 

" The saints in Heaven forbid!" said the priest, 
cutting the sign of the cross in the air; "it's 
maybe the jugular she'd cut." 

'■ No," drawled out the doctor, "she needn't 
go so deep; and if her hand doesn't shake, 
there won't be much danger. Good-evening to 
you both." 

So saying, with his knees bent, and his hands 
crossed under the skirts of his coat, he sneaked 
out of the room; while the others, overcome 
with fear, shame, and dismay, sat silently, look- 
ing misery itself, at each side of the table. 

" That fellow would kill a regiment," said the 
major, at length. " Come, Tom, let's have a 
little punch. I've a kind of a trembling over 
me." 

"Not a drop of anything stronger than water 
will cross my lips this blessed night. Do you 
know, Bob, I think this place doesn't agree with 
me; I wish I was back in Murranakilty; the 
mountain air and regular habits of life — that's 
the thing for me." 

"We are none of us abstemious enough," said 
the major; " and then we bachelors — to be sure, 
you have your niece." 

" Whisht!" said the priest; " how do you know 
who is listening? I vow to God I am quite 
alarmed at his telling that to Mary; some night 
or other, if I take a little too much, she'll maybe 
try her anatomy upon me." 

This unhappy reflection seemed to weigh upon 
the good priest's mind, and set him a mumbling 
certain Latin offices between his teeth for a 
quarter of an hour. 

"I wish," said the major, " Hinton was able 
to read his letters, for here is a whole bundle 
of them — some from England, some from the 
Castle, and some marked ' On His Majesty's 
Service.' " 

" I'll wait another week, any how, for him," 
said the priest. " To go back to Dublin in the 
state he is now would be the ruin of him, after 
the shake he has got; the dissipation, the dining 
out, and all the devilment would destroy him 
entirely; but a few week's peace and quietness 
up at Murranakilty will make him as sound as a 
bell." 

"You are right, Tom, you are right," said the 
major, " the poor fellow musn't be lost for the 
want of a little care; and now that Dillon has 
gone, there is no one here to look after him. Let 
us go down and see if the post is in: I think a 
walk would do us good." 

Assenting to this proposition, the priest bent 
over me mournfully for a moment, shook his 
head, and, having muttered a blessing, walked 



out of the room with the major, leaving me 'n 
silence to think over all I had over-heard. 

Whether it was that youth suggested the 
hope, or that I more quickly imbibed an appre- 
ciation of the doctor's character from being the 
looker-on at the game, I am not exactly sure; 
but certainly I felt little depressed by his gloomy 
forebodings respecting me, and greatly lightened 
at my heart by the good news of poor Tipperary 
Joe. 

Of all the circumstances which attended my 
illness, the one that most impressed me was the 
warm, affectionate solicitude of my two friends — 
the priest and his cousin. There was something 
of kindness and good feeling in their care of me, 
that spoke rather of a long friendship than of 
the weaker ties of chance and passing acquaint- 
ance. Again I thought of home, and, while I 
asked myself if the events which beset my path 
in Ireland could have happened to me there, I 
could not but acknowledge that, if they had so, 
I could scarcely have hoped to have suddenly 
conjured up such faithful and benevolent friends, 
with no other claim, nor other recommendation, 
save that of being a stranger. 

The casual observation concerning my letters 
had, by stimulating my curiosity, awakened my 
dormant energy; and, by a great effort, I 
stretched out my hand to the little bell beside 
my bed, and rang it. The summons was an- 
swered by the bare-legged girl who acted as 
waiter in the inn. When she had sufficiently re- 
covered from her astonishment to comprehend 
my request, I persuaded her to place a candle 
beside me, and having given me the packet of 
letters that lay on the chimney-piece, I desired 
her on no account to admit any one, but say that 
I had fallen into a sound sleep, and should not 
be disturbed. 



CHAPTER XXXL 



THE LETTER-BAG. 



The package of letters was a large one, of all 
sizes; from all quarters they came: some from 
home, some from my brother officers of the 
Guards, some from the Castle, and even one from 
O'Grady. 

The first I opened was a short note from Hor- 
ton, the private secretary to tlie viceroy; this in- 
formed me that Major Mahon had written a 
statement to the duke of all the circumstances 
attending my duel; and that his grace had not 
only expressed himself highly satisfied with my 
conduct, but had ordered a very polite reply to 
be addressed to the major, thanking him for his 
great kindness, and saying with what pleasure he 
found that a member of his staff had fallen into 
such good hands. 

" His grace desires me to add," continued the 
writer, " that you need only consult your own 
health and convenience with respect to your re- 
turn to duty; and, in fact, your leave of absence 
is perfectly discretionary." 

My mind relieved of a weighty load by the 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



107 



contents of this letter, I recovered my strength 
already so far that I sat up in bed to peruse the 
others. My next was from my father; it ran 
thus: 

" Dear Jack, — Your friend, Major Mahon, to 
whom I write by tliis post, will deliver this letter 
to you when he deems fit. He has been most 
good-natured in conveying to me a narrative of 
your late doings; and I cannot express how 
grateful we all are to him for the truly friendly 
part he has taken towards you. After the 
strictest scrutiny, for I confess to you I feared 
lest the major's might be too partial an account, 
I rejoice to sav that your conduct meets with my 
entire approbation. An older and a wiser head 
might, it is possible, have avoided some of the 
difficulties you have met with; but this I will 
add, that once in trouble, no one could have 
shown better temper, nor a more befitting spirit 
than you did. VVIiile I say this, my dear Jack, 
understand me clearly, that I speak of you as a 
young, inexperienced man, thrown, at his very 
outset of life, not only among strangers, but in a 
country where, as I remarked to you at first, 
everything was different from those in your own. 
You have now shown yourself equal to any cir- 
cumstances in which you may be placed; I there- 
fore not only expect that you will meet with 
fewer embarrassments in future, but that, should 
they arise, I shall have the satisfaction of finding 
your character and your habits will be as much 
your safeguard against insult, as your readiness 
to resent any will be sure and certain. 

" I have seen the duke several times, and he 
expresses himself as much pleased with you. 
From what he mentions, I can collect that you 
are well satisfied with Ireland, and therefore I 
do not wish to remove you from it. At the same 
time, bear in mind, that by active service alone 
can you ever attain to, or merit, rank in the 
army; and that hitherto you have only been a 
soldier by name." 

After some further words of advice respecting 
the future, and some few details of family mat- 
ters, he concluded by entrusting to my mother 
the mention of what she herself professed to 
think lay more in her peculiar province. 

As usual, her letter opened with some mete- 
orological observations upon the climate of Eng- 
land for the preceding six weeks; then followed 
a journal of her own health, whose increasing 
delicacy, and the imperative necessity of being 
near Doctor Y , rendered a journey to Ire- 
land too dangerous to think of. 

" Yes, my dearest boy," wrote she, "nothing but 
this would keep me from you a moment, how- 
ever, I am much relieved at learning that you 
are now rapidly recovering, and hope soon to 
hear of your return to Dublin. It is a very 
dreadful thing to think of, but perhaps, upon the 
whole, it is better that you did kill this Mr. 
Burke. De Grammont tells me that a mauvaise 
the like that must be shot sooner or later. It 
makes me nervous to dwell on this odious topic, 
so that I shall pass on to something else. The 



horrid little man that brought your letters, and 
who calls himself a servant of Captain O'Grady, 
insisted on seeing me yesterday; 1 never was 
more shocked in my life. From what he says, I 
gather that he may be looked on as rather a fa- 
vorable specimen of the natives. They must, 
indeed, be a very frightful people; and, although 
he assured me he would do me no injury, I made 
Thomas stay in the room the entire time, and 
told Chubbs to give the alarm to the police if he 
heard the slightest noise; the creature, however, 
did nothing, and I am quite recovered from my 
fear already. What a picture, my dear boy, did 
he present to me of your conduct and your 
habits. Your intimacy with that odious family 
I mentioned in my last, seems the root of all 
your misfortunes. Why will such people thrust 
themselves forward? What do they mean by 
inviting you to their frightful parties! Have 
they not their own peculiar horrors.' not but I 
must confess that they are more excusable than 
you; and I cannot conceive how you tould so 
soon have forgotten the lessons instilled into you 
from your earliest years. As your poor dear 
grandfather, the admiral, used to say, 'A vulgar 
acquaintance is a shifting sand:' you can never 
tell where you won't meet it; always at the reost 
inopportune moment; and then, if you remark, 
your underbred people are never content with a 
quiet recognition, but they must always indulge 
in a detestable cordiality there is no escaping 
from. Oh, John, John! when at ten years of age, 
you made the banker's son at Northampton hold 
your stirrup as you mounted your pony, I never 
thought I should have this reproach to make 
you! The little fiend who calls himself Corny 
something, also mentions your continued fa- 
miliarity with the young woman I spoke of be- 
fore. What her intentions are is perfectly clear; 
and should she accomplish her object, your po- 
sition in society and future fortune might possi- 
bly procure her large damages; but, pause, my 
dear boy, before you go any farther. I do not 
speak of the moral features of the case, for you 
are of an age to judge of them ) outsell; but think, 
I beseech you, of the difficulties it will throw 
around your path in life, and the obstacles it will 
oppose to your success. There is poor Lord 
Henry EflSngham; and since that foolish business 
with the clergyman's wife or daughter, where 
somebody went mad, and some one else drowned 
or shot himself, they have never given him any 
appointment whatever. The world is a frightful 
and unforgiving thing, as poor Lord Henry 
knows; therefore beware! 

" The more I think of it, the more strongly do 
I feel the force of my first impressions respect- 
ing Ireland; and were it not that we so constantly 
hear of battles and bloodshed in the Peninsula, 
I should even prefer your being there. There 
would seem to be an unhappy destiny over every- 
thing belonging to me; my poor dear father, the 
admiral, had a life of hardship, almost unre- 
warded; for eleven years he commanded a guard- 
ship in the Nore; many a night have I seen him. 
when I was a little girl, come home dripping 
with wet, and perfectly insensible, from the stim- 
ulants he was obliged to resort to, and be carried 



108 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



in that state to his bed; and after all this, he 
didn't get his bhie ribbon till he was near sixty. 

" De Vere is constantly with us, and is, I re- 
mark, attentive to your cousin Julia; this is not 
of so much consequence, as I hear that her 
chancery suit is taking an unhappy turn; should 
it be otherwise, your interests will, of course, be 
looked to. De Vere is most amusing, and has a 
great deal of wit; but for him and the count we 
should be quite dreary, as the season is over, 
and we can't leave town for at least three weeks." 
The epistle concluded with a general summing 
up of its contents, and an affectionate entreaty 
to bear in mind her caution regarding the Roon- 
eys. " Once more, my dear boy, remember that 
vulgar people are a part of our trials in this life; 
as that delighful man, the dean of St. George's, 
says, 'they are the snares of our feet; and their 
subservient admiration of us is a dangerous and 
a subtle temptation.' Read this letter again, and 
believe me, my dearest John, 

" Your affectionate and unhappy mother, 

"Charlotte Hinton." 

I shall not perform so undutiful a task as to 
play the critic on my excellent mother's letter; 
there were, it is true, many new views in life 
presented to me by its perusal, and I should feel 
sadly puzzled were I to say at which I was more 
amused or shocked — at the strictness of her man- 
ners, or the laxity of her morals; but I confess, 
tliat the part which most outraged me of all, was 
the eulogy on Lord Dudley de Vere's conversa- 
tional gifts; but a few short months before, and 
it is possible I should not only have credited, but 
concurred in the opinion; brief, however, as had 
been the interval, it had shown me much of life; 
it had brought me into acquaintance, and even 
intimacy, with some of the brightest spirits of 
the day; it had taught me to discriminate be- 
tween the unmeaning jargon of conventional gos- 
sip, and the charm of a society, where force of 
reasoning, warmth of eloquence, and brilliancy 
of wit, contested for the palm; it had made me 
feel that the intellectual gifts reserved in other 
countries for the personal advancement of their 
owner, by their public and ostentatious display, 
can be made the ornament and the delight of the 
convivial board, the elegant accompaniment to 
the hours of happy intercourse, and the strong- 
est bond of social union. 

So gradually had this change of opinion crept 
over me, I did not recognize in myself the con- 
version, and, indeed, had it not been for my 
mother's observations on Lord Dudley, I could 
not have credited how far my convictions had 
gone round. I could now understand the meas- 
urement by which Irishmen were estimated in 
the London world. I could see that if such a 
character as De Vere had a reputation for ability, 
how totally impossible it was for those who ap- 
preciated him to prize the great and varied gifts 
of such men as Grattan, Curran, and many more. 

Lost in such thoughts, I forgot for some mo- 
ments that O'Grady's letter lay open before me. 
It was dated Chatham, and written the night be- 
fore he sailed. The first few lines showed me 
that he knew nothing of my duel, having only 



received my own letter with an account of the 
steeple-chase. He wrote in high spirits. The 
commander-in-chief had been most kind to him, 
appointing him to a vacant majority, not as he 
anticipated, in the 41st, but in the 9th Light 
Dragoons. 

"I am anxiously looking out for Corny," said 
he, " and a great letter-bag from Ireland, the 
only bit of news from which place, except your 
own, is, that the Rooneys have gone into deep 
mourning, themselves and their whole house. 
Various rumors are afloat as to whether any 
money speculations of Paul's may have suggested 
the propriety of retrenchment, or whether there 
may not have been a death in the royal family 
of O'Toole. Look to this for me, Hinton; for 
even in Canada I shall preserve the memory 
of that capital house, its excellent cuisine, its 
charming hostess. Cultivate them, my dear Jack, 
for your sake and for mine. One Rembrandt is 
as good as a gallery; so sit down before them 
and make a study of the family." 

The letter concluded as it began, by hearty 
thanks for the service I had rendered him, 
begged me to accept of Moddiridderoo as a 
souvenir of his friendship, and in a postcript, to 
write which the letter had evidently been re- 
opened, was a warning to me against any chance 
collision with Ulick Burke. 

" Not, my dear boy, because he is a dead shot, 
although that same is something, but that a quar- 
rel with him could scarcely be reputable in its 
commencement, and must be bad whatever the 
result." 

After some further cautioning on this matter, 
the justice of which was tolerably evident from 
my own experience, O'Grady concluded with a 
hurried postcript; 

" Corny has not yet arrived, and we have re- 
ceived our orders for embarkation within twenty- 
four hours. I begin half to despair of his being 
here in time. Should this be the case, will you, 
my dear Hinton, look after the old villain for 
me, at least until I write to you again on the 
subject?" 

While I was yet pondering on these last few 
lines, I perceived that a card had fallen from my 
father's letter. I took it up, and what was my 
astonishment to find that it contained a correct 
likeness of Corny Delany, drawn with a pen, 
underneath which was written, in my cousin 
Julia's hand, the following few lines: 

" The dear old thing has waited three days, 
and I think I have at length caught something 
like him. Dear Jack, if the master be only equal 
to the man, we shall never forgive you for not 
letting us see him. — Yours, 

"Julia." 

This, of course, explained the secret of Corny's 
delay. My cousin, with her habitual wilfulness, 
prcterring the indulgence of a caprice to any- 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



109 



thing resembling a duty; and I now had little 
doubt upon my mind that O'Grady's fears were 
well founded, and that he had been obliged ■'■.o 
sail without his follower. 

The exertion it cost me to read my letters, and 
the excitement produced by their perusal, fa- 
tigued and exhausted me, and, as I sank back 
upon my pillow, I closed my eyes and fell sound 
asleep, not to awake until late en the following 
day; but strange enough, when I did so, it was 
with a head clear and faculties collected — my 
mind refreshed by rest, unbroken by a single 
dream: and so restored did I feel, that, save in 
the debility from long confinement to bed, I was 
unconscious of any sense of malady. 

From this hour my recovery dated. Advanc- 
ing every day with rapid steps, my strength in- 
creased; and, before a week elapsed, I so far 
regained my lost health, that I could move 
about my chamber, and even lay plans for my 
departure. 



CHAPTER XXXII. 

BOB MAHON AND THE WIDOW. 

It was about eight or ten days after the events 
I have mentioned, when Father Tom Loftus, 
whose care and attention to me had been un- 
ceasing throughout, came in to inform me that 
all preparations for our journey were properly 
made, and that by the following morning at sun- 
rise we should be on the road. 

I confess that I looked forward to my depart- 
ure with anxiety. The dreary monotony of the 
day, spent in either perambulating my little 
room, or in a short walk up and down before the 
inn door, had done more to depress and dispirit 
me than even the previous illness. The good 
priest, it is true, came often to see me, but then 
there were hours spent quite alone, without the 
solace of a book or the sight of even a newspa- 
per. I knew the face of every man, woman, and 
child in the village. I could tell their haunts, 
their habits, and their occupations — even the 
very hours of the tedious day were marked in 
my mind by various little incidents, that seemed 
to recur with unbroken precision; and if when 
the pale apothecary disappeared from over the 
half-door of his shop, I knew that he was en- 
gaged at his one-o'clock dinner, so the clink of 
the old ladies' pattens, as they passed to an even- 
ing tea, told me that the day was waning, and 
that the town-clock should strike seven. There 
was nothing to break the monotonous jog-trot of 
daily life save the appearance of a few raw sub- 
alterns, who, from some cause or other, less no- 
ticed than others of the regiment by the neigh- 
boring gentry, strolled about the town, quiz- 
zing and laughing at the humble townsfolk, and 
endeavoring, by looks of most questionable 
gallantry, to impress the female population with 
a sense of their merits. 

After all, mankind is pretty much the same in 
every country and every age. Some men ambition- 
ing the credit of virtues the very garb of which 
they know not; others, and a large class too, 



seeking for the reputation of vices the world 
palliates with the appellation of fashionable. We 
laugh at the old courtier of Louis XIV. 's time, 
who, in the flattery of the age he lived in, pre- 
ferred being called a ^^ sce'k'iat," an ^^ in/dme 
scelerat" that, by the excesses he professed, the 
vicious habits of the sovereign might seem less 
striking, and yet we see the very same thing under 
our own eves every day we live. But to return. 

There was nothing to delay me longer at 
Loughrea. Poor Joe was so nearly recovered, 
that in a few days more it was hoped he might 
leave his bed. He was in kind hands, however, 
and I had taken every precaution that he should 
want for nothing in my absence. I listened, then, 
with pleasure to Father Tom's detail of all his 
preparations; and, although I knew not whither 
we were going, nor how long the journey was likely 
to prove, yet I looked forward to it with pleasure, 
and only longed for the hour of setting out. 

As the evening drew near, I looked anxiously 
out for the good father's coming. He had 
promised to come in early with Major Mahon, 
whom I had not seen for the two days previous; 
the major being deeply engaged in consultations 
with his lawyer regarding an approaching trial at 
the assizes. Although I could gather from his 
manner, as well as from the priest's, that some- 
thing of moment impended, yet, as neither of 
them more than alluded to the circumstance, I 
knew nothing of what was going forward. 

It was eight o'clock when Father Tom made 
his appearance. He came alone; and, by his 
flurried look and excited manner, I saw there was 
something wrong. 

" What is it, father?" said I. "Where is the 
major?" 

" Och, confound him! they have taken him at 
last," said he, wiping his forehead with agitation. 

" Taken him?" said I. " Why, was he hiding?" 

" Hiding — to be sure, he was hiding, and mas- 
querading, and disguising himself; but, faith, 
those Clare fellows — there's no coming up to them; 
they have such practice in their own county, they 
would take the devil himself, if there was a writ 
out against him. And, to be sure, it was a clever 
trick they played old Bob." 

Here the good priest took such a fit of laugh- 
ing, that he was obliged to wipe his eyes. 

" May I never!" said he, "if it wasn't a good 
turn they played him, after what he did himself." 

" Come, father, let's hear it." 

"This was the way of it. Maybe you never 
remarked — of course you didn't, for you were 
only up there a couple of times — that opposite 
Bob's lodgings there was a mighty sweet-looking 
creature, a widow-woman; she was dressed in very 
discreet black, and had a sorrowful look about 
her, that somehow or other, I think, made her 
even more interesting. 

" 'I'd like to know that widow,' said Bob, ' for 
now that the fellows have a warrant against me, 
I could spend my days so pleasantly over there, 
comforting and consoling her.' 

"'Whisht!' said I, 'don't you see that she is in 
grief?" 

"'Not so much in grief,' said he, 'but she lets 
down two beautiful braids of her brown hair 



110 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



under her widow's cap; and whenever you see 
that, Father Tom, take my word for it, the game's 
not up.' 

" I believe there was som-e reason in what he 
said, for, the last time I went up to see him, he 
had the window open, and he was playing ' Planxty 
Kelly,' with all his might, on an old fiddle; and 
the widow would come, now and then, to the 
window to draw the little muslin curtains; or she 
would open it, to give a halfpenny to the beggars; 
or she would hold out her hand, to see if it was 
raining — and a beautiful lily-white hand it 
was; but all the time, you see, it was only ex- 
changing looks they were. Bob was a little 
ashamed, when he saw me in the room; but he 
soon recovered. 

" ' A very charming woman that Mrs. Moriarty 
is,' said he, closing the window. ' It's a cruel 
pity that her fortune is all in the Grand Canal 
— I mean canal debentures. But, indeed, it comes 
pretty much to the same thing.' 

" And so he went on, raving about the widow; 
for by this time he knew all about it. Her 
maiden name was Cassidy, and her father a dis- 
tiller, and, in fact. Bob was quite delighted with 
his beautiful neighbor. At last, I bid him good- 
bye, promising to call for him at eight o'clock, 
to come over here to you; for you see there was 
a back-door to the house, that led into a small 
alley, by which Mahoii used to make his escape 
in the evening. He was sitting, it seems, at his 
window, looking out for the widow, who, from 
some cause or other, hadn't made her appearance 
the entire of the day. There he sat, with his 
hand on his heart, and a heavenly smile on him 
for a good hour, sipping a little whisky-and-water 
between times, to keep up his courage. 

" ' She must be out,' said Bob to himself. 
'She's gone to pass the day somewhere. I hope 
she doesn't know any of those impudent vaga- 
bonds up at the barrack. Maybe, after all, it's 
sick she is.' 

" While he was ruminating this way, who should 
he see turn the corner but the widow herself. 
There she was, coming along, in deep weeds, 
with her maid after her — a fine, slashing-looking 
figure, rather taller than herself, and lustier every 
way; but it was the first time he saw her in the 
streets. As she got near to her door, Bob stood 
up to make a polite bow. Just as he did so, the 
widow slipped her foot, and fell down on the flags 
with a loud scream. The maid ran up, endeavor- 
ing to assist her, but she couldn't stir; and, as 
she placed her hand on her leg, Bob perceived at 
once she had sprained her ankle. Without waiting 
for his hat, he sprang down-stairs, and rushed 
across the street. 

"'Mrs. Moriarty, my angel!' said Bob, putting 
his arm round her waist, ' won't you permit me 
to assist you?' 

" She clasped his hand with fervent gratitude, 
while the maid, putting her hand into her reti- 
cule, seemed fumbling for a handkerchief. 

"'I'm a stranger to you, ma'am,' said Bob; 
but, if Major Mahon, of the Roscommon ' 

"'The very man we want,' said the maid, 
pulling a writ out of the reticule: for devil a thing 
else they were but two bailiffs from Ennis. 



" ' The very man we want,' said the bailiffs. 

" ' I am caught!' said Bob. 

'"The devil a doubt of it.'" 

" The poor major," said I. " And where is he 
now?" 

" On his way to Ennis in a post-chaise, for it 
seems the ladi&s had a hundred pounds for their 
capture. Ah! poor Bob! But there is no use 
fretting; besides, it would be sympathy thrown 
away, for he'll give them the slip before long. 
And now, captain, are you ready for the road? 
I have got a peremptory letter from the bishop, 
and must be back in Murranakilty as soon as I 
can." 

" My dear father, I am at your disposal. I 
believe we can do no more for poor Joe; and as 
to Mr. Burke — and, by-the-bye, how is he?" 

" Getting better, they say. But, I believe, 
you've spoiled a very lucrative source of his in- 
come. He was the best jumper in the west of 
Ireland; and, they tell me, you've lamed him for 
life. He is down at Milltown, or Kilkee, or 
somewhere on the coast; but sure we'll have time 
enough to talk of these things as we go along. 
I'll be with you by seven o'clock. We must start 
early, and get to Portumna before night." 

Having promised implicit obedience to the 
worthy priest's directions, be they what tl>ey 
might, I pledged myself to make up my baggage 
in the smallest possible space, and have breakfast 
ready for him before starting. After a few other 
observations, and some suggestions as to the kind 
of equipment he deemed suitable to the road, he 
took his leave, and I sat down alone to a little 
quiet reckoning with myself as to the past, the 
present, and the future. 

From my short experience of Ireland, the only 
thing approaching to an abstract principle I could 
attain to, was the utter vanity, the perfect im- 
possibility of any man's deteiniining on a given 
line of action, or the steady pursuit of any one 
enterprise. No; the inevitable course of fate 
seems to have chosen this hajipy island to exhibit 
its phenomena— whether \our days be passed in 
love or war, or your evenings in drink or devo- 
tion, not yours be the glory: for there would seem 
to lie a kind of headlong influence at work, im- 
pelling you ever forward. Acquaintances grow 
up, rijien, and even bear fruit, before, in other 
lands, their roots would have caught the earth; 
by them your tastes are regulated, your habits 
controlled, your actions fashioned. You may 
not, it is true, lisp in the tongue of blarney. You 
may weed your phraseology of its tropes and 
figures, but trust me, that if you live in Ireland 
— if you like the people, and who does not?-— 
and if you are liked by them, and who would not 
be? — then, do I say, you will find yourself, with- 
out knowing or perceiving it, going the pace with 
the natives — courtship, fun, frolic, and devilment, 
filling up every hour of your day. and no incon- 
siderable portion of your night also. One grand 
feature of the country seemed to me, that no 
matter what particular extravagance you were ad- 
dicted to — no matter what strange or absurd 
passion to do, or seem something remarkable — 
you were certain of always finding some one to 
sympathize with, if not actually to follow you. 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



Ill 



Nothing is too strange, nothing too ridiculous, 
nothing too convivial, nothing too daring for 
Paddy. With one intuitive bound he springs into 
your confidence and enters into your plans. Only 
be open with him, conceal nothing, and he's 
yours, heart and hand; ready to endorse your 
bill, to carry off a young lady, or carry a message 
— to burn a house for a joke, or jeopard his 
neck for mere pastime^to go to the world's end 
to serve you, and, on his return, shoot you after- 
wards out of downright good-nature. As for 
myself, I might have lived in England to the age 
of Methuselah, and yet never have seen so much 
of life as in the few months spent in Ireland. 
Society in other lands seems a kind of freema- 
sonry, where, for lack of every real or important 
secret, men substitute signs and pass-words, as 
if to throw the charm of mystery where, after all, 
nothing lies concealed; but in Ireland, where na- 
tional character runs in a deep or hidden chan- 
nel, with cross currents and back waters ever 
turning and winding — where all the incongruous 
and discordant elements of what is best and worst 
seem blended together — their social intercourse 
is free, cordial, warm, and benevolent. ]\Ien 
come together disposed to like each other; and 
what an Irishman is disposed to, he usually has 
a way of effecting. My brief career had not been 
without its troubles; but who would not have in- 
curred such, or as many more, to have evoked 
such kind interest and such warm friendship? 
From Phil O'Grady, my first, to Father Tom, my 
last friend, I had met with nothing but almost 
brotherly affection; and yet I could not help ac- 
knowledging to myself that, but six short months 
before, I would have recoiled from the friendship 
of the one and the acquaintance of the other as 
something to lower and degrade me. Not only 
would the outward observances of their manner 
have deterred me, but, in their very warm and 
earnest proffers of good-nature, I would have 
seen cause for suspecting and avoiding them. 
Thank Heaven, I now knew better and felt 
deeper. How this revolution became effected in 
me I am not mvself aware; perhaps — I only say 
perhaps — Miss Bellew had a share in effecting it. 
Such were some of my thoughts as I betook 
myself to bed^ and soon after to sleep. 



CHAPTER XXXIIl. 



THE PRIEST 3 GIG. 



r AM by no means certain that the prejudices of 
my English education were sufficiently overcome 
to prevent my feeling a kind of tingling of shame 
as I took my place beside Father Tom Loftus in 
his gig. Early as it was, there were still some 
people about; and I cast a hurried glance aroimd 
to see if our equipage was not as much a matter 
of amusement to them as of affliction to me. 

When Father Tom first spoke of his " dennet," 
1 innocently pictured to myself something re- 
sembling the indigenous productions of Loughrea. 
" .^ little heavy or so," thought I; "strong for 
country roads — mayhap somewhat clumsy in the 



springs, and not over refined about the shafts." 
Heaven help my ignorance! I never fancied a 
vehicle whose component parts were two stout 
poles, surmounting a pair of low wheels, high 
above which was suspended, on two lofty C 
springs, the body of an ancient buggy ; the lin- 
ing of a bright scarlet, a little faded and dimmed 
by time, bordered by a lace of the most gaudy 
])attern; a flaming coat of arms, with splendid 
blazonry and magnificent quarterings, ornament- 
ed each panel ot this strange-looking tub, into 
which, for default of steps, you mounted by a 
ladder. 

''Eh, father," said I, "what have we here? 
This is surely not the " 

" Ay, captain," said the good priest, as a smile 
of proud satisfaction curled his lip, " that's ' the 
convaniency:' and a pleasanter and an easier 
never did man sit in — a little heavy, to be sure; 
but then one can always walk up the hills, and if 
they're very stiff ones entirely, why it's only 
throwing out the ballast." 

"The ballast! — what do you mean?" 

"Just them," said he, pointing with his whip to 
some three or four huge pieces of limestone rock 
that lay in the bottom of the gig; "there's seven, 
maybe eight stone weight — every pound of it." 

" And for heaven's sake!" said I, "why do you 
carry tliat mass of rubbish along with you?" 

" I'll just tell you, then. The road has holes 
in it you could bury your father in, and when the 
convaniency gets into cne of ihtm, she has away 
of springing up into the air, that if you're not 
watching is sure to pitch you out — maybe into 
the bog at the side — maybe on the beast's back. 
I was once actually thrown into a public-house 
window, where there was a great deal of fun going 
on, and the bishop came by before I extricated 
myself. I assure you I had hard work to explain 
it to his satisfaction." There was a lurking 
drollery in his eye as he said these last few words, 
that left me to the full as much puzzled about 
the accident as his worthy diocesan. "But look 
at the springs," he continued; "there's metal for 
you! and do you mind the shape of the body? 
It's for all the world like the ancient curria/lus. 
And look at Batliershin himself- — the old varmint! 
Sure he's classical too — hasn't he a Roman nose? 
and ain't I a Roman myself? So get up, captain 
— ascendite ad airruni- — get into the shay. And 
now for the dock a?i dlmrras — the stirrup-cup, 
Mrs. Doolan, that's the darlin'. Ah, there's 
nothing like it! 

, " ' Sit niihi Intjena, 
Ad sumnmni plena.' 

Here, captain, take a pull — beautiful milk punch!" 
Draining the goblet to the bottom, which I 
confess was no unpleasant task, I pledged my 
kind hostess, who, courtesying deeply, refilled 
the vessel for Father Tom. 

"That's it, Mary; froth it up, acushla. Hand 
it here, my darling! — my blessing on ye!" 

As he spoke, the worthy father deposited the 
reins at his feet, and lifted the cup with both 
hands to his mouth; when suddenly the little 
window over the inn door was burst open, and a 
loud tally-ho was shouted out, in accents the 



112 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



wildest I ever listened to. I had barely time to 
catch the nierrj' features of poor Tipperary Joe. 
when the priest's horse, more accustomed to the 
hunting-field than the high road, cauglit up the 
welcome sound, gave a wild toss cf his head, 
cocked up his tail, and, with a hearty bang of 
both hind-legs against the front of the chariot, 
set off down the street as if the devil were after 
him. Feeling himself at liberty, as well as fav- 
ored by the ground, which was all down hill, the 
pace was really terrific. It was some time be- 
fore I could gather up the reins, as Father Tom, 
jug and all, had been thrown at the first shock 
on his knees to the bottom of the convaniency, 
where, half-suffocated by fright and the milk 
punch that went wrong with him, he bellowed 
and coughed with all his might. 

" Howld him tight — ugh, ugh, ugh! not too 
hard — don't chuck him for tlie love of — ugh, 
ugh, ugh! the reins is rotten, and the traces no 
better — ugh, ugh, ugh! Bad luck to the villains, 
why didn't they catch his head? — and the stultus 
execrehilis! — the damned fool! how he yelled!" 

Almost fainting with laughter, I pulled my best 
at the old horse, not, however, neglecting the 
priest's caution about the frality of the liarness. 
This, however, was not the only difficulty I had 
to contend with, for tlie cuniciiliis participating 
in the galloping action of the horse, swung up- 
wards and downwards, backwards and forwards, 
and from one side to the other — all at once, too 
— in a manner so perfectly addling, that it was 
not before we reached the first turnpike that I 
succeeded in arresting our progress. Here a 
short halt was necessary for the priest to recover 
himself, and examine whether either his bones or 
any portion of the harness had given way; both 
had happily been found proof against mishaps, 
and drew from the reverend father strong encom- 
iums upon their merits; and after a brief delay 
we resumed our road, but at a much more orderly 
and becoming pace than before. 

Once more en route, I bethought me it was 
high time to inquire about the direction we were 
about to travel, and the probable length of our 
journey; for I confess I was sadly ignorant as to 
the geography of the land we were travelling, 
and the only point I attempted to keep in view 
was the number of miles we were distant from 
the capital. The priest's reply wss, however, 
anything but instructive to me, consisting merely 
of a long catalogue of names, in which the syl- 
lables "kill," "whack," "nock," "shock," and 
"bally," jostled and elbowed each other in the 
rudest fashion imaginable; the only intelligible 
portion of his description being,, that a blue 
mountain, scarcely perceptible in the horizon, lay 
about half way between uf and Murranakilty. 

My attention was not, however, permitted to 
dwell on these matters: for my companion had 
already begun a narrative of the events which 
had occurred during my illness. The Dillons. I 
found, had left for Dublin soon after my mishap. 
Louisa Bellew returned to her father; and Mr. 
Burke, whose wound had turned out a more 
serious affair than was at first supposed, was 
still confined to his b'ed, and a lameness for life 
anticipated as the inevitable result of the injury. 



"Sir Simon, for once in his life," said the 
priest, "has taken a correct view of his nephew's 
character; and has, now that all the danger to 
life is past, written him a severe letter, reflect- 
ing on his conduct. Poor Sir Simon! his life 
has been one tissue of trial and disappointment 
throughout. Every buttress that supported his 
venerable house giving way, one by one, the ruin 
seems to threaten total downfall, ere- the old 
man exchange the home of his fathers for his 
last narrow rest beside them in the churchyard. 
Betrayed on every hand, wronged and ruined, 
he seems merely to linger on in life; like the 
stern timbers of some mighty M-reck that marks 
the spot where once the goodly vessel perished, 
and are now the beacon of the quicksand to 
others. You know the sad story, of course, that 
I chiefly alluded to " 

" No. I am completely ignorant of the fam- 
ily history," said I. 

The priest blushed deeply, as his dark eye- 
brows r.^ct in a heavy frown; then turning hastily 
towards me, he said, in a voice whose thick, low 
utterance bespoke his agitation — 

" Do not ask me, I beseech you, to speak fur- 
ther of what — had I been more collected — I had 
never alluded to! An unhappy duel, the conse- 
quence of a still more unhappy event, has blasted 
every hope in life of my poor friend. I thought 
— that is, I feared— lest the story might have 
reached you. As I find this is not so, you will 
spare me recurring to that, the bare recollection 
of which comes like a dark cloud over the hap- 
piest day of my existence. Promise nie this, or 
I shall not forgive myself." 

I readily gave the pledge he required, and we 
pursued our road; not, however, as before, but 
each sunk in his own reflections- — silent, reserved, 
and thoughtful. 

" In about four days," said Father Tom, at 
last breaking the silence, "perliaps five, we'll be 
drawing near Murranakilty." He then pro- 
ceeded, at more length, to inform me of the 
various counties through which we were to pass, 
detailing with great accuracy the several seats 
we should see, the remarkable places, the ruined 
churches, the old castles, and even the very fox- 
covers that lay on our route. And although my 
ignorance was but little enlightened by the cat- 
alogue of hard names that fell as gJibly from his 
tongue as Italian from a Roman, yet I was both 
entertained and pleased with the many sto-.-ies he 
told; some of them legends of by-gone days, 
some of them the more touching and truth- 
dealing records of what had happen'rd in his 
own time. Could I have borrowed any portion 
of his narrat'ive powers — were I able to present, 
in his strong but simple language, any of the 
curious scenes he mentioned, I should, perhaps, 
venture on relating to my reader one of his sto- 
ries; but when I think how much of the interest 
depended on his quaint and homely, but ever 
forcible manner, as, pointing with his whip to 
some ruined house with blackened walls and 
fallen chimneys, he told some narrative of rapine 
and of murder, I feel how much the force of 
reality added power to a story that in repetition 
might be weak and ineffective. 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



113 



CHAPTER XXXIV. 



THE MOUNTAIN PASS. 



On the whole, the journey, to me, was a de- 
lightful one, and certainly not the least pleasant 
portion of my life in Ireland. Endowed — 
partly from his individual gifts, partly from the 
nature of his sacred functions — with influence 
over all the humble ranks in life, the good priest 
jogged along with the assurance of a hearty wel- 
come wherever he pleased to halt- the only look 
of disappointment being when he declined some 
proffered civility, or refused an invitation to de- 
lay his journey. The chariot was well known in 
every town and village, and scarcely was the 
rumble of its wheels heard coming up the 
"street," when the population might be seen as- 
sembling in little groups and knots, to have a 
word with " the father" — to get his blessing, to 
catch his eye, or even obtain a nod from him. 
He knew every one and everything; and, with a 
tact which is believed to be the prerogative of 
royalty, he never miscalled a name, nor mistook 
an event. Inquiring after them for soul and 
body, he entered with real interest into all their 
hopes and plans, their fears and anticipations, 
and talked away about pigs, penances, purgatory, 
and potatoes, in a way that showed his informa- 
tion, on any of these matters, to be of no mean 
or common order. 

By degrees our way left the more travelled high 
road, and took by a mountain track, through a 
wild, romantic line of country, beside the Shan- 
non. No villages now presented themselves, 
and, indeed, but little trace of any habitation 
whatever; large, misshapen mountains, whose 
granite sides were scarce concealed by the dark 
fern, the only vegetation that clothed them, rose 
around and about us. In tlie valleys some strips 
of bog might be seen, with little hillocks of newly 
cut turf, the only semblance of man's work the 
eye could rest on. Tillage there was none. A 
dreary silence, too, reigned throughout. I lis- 
tened in vain for the bleating of a lamb, or the 
solitary tinkle of a sheep-bell; but no — save the 
cawing of the rooks, or the mournful cry of the 
plover, I could hear nothing. Now and then, it 
is true, the heavy flapping'of a strong wind would 
point the course of a heron soaring towards the 
river; but his low flight even spoke of solitude, 
and showed he feared not man in his wild and 
dreary mountains. At intervals we would see the 
Shannon winding along, far, far down below us; 
and I could mark the islands in the bay of Scariff, 
with their ruined churches, and one solitary 
tower; but no sail floated on the surface, nor did 
an oar break the sluggish current of the stream. 
It was, indeed, a dreary scene, and somehow, 
my companion's manner seemed colored by its 
influence; for scarcely had we entered the little 
valley that led to this mountain track than he 
became silent and thoughtful, absorbed in reflec- 
tion, and when he spoke, either doing so at ran- 
dom, or in a vague and almost incoherent way, 
that showed his ideas were wandering. 

I remarked that, as we stopped at a little forge 
shortly after daybreak, the smith had taken the 



priest aside and whispered to him a few words, 
at which he seemed strangely moved ; and as 
they spoke together for some moments in an un- 
dertone, I perceived by the man's manner and 
gesture, as well as by the agitation of the good 
father himself, that something of importance was 
being told. Without waiting to finish the little 
repair to the carriage which had caused our halt, 
he remounted hastily, and, beckoning me to take 
my place, drove on at a pace that spoke of haste 
and eagerness. I confess that my curiosity to 
know the reason was great, but as I could not 
with propriety ask, nor did my companion seem 
disposed to give the information, I soon relapsed 
into a silence unbroken as his own, and we trav- 
elled along for some miles without speaking. 
Now and then the priest would make an effort 
to relieve the weariness of the way by some re- 
mark upon the scenery, or some allusion to the 
wild grandeur of the pass; but it was plain he 
spoke only from constraint, and that his mind 
was occupied on other and very different thoughts. 
It was now wearing late, and yet no trace of any 
house or habitation could I see where to rest for 
the night. Not wishing, however, to interrupt 
the current of my'friend's thoughts, I maintained 
my silence, straining my eyes on every side from 
the dark mountains that towered above me, to 
the narrow gloomy valley that lay several hun- 
dred feet beneath our track — but all in vain. 
The stillness was unbroken, and not a roof, not 
even a smoke-wreath could be seen, far as the 
view extended. 

The road by which we travelled was scarped 
from the side of a mountain, and for some miles 
pursued a gradually descending course. On 
suddenly turning the angle of rocky wall that 
skirted us for above a mile, we came in sight of 
a long reach of the Shannon, upon which the 
sun was now setting in all its golden lustre. The 
distant shore of Munster, rich in tillage and pas- 
ture-land, was lit up, too, with corn-field and 
green meadow, leafy wood and blue mountain, 
all glowing in their brightest hue. It was a vivid 
and a gorgeous picture, and I could have looked 
on it long with pleasure, when suddenly I felt 
my arm grasped by a strong finger. I turned 
round, and the priest, relaxing his hold, pointed 
down into the dark valley below us, as he said, 
in a low and agitated voice, "You see the light 
— it is there — there." Quickening our pace by 
every effort, we began rapidly to descend the 
mountain by a zig-zag road, whose windings soon 
lost us the view I have mentioned, and left noth- 
ing but the wild and barren mountains around 
us. Tired as our poor horse was, the priest 
pressed him forward, and, regardless of the 
broken and rugged way, he seemed to think of 
nothing but his haste, muttering between his 
teeth with a low but rapid articulation, while his 
face grew flushed and pale at intervals, and his 
eye had all the lustrous glare and restless look 
of fever. I endeavored, as well as I was able, to 
occupy my mind with other thoughts, but with 
that invincible fascination that turns us ever to 
the side we try to shun, I found myself again 
and again .gazing on my companion's counten- 
ance. Every moment now his agitation increased ; 



114 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



his lips were firmly closed; his brow contracted; 
his cheeks flattened, and quivering with a nerv- 
ous spasm, while his hand trembled violently as 
lie wiped the big dro|)s of sweat that rolled in 
agony from his forehead. 

At last we reached the level, where a better 
road presented itself before us, and enabled us 
so to increase our speed that we were rapidly 
coming up with the light, which, as the evening 
closed in, seemed larger and brighter than be- 
fore. It was now that hour when the twilight 
seems fading into night, a grey and sombre dark- 
ness coloring every object, but yet marking grass 
and rock, pathway and river with some seeming 
of their noonday hues, so that as we came along 
I could make out the roof and walls of a mud 
cabin built against the very mountain side, in the 
gable of which the light was shining. A rapid, a 
momentary thought flashed across my mind as 
to what dreary and solitary man could fix his 
d\velling-]ilace in suclr a spot as this, when in an 
instant the priest suddenly pulled up the horse, 
and, stretching out one hand with a gesture of 
listening, whispered, " Hark! — did you not hear 
tliat?" As he spoke, a cry, wild and fearful, rose 
through the gloomy valley — at first in one pro- 
longed and swelling note, then broken as if by 
sobs, it faltered, sank, and rose again wilder and 
madder, till the echoes, catching up the direful 
sounds, answered and repeated them as though 
a chorus of unearthly spirits were calling to each 
other through the air. 

"O God! too late — too late!" said the priest, 
as he bowed his face upon his knees, and his 
strong frame shook in agony. " O Father of 
mercy!" cried he, as he lifted his eyes, blood- 
shot and tearful, towards heaven, " forgive me 
this — and if unshriven before Thee " An- 
other cry, more frantic than before, here burst 
upon us, and the ])riest, muttering with rapid 
utterance, appeared lost in prayer. But at him 
I looked no longer, for straight before us on the 
road, and in front of the little cabin, now not 
above thirty paces from us, knelt the figure of a 
woman, whom, were it not from the fearful sounds 
we had heard, one could scarcely believe a thing 
of life; her age not more than thirty years; she 
was pale as death; not a tinge, not a ray of color 
streaked her bloodless cheek; her black hair, 
long and wild, fell upon her back and shoulders, 
straggling and disordered; her hands were clasped 
as she held her stiffened arms straight before her. 
Her dress bespoke the meanest poverty, and her 
sunk cheek and dravvn-in lips betokened famine 
and starvation. As I gazed on her, almost breath- 
less with awe and dread, the priest leaped out, 
and hurrying forward, called out to her in Irish; 
but she heard him not. she saw him not — -dead 
to every sense, she remained still and motionless. 
No feature trembled, no limb was shaken; she 
knelt before us, like an image of stone; and 
then, as if by some spell that worked within her, 
once more gave forth the heartrending cry we 
heard at first. Now low and plaintive, like the 
sighing night-wind, it rose fuller and fuller, 
pausing and contintiing at intervals, and then 
breaking into short atld fitful efforts, it grew 
wilder and stronger, till at last, with one out- 



break, like the overflowing of a heart of misery, 
it ceased abruptly. 

The priest bent over her and spoke to her; he 
called her by her name, and shook her several 
times — but all in vain. 

Her spirit — if, indeed, present with her body — 
had lost all sympathy with things of earth. 

"God help her," said he; "God comfort her! 
This is sore affliction." 

As he spoke, he walked towards the little cabin, 
the door of which now stood open. All was still 
and silent within its walls. Unused to see the 
dwellings of tl>e poor in Ireland, my eye ranged 
over the bare walls, the damp and earthen floor, 
the few and miserable pieces of furniture — when 
suddenly my attention was called to another ar.d 
a sadder spectacle. In one corner of the hovel, 
stretched upon a bed, whose poverty might have 
made it unworthy of a dog to lie in, lay tlie figure 
of a large and powerfully-built man, stone dead. 
His eyes were closed, and the chin bound up 
with a white cloth; and a sheet, torn and ragged, 
was stretched above his cold limbs, while on 
either side of him two candles were burning. 
His features, though rigid and stiffened, were 
manly, and even handsome; the bold character 
of the face heightened in effect by his beard 
and moustache, which appeared to have been let 
grow for some time previous, and whose black 
and waving curl looked darker from the pallor 
around it. Some lines there were about the 
mouth that looked like harshness and severity, 
but the struggle of departing life might have 
caused them. 

Gently withdrawing the sheet that covered him, 
the priest placed his hand upon his heart. It 
was evident to me from his manner, that he still 
believed him living, and as he rolled back the 
covering he felt for his hand. Suddenly starting 
he fell back for an instant, and as he moved his- 
fingers backwards and forwards, I saw that they 
were covered with blood. I drew near, and now 
perceived that the dead man's chest was laid 
open by a wound of several inches in extent. 
The ribs had been cut across, and some portion 
of the heart or lung seemed to protrude. At the 
slightest touch of the body the blood gushed 
forth anew, and ran In streams upon him. His 
right hand, too, was cut across the entire palm, 
the thumb nearly severed at the joint. This ap- 
peared to have been rudely bound together; but 
it was evident, from the nature and size of the 
other wound that he could not have survived it 
many hours. 

• As I looked in horror at the frightful spectacle 
before me, my foot struck at something beneath 
the bed. I stooped down to examine, and found 
it was a carbine, such as dragoons usually carry. 
It was broken at the stock, and bruised in 
many places, but still seemed not unserviceable. 
Part of the butt-end was also stained with blood. 
The clothes of the dead man, clotted and matted 
with gore, were also there, adding, by their ter- 
rible testimony, to the dreadful fear that haunted 
me. Yes, everything confirmed it— murder and 
crime had been there. A low, muttering sound 
near made me turn my head, and I saw the 
priest kneeling beside the bed, engaged in prayer. 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



115 



His head was bare, and he wore a kind of scarf 
of blue silk, and the small case tliat contained 
the last rites of his church were placed at his 
feet. 

Apparently lost to all around save the figure 
of the man that lay dead before him, he muttered 
with ceaseless rapidity, prayer after prayer, stop- 
ping ever and anon to place his hand on the 
cold heart, or to listen, with his ear upon the 
livid lips; and tlien resuming with greater eager- 
ness, while the big drops rolled from his fore- 
head, and the agonizing torture he felt convulsed 
his entire frame. 

"O God!" he exclaimed, after a prayer of 
some minutes, in which his features worked like 
one in a fit of epilepsy — ■" O God! is it, then, 
too late?" 

He started to his feet as he spoke, and, bend- 
ing over the corpse, with hands clasped above 
his head, he poured forth a whole torrent of 
words in Irish, swaying his body backwards and 
forwards, as his voice, becoming broken by 
emotion, now sunk into a whisper, or broke into 
a discordant shout. "iShaun! Sliaun!" cried he, 
as, stooping down to the ground, he snatched up 
the little crucifi.x and held it before the dead 
man's face, at the sam; time he shook him vio- 
lently by the shoulder, and cried in accents I can 
never forget, some words aloud, among which alone 
I could recognize one word, Thea — the Irish word 
for "God." He shook him t-iU the heaid rocked 
heavily from side to side, and the blood oozed from 
the opening wound, and stained the ragged cov- 
ering of the bed. At this instant the priest 
stopped suddenly, and fell upon his knees, while, 
with a low, faint sigh, he who seemed dead lifted 
his eyes and looked around him ; his hands 
grasped the sides of the bed, and, with a strength 
that seemed supernatural, he raised himself to 
tlie sitting posture. His lips were parted and 
moved, but without a sound, and his filmy eyes 
turned slowly in their sockets from one object to 
anothei till at length they fell upon the little 
crucifix that had diopped from the priest's hand 
upop the bed. In an instant the corpse-like 
features seemed inspired with life — a gleam of 
brightness shot from his eyes — the head nodded 
forward a couple of times, and I thought I heard 
a discordant, broken sound issue from the open 
mouth, and, a moment after, the head drojjped 
upon the chest, and the hands relaxed, and he 
fell back with a crash, never to move more. 

Overcome with horror, I staggered tc the door, 
and sank upon a little bench in front of the 
cabin. The cool air of the night soon brought 
me to myself, and, while in my confused state I 
wondered if the whole might not be some dread- 
ful dream, my eyes once more fell upon the 
figure of the woman, who still knelt in the atti- 
tude we had first seen her. Her hands were 
clasped before her, and from time to time her 
wild cry rose into the air, and woke the echoes 
of that silent valley. A faint moonlight lay in 
Ibroken patches around her, and mingled its 
Ibeams with the rod glare of the little candles 
iwithin, as their light fell upon her marble fea- 
tures. From the cabin I could hear the sounds 
of the priest's voice, as he continued to pray 



I 



without ceasing. .\s the hours rolled on nothing 
changed, and when, prompted by curiosity, 1 
looked within the hovel, I saw the priest still 
kneeling beside the bed, his face pale, and sunk, 
and haggard, as though months of sickness and 
suffering had passed over him. 

I dared not speak — I dared not disturb him, 
and I sat down near the door in silence. 

It is one of the strange anomalies of our na- 
ture that the feelings which rend our hearts with! 
agony have a tendency, by their continuance, to 
lull us into slumber. The watcher by the bed- 
side of his dying friend- — the felcn in his cell, 
but a few hours before death — slet p, and slet]! 
soundly. 'J'he bitterness of grief would seem 
to blunt sensation, and the mind, like the body, 
can only sustain a certain amount of burden, 
after which it succumbs and yields; so I fourd 
it amid this scene of horror and anguish, with 
everything to excite that can operate upon tie 
mind — the woman stricken motionless and sen.'e- 
less by grief — the dead man, as it were, recalled 
to life by the words that were to herald him into 
life everlasting — the old man,whcm I hadknowii 
but as a gay companion, displayed now before 
my eyes in all the Moikings of his feeling her.rt, 
called up by the rfilictions of one world and the 
terrors of another — and this in a wild and drear}' 
valley, far from man's dwelling. Yet, cmid all 
this, and, more than all, the harassing ccnvic- 
tion that some deed of blood, seme dark hour 
of crime had been here at work, perhaps to he 
concealed forever, and go unavenged, save of 
Heaven — and yet, with this around and about 
me, I slept. How Icng I know not; but when 
I woke the mist of morning hung in the vallty, 
or rolled in masses of cloud-like vapor along the 
mountain side. In an instant, the whole scene 
of the previous night was before me, and the 
priest still knelt beside the bed and prayed 1 
looked for the woman, but she was gone. 

The noise of wheels at seme distance could 
now be heard on the mountain-road, and, as I 
walked stealthily from the doci, I cculd see 
three figures descending the path, followed by a 
car and horse. As they came along, I maikrd 
that beneath the straw on the car fcniethirg 
protruded itself on either side, and this I soon saw 
was a coffin. As the men approached the angle 
of the road they halted, and seemed to converse 
in an eager and anxious manner, when suddenly 
one of them broke from the others, and. spring- 
ing to the top of a low wall that skirted tie 
road, continued to look steadily at the house fcr 
some minutes together. The thought flashed 
on me at the moment that perhaps my being a 
stranger to them might have caused their hesita- 
tion, so I waved my hat a couple of times abo^ e 
my head. Upon this they resumed their march, 
and in a few minutes were standing beside me. 
One of them, who was an old man, with hard, 
weather-beaten features, addressed me, first in 
Irish, but, correcting himself at once, asked, in 
a low, steady voice — 

"Was the priest in time? Did he get the 
rites?" 

I nodded in reply; when he muttered, as if to 
himself — 



116 



JACK HINTOX, THE GUARDSMAN. 



"God's will be done. Shaun didn't tell of | 
Hogan " 

" Whisht! Father — whisht!" said one of the 
younger men, as he laid his hand upon the old 
man's arm; while he added something in Irish, 
gesticulating with energy as he spoke. 

"Is Mary comeback, sir?" said the third, as 
he touched his hat to me respectfully. 

"The woman — his wife?" said I; "I have not 
seen her to-day." 

" She was up with us at Kiltimmon, at two 
o'clock this morning, but wouldn't wait for us. 
She wanted to get back at once, poor crayture. 
She bears it well, and has the stout heart. Faith, 
maybe before long she'll make some others faint 
in their hearts, that have stricken hers this night." 

"Was she calm, then?" said I. 

"As you are this minute; and sure enough she 
helped me with her own hands to put the horse 
in the car; for you see I couldn't lift the shaft 
with my one arm." 

I now saw that his arm was bound up, and 
buttoned within the bosom of his greatcoat. 

The priest now joined us, and spoke for several 
minutes in Irish; and although ignorant of all 
he said, I could mark in the tone of his voice, 
his look, his manner, and his gesture, that his 
words were those of rebuke and reprobation. 
The old man heard him in silence, but without 
any evidence of feeling. Hie others, on the 
contrary, seemed deeply affected, and the younger 
of the two, whose arm was broken, seemed greatly 
moved, and the tears rolled down his hardy 
cheeks. 

These signs of emotion were evidently dis- 
pleasing to the old man, whose nature was of a 
sterner and more cruel mould; and, as he turned 
away from the father's admonition, he moved 
past me, muttering, as he went, — 

" Isn't it all fair?— blood for blood; and sure 
they dhruv him to it." 

After a few words from the priest, two of the 
■party took their spades from tne car, and began 
•digging the grave; while Father Loftus, leading 
^the other aside, talked to him for some time 

■" Begorra," said the old man, as he shovelled 
the earth to either side, "Father Tom isn't like 
himself, at all, at all. He used to have pity, and 
the kind word for the poor when they were 
turned out on the world to starve, without as 
much as a sheaf of straw to lie upon, or pota- 
toes enough for the children to eat." 

" Whisht, father, or the priest will hear ye." 
said the younger one, looking cautiously around. 

"Sorrow bit o' me cares; if he does, it's thruth 
I'm telling. You are not long in these parts, sir, 
av I may make so bowld ?" 

" No," said I, "I'm quite a stranger." 

" Well, anyhow, ye may understand that this 
isn't a fine soil for a potato-garden; and yet the 
devil a other poor Shaun had, since they turned 
him out on the road last Michaelmas day, him- 
self, and his wife, and the little * gossoon — the 
only one they had, too — with a fever and ague 
upon him. The jsoor child, however, didn't feel 
it long, for he died ten days after. Well, well! 
the ways of God there's no saying against. But 
sure, if the little boy didn't die, Shaun was off 



to Aiiierica, for he tuk his passage, and got a 
sea-chest of a friend, and was all ready to go; 
but, you see, when the child died he could not 
bring himself to leave the grave, and there he 
used to go and spend half of his days fixing it, 
and settling the sods about it, and wouldn't take 
a day's work from any of the neighbors; and at 
last he went off one night, and we never knew 
what was become of him till a pedlar brought 
word that he and Mary were living in the Cluan 
Beg, away from everybody, without a friend to 
say 'God save you!' — It's deep enough now, 
Mickey — tliere's nobody will turn him out of 
this. And so, sir, he might have lived for many 
a year; but when he heerd that the boys was 
up, and going to settle a reckoning with Mr. 
Tarleton — ■ — " 

" Come, now," cried the priest, who joined us 
at the moment, and who, from his look, I could 
perceive was evidently displeased at the old 
man's communicativeness — " come, now, the 
sooner you all get back the better. We must 
look after Mary, too. for God knows where she 
is wandering. And now let us put the poor boy 
in the earth." 

With 'slow and sullen steps the old man en- 
tered the house, followed by the others. I did 
not accompany them, but stood beside the grave, 
my mind full of all I heard. In a few minutes 
they returned, carrying the coffin, one corner of 
which was borne by the priest himself. Their 
heads were bare, and their features were pale 
and careworn. They placed the body in the 
grave, and gazed down after it for some seconds. 
The priest spoke a few words in a low, broken 
voice, the very sounds of which, though their 
meaning was unknown to me, sunk deep into my 
heart. He whispered for an instant to one of 
the young men, who went into the c;ibin, and 
speedily returned, carrying with him i-ome of 
the clothes of the deceased, and the old carbine 
that lay beneath the bed. 

" Throw them in the grave, Mickey — throw 
them in," said the priest. "Where's his coat?" 

"It isn't tliere, sir," said the man. That's 
everything that has a mark of blood upon it." 

"Give me that gun," cried the priest; and at 
the same moment he took the carbine by the end 
of the barrel, and by one stroke of his strong foot 
snapped it at the breech. " My curse be on you," 
said he, as he kicked the fragments into the grave: 
" there was peace and happiness in the land 
before men knew ye, and owned ye! Ah! Hugh," 
sflid he, turning his eyes fiercely on the old man, 
" I never said ye hadn't griefs and trials, and 
sore ones, too, some of them; but, God help ye 
if ye think that an easy conscience and a happy 
home can be bought by murder." The old man 
started at the words, and as his dark brow lowered, 
and his lip trembled, I drew near to the priest, 
fearful lest an attack might be made on him. 
"Ay, murder, boys — that's the word, and no less. 
Don't tell me about righting yourselves, and 
blood for blood, and all that. There's a curse 
upon the land where these things happen, and 
the earth is not lucky that is moistened with the 
blood of God's creatures." 

"Cover him up — cover him up!" said the old 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



117 



man, shovelling in the earth, so as to drown the 
priest's words, " and let us be going. We ought 
to be back by six o'clocic, unless," added lie, with 
a sarcastic iiitteiness that made him look like a 
fiend — "unless your reverence is going to set the 
police on cur track." 

" God forgive you, Hugh, and turn your heart," 
said the old man, as he shook his outstretched 
hands at him. As he spoke these words he took 
me by the arm, and led me within the house. I 
could feel his hand tremble as it leaned upon 
me, and the big tears rolled down his cheeks in 
silence. 

We sat down in the little cabin, but neither of 
us spoke. After some time we heard the noise 
of the cart-wheels, and the sound of voices, 
which grew fainter and fainter as they passed up 
the glen, and at length all became still. 

" And the poor wife," said I, " what, think you, 
has become of her?" 

"Gone home to her people, most likely," 
answered the priest. '' Her misfortunes will 
make her a home in every cabin. None so poor, 
none so wretched, as not to succor and shelter her. 
But let us hence." 

We walked forth from the hovel, and the priest, 
closing the door after him, fastened it with a 
padlock that he had found within, and then 
placing the key upon the door-siU he turned to 
depart — but, suddenly stoppmg, he took my hand 
in both of his, and said, in a voice of touching 
earnestness — 

"This has been a rad scene. Would to God 
you had not witnessed it. Would to God rather, 
that it might not have occurred. But promise 
me, on the faith of a man of honor, and the word 
of a gentleman, that what you have seen this 
night you reveal to no man, until I have passed 
away myself, and stand before that judgment to 
which we all are coming." 

" I promise you faithfully," said I. "And now 
let us leave a spot that has thrown a gloom upon 
my heart a lifelong will never obliterate." 



CHAPTER XXXV. 



THE JOURNEY. 



As we issued from the glen the country became 
more open, patches of cultivation presented 
themselves, and an air of comfort and condition 
superior to what we had hitherto seen was observ- 
able ill the dwellings of the country people. The 
road led through a broad valley bounded on one 
side by a chain of lofty mountains, and on the 
other separated by the Shannon from the swell- 
ing hills of Munster. Deeply engaged in our 
thoughts, we travelled along for some miles with- 
out speaking. The scene we had witnessed was 
of that kind that seemed to forbid our recurrence 
to it, save in our own gloomy reflections. We 
had not gone far when the noise of horsemen on 
the road behind us induced us to turn our heads. 
They came along at a sharp trot, and we could soon 
percei" that although the two or tbree foremost 



were civilians, they who followed were dragoons. 
I thought I saw the priest change color as the 
clank of the accoutrements struck upon his ear. 
I had, however, but little time for the observation, 
as the party soon overtook us. 

"You are early on the road, gentlemen," said 
a strong, powerfully-built man, who, mounted upon 
a grey horse of great bone and action, rode close 
up beside us. 

" Ah, Sir Thomas, is it you?" said the priest, 
affecting at once his former easy and indifferent 
manner. "I had rather see the hounds at your 
back than those beagles of King George there. 
Is there anything wrong in the countr)?" 

" Let me ask you another question," said the 
knight, in answer. 'How long have you been in 
it, and where did you pass the night, not to hear 
of what has occurred?" ■ 

" Faith, a home question," said the priest, sum- 
moning up a hearty laugh to conceal his emotion; 
" but if the truth must out, we came round by 
the priory at Glenduff, as my friend here being 
an Englishman — may I beg to present him to 
you? — Mr. Hinton — Sir Thomas Garland — he 
heard wonders of the monks' way of living up 
there, and I wished to let him judge for himself." 

" Ah, that accounts for it," said the tall man to 
himself. "We have had a sad affair of it. Father 
Tom. Poor Tarleton has been murdered." 

" Murdered'" said the priest with an expres- 
sion of horror in his countenance I could scarcely 
believe feigned. 

" Yes, murdered. The house was attacked a 
little after midnight. The party must have been 
a large one, for while they forced in the hall- 
door, the haggard and the stables were seen in a 
blaze. Poor George had just retired to bed, a 
little later than usual, for his sons had returned 
a few hours before from Dublin, where they had 
been to attend their college examination. The 
villains, however, knew the house well, and made 
straight for his room. He was ujj in an instant, 
and, seizing a sabre that hung beside his bed, 
defended himself with the courage of desperation 
against them all. The scuffle and the noise soon 
brought his sons to the spot, who, although mere 
boys, behaved in the most gallant manner. Over- 
powered at last by numbers, and covered with 
wounds, they dragged poor Tarleton down the 
stairs, shouting out as they went, 'Bring him 
down to Freney's — let the bloody villain see the 
black walls and the cold hearth he has made be- 
fore he dies.' It was their intention to murder 
him on the spot where, a few weeks before, a dis- 
tress for rent had been executed against some of 
the tenants. He grasped the banisters with a de- 
spairing clutch, while fixing his eyes upon his 
servant, who had lived with him for some years 
past, he called out to him in his agony to save 
liim, but the fellow came deliberately forward 
and held the ;(lame of a candle beneath the dy- 
ing man's fingers, until he relaxed his hold and 
fell back among his murderers. Yes, yes, father, 
Henry Tarleton saw it with his own eyes; for 
while his brother was stretched senseless on the 
floor, he was struggling with the others at the 
head of the staircase; and strange enough, too, 
they never hurt the boys, but when they had 



118 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



wreaked their vengeance on the father, bound 
them back to back, and left them." 

"Can they identify any of them?" said the 
priest, with intense emotion in his voice and 
manner. 

" Scarcely, I fear; their faces were blackened 
and they wore shirts over their coats. Henry 
thinks lie could swear to two or three of the num- 
ber; but our best chance of discovery lies in the 
fact that several of them were badly wounded, 
and one in particular, whom he saw cut down by 
his father's sabre, was carried down-stairs by his 
comrades bathed in blood." 

" He didn't recognize him?" said the priest, 
eagerly. 

"No; but here comes the poor boy, so I'll 
wish you good-morning." 

He put spurs to his horse, as he spoke, and 
dashed forward followed by the dragoons; while 
at the same moment, on the opposite side of the 
road, a young man — pale, with his dress disor- 
dered, his arm in a sling — rode by. He never 
turned a look aside; his filmy eye was fixed, as it 
were, on some far-off object, and he seemed 
scarce to guide his horse as he galloped onward 
over the rugged road. 

The priest relaxed his pace to permit the 
crowd of horsemen to pass on, while his counte- 
nance once more assumed its droojiing and de- 
spondent look, and he relapsed into his former 
silence. 

" You see that high mountain to the left there?" 
said he, after a long pause. " Well, our road lies 
round the foot of it; and, please God, by to- 
morrow evening we'll be some five-and-twenty 
miles on the other side,- in the heart of my own 
wild country, with the big mountains behind you, 
and the great blue Atlantic rearing its frothing 
waves at your feet." He stopped for an instant, 
and then grasping my arm with a strong hind, 
continued in a low and distinct voice, — '' Never 
speak to me nor question me about what we saw 
last night, and try to remember it as a dream. 
And now let me tell you how I intend to amuse 
you in the far West." 

Here the priest began a spirited and interest- 
ing description of the scenery and the people — 
their habits, their superstifions, and their pas- 
times. Sustaining the interest of his account 
■with legend and story — now grave, now gay; 
somenmes recalling a trait from the older history 
of the iand; sometimes detailing an incident of 
the fair or the market, but always by his wonder- 
ful knowledge of the peasantry, their modes of 
thinking and reasoning, and by his imitatisn of 
their figurative and forcible expressions, able to 
carry me v/ith liim, whether he took the moun- 
tain's side for his path, sat beside some cotter's 
turf fire, or skimmed along the surface of the 
summer sea in the frail bark of an Achill fisher- 
man. 

I learnt from him that in the wild region where 
he lived there were above fifteen thousand per- 
sons, scarce one of whom could speak or under- 
stand a word of English. Of these he was not 
only the priest, but the ruler and the judge. Be- 
fore him all their disputes were settled — all their 
differences reconciled. His word, in the stronsi- 



est sense of the phrase, was a law — not indeed to 
be enforced by bayonets and policemen, by con- 
stables and sheriffs' officers— but one which in its 
moral force demanded obedience, and would 
have made him who resisted it an outcast among 
his fellows. 

" VVe are poor," said the priest, "but we are 
happy. Crime is unknown amongst us, and the 
blood of man has not been shed in strife for 
fifty years within the barony. When will ye 
learn this in England? When will ye know that 
these people may be led but never driven — that 
they may be persuaded but never compelled? When 
will ye condescend to bend so far the preroga- 
tive of your birth, your riches, and your rank, as 
to reason with the poor and humble peasant that 
looks up to you for protection? Alas! my young 
friend, were you to ask me what is the great 
source of misery of this unhappy land, I should 
tell you the superior intelligence of its people. I 
see a smile; but hear me out. Unlike the peas- 
antry of other countries, they are not content. 
Their characters are mistaken, their traits mis- 
construed — partly from fndifference, partly from 
prejudice, and in a great measure because it is 
the fashion to recognize in the tiller of the soil a 
mere drudge, with scarce more intelligence than 
the cattle in his plough, or the oxen in his team, 
but here you have a people quick, sharp-sighted, 
and intelligent, able to scan your motives with 
ten times the accuracy you can guess at theirs; 
suspicious, because their credulity has been 
abused; revengeful, because their wild nature 
knows no other vindicator than their own right 
arm; lawless, for they look upon your institu- 
tions as the sources of their misery and the in- 
struments of your tyranny towards them; reck- 
less, for they have nothing to lose; indolent, for 
they have nothing to gain. Without an effort to 
win their confidence or secure their good-will, 
you overwhelm them with institutionf.— cum- 
brous, complicated, and unsuitable; and vhile 
you neglect or desjiise all appeal to their feelings 
or affections, you place your faith in your sol- 
diery or a special commission. Heaven help you! 
You may thin them off by the gallows and trans- 
portation, but the root of the evil is as far from 
you as ever. You do not know them — you will 
not know them: more prone to punish than pre- 
vent, you are satisfied with the working of the 
law, and not shocked with the accumulation of 
crime; and, when broken by poverty and para- 
lyzed by famine, a gloomy desolation spreads 
over the land, you meet in terms of congratula- 
tion to talk over tranquillized Ireland." 

In thij strain did the good priest continue to 
develop his views concerning his country; the 
pivot of his argument b'.'ing, that to a people so 
essentially different in every respect, English in- 
stitutions and English laws were inadetpiate and 
unsuitable. Sometimes I could not only follow, 
but agree with him. At others I could but 
dimly perceive his meaning, and dissent from the 
very little I could catch. Enough of this, how- 
ever. In a biogra])hy so flimsy as mine, politics 
would play but an unseemly part; and even were 
it otherwise, my opportunities were too few, and 
my own incapacity too great, to make my opin- 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



IID 



ions of any value on a subject so complicated and 
so vast. Still the topic served to shorten the 
road, and when, towards evening, we found our- 
selves in the comfortable parlor of the little inn 
at Ballyiiocsousth,* so far had we both regained 
our spirits that once more the priest's jovial 
good humor irradiated his happy countenance, 
and I myself, hourly improving in health and 
strength, felt already the bracing influence of the 
mountain air, and that strong sense of liberty, 
njver more thoroughly apjjreciated than when re- 
gaining vigor after the suffering of a sick bed 

We were seated by an open window look- 
ing out upon the landscape. It was past sun- 
set, and the tall shadows of the mountains 
were meeting across the lake, like spirits who 
waited for the night-hour to interchange their 
embraces. A thin pale crescent of a new moon 
marked the blue sky, but did not dim the lustre 
of the thousand stars that glittered round it. All 
was hushed and still, save the deep note of the 
rail, or the measured splash of oars heard from a 
long distance. The rich meadows that sloped 
down to the water sent up their deliciou'- odors 
in the balmy air, and there stole over the senses 
a kind of calm and peaceful pleasure that such a 
scene at such an hour can alone impart. 

'■ This is beautiful — this is very beautiful, 
father " said I. 

" So it is, sir," said the priest. " Let no Irish- 
man wander for scenery. He has as much right 
to go travel in search of wit and good fellowship. 
We don't want for blessings. All we need is, to 
know how to enjoy them. And, believe me, there 
is a plentiful feast on the table if gentlemen would 
only pass down the dishes. And now, that re- 
minds me — what are you drinking? — negus. I 
wouldn't wish it to my greatest enemy. But, to 
be sure, I am always forgetting you are not one 
of ourselves. There, reach me over that square 
decanter. It wouldn't have been so full now if 
we had had poor Bob here — poor fellow. But 
one thing is certain, wherever he is, he is happy. 
I believe I never told you how he got into his 
present scrape." 

" No, father; and that's precisely the very thing 
I wish to ask you." 

" You shall hear it, and it isn't a bad story in 
its way. But don't you think the night air is a 
little too much for you — shall we close the 
window?" 

■' If it depend on me, father, pray leave it 
open.' 

" Ha, ha! I was forgetting again," said the old 
fellow, laughing roguishly; " sUHa sunt aiimntiiim 
ocuH, as Pilaris says. There now, don't be blush- 
ing, but listen to me. 

"It was somewhere about last November that 
Bob got a quiet hint from some one at Daly's 
that the sooner he got out of Dublin the more 
conducive it would be to his personal freedom, as 
various writs were flying about the capital after 
him. He took the hint, and set off the same 
night, and reached his beautiful chateau of New- 
gate without let or molestation, in which, having 
victualled for the winter, he could, if necessary. 



* A iistM— Town of the Fight of Flails. 



sustain a reasonable siege against any force the 
law was likely to bring up. The house had an 
abundant supply of arms; there were guns thai 
figuicd in 41, pikes that had done good scrvicea 
lutle later, swords of every shape — from the two- 
handed weapon of the twelfth century to a Ron. an 
pattern made out of a scythe by a smith in the 
neighborhood; but the grand terror of tl.eon lUry 
was an old four-pounder of Crcmwtll's time, 
that the major had mounted on the roof, r.nri 
whose effects, if only proportionately injurious lo 
the enemy to the results nearer home, must 
indeed have been a formidable engine; for the 
only time it was fired — I believe to celebrate 
Bob's birthday — it knocked down a chimney with 
the recoil, blew the gardener and another man 
about ten feet into the air, and hurled Bob him- 
self through a skylight into the housekeeper's 
room. No matter for that, it had a great effect 
in raising the confidence of the country people, 
some of whom verily believed that the ball was 
rolling for a week after. 

" Bob, I say, victualled the fortress; but he 
did more — for he assembled all the tenants, and 
in a short but pithy speech he told them the 
state of his affairs, explaining with considerable 
eloquence what a misfortune it would lie for them 
if by any chance they were to lose him for a 
landlord. 

" ' See now, boys,' said he, ' there's no knowing 
what misfortune wouldn't happen ye; they'd put 
a receiver on the property — a spalpeen with 
bailiffs and constables after him — that would be 
making you pay up the rent; and, faith, I 
wouldn't say but maybe he'd ask you for the 
arrears.' 

"'Oh, murther, murtlier! did any one ever 
hear the like?' the people cried on every side; 
and Bob, like a clever orator, continued to pic- 
ture forth additional miseries and misfortunes to 
them if such a calamitous event were to hap])en, 
explaining at the same time tlie ccnltmptible 
nature of the persecution practised .-igninst him. 

" ' No, boys,' cried he, ' there isn't a man among 
them all that has the courage to come down and 
ask for his money, face to face, but they set up a 
pair of fellows they call John Doe and Richard 
Roe — there's names for you. Did you ever hear 
of a gentleman in the county with names like 
that? But that's not the worst of it, for you see 
even these two chaps can't be found. It's truth 
I'm telling you, and some people go so far as to 
say there is no such people at all, and it's only a 
way they have to worry and annoy country gentle- 
men with what they call a fiction of the law; and 
my own notion is that the law is nothing but 
lies and fiction from beginning to end.' 

"A very loud cheer from Bob's audience pro- 
claimed how perfectly they coincided in his opin- 
ion; and a keg of whiskey being brought into the 
lawn, each man drained a glass to his health, ut- 
tering at the same time a determination with re- 
spect to the law officers of the crown that boded 
but little happiness to them when they made a 
tour in the neighborhood. 

" In about a week after tliis there was a grand 
drawing home; that's, you understand, what we 
call in Ireland bringing in the harvest; and sure 



120 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



enough the farm-yard presented a very comely 
sight, with ricks of hay, and stacks of corn, and 
oats, and barley, and out-houses full of potatoes, 
and, in fact, everything the country produces, 
besides cows and horses, sheep, pigs, goats, and 
even turkeys, for most of the tenants paid their 
rents in kind, and as Bob was an easy landlord, 
very few came without a little present — a game- 
cock, a jackass, a ram, or some amusing beast or 
other. Well, the next day — it was a fine dry day 
with a light frost, and as the bog was hard. Bob 
sent them all away to bring in the turf. Why 
then, but it is a beautiful sight, captain, and I 
wish you saw it; maybe two or three hundred 
cars all going as fast as they can pelt, on a fine 
bright day with a blue sky and a sharp air, the 
boys standing up in the kishes, driving without 
rein or halter — always at a gallop — for all the 
world like Ajax, Ulysses, and the rest of them 
that we read of; and the girls, as pretty craytures 
as ever you threw an eye upon, with their short 
red petticoats, and their hair plaited and fastened 
up at the back of their heads. On my conscience, 
the Trojan women were nothing to them. But 
to come back. Bob Mahon was coming home 
from the bog about five o'clock in the evening, 
cantering along on a little dun pony he had, 
thinking of nothing at all, except, maybe, the 
elegant rick of turf that he'd be bringing home 
in the morning, when what did he see before him 
but a troop of dragoons, and at their head old 
Basset, the sub-sheriff, and another fellow whose 
face he had often seen in the Four Courts of 
Dublin. ' By the mortial,' said Bob, ' I am done 
for;' for he saw in a moment that Basset had 
waited until all the country people were employed 
at a distance to come over and take him. How- 
ever, he was no ways discouraged, but brushing 
his way through the dragoons, lie rode up beside 
Basset's gig, and taking a long pistol out of the 
holster he began to examine the priming as cool 
as may be. 

"'How are you, Nick Basset.?' said Bob; 'and 
where are you going this evening?" 

"'How are you. major?' said Basset, with his 
eye all the while upon the pistol. ' It is an un- 
pleasant business — a mighty unpleasant business 
to me. Major Bob,' says he; ' but the truth is, 
there is an execution against you, and my friend 
here, Mr.Hennessy — Mr.Hennessy, Major Mahon 
— asked me to come ovei with him, because as I 
knew you — - — ' 

"'Well, well,' said Bob, interrupting him. 
' Have you a writ against me — is it me you want?' 
Nothing of the kind, Major Mahon. God 
forbid we d touch a hair of your head. It's 
just a kind of a capias, as I may say, nothing 
more.' 

"'And why did you bring the dragoons with 
you?' said Bob, looking at him mightv hard. 

" Basset looked very sheepish, and didn't know 
what to say, but Mahon soon relieved him, — 

"'Never mind, Nick, never mind, you can't 
help your trade; but how would you look if I 
was to raise the country on ye?" 

You wouldn't do the like, major — but surely 
if you did, the troops ' 

"'The troops!' said Bob; 'God help you! 



we'd be twenty — ay, thirty to one. See now, if 
I give a whistle, this minute ' 

"'Don't distress yourself, major,' said Basset, 
' for the decent people are a good six miles off 
at the bog, and couldn't hear you if you whistled 
ever so loud.' 

"The moment he said this Bob saw that the 
old rogue was up to him, and he began to won- 
der within himself what was the best to be done. 

" ' See now, Nick,' said he, ' it isn't like a friend 
to bring up all these red-coats here upon me be- 
fore my tenantry, disgracing me in the face of 
my people. Send them back to the town, and go 
up yourself with Mr. Hennessy there, and do 
whatever you have to do.' 

" ' No, no,' screamed Hennessy, ' I'll never part 
with the soldiers.' 

"'Very well,' said Bob, 'take your own way, 
and see what will come of it.' 

" He put spurs to his pony as he said this, and 
was just striking into a gallop, when Nick called 
out, — 

" ' Wait a bit, major, wait a bit. If we leave 
the dragoons where we are now, will you give us 
your word of honor not to hurt or molest us in 
the discharge of our duty, nor let any one else 
do so?' 

"'I will,' said Bob; 'now that you talk reas- 
onably, I'll treat you well.' 

"After a little parley it was settled that part of 
the dragoons were to wait on the road, and 
the rest of them in the lawn before the 
house, while Nick and his friend were to go 
through the ceremony of seizing Bob's effects, 
and making an inventory of everything they 
could find. 

"'A mere matter of form. Major Mahon,' 
said he; ' we'll make it as short as possible, 
and leave a couple of men in possession; and 
as I know the affair will be arranged in a few- 
days- ' 

"'Of course,' says Bob, laughing; 'nothing 
easier. So come along now, and let me show 
you the way.' 

" When they reached the house. Bob ordered 
up dinner at once, and behaved as I'olitcly as 
possible, telling them it was early and they would 
have plenty of time for everything in the evening 
But whether it was that they had no appetite 
just then, or that they were not over easy in their 
minds about Bob himself, they declined every- 
thing, and began to set about their work. To it 
they went with pen and ink, putting dov n all the 
chairs and tables, the cracked china, and the fire- 
irons, and at last Bob left them counting over 
about twenty pairs of old top-boots that stood 
along the wall of his dressing-room. 

' ' Ned,' said Bob, to his own man, ' get two 
big padlocks and put them on the door of the 
hayloft as fast as you can.' 

■"Sure it is empty, sir,' said Ned; 'barrin'the 
rats, there's nothing in it.' 

" ' Don't I know that as well as you?' said Bob ; 
' but can't you do as you are bid ; and when 
you've done it, take the pony and gallop over to 
the bog, and tell the i)eople to throw the turf out 
of their carts, and gallop up here as fast as they 
can.' 




^^^(':^/$^/<^/-^/j^v^/'/^/^y/ ./^me c:^A/'//^. 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



121 



" He'd scarcely said it when Nick called out, 
'Now, major, for tlie farm-yard, if yoii please.' 
And so, taking Hennessy's arm, he walked out, 
followed by the two big bailiffs, that never left 
them for a moment. To be sure it was a great 
sight when they got outside and saw all the ricks 
and stacks as thick as tliey could stand; and so 
they began counting, and putting them down on 
paper, and the devil a thing they forgot, not even 
the boneens and the bantams, and at last Nick 
fixed his eye upon the little door into the loft, upon 
which now two great big padlocks were hanging. 

" ' I suppose it's oats you have up there, major.'' 
said he. 

" ' No, indeed,' said Bob, looking a little con- 
fused. 

" ' Maybe seed potatoes?' said Hennessy. 

" ' Nor it neither,' said he. 

" 'Barley, it's likely,' cried Nick; 'it is a fine 
dry loft.' 

" ' No,' said Bob, ' it is empty.' 

"And with that he endeavored to turn them 
away, and get them back into the house; but oid 
Basset turned back and fixing his eye upon the 
door, shook his head for a couple of minutes. 

" ' Well,' said he, ' for an empty loft it has the 
finest pair of padlocks I ever looked at. Would 
there be any objection, major, to our taking a 
peep into it?' 

"'None,' said Bob, 'but I haven't a ladder 
that long in the place.' 

" ' I think this might reach,' said Hennessy, as 
he touched one with his foot that lay close along 
the wall, partly covered with straw. 

" 'Just the thing,' said Nick; while poor Bob 
hung down his head and said nothing. With 
that they raised the ladder and placed it against 
the door. 

" ' Might I trouble you for the key, Major 
Mahon?' said Hennessy. 

" ' I believe it is mislaid,' said Bob, in a kind 
ot sulky way; at which they both grinned at 
each other, as much as to say, ' We have him 
now.' 

" ' You'll not take it amiss then, major, if we 
break the door?' said Nick. 

"'You may break it, and be hanged,' said 
Bob, as he stuck his hands into his pockets, and 
walked away. 

" ' This will do,' cried one of the bailiffs, tak- 
ing up a big stone, as he mounted the ladder, 
followed by -Nick, Hennessy, and the other. 

" It took some time to smash the locks, for 
they were both strong ones, and all the while 
Nick and his friend were talking together in 
great glee, but poor Bob stood by himself against 
a hayrick, looking as melancholy as might be. 
At last the locks gave way, and down went the 
door with a bang. The Ixiiliffs stepped in, and 
then Nick and the others followed. It took 
them a couple of minutes to satisfy themselves 
that the loft was quite empty, but when they 
came back again to the door, what was their 
surprise to discover that Bob was carrying away 
the ladder upon his shoulders to a distant part 
of the yard. 

"'Halloa, major!' cried Basset, 'don't forget 
us up here.' 



" ' Devil a fear of that,' said Bob, ' few that 
know you ever forgot you.' 

" ' \Ve are quite satisfied, sir,' said Hennessy; 
' what you said was perfectly correct.' 

"'.A.nd why didn't you believe it before, Mr. 
Hennessy? You see what you have brought 
upon yourself.' 

" ' You are not going to leave us up here, sir?" 
cried Hennessy; ' will you venture upon false im- 
prisonment?' 

"'I'd venture on more than that, if it were 
needful; but see now, when you get back don't 
be pretending that I didn't offer to treat you 
well, little as you deserved it. I asked you to 
dinner, and would have given you your skinful 
of wine afterwards, but vou preferred your own 
dirty calling, and so take the consequences.' 

'■ While he was speaking, a great cheer was 
heard, and all the country people came gallop- 
ing into the yard with their turf cars. 

" ' Be alive now, my boys,' cried Bob. ' How 
many cars have you?' 

" ' Seventy, sir, here, but there is more coming.' 
"'That'll do,' said he, ' so now set to work 
and carry away all the oats, and the wheat, the 
hay, barley, and potatoes; let some of you take 
the calves and the pigs, and drive tlie bullocks 
over the mountain to Mr. Bodkin's; don't leave 
a turkey behind you, boys, and make haste, for 
these gentlemen have so many engagements I 
can scarcely prevail on them to pass more than 
a day or two amongst us.' 

" Bob pointed as he spoke to the four figures 
that stood trembling at the hayloft door. A loud 
cheer, and a roar of laughter to the full as loud, 
answered his speech; and at the same moment 
to it they went, loading their cars with the har- 
vest or the live stock as fast as they could; to 
be sure, such a scene was never witnessed — the 
cows bleating, pigs grunting, fowl cackling, men 
and women all running here and thtre, laughing 
like mad, and Nick Basset himself swearing like 
a trooper the wliole time that he'd have tlum all 
hanged at the next assizes. Would you believe, 
the harvest it took nearly three weeks lo bring 
home, was carried away that night, and scat- 
tered all over the country at different farms, 
where it never could be traced; all the cattle, 
too, were taken away, and before sunrise there 
wasn't as much as a sheep or lamb left to bleat 
on the lawn. 

" The next day Bob set out on a visit to a 
friend at some distance, leaving directions with 
his people to liberate the gentlemen in the hay- 
loft in the course of the afternoon. The story 
made a great noise in the country, but before 
people were tired laughing at it an action was 
entered against Bob for false imprisonment, and 
heavy damages awarded against him; so that 
you may see there was a kind of poetic justice 
in the manner of his capture, for after all it was 
only trick for trick." 

The worthy priest now paused to mix another 
tumbler, which, when he had stirred and tasted, 
and stirred again, he pushed gently before him 
on the table, and seemed lost in reverie. 

"Yes," said he, half aloud, "it is a droll 
country we live in, and there's not one of us 



122 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



doesn't waste more ingenuity and display more 
cunning in getting rid of his fortune than the 
I'leverest fellows elsewhere evince in accumu- 
lating theirs. But you are looking a little pale, 
1 think; these late hours won't suit you, so I'll 
just send you to bed." 

I felt the whole force of my kind friend's 
advice, and yielding obedience at once, I shook 
him by the hand and wished him good-night. 



CHAPTER XXXVI. 



MURRANAKILTY. 



If my kind reader is not already tired of the 
mountain-road and the wild West, may I ask 
liini — dare I say lier? — to accompany me a little 
farther, while I present another picture of its 
life.' 

You see the bold mountain, jagged and ragged 
in outline, like the spine of some gigantic beast, 
that runs far out into tlie Atlantic, and ends in 
a bold, abrupt headland, against which the waves 
from the very coast of Labrador, are beating 
without one intervening rock to break their force. 
Carry your eye along its base, to where you can 
mark a little clump, of alder and beech, with 
here and tnere a taper poplar interspersed, and 
see if you cannot detect the gable of along, low, 
thatched house, that lies almost buried in the 
foliage. Before tlie door a little patch of green 
stretches down to the shore, where a sandy bjach, 
glowing in all the richness of a morning sun, 
glitters with many a shell and brilliant pebble, — 
that, then, is Murranakilty. But approach, I beg 
you, a little nearer; let me suppose that you have 
traced the winding of that little bay, crossing the 
wooden bridge over the bright trout stream, as it 
liastens on to mingle its waters with the ocean: 
you have climbed over the rude stile, and stopped 
for an instant to look into the holy well, in 
whose glassy surface the little wooden crucifix 
above is dimly shadowed, and, at length, you stand 
upon the lawn before the cottage. What a glorious 
scene is now before you! On the opposite side of 
the bay, the mountain, whose summit is lost among 
the clouds, seems, as it were, cleft by some earth- 
quake's force, and through its narrow gorge you 
can trace the blue water of the sea passing in, 
while each side of the valley is clothed with wood. 
The oak of a hundred years, here sheltered from 
the rude wind of the Atlantic, spreads its luxur- 
iant arms, while the frotiiy waves are breaking 
at its feet. High, however, above their tops you 
you may mark the irregular outline of a large 
building, with battlements and towers, and mas- 
sive walls, and one tall and loop-holed turret, that 
rises high into the air, and around whose sum- 
mit the noisy rooks are circling in their flight. 
That is Kilmorran Castle, the residence of Sir 
Simon Bellew. There for centuries past his an- 
cestors were horn and died; there, in the midst 
of tliat wild and desolate grandeur, the haughty 
descendants of an ancient liouse lived on from 
youth to age, surro'.indjd \iv all the ob;:ervances 
of feudal slate, and lordini; it far and near for 



many a mile with a sway and a power that would 
seem to have long since passed away. 

You carry your eye seaward, and I perceive 
your attention is fixed upon the small schooner 
that lies anchored in the offing; her topsail is in 
the clews, and flaps lazily against the mast as she 
rolls and pitches in the breaking surge. The 
rake of her low masts, and the long boom that 
stretches out far beyond her taffrail, have, you 
deem it, a somewhat suspicious look; and you 
are right. She is La Belle Louise, a smuggling 
craft from Dieppe, whose crew — half French, 
half Irish — would fight her to the gunwale, and 
sink wiiii, but never surrender lier. You hear 
the plash of oars; and there now, you can mark 
the eight-oared gig, springing to the stroke as it 
shoots from the shore and heads out to sea. Sir 
Simon loves claret, and, like a true old Irish 
gentleman, he drinks it from the wood; there 
may, therefore, be some reason why those wild- 
looking red caps have pulled in shore. But now 
I'll ask you to turn to an humbler scene, and look 
within that room where the window, opened to 
the ground, is bordered by blossoming honey- 
suckle; it is the priest's parlor. At a little break- 
fast-table, whose spotless cloth and neat but 
simple ecpiipage has a look of propriety and com- 
fort, is seated one whose gorgeous dressing-gown 
and lounging attitude seem strangely at variance 
with the humble objects around him. He seems 
endeavoring to read a newspajjer, which ever 
and anon he lays down beside him, and turns his 
eyes in the direction of the fire, for, although it 
is July, yet a keen freshness of the morning air 
makes the blazing turf by no means objection- 
able. He looks towards the fire, perhaps, you 
would say, lost in his own thoughts and musings. 
But no; truth must out, and his attention is oc- 
cupied in a very different way. Kneeling before 
the fire is a young and lovely country girl, en- 
gaged in toasting a muffin for the priest's break- 
fast. Her features are flushed, ])artly with shame, 
partly with heat; and as now and then she 
throws back her long hair from her face with an 
impatient toss of her head, she steals a glance 
at the stranger, from a pair of eyes so deeply 
blue, that at first you were unjust enough to 
think them black. Her dress is a low bodice, 
and a short skirt of that brilliant dye the Irish 
peasant of the West seems to possess the 
secret for. The jupe is short, I say, and so much 
the better for you, as it displays a pair of legs 
which, bare of shoe or stocking, are i)crfect in 
their symmetry; the rounded instep and the swell- 
ing ankle chiselled as cleanly as a statue of 
Canova. 

And now, my good reader, having shown you 
all this, let me proceed with my narrative. 

"And sure now, sir, wouldn't it be better for 
you, and you sickly, to be eating your breakfast, 
and not be waiting for Father Tom? maybe he 
wouldn't come in this hour yet." 

" No, thank you, Mary; I had rather wait. I 
hope you are not so tired of my company that you 
want an excuse to get away." 

"Ah, be asv now, if you plaze, sir! It's my- 
self that's irroud to he talking to you." And as 
she spoke s!ie turned a jjair of blue eyes upon me 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN, 



with such a look that I could not help thinking 
if the gentlemen of the West be exposed to such, 
their blood is not as hot as is reputed. I sup- 
])Ose 1 looked as much, for she blushed deeply, 
and calling out, "Here's Father Tom!" sprang to 
her legs, and hurried from the room. 

" Wliere are you scampering that way?" cried 
the good priest, as he passed her in the hall. 
''Ah, captain, captain! behave yourself." 

'' I protest, father " cried I. 

" To be sure you do. Why wouldn't you pro- 
test? But see now, it was your business brought 
me out this morning. Hand nie over the eggs; 
I am as hungry as a hawk. The devil is in that 
girl — they are as hard as bullets! I see how it 
was, plain enough. It's little she was thinking 
of the same eggs. Well, well! this is an ungrate- 
ful world; and only think of me, all 1 was doing 
for you." 

" My dear father, you are quite wrong " 

'■ No matter. Another slice of bacon. And, 
after all, who knows if I have the worst of it. 
Do you know, now, that Miss Bellew has about 
the softest cheek " 

" What the devil do you mean?" said I, red- 
dening. 

" Why, just that I was saluting her a la Fran- 
faise this morning; and 1 never saw her look 
h.indsoiner in my life. It was scarce seven 
o'clock when I was over at Kilmorran; but, early 
as it was, I caught her making breakfast for me; 
and, father and |)riest that I am, I couldn't help 
falling in love with her. It was a beautiful sight 
jusl to watch her light step and graceful figure 
moving about the parlor — now opening the 
window to let in the fresh a r of the morning; now 
arranging a bouquet of moss-roses; now bus)"ing 
herself among the breakfast-things, and all the 
while stealing a glance at Sir Simon, to see if he 
were pleased with what she was doing. He'll be 
over here by-and-by to call on you; and, indeed, 
it is an attention he seldom pays any one, for 
latterly, poor fellow, he is not over satisfied with 
the world; and, if the truth were told, he has not 
had too much cause to be so." 

" You mentioned to him, then, that I was here?" 

"To be sure I did; and the doing so cost me 
a scalded finger, for Miss Louisa, who was pour- 
ing out my tea at the moment, gave a jerk with 
her hand, and spilt the boiling water all over me. 
Bad cess to you, Mary, but you've spoilt the 
toast this morning: half of it never saw the fire, 
and the other half is as black as my boot. But, 
as I was saying. Sir Simon knows all about you, 
and is coming over to ask us to dine there, though 
I offered to give the invitation myselt, and accept 
it first; but he is very punctilious about these 
things, and wouldn't henr of anything but doing it 
in the regular way." 
, " Did he allude to Mr. Ulick Burke's affair?" 

"Not a word. And even when I wished to 
touch on it, for the sake of alittle e.xplanation, he 
adroitly turned the subject, and spoke of some- 
thing else. But it is drawing late, and I have 
some people to see this morning, so come along 
now into my little library here, and I'll leave- you 
for a while to amuse yourself." 

The priest led me, as he spoke, into a small 



room, whose walls were covered with books from 
the floor tD the ceiling; even the very door by 
which we entered had its shelves like the rest, so 
that when once in you could see no trace of it. A 
single window looked seaward, towards the wide 
Atlantic, and presented a view of many miles of 
coast, indented with headland and promontory. 
Beneath, upon the jjlacid sea, was a whole fleet 
of fishing-boats, the crews of which were busily 
engaged in collecting tiie sea-weed to manure the 
land. The sight was both curious and pictur- 
esque. The light boats, tossing on the heavy 
swell, were crowded with figures whose attitude 
evinced all the»eagerness of a chase. Sometimes 
an amicable contest would arise between two 
parties, as their boat-hooks were fi.\ed in the same 
mass of tangled weed. Sometimes two rival crews 
would be seen stretching upon their oars, as they 
headed out to sea in search of a new prize; the 
merry voices, and the loud laughter, however, 
that rose above all other sounds, told that good- 
humor and good-will never deserted them in all 
the ardor of the contest. 

Long after the priest left me I continued to 
watch them. At last I set myself to explore the 
good father's shelves, which I foimd, for the most 
part, were filled with portly tomes of divinity and 
polemics, huge folio copies of St. Augustine, 
Origen, Eusebius, and others; innumerable vol- 
umes of learned tractates on disputed points in 
theology, none of which possessed any interest 
for me. In one corner, however, beside the fire, 
whose convenience to the habitual seat of Father 
Tom argued that they were not least in favor 
with his reverence, was an admirable collection 
of the F'rench dramatists — Moliere, Beaumar- 
chais, Racine, and several more; these were a 
real treat, and, seating myself beside the window, 
I prepared, for about the twentieth time in my 
life, to read " La Folle Journee." 

I had scarcely got to the end of the second 
act, when the door was gently opened, and Mary 
made her appearance, not in the dishabille of the 
morning, however, but with a trim cotton gown, 
and smart shoes and stockings; her hair, too, 
was neatly dressed, in the country fashion; yet 
still I was more than half disposed to think she 
looked even better in her morning costume. 

The critical scrutiny of my glance had evi- 
dently disconcerted her, and made her for <he 
moment forget the object of her coming. She 
looked down and blushed; she fumbled with the 
corner of her npron, and at last, recollecting her- 
self, she dropped a little courtesy, and, opening 
the door wide, announced Sir Simon Bellew. 

" Mr. Hinton, I believe," said Sir Simon, with 
a slight smile, as he bowed himself into the apart- 
ment; " will you allow me to introduce myself? — 
Sir Simon Bellew. ' 

The baronet was a tall, thin, meagre-looking 
old man, somewhat stooped by age, but preserv- 
ing, both in look and gesture, not only the re- 
mains of good looks, but the evident traces of 
one habituated to the world. His dress was very 
plain, but the scrupulous exactitude of his pow- 
dered cue, and the massive gold-headed cane he 
carried, showed he had not abandoned those 
marks of his position, so distinctive of rank in 



12-4 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



those days. He wore, also, large and handsome 
buckles in his shoes, but in everv other jjarticular 
his costume was simplicity itself. 

Conversing with an ease which evinced his ac- 
quaintance with all the forms of society, he 
touched shortly upon my- former acquaintance 
with his daughter, and acknowledged in terms 
slight, but suitable, how she had spoken of me. 
His manner was, however, less marked by every- 
thing I had deemed to be Irish tlian that of any 
other person I had met with in the country; for, 
while he expressed his pleasure at my visit to tlie 
West, and invited me to pass some days at his 
house, his manner of doing so liad nothing what- 
ever of the warmth and geniality I had so often 
seen. In fact, save a slight difference in accent, 
it was as English as need be. 

Whether I felt disappointed at this, or whether 
I had myself adopted the habits and prejudices 
of the land, I am unable to say, but certainly I 
felt chilled and repulsed; and although our in- 
terview scarce lasted twenty minutes, was de- 
lighted when he rose to take his leave, and say 
" Good-morning!" 

" You are good enough, then, to promise you'll 
dine with us to-morrow, Mr. Hinton? I need 
scarcely remark, I can have no party to meet 
you, for this wild neighborhood has denied us 
that; but as I am aware that your visit to the 
West is less for society than scenery, perhaps I 
may assure you you will not be disappointed. So 
now, au revoir." Sir Simon bowed deeply as he 
spoke, and, with a wave of his hat that would 
have done honor to the court of Louis XV., he 
took his leave and departed. 

I followed him with my eye, as, mounted on 
his old grey pony, he ambled quietly down the 
little path that led to the shore. Albeit an old 
man, his seat was firm, and not without a certain 
air of self-possession and ease; and, as he re- 
turned the salutations of the passing country 
people, he did so with the quiet dignity of one 
who felt he conveyed an iionor even in the recog- 
nition. There was something singular in the 
contrast of that venerable figure with the wild 
grandeur of the scene; and, as I gazed after him, 
it set ine thinking on the strange vicissitudes of 
life that must have made such as he pass his 
days in the dreary solitude of these mountains. 



CHAPTER XXXVII. 



SIR SIMON. 

My journey had so far fatigued me that I 
wasn't sorry to have a day of rest, and, as Father 
Tom spent the greater part of it Irom home, I 
was left to myself and my own reflections. The 
situation in which I found myself was singular 
enough — -the guest of a man whose acquaintance 
I had made by chance, and who, knowing as 
little of me as I did of him, yet showed by many 
an act of kindness, not less than by many a chance 
observation, a deep interest in myself and my 
fortunes. Here, then, I was; far from the sphere 



of my duties, neglecting the career I had adopted, 
and suffering days, weeks, to pass over without 
bestowing a thought upon my soldier's life. Fol- 
lowing on this train of thought, I could not help 
acknowledging to myself that my attachment to 
Miss Bellew was the cause of my journey, and the 
real reason of my wandering. However sanguine 
may be the heart when touched by a first pas- 
sion, the doubts that will now and then shoot 
across it are painful and poignant; and now, in 
the calmness of my judgment, I could not but see 
the innumerable obstacles my family would raise 
to all my hopes. 1 well knew my father's predi- 
lection for a campaigning life, and that nothing 
would compensate him for the defeat of this ex- 
pectation. I had but too many proofs of my 
mother's aristocratic prejudices to suppose that 
she ever could acknowledge as her daughter-in- 
law one whose pretensions to rank, although 
higher than her own, were yet neither trumpeted 
by the world nor blazoned by fashion; and lastly, 
changed as I was myself since my arrival in Ire- 
land, there was yet enough of the Englishman 
left in me to see how unsuited was Loui.sa Bel- 
lew, in many respects, to be launched forth in the 
torrent of London life, while yet her experience 
of the world was so narrow and limited. Still, I 
loved her. The very artless simplicity of her 
manner, the untutored freshness of her mind, had 
taught me to know that even great personal at- 
tractions may be the second excellence of a 
woman. And besides, I was just at that time of 
life when ambition is least natural. One deems 
it more heroic to renounce all that is daring in 
enterprise, all that is great in jiromise, merely to 
be loved. My mind was therefore made up. The 
present opportunity was a good one to see her 
frequently, and learn thoroughly her taste and 
dispositions. Siiould I succeed in gaining her 
affections, however op])osed my family might 
prove at first, I calculated on their fondness for 
me as an only son, and knew that, in regard to 
fortune, I should be independent enough to marry 
whom I pleased. 

In speculations such as these the time passed 
over, and although I waited with impatience for 
the hour of our visit to Kilniorran Castle, still, 
as the time drew near, many a passing doubt 
would flit across me, how far I had mistaken the 
promptings of my own affection for any return 
of mv love. True it was, that more than once 
her look and manner testified I was not indiffer- 
ent to her; still, when I remembered that I had 
ever seen her surrounded by persons slie was 
anxious to avoid, a suspicion cusstd me, that 
perhaps I owed the little preierence she showed 
me less to any qualities I possessed than to my 
own unobtrusiveness. These were gallingand un- 
pleasant reflections, and whither they might have 
led me, I know not, when the priest tapped with 
his knuckles at my window, and called out, — 

"Captain we shall be late if you don't hurry a 
bit; and I had rather be behind time with his 
gracious majesty himself than with old Sir 
Simon." 

I opened the window at once, and jumped out 
into the lawn. 

" My dear father, I've been ready this half 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



125 



hour, but fell into a dreamy fit, and forgot every- 
thing. Are we to walk it?" 

" No, no; the distance is much greater than 
you think. Small as the bay looks, it is a good 
three miles from this to Kilmorran; but here 
comes your old friend the ciirrifiiliis." 

1 once more mounted to my old seat, and the 
priest, guiding the horse down to the beach, se- 
lected the strand, from which the waves had just 
receded, as the hardest road, and pressed on a 
pace that showed his desire to be punctual. 

" Get along there ! Nabocklish ! How lazy 
the devil is; faith, we'll be late, do our best. 
Captain, darling, put your watch back a quarter 
of an hour, and I'll stand to it that we are both 
by Dublin time." 

" Is he, then, so very particular," said I, " as 
all that comes to?" 

" Particular, is it? Faith he is. Why, man, 
there is as much ringing of bells before dinner in 
that house as if every room in it was crammed 
with company. And the old butler will be there, 
all in black, and his hair powdered, and beautiful 
silk stockings on his legs, every day in the week, 
although, maybe, it is a brace of snipe will be all 
that is on the table. Take the whip for a wliile, 
and lay into that baste — my heart is broke flog- 
ing him." 

Had Sir Simon only watched the good priest's 
exertions for the preceding quarter of an hour, 
he certainly would have had a hard heart if he 
had criticized his punctuality. Shouting one mo- 
ment — cursing the next — thrashing away with 
his whip, and betimes striding over the splash- 
board to give a kick with his foot, he undoubtedly 
spared nothing in cither voice or gesture. 

"There! — glory be to God!" cried he at last, 
as he turned sharp from the shady road into a 
narrow avenue of tall limetrees; "take the reins, 
captain, till I wipe my face. Blessed hour, look 
at the state I am in! Lift him to it, and don't 
spare him. May I never! if that isn't the last bell, 
and he only gives five minutes after that!" 

Although I certainly should have preferred that 
Father Tom liad continued his functions as a char- 
ioteer now that we were a[)proaching the house, 
common humanity, however, compelled me to 
spare him, and I flogged and chucked the old 
beast with all my might up the rising ground 
towards the house. 

I had but just time to see that tlie building be- 
fore us was a large embattled structure, which, 
although irregular, and occasionally incongruous 
in detail, was yet a fine specimen of the castel- 
lated Gothic of the seventeenth century. Massive 
square towers flanked the angles, themselves sur- 
mounted by smaller turrets, that shot up into the 
air high above the dark woods around them. The 
whole was surrounded by a fosse, now dry and 
overgrown witli weeds; but the terrace, which lay 
between this and the castle, was laid out as a 
flower-garden with a degree of taste and beauty 
that, to my mind at least, bespoke the fostering 
hand of Louisa BcUew. Upon this the windows 
of a large drawing-room opened, at one of which 
I could mark the tall and stately figure of Sir 
Simon, as he stood, watch in hand, awaiting our 
arrival. I confess it was was not without a sense 



of shame that I continued my flagellations at this 
moment. Under any circumstances, our turn-out 
was not quite unexceptionable; but when I 
thouglit of my own position, and of the good 
priest who sat beside me, mopping his head and 
face with a huge red cotton handkerchief, I 
cursed my stars for the sad exposure. Just at 
this instant the skirt of a white robe passed one 
of the windows, and I thought — I hope it was 
but a thought — I heard the sound of laughter. 

"There — that will do. Phoebus himself 
couldn't do it better. I wouldn't wish my worst 
enemy to be in a pair of shafts before you." 

Muttering a curse on the confounded beast, I 
pulled short up and sprang out. 

" Not late, Nicholas, 1 hope?" said the priest, 
to a tall, thin, old butler, who wore a most absurd 
resemblance to his master. 

"Your reverence has a minute and a half yet; 
but the soup's on the table." As he spoke, he 
drew from his pocket a small bit of looking-glass 
in a wooden frame, and, with a pocket-comb, ar- 
ranged his hair in the most orderly and decorous 
manner; which being done, he turned gravely 
round and said, " Are ye ready, now, gentlemen?" 

The priest nodded, and forward we went. 
Passing through a suite of rooms whose furniture, 
however handsome once, was now worm-eaten 
and injured by time, we at length reached the 
door of the drawing-room, when the butler, after 
throwing one more glance at us, to assure himself 
that we were in presentable array, flung the door 
wide open, and announced, with the voice of aking- 
at-arms, — 

" The Reverend Father Loftus and Mr. 
Hinton." 

" Serve!" said Sir Simon, with a wave of his 
hand; while, advancing towards us, he received 
us with the most polished courtesy. 

" You are most welcome to Kilmorran, Mr. 
Hinton. I need not present my daughter." 

He turned towards the priest, and the same 
moment I held Miss Bellew's hand in mine. 
Dressed in white, and with her hair plainly 
braided on her cheek, I thought she looked hand- 
somer than I had ever seen her. There was an 
air of assured calmness in her manner, that sat 
well upon her lovely features, as, with a tone of 
winning sweetness, she seconded the words of her 
father, and welcomed me to Kilmorran. 

The first step in the knowledge of the female 
heart is, to know how to interpret any constraint 
or reserve of manner on the part of the woman 
you are in love with. Your mere novice is 
never more tempted to despair, than at the pre- 
cise moment his hopes should grow stronger; nor 
is he ever so sanguine as when the prospect is 
gloomy before him. The quick perceptions of 
even a very young girl enable her to perceive 
when she is loved; and however disjwsed she 
may feel towards the individual, a certain mix- 
ture of womanly pride and coquetry will teach 
her a kind of reserve towards him. 

Now, there was a slight dash of this constrained 
tone through Miss Bellew's manner to me, and, 
little experience as I had had in such matters, I 
knew enough to augur favorably from it. While 
doing the honors of her house, a passing timidity 



126 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



would seem, every now and then, to check her 
advances, and I could remark how carefully she 
avoided any allusion, however slight, to our past 
acquaintance. 

'i'he austerity of Sir Simon's manner at his first 
visit, as well as the remarks of my friend the 
priest, had led me to suspect that our dinner- 
party would prove cold, formal, and uncomfort- 
able. Indeed, the baronet's constrained and meas- 
ured courtesy in the drawing-room, gave me but 
little encouragement to expect anything better. 
Most agreeable, therefore, was my disappoint- 
ment to find, that before the soup was removed 
he had thawed considerably. The stern wrinkles 
of his haughty face relaxed, and a bland and 
good-humcjred smile had usurped the place of liis 
former fixed and determined look. Doing the 
honors of his table with the most perfect tact, 
he contrived, while most monopolizing the con- 
versation, to appear the least obtrusive amongst 
us; his remarks being ever accompanied by some 
appeal to his daughter, the priest, or myself, 
seemed to link us in the interest of all he said, 
and make his very listeners deem themselves en- 
tertaining and agreeable. 

Unfortunately, I can present but a very meagre 
picture of this happy gift, but I remember well 
how insensibly my prejudices gave way, one by 
one, as I listened to his anecdotes, and heard him 
recount, with admirable humor, many a story of 
his early career. To be sure it may be said that 
my criticism was not likely to be severe wliile 
seated beside his beautiful daughter, whose cheek 
glowed with pleasure, and whose bright eye glis- 
tened with added lustre as she remarked the im- 
pression her father's agreeability was making 
on his guests. Such may, I doubt not, have in- 
creased the delight I felt; but Sir Simon's own 
claims were still indisputable. 

I know not how far I shall meet my reader's 
concurrence in the remark, but it appears to me 
that conversational talent, like wine, requires age 
to make it mellow. Tiie racy fla\or that smacks 
of long knowledge of life — the reflective tone that 
deepens without darkening the picture — the free- 
dom from exaggeration, either in praise or cen- 
sure, are not the gifts of young men usually; and 
c.-rtainiy they do season the intercourse of older 
ones, greatly to its advantage. There is, more- 
over, a pleasant flattery in listening to the narra- 
tives of those who were mixing with the busy 
world — its intrigues, its battles, and its by-play, 
while we were but boys. How we like to hear of 
,the social, every-day life of those great men of 
a bygone day. whose names have become already 
historical; what a charm does it lend to reminis- 
cence when the names of Burke, Sheridan, G rat- 
tan, and Curran start up amid memories of youth- 
ful pleasure; and how we treasure every passing 
word that is transmitted to us; and how much, 
in spite of all the glorious successes of their 
after-days, do we picture them to ourselves, from 
some slight or shadowy trait of their school or 
college life. 

, Sir Simon Bellew's conversation abounded in 
features of this kind. His career had begun, 
and continued for a long time, in the brightest 
period of Ireland's history -when wealth and 



genius were rife in the land, and when the joyous 
traits of Irish character were elicited in all their 
force by prosperity and happiness. It was then 
shone forth in all their brilliancy the great spirits 
whose flashing wit and glittering fancy have cast 
a sunlight over their native country, that even 
now, in the twilight of the past, continues to 
illumine it. Alas! the)''have had no heritors to 
their fame — they have left no successors behind 
them. I have said that Miss Bellew listened 
with delight to all lier father's stories of amuse- 
ment, happy to see him once more aroused to 
the exertion of his abilities, and jileased to watch 
how successfully his manner had won over us. 
With what added loveliness she looked up to 
him as he narrated some circumstances of his 
political career, where his importance with his 
jiarty was briefly alluded to; and how proudly 
her features glowed as some passing sentiment 
of high and simple patriotism would break from 
him. At such moments, the resemblance be- 
tween them both became remarkably striking, and 
I deemed her even more beautiful than when her 
face wore its habitual calm and peaceful ex- 
pression. 

Father Loftus himself seemed also to have 
undergone a change; no longer indulging in his 
accustomed free-and-easy manner, seasoning his 
conversation with droll allusions and sly jokes, 
he now appeared a shrewd, intelligent reasoner — 
a well-informed man of the world; and, at times, 
evinced traits of reading and scholarship I was 
nowise prepared for. But how vain is it for one 
of any other country to fathom one-half the 
depth of Irish character, or say what part is in- 
ajiplicable to an Irishman! My own conviction 
is, that we are all mistaken in our estimate of 
them — that the gay and reckless spirit, the wild 
fun, and frantic, impetuous devilment, are their 
least remarkable features, and, in fact, only the 
outside emblem of the stirring nature within. 

When we retired to the drawing-room. Sir 
Simon, who had something to communicate to 
Father Tom, took him a]3art into one of the 
deep window recesses, and I was left for the first 
time alone beside Miss Bellew. There was some- 
thing of awkwardness in the situation, for as 
neither of us could allude to the past without 
evoking recollections we both shunned to touch 
on, we knew not well of what to speak. The 
window lay open to the ground, displaying be- 
fore us a garden in all the richness of fruit and 
blossom — the clustering honeysuckle and the 
dog-rose hung in masses of flower across the 
casement, and the graceful hyacinth and tlie deep 
carnation were bending to the night air, scented 
with the odor of many a flower. 1 looked wist- 
fully without; she caught my glance, a slight 
hesitation followed, and then, as if assuming more 
courage, she said, — 

"Are you fond of a garden?— would you like 
to walk?" 

The haste with which I caught at the proposal 
half disconcerted her; but, with a slight smile, 
she stepped out into the walk. 

How I do like a large, old-fashioned garden, 
with its venerable fruit-trees, its shady allies, its 
overgrown and tangled beds, in which the very 



JACK HIxNTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



127 



kixuriance sets all efforts of art at defiance, and 
where rank growth speaks of wildaess ratherlhan 
culture. I like those grassy walks, where the 
footstep falls unheard, those shady thickets of 
nut-trees which the blackbird haunts in security, 
and where the thrush sings undisturbed — what 
a sense of quiet home-happiness there breathes 
in the leafy darkness of the spot, and how meet 
for reverie and reflection dots it seem! 

As I sauntered along beside my companion these 
thoughts crowded on me Neither spoke; but 
her arm was in mine, our footsteps moved in 
unison, our eyes followed the same objects, and I 
felt as though our hearts beat responsively. On 
turning from one of the darker walks, we sud- 
denly came upon an elevated spot, from which, 
through an opening in the wood, the coast came 
into view, broken into many a rocky ])romontory, 
and dotted with small islands. The sea was 
calm and waveless, and stretched away towards 
the horizon in one mass of unbroken blue, where 
it blended with the sky. An e.xclamation of 
''How beautiful!" broke from me at .once; and 
as I turned towards Louisa, I perceived that her 
eyes sparkled with pleasure, and a half blush was 
mantling her cheek, 

"You are hot, then, disappointed wi'-h the 
West?" said she, with animation. 

" No, no. I did not look for anything like 
this; nor," added I, in a lower tone, while the 
words trembled on my lips, '' did I hope to enjoy 
it thus." 

She seemed slightly confused: but, witli woman's 
readiness to turn the meaning of my speech, 
added, — • 

" Your recovery from illness doubtless gives a 
heightened pleasure to everything like this — the 
dark hour of sickness is sometimes needed to 
teach us to feel strongly a. we ought, the beauty 
of the fair world we live in.'' 

" It may be so; but still I find that every sor- 
row leaves a scar upon the heart, and he who has 
mourned much loses the zest for happiness.' 

" Or, rather, his views of it are different. I 
speak, happily for me, in ignorance; yet it seems 
as though every trial in life was a preparation for 
soma higher scale of blissful enjoyment; and that 
as our understandings mature in power, so do our 
hearts in goodness, chastening at each ordeal of 
life, till, at the last, the final sorrow, death, bids us 
prepare for the eternity Vifhere there is no longer 
grief, and where the weary are at rest." 

" Is not your view of life rather derived from 
the happy experience of this quiet sjxjt, than 
suited for the collisions of the world, where, ns 
men grow older, their consciences grow more 
seared — their hearts less open." 

'■ Perhaps— but is not my philosophy a good 
one, that fits me for my station? My life has 
been cast here; I have no wish to leave it — I 
hope I never shall." 

'■ Never? Surely, you wo\ild like to see other 
countries — to travel?" 

" No, no. All the brilliant pleasures you can 
picture for me would never requite the fears I 
must suffer, lest these objects should grow less 
dear to me when I came back to them, '['he 
Tyrol is doubtless grander in its wild magnifi- 



cence; but can it ever come home to my heart 
with so many affections and memories as these 
bold cliffs I have gazed on in my infancy? or 
should I benefit in ha])piness if it were? Can 
your Swiss peasant, be his costume ever so pic- 
turesque, interest me one-half so much as yonder 
poor fisherman, who is carrying up his little child 
in his arms from the beach? I know him — his 
home — his hearth; I have seen his grateful smile 
for some small benefit, and heard his words of 
thankfulness; and think you not that such recol- 
lections as tiiese are mingled in every glance I 
throw around me, and that every sunlit spot of 
landscape shines not more brighlly in my heart 
for its human associations? These may be 
narrow prejudices — I see you smile at me." 

" No, no. Trust me, I do not undervalue your 
reasons." 

"Well, here comes Father Loftus, and'he shall 
be judge between us. We were discussing the 
advantages ot contrasting our home with other 
countries— " 

"Ahem! A very difficult point," said the 
priest, interrupting her, and drav.-ing himself up 
with a great air of judicial importance. " U/n 
bene, tin patria: which may be rendered, ' there's 
potatoes everywhere.' Not that I incline to the 
doctrine mvself: Ireland is the only enjoyable 
country I know of. Ulaniur cieatiuajii dutii fos- 
sumtis: that means, ' a moderate use of creature 
comforts,' Miss Louisa. But, troth, I am so 
heated with an argument I had with Sir Sinicn, 
that I'm noways competeni — did I tell you he 
was waiting for his ten?" 

"No, indeed, you did not," said Miss Bellew, 
giving vent to a laugh she had been struggling 
against for the last few minutes; and which I did 
not at the moment know was caused by her per- 
ceiving the priest's air of chagrin and discontent, 
the evident proofs of his being worsted by the 
old baronet, whose chief pleasure in life was to 
worry the father into a discussion, and either 
confuse or confute him. ' My father seems in 
such good spirits to-night. Don t you think so?" 
said she, roguishly, looking over at the priest. 

" Never saw him better; quite lively and nni- 
mated, and" — drojjping his voice to a whisper — 
"as obstinate as ever." 

As we f.ntered the house, we found Sir Simon 
walking leisurely up and down the drnwing-room, 
with his hands laehind his back, his face radiant 
with smiles, and his eye glenming with conscious 
triumph towards the corner where the priest stood 
tumbling over some books to conceal his sense 
of defeat. In a few minutes after we were seated 
round the tea-table, the little cloud was dispelled, 
and a happier party it were difficult to imagine. 



CHAPTER XXXVin. 

ST. senan's well. 



Kow shall I trace this, the hnppiest pericd of 
my life! when days and weeks rolled on, and 
left no track behind, save in that delicious calm 
that stole over my senses gradually and imj;cr- 



128 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



ceptibly. Each morning saw me on my way to 
Castle Bellew; the mountain path that led up 
from the little strand was well worn by my foot- 
steps — 1 knew its every turn and winding; 
scarcely a dog-rose bloomed along the way with 
which I had not grown familiar. And how each 
object spoke to my heart! — for I was happy! 
The clouds that moved above, the rippling tide 
that flowed beneath, the sunnv shore, the shady 
thicket — were all to me as though I had known 
them from boyhood. For so it is, in our glad 
moments we cling to all things that surround us; 
and, giving to external nature the high coloring 
of our own hearts, we feel how beautiful is this 
world! Yet was my mind not all tranquil; for 
often, as I hastened on, some passing thought 
would shoot across me. Where is this to end? 
Can I hope ever to overcome the deep-rooted 
prejudices of my family, and induce them to re- 
ceive amongst them, as my wife, the beautiful 
and artless daughter of the wild West? or could 
I dare to expose her, on whom all my affections 
were centred, to the callous criticism of my fine 
lady-mother, and her fashional)le friends in 
London? What right had 1 to stake her happi- 
ness on such a chance — to take her from all the 
objects endeared to her by taste, by time, by 
long-hallowed associations, and place her ainid 
those among whom the very charm of her un- 
tarnished nature would have made her their 
inferior? 

Is it that trait of rebellious spirit, that would 
seem to leaven . every portion of our nature, 
which makes our love strongest when some pow- 
erful barrier has been opposed to oui hopes and 
wishes? or is it, rather, that in the difficulties 
and trials of life, we discover those deeper re- 
sources of our hearts that, under happier aus- 
pices, had lain dormant and imknown? I scarcely 
know; but true it is--, after such reflections as 
these, I ever hurried on the faster to meet her, 
more resolutely bent than ever, in weal or woe, 
to link my fortune with her own. 

Though I returned each night to the priest's 
cottage, my days were entirely spent at Castle 
Bellew. How well do I remember every little 
incident that marked their tranquil course! The 
small breakfast-parlor, with its old Tudor window 
looking out upon the flower-garden; how often 
have I paced it, impatient for her coming; turn- 
ing ever and anon to the opening door, when the 
old butler, with the invariable habits of his kind, 
continually appeared with some portion of the 
breakfast equipage. How I started as some 
distant door would shut or open — some far-off 
footstep on the stair; and wonder, within myself, 
why felt she not some of this impatient longing. 
And when, at last, tortured with anxiety and 
disappointment, I had turned away towards the 
window, the gentle step, the rustling dress, and, 
more than all, tiie indescribable something that 
tells us we are near those we love, bespoke her 
coming — oh! the transport cf that moment! 
With what a fervid glow of pleasure I sprang to 
meet her — to touch her hand — to lock upon her! 
How rapidly, too, I endeavoied to speak my 
few words of greeting, lest her father's coming 
might interfere with even this short-lived period 



of happiness; and, after all, how little meaning 
were the words themselves, save in the tone I 
spoke them! 

Then followed our rambles through the large 
but neglected garden, where the rich blossoming 
fruit-tree scented the air, loaded witli all the 
fragrance of many a wild flower. Now strolling 
onwards — silent, but full of thought, we trod 
some dark and shaded alley; now entering upon 
some open glade, where a view of the far-off 
mountains •\vould break upon us, or whrre some 
chance vista showed the deep blue sunny sea, 
swelling with sullen roar against the rocky coast. 

How often, at such times as these, have I 
asked myself if I could look for greater happi- 
ness than thus to ramble on, turning from the 
stupendous majesty of nature to look into her 
eyes, whose glance met mine so full of tender 
meaning; while words would pass between us, 
few and low-voiced, but all so thrilling — their 
very accent spoke of love. Yet, amid all this, 
some agonizing doubt would shoot across me, 
that my affection was not returned; the very 
frankness of her nature made me fear; and when 
we parted at night, and I held my homeward way 
towards the priest's cottage, I would stop from 
time to time, conning over every word she spoke, 
cplling to mind each trivial circumstance; and 
if by accident some passing word of jest, some 
look of raillery, recurred to my memory, how 
have the warm tears rushed to my e)es, as, with 
my heart full to bursting, I muttered to myself, 
" She loves me not!" These fears would then 
give way to hope, as in my mind's eye she stood 
before me, all beaming in smiles; and amid these 
alternate emotions 1 trod my lonely path, long- 
ing for the morrow, when we should meet again, 
when I vowed within my heart to end my life 
of doubt by asking if she loved me. But with 
that morrow came the same spell of happiness 
that lulled me* but, like the gambler who had 
set his life upon the die, and durst not throw, so 
did I turn with trembling fear from tempting 
the chance that might in a moment dispel the 
bright dream of my existence, and leave life 
bleak and barren to me forever. 

The month of August was drawing to a close, 
as we sauntered one fine evening towards the sea- 
shore. There was a little path which wound 
down the side of a bold crag, partly by steps, and 
partly by a kind of sloping way, defended at the 
sides by a rude v.ocdtn railing, which led down 
upon the beach exactly at the spot where a well 
of clear spring water sprang up, and tracked its 
tiny stream into the blue ocean. This little 
spring, which was always covered by the sea at 
high water, was restored, on the tide ebbing, to 
its former purity, and bubbled away as before; 
and from this cause had obtained from the sim- 
ple peasantry the reputation of being miraculous, 
and was believed to possess innumerable proper- 
ties of healing and consoling. 

I had often heard of it, but never visited it 
before; and thither we now bent our steps, more 
intent upon catching the glorious sunset that was 
glowing en the Atlantic, than of testing the vir- 
tue? of St. Senan's Well — for so it was called. 
The evening, an autumnal one, was calm and 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



129 



still; not a leaf stirred; the very birds were 
hushed; and there was all that solemn silence 
that sometimes threatens the outbreak of a storm. 
As we descended the crag, however, the deep 
booming of the sea broke upon us, and between 
the foliage of the oak trees we could mark the 
heavy rolling of the mighty tide, as wave after 
wave swelled on, and then was dashed in foam 
and spray upon the shore. There was something 
peculiarly grand and almost supernatural in the 
heavy swell of the great sea, rearing its wliite 
crest afar, and thundering along the weather- 
beaten rocks, when everything else was calm and 
unmoved around; the deep and solemn roar, 
echoing from many a rocky cavern, rose amid 
the crashing spray that sent up a thin veil of 
mist, through which the setting sun was reflected 
in many a bright rainbow. It was indeed a glo- 
rious sight! and we stopped for several minutes 
gazing on it; when suddenly Louisa, letting go 
my arm, e.Kclahned, as she pointed downwards, — 

"See! see the swell beneath that large black 
rock yonder; the tide is making fast; we must 
get quickly down if you wish to test St. Senan's 
power." 

I had no time left me to ask what peculiar 
virtues the saint dispensed through the. media- 
tion of his well, when she broke from my side, 
and hurried down the deep descent; in a moment 
we had reached the shore, upon which already 
the tide was fast encroaching, and had marked 
with its dark stain the yellow sand within a few 
feet of th" well. As we drew nearer, I perceived 
the figure of an old woman, bent with age, who 
seemed busily occupied sprinkling the water of 
the spring over something that, as I came closer, 
seemed like a sailor's jacket. She was repeating 
some words rapidly to herself; but on hearing 
our approach, she quickly collected her bundle 
together under her remnant of a cloak, and sat 
waiting our approach in silence. 

" It's Molly Ban!" said Louisa, suddenly, and 
growing pale as she spoke. 'Give her something 
— if you have any money — I beseech you." 

There was no opportunity for inquiring further 
about her now, for the old woman slowly rose 
from the stone, by the aid of a stick, and stood 
confronting us. Her figure was singularly short 
— scarce four feet in height; but her head was 
enormously large, and her features, which were 
almost terrific in ugliness, were swarthy as a 
gipsy's; a man's hat was fastened upon her head 
by a red kerchief, which was knotted beneath 
her chin; a short cloak of faded scarlet, like what 
the peasantry of the West usually wear, covered 
her shoulders; beneath which a patched and 
many-colored petticoat appeared, that reached to 
the middle of her legs, which, as well as her feet, 
were completely naked, giving a look of wild- 
ness and poverty in one so old I cannot attempt 
to convey. 

The most singular part of her costume, how- 
ever, was a rude collar she wore round her neck, 
of sea shells — among which, here and there, I 
could detect some bits of painted and gilded 
carving, like fragments of a wreck. This strange 
apparition now stood opposite me, her dark eyes 
fixed steadily on my companion, to whom, un- 



like the people of the country, she never made 
the slightest reverence, or showed any semblance 
of respect. 

"And was it to spy after me. Miss Loo, ye 
brought down yer sweetheart to the well this 
evening?" said the hag, in a harsh, grating 
voice, that seemed the very last effort ot some 
suppressed passion. 

Louisa's arm grasped mine, and I could feel 
it tremble with agitation, as she whispered in my 
ear, — - 

"Give her money quickly; I know her." 

" And is your father going to send me back to 
gaol because the cattle's got the rot amongst 
them? ha, ha, ha!" said she, breaking inio a 
wild, discordant laugh. '' There'll be niore 
mourning than for that, at the castle, before 
long." 

Louisa leaned against me faint and almost 
falling, while, drawing out my purse hastily, I 
held forth my hand full of silver. The old hag 
clutched at it eagerly, and, as her dark eyes 
flashed fire, she tiirust the money into a pocket 
at her side, and again broke out into a horrid 
laugh. 

"So, you're beginnin' to know me, are ye? 
Ye won't mock Molly Ban now — eh? No, faith, 
nor Mary Lafferty either, that turned me from 
the door, and shut it agin me. Where'U her 
pride be to-morrow night, when they bring in 
her husband a corpse to her? Look at that." 

With these \vords she threw her cloak on one 
side, and showed the blue jacket of a fisherman, 
which I had seen her sprinkling with the water 
as we came up. 

" The blue water will be his winding-sheet 
this night, calm as it is now." 

" Oh, Molly, dear, don't speak this way!" 

" Molly, dear!" echoed the beldame, in an 
accent of biting derision. "Who ever heerd 
one of your name call me that? or are ye come 
for a charm for that young man beside you? See 
now, the sun's just gone; in a minit more the 
sea'll be in, and it'll be too late. Here, come 
near me — kneel down there — kneel down, I say; 
or is it only my curse ye mind ?" 

" She's tnad,' poor thing," said I, in my com- 
panion's ear. "Let her have her way — do as 
she bids you." 

Sinking with terror, pale as death, and trem- 
bling all over, Louisa bent one knee upon the 
little rock beside the well, while the old hag took 
her fair hand within her own skinny fingers and 
plunged it rudely in the well. 

" There, drink," said she, offering me the fair 
palm, through which the clear water was running 
rapidly, while she chanted rather than spoke the 
rude rhyme that follows: — 

" By the setting sun, 
The flowing sea, 
The waters that run, 
I swear to thee 
That my faith shall be true, as this moment now 
In weal or in woe, wherever or how: 
So help me, St. Senan, to keep my vow." 

The last words had scarcely been uttered when 
Louisa, who apparently had been too much over- 



i;^o 



JACK HINTON. THE GUARDSMAN. 



come by terror to hear one word the hag mut- 
tered, sprang up from the stone, her face and 
neck covered with a deep blush, her h'ps trem- 
bling with agitation, while her eyes were fixedly 
directed towards the old woman with an expres- 
sion of haughty anger. 

" Ay, ye may loolc as proud as ye like. It"s 
little I mind ye, in love or in hate. Ye are well 
humbled enough now. And as for you," said 
she, turning towards me with a look of scornful 
pity — " you, I wish ye joy of your fair sweet- 
heart — let her only keep her troth like her own 
mother, and ye' 11 have a happy heart to sit at 
yer fireside with." 

The blood fled from Louisa's cheek as she said 
this — a deadly paleness spread over her features 
— her lips were bloodless and parted — and her 
hands firmly clenched together and pressed 
against her side, bespoke the agony of the moment; 
It lasted not longer, for she fell back fainting and 
insensible into my arms. I bathed her face and 
temples from the well — I called upon her — 
rubbed her hands within my own, and endeavored 
by every means to arouse her, but in vain. I 
turned to beg for aid from the woman, but she 
was gone. I again endeavored to awake her from 
the stupor, but she lay cold, rigid, and motionless 
— her features had stiffened like a corpse, and 
showed no touch of life. I shouted aloud for 
aid; but, alas! we were far from all human 
habitations, and the wild crii s of the curlew were 
the only sounds that met my ear, or the deep 
rushing of the sea as it broke nearer and nearer 
to where I stood. A sudden pang of horror shot 
across me as I looked around and below, and saw 
no chance of aid from any (piarter. Alreadv the 
sun was below the horizon, and the grey twilight 
gave but gloomy indications of all around — the 
sea, too, was making fast — the foam had reached 
us, and even now the salt tide had mingled its 
waters with the little sjiring. No more time was 
to be lost. A p; ejecting point of rock intervened 
between us and ihe little path by which we had 
descended to the beach; over this the spray was 
now splashing, and its base was only to be seen 
at intervals between the advancing or retiring 
wave. A low, wailing sound, like distant wind, 
was creeping over the water, which from time to 
time was curled along the round-backed wave with 
all the threatening aspect cf a coming storm — 
the sea-birds wheeled around in circles, waking 
the echoes with their wild notes; and the heavy 
swell of the breaking sea roared through many a 
rocky cavern with a sad and mournful melody. 
I threw one last look above where the tall beet- 
ling cliff was lost in the gloom ol coming night; 
another on the broad bleak ocean; and then, 
catching up my companion in my arms, set for- 
ward. For the first few moments I felt not mv 
burden. My beating heart throbbed proudly; and 
as I pressed her to my bosom, how I nerved my- 
self for any coming danger by the thought that all 
the world to me lay in my arms. Every step, 
however, brought me farther out: the sea, which 
at first washed only to my ankles, now reached 
my knees; my stops became unsteady ; 'ind when, 
for an instant, I turned one look on lu-r wlio lay 
still and insensible within my grasp, I felt my 



head reel, and my sight wander, as I again looked 
out on the daik water that rolled around us. 
We were now near the rocky point vhich, once 
passed, placed us in safety; and to reach this I 
sun^moned up every effort. Around this the 
waves had worn a deeper track, and against its 
sides they beat and lashed themselves to foam, 
which boiled in broad sheets around. A loud' 
cheer from some one on the cliff above us turned 
my glance upwards, and I could see lights mov- 
ing backwards and forwards through the dark- 
ness. Before I could reply to the voice, however, 
a large wave came mantling near, gathering force 
as it approached, and swelling its gigantic mass 
so as to shut out all besides. 1 fixed nnself 
firmly to resist the shock; and slightly bending, 
opposed my shoulder to the mighty roll of water 
that now towered like a wall abo\ e us. On it 
came, till its dark crest frowned above our heads. 
For a second or two it seemed to pause, as the 
white curl tipped its breaking edge, and then, 
with a roll like thunder, broke over us. For an 
instant I held my footing; at length, however, my 
step tottered — I felt myself lifted up, and then 
hurled headlong beneath the swollen volume of 
water that closed above my head. Stunned but 
not senseless, I grasped my burden closer to my 
heart, and struggled to regain my tooting. The 
wave passed inwards as I rose to my feet, and a 
sea of boiling foam hissed around nie. Beyond, 
all was dim and indistinct: a brooding darkness 
stretched towards the sea, and ]and'\iard, the tall 
cliffs were wraj ped in deep shadow, except when 
the light that I saw before flitted from place to 
place, like the dancing wildfire. A loud cheer 
from on high made me suppose that we were per- 
ceived; but my attention was turned away by a 
low moaning sound that came floatii <_> over the 
water; and, as 1 looked, I could sec that the 
black surface swelled upwards, as if by some 
mighty force beneath, and rose towering into the 
air. The wave that now approached us was 
much greater than the former one, and came 
thundering on as if impatient for its prey. My 
fear was of being carried cut to sea, and I looke d 
hastily around for some rocky point to hold on 
by; but in vain. The very sands beneath me 
seemed moving and shifting; the voice of 
thunder was in my ears, my senses reeled, and 
the thought of death by drowning, with all its 
agony, came over me. 

"Oh, my poor father! my poor father!" said a 
low, plainti^■e voice beside my cheek; and the 
next instant the blood rushed warm to my heart. 
My courage rallied; my arm grew nerved ard 
strong; my footsteps seemed to grasp the veiy 
ground; and, with a bold and daring s])iiit, I 
waited for the coming shock. On it came — a 
mighty flood — sweeping high above us, as we 
struggled in the midst. The blue water moved 
on unbroken. For a moment or two I felt we 
were borne along with a whirlwind speed; then 
suddenly we touched the strand, but only for a 
second, for the returning wave came thundering 
back, and carried us along with it. My senses 
now began to wander: the dark and gloomy sea 
stretched around us; the stars seemed to flit to 
and fro; the roar of water and the sounds of hu- 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



131 



man voices were mingled in my ears. My 
strength, too, was failing me, and I buffeted the 
waves with scarcely consciousness. Just at that 
moment, when, ail dread of danger past, the 
gloomy indifference to life is fast succeeding, I 
saw a bright gleam of light flying rapidly across 
the water; the shouts'of voices reached me also, 
but the words I heard not. Now falling beneath, 
now rising above the foamy surface, I struggled 
on, my only strength to press home closer to my 
bosom the form of her my heart was filled by; 
when, of a sudden, I felt my arm rudely grasped 
on either side. A rope, too, was thrown around 
my waist, and I was hurried inwards towards the 
shore, amid cries of "All safe! all safe! Not too 
fast there!" A dreary indistinctness of what 
followed even still haunts my mind. A huge 
wood fire upon the beach — the figures of the 
fishermen — the country people passing iiitherand 
thither — the tumult of voices — and a rude chair 
in which lay a pale, half fainting form. The 
rest I know not. 

It was dark — so dark I could not see the per- 
sons that moved beside me. .As we passed along 
the grassy turf in silence, I held a soft hand in 
mine, and a fair cheek rested on my shoulder, 
■while masses of long and dripping hair fell on 
my neck and bosom. Carried by two stout peas- 
ant fisherman in a chair, Louisa Bellew, faint 
but conscious of the danger past, was borne 
homeward. I walked beside her, my heart too 
full for words. A loud wild cheer burst suddenly 
forth, and a bright gleam of light aroused me 
from my trance of happiness. The steps were 
crowded with people — the large hall so full we 
scarce could force our way. The door of the 
parlor was now thrown open, and there sat the 
pale, gaunt figure of the old man; his eyes star- 
ing wildly, and his lijis parted, his hands resting 
on each arm of his chair, but all still and motion- 
less. Bursting from those that carried her, she 
sprang towards him with a cry; but ere she 
reached his arms he had fallen from his seat to 
his knees, and with his hands clasped above his 
head, and upturned eyes, poured forth his prayer 
to God. Sinking to his side, she twined her 
hands within his; and, as if moved by the magic of 
the scene, the crowd fell to their knees, and joined 
in the thanksgiving. It was a moment of deep 
and touching feeling, to hear the slow, scarce 
articulate words of that old man, who turned 
from the sight of her his heart treasured to thank 
the great Father of Mercy, who had not left 
him childless in his age — to mark the low 
sobs of those around as they strove to stifle 
them; while tears coursed down the hard and 
weather-beaten cheeks of humble poverty, as 
they muttered to themselves tlieir heartfelt thanks 
for her preservation. I'here was a pause. Tlie 
old man turned his eyes upon his child, and 
like a dammed-up torrent breaking forth, 
the warm tears gushed out, and, with a cry of 
"My own, my only one!" he fell upon her neck 
and wept. 

I could hear no more. Springing to ray feet, I 
dashed through the hall, and, resisting every effort 
to detain me, rushed down the steps and gained the 
iawn. Once there alone, I sank downupon the 



sward, and poured forth my heart in tears of 
happiness. 



CHAPTER XXXIX. 

AN UNLOOKED-FOR MEETING. 

I MADE many ineffectual efforts to awake in 
the morning after my adventure. Fatigue and 
exhaustion, which seem always heaviest wlien in- 
curred by danger, had completely worn me out, 
and scarcely had I succeeded in opening my eyes 
and muttering some broken words, ere again 1 
dropped off to sleep, soundly and without a 
dream. 

It was late in the afternoon when at length I 
sat up in my bed and looked about me. A gentle 
hand suddenly fell upon my shoulder, and a low 
voice, which I at once recognized as Father 
Tom's, whispered, — 

" There now, my dear fellow, lie down again. 
You must not stir for a couple of hours yet." 

I looked at him fixedly for a moment, aiid, as 
I clasped his hand in mine, asked, — 

" How is she, father?" 

Scarcely were the words spoken when I felt a 
burning blush upon my cheek. It was the con- 
fidence of months long that found vent in one 
second — the pent-up secret of my heart that 
burst from me unconsciously, and I hid my face 
upon the pillow, and felt as though I had betrayed 
her. 

" Well — quite well," said the old man as he 
pressed my hand forcibly in his own. "But let 
us not speak now. You must take more rest, and 
then have your arm looked to. I believe you 
have forgotten all about it." 

"My arm!" repeated I, in some surprise; while 
turning down the clothes, I perceived that my 
right arm was sorely bruised, and swollen to an 
immense size. "The rocks have done this," mut- 
tered I. " And she, father^ — what of her, for 
Heaven's sake?" 

"Be calm, or I must leave you," said the 
priest. " I said before that she was well. J^oor 
boy !" 

There was something so touching in the tone 
of the last words that, without my knowing why, 
I felt a kind of creeping fear pass across me, and 
a dread of some unknown evil steal over me. 

" Father," said I, springing up and grasping 
him with both my hands, while the pain of my 
wounded arm shot through my very heart, " you 
are an honest man, and you are a man of God — 
you would not tell me a lie. Is she well ? The 
big drops fell from my broAv as I spoke. 

He clasped his hands fervently together as he 
replied, in a voice tremulous with agitation, — 

" I never told a lie." 

He turned away as he spoke, and I lay down 
in my bed with a mind relieved, but not at 
rest. 

Alas, how hard it is to be happy! The casu- 
alties of this world come on like waves, one suc- 
ceeding the other. We may escape the heavy roll 
of the mighty ocean, and be wrecked in tlie still,, 
smooth waters of the land-locked bay. We dreadi 



132 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



the storm and the hurricane, and we forget how 
many have perished within sight of shore. But 
yet a secret fear is ever present with us when 
danger hovers near; and this sense of some im- 
pending evil it was which now darkened me, and 
whispered me to be prepared. 

I hiy for some time sunlc in my reflections, and 
when I looked up, the priest was gone. A letter 
had fallen on the ground, as if by accident, and 
I rose to place it on my table, when, to my sur- 
prise, I found it addressed to myself. It was 
marked, "On his Majesty's Service," and ran 
thus: — 

" Sir, — I have received his excellency's orders 
to inform you, that unless you, on receipt of the 
present letter, at once return to your duty as a 
member of the staff, that your name will be 
erased from the list, and the vacancy immediately 
filled up. 

" I have the honor to be, &c., &c. 

" Henry Howard. 
"Dublin Castle." 

What could have caused the great alteration in 
his e.xcellency's feelings that this order evinced 
I could not conceive, and felt hurt and indignant 
at the tone of a letter which came on me so com- 
pletely by surprise. I knew, ho^vever, how much 
my father looked to my strict obedience to every 
call of duty, and resolved that, come what would, 
I should at once resume my position on the 
duke's staff. 

These were but momentary reflections. My 
thoughts recurred at once to where my heart was 
dwelling — with her whose very image lived with 
me. Try how I would, I could think of no 
pleasure in which she took not part — imagine no 
scheme of life in which she was not concerned. 
Ambition had lost its charin; the path of glory I 
had longed to tread, I felt now as nothing be- 
side that heather-walk which led me towards 
her; and if I were to have chosen between the 
most brilliant career high station, influence, and 
fortune could bestow, and the lowly condition of 
a. dweller in these wild mountain solitudes, I felt 
that not a moment of hesitation or doubt would 
mark my decision. 

There was a kind of heroism in the relinquish- 
ing all the blandishments of fortune, all the se- 
ductions of the brilliant world, for one whose 
peaceful and humble life strayed not beyond the 
limits of these rugged mountains; and this had 
its charm. There were times when I loved to ask 
myself whether Louisa Bellew would not, even 
amid all the splendor and display of London life, 
be as much admired and courted as the most ac- 
knowledged of beauty's daughters; now I turned 
rather to the thought of how far happier and bet- 
ter it was to know that a nature so unhackneyed, 
a heart so rich in its own emotions, was never to 
be exposed to the coarse collision of society, and 
all the hardened hypocrisy of the world. 

My own lot, too, how many more chances of 
happiness did it not present as I looked at the 
few weeks of the past, and thought of whole years 
thus gliding away, loving and beloved. A kind 
of stir, and the sound of voices beneath my win- 



dow, broke my musings, and I rose and looked 
out. It proceeded from the young girl and the 
country lad who formed the priest's household. 
They were talking together before the door, and 
pointing in the direction of the high road, where 
a cloud of dust had marked the passage of some 
carriage, an event rare enou!;h to attract attention 
in these wild districts. 

"And did his reverence say that the captain 
was to be kept in bed till he came back?" 

"Ah, then, sure, he knew well enough," said 
Riddy, " that the young man would be up and off 
to the castle the moment he was able to walk — 
ay, and maybe, before it too. Troth, Patsey, it's 
what I'm thinking, there's nobody knows how to 
coort, like a raal gentleman." 

" Och, botheration," said Patsey, with an 
offended toss of his head, and a look of half 
malice. 

" Faix, you may look how you like, but it's 
truth I'm telling ye. They know how to do it. 
It isn't winking at a body, nor putting their 
great rough arms round their neck; but it's a 
quiet, mannerly, dacent way they have, and 
soothering voice, and a look undher their eyes, as 
much as to say, ' Maybe you wouldn't now.' " 

" Troth, Biddy,'' said Patsey, sharply, " it strikes 
me that you know more of their ways than is just 
convanient — eh, do you understand me now?" 

"Well, and if I do," replied Biddy, "there's no 
one can be eveneii it to you, for I'm sure it wasn't 
you taught me." 

"Ye want to provoke me," said the young msn, 
rising, and evidently more annoyed than he felt 
disposed to confess; "but, faix, I'll keep my tem- 
per It's not after spaking to his reverence, and 
buying a cow and a dresser, that I'm going to 
break it off." 

" Heigh-ho!" said Biddy, as she adjusted a 
curl that was most coquettishly half falling across 
her eyes; " sure there's many a slip betune the 
cup and the lip, as the poor dear young gentle- 
man will find out when he wakes." 

A cold fear ran through me as I heard these 
words, and the presentiment of some mishap, that 
for a few moments I had been forgetting, now 
came back in double force. I set about dressing 
myself in all haste, and notwithstanding that my 
wounded arm interfered with me at each instant, 
succeeded at last in my undertaking. I looked 
at my watch; it was already six o'clock in the 
afternoon, and the large mountains were throw- 
ing their great shadows over the yellow strand. 
Collecting from what I had heard from the 
priest's servants that it was their intention to de- 
tain me in the house, I locked my door on leav- 
ing the room, and stole noiselessly down the 
stairs, crossed the little garden, and passing 
through the beech hedge, soon found myself upon 
the mountain path. My pace quickened as I 
breasted the hill-side; my eyes firmly fixed upon 
the tall towers of the old castle, as they stood 
proudly topping the dense foliage of the oak 
trees. Like some mariner who gazes on the long 
wished-for beacon that tells of home and friends, 
so I bent my steadfast looks to that one object, 
and conjured up many a picture to myself of the 
scene that might be at that moment enacting 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



133 



(here. Now I imagined the old man seated, si- 
lent and motionless, beside the bed where his 
daughter, overcome with weakness and exhaus- 
tion, still slept, her pale face scarce colored by a 
pinkisfl stain that marked the last trace of fever- 
ish excitement; now I thought of her as if still 
seated in her own drawing-room, at the little win- 
dow that looked seaward — looking, perhaps, up- 
on the very spot that marked our last night's ad- 
venture, and, mayhap, blushing at the memory. 

As I came near the park, I turned from the 
regular approach to a small path which, opening 
by a wicket, led to a little flower-garden beside 
the drawing-room. I had not walked many paces 
when the sound of some one, as if sobbing, caught 
my ear. I stopped to listen, and could distinctly 
hear the low, broken voice of grief quite near me. 
My mind was in that excited state that every 
breeze that rustled, every leaf that stirred, 
thrilled through my heart; the same dread of 
something, I knew not what, that agitated me as 
I awoke, came fresh upon me, and a cold tremor 
crept over me. The next moment I sprang for- 
ward, and, as I turned the angle of the walk, be- 
held, with what relief of heart, that the cries pro- 
ceeded from a little child, who, seated in the 
grass, was weeping bitterly. It was a boy of 
scarce ten years old that Louisa used to employ 
about the garden, rather to amuse the little fel- 
low, to whom she had taken a liking, than for 
the sake of services, which at the best were 
scarcely harmless. 

"Well, Billy," said I, "what has happened to 
you, my boy? Have you fallen and hurt 
yourself ?" 

" Na," was the only reply; and, sinking his 
head between his knees, he sobbed more bitterly 
than ever. 

" Has Miss Loo been angry with you, then?" 

" Na, na," was the only answer, as he poured 
forth a flood of tears. 

" Come, come, my little man, what is it? Tell 
me, and perhaps we can set it all to rights." 

"Gone! gone away forever!" cried the child, 
as a burst of pent-up agony broke from him; and 
he cried as though his very heart would break. 

Again my terrible foreboding crossed my mind, 
and, without waiting to ask another question, I 
rushed forward, cleared the little fence of the 
flower-garden at a spring, and stood within a few 
yards of the window. It lay open as usual; *he 
large china vase of moss-roses that she had 
plucked the evening before, stood on the little 
table beside it. I stopped for an instant to 
breathe; the beating of my heart was so painful 
that I pressed my hand upon my side. At that 
instant I had given my life to have heard her 
voice — but for one single word I had bartered 
my heart's blood; but all was as hushed and still 
as midnight. I thought I did hear something 
like a sigh — yes — and I now could distinctly hear 
the rustling sound of some one as if turning in a 
chair. Sir Simon Bellew, for some cause or 
other, I knew never came into that room. I 
listened again — yes! — and now, too, I could see 
the shadow of a figure on the floor. I sprang for- 
ward to the window, and cried out, " Louisa?" 
The next instant I was in the room, and my eyes 



fell full upon the figure of — LHick Burkel Seated in 
a deep arm-chair, his leg resting on a low stool, he 
was reclining at half-length, his face pale as death, 
and his very lips blanched, but then there rested 
on the mouth the same curl of insolent mockery 
that marked it when first we met. 

"Disappointed, I fear, sir," said he, in a tone 
which, however weakened by sickness, had lost 
nothing of its sneering bitterness. 

" I confess, sir," said I, confusedly, "that this 
is a pleasure I had rot anticipated." 

" Nor I either, sir," replied he, with a dark 
frown. " Had I been able to have rung the bell 
before, the letter that lies there should have been 
sent to you, and might have spared both of us 
this ' pleasure,' as you are good enough to call 
it." 

"A letter for me!" said I, eagerly; then, half 
ashamed of my own emotion, and not indifferent 
to the sickly and apparently dying form before 
me, I hesitated, and added, " I trust that you are 
recovering from the effects of your wound." 

" Damn the wound, sir! don't speak to me 
about it! You never came here for that, I 
suppose. Take your letter, sir!" A purple flush 
here colored his feamres, as though some pang 
of agonizing pain had diot through him, and his 
livid lip quivered with passion. "Take your 
letter, sir!" and he threw it towards me as he 
spoke. I stood amazed and thunderstruck at 
this sudden outbreak of anger, and for a second 
or two could not recover myself to speak. 

" You mistake me," said I: 

" Mistake you! No, confound me, I don't mis- 
take you! I know you well and thoroughly! But 
you mistake me — ay, and damnably too — if you 
suppose that, because I'm crippled here, this in- 
solence shall pass unpunished! Who but a cow- 
ard, sir, would come thus, to taunt a man like 
me? Yes, sir, a coward! I spoke it — I said it — 
would you like to hear it over again? — or, if you 
don't like it, the remedy is near you— nearer than 
you think. There are two pistols in that case- — 
both loaded with ball; take your choice, and 
your own distance, and here, where we are, let 
us finish this quarrel; for, mark me," and here 
his brow darkened till the veins, swelled and 
knotted in his forehead, looked like indigo- — 
'' mark me, the account shall be closed one day 
or other!" 

I saw at once that he had lashed his fury up 
to an ungovernable pitch, and that to speak to 
him was only to increase his passion, so I stooped 
down without saying a word, and took up the 
letter that lay at my feet. 

"I am waiting your reply, sir," said he, with 
a low voice, subdued by an inward effort into a 
seeming quietness of tone. 

"You cannot imagine," said I, mildly, "that 
I could accept of such a challenge as this, nor 
fight with a man who cannot leave his chair?" 

" And who has made me so, sir? Who has 
made me a paralytic thing for life? But, if that 
be all, give me your arm, and help me through 
that window — place me against that yew-tree, 
yonder. I can stand well enough. You won't 
— you refuse me this? Oh, coward! coward! 
You grow pale and red again! Let your white 



134 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN, 



lip mutter and your nails eat into your hands 
with passion! Your heart is craven — and you 
know it!" 

Shall I dare to own it? For an instant or two 
my resolution tottered, and involuntarily my 
eyes turned to the pistol-case upon tlie table 
beside me. He caught the look, and in a tone 
of triumphant exultation, cried out, — 

"Bravo! bravo! What! you hesitate again? 
Oh, that this should not be before the world! — 
in some open and public place! — that men should 
not look on and see us here!" 

"I leave you, sir,' said I, sternly, "thankful, 
lor your sake, at least, that this is not before the 
world." 

''Stop, sir — stop!" cried he, hoarse with rage. 
"Ring that bell!" 

I hesitated, and he called out again, " Ring 
that bell, sir!'' 

I approached the chimney, and did as he de- 
sired. The butler immediately made his appear- 
ance. 

" Nicholas," cried the sick man, "bring in the 
servants — bring them in here; you hear me well. 
I want to show them something they have never 
seen. Go!" 

The man disappeared at once, and as I met 
the scowling look of hate that fixed its glare upon 
me, once more I felt myself to waver. The 
struggle was but momentary. I sprang to the 
window, and leaped into the garden. A loud 
curse broke from Burke as I did so; a cry of 
disappointed wrath, like the yell of a famished 
wolf, followed. The next moment I was beyond 
the reach of his insolence and his invective. 

The passionate excitement of the moment over, 
my first determination was to gain the approach, 
aid return to the house by the hall-door; my 
next, to break the seal of the letter which I held 
in my hand, and see if its contents might not 
throw some light upon the events which somehow 
I felt were thickening around me, but of whose 
nature and import I knew nothing. 

The address was written in a stiff, old-fash- 
ioned hand, but the large seal bore the arms of 
the Bellew family, and left no doubt upon my 
mind that it had come from Sir Simon. I opened 
it with a trembling and throbbing heart, and read 
as follows: — 

" My dear Sir, — The event of last night has 
called back upon a failing and broken memory 
the darkest hour of a long and blighted life, and 
made the old man, whose steadfast gaze looked 
onward to the tomb, turn once backward to be- 
hold the deepest affliction of his days — misfor- 
tune, crime, remorse. I cannot, even now, while 
already the very shadow of death is on me, re- 
count the sad story I allude to; enough for the 
object I have in view if I say, that where I once 
owed the life of one I held dearest in life, the 
hand that saved lived to steal, and the voice that 
Messed me was perjured and forsworn; since 
that hour I have never received a service of a 
fellow-mortal, until the hour when you rescued 
my child. And oh! loving her as I do — wrapped 
up as my soul is in her image^I could have 
borne better to see her cold and dripping corse 



laid down beside me, than to behold her, as I 
have done, in your arms. You must never meet 
more. The dreadful anticipation of long suffer- 
ing years is creeping stronger and stronger upon 
me; and I feel in my inmost heart that»I am 
reserved for another and a last bereavement ere 
I die. 

" We shall have left before this letter reaches 
you. You may, perhaps, hear the place of 
our refuge — for such it is — but I trust that 
to your feelings as a gentleman and a man of 
honor, I can appeal, in the certain confidence 
that you will not abuse my faith — you will not 
follow us. 

" I know not what I have written, nor dare I 
read it again. Already my tears have dimmed 
my eyes, and are falling upon the paper, so let 
me bid you farewell — an eternal farewell. My 
nephew has arrived here. I have not seen him, 
nor shall I; but he will forward this letter to 
you after our departure. 

"Yours, 

"S. Bellew." 

The first stunning feeling past, I looked 
around me to see if it were not some horrid 
dream, and the whole events but the frightful 
■deception of a sleeping fancy. But bit by bit the 
entire truth broke upon me — the full tide of sor- 
row rushed in upon my heart. The letter I 
could not comprehend further than that some 
deep affliction had been recalled by my late ad- 
venture. But then the words of the hag — the 
brief, half uttered intimations of the priest — 
came to my memory. "Her mother!" said I; 
" what of her mother?" I remembered Louisa 
had never mentioned, nor even alluded to her; 
and now a thousand suspicions crossed my mind, 
which all gave way before my own sense of be- 
reavement, and the desolation and desertion I 
felt in my own heart. I threw myself upon the 
ground where she walked so often beside me, 
and burst into tears. But a few brief hours, and 
how surrounded by visions of happiness and 
love! Now, bereft of everything, what charm 
had life for me! How valueless, how worthless 
did all seem! The evening sun I loved to gaze 
on, the bright flowers, the waving grass, the low 
murmur of the breaking surf, that stole like 
music over the happy sense, were now but 
gloomy things or discordant sounds. The very 
high and holy thoughts that used to stir within 
me were changed to fierce and wrathful passions, 
or the low drooping of despair. It was night — 
still and starry night — when I arose and wended 
my way towards the priest's cottage. 



CHAPTER XL. 

THE priest's kitchen. 

The candles were burning brightly, and the 
cheerful bog fire was blazing on the hearth, as I 
drew near the window of the priest's cottage; 
but yet there was no one in the room. The 
little tea-kettle was hissing on the hob, and the 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



135 



room had al! that careful look of watchful at- 
tention bestowed upon it that showed the zeal 
of his little household. 

Uncertain how I should meet him — how far 
explain the affliction that had fallen on me — I 
walked for some time up and down before the 
door; at length I wandered to the back of the 
house, and passing the little stable, I remarked 
that the pony was absent. The priest had not 
returned, perhaps, since morning — perhaps he 
had gone some distance off — in all likelihood 
accompanied the Bellews. Again the few words 
he had spoken that morning recurred to me, 
and I pondered in silence over their meaning. 
As I thus mused, a strong flood of mellow light 
attracted me, as it fell in a broad stream across 
the little paved court, and I now saw that it 
came from the kitchen. I drew near the window 
in silence, and looked in; before the large turf 
fire were seated three persons — two of them, 
who sat in the shining light, I at once recognized 
as tile servants, but the third was concealed in 
the shadow of the chimney, and I could only 
trace the outline of his figure against the blaze; 
I was not long, however, in doubt as to his 
identity. 

"Seemingly, then, you're a great traveller," 
said Patsey the priest's man, addressing the un- 
known. 

A long whiff of smoke, patiently emitted, and 
a polite wave of the hand in assent, was the reply. 

"And how far did you come to-day, av I might 
be so bould ?" said Mary. 

" From the cross of Kiltermon, beyond Gurt- 
more, my darling; and sure it is a real pleasure 
and a delight to come so far to see as pretty a 
crayture as yourself" — here Patsey looked a little 
and Mary gave a half-smile of encour- 
continued the other, breaking 



put out, 

agement — " for, 
into a song, — 



" Though I love a fox in a cover to find. 
When the clouds is low, with a sou'-west wind, 
Faix, a pretty girl is as much to my mind 
As the tally-high-ho of a morning." 

I need scarcely say that the finale of this rude 
verse was given in a way that only Tipperary Joe 
could accomplish, as he continued: 

"And just show me one with an instep high. 
A saucy look and a roguish eye, 
Who'd smile ten times for once she'd sigh, 
And I'm her slave till morning." 

"And that's yoursel', devil a less— ye ho, ye ho, 
tally ho! — I hope the family isn't in bed?" 

"Troth, seemingly," said Patsey, in a tone of 
evident pique, " it would distress you little av 
they were; you seem mighty well accustomed to 
making yourself at home." 

"And why wouldn't the young man?" said 
Mary, apparently well pleased to encourage a little 
jealousy on the part of her lover, "and no harm 
neither. And ye do be always with the hounds, 
sir?" 

" Yes, miss, that's what I be doing; but I won- 
der vvhat's keeping the captain — I've a letter here 
for him, that I know ought to have no delay. I 



ran all the way for fourteen miles over Mey'nacur- 
raghew mountain, to be here quick with it." 

I opened the door as I heard this, and entered 
the kitchen. 

" Hurroo! by the mortial," cried Joe, with one 
of his wild shouts, "it's himself. Arrah, darlin', 
how is every bit in your skin?" 

" Well, Joe, my poor fellow, I'm delighted to 
see you safe and sound once more. Many a day 
have I reproached myself for the way you suf- 
fered for my sake, and for the manner I left you." 

"There's only one thing you have rayson to 
grieve over," said the poor fellow, as the tears 
started to his eyes, and rolled in heavy drops 
down his cheeks, "and here it is." 

As he spoke, he drew from his bosom a little 
green silk purse, half filled with gold. 

"Ah! captain, jewel, why wouldn't you let a 
poor fellow taste happiness his own way? Is it 
because I had no shoes on me, that I hadn't any 
pride in my heart? and is it because I wasn't rich 
that you wouldn't let me be a friend to you, just 
to myself alone? Oh! little as we know of grand 
people and their ways, troth, they don't see our 
hearts half as jjlain. See, now, I'd rather you'd 
have come up to the bed that morning and left 
me your curse— ay, devil a less — than that purse 
of money, and it wouldn't dome as much liarm." 

He dropped his head as he spoke, and his arm 
fell listlessly to his side, while he stood mute and 
sorrow-struck before me. 

" Come, Joe," said I, holding out my hand to 
him — " Come, Joe, forgive me. If I don't know 
better, remember we were only new acquaint- 
ances at that time — from this hour we are more." 

The words seemed to act like a spell upon him; 
he stood proudly up, and his eyes flashed with 
their wildest glare, while, seizing my hand, he 
pressed it to his lips, and called out, — 

" While there's a drop in my heart, darlin' " 

" You have a letter for me," said I, glad to 
turn the channel of both our thoughts. "Where 
did you get it?" 

"At the Curragh, sir; no less. I was standing 
beside the staff, among all the grand generals and 
the quality, near the lord-liftinint, and I heard 
one of the officers say, ' If I knew where to write 
to him, I'd certainly do so; but he has never 
written to any of us since his duel.' 'Ah,' said 
another, ' Hinton's an odd fellow that way.' The 
minit I heard the name, I up and said to him, 
' Write the letter, and I'll bring it, and bring 
you an answer beside, av ye want it.' 

" 'And who the devil are you?' said he. 

"'Troth,' said I, 'there's more on this race 
knows me nor yourself, fine as you are.' And 
they all began laughing at this — for the officer 
grew mighty red in the face, and was angry — 
and what he was going to say it's hard to tell, 
for just then Lord Clonmel called out, — 

" ' Sure it's Tipperary Joe himself; begad, 
every one knows him. Here, Joe, I owe you 
half-a-crown since last meeting at the Lough.' 

" ' Faix, you do,' says I, 'and ten shillings to 
the back of it, for Lanty Cassan's mare that I 
hired to bring you home when you staked the 
horse — you never paid it since.' And then there 
was another laugh; but the end of it all was, he 



136 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



writ a bit of a note where he was on horseback, 
with a pencil, and here it is." 

So saying, he produced a small crumpled piece 
of paper, in which I could with some difficulty 
trace the following lines: — 

" Dear Jack, — If the fool who bears this ever 
arrives with it, come back at once. Your friends 
in England have been worrying the d — to com- 
mand your return to duty; and there are stories 
afloat about your Western doings that your pre- 
sence here can alone contradict. 

" Yours, 

"J. HORTON." 

It needed not a second for me to make up my 
mind as to my future course, and I said, — 

" How can I reach Limerick the shortest 
way?" 

'■ I know a short cut," said Joe, " and if we 
could get a pony, I'd bring you over the moun- 
tain before to-morrow evening." 

" And you," said I — " how are you to go?" 

"On my feet, to be sure; how else would I 
go?" 

Despatching Joe, in company with Patsey, in 
search of a pony to carry me over the mountain, 
I walked into the little parlor, which I was now 
about to take my leave of forever. 

It was only then, as I threw myself upon a 
seat, alone and in solitude, that I felt the full 
force of all my sorrow — the blight that had fallen 
on my dearest hopes, and the blank, bleak p os- 
pect of life before me. Sir Simon Bellew's letter 
I read over once more; but now the mystery it 
contained had lost all interest forme, and I had 
only thoughts for my own affliction. Suddenly, 
a deep burning spot glowed on my cheek, as I 
remembered my interview with Ulick Burke, and 
I sprang to my legs, and, for a second or two 
felt undecided whether I would not give him 
the opportunity he so longed for. It was but a 
second, and my better reason came back; and I 
blushed even deeper with shame than I did with 
passion. 

Calming myself with a mighty effort, I endeav- 
ored to pen a few lines to my worthy and kind 
friend, Father Loftus. I dared not tell him the 
real cause of my departure, though, indeed, I 
guessed from his absence that he had accompanied 
the Bellews, and but simply spoke of my return 
to duty as imperative, and my regret that after 
such proofs of his friendship I could not shake 
his hand at parting. The continued flurry of 
my feelings doubtless made this a very confused 
and ine.\plicit document; but I could do no bet- 
ter. In fact, the conviction I had long been 
laboring under, but never could thoroughly ap- 
preciate, broke on me at the moment. It was 
this: the sudden vicissitudes of every-day life in 
Ireland are sadly unsuited to our English natures 
and habits of thought and action. These clianges 
from grave to gay — these outbreaks of high- 
souled enthusiasm, followed by dark reflective 
traits of brooding thought — these noble impulses 
of good — these events of more than tragic horror 
— demand a changeful, even a forgetful tempera- 
ment to bear them; and while the Irishman rises 



or falls with every emergency of his fate, with 
us impressions are eating deeper and deeper into 
our hearts, and we become sad and thoughtful, 
and prematurely old. Thus, at least, did I feel, 
and seemed to myself as though very many years 
had passed over me since I had left my father's 
house. The tramp of feet, and the sounds of 
speaking and laughter outside, interrupted my 
musings, and I heard my friend Joe carolling at 
the top of his voice, — 

" Sir Pat bestrode a high-bred steed, 
.'\nd the huntsman one that was bioken-kneed; 
And Faiher Fitz had a wiry weed. 

With his tally-high-ho in the morning." 

" Faith, and you're a great beast entirely, and 
one might dance a jig on your back, and leave 
room for the piper besides." 

I opened the window, and in the bright moon- 
light beheld the party leading up a short, lugged- 
looking pony, whose breadth of beam and squire 
proportions fully justified all Joe's encomiums. 

" Have you bought this pony for me, Joe?" 
cried I. 

" No, sir, only borrowed him. He'll take you 
up to Whaley's mills, where we'll get Andy's 
mare to-morrow morning." 

" Borrowed him?" 

"Yes." 

" Where's his owner?" 

" He's in bed, where he ought to be. I tould 
him through the door who it was for, and that he 
needn't get up, as I'd find the ways of the place 
myself, and ye see so I did." 

" Told him who it was for! Why, he never 
heard of me in his life." 

" Devil may care; sure you're the priest's 
friend; and who has a bei:ter warrant for every- 
thing in the place? Don't you know the song, — 

"And Father Fitz had no cows nor sheep. 
And the devil a hen or pig to keep; 
But a pleasanler house to dine or sleep 
You'd never find till morning. 

" ' For Molly,' says he, ' if the fowls be few 
I've only one counsel to give to you; 
There's hens hard by^go "kill for two," 
For I've a friend till mornii:g.' 

By the rock of Cashel, it 'ud be a hard rase av 
the priest was to want. Look how the ould 
saddle fits him — faix, ye'd think he was made 
for it." 

I am not quite sure that I felt all Joe's en- 
thusiasm for the beast's perfections; nor did the 
old yeomanry " demi-pique," with its brass mount- 
ings and holsters, increase my admiration. Too 
happy, however, to leave a spot where all my re- 
collections were now turned to gloom and des- 
pondence, I packed my few traps and was soon 
ready for the road. 

It was not without a gulping feeling in my 
throat, and a kind of suffocating opjiression at 
my heart, that I turned from the little room where, 
in happier times, I hnd spent so many jileasant 
hours; and, bidding a last good-bye to the priest's 
household, told them to say to Father Toni how 
sad I felt at leaving before he returned. This 
done, I mounted the little pony, and, escorted 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



137 



by Joe, who held the bridle, descended the hill, 
and soon found myself by the little rivulet that 
murmured along the steep glen through which 
our path was lying. 



CHAPTER XLI. 



TIPPERARV JOE. 



I HAVE already passingly alluded to Joe's con- 
versational powers; and certainly they were ex- 
ercised on this occasion with a more than com- 
mon ability, either taking my silence as a sug- 
gestion tor him to speak — or, perhaps, and more 
probably, perceiving that some deep depression 
was over me — the kind-hearted fellow poured 
forth his stores of song and legend without ceas- 
ing. Now amusing me by his wild and fitful 
snatches of old ballads — now narrating in his 
simple but touching eloquence some bygone story 
of thrilling interest — the long hours of the night 
passed over, and at daybreak we found ourselves 
descending the mountain towards a large and 
cultivated valley, in which I could faintly distin- 
guish in the misty distance the little mill where 
our relay was to be found. 

I stopped for a few minutes to gaze upon the 
scene before me. It was one of those peaceful 
landscapes of rural beauty, which beam more of 
soothing influence upon the sorrow-struck heart 
than the softest voice of consolation. Unlike 
the works of man, they speak directly to our 
souls, while they appeal to our reason; and the 
truth comes forced upon us, tiiat we alone must 
not repine. A broad and richly cultivated val- 
ley, bounded by mountains whose sides were 
clothed with deep wood — a stream, whose way- 
ward course watered every portion of the plain, 
was seen now flowing among the grassy meadows, 
or peeping from the alders that lined the banks. 
The heavy inist of morning was rolling lazily up 
the mountain-side; and beneath its grey mantle 
tlie rich green of pasture and meadow land was 
breaking forth, dotted with cattle and sheep. As 
I looked, Joe knelt down and placed his ear upon 
the ground, and seemed for some minutes ab- 
sorbed in listening. Then suddenly springing 
up, he cried out, — - 

"The mill isn't going to-day — I wonder what's 
the matter. I hope Andy isn't sick." 

A shade of sorrow caine over his wild fea- 
tures, as he muttered between his teeth the verse 
of some old song, of which I could but catch 
the last two lines: 

" And when friends are crying around the dying, 
Who wouldn't wish he had lived alone?" 

"Ay," cried he aloud, as his eye glistened 
with an unnatural lustre, " better be poor Tip- 
perary Joe, without house or home, father or 
mother, sister or friend, and when the time 
comes, run to earth, witliout a wet eye after him." 
Come, come, Joe, you have many a friend; 
and when you count them over, don't forget me 
in the reckoning." 



"Whisht, whisht!' he whispered, in a low 
voice, as if fearful of being overheard; "don't 
say tliat — them's dangerous words. ' 

I turned towards him with astonishment, and 
perceived that his whole countenance had under- 
gone a striking change. The gay and laughing 
look had gcme; the bright color had left his 
cheek; and a cold, ghastly paleness was spread 
over iiis features; and as he cast a hurried and 
stealtliy look around him, I could mark that 
some secret fear was working within liim. 

"What is it, Joe.'" said I; "what's the mat- 
ter? Are you ill ?' 

" No," said he, in a tone scarce audible; 
" no; but you frightened me just now, when you 
called me your friend." 

■ How could that frighten you, my poor fel- 
low?" , 

" I 11 tell you — that's what they called my 
father — they said he was friendly with the gen- 
tlemen, and sign's on it." He paused, and his 
eye became rooted to the ground, as if on some 
object there from which he could not turn his 
gaze. "Yes, I mind it well— we were sitting by 
the fire in the guard-room all alone by ourselves 
— the troops was away. I don't know where^ 
when we heard the tramp of men marching, but 
not regular, but coming as if they didn't care 
how, and horses and carts rattling and rumbling 
among them. 

" ' Thim's the boys,' says my father. ' Give 
me that old cockade there, till I stick it in my 
cap, and reach nve over the fiddle till I rise a 
tune for them.' 

" I mind little more till we was marching at the 
head of them through the town, down towards 
the new college that was building — it's May- 
nootli I'm speaking about — and then we turned 
to the left, my father scraping away all the time 
every tune he thought they'd like; and if now 
and then by mistake he'd play anything that did 
not plaze them, they'd damn and blast him with 
the dreadfuUest curses, and stick a pike into him 
till the blood would come running down his back; 
and then my father would cry out — 

" ' I'll tell my iriends on you for this — devil a 
lie on it, but I will.' 

" At last we came to the duke's wall, and then 
my father sat down on the roadside, : nd cried 
out that he wouldn't go a step farther, lor I was 
crying away with sore feet at. the pace we were 
going, and asking every minute to be let sit down 
to rest myself. 

"'Look at the child,' says he; 'his feet's all 
bleeding.' 

" ' Ye have only a little farther to go,' says one 
of them that had cross-belts on, and a green sash 
about him. 

"'The divil resave another step,' says my 
father. 

" ' Tell Billy to play us " The Farmer's Daugh- 
ter" before he goes,' savs one in the crowd. 

"'I'd rather hear "The Little Bowld Fox," ' 
says another. 

"'No, no, " Baltiorum! Baltiorum!"' says 
many more behind. 

" ' Ye shall have them all, says my father, 
'and that'll plaze ye.' 



138 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



" And so he set to, and played the three tunes 
as beautiful as ever ye heard; and when he was 
done, the man with the belts ups and says to 
him — 

" ' Ye're a fine hand, Billy, and it's a pity to 
lose you, and your friends will be sorry for you' 
— and he said this with a grin — '•but take the 
spade there and dig a hole, for we must be jog- 
ging; it's nigh day.' 

" Well, my father, though he was tired enough, 
took the spade, and began digging as they told 
him, for he thought to himself, ' The boys is go- 
ing to hide the pikes and tb.e carbines before 
they go home.' Well, when he worked half an 
hour, he threw off his coat, and set to again; 
and at last he grew tired and sat down on 
the side of the big hole, and called out — 

'■ ' Isn't it big enough now, boys?' 

"'No,' says the captain, "nor half.' 

"So my father set to once more, and worked 
away with all his might, and they all stood by 
talking and laughing with one another. 

"Will it do now?' said my father; 'for sure 
enough I'm clean beat.' 

" ' Maybe it might,' says one of them; ' lie down 
and see if it's the length.' 

" ' Well, is it that it's tor?' says my father; 
'faix, I never guessed it was a grave.' And so 
he took off his cap and lay down his full length 
in the hole. 

"'That's all right,' says the others, and began 
with spades and shovels to cover him up. At first 
he laughed away as hearty as the rest; but when 
the mould grew heavy on him, he began to 
screech out to let him up, and then his voice 
grew weaker and fainter, and they waited a little, 
then worked harder, and then came a groan, and all 
was still; and they patted the sods over him and 
heaped them up; and then they took me and 
put me in the middle of them, and one called 
out, 'March!' I thought I saw the green sod 
moving on the top of the grave as we walked 
away, and heard a voice half-choking calling out, 
'There, boys, there!' and then a laugh. But sure 
I often hear the same still, when there's nobody 
near me, and I do be looking on the ground by 
myself." 

"Great God!" cried I, "is this true?" 

"True as you're there," replied he, "I was 
ten years of age when it happened, and I never 
knew how time went since, nor how long it is 
ago, only it was in the year of the great troubles 
here, and the soldiers and the country people 
never could be cruel enough to one another; and 
whatever one did to-day, the others would try 
to beat it out to-morrow. But it's truth, every 
word of it; and the place is called ' Billy the 
fool's grave' to this hour. I go there once a year 
to see it myself." 

This frightful story — told, too, with all the 
simple power of truth — thrilled through me with 
horror, long after the impression seemed to have 
faded away from him who told it: and though he 
still continued to speak on, I heard nothing; 
nor did I mark our progress, until I found my- 
self beside the little stream which conducted to 
the mill. 



CHAPTER XLII. 



THE HIGH ROAD. 



Joe was right, the mill was not at work, for 
" Andy'' had been summoned to Ennis, where 
the issizes were then going forward. The mare 
which had formed part of our calculations was 
also absent; and we sat down in the little porch 
to hold a council of war as to our future proceed- 
ings. After canvassing the question for some 
time, Joe left me for a few minutes, and returned 
with the information that the high road to Ennis 
lay only a couple of miles distant, and that 
a stage-coach would pass there in about two 
hours by which I could reach the town that even- 
ing. It was therefore decided that he should re- 
turn with the pony to Murranakilty; while I, 
having procured a gossoon to carry my baggage, 
made the best of my way towards the Ennis 
road. 

Joe soon found me an urchin to succeed him 
as my guide and companion, and with an affec- 
tionate leave-taking, and a faithful promise to 
meet me sometime and somewhere, we parted. 

So long as I had journeyed along beside my 
poor, half-witted follower, the strange and fickle 
features of his wandering intellect had somehow 
interrupted the channels of my own feelings, 
and left me no room for reflection on my 
changed fortunes. Now, however, my thoughts 
returned to the i)ast with all the force of some 
dammed-up current, and my blighted hopes 
threw a dark and sombre shadow over all my 
future. What cared I what became of me? 
why did I hasten hither and thither? were my 
first reflections. If life had lost its charm, so 
had misfortune its terror for me. There seemed 
something frivolous and contemptible in the re- 
turn to those duties which in all the buoyant 
e.\hilaration of my former life had ever seemed 
unfitting and unmanly. No: rather let me seek 
for some employment on active service^the sol- 
dier's career I once longed for, to taste its glo- 
rious enthusiasm, I wished for now, to enjoy its 
ceaseless movement and exertion. 

As I thought over all I had seen and gone 
through since my arrival in Ireland — its varied 
scenes of mirth and woe; its reckless pleasures, 
its wilder despair — I believed that I had acquired 
a far deeper insight into my own heart, in pro- 
portion as I looked more into those of others. A 
not unfrequent error this. The outstretched page 
of human nature that I had been gazing on had 
shown me the passions and feelings of other 
men laid bare before me, while my own heart lay 
dark, enshrined, and unvisited witliin me. I be- 
lieved that life had no longer an) thing to tie me 
to it — and I was not then twenty! Had I counted 
double as many years, I had had more reason for 
the belief, and more difficulty to think sci. 

Sometimes I endeavored to console myself by 
thinking of all the obstacles that, under the hap- 
piest circumstances, must have opposed them- 
selves to my union with Louisa Bellew. My moth- 
er's pride alone seemed an insurmountable one. 
But then I thought of what a noble part had lain 
before me, to prefer the object of my love — the 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



139 



prize of my own winning — to all the caresses of 
fortune — all the seductions of the world. Sir 
Simon Eellew, too — what could he mean? The 
secret he alluded to, what was it? Alas! what 
mattered it — my doom was sealed — my fate de- 
cide.! — I had no care for how! 

Such were my thoughts as I journeyed along 
the path that conducted towards the high road, 
while my little guide, barelegged and barefooted, 
trotted on merrily before me, who, with none of 
this world's goods, had no room in his heart for 
sorrow or repining. 

We at last reached the road, wliich, dusty and 
deserted, skirted the side of a bleak mountain 
for miles — not a house to be seen, not a traveller, 
nor scarce a wheel-track to mark the course of 
anyone having passed there, I had not followed 
it for more than half an hour, when I heard the 
tramp of horses and the roll which announced 
the approach of an equipage. A vast cloud of 
dust, through which a pair of leaders were alone 
visible, appeared at a distance. I seated myself 
at the roadside, to await its coming, my little gos- 
soon beside me, evidently not sorry to have 
reached a resting-place; and once more my 
thoughts returned to their well-worn channel, and 
my head sank on my bosom. I forgot where I 
was, when suddenly the prancing of a pair of 
horses close to me aroused me from my stupor, 
and a postilion called out to me in no very sub- 
dued accent, — 

'' Will ye hook on that trace there, avick, av 
you're not asleep?" 

Whether it was my look of astonishment at 
the tone and the nature of the request, or delay 
in acceding to it, I know not, but a hearty curse 
from the fellow on the wheelers perfectly awak- 
ened me, and I replied by something not exactly 
calculated to appease the heat of the discussion. 

' Begorra,' said he of the leaders, " it's always 
the way with your shabby genteels;" and he swung 
himself down from the saddle to perform the re- 
quired service himself. 

During this I took the opportunity of looking 
at the carriage, which was a large and handsome 
barouche, surrounded by all the appurtenances 
of travel — cap-cases, imperials, etc., — a fat-look- 
ing, lazy footman nodding sleepily on the box 
and a well tanned lady's maid was reading a novel 
in the rumble. Within I saw the figure of a lady, 
whose magnificent style of dress but little ac 
corded with the unfrequented road she was trav 
ersing, and the wild inhabitants so thinly scat- 
tered through it. As I looked, she turned round 
suddenly, and before I could recognize her, called 
out my name. The voice in an instant reassured 
me — it was Mrs. Paul Rooney herself. 

" Stop," cried she, with a wave of her jewelled 
hand. " Michael, get down. Only think of meet 
ing you here, captain." 

I stammered out some explanation about a 
cross-cut over the mountain to catch the stage, 
and my desire to reach Ennis; while the unhappy 
termination of our intimacy, and my mother's im- 
pertinent letter, kept ever uppermost in my mind, 
and made me confused and uneasy. Mrs. Paul, 
however, had evidently no participation in such 
feelings, but welcomed roe with her wonted cor- 



diality, and sJiook my hand with a warmth that 
proved if she had not forgotten, she had certainly 
forgiven the whole affair. 

"And so you are going to Ennis?" said she, as 
I assumed the place beside her in the barouche, 
while Michael was busily engaged in fastening 
on my luggage behind; the which two movements 
seemed to be as naturally performed as though 
tiie amiable lady had been in the habit of taking 
up walking gentlemen with a portmanteau every 
day of her life. "Well, how fortunate! I'm go- 
ing there too. Pole," — so she now designated 
her excellent spouse, it being the English for 
Paul — "has some little business with the chief- 
justice — two murder cases, and a forcible abduc- 
tion — and 1 promised to take him up on my return 
from Miltown, where I have been spending a few 
weeks. After that we return to our little place 
near Bray, where I hope- you'll come and spend 
a few weeks with us." 

'' This great pleasure I fear I must deny my- 
self," said I, " for I have already outstayed my 
leave, and have unfortunately somehow incurred 
the displeasure of his excellency; and unless" — 
here 1 dropped my voice, and stole a half-timid 
look at the lady under my eyelashes — "some one 
with influence over his grace shall interfere on 
my behalf, I begin to half fear lest I may find 
myself in a sad scrape." 

Mrs. Paul blushed, turned away her head, 
while, pressing my hand softly in her own, she 
murmured — 

" Don't fret about it — it won't signify." 

I could scarce repress a smile at the success of 
my bit of flattery, for as such alone I intended 
it, when she turned towards me, and, as if desir- 
ous to change the topic, said — 

"Well, we heard of all your doings — your 
steeple-chase, and your duel, and your wound, 
and all that — but what became of you after- 
wards?" 

"Oh.''' said I, hesitatingly, ''I was fortunate 
enough to make a most agreeable acquaintance, 
and with him I have been spending a few weeks 
on the coast — Father Tom Loftus." 

"Father Tom!" said Mrs Rooney with a 
laugh, ''the pleasantest crayture in Ireland, 
There isn't the like of him. Did he sing you the 
Priest's Supper?' " The lady blushed as she 
said these words, as if carried away by a moment 
ary excitement to speak of matters not exactly 
suitable, and then drawing herself up she con- 
tinued, in a more measured tone, You know 
captain, one meets such strange people in this 
world." 

"To be sure, Mrs. Rooney '" said I, encour- 
agingly; "and to one like yourself, who can ap- 
preciate character. Father Loftus is indeed a 
gem." 

Mrs. Rooney, however, only smiled her assent, 
and again changed the course of the conversa- 
tion. 

" You met the Bellews, I suppose, when down 
in the West?" 

"Yes," stammered I; "I saw a good deal of 
Sir Simon when in that country." 

"Ah, the poor man!" said she, with real feel- 
ing; "what an unhappy lot his has beenl** 



140 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



Supposing that she alluded to his embarrass- 
ment as to fortune, the difficulties which pressed 
upon him from money causes, I merely muttered 
my assent. 

" But I suppose," continued she, "you have 
heard the whole story— though the unhappy 
event occurred when you were a mere child." 

'I am not aware to what you allude," said I, 
eagerly, while a suspicion shot across my mind 
that the secret of Sir Simon Bellew's letter was 
at length to be cleared up. 

, "Ah!" said Mrs. Rooney, with a sigh, " I 
mean poor, dear Lady Bellew's affair — when she 
went away with a major of dragoons, and, to 
be sure, an elegant young man he was, they said 
Pole was on the inquest, and I heard him say he 
was the handsomest man he ever saw in his 
life." 

''He died suddenly, then?" 

" He was shot by Sir Simon in a duel the very 
day week after the elopement." 

"And she?" said I. 

" Poor thing, she died of a consumption, or 
some say a broken heart, the same summer ' 

" That is a sad story, indeed," said I, mus 
ingly, "and I no longer wonder that the poor 
old man should be such as he is. ' 

" No, indeed; but then he was very much 
blamed after all, for he never had that Jerning- 
ham out of the house." 

"Horace Jerningham!" cried I, as a cold, 
sickening fear crept over me. 

" Oh yes, that was his name. He was the 
Honorable Horace Jerningham, the younger son 
of some very high family in England; and, in- 
deed, the elder brother has died since, and they 
say the title has become extinct." 

It is needless for me to attempt any descrip- 
tion of the feelings that agitated my heart, when 
] say that Horace Jerningham was the brother 
of my own mother. I remembered when a child 
to have heard something of a dreadful duel, 
when all the family went into deep mourning, 
and my mother's health suffered so severely that 
her life was at one time feared for, but that fate 
should ever have thrown me into intimacy with 
those u]jon whom this grievous injury was in 
flicted, and by whom death and mourning were 
brought upon my house, was a sad and over 
whelming affliction, that rendered me stunned 
and speechless. "How came it, then," thought 
I, " that my mother never recognized the name 
of her brother's antagonist when speaking of 
Miss Bellew in her letter to me.'' Before I had 
time to resolve this doubt in my mind, Mrs. 
Rooney had explained it 

"And this was the beginning of all his misfor- 
tunes. The friends of the poor young man 
were people of great influence, and set every en- 
gine to work to ruin Sir Simon, or, as he then 
was, Mr. Simon Barrington. At last they got 
him outlawed, and it was only the very yearhe 
came to the title and estates of his uncle that 
the outlawry was taken off, and he was once 
more enabled to return to Ireland. However, 
they had their revenge if they wished for it, for 
what betwesn recklessness and bad company, he 
took to gambling when abroad, contracted im- 



mense debts, and came into his fortune little 
better than a beggar. Since that the world has 
seen little of him, and indeed he owes it but lit- 
tle favor. Under Pole's management che prop- 
erty is now rapidly improving; but the old man 
cares little for this, and all 1 believe he wishes 
for is, to have health enough to go over to the 
Continent, and place his daughter in a convent 
before he dies." 

Little did she guess how every word sank deep 
into my heart. Every sentence of the past was 
throwing its shadow over all my future, and 
the utter wreck of my hopes seemed now inevi- 
table 

While thus I sat brooding o'er my gloomiest 
thoughts, Mrs. Rooney, evidently aflectcd by the 
subject, maintained a perfect silence. At last 
however, she seemed to have summed up the 
whole case in her mind, as, turning to me confi- 
dentially, with her hand pressed ujwn my arm, 
she added, in a true moralizing cadence, very 
different from that she had employed when her 
feelings were really engaged, — 

And that's what always comes of it when a 
gallant, gay Lutherian gets admission into a 
family " 

Shall I confess, that notwithstanding the deep 
sorrow of my heart, I could scarce repress an 
outbreak of laughter at these words? We now 
chatted away on a variety of subjects, till the 
concourse of people pressing onwards to the 
town, the more thickly populated country and 
the distant view of chimneys, apprised us we 
were approaching Ennis. Notwithstanding all 
my wishes to get on as fast as possible, I found 
it impossible to resist an invitation to dine that 
day with the Rooneys, who had engaged a small, 
select party at the head inn, wheie Mrs. Rooney s 
apartments were already awaiting her. 

It was dusk when we arrived, and I could only 
perceive that the gloomy and narrow streets 
were densely crowded with country people, who 
conversed together in groups. Here and there 
a knot of legal folk were congregated, chatting 
in a louder tone; and before the court-house 
stood the carriage of the chief-justice, with a 
guard of honor of the county yeomanry, whose 
unsoldierlike attitudes and droll equipments 
were strongly provocative of laughter. The 
postilions, who had with true tact reserved a 
"trot for the town," whipped and spurred with 
all their might; and, as we drove through the 
thronged streets, a strange impression fled abroad 
tijat we were the beaxers of a reprieve, and a 
hearty cheer from the mob followed us to our 
arrival at the inn-door — a compliment which 
Mrs. Paul, in no wise attributing to anything 
save her own peculiar charms and deserts, most 
graciously acknowledged by a smile and a wave 
of her hand, accompanied by an unlimited order 
for small beer — which act of grace was, I think, 
even more popular than their first impression 
concerning us, 

"Ah, captain," said the lady, with a compas- 
sionate smile, as I handed her out of the 
carriage, " they are so attached to the aristoc 
racy!" 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



141 



CHAPTER XLIII. 



THE ASSIZE TOWN. 



When I had dressed, I found that I had a.yOve 
an hour to spare before dinner, so takhig my hat 
I strolled into the town. The streets were even 
more crowded now than before. The groups of 
country people were larger, and as they conversed 
together in their native tongue, with all the vio- 
lent gesticulations and energetic passion of their 
nature an inexperienced spectator might well 
have supposed them engaged in active strife. 

Now and then a kind of movement, a species 
of suppressed murmur from the court-house, 
would turn every eye in that direction, and then 
every voice was hushed; not a man moved. It 
was evident that some trial of the deepest inter- 
est was going forward, and on inquiry I learned 
that it was a murder case, in which six men were 
concerned. I heard also that the only evidence 
against them was from one of their own party, 
who had turned, as the lawyers term it, approver. 
I knew well that no circumstance was more cal- 
culated than this to call forth all that is best and 
worst in Irish character, and thought, as I walked 
along through the dense crowd, I could trace in 
the features around me the several emotions by 
which they were moved. Here was an old grey- 
headed man leaning on a staff; his lacklustre 
eyes gazing in wonder at some speaker who nar- 
rated a portion of the trial — his face all eager- 
ness, and his hands tremulous with anxiety; but 
I felt I could read the deep sorrow of his heart 
as he listened to the deed of blood, and won- 
dered iiow men would risk their tenure of a life 
which, in a few days more, perhaps, he himself 
was to leave forever. Here beside him was a 
tall and powerfully-built countryman; his hat 
drawn down upon his eyes, that peered forth 
from their shadow — ^dark, lustrous, and almost 
wild in their expression; his face, tanned by sea- 
son and exposure, was haggard and careworn, 
and in his firmly-clenched lips and fast-locked 
jaw you could read the resolute purpose of one 
who could listen to nothing save the promptings 
of the spirit of vengeance, and his determination 
that blood should have blood. 

Some there were whose passionate tones and 
violent gestures showed that all their sympathy 
for the prisoners was merged in the absorbing 
feeling of detestation for the informer; and you 
could mark in such groups as these, that more 
women were mingled, whose bloodshot eyes and 
convulsed features made them appear the very 
demons of strife itself. But the most painful 
sight of all was the children who were assembled 
around every knot of speakers — their eyes star- 
ing, and their ears eagerly drinking in each word 
that dropped; no trace of childhood's happy 
carelessness was there; no sign of that light- 
hearted youth that knows no lasting sorrow. 
No: theirs were the rigid features of intense pas- 
sion, in which fear, suspicion, craft, but, above 
all, the thirst for revenge, were writ. There 
were some whose clenched hands and darkened 
brow betokened the gloomy purpose of their 
.hearts. There were others whose outpoured wrath 



heaped curses on him who had betrayed his fel- 
lows — there was grief, violent, wild, and frantic 
— there was mute and speechless suffering, but not 
a tear did I see, not even on the cheek of childhood 
or of woman. No! Their seared and withered sor- 
row no dew of tears had ever watered. Like a 
blighting simoom, the spirit of revenge had passed 
over them, and scorched and scathed all the ver- 
dant charities of life The law which in other 
lands IS looked to for protection and security, 
was regarded by them as an instrument of tyr- 
anny; they neither understood its spirit, nor 
trusted its decisions; and when its blow fell upon 
them, they bent their heads in mournful submis- 
sion, to raise them when opportunity olfcred 
in wild and stern defiance. Its denunciations 
came to them sudden ;ind severe, they deemed 
the course of justice wayward and capricious — 
the only feature of certainty in its opeiation 
being, that its victim was ever the poor man. 

The passionate elements of their wild natures 
seemed but ill-adapted to the slow-sustained 
current of legal investigation; they looked upon 
all the details of evidence as the signs of vindic- 
tive malice, and thought that trickery and deceit 
were brought in arms against them. Hence 
each face among the thousands there bore the 
traces of that hardened, dogged suffering that 
tells us that the heart is rather steeled with the 
desire to avenge, than bowed to weep over the 
doomed. 

Before the court-house a detachment of soldiers 
was drawn up, under arms; their unmoved features 
and fixed attitudes presenting a strange contrast 
to the excited expressions and changeful gestures 
of those about them. The crowd at this part was 
thickest, and I could perceive in their eager looks 
and mute expressions, that something more than 
common had attracted their attention; my own 
interest was, however, directed in another quarter, 
for through the open window of the court-house 
I could hear the words of a speaker, whom I soon 
recognized as the counsel for the prisoners ad- 
dressing the jury. My foraging cap passed me 
at once through the ranks, and after some little 
crushing I succeeded in gaining admission to the 
body of the court. 

Such was the crowd within, I could see nothing 
but the heads of a closely-wedged mass of people 
— save, at the distant part of the court, the judges, 
and to their right the figure of the pleader, whose 
back was turned towards me. 

Little as I heard of the speech, I was over- 
whelmed with surprise at what I did hear. Touch- 
ing on the evidence of the "approver" but slightly, 
the advocate dwelt with a ferrific force upon the 
degraded character of a man who could trade 
upon the blood of his former friends and asso- 
ciates; scarce stopping to canvass how the testi- 
mony bore home upon the prisoners, he burst 
forth into an impassioned appeal to the hearts of 
the jury, on faith betrayed and vow^s forsworn; 
and pictured forth the man who could thus sur- 
render his fellows to the scaffold, as a monster 
whose evidence no man could trust — no jury con- 
fide in; and when he had thus heightened the 
coloring of his description by every power of an 
eloquence that made the very building ring, he 



142 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



turned suddenly toward the informer himself, 
as, pale, wan, and conscience-stricken, he cowered 
beneath the lightning glance from an eye that 
seemed to pierce his secret soul within him, and, 
apostrophizing his virtues, he directed every 
glance upon the miserable wretch that writhed 
beneath his sarcasm. This seemed, indeed, the 
speaker's forte. Never did I hear anything so 
tremendous as the irony with which he described 
the credit due to one who had so often been 
sworn and forsworn — "who took an oath of 
allegiance to his king, and an oath of fealty to his 
fellows, and then was there that day with a third 
oath, by which, in the blood of his victims, he was 
to ratify his perjury to both, and secure himself 
an honorable independence." The caustic 
satire verged once — only once — on something 
that produced a laugh, when the orator suddenly 
stopped 

" I find, my lord, I have raised a smile. God 
knows, never did I feel less merriment. Let me 
not be condemned. Let not tlie laugh be mis- 
taken — few are those events that are produced 
by folly and vice that fire the hearts with indigna- 
tion, but something in them will shake the sides 
with laughter. So, when the two famous moralists 
of old beheld the sad spectacle of Life, the one 
burst into laugluer, the other melted into tears. 
They were each of them right, and equally right. 
But these laughs are the bitter, rueful laughs of 
honest indignation, or they are the laughs of 
hectic melancholy and despair But look there, 
and tell me where is your laughter now." 

With these words he turned fully round and 
pointed his finger to the dock, where the six 
prisoners, side by side, leaned their haggard, 
death-like faces upon the rail, and gazed with 
stupid wonder upon the scene before them. Four 
of the number did not even know the language, 
but seemed, by the instinct of their position, to 
feel the nature of the appeal their advocate was 
making, and turned their eyes around the court 
as if in search of some one look of pity or en- 
couragement that should bring comfort to their 
hearts. The whole thing was too dreadful to bear 
longer, so I forced my way through the crowd, 
and at last reached the steps in front of the 
building. But here a new object of horror pre- 
sented itself, and one which to this hour I cannot 
chase from before me. In the open space between 
the line formed by the soldiers and the court 
knelt a woman, whose tattered garments scarce 
covered a figure emaciated nearly to starvation — 
her cheeks, almost blue with famine, were pinched 
inwards — and her hands, which she held clasped 
with outstretched arms before her, were like the 
skinny claws of some wild animal. As she neither 
spoke nor stirred, there was no effort made to 
remove her; and there she knelt, her eyes blood- 
shot and staring, bent upon the door of the build- 
ing. A vague fear took possession of me. Some- 
how I had seen that face before. I drew near, 
and as a cold thrill ran through my blood, I re- 
membered where. She was the wife of the man 
by whose bedside I had watched in the moun- 
tains. A half dread of being recognized by her 
kept me back for a moment — then came the better 
feeling, that perhaps I might be able to serve her, 



and I walked towards her; but though she turned 
her eyes towards me as I approached, her look 
had no intelligence in it, and I could plainly see 
that reason had fled, and left nothing save the 
poor suffering form behind it. I endeavored to 
attract her attention, but all in vain; and at last 
tried by gentle force to induce her to leave the 
I)lace; but a piercing shriek, like one whose 
tones had long dwelt in my heart, broke from her, 
and a look of such unutterable anguish, that I 
was obliged to desist and leave her. 

The crowd made way for me as I passed out, 
and I could see in their looks and demeanor the 
expression of grateful acknowledgment for even 
this show of feeling on my part — while some mut- 
tered as I went by, " God reward ye," " The Lord 
be good to ye," as though at that moment they 
had nothing in their hearts save thoughts of kind- 
ness and words of blessing. 

I reached my room, and sat down a sadder, 
perhaps a wiser man; and yet I know not this. 
It would need a clearer head than mine to trace 
all the varying and discordant elements of char- 
acter I had witnessed to their true source — to 
sift the evil from the good, to know what to cher- 
ish, what to repress, whereon to build hope, or 
what to fear. Such was this country once — has 
it changed since? 



CHAPTER XLIV.- 



THE BAR DINNER. 



At nine o'clock the jury retired, and a little 
afterwards the front drawing-room at the head 
inn was becoming every moment more crowded, 
as the door opened to admit the several members 
of the bar, invited to partake of Mrs. Rooney's 
hospitalities. Mrs. Rooney, I say; for the eti- 
quette of the circuit forbidding the attorney to 
entertain the dignitaries of the craft, Paul was 
only present at his own table on sufferance, and 
sought out the least obtrusive place he could find 
among the juniors and side-dishes. 

No one who could have seen the gay, laughing, 
merry mob of shrewd, cunning-looking men, that 
chatted away there, would have imagined them, 
a few moments previously, engaged in a question 
where the lives of six of their fellow-men hung 
in the balance, and where, at the very moment, 
the deliberation was continued that should, per- 
haps, sentence them to death upon the scaffold. 

The instincts of a profession are narrow and 
humiliating things to witness. The surgeon who 
sees but in the suffering agony of his patient the 
occasional displacement of certain anatomical de- 
tails, is little better than a savage; the lawyer 
who watches the passions of hope and fear, dis- 
trust, dread, and suspicion, only to take advan- 
tage of them in his case, is far worse than one. 
I confess, on looking at these men, I could never 
divest myself of the impression that the hired 
and paid-for passion of the advocate, the subtlety 
that is engaged special, the wit that is briefed, 
the impetuous rush of indignant eloquence that 
is bottled up from town to town in circuit, and, 



\ 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



143 



like soda-water, grows weaker at every corking, 
make but a pour tiisciiiMe of qualities lor tlie class 
who, par excellence, stand at tlie liead of profes- 
sional life. 

One there was, indeed, whose haggard eye and 
blanched cheek showed no semblance of forget- 
ting the scene in which so lately he had been an 
actor. This was the lawyer who had defended 
the prisoners. He sat in a window, resting his 
head upon his hand — fatigue, exhaustion, but, 
more than all, intense feeling portrayed in every 
lineament of his pale face. 

'"Ah," said the gay, jovial-looking attorney- 
general, slapping him familiarly on the shoulder 
— ''ah, my dear fellow! not tired, I hope. The 
court was tremendously hot; but come, rally a 
bit; we shall want you. Bennett and O'Grady 
have disappointed us, it seems; but you are a 
host in yourself." 

" Maybe so," replied the other, faintly, and 
scarce lifting his eyes; " but you can't depend on 
my ' elevation.' " 

The ease and readiness of the reply, as well as 
the tones of the voice, struck me, and I perceived 
that it was no other than the prior of the Monks 
of the Screw who had spoken. Mrs. Rooney 
made her appearance at the moment, and my 
attention was soon taken away by the announce- 
ment of dinner. 

One of the judges arrived in time to offer his 
arm, and I could not help feeling amused at the 
mock solemnity of the procession as we moved 
along. The judge, I may observe, was a young 
man, lately promoted, and one whose brigliteye, 
and bold dashing expression bore many more 
traces of the outer bar, than it smacked of the 
dull gravity of the bench. He took the end of 
the table beside Mrs. Paul, and the others 
soon seated themselves promiscuously along the 
board. 

There is a species of gladiatorial exhibition in 
lawyers' society that is certainly very amusing. 
No one speaks without the foreknowledge that 
he is to be caught up, punned on, or ridiculed, 
as the case may be. The whole conversation is, 
therefore, a hailstorm of short stories, quips, and 
retorts, intermingled with details of successful bar 
stratagems, and practical jokes played off upon 
juries. With less restraint than at a military 
mess, there is a strong professional feeling of 
deference for the seniors, and much more tact and 
knowledge of the world to unite them. While 
thus the whole conversation ran on topics, of 
the circuit, I was amazed at Mrs. Rooney's per- 
fect intimacy with all the niceties of a law joke, 
or the fun of a nisi pn'us story. She knew the 
chief peculiarities of the several persons alluded 
to, and laughed loud and long at the good 
things she listened to. The judge alone, above 
all others, had the lady's ear. His bold but 
handsome features, his rich commanding voice — 
nothing the worse that it was mellowed by a little 
brogue — his graceful action and manly presence, 
stamped him as one well suited to be successful 
wherever good looks, ready tact, and consummate 
i-onversational powers have a field for their dis- 
plav. His stories were few, but always pertinent 
iind well told; and frequently the last joke at the 



table was capped by him, when no one else could 
have ventured to try it, wiiile the rich roll of 
his laugh was a guarantee for mirth that never 
failed. 

It was when my attention was drawn off by 
Mrs. Rooney to some circumstance of our former 
intimacy, that a hearty burst of laughing, from 
the end of the table, told that something un- 
usually absurd was being related. 

" Yes, sir," said a shrewd-looking, thin old fel- 
low in spectacles, " we capitulated, on condition 
of leaving the garrison with all the honors of 
war; and, faith, the sheriff was only too glad to 
comply." 

" Bob Mahon is certainly a bold fellow, and 
never hard pushed, whatever you may do with 
him." 

"Bob Mahon!" said I; "what of him?" 
" Keately has just been telling how he held out 
the gaol of Ennis for four weeks against the 
sheriff. The gaoler was an old tenant of his, and 
readily came into his plans. They were victualled 
for a long siege, and, as the place was strong, 
they had nothing to fear. When the garrison 
was summoned to surrender, they put a charge 
of No. 4 into the sub-sheriff, that made him 
move to the rear; and as the prisoners were all 
coming from the assizes, they were obliged to let 
liim have his own terms, if he'd only consent to 
come out. So they gave him twelve hours' law and 
a clear run for it; and he's away." 

This was indeed a very quick realization of 
Father Tom's prediction, and I joined in the 
mirth the story elicited; not the less readily that 
I was well acquainted with the principal actor in 
it. 

While the laughter still continued, the door 
opened, and a young barrister stole into the room 
and whispered a few words into the ear of the 
counsel for the prisoners. He leaned back in his 
chair, and pushed his wine-glass hurriedly before 
him." 

"What! Collinson," cried the attorney-gen- 
eral, " have they agreed?" 

" Yes, sir — a verdict of guilty." 
"Of course; the evidence was too home for 
a doubt," said he, filling his glass from the de- 
canter. 

A sharp glance from the dark eye of the op- 
posite counsel was the only reply, as he rose and 
left the room. 

" Our friend has taken a more than common 
interest in this case," was the cool observation 
of the last speaker; " but there was no getting 
over Hanlon's testimony." Here he entered 
into some detail of the trial, while the buzz and 
confusion of voices became greater than ever. 
I took this opportunity of making my escape, 
and joined Mrs. Rooney, who a short time be- 
fore had retired to the drawing-room. 

Mrs. Paul had contrived, even in the short 
space since her arrival, to have converted the 
drawing-room into a semblance of something 
like an apartment in a private house; books, 
prints, and flowers, judiciously disposed, as well 
as an open pianoforte, giving it an air of com- 
fort and propriety far different from its ordinary 
seeming. She was practising Moore's newly- 



144 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



published song of " Fly from this world, dear 
Bessie, with me," as I entered. 

" Pray continue, my dear Mrs. Rooney," 
said I; "I will take it as the greatest possible 
favor " 

"Ah!" said Mrs. Paul, throwing up her eyes 
in the most languishing ecstasy — " Ahl you have 
a soul; I know you have." 

Protesting that I had strong reasons to believe 
so, I renewed my entreaty. 

"Yes," said she, musing, and in a Siddons' 
tone of soliloquy — "yes, the poet is right — 

** * Music hath charms to smooth tlie savage beast,^ 

But I really can't sing the melodies — they are too 
much for me. The allusion to former times, 
when King O'Toole and the rest of the royal 
house — ■ — Ah! 5'ou are aware, I believe, that fam- 
ily reasons " 

Here she pressed her embroidered handker- 
chief to her eyes witli one hand, while she 
grasped mine convulsively with the other. 

"Yes, yes," said I, hurriedly, while a strong 
temptation to laugh outright seized me. "I 
have heard that your descent " 

"Yes, my dear; if it wasn't for the Danes, 
and the cruel Battle of the Boyne, there's no 
saying where I might not be seated now." 

She leaned on the piano as she spoke, and 
seemed overpowered with sorrow. At this in- 
stant the door opened, and the judge made his 
appearance. 

"A thousand pardons for the indiscretion," 
said he, stepping back as he saw me sitting with 
the lady's hand in mine. I sprang up, confused 
and ashamed; and, rushing past him, hurried 
down-stairs. 

I knew how soon my adventure — for such it 
would grow into — would be the standing jest of 
the bar mess; and not feeling disposed to be 
present at their mirth, I ordered a chaise, and, 
before half an hour elapsed, was on my road to 
Dublin. 



CHAPTER XLV. 



THE RETURN. 



We never experience to the full how far sor- 
row has made its inroads upon us until we come 
back, after absence, to the places where we have 
once been happy, and find them lone and ten- 
antless. While we recognize each old familiar 
object, we see no longer those who gave them all 
their value in our eyes. Every inanimate thing 
about speaks to our senses; but where are they 
who were wont to speak to our hearts? The 
solitary chamber is then, indeed, but the body of 
all our pleasure, from which the soul has de- 
parted forever. These feelings were mine as I 
paced the old, well-worn stairs, rnd entered my 
quarters in the Castle. No more I heard the 
merry laugh of my friend O'Grady, nor his quick 
step upon the stair. The life, the stir, the bus- 
tle of the place itself seemed to have all fled. 
Tile court only echoed to the measured tread of 



the grenadier who marched backwards and for- 
wards beside the flag-staff in the centre of the 
open space. No cavalcade of joyous riders, no 
prancing horses led about bv grooms, no showy 
and splendid equipages; all was still, sad, and 
neglected-looking. The dust whirled about in 
circling eddies as the cold wind of an autumnal 
day moaned through the arched passages and 
gloomy corridors of the old building. A care- 
worn official, or some slatternly inferior of the 
household, would perhaps pass from time to 
time; but except such as these, nothing stirred. 

The closed shutters and drawn-down blinds 
showed that the viceroy was absent; and I found 
myself the only occupant of the building. 

It requires the critical eye of the observant 
resident of great cities to mark the changes which 
season and fashion effect in their appearance. 
To one unaccustomed to their phases it seems 
strange to hear, "How empty the town is; how 
very few people are in London!" while the heavy 
tide of population pours incessantly around him, 
and his ear is deafened with the ceaseless roll of 
equipages. But in such a city as Dublin the al- 
teration is manifest to the least remarking. 
But little frequented by the country gentry — and 
never, except for the few months when the court is 
there — still less visited by foreigners — deserted 
by the professional classes — at least such of them 
as are indejiendent enough to absent themselves 
— the streets are actually empty. The occupa- 
tions of trade, the bustle of commerce, that 
through every season continue their onward 
course in the great trading cities, such as Liver- 
pool, Hamburg, Frankfort, and Bordeaux, scarce 
exist here; and sa^e that the tattered garments 
of mendicancy, and the craving cries of hunger 
are ever before you, you might fall into a drowsy 
reverie as you walked, and dream yourself in 
Palmyra. 

I had strolled about for above an hour, in the 
moody frame of mind my own reflections and the 
surrounding objects were well calculated to sug- 
gest, when, meeting by accident a subaltern with 
whom I was slightly acquainted, I heard that the 
court had that morning left the lodge in the park 
for Kilkenny, where the theatricals of that pleas- 
ant city were going forward; a few numbers of 
the household alone remaining, who were to fol- 
low in a day or two. 

For some days previous I had made up my 
mind not to remain in Ireland. Every tie that 
bound me to the country was broken. I had no 
heart to set about forming new friendships, while 
the wounds of former ones were still fresh and 
bleeding; and I longed for change of scene and 
active occupation, that I might have no time to 
reflect or look back. 

Resolvingto tender my resignation on the duke's 
staff without any further loss of time, I set out at 
once for the park. 

I arrived there in the very nick of time. The 
carriages were at the entrance waiting for the 
private secretary of his grace, and two of the 
aides-de-camp, who were eating a hurried lun- 
cheon before starting. One of the aides-de-camp 1 
knew but sliehtly, the other wasa-perfect stranger 
to me; but Morelon was an intimate acquaintance. 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



145 



He jumped up from his chair as my name was 
announced, and a deep blush covered his face as 
he advanced to meet me. 

"My dear Hinton, how unfortunate! Wliy 
weren't you here yesterday? It's too late now." 

" Too late for what? 1 don't comprehend you.'' 

"Why, my dear fellow," said he, drawing his 
arm within mine, and leading me towards a win- 
dow, as he dropped his voice to a whisper, " I 
believe you heard from me that his grace was 
provoked at your continued absence, and ex- 
pected at least that you would have written, to 
ask an extension of your leave. I don't know 
how it was, but it seemed to me that the duchess 
came back from England with some crotchet in 
her head, about something she heard in London. 
In any case, they ordered me to write." 

"Well, well," said I, impatiently; "I guess it 
all I have got my dismissal. Isn't that the 
whole of it?" 

He nodded twice without speaking 

" It only anticipates my own wishes," said I, 
coolly, " as this note may satisfy you." I placed 
the letter I had written for the purpose of my 
resignation in his hand, and continued, " I am 
quite convinced in my own mind that his grace, 
whose kindness towards me has never varied, 
would never have dreamed of this step on such 
slight grounds as my absence. No, no; the 
thing lies deeper. At any other time I should 
certainly have wished to trace this matter to its 
source; now, however, chiming as it does witli 
my own plans, and caring little how fortune in 
tends to treat me, I'll submit in silence." 

"And take no notice of the affair further? 

" Such is my determination," said I, resolutely. 

" In that case," said Moreton, " I may tell you, 
that some story of a lady had reached the 
duchess, when in London; some girl that it was 
reported you endeavored to seduce, and had actu- 
ally followed for that purpose to the West of Ire- 
land. There, there, don't take the matter up that 
way, for Heaven's sake! My dear fellow, hear 
me out!" But I could hearnomore; the rushing 
blood that crowded on my brain stunned and 
stupefied me, and it took several minutes before 
I became sufficiently collected to ask him to go on. 

" I heard the thing so confusedly," said he, 
" that I cannot attempt anything like connection 
in relating it. But the story goes, that your duel 
in Loughrea did not originate about the steeple- 
chase at all, but in a quarrel about this girl, with 
her brother, or her cousin, who, having discovered 
your intentions regarding her, you deemed proper 
to get rid of, as a preliminary. No one but a fool 
could credit such a thing." 

" None but such could have invented it," said 
I, as my thoughts at once recurred to Lord Dud- 
ley de Vere. 

" The duke, however, spoke to General Hin- 
ton " 

" To my father! And how did he " 

" Oh, behaved as only he could have done. 
' Stop, my lord,' said he. ' I'll spare you any 
further relation of this matter. If it be true, my 
son is unworthy of remaining on your staff. If 
it be false, I'll not permit him to hold an appoint- 
ment where his reputation has been assailed, 



without affording him an opportunity of defence.' 
High words ensued, and the end was, that if you 
appeared before to-day, you were to hear ib.e 
charge, and have an opportunity for reply. Ji 
not, your dismissal was to be made out, and an- 
other appointed in your place. Now that I have 
told you, what I feel the indiscretion of my ever 
having spoken of, promise me, my dear Hintor., 
that you will take no step in the matter. The 
intrigue is altogether beneath you, and your 
character demands no defence on your part." 

' I almost suspect I know the party," said I, 
gloomily. 

'' No, no; I'm certain you can't. It is some 
woman's story — some piece of tea-table gossip, 
depend on it. In any case, quite unworthy of 
caring about." 

"At all events, I am too indifferent at this mo- 
ment to feel otherwise about anything," said I. 
■' So, good-bye, Moreton — my regards to ail our 
fellows — good-bye!" 

"Good-bye, my boy!" said he, warmly shaking 
my hand. " But, stop a moment, I have got some 
letters for you, they arrived only a few days 
since." 

He took a packet from a drawer as he spoke, 
and, once more bidding adieu, I set out on my 
return to the Castle. 



CHAPTER XLVI. 



FAREWELL TO IRELAND. 



My first care on reaching my quarters was to 
make preparations for my departure by the packet 
of the same evening; my next was to sit down 
and read over my letters. As I turned them over, 
I remarked that there were none from my father 
nor Lady Charlotte; there was, however, one in 
Julia's hand, and also a note from O'Grady; the 
others were the mere commonplace correspond- 
ence of every day acquaintances, which I merely 
threw my eyes carelessly over ere I consigned 
them to the fire. My fair cousin's possessed — I 
cannot explain why — a most unusual degree of 
interest for me, and, throwing myself back in my 
chair, I gave myself up to its perusal. 

The epistle opened by a half satirical account 
of the London season — then nearly drawing to 
its close — in which various characters and inci- 
dents which I have not placed before my readers, 
but all knowntome, were touched with that quiet, 
subued raillery she excelled in. The flirtations, 
the jiltings, the matches that were on or off, the 
rumored duels, debts, and difficulties of every one 
we were acquainted with, were told with a most 
amusing smartness, all showing, young as she was, 
how thoroughly the wear and tear of fashionable 
life had invested her with an intricate knowledge 
of character, and a perfect acquaintance with all 
the intrigues and by-play of the world. " How un- 
like Louisa Bellew!" said I, as I laid down the 
letter after reading a description of a manoeuvring 
mamma and obedient daughter to secure the 
prize of the season, with a peerage and some 
twenty thousand pounds per annum. It was 



146 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



true, they were the vices and the follies of the 
age which she ridiculed, but why should she 
have ever known them, or ought she to have been 
conversant with such a state of society as would 
expose them? Were it not better, like Louisa 
Bellew, to have passed her days amid the simple, 
unexciting scenes of secluded life, than to have 
purchased all the brilliancy of her wit, and the 
dazzle of her genius at the price of true female 
delicacy and refinement? While I asked and 
answered myself these questions to the satisfac- 
tion of my own heart, I could not dismiss the 
thought that, amid such scenes as London pre- 
sented, with such associates as fashion neces- 
sitated, the unprotected simplicity of Miss Bel- 
lew's character would expose her to much both 
of raillery and coldness; and felt that she would 
be nearly as misplaced among the proud daugh- 
ters of haughty England, as my fair cousin in the 
unfashionable freedom of Dublin life. 

I confess, as I read on, that old associations 
came crowding upon me; the sparkling brilliancy 
of Julia's style reminded me of the charms ot 
her conversational powers, aided by all the love- 
liness of her beauty, and all the witchery which 
your true belle of fashion knows how, so success- 
fully, to spread around her; and it was with a 
flush of burning shame on ray cheek I acknowl- 
edged to myself how much her letter interested 
me. As I continued, I saw O'Grady's name, 
and, to my astonishment, found the following; — 

"Lady Cliarlotte came back from the duke's 
ball greatly pleased with a certain major of dra- 
goons, who, among his other excellent qualities, 
turns out to be a friend of yours. This estimable 
person, whose name is O'Grady, has done much 
to dissipate her ladyship's prejudices regarding 
Irishmen: the repose of his manner, and the 
quiet, unassuming, well-bred tone of his address, 
being all so opposed to her preconceived notions 
of his countryinen. He dines here twice or 
thrice a week: and as he is to sail soon, may 
happily preserve the bloom of his reputation 
to the last. My estimate of him is somewhat 
different: I think him a bold, conceited kind of 
person, esteeming himself very highly, and think- 
ing little of other people. He has, however, a 
delightful old thing, his servant Corny, whom I 
am never tired of, and shall really miss much 
when he leaves us. Now, as to yourself, dear 
cousin, what mean all the secret hints, and sly 
looks, and doubtful speeches about you here? 
The Mysteries of Udolpho are plain reading, 
compared to your doings. Her ladyship never 
speaks of you but as ' that poor bov,' accompany- 
ing the epithet with the, sigh with which one 
speaks of a shipwreck. Sir George calls you 
John, which shows he is not quite satisfied about 
you; and, in fact, I begin to suspect you must 
have become a United Irishman, with 'a lady in 
tlie case,' and even this would scarcely demand 
one-half the reserve and caution with which you 
are mentioned. Am I discreet in saying that I 
don't think De Vere likes you? The major, how- 
ever, certainly does; and his presence has ban- 
ished the lordling, for which, really, I owe him 
gratitude." The letter concluded by saying that 
my mother had desired her to write in her place, 



as she was suffering from one of her nervous 
headaches, which only permitted her to go to the 
exhibition at Somerset House. My father, too, 
was at Woolwich on some military business, and 
had no time for anything, save to promise to 
write soon; and that she herself being disap- 
pointed by the milliner in a new bonnet, dedi- 
cated the morning to me, with a most praise- 
worthy degree of self-denial and benevolence. I 
read the signature some half-dozen times over, 
and wondered what meaning in her own heart 
she ascribed to the words — "Yours, Julia." 

" Now for O'Grady," said I, breaking the seal 
of the major's envelope: — 

" My dear Jack, — I was sitting on a hencoop, 
now pondering on my fortunes, now turning to 
con over the only book on board — a very erudite 
work on naval tactics, with directions how ' to 
moor a ship in the Downs,' — when a gun came 
booming over the sea, and a frigate, with certain 
enigmatical colors flying at her maintop, com- 
pelled the old troop-ship we were in l-o back her 
topsails and lie to, we were then steering straight 
for Madeira, in latitude — , longitude the same; 
our intention being, with the aid of Providence, to 
reach Quebec at some remote period of the 
summer, to join our service companies in Canada. 
Having obeyed the orders of H. M. S. Blast, to 
wait until she overtook us — a measure that 
nearly cost us two of our masts and the cook's 
galley, we not being accustomed to stand still, it 
seemed — a boat came along-side with the small- 
est bit of a midshipman I ever looked at sitting in 
the stern-sheets, with orders for us to face about, 
left shoulder forward, and march back to Eng- 
land, where, having taken in the second battalion 
of the Twenty-eighth, we were to start for 
Lisbon. I need not tell you what pleasure the an- 
nouncement afforded us; delighted us we were 
to exchange tomahawks and bowie-knives for 
civilized warfare, even against more formidable 
foes. Behold us then in full sail back to old 
England, which we reached within a fortnight; 
only to touch, however, for the Twenty-eighth 
were most impatiently expecting us, and having 
dedicated three days to taking in water and ad- 
ditional stores, and once more going through the 
horrible scene of leave-taking between soldiers 
and their wives, we sailed again. I have little 
inclination to give you the detail, which newspapers 
would beat me hollow in, of our march, or where 
we first came up with the French. A smart affair 
took place at daybreak, in which your humble 
servant, to use the ajipropriate phrase, distin- 
guished himself — 'egad, I had almost said extin- 
guished — for I was shot through the side, losing 
part of that conjugal portion of the human ana- 
tomy called the rib, and sustaining several other 
minor damages, that made me appear to the 
regimental doctor a very unserviceable craft for 
his majesty's service. The result was, I was sent 
back with that plaister for a man's vanity, 
though not for his wounds, a despatch-letter to 
the Horse Guards, and an official account of the 
action. 

" As nothing has occurred since in the Penin- 
sula to eclipse my performance, I continue to 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



147 



star it here with immense success, and am quite 
convinced that, with a little more loss, I might 
niake an excellent match out of the affair. Now, 
to the pleasant part of my epistle. Your father 
found me out, a few evenings since, at an even- 
ing party at the duke of York's, and presented 
me to your lady-motlier, who was most gracious 
■in her reception of me: an invitation to dinner 
the next day followed, and since, I have spent al- 
most every day at your house. Your father, my 
dear Jack, is a glorious fellow, a soldier in every 
great feature of the character. You never can 
have a finer object of your imitation, and your 
best friend cannot wish you to be more than his 
equal. Lady Charlotte is the most fascinating 
person I ever met! her abilities are first-rate, and 
lier powers of pleasing exceed all that I ever fan- 
cied, even of London fashionables How you 
could have left such a house I can scarcely con- 
ceive, knowing as I do something of your taste 
for comfort and voluptuous ease; besides la 
cousiiie. Lady Julia — Jack, Jack, what a close fel- 
low you are: and how very lovely she is; she cer- 
tainly has not her equal even here. I scarcely 
know her, for, somehow, she rather affects dis- 
tance with my cloth, and rarely deigns any no- 
tice of the red coats so plentifully sprinkled along 
your father's dinner-table. Her kindness to 
Corny, who was domesticated at your house for the 
last five weeks, I can never forget; and even he 
can't, it would appear, conjure up any complaint 
against her; what a testimony to her goodness! 
" This life, however, cannot last forever, and as 

' 1 have now recovered so far as to mount a iiorse 
once more, I have applied for a regimental ap- 
pointment; your father most kindly interests 
himself for me, and before the week is over I 
may be gazetted. That fellow De Vere was very 
intimate here when I arrived; since he has seen 
me, however, his visits have become gradually less 
frequent, and now have almost ceased altogether. 
This, entre nous, does not seem to have met com- 
pletely with Lady Julia's approval, and I think 
she may have attributed to me a circumstance, 
in which certainly I was not an active cause. 
However happy I may feel at being instrumental 
in a breach of intimacy between her and one so 
very unworthy of her, even as a common ac- 
quaintance, I will ask you. Jack, when opportun- 
ity offers, to put the matter in its true light; for 
although I may, in all likelihood, never meet her 
again, I sliould 1ie sorry to leave with her a more 

. unfavorable impression of me than I really de- 
serve." 

Here the letter broke oIT. Lower down on the 
paper were the following lines, written in evident 
•haste, and with a different ink. 

"We sail to-night — Oporto is our destination. 

Corny is to remain behind, and I must ask of 

you to look to him on his arrival in Dublin. 

Lady Julia likes De Vere, and you know him too 

well to permit of s^ich a fatal misfortune. I am, 

I find, meddling in what really I have no right to 

touch upon. This is, however, 'in confidence.' 

*God bless you. „ ,, 

■' Yours ever. 

"Phil O'Grady." 



" Poor Phil," said I, as I laid down the letter; 
"in his heart he believes himself disinterested in 
all this, but I see plainly he is in love with her 
himself. Alas! I cannot conceive a heavier af- 
fliction to befall the man without fortune than to 
be thrown among those whose prospects render 
an alliance impossible, and to bestow his affec- 
tions on an object perfectly beyond his reach of 
attainment Many a proud heart has been torn 
in the struggle between its own promjjtings and 
the dread of the imputation, which the world so 
hastily confers, of 'fortune-hunting,' many a 
haughty spirit has quailed beneath this fear, and 
stifled in his bosom the thought that made his 
life a blessed dream. My poor friend, how little 
will she that has stolen away your peace think of 
your sorrows!" 

A gentle tap at my door aroused me from my 
musings. I opened it, and saw, to my surprise,, 
my old companion, Tipperary Joe. He was cov- 
ered with dust, heated, and travel-stained, and 
leaned against the door-post to rest himself. 

"So," cried he. when he had recovered his 
breath, " Lm in time to see you once more be- 
fore you go. I ran all the way from Carlow, 
since twelve o'clock last night." 

" Come in, my poor boy, and sit down. Here's 
a glass of wine; 'twill refresh you. We'll get 
something for you to eat presently." 

" No; I couldn't eat now. My throat is full, and 
my heart is up here. And so you are going away — 
going for good and all! never to ccme back again?" 

" Who can say so much as that, Joe? 1 should,, 
at least, be very sorry to think so." 

"And would you, now? And will you really 
think of ould Ireland when you're away? Hurroo! 
by the mortial, there's no place like it, for fun, 
divilment, and divarsion. But, musha, mushal 
I'm forgettin', and it's getting dark. May I go- 
with you to the packet?" 

"To be sure, my poor boy; and I believe we 
have not many minutes to spare." 

I despatched Joe for a car, while I threw a last 
look around my room. Sad things, these last 
looks, whether bestowed on the living or the 
dead, the life-like or the inanimate. 

There is a feeling that resembles death in the 
last glance we are ever to bestow on a loved ob- 
ject. The girl you have treasured in your secret 
heart, as she passes by on her wedding-day, it 
may be happy and blissful, lifts up her laughing 
eyes, the symbol of her own light heart, and 
leaves, in that look, darkness and desolation to 
you forever. The boy your father-spirit has 
clung to, like the very light of )'our existence, 
waves his hand from the quarter-deck, as the 
gigantic ship bends over to the breeze; the wind 
is playing through the locks your hand so often- 
times has smoothed; the tears have dimmed his 
eyes, for, mark! he moves his fingers over them 
— and this is a last look. 

My sorrow had no touch of these. My eye 
ranged over the humble furniture of my little 
chamber, while memories of the past came crowd- 
ing on me; hopes that I had lived to see blighted;; 
day-dreams dissipated; heartfelt wishes thwarted 
and scattered. I stood thus foj- some minutesj. 
when Joe again joined me. 



148 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



Poor fellow! his wayward and capricious 
flights, now grave, now gay, were but the mock- 
ery of that sympatliy my heart required. Still 
did he heal the sadness of the moment. 

We need the voice, the look, the accent of af- 
fection, when we are leaving the spot where we 
have once been happy. It will not do to part 
from the objects that have made our home, without 
the connecting link of human friendship. The 
hearth, the roof-tree, the mountain, and the rivulet, 
are not so eloquent as the once syllabled " Good- 
bye," come it from ever so humble a voice. 

The bustle and excitement of the scene beside 
the packet seem i J to afford Joe the most lively 
gratification; and, like the genius of confusion, 
he was to be seen flitting from place to place, 
assisting one, impeding another, while snatches 
of his wild songs broke from him every moment. 
I had but tinii to press his hand, when he was 
hurried ashore amangst the crowd, and the in- 
stant after the vessel sheered off from the pier, 
and got under weigh. 

The poor boy stood upon a block of granite, 
waving his cap over his head. He tried a faint 
cheer, but it was scarcely audible; another; it, 
too. failed. Hi looked wildly around him on the 
strange, unknown faces, as if a scene of desola- 
tion had fallen on him, burst into a torrent of 
tears, and fled wildly from the spot. And thus 
I took my leave of Ireland. 

When I arrived in Ireland I knew scarcely any- 
thing of the world. My opportunities had shown 
me life only through the colored gloss of certain 
fashionable prejudices; but of the real character, 
motives, and habitual modes of acting and think- 
ing of others, still m )re of myself, I was in total 
ignorance. The rapidly succeeding incidents of 
Irish life — their interest, variety, and novelty, all 
attracted and excited me, and without ever stop- 
ping to reflect upon causes, I found myself be- 
coming acquainted with facts. That the change- 
ful pictures of existence so profusely scattered 
through the land should have made their impres- 
sion upon mi, is natural enough, and because I 
have found it e.asier and pleasanter to tell my 
reader the machinery of this change in me, than 
to embody that change itself, is the reason why 
I have presented before him views of life under 
■so nnny different circunntances, and wiien, fre- 
quently, they had no direct relation to the cur- 
rent of my own fate and the story of my own 
fortunes. It is enough of myself to say, that 
though scarcely older in time, I had grown so in 
thought and feeling. If I felt, on the one hand, 
how little my higli connections, and the position 
in fashionable life which my family occupied, 
availed me, I learned, on the other, to know that 
friends, and staunch ones, could be made at once, 
on the emergency of a moment, and without the im- 
posing ceremjny of introduction, and the diplo- 
matic interchange of visits. And now to my story. 



CHAPTER XLVII. 

LONDON. 

It was late when I arrived in London and 



drove up to my father's house. The circum- 
stances under which I had left Ireland weighed 
more heavily on me as I drew near home, and 
reflected over the questions I should be asked, 
and the explanations I should be expected to 
afford, and I half dreaded lest my father should 
disapprove of my conduct before I had an op- 
portunity of showing him how little I had been 
to blame throughout. The noise and din of the 
carriages, the oaths and exclamations of the 
coachmen, and the uproar of the streets turned 
my attention from these thoughts, and I asked 
what was the meaning of the crowd. 

"A great ball, sir, at Lady Charlotte Hinton's " 
• This was a surprise, and not of the pleasant- 
est. I had wished that my first meeting, with 
my father at least, should have been alone and 
in quietness, where I could fairly have told him 
every important event of my late life, and ex- 
plained wherefore I so ardently desired imme- 
diate employment on active service, and a total 
change in that career which weighed so heavily 
on my spirits. The carriage drew up at the 
instant, and I found myself once more at home. 
What a feeling does that simple word convey to 
his ears who knows the real blessing of a heme 
— that shelter from the world, its jealousies ar.d 
its envies, its turmoils and its disappoinln cnls 
— where, like some land-locked bay, the still, 
calm waters sleep in silence, while the storm and 
hurricane are roaring without — where glad faces 
and bright looks abound — where each happiness 
is reflected back from e\ery heart, and ten times 
multiplied, and every sorrow comes softened by 
consolation and words of ccmfort; and hew 
little like this is the abode of the leader of fash- 
ion, how many of the fairest gifts of humanity 
are turned back by the glare of a hundred wax- 
lights, and the glitter of gilded lacqueys; ard 
how few of the charities of life find entrance 
where the splendor and luxury of voluptuous 
habits have stifled natural feeling, and made 
even sympathy unfashionable! 

It was not without difficulty I could persuade 
the servants, who were all strangers to me, that 
the travel-stained, dusty individual before tlum 
was the son of the celebrated and fashionable 
Lady Charlotte Hinton, and at length reached 
my room to dress. 

It was near midnight; the rooms were filled 
as I entered the drawing-room. For a few mo- 
ments I could not help feeling strongly the full 
influence of the splendid scene before me. The 
undoubted evidences of rank and wealth that 
meet the eye on every side, in London life, are 
very striking The splendor of the women's dress 
^their own beauty — a certam air of haughty 
bearing, peculiarly English — a kind of conscious 
superiority to the rest of the world marks them, 
and, in their easy, unembarrassed, steady glance, 
you read the proud spirit of Albion's "haughty 
dames." This alone was very different from 
the laughing spirit of Erin's daughters — thtir 
sparkling looks and smiling lips. The men, too, 
were so dissimilar; their reserved and stately 
carriage, their low voices, and deferential hut 
composed manner, contrasting strongly wiin 
Irish volubility, quickness, and gesticulation. I 




CJ^f-^m^^e^ ■f^ci^i^yy^/'f/^^ 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



149 



stood unnoticed and alone for some time, quiet- 
ly observant of the scene before me, and as I 
heard name after name announced, many of 
them the greatest and tlie highest in the land, 
there was no semblance of excitement as they 
entered — no looks of admiring wonder as they 
passed oa and mingled with the crowd. This 
showed me I was in a mighty city, where the 
chief spirits that ruled the age moved daily be- 
fore the public eye; and again I thought of 
Djblin, where some third-rate notoriety would 
have been hailed with aliujit acclamation, and 
lionized to the " top of his bent." 

I could remember but few of those around, 
and even they had either forgotten me alto- 
gether, or, having no recollection of my absence, 
saluted me with the easy indifference of one who 
is seen every evening of his life. 

" How are you, Hinton?" said one, with some- 
thing more of warmth than the rest. " I have 
not met you for some weeks past." 

" No," said I, smiling, " I have been nearly a 
year from home." 

"Ah, indeed! In Spain?" 

"No, in Ireland." 

"In Ireland! How odd!" 

"Who has been in Ireland?" said a low, plaint- 
ive voice, turning round as she spoke, and my 
lady-mother stood before me. "I should like 

to hear something But dear me, this must 

be John!" And she held out her jeweled hand 
towards me. 

" My dear mother, I am so happy to see you 
look so very well " 

"No, no, my dear," said she, sighing, "don't 
speak of that. When did you arrive? — I beg 
your royal highness' pardon — -I hope you have 
not forgotten your firofege, my son." 

I bowed respectfully as a large, full, handsome 
man, with bald head, and a most commanding 
expression, drew himself up before me. 

" No, madam, I have not forgotten him, I 
assure you," was the reply, as he returned my 
salute with marked coldness, and passed on. 

Before Lady Charlotte could express her sur- 
prise at such an unlooked-for mark of displeas- 
ure, my father, who had just heard of my arrival, 
came up. 

"Jack, my dear fellow, I am glad to see you. 
How large you have grown, boy, and how brown!" 

The warm welcome of his manly voice, the 
affectionate grasp of his strong hand, rallied me 
at once, and I cared little for the looks of king 
or kaiser at that moment. He drew his arm 
within mine, and led me through the rooms to a 
small boudoir, where a party at cards were the 
only occupants. 

" Here we shall be tolerably alone for a little 
while, at least," said he; "and now, my lad, tell 
me everything about you." 

In less than half an hour I ran over the prin- 
cipal events of my life in Ireland, omitting only 
those in which Miss Bcllew bore a part. On 
this account, my rupture with Lord de Vere was 
only imperfectly alluded to; and I could per- 
ceive that my father's brow became contracted, 
and his look assumed a severer expression at 
this part of my narrative. 



" You have not been very explicit, Jack, about 
this business; and this it is which 1 am really 
uneasy about. I have never known you to do a 
mean or a shabby thing — I will never suspect 
you of one. So now let me clearly understand 
the ground of this quarrel." 

There was a tone of command in his voice as 
he said this which decided me at once, and with- 
out further hesitation I resolved on laving every- 
thing before him. Still I knew not how to begin 
— the mention of Louisa's name alone staggered 
me, and for a second or two I stammered and 
looked confused. 

Unlike his wonted manner, my father looked 
impatient- — almost angry. At last, when seeing 
that my agitation only increased uj^on me, and 
my difficulty grew each moment greater, he looked 
me sternly in the face, and, with a voice full of 
meaning, said,- — • 

"Tell me everything — I cannot bear to doubt 
you. Was this a play transaction?" 

"A play transaction! No, sir, nothing like it." 
" Was there not a bet — some disputed wager — 
mixed up in it." 

"Yes, there was a wager, sir; but " 

Before I could conclude, my father pressed 
his hands against his eyes, and a faint sigh broke 
from him. 

" But hear me out, sir. The wager was none 
of mine." 

In a few moments I ran over the whole cir- 
cumstances of De Vere's bet, his conduct to Miss 
Bellew, and my own subsequent proceedings; but 
when I came to the mention of O'Grady's name, 
he stopped me suddenly, and said, — 

" Major O'Grady, however, did not approve of 
your conduct, in the affair." 

" O'Grady! He was my friend all through it." 
My father remained silent for a few minutes, 
and then in a low voice added, — 

"There has been misrepresentation here." 
The words vi'ere not well spoken when Lord 
Dudley de Vere, with my cousin Lady Julia on his 
arm, came up. The easy coolness of his man- 
ner, the tone of quiet indifference he assumed, 
were well known to rne; but I was in no wise 
prepared for the look of insufferable, patronizing 
impertinence he had now put on. M)' cousin, 
more beautiful far, than ever I had seen her, 
took off my attention from liim, and I turned 
with a feeling of half pride, half wonder to pay 
my respects to her. Dressed in the most perfect 
taste of the fashion, her handsome features wore 
the assured and tranquil expression which con- 
scious beauty gives. And here let no inexperi- 
enced observer raslily condemn the placid love- 
liness of the queen of beaut)-— the sanctioned 
belle of fashionable life; it is, indeed, very differ- 
ent from the artless loveliness of innocent girl- 
hood; but its claim is not less incontestable. The 
features, like the faculties, can be cultivated; and 
when no unnatural effort suggests the expression, 
who shall say that the mind habituallv exercised 
in society of the highest and most gifted circle, 
will not impart a more elevated character to the 
look, than when the unobtrusive career of every- 
day life flows on calm and unruffled, stee[)ing the 
soul in a dreary monotony, and calling for no 



\\ 



150. 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



effort save of tlie commonest kind. Julia's was 
indeed splendid beauty; the lustrous brilliancy 
of her dark blue eyes, shaded by long black 
lashes — the perfect contour of her cheeks — her 
full short lips, slightly, so slightly curled, you 
knew not if it were not more smile than sarcasm 
— the low tones of her voice were rich and musi- 
cal, and her carriage and demeanor possessed all 
the graceful elegance which is only met with in 
the society of great cities. Her manner was most 
frank and cordial; she held out her hand to me 
at once, and looked really glad to see me. After 
a few words of recognition, she turned towards 
De Vere, — 

"I shall ask you to excuse me, my lord, 
this set. It is so long since I have seen my 
cousin " 

He bowed negligently, muttered something 
carelessly about the next waltz, and with a fam- 
iliar nod to me, lounged away. O'Grady's cau- 
tion about this man's attentions to Julia at once 
came to my mind, and the easy tone of his man- 
ner towards her alarmed me; but I had no time 
for reflection, as she took my arm and sauntered 
down the room. 

"And so, my dear cousin, you have been lead- 
ing a very wild life of it — fighting duels, riding 
steeple-chases, breaking your own bones and 
ladies' hearts, in a manner exceedingly Irish," 
said Julia, with a smile. 

" From your letter I can learn, Julia, a very 
strange account of my doings must have reached 
my friends here. Except for yourself I have met 
with scarcely anything but cold looks since my 
arrival." 

"Oh, never mind that — people will talk, you 
know. For my part, Jack, I never will believe 
you anvthing but what I have always known 
you. The heaviest charge I have heard against 
you is that of trifling with a poor girl's affections; 
and as I know that the people who spread these 
rumors generally don't know at which side either 
the trifling or the affections reside, why, I think 
little about it." 

"And this lias been said of me?" 

" To be sure it has, and ten times as much. 
As to your gambling sins, there is no end to their 
enormity. A certain Mr. Rooney. I think the 
name is, a noted play-man " 

" Ho\y absurd, Julia! Mr. Rooney never 
played in his life; nor have I, except in the 
casual way every one does in a drawing-room." 

'" N' imporie — you are a lady-killer and a gamb- 
ler. Now as to count number three — for being 
a jockey?" 

" My dear Julia, if you saw my steeple-chase 
you'd acquit me of that." 

■' Indeed I did hear," said she, roguishly, 
" that you acquitted yourself admirably — but 
still you won. And then we come to the great 
olfence — your quarrelsome habits. We heard, it 
i^ true, that you behaved, as it is called, very hon- 
orably, &c. But really, duelling is so detesta- 
ble " 

" Come, come, fair cousin, let us talk of some- 
thing besides my delinquencies. What do you 
think of my friend O'Grady?" 

I said this suddenly, by way of reprisal; but 



to my utter discomfiture, she replied with per- 
fect calmness, — 

" I rather was amused with him at first. He 
is very odd — very unlike other people — but Ladv 
Charlotte took him up so, and we had so much 
of him here, I grew somewhat tired of him He 
was, however, very fond of yon, and you know 
that made up for much with us all." 

There was a tone of sweetness and almost of 
deep interest in these few last words that made 
my heart thrill, and unconsciously I pressed her 
arm closer to my side, and felt the touch re- 
turned. Just at the instant my father came for- 
ward accompanied by another, who I soon per- 
ceived was the royal duke that had received me 
so coldly a few minutes before. His frank, 
manly face was now all smiles, and his bright eye 
glanced from my fair cousin to myself with a 
quick, meaning expression. 

"Another time, general, will do quite as well. 
I say, Mr. Hinton, call on me to-morrow morn- 
ing about ten, will you? I have something to 
say to you." 

I bowed deeply in reply, and he passed on. 

"And let me see you after breakfast," said 
Julia, in a half whisper, as she turned towards 
De Vere, who now came forward to claim her 
for the waltz. 

My father, too, mixed with the crowd, and I 
felt myself alone and a stranger in what should 
have been my home. A kind of cold thrill came 
over me as I thought how unlike was my welcome 
to what it would have been in Ireland; for al- 
though I felt that in my father's manner towards 
me there was no want of affection or kindness, 
yet somehow I missed the exuberant warmtliand 
ready cordiality I had latterly been used to; and 
soon turned away, sad and disappointed, to seek 
my own room. 



CHAPTER XLVin. 

AN UNHAPPY DISCLOSURE. 

"What!" cried I, as I awoke the next morn- 
ing, and looked with amazement at the figure 
who waddled across the room with a boot in 
either hand^" what, not Corny Delany, sureh?" 

" Ugh, that same," said he, with a cranky 
croak; " I don't wonder ye don't know nie; 
hardship's telling on me every day." 

Now really, in vindication of my father's 
household, in which Sir Corny had lieen domes- 
ticated for the last two months, I must observe, 
tliat the alteration in his appearance \\ as not ex- 
actly such as to justify his remark; on the con- 
trary, he had grown fatter and more ruddy, and 
looked in far better case than I had ever seen 
him; his face, however, most pers'everingly pre- 
served its habitual sour and crabbed expression, 
rather increased than otherwise by his improved 
condition. 

" So, Corny, you are not comfortable here I 
find." 

"Comfortable! The ways of this place would 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



151 



.kill the Danes! Nothing but ringing bells from 
morning till night; carriages drivin' like wind 
up to the door, and bang, bang away at the rap- 
per; then more ringing to let thein out again; 
and bells for breakfast, and for luncheon, and 
the hall dinner; and then the sight of vi'tals 
that's wasted; meat, and fish, and fowl, and 
vegetables, without end. Ugh, the haythins, the 
Turks, eating and drinking as if the world was 
all their own." 

" Well, apparently they take good care of you 
in that respect." 

" Devil a bit of care; here it's every man 
for himself; but I'll give warning on Saturday; 
sorrow one o' me'U be kilt for the like of 
them." 

" You prefer Ireland, then, Corny?" 

" Who said I did ?" said he, snappishly; " isn't 
it as bad there? Ugh, ugh, the captain won't 
rest asy in his grave, after the way he irated iiic! 
leaving me here alone and dissolate in this place, 
amongst strangers." 

" Well, you must confess, the country is not so 
bad." 

"And why would I confess it? What's in it 
that I don't mislike? Is it the heap of houses, 
and the smoke, and the devil's noise that's always 
going on that I'd like? Why isn't it peaceful 
and quiet like Dublin?" 

And as I conversed further with him, I found 
that all his dislikes proceeded from the discrep- 
ancy he everywhere discovered from what he 
had b^en accustomed to in Ireland, and which, 
without liking, he still preferred to our Saxon 
observances; the few things he saw worthy of 
praise being borrowed or stolen from his own 
side of the Channel. And in this his ingenuity 
was striking, inasmuch that the very trees in 
Woburn Park owed their goodness to the owner 
having been once a lord-lieutenant in Ireland; 
where, as Corny expressed it, "Devil thank him 
to have fine trees; hadn't he the pick of the 
Phaynix!" 

I knew that candor formed a most prominent 
feature in Mr. Delany's character, and conse- 
quently had little difficulty in ascertaining his 
ouinion of every member of my family, indeed, 
to do him him justice, no one ever required less 
of what is called pumping. His judgment on 
things and people flowed from him without effort 
or restraint, so that, ere half an hour elapsed, he 
had expatiated on my mother's pride and vanitv, 
apostrojjhized my father's hastiness and deter- 
mination, and was quite prepared to enter upon 
a critical examination of my cousin [ulia's fail- 
ings; concerning whom, to my astonishment, he 
was not half so lenient as I expected. 

" Arrah, isn't she like the rest of them, coort- 
ing one day with Captain Phil, and another with 
the young lord there, and then laughing at them 
both with the ould duke that comes here to din- 
ner. She thinks I don't be minding her; but 
didn't I see her taking myself off one day on 
paper, making a drawing of me, as if I was a 
baste! Maybe there's worse nor me," said the 
little man, looking down upon his crooked shins 
and large knee-joints with singular complacency, 
"and maybe she'd get one of them yet." A 



harsh cackle, the substitute for a laugh, closed 
this speech. 

"Breakfast on the table, sir," said a servant, 
tapping gently at the door. 

" I'll engage it is, and will be till two o'clock, 
when they'll be calling out for luncheon," said 
Corny, turningup the whites of his eyes, as though 
the profligate waste of the house was a sin he 
wished to wash his hands of; " that wasn't the 
way at his honor \\\tjidges; he'd never taste a 
bit from morning till night; and many a man 
he'd send to his long account in the meantime. 
Ugh! I wish I was back there." 

" I have spent many happy days in Ireland, 
too," said I, scarce following him in more than 
the general meaning of his speech. 

A fit of coughing from Corny interrupted his 
reply,' but as he left the room I could hear his 
muttered meditations, something in this strain: — 

"Happy days, indeed; a dacent life you led! 
tramping about the country with a fool! horse- 
riding and fighting! ugh!" 

I found my cousin in the breakfast-room alone; 
my father had already gone out; and as Lady 
Charlotte never left her rocm before three or 
four o'clock, I willingly took the opportunity of 
our tete-a-iete, to inquire into the cause of the 
singular reception I had met with, and to seek 
an explanation, if so might be, of the viceroy's 
change towards me since his visit to England. 

Julia entered frankly and freely into the whole 
matter, with the details of which, though evident- 
ly not trusting me to the full, she was, some- 
how, perfectly conversant. 

"My dear John," said she, " your whole con- 
duct in Ireland has been much mistaker. " 

" Calumniated, apparently, were the better 
word, Julia," said I, hastily. 

" Nay, hear me out it is so easy, when people 
have no peculiar reasons to vindicate another, to 
misconstrue — perhaps condemn. It is so much 
the way of the world to look at things in their 
worst light, that I am sure you will see no par- 
ticular ingenuity was required to make your 
career in Dublin appear a wild one, and your life 
in the country still more so. Now you are grow- 
ing impatient; you are getting angry; so I shall 
stop." 

"No, no, Julia, a thousand pardons if a pass- 
ing shade of indignation did show itself in my 
face. Pray go on." 

" Well, then, when a young gentleman, whose 
exclusive leanings were even a little quizzed here 
• — there, no impatience! — condescends at one 
spring to frequent third-rate people's houses, fall 
in love with a niece, or a daughter, or a some- 
thing, there, plays high among riotous associates, 
makes rash wagers, and fights with his friends, 
who endeavor to rescue him " 

" Thank you, Julia — a thousand thanks, sweet 
cousin. 'The whole narrative and its author are 
palpably before me." 

A deep blush covered her cheek as I rose hastily 
from my chair. 

■'John, dear John, sit down again," said she; I 
have only been in jest s\\ this time. You surely 
do not suppose me silly enough to credit one 
word of all this." 



152 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



" It must have been told you, however," said 
I, fixing my eyes on her as I spoke. 

The redness of her cheek grew deeper, and her 
confusion increased to a painful extent as, taking 
my hand in hers, she said in a low, soft voice — 

" I have been very, very foolish; but you will 
promise me never to remember — at least never to 
act upon — the " 

The words became fainter and fainter as she 
spoke, and at last died away inaudibly; and sud- 
denly there shot across my mind the passage in 
O'Grady's letter — the doubt, once suggested, 
gained strength every moment — she loved De 
Vere. 1 will not attempt to convey the conflict- 
ing storm of passion this thought stirred up 
within me. I turned towards her. Her head 
was thrown gently back, and her deep blue lus- 
trous eyes were fixed on me as if waiting fny re- 
])ly. A tear rolled heavily along her cheek — it 
was the first I ever saw her shed. Pressing her 
hand to my lips, I muttered tiie words — '' Trust 
me, Julia," and left the room. 

"Sir George wishes to see you, sir, in his own 
room," said a servant, as I stood stunned and 
overcome by the discovery I had made of my 
cousin's affection. I had no time given me for 
further reflection as I foUoived him to my father's 
room. 

" Sit down. Jack," said my father, as he turned 
the key in the door; " I wish to talk with you 
alone, here. I have been with the duke this 
morning; a little explanation has satisfied him 
that your conduct was perfectly irreproachable in 
Ireland. He writes by this post to the viceroy 
to make the whole thing clear; and, indeed, he 
offered to reinstate you at once, which I refused, 
however. Now to something graver still, my 
boy, and which I wish I could spare you — but it 
cannot be." 

As he spoke these words, he leaned his head in 
both his hands, and was silent. A confused, im- 
})erfect sense of some impending bad news ren- 
dered me motionless and still, and I waited with- 
out speaking. When my father lifted up his 
head, his face was pale and careworn, and an ex- 
pression such as long illness leaves, had usurped 
the strong and manly character of his counte- 
nance. 

" Come, my boy, I must not keep you longer 
in suspense. Fortune has dealt hardly with me 
since we parted. Jack, I am a ruined man'" 

A convulsii'e gulp, and a rattling sound in the 
throat, followed the words; and, for a second or 
two, his fixed looks and purple color made me 
fear a fit was approaching. But in a few minutes 
he recovered his calmness, and proceeded, but 
still with a broken and tremulous voice, to relate 
the circumstances of his altered fortune. 

It appeared that many British officers of high 
rank had involved themselves deeply in a loan to 
the Spanish Government, under the 'faith of 
speedy repayment. The varying chances of the 
Peninsular struggle had given this loan all the 
character of a gambling speculation, the skill in 
which consisted in the anticipation of the result 
of the war we were then engaged in. My 
father's sanguine hopes of ultimate success in- 
duced him to enter deeply in the speculation, 



from which, having once engaged in, there was 
no retreat. Thousand after thousand followed, 
to secure the sum already advanced; and at last, 
hard pressed by the increasing demands for 
money, and confident that the first turn of fortune 
would lead to repayment, he had made use of the 
greater part of my cousin Julia's fortune, whose 
guardian he was, and in whose hands this trust- 
money had been left. My cousin would come of 
age in about four montlis, at which time she 
would be eighteen, and then, if the money were 
not forthcoming, the consequences were utter 
ruin, with the terrific blow of blasted character 
and reputation. 

There was a sum often thousand pounds settled 
on me by my grandfather, which I at once offered 
to place at his disposal. 

"Alas, my poor fellow' I have advanced al- 
ready upwards of thirty thousand of Julia's 
fortune! No, no, Jack; I have thought much 
over the matter; there is but one way of escap- 
ing from this difficulty By disposing of these 
bonds at considerable loss, I shall be enabled to 
pay Julia's money. This will leave us little 
better than above actual want- still it must be 
done. I shall solicit a command abroad: they'll 
not refuse me, I know. Lady Charlotte must 
retire to Bath, or some quiet place, which in my 
absence will appear less remarkable. Strict econ- 
omy and time will do much. And as to your- 
self, I know that having once learned what you 
have to look to, I shall have no cause of com- 
plaint on your score: the duke has promised to 
take care of you. And now, my heart is lighter 
than it has been for some months past." 

Before my father had ceased speaking, the 
shock of his news gradually subsided with me, 
and I was fully intent on the details by which he 
hoped to escape his embarrassments. 

My mother was my first thought. Lady 
Charlotte, I knew could never encounter her 
changed condition; she was certain to sink under 
the very shock of it. 

My father, however, supposed that she need 
not be told its full extent; that by management 
the circumstance should be gradually made 
known to her; and he hoped, too, her interest in 
her luisband andson, both absent from her, would 
withdraw her thoughts in great measure from the 
routine of fashionable life, and fix them in a 
channel more homely and domestic. "Be- 
sides," added he, with more animation of voice, 
" they may offer me some military appointment 
in the colonies, where she could accompany me, 
and this would prevent an exposure. And, after 
all. Jack, there is nothing else for it." As he 
said this he fixed his eyes on me, as though rather 
asking than answering the question. 

Not knowing what to reply, I was silerrt. 

" You were fond of Julia, as a boy," said lie, 
carelessly. 

The blood rushed to my cheek, as I answered, 
"Yes, sir; but— but " 

" But you have outgrown that," added he, with 
a smile. 

" Not so much, sir, as that she has forgotten 
me In fact, I believe we are excellent cousins." 

" And it is not now, my dear boy, I would en- 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



153 



deavor to make you more to each other. What 
is not a union of inclination shall never be one 
of sordid interest; besides, Jack, why should we 
not take the field together? — the very thought of 
it makes me feel young enougli." 

I saw his lip quiver as he spoke, and unable to 
bear more, I wrung his hand warmly and-hurried 
away. 



CHAPTER XLIX. 



THE HORSE GUARDS. 



I WILL not say that my reverse of fortune did 
not depress me, indeed, the first blow fell heavily; 
but that once past, a number of opposing mo- 
tives rallied my courage and nerved my heart. 
My father, I knew, relied on me in this crisis to 
support his own strength; I had learned to care 
less for e.vtravagant habits and expensive tastes, 
by living among those who accorded them little 
sympathy, and less respect; besides, if my changed 
career excluded me from the race of fashion, it 
opened the brilliant path of a soldier's life before 
me. And now every hour seemed an age, until 
I should find myself -among the gallant fellows 
who were winning their laurels in the battle- 
fields of the Peninsula. 

According to the duke's appointment of the 
preceding evening, I found myself, at ten o'clock 
punctually, awaiting my turn to be introduced, 
in the ante-chamber of the Horse Guards. The 
room was crowded with ofificers in full dress; 
some old white-haired generals of division com- 
ing daily for years past to solicit commands their 
fitness for which lay only in their own doting 
imaginations; some, broken by sickness and 
crippled with wounds, were seeking colonial ap- 
pointments they never could live to reach; hale 
and stout men, in the prime of life, were there 
also, entreating e.xchanges which should accom- 
modate their wives and daughters, who preferred 
Bath or Cheltenham to the banks of the Tagus 
or the snows of Canada. Among these, however, 
were many fine soldier-like fellows, whose only 
request was to be sent where hard knocks were 
going, careless of the climate, and regardless of 
the cause. Another class were thinly sprinkled 
around; young officers of the staff, many of them 
delicate, effeminate-looking figures, herding scru- 
])ulously together, and never condescending, by 
word or look, to acknowledge their brethren about 
them. In this knot De Vere was conspicuous, by 
the loud tone of his voice, and the continued titter 
of his unmeaning laugh. I have already men- 
tioned the consummate ease with which he could 
apparently forget all unpleasant recollections, 
and accost the man whom he should have blushed 
to meet. Now he exhibited this power in per- 
fection: saluting me across the room with a 
familiar motion of his head, he called out, — 

"Ah, Hinton, you here, too? Sick of Ireland; 
I knew it would come to that. Looking for some- 
thing near town?" 

A cold negative, and a colder bow, was my only 
answer. 



Nothing abashed by this, indeed, to all seem- 
ing, quite indifferent to it, he continued, — 

"Bad style of thing, Dublin; couldn't stand 
those confounded talkers, with their old jokes 
from circuit. You were bored, too; I saw it." 

" I beg, my lord," said I, in a tone of serious- 
ness, the best exchange I could assume for the 
deep annoyance I felt — "I beg that you will not 
include me in your opinions respecting Ireland; 
I opine we differ nialcrially in our impressions of 
that country, and perhaps not without reason 
too." These latter words I spoke with marked 
emphasis, and fixing my eyes steadily on him. 

" Very possibly," lisped he, as coolly as before. 
"I left it without regret; you apparently ought to 
be there still. Ha, ha, ha! he has it there I 
think." 

The blood mounted to my face and temples as 
I heard these words, and stepping close up beside 
him, I said slowly and distinctly, — 

''I thought, sir, that one ksson might have 
taught you with whom these liberties were prac- 
ticable." 

As I said thus much the, door opened, and his 
grace the duke of York appeared. Abashed at 
having so far forgotten where I was, I stood 
motionless and crimson for shame. Lord Dudley, 
on the contrary, bowed reverently to his royal 
highness, without the slightest evidence of dis- 
composure or irritation, his easy smile curling his 
lip. 

The duke turned from one to the other of us 
without speaking, his dark eyes piercing, as it 
were, into our very liearts. "Lord Dudley de 
Vere," said he at length, "I have signed }Our ap- 
pointment. Mr. Hinton, I am sorry to find that 
the voice I have heard more than once within the 
last five minutes, in an angry tone, was yours. 
Take care, sir, that this forgetfulness does not 
grow upon you. The colonel of the Twenty- 
seventh is not the person to overlook it, I promise 
you." 

" If your royal highness " 

" I must entreat you to spare me any explana- 
tions. You are gazetted to the Twenty-seventh. 
I hope you will hold yourself in readiness for im- 
mediate embarkation. Where is the detachment. 
Sir Howard?" 

" At Chatham, your royal highness," replied 
an old officer behind the duke's shoulder. At 
the same moment his grace passed through the 
room, conversing as he went with different per- 
sons about him. 

As I turned away, I met Lord Dudley's eyes; 
they were riveted on me with an expression of 
triumphant malice I had never seen in them be- 
fore, and I hurried homeward with a heart 
crushed and wounded. 

I have but one reason for the mention of this 
trivial incident; it is to show how often the 
studied courtesy, the well-practised deception 
that the fashion of the world teaches, will prevail 
over the heartfelt, honest indignation which deep 
feeling evinces; and what a vast superiority the 
very affectation of temper confers, in the judg- 
ment of others, who stand by the game of_ life, 
and care nothing for the players of either side. 

Let no one suspect me of lauding the mockery 



154 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



of virtue in what I say here. I would merely 
impress on the young man who can feel for the 
deep sorrow and abasement I suffered, the im- 
portance of the attainment of that self-command, 
of that restraint over any outbreak of passion, 
when the very semblance of it ensures respect 
and admiration. 

It is very difficult to witness with indifference 
the preference of those we have once loved for 
some other person; still more so, when that other 
chances to be one we dislike, the breach of af- 
fection seems then tinctured with a kind of be- 
trayal: we call to mind how once we swayed the 
temper and ruled the thoughts of her who has 
now thrown off her allegiance; we feel, perhaps, 
for the first time too, how forgotten are our les- 
sons, how dead is all our wonted influence, we 
remember when the least word, the slightest ac- 
tion, bent beneath our will; when our smile was 
happiness, and our very sadness a reproof; and 
now we see ourselves unminded and neglected, 
with no more liberty to advise, no more power 
lO control, than the merest stranger of the pass- 
ing hour. What a wcund to our self-love! 

That my cousin Julia loved de Vere, O'Grady's 
suspicions had already warned me; the little I 
had seen of her since my return strengthened the 
impression, while his confident manner and as- 
sured tone confirmed my worst fears. In my 
heart I knew how utterly unworthy he was of 
such a girl, but, then, if he had already won her 
affections, my knowledge came too late, besides, 
the changed circumstances of my own fortune, 
which must soon become known, would render 
my interference suspected, and consequently of 
no value, and after all, if I determined on such 
a course, what allegation could I bring against 
him which he could not explain away, as the 
mere levity of the young officer, associating 
among those he looked down upon and despised 

Such were some of my reflections as I slowly 
returned homewards from the Horse Guards. As 
I arrived a travelling-carriage stood at the door, 
boxes, imperials, and cap-cases littered the hall 
and steps, servants were hurrying back and for- 
ward, and Mademoiselle Clemence, my mother's 
maid, who with a poodle under one arm, and a 
macaw's cage in the other, was adding to the 
confusion, by directions in a composite language, 
that would have astonished Babel itself. 

" What means all this?" said I. ' Is Lady Char- 
lotte leaving town?" 

" Miladi va partir " 

"Her ladyship's going to Hastings, sir, ' said 

the butler, interrupting, " Dr.Y has been here 

this morning, and recommends an immediate 
change of air for her ladyship." 

" Is Sir George in the house?" 

" No, sir, he's just gone out with the doctor.' 

"Ah," thought I, "this then is a concerted 
measure, to induce my mother to leave town. 
Lady Julia at home?" 

"Yes, sir, in the drawing-room." 

" Whose horse is that with the groom?" 

"Lord Dudley de Vere's, sir: he's up-stairs.' 

Already had I turned to go to the drawing- 
room, when I heard these words. Suddenly a 
faint, half-sick feeling came over me, and I has- 



tened up-stairs to my own room, actually dreading 
to meet any one as I went. 

The blank future before me never seem.ed so 
cheerless as at that moment; separated, without 
a chance of ever meeting, from the only one I 
ever really loved tortured by my doubts of her 
feeling -for me — for 'even now, what would I not 
have given to know that she loved me; my 
worldly prospects ruined; without a home; my 
cousin Julia the only one who retained either an 
interest in me or seemed to care for me, about to 
give her hand to the man I hated and despised. 

'■ How soon! and I shall be alone in the world," 
thought I; and already the cold selfishness of 
isolation presented itself to my mind. 

A gentle tap came to the door, I opened it, 
it was a message from Lady Charlotte, requesting 
to see me in her room. As I passed the door of 
the drawing-room, I heard Lady Julia and Lord 
de Vere talking and laughing together: he was, 
as usual. " so amusing," as my mother's letter 
called him; doubtless, relating my hasty and in- 
temperate conduct at the Horse Guards, for an 
instant I stopped, irresolute as to ^^hether I should 
not break suddenly in, and disconcert his loid- 
ship s practical coolness by a disclosure, my bet- 
ter reason prevented me, and I passed on. Lady 
Charlotte was seated in a deep aimchair, insjject- 
ing the packing of various articles of toilet and 
jewelry which were going on around her, her 
cheek somewhat flushed from even this small ex- 
citement. 

"Ah, dearest John, how d'ye do? Find a 
chair somewhere, and sit down by me, you see 
what confusion we're in, Dr Y-— found there 
was not an hour to spare, the heart he suspects 
to be sympathetically engaged — don't put that 
Chantilly veil there, I shall never get at it — and 
he advises Hastings for the present, he's coming 
with us, however — I'll wear that ring, Clemence — 
and I must insist on his looking at you; you are 
very pale to-day and dark under the eyes, have 
you any pain in the side?" 

'' None, whatever, my dear mother, I'm quite 
well ' 

'' Pain is, however, a late symptom, my attack 
began with an — a sense of — it was rather— — has 
Rundel not sent back that bracelet? How very 
provoking! Could you call there, dear John; 
that tiresome man never minds the servants. It's 
just on your way to the club, or the Horse Guards, 
or somewhere." 

I could scarce help a smile, as I promised not 
to forget the commission. 

"And now, my dear, how did his grace receive 
you? you saw him this morning." 

" My interview was quite satisfactory on the 
main point, I am appointed to the 27th. 

" Why not on the staff, dear John? You surely 
do not mean to leave England, having been 
abroad already — in Ireland, I mean; it's very 
hard to expect you to go so soon again. Lady 
Jane Colthurst's son has never been farther from 
her than Knightsbridge; and I'm sure I don't see 
why we are to be treated worse than her. 

"But my own wish " 

"Your own wish, my dear, could never be to 
give me uneasiness, which, I assure you, you did 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



155 



very considerably while in Ireland; the horrid 
people you made acquaintance with — my health, 
I'm certain, could never sustain a repetition of 
the shock I experienced then." 

My mother leaned back and closed her eyes, 
as if some very dreadful circumstance was passing 
across lier memory; and I, half ashamed of the 
position to which she would condemn me, was 
silent. 

"There, that aigrette will do very well there; 
I'm sure, I don't know why you are putting in 
all these things; I shall never want them again, 
in all likelihood." 

The depressed tone in which these words were 
spoken did not affect me much, for I knew well, 
from long habit, how my mother loved to dwell 
on the possibility of that event, the bare sugges- 
tion of which, from another, she couldn't have 
endured. 

Just at this moment Julia entered in her trav- 
elling dress, a shawl thrown negligently across 
her shoulders. 

" I hope I have not delayed you. John, are we 
to have your company too?" 

" No, my dear," said my mother, languidly, 
" he's going to leave us. Some foolish notion of 
active service " 

"Indeed," said Julia, not waiting for the con- 
clusion^f the speech — "indeed!" She drew near 
me, and as she did so her color became heiglit- 
ened, and iier dark eyes grew darker and more 
meaning. " You never told me this." 

' I only knew it about an liour ago myself," 
replied I, coolly; "and when I was about to 
communicate my news to you, I found you were 
engaged with a visitor — Lord de Vere, I 
think." 

"All, yes, very true, he was here," she said, 
quickly; and then perceiving that my eyes were 
fixed upon her, she turned away her head hastily, 
and in evident confusion. 

' Dear me, it is so late!" said my mother with 
a sigh. " I have some calls to make yet. l^on t 
you think, John, you could take them off my 
hands? It's only to drop a card at Lady Blair's, 
and you could ask if Caroline's better — though, 
poor thing! she can't be, of course. Doctor 

Y says her malady is exactly my own; and 

then, if you are passing Long's, tell Sir Charles 
that our whist-party is put off — -jserhaps Gram- 
mont has told him already. You may mention 
to Saunders that I shall not want the horses till 
I return; and say I detest greys, they are so like 
city people's equipages; and wait an instant" — 
here her ladyship took a small ivory memorandum 
tablet from the table, and began reading from it 
a list of commissions, some of them most ludic- 
rously absurd. In the midst of the catalogue my 
father entered hastily, with a watch in his hand. 

"You'll be dreadfully late on the road, Char- 
lotte, and you forget Y must be back here 

early to-morrow." 

" So I had forgotten it," said she, with some 
animation; "but we're quite ready now — Clem- 
ence has done everything, I think. Come, John, 
give m3 your arm, my dear — Julia always takes 
this side. Are you certain it won't rain, Sir 
George?" 



" I really cannot be positive," said my father, 
smiling. 

"I'm sure there's thunder in the air," rejoined 
my mother; " my nerves would never bear a 
storm." 

Some dreadful catastrophe in the West Indies, 
where an earthquake had swallowed up a whole 
population, occurred to her memory at the instant, 
and the possibility of something similar occur- 
ring between Seven Oaks and Tunbridge seemed 
to engross her entire attention. By this time we 
reached the hall, where the servants, drawn up 
in double file, stood in respectful silence. My 
mother's eyes were, however, directed upon a 
figure which occupied the place next the door, 
and whose costume certainly was strangely at 
variance with the accurate liveries about him. 
An old white greatcoat with some twenty capes 
reaching nearly to the ground — for the gaiment 
liad been originally destined for a much larger 
person — a glazed hat, fastened down viih a 
handkerchief passed over it and tied under the 
chin, and a blackthorn stick with a little bundle 
at the end of it, were the most remarkable equip- 
ments. 

" What is it? What can it be doing ll-,ere?" 
said my mother, in a Siddons tone of voice. 

"What is it? Corny Delany, no less," croaked 
out the little man, in the crankiest tone of his 
harsh voice. " It's what rtmains of me, at laste!" 

"Oh, yes," said Julia, bursting into a laugh, 
" Corny's coming as my body-guard. He'll sit 
in the rumble with Thomas." 

"What a shocking figure it is," said my mother, 
surveying him through her glass. 

" Time doesn't improve either of us," said 
Corny, with the grin of a demon — happily the 
observation was only heard by myself. " Is it 
in silk stockings I'd be trapesing about the roads 
all night, with the rheumatiz in the small of my 
back — ugh, the haythins!" 

My mother was at length seated in the carriage, 
with Julia beside her- — the hundred and one petty 
annoyances to make travelling uncomfortable, by 
way of rendering it supportable, around her. 
Corny had mounted to his place beside 1 hcmas, 
who regarded him with a look of as prolound 
contempt as a sleek, well-fed pointer would con- 
fer upon some mangy mongrel of the roadside; a 
hurried good-bye from my mother, a quick short 
glance from Julia, a whisper lost in the crash of 
the wheels, and they were gone. 



CHAPTER L. 

THE RETREAT FRO.M BURGOS. 

Few men have gone through life without pass- 
ing through certain periods which, although not 
marked by positive misfortune, were yet so im- 
pressed by gloom and despondence, that their 
very retrospect is saddening. Happy it is for us 
that in after-days our memory is but little reten- 
tive of these. We remember the shadows that 
darkened over the landscape; but we forget in 
great part their cause and their duration, and 



156 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



perhaps even sometimes are disposed to smile at 
the sources of grief to which long habit of the 
world and its ways would have made us callous. 
I was almost alone in the world — bereft of 
fortune, separated irrevocably from the only one 
I loved, and by whom I had reason to thmk my 
affection was returned. In that home to which 
I should have looked for fondness, I found only 
gloom and misfortune. My mother grown insen- 
sible to everything save some frivolous narrative 
of her own healtli; my father, once high-spirited. 
and free-hearted, careworn, depressed, and 
broken; my cousin, my early playfellow, half 
sweetheart and half sister, bestowing her heart 
and affections on one so unworthy of her. All lost 
to me: and at a time, too, when the heart is too 
weak and tender to stand alone, but must cling 
to something, or it sinks upon the earth, crushed 
and trodden upon. 

I looked back upon my past life, and thought 
over the happy hours I had passed in the wild 
West, roaming through its deep valleys and over 
its heath-clad mountains. I thought of her, my 
companion through many a long summer-day, 
along the rocky shore, against which the white 
waves were ever beating, watching the sea-birds 
careering full many a fathom deep below us, mix- 
ing their shrill cries with the wilder plash of the 
ever restless sea; and how we dreamed away 
those hours, now half in sadness, now in bright 
hope of long years to come, and found ourselves 
thus wardering hand in hand, loved and loving; 
and then I looked out upon the bleak world be- 
fore me, without an object to win, without a goal 
to strive at. 

" Come, Jack," said my father, laying his hand 
on my shoulder, and startling me out of my rev- 
erie, "one piece of good fortune we have had. 
The duke has given me the command at Chat- 
ham. Some hint of my altered circumstances, 
it seems, had reached him, and, without my ap- 
plying, he most kindly sent for me, and told me 
of my appointment. You must join the service 
companies of the Twenty-seventh by to-morrow. 
They are under sailing orders, and no time is to 
be lost. I told his grace, that for all your soft 
looks and smooth chin, there was no lack of 
spirit in your heart; and you must take an eagle. 
Jack, if you would keep up my credit." 

Laughingly spoken as these few words were, 
they somehow struck upon a chord that had long 
lain silent in my heart, and as suddenly awoke in 
,nie the burning desire for distinction, and the am- 
bitious thirst of military glory. 

The ne-xt evening, at sunset, the transport 
weighed anchor and stood out to sea. A slight 
breeze off shore, and an ebb tide, carried us gen- 
tly away from land, and as night was falling I 
stood alone, leaning on the bulwarks, and look- 
ing fi.Kedly on the faint shadows of the tall chalk 
cliffs, my father's last words, " You must take an 
eagle. Jack!" still ringing in my ears, and sinking 
deeply into my heart. 

The subaltern of a marching regiment — a crack 
corps, it is true — I saw merely the ordinary de- 
tails of a campaigning life; and although my de- 
sire to distinguish myself rose each day higher, 
the greatest extent of my ren'-"'n went no further 



than the admiration of my comrades, that one so 
delicately nurtured and brought up should bear 
so cheerfully and well the roughingsof a soldier's 
life; and my sobriquet of " Jack Hmton, the 
Guardsman," was earned among the stormy 
scenes and blood-stained fields of the Peninsula. 
My first experiences of military life were indeed 
but little encouraging. I joined the army in the 
disastrous retreat from Burgos. What a shock 
lo all my cherished notions of a campaign! How 
sadly different to my ideas of the pride, pomp, 
and circumstances of glorious war! I remember 
well we first came up with the retiring forces on 
the morning of the 4th of No^tmber. 1 he day 
broke heavily; masses of dark and weighty cloud 
drifted across the sky. The ground was soaked 
with rain, and a cold, chilling wind swept across 
the bleak plain, and moaned dii-mally in the dark 
pine woods. Our party, which consisted of 
draughts from the Fiftieth, Twenly-sevtnth, and 
.Seventy-first regiments, were stationed in a few 
miserable hovels on the side of the high read 
from Madrid to Labeyos. By a mistake of the 
way, we had missed a body of trcops on the pre- 
ceding day, and were now halted liere in expec- 
tation of joining some of the corps retiring on the 
Portuguese frontier. Soon after dajbreak alow 
rumbling sound, at first supposed to be the noise of 
distant cannonading, attracted our attention; but 
some stragglers coming up Eoon after, infoinied 
us that it proceeded from tumbrils ,Erd rmniu- 
nition-wagons of Sir Lowry Cole's brigade, then 
on the march. The news was scarcely ccnimuni- 
cated, when the head of a column appeared top- 
ping the hill. 

As they came nearer, we remarked that the men 
did not keep their ranks, but stra)'ed across the 
road from side lo side; seme carried ih.eir mus- 
kets by the sling, others on the shoulder; some 
leant on their companions, as though faint and 
sick; and many there were whofe sa\.'ige koks 
and bloated features denoted drunkenness. The 
uniforms were torn and ragged, several had no 
shoes, and some even had lest their caps and 
shakos, and wore handkerchiefs bound round 
their heads. Among these the cfificers were al- 
most undistinguishable; fatigue, hardship, and 
privation had levelled them with the men; and 
discipline scarcely remained in that disorganized 
mass. On they came, their eyes bent only on 
the long vista of road that lay before them. Some, 
silent and sad, trudged on side by side; others, 
maddened by drink or wild with the excitement 
of fever, uttered frightful and horrible ravirgs. 
Some flourished their bayonets, and threatened 
all within their reach, and denunciations of their 
officers and open avowals of desertion were heard 
on every side as they went. The bugle sounded 
a halt as the column reached the little hamlet 
where we were stationed; and in a few seconds the 
road and the fields at either side were covered 
by the figures of the men, who threw themselves 
down on the spot where they stood, in every pos- 
ture that weariness and exhaustion could sug- 
gest. 

All the information we could collect was, that 
this force formed part of the rear-guard of the 
army; that the French under Marshal Soult were 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



167 



hotly in pursuit, having already driven in the 
cavalry outpost, and more than once throwing 
their skirmishers amongst our fellows. In a few 
minutes the bugle again sounded to resume the 
inarch; and however little disposed to yield to 
the dictates of discipline, old habit, stronger than 
even lawless insubordination, prevailed; the men 
rose, and, falling in with some semblance of 
order, continued their way. Nothing struck me 
more in that motley mass of ragged uniform and 
patched clothing, than the ferocious, almost 
savage expression of the soldiers as they marched 
past our better equipped and better disciplined 
party. Their dark scowl betokened deadly hate; 
and I could see the young men of our detachment 
quail beneath the insulting ruffianism of their 
gaze. Every now and then some one or other 
would throw down his pack or knapsack to the 
ground, and with an oath asseverate his resolve 
to carry it no longer. Some even declared they 
would abandon their arms; and more than one 
sat down by the wayside, preferring death or im- 
prisonment from the enemy to the horrors and 
severities of that dreadful march. 

The Highland regiments and the Guards alone 
preserved their former discipline; the latter, in- 
deed, had only lately joined the army, having 
landed at Corunna a few weeks previously, and 
were perfect in every species of equipment. Join- 
ing myself to a group of their officers, 1 followed 
in the march, and was enabled to learn some 
tidings of my friend O'Grady, who, I was glad to 
hear, was only a few miles in advance of us, with 
his regiment. 

Towards three o'clock we entered a dark pine 
wood, through which the route continued for 
several miles. Here the march became extremely 
difficult, from the deep clayey soil, the worn and 
cut-up road, and, more than all, the torrents of 
rain that swept along the narrow gorge, and threw 
a darkness, almost like night, over everything. 
We plodded on gloomily, and scarcely speaking, 
when suddenly the galloping of horses was heard 
in the rear, and we were joined by Sir Edward 
Paget, who, with a single aide-de-camp, rode up 
to our division. After a few hurried questions 
to the officer in command, he wheeled his horse 
round, and rode back towards the next column, 
which, from some accidental delay, was yet two 
miles in the rear. The sound of the horses' hoofs 
were still ringing along the causeway, when a 
loud shout, followed by the sharp reports of 
pistol-firing, mingled with the voice. In an in- 
stant all was still as before, and save the crash- 
ing of the pine branches and the beating rain, no 
other sound was heard. 

Our conjectures as to the cause of the firing 
were just making, when an orderly dragoon, bare- 
headed and wounded, cime up at the top of his 
horse's speed. The few hurried words he spoke 
in a half whisper to our commanding officer were 
soon reported through the lines. Sir Edward 
Paget, our second in command, had been taken 
prisoner, carried away by a party of French 
cavalry, who were daring enough to dash in be- 
tween the columns, which in no other retreat had 
they ventured to approach. 

The temerity of our enemy, added to our own 



dispirited and defenceless condition, was the only 
thing wanting to complete our gloom and depres- 
sion, and the march was now resumed in the 
dogged sullenness of despair. 

Day followed day,, and all the miseries of our 
state but increased with time, till on the morn- 
ing of the 17th the town of Ciudad Rodrigo came 
in view, and the rumor spread that stores of all 
kinds would be served out to the famished troops. 

By insubordination and intemperance we had 
lost seven thousand men since the day the retreat 
from Burgos began, and although neither har- 
assed by night marches nor excessive journeys — 
losing neither guns, ammunition, nor standards — 
yet was the memorable document addressed by 
Wellington to the officers commanding divisions 
but too justly merited, concluding in these words: 
"The discipline of every army, after a long and 
active campaign, becomes in some degree re- 
laxed, but I am concerned to observe that the 
army under my command has fallen off in this 
respect to a greater degree than any army with 
which I have ever been, or of which 1 have ever 
read." 



CHAPTER LI. 



A MISHAP. 



If I began my career as a soldier at one of 
the gloomiest periods of our Peninsular struggle, 
I certainly was soon destined to witness one of 
the most brilliant achievements of our arms in 
the opening of the campaign of 1813. 

On the 22nd of May the march began — that 
forward movement, for the hour of whose com- 
ing many a heart had throbbed, and many a 
bosom beat high. From Ciudad Rodrigo to the 
frontier, our way led through the scenes of 
former glory; and if the veterans of the army 
exulted at once again beholding the battle-fields 
where victory had crowned their arms, the new 
soldiers glowed with ambition to emulate their 
fame. As for myself, short as the period had 
been since I quitted England, I felt that my 
character had undergone a very great change; 
the wandering fancies of the boy had sobered 
down into the more fixed, determined passions 
of the man. The more I thought of the inglo- 
rious indolence of my former life, the stronger 
was now my desire to deserve a higher reputation 
than that of a mere lounger about a court, the 
military accompaniment of a pageant. Happily 
for me, I knew not at the time how few ojjpor- 
tunities for distinction are afforded by the humble 
position of a subaltern — how seldom occasions 
arise where, amid the mass aro\ind him, his name 
can win praise or honor. I knew not this, and 
my reverie by day, my dream by night, presented 
but one image — that of some bold, successful 
deed, by vi-hich I should be honorably known 
and proudly mentioned; or my death be that of 
a brave soldier in the field of glory. 

It may be remembered by my reader, that in 
the celebrated march by which Wellington 
opened that campaign — whose result was the 



158 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



expulsion of the French armies from the Penin- 
sula — the British left, under the command of 
Graham, was always in advance of the main 
body; their route traversed tiie wild and dreary 
passes of the Tras-os-Montes, a vast expanse of 
country, with scarcely a road to be met with, 
and but few inhabitants. The solitary glens and 
gloomy valleys whose echoes had waked to no 
other sounds save those of the wild heron or the 
eagle, were now to resound with the thundering 
roll of artillery wagons, the clanking crash of 
cavalry columns, or the monotonous din of the 
infantry battalions, as from sunrise to sunset 
they poured along; now scaling the rugged 
height of some bold mountain, now disappear- 
ing among the wooded depths of some dark 
ravine. 

Owing to a temporary appointment on the 
staff, I was continually passing and repassing 
between this portion of the army and the force 
under the immediate command of Lord Welling- 
ton. Starting at daybreak, I have set off alone 
through these wild, untravelled tracts, where 
mountains rose in solemn grandeur, their dark 
sides wooded with the gloomy cork-tree, or rent 
by some hissing torrent, whose splash was the 
only sound that broke the universal silence. 
Now dashing on with speed across the grassy 
plain, now toiling along on foot, the bridle on 
my arm, I have seen the sun go down and never 
heard a human voice, nor seen the footsteps of 
a fellow-man; and yet what charms had those 
lonely hours for me, and what a crowd of bliss- 
ful thoughts and happy images they yet bring 
back to me! The dark glen, the frowning preci- 
pice, the clear rivulet gurgling on amid the 
mossy stones, the long and tangled weeds that 
hung in festoons down some rocky cliff, through 
whose fissured sides the water fell in lieavy 
drops into a little basin at its foot — all spoke to 
me of the happiest hours of my life, when, loved 
and loving, I wandered on the livelong day. 

How often, as the day was falling, ha\e I sat 
down to rest beneath soaii tall beech, gazing on 
the glorious expanse of mountain and valley, 
hill and plain, and winding river — all beneath 
me; and how, as I looked, have my thoughts 
wandered away from those to many a far-off 
mile; and then what doubts and hopes would 
crowd upon me! Was I forgotten? Had time 
and distance wiped away all memory of me? 
Was I as one she had never seen, or was she 
still to me as when we parted ? In such mo- 
ments as these how often have I recurred to our 
last meeting at tlie holy well; and still, I own it, 
some vague feeling of superstition has spoken 
hope to my heart, when reason alone had bid me 
despair. 

It was at the close of a sultry day — the first 
of June, I shall not readily forget it — that, over- 
come by fatigue, I threw myself down beneath 
the shelter of a grove of acacias, and, tethering 
my horse with his bridle, fell into one of my ac- 
customed reveries. The heat of the day, the 
drowsy hum of the summer insects, the very 
monotonous champ of my horse feeding beside 
me — all conspired to make me sleepy, and I fell 
into a heavy slumber. My dreams, like my last 



waking thoughts, were of home; but, strangely 
enough, the scenes through which I had been 
travelling, the officers with whom I was intimate, 
the wild guerilla chiefs, who from time to time 
crossed my path or shared my bivouac, were 
mixed up with objects and persons many a mile 
away; making that odd and incongruous collec- 
tion which we so often experience in sleep. 

A kind of low, unbroken sound, like the tramp 
of cavalry over grass, awoke me; but still, such 
was my diowsiness, that I was again about to re- 
lapse into sleep, when tlie sound of a manly voice, 
singing at the foot of the rock beneath me, fully 
aroused me. I started up, and, peeping cau- 
tiously over the head of the cliff, beheld, to my 
surprise and terror, a party of French soldiers 
stretched upon the green sward around a fire. 
It was the first time I had ever seen the Imperial 
troops, and, notwithstanding the danger of my 
position, I felt a most unaccountable longing to 
creep nearer and watch their proceedings. The 
sounds I had heard at first became at this mo- 
ment more audible, and, on looking down the 
glen, I perceived a party of about twenty dra- 
goons cantering up the valley. They were dressed 
in the uniform of the Chasseurs Leger.s, and in 
their light blue jackets and silvered htmlets, had 
a most striking and picturesque effect. My as- 
tonishment at their appearance was not dimin- 
ished by the figure who rode gayly along at their . 
head. She was a young and pretty-looking girl, 
dressed in a blue frock and jean trousers; a light 
foraging-cap, with the number of the regiment 
worked in silver on the front; a small canteen 
suspended from one shoulder by a black belt 
completed her equipment. Her hair, of a glossy 
black, was braided richly at either side of her 
face, and a couple of bows of light blue attested 
a degree of coquetry the rest of her costume gave 
no evidence of. She rode en caralier, and by the 
easy attitude in which she sat, and her steady 
hand on the bridle, denoted that the regimental 
riding-school had contributed to her accomplish- 
ments. I had heard before of the vivandieres 
of the French army, but was in no wise prepared 
for the really pretty figure and costume 1 now 
beheld. 

As the riding party approached, the others 
sprang to their feet, and, drawing up in a line, 
performed a mock salute, which the young lady 
returned with perfect gravity, and then, carelessly 
throwing her bridle to the one nearest, dis- 
mounted. In a few moments the horses were 
picketed, the packs were scattered about the 
grass, cooking utensils, provisions, and wine were 
distributed, and, amid a perfect din of merry 
voices and laughter the preparations for dinner 
were commenced. Mademoiselle's part, on the 
whole, amused me not a little. Not engaging in 
any of the various occupations about her, she 
seated herself on a pile of cavalry cloaks at a 
little distance from the rest, and, taking out a 
much-worn and well-thumbed-looking volume 
from the pocket of her coat, she began to read 
to herself with the most perfect unconcern of all 
that was going on about her. Meanwhile the 
operations of the cuisine were conducted with a 
despatch and dexterity that only French soldiers 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



159 



ever attain to; and — shall I confess it? — the rich 
odor that steamed up from the well-seasoned 
potage — the savory smell of the roast kid, albeit 
partaking of onions — and the brown breasts of 
certain poidets, made me wish heartily that for 
half an hour or so I could have changed my al- 
legiance, converted myself into a soldat de la 
Garde, and led mademoiselle in to dinner. At 
length the party beneath had arranged their meal 
upon the grass, and the corporal, witii an air of 
no inconsiderable pretension, took mademois- 
elle's hand to conduct her to the place of honor 
at the head of the feast, calling out, as he did 
so, — 

" Place, messieurs, place pour madame la 
duchesse de de " 

" N'importe quoi," said another; "the emperor 
has many a battle to win yet, and many a king- 
dom and a duchy to give away. As for myself, 
I count upon the baton of a marshal before the 
campaign closes." 

" Have done, I beg you, with such folly, and 
help me to some of that salmi" said the lady, 
with a much more practical look about her than 
her expression a few moments before denoted. 

The feast now progressed with all the clatter 
which little ceremony, hearty appetites, and good 
fellowship produce. The wine went round freely, 
and the qui pro quos, if I might judge from their 
mirth, were not wanting, for I could but catch 
here and there a stray word or so of the conver- 
sation. All this time my own position was far 
from agreeable. Independent of the fact of be- 
ing a spectator of a good dinner and a jolly party 
while famishing with hunger and thirst, my chance 
of escape depended either on the party moving 
forward, or being so insensible from the effects of 
their carouse that I might steal away unobserved. 
While I balanced with myself which of these al- 
ternatives was most likely, an accident decided 
the question. My horse, who, up to this moment, 
was grazing close beside me, hearing one of the 
troop-horses neigh in the valley beneath, pricked 
up his ears, plunged upwards, broke the bridle 
with which I had fastened him, and cantered 
gayly down into the midst of the picketed animals. 
In an instant every man sprang to his legs; some 
rushed to their holsters and drew forth their pis- 
tols; others caught up their sabres from the 
grass; and the young lady herself tightened her 
horse's girth and sprang into her saddle with the 
alacrity of one accustomed to moments of danger. 
All was silence now for a couple of minutes, ex- 
cept the slight noise of the troopers engaged in 
bridling their horses and fixing on their packs, 
when a loud voice called out, " Voila!" and the 
same instant every eye in the party was directed 
to my shako, which hung on a branch of a tree 
above me, and up to this moment I had forgotten. 
Before I could determine on any line of escape, 
three of the number had rushed up the rock, 
and, with drawn sabres, commanded me to sur- 
render myself their prisoner. There was no 
choice. I flung down my sword with an air of 
sulky resignation, and complied. My despatches, 
of which they soon rifled me, sufficiently ex- 
plained the cause of inv journey, and allayed any 
apprehension they might have felt as to a sur- 



prise party. A few brief questions were all they 
put to me, and then, conducting me down the 
cliff to the scene of their bivouac, they proceeded 
to examine my holsters and the flaps of my sad- 
dle, for any papers which I might have concealed 
in these places. 

"Eh bien! mon colonel," said the leader of 
the party, as he drew himself up before nie, and 
carried his hand to his cap in a salute as respect- 
ful and orderly as though I were his officer, 
"what say you to a little supper ere we move 
forward ?" 

"There's the bill of fare," said another, laugh- 
ing as he pointed to the remnants of roast fowls 
and stewed kid that covered the grass. 

I was too young a soldier to comport myself 
at the moment with that philosophic resignation 
to circumstances which the cliangeful fortunes of 
war so forcibly instil; and I merely answered by 
a brief refusal, while half unconsciously I threw 
my eyes around to see if no chance of escape 
presented itself. 

"No, no," cried the corporal, who at once 
read my look and its meaning; "don't \.ry i/iat, 
or you reduce me to the extremity of trying 
this," patting, as he spoke, the butt of his car- 
bine, with an air of easy determination there was 
no mistaking. 

" Let me rather recommend monsieur le capi- 
taine to try this," said the vivandiere, who, un- 
perceived by me, was all this while grilling the half 
of a poiilct over the embers. There was something 
in the kindness of the act, coupled as it was with 
an air of graceful courtesy, that touched me, so, 
smothering all my regretful thoughts at my mis- 
hap, I summoned up my best bow and my best 
French to acknowledge the civility, and the mo- 
ment after was seated on the grass beside Ma- 
demoiselle Annette, discussing my sujjper with 
the appetite of a man whose sorrows were far in- 
ferior to his hunger. 

As the moon rose, the party, who evidently 
had been waiting for some others they expected, 
made preparations for continuing their journey, 
the first of which consisted in changing the cor- 
poral's pack and equipments to the back of my 
English thorough-ljred — his own meagre and 
raw-boned quadruped being destined for me. 
Up to this instant the thought of escape had 
never left my mind — I knew I could calculate on 
the speed of my horse — I had had some trials of his 
endurance, and the only thing was to obtain such 
a start as might carry me out of bullet range at 
once, and all was safe. Now th'is last hope de- 
serted me, as I beheld the miserable hack to 
which I was condemned; and yet, poignant as 
this feeling was — shall I confess il; — it was in- 
ferior in its pain to the sensation I experienced 
as I saw the rude French soldier, with clumsy 
jack-boots and heavy iiand, curvetting about 
upon my mettlesome charger, and exhibiting his 
paces for the amusement of his companions. 

The order was now given to mount, and I took 
my place in the middle file, the dragoons on 
either side of me having unslung their carbines, 
and given me laughingly to understand that I 
was to be made a riddle of if I attempted an es- 
cape. 



160 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



The long months of captivity tliat followed 
have, somehow, I cannot at all explain why, left no 
such deep im[)iession on my mind as the simple 
events of that night — I remember it still like a 
thing of yesterday. We travelled along the crest 
of a mountain — the valley lying in deep, dark 
shadow beneath — the moon shone brightly out 
upon the grey granite rocks beside us; our pace 
was sometunes pushed to a fast trot, and then 
relaxed to a walk, the rather, as it appeared to 
me, to indulge the conversational tastes of my 
escort than for any other reasons. Their spirits 
never flagged for a moment — some jest or story 
was ever going forward — some anecdote of the 
campaign, or some love adventure, of wliich the 
narrator was the hero, commented on by all in 
turn, with a degree of sharp wit and ready rep- 
artee that greatly surprised me. In all these 
narratives mademoiselle played a prominent part, 
being invariably referred to for any explanation 
which the difficulties of fen)ale character seemed 
to require; her opinion on such points being al- 
ways regarded as conclusive. At times, too, they 
would break forth into some rude hussar song — 
some regular specimen of camp lyric poetry — 
each verse being sung by a different individual, 
and chorussed by the whole party in common. 



CHAPTER LII. 



THE MARCH. 



Such, with little variety, was the history of 
each day and night of our march. The days 
usually passed in some place of security and con- 
cealment, while a reconiioissance would be made 
by some three or four o'l' the party; and, as night 
fell the route was continued. 

One incident alone broke the monotony of the 
journey. On the fourth night we left the moun- 
tain, and descended into a large open plain, 
taking for our guide the course ot a nver which 
seemed familiar to my companions. The night 
was dark, heavy masses of cloud concealed the 
moon, and not a star was visible; the atmosphere 
was close and oppressive, and there reigned 
around a kind of unnatural stillness, unbroken by 
the flow of the sluggish river which moved on be- 
side us. Our pace had been a rapid one for some 
time; and, contrary to their wont, the dragoons 
neither indulged in their gay songs nor merry 
stories, but kept together with more of military 
precision than they had hitherto assumed. 

I conjectured from this that we were probably 
approaching tlie French lines; and, on question- 
ing the corporal, was told that such was the 
case. 

A little after midnight we halted for a few 
moments to refresh the horses. Each man dis- 
mounted, and stood with his hand upon the bridle; 
and I could not but mark how the awful silence 
of the hour seemed to prey upon their spirits as 
they spoke togetlier in low and broken whispers, 
as if fearful to interrupt the deep sleep of nature. 
It was just then that every eye was directed to a 
bright star that burst out above the horizon, and 



seemed to expand gradually into a large mass of 
great brilliancy, and again to diminish lo a mere 
speck, which it remained for sometime, and then 
disappeared entirely. We remained gazing on the 
dark spot where this phenomenon had appeared, 
endeavoring by a hundred conjectures to explain 
it. Wearied at length with watching, we were 
about to continue our journey, when, suddenly 
from the quarter from where the star had shone, 
a rocket shot up into the dark sky, and broke 
into ten thousand brilliant fragments, which 
seemed to hang suspended on high in the weight 
of the dense atmosphere. Another followed, and 
another; then, after a pause of some minutes, a 
blue rocket was seen to mount into the air, and 
explode with a report which, even at the distance 
we stood, was audible. St arcely had its last frag- 
ments disappeared in the darkness, when a low 
rumbling noise, like the booming of distant 
thunder, seemed to creep along the ground. 
Then came a rattling volley, as if of small-arms; 
and at last the whole horizon burst into a red glare, 
which forked up from earth to sky, with a crash 
that seemed to shake the very ground btneath 
us. Masses of dark, misshapen rock sprang into 
the blazing sky; millions upon millions of sparks 
glittered through the air; and a cry, like the last 
expiring wail of a drowning crew, rose above all 
other sounds — -and all was still. The flame was 
gone — the gloomy darkness had returned — not a 
sound was heard — but in that brief moment four 
hundred of the French army met their graves 
beneath the castle of Burgos, which, in their 
hurried retreat, they had blown up, without ap- 
prising the troops, who were actually marching 
beneath its very walls. 

Our route was now resumed in silence — even 
the levity of the French soldiers had received a 
check; and scarcely a word passed as we rode, 
on through the gloomy darkness, anxiously look- 
ing for daybreak, to learn something of the 
country about us. 

Towards sunrise we found ourselves at the en- 
trance of a mountain pass traversed by the Ebro, 
which in some places almost filled the valley, and 
left merely a narrow path between its waters and 
the dark cliffs that frowned above. Here we 
proceeded, sometimes in single file, now tracing 
the signs of the retreating force which had just 
preceded us, now lost in astonishment at the 
prodigious strength of the position thus aban- 
doned. But even these feelings gave way be- 
fore a stronger one — our admiration of the ex- 
quisite beauty of the scenery. Glen after glen 
was seen opening as we advanced into this wide 
valley, each bearing its tributary stream to the 
mighty Ebro; the clear waters reflecting the 
broken crags, the waving foliage, and the bright 
verdure that beamed around, as orange-trees, 
laurels, and olives bent over the currtnt, or shot 
up in taper spires towards the clear blue sky. 
How many a sheltered nook we passed, with an 
involuntary longing to rest and linger among 
scenes so full of romantic beauty. But already 
the din of the retreating column was borne 
towards us on the breeze; the heavy monotonous 
roll of large guns and caissons; while now and 
then we thought to catch the swell of mariial 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



161 



music blending through the other sounds. But 
soon we came up with wagons carrying the 
wounded and sick, who, havin'7 joined by another 
road, had fallen to the rear of the march. From 
them we learned that the King of Spain, Joseph 
himself, was with the advanced guard; that the 
destination of the forces was Vittoria, where a 
junction with the corps d'anne'e of the other gen- 
erals being effected, it was decided on giving 
battle to tlie Anglo-Spanish army. 

As we advanced, our progress became slower 
and more difficult; close columns of infantry 
blocked up the road, or dense masses of cavalry, 
with several hundred led horses and baggage 
mules prevented all chance of getting forward 
Gradually, however, the valley widened, the 
mountain became less steep, and by evening we 
reached a large plain, closed towards the north- 
east by lotty mountains, which I learned were 
the Pyrenees, and, beheld, in the far distance, 
the tall spires of the city of Vittoria. Several 
roads crossed the plain towards the city, all of 
which were now crowded with troops, some 
pressing on in the direction of the town, others 
were taking uo their position, and throwing up 
hasty embankments and stockades. Meanwhile, 
the loaded wagons, with the spoil of the rich 
convents and the royal treasure, were seen wend- 
ing their slow way beneath the walls of Vittoria, 
on the road to Bayonne, escorted by a strong 
cavalry force, whose bright helmets and breast- 
plates pronounced them Cuirassiers de la Garde. 
Tlie animation and excitement of the whole 
scene was truly intense, and as I rode along be- 
side the corporal, I listened with eagerness to 
his account of the various regiments as they 
passed hither and thither, and took up their 
position on the wide plain. " There, look yon- 
der," said he, " where that dark mass is defiling 
beside the pine wood, see how they break into 
])arties, watch them liow they scatter along the 
low bank beside the stream under shelter of the 
brushwood. There were eiglit hundred men in 
that battalion, where are they now? — all con- 
cealed. They are the tirailleurs of the army. 
And see on tliat low mound above them, where 
the flag is flying, tlie guns are about to occupy 
that height. I was right, you see; there they 
come — six, seven, eight pieces of heavy metal. 
Sacreblen! that must be a place of some conse- 
quence." 

" What are tlie troops yonder, with the red 
tufts in their caps, and scarlet trousers?" 

'^ Ah! parhleu ! your countrymen will soon 
know to their cost; they are the ' Infanterie de 
la Garde.' There's not a man in the column you 
are looking at who is not dccorc." 

" Look at this side, monsieur; see the chas- 
seurs a cheval," said Annette, putting her hand 
on my arm, while her bright eyes glanced proudly 
at the glittering column which advanced by a road 
near us, coming along at a sharp trot, their equip- 
ments clattering, their horses highly conditioned, 
and the s])lendid uniform of light blue and silver 
giving them a most martial air. 

"Bah!" said the corporal, contemptuously, 
'"these are the dr.ngnonsto my taste." So saying, 
he pointed to a dark column of heavy cavalry. 



who led their horses slowly along by a narrow 
causeway; the long black horse-hair tailed from 
their dark helmets with something of a gloomy 
aspect, to which their flowing cloaks of deep 
blue added. "' Les Cuirassiers de Milhaiids; — 
but look — look yonder — tonnerrc de cici, see that." 
The object to which my attention was now di- 
rected was a park of artillery that covered the 
whole line of road from the Miranda Pass to the 
very walls of Vittoria. 

" Two hundred, at least," exclaimed he, after 
counting some twenty or thirty of the foremost. 
" Vcntreblcu ! what chance have you before the 
batteries of the Guard ?" As he spoke, the drums 
beat across the wide plain; a continuous dull roll 
murmured along the ground — it ceased — the 
trumpets brayed forth a call- — a clanging crash 
followed, and I saw that the muskets were 
brought to the shoulder, as the bayonets glanced 
in the sun, and the sharp sabres glittered along the 
squadrons. For a second or two, all wasstill, and 
then the whole air was rent with a loud cry of F;?'^ 
le Roi! — while a mounted party rode slowly from 
the left, and entering one of the gates of the city, 
disajjpeared from our sight. Night was now be- 
ginning to fall as we wended cur way slowly 
along towards the walls of Vittoria; it being the 
corporal's intention to deliver his prisoner into 
the hands of the etat-niajor of Marshal Jourdan. 



CHAPTER LIII. 

VITTORIA. 

What a contrast to the scene without the 
walls did the city of Vittoria present. Scarcely 
had we left behind us the measured tread of 
moving battalions, the dark columns of winding 
cavalry, when we entered streets brilliantly 
lighted, gorgeous and tho^y equipages turned 
everywhere, music rescinded on all sides, serv- 
ants in splendid liveries made way for Indies in 
all the elegance of evening dress, enjoying the 
delicious coolness of a southern climate at sun- 
set, groups of officers in full uniform chatted 
with their fair friends from the balconies of the 
large majestic houses. The sounds of gayety 
and mirth were heard from every open lattice, 
and the chink of the castanet and the proud step 
of the fandango echoed around us. 

Women, dressed in all the perfection of Paris- 
ian coquetry, loitered along the streets, wondering 
at the strange sights the Spanish city afforded— 
themselves scarcely less objects of wonder to the 
dark-eyed senhoras, who, with close-drawn man- 
tillas, peered cautiously around them to see the 
strangers. Young French officers swaggered 
boastfully about, with the air of conquerors, while 
now and then some tall and swartliy Spaniard 
might be seen lowering with gloomy frown from 
under the broad shadow of his sombrero, as if 
doubting the evidence of his own senses, at see- 
ing his native city in the occupation of the 
usurper. 

In the open plazas, too, the soldiers were 
picketed, and stood in parties around their fires, 



162 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN, 



or lay stretched on the rich tapestries they had 
carried awav as spoils frum the southern prov- 
inces. Cups and goblets of the rarest handiwork 
and of the most costly materials were strewn 
about them- the vessels of the churches, the rich 
cloths of gold embroidery that had decorated the 
altars, pictures — the chefs-d'ceuvre of the first 
masters — all were there, in one confused heap, 
among baskets of fruit, wine-skins, ancient ar- 
mor, and modern weapons. From time to time 
some brilliant staff would pass, usually accom- 
panied by ladies, who seemed strangely mixed up 
with all the military display of the scene 

My guide, after conversing for a few moments 
with a sous-officier of his regiment, turned from 
the plaza into a narrow street, the termination to 
which was formed by a large building, now bril- 
liantly lit up. As we approached, 1 perceived 
that two sentries were on guard at the narrow 
gate, and a large banner, with the imperial ' N" 
in the centre, waved heavily over the entrance. 
"This is 'lequartier general,'" said the corpora), 
dropping his voice respectfully, as he drew near. 
At the same instant, a young officer, whose long 
plume bespoke him as an aide-de-camp, pushed 
past us; but turning hastily round, said something I 
could not catch to the corporal. ' Bien, mon 
lieutenant, said the latter, carrying his hand to 
his shako "Follow me, monsieur, said the 
officer, addressing me; and the next moment I 
found myseli in a large and richly furnished 
room, when, having motioned me to be seated, 
he left me. 

My meditations, such as they were, were not 
suffered to be long, for in a few seconds the aide- 
de-camp made his appearance, and with a low 
bow requested me to accompany him. 

' .The general will receive you at once ' said 
he, 

I eagerly asked his name. 

" Le General Oudinot." 

' Ah I the marshal ?" 

" No; his brother. I perceive you are a young 
soldier, so let me give you a hint: don't mind his 

manner — ''cest tin brave homme at bottom, but " 

The loud burst of laughter from a room at the 
end of the corridor drowned the conclusion of 
his speech, and before I had time for another 
question, the door opened and I was introduced. 

In a small but richly furnished chamber sat 
four officers round a table covered with a mag- 
nificent display of silver cups and plate, and upon 
which a dessert was spread — flasks of French and 
Spanish wine, a salver holding cigars, and a book 
— apparently an orderly book — before them, from 
which one of the party was reading as I came in. 
.^s the aide-de-camp announced me they ali 
looked up, and the general, for I knew him at 
once, fixing his eyes steadily on me, desired me 
to approach. 

As I obeyed his not very courteous order, I 
had time to perceive that the figure before me 
was that of a stout, square-built man, of about 
fifty-five or sixty. His head was bald; his eye- 
brows of a bushy grey, were large and meeting. 
A moustache of the same grizzly appearance shaded 
his lip, and served to conceal two projecting teeth, 
which, when he spoke, displayed '.hemselves like 



boar's tusks, giving a peculiarly savage expres- 
sion to his dark and swarthy countenance. The 
loose sleeve of his coat denoted that he had lost 
his left arm high up; but whenever excited, I could 
see that the short stump of the amputated limb 
jerked convulsively in a manner it was painful to 
look at. 

What! A deserter' a spy! Eh? what is it, 
Alphonse? ' 

The aide-de-camp, blushing, vhispered some 
few words rapidly, and the general resumed: 

"Ha! Be seated, monsieur. The officers of 
the imperial army know how to treat their pris- 
oners; though, fardieu! they can t teach their 
enemies the lesson. You have floating prisons, 
they tell me, in England, where my poor coun- 
trymen die of disease and starvation. Sacre'dieu! 
what cruelty.' 

' You have been misinformed, general. The 
nation I belong to is uniformly humane to all 
whom chance of war has made its prisoners, and 
never forgets that the officers of an army are gen- 
tlemen.'' 

' Ha! what do you mean?" said he, becoming 
dark with passion, as he half rose from his seat; 
then, stopping suddenly short, he continued in 
a voice of suppressed anger; "Where are your 
troops? What a number of men has your ' Vil- 
lainton got with him?'' 

" Of course, said I, smiling, 'you do not ex- 
pect me to answer such questions?" 

' Do you refuse it?" said he, «ith a grim smile. 

"^ I do distinctly refuse," was my answer. 
' What rank do you hold in your service?" 
' I am but a subaltern." 

" Tencz " said another of the party, who for 
some time past had been leisurely conning over 
the despatches which had been taken from me — 
' you are called capitaine' here, monsieur." 

' Ha! ha! What say you to that?" cried the 
general exultingly. "Read it, Chamont. " 

"The despatches which Captain Airey will 
deliver " 

'' Is it not so?" said he, handing me the paper. 

" Yes," said I, coolly; " he is th,. senior aide-de- 
camp, but being employed on General Graham's 
staff, now occupied in the pursuit of your 
army- " 

"j////c tonnerres! Young man, you have chosen 
an unsuitable place to cut your jokes.' 

" Sa Mnjesttf le Hoi," said an aide-de-camp, 
entering hastily, and throwing the door open to 
its full extent; and scarcely had the party time to 
rise when the emperor's brother appeared. Of 
the middle size, pale, and with a thoughtful, ex- 
pressive countenance, Joseph Bonaparte's appear- 
ance was much in his favor. His forehead was 
lofty and expansive, his eye large and full, and 
the sweet smile which seemed the gift of every 
member of the family, he possessed in perfection. 
After a few words with General Oudinot — whose 
rough manner and coarse bearing suflertd no 
change by his presence — he turned towards me, 
and with much mildness of voice and courtesy 
of demeanor inquired if I were wounded. On 
hearing that I was not. he expressed a hope that 
my captivity would be of brief duration, as ex- 
changss were already in progress. " Meanwhile," 



JACK lUNTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



1G3 



said he, "you shall have as little to complain of 
as possible." 

As lie concluded these few but, to me, most 
comforting words, 1 received a hint from the 
aide-de-camp to withdraw, which I did, into an 
adjoining room. The same aide-de-camp by 
whom I iiad hitherto been accompanied now 
joined me. and, slapping me familiarly on the 
shoulder, cried out, ''Eli liuii! 1 hope now you 
aie satisfied — Joseph is a fine, generous fellow, 
and wi.'l take care not to forget his promise to you. 
Meanwhile, come a;id take share of my supper. ' 
He opened a door in the wainscot as he spoke, 
and introduced me into a perfectly fitted-up lit- 
tle room, where a supper had been laid out for 
him. Another cover was soon provided for me, 
and in a few moments we were seated at table, 
chatting away about the war, and the opposing 
armies, as tiiough instead of partisans we had 
merely been lookers-on at the great game before 
us. My companion, though but a year or two 
older than myself, held the grade of colonel, 
every step to whicli he won at the point of his 
sword; he was strikingly handsome, and his fig- 
ure though slight, powerfully knit. As the 
cliampagne passed back and forward between us, 
confidences became interclianged, and before 
midnight sounded I found my companion quite 
familiar with the name of Louisa Bellew, while, 
to my equal astonisliment, I was on terms of 
perfect intimacy with a certain lovely marquise 
of the Chaussee d'Antin. The tinkle of a sharp 
bell suddenly called the aide-de-camp to his 
ligs; so drinking off a large goblet of cold 
later, and taking up his chapeau, he left the 
)om. 

I now threw myself back into my chair, and toss- 
ng off a bumper of cham])agne, began to reason 
myself into the belief that there were worse 
things even than imprisonment among the French; 
flitting thoughts of the past, vague dreams of 
the future, confused images of the present, were 
all dancing through my brain, when the door 
again opened, aid I heard my companion's foot- 
steps behind me 

" Do you know, Alphonse," said I, without 
turning in my chair, " I have been seriously 
thinking of making mv escape it is quite clear 
that a battle is not far off, and by Jove, if I 
only have the good fortune to meet with your chef 
d'e'tal-niajor, that savage old Oudinot, I'll pledge 
myself to clear off scores with him." 

A half chuckle of laughter behind induced me 
to continue: 

"That old fellow certainly must have risen 
from the ranks — not a touch of breeding about 
him. I am certain his majesty rated him soundly 
for his treatment of me, when I came away. I 
saw his old moustaches bristling up — he knew he 
was in for it." A louder laugh than the first, 
liiit in somewhat of a different cadence, induced 
me to turn my head, when what was my horror 
to see before me, not mv new friend the aide-de- 
camp, but General Oudinot himself, who had all 
this time been listening to my polite intentions 
regarding his future welfare! There was a 
savage exultation in his look, as his eye met 
mine, and for a second or two he seemed to en- 



joy my confusion too ^nuch to permit him to 
break silence. At last he said, — ■ ' 

'■ Are you on parole, sir?" 

" No," I briefly replied, " nor shall I be." 

" What — have I heard you aright — do you re- 
fuse your parole?" 

"Yes — 1 shall not my pledge myself against 
attempting my escape the very first opportunity 
that offers." 

■' Indeed," said he, slowly — " indeed. What is 
to become of poor General Oudinot if such a cas- 
ualty take i)lace. But come, sjr, I have his 
majesty's orders to accept your parole; if you 
refuse it, you are then at my disposal. I have re- 
ceived no other instructions about you. Yes or 
no — I ask you for the last time." 

'' No — distinctly, no." 

'C'est bien; hola, garde! numeros dix et 
onze." 

Two soldiers of the grenadiers, with fixed bay- 
onets, appeared at the door — a few hurried words 
were spoken, the only part of which I could catch 
was the word " auhot." I was at once ordered 
to rise — a soldier walked on either side of me, 
and I was in this way conducted through the 
city to the prison of the gendarmerie, where for 
the night I was to remain, with orders to forward 
me the next morning at daybreak, with some 
Spanish prisoners, on the road to Tiayonne. 



CHAPTER LIV. 



THE RETREAT. 



My cell, for such it was, although dignified 
with the appellation of chamber, looked out by a 
small window upon a narrow street, the opposite 
side to which was formed by the wall of a church- 
yard pertaining to a convent. As day broke I 
eagerly took my place at the casement to watch 
what was going on without; but except some 
bareheaded figure of a monk gliding along between 
the dark yew avenues, or some female in deep 
mourning passing to her morning's devotions be- 
side the grave of a relative, I could see nothing; 
a deep silence seemed to brood over the city, so 
lately the scene of festivity and mirth. Towards 
four o'clock, however, I could hear the distant 
roll of drums, which gradually extended from the 
extreme right to the left of the plain before the 
town; then I heard the heavy monotonous tramp 
of marching, broken occasionally by the clank of 
the brass bands of the cavalry, or the deep sullen 
thunder of artillery wagons, as they moved along 
the paved roads; the sounds came gradually 
nearer; the trumpets too joined the clamor with 
the shrill rivcille, and soon the street towards the 
front of the prison re-echoed with the unceasing 
clatter of troops moving forward. I could hear 
the voices of the officers calling to the men to 
move lip; heard more than once the names oi 
particular regiments, as some distinguished corps 
were passing; the music of the bands was quick 
and inspiriting, and as some popular air was 
struck up, the men would break forth suddenly 
into the words, and the rougli-voiced chorus rang 



164 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



through the narrow streets, and fell heavily on my 
own heart, as I lay there a prisoner. Hour after 
hour did this continue; but yet the silence be- 
hind remained as unbroken as ever; the lonely 
church-yard, with its dark walls and sad-looking 
trees, was still and deserted. 

By degrees the din in front diminished; regi- 
ments passed now only at intervals, and their 
pace increased to a run left no time for the 
bands; the cavalry, too, trotted rapidly by, and 
at last all was still as in the gloomy street before 
me. It was now eight o'clock, and no summons 
had yet come to me, although I had heard my- 
self the order for our marching on the Bayonne 
road by sunrise; the prison was still as the grave, 
not a step could I hear — not a bolt nor a hinge 
creaked; I looked to the window, but the strong 
iron grate that defended it left no prospect for 
escape; the door was even stronger, and there 
was no chimney. 

Sometimes the thought occurred to me that the 
party had forgotten me, and had gone away with 
the other prisoners; this thought somehov/ had 
its consolation; but the notion of being left to 
starve came suddenly across me, and I hastened 
to the window to try and make myself known to 
some chance passer-by; just then the loud boom 
of a gun struck upon my ear; another followed, 
louder still; and then a long, heavy, crashing 
noise, which rose and fell as the wind bore it, 
told me that the work of death had begun. The 
sound of the large guns, which at first came only 
at intervals, now swelled into one loud, continuous 
roar that drowned all other noise; the strong 
frames of the windows shook, and the very 
ground beneath my feet seemed to tremble with 
the dreadful concussion of the artillery, some- 
times the din would die away for a few seconds, 
and then, as the wind freshened, it would swell 
into a thunder, so loud as to make me almost 
think the battle was close to where I stood. 
Hour after hour did this continue; and now, al- 
though the little street beside me was thronged 
with many an anxious group, I no longer thought 
of questioning them; my whole soul was wrapped 
up in the one thought — that of the dreadful en- 
gagement; and as I listened, my mind was carry- 
ing on with itself some fancied picture of the 
fight, with no other guide to my imaginings than 
the distant clangor of the battle; now I thought 
that the French were advancing; that their battery 
of guns had opened; and I could imagine the 
dark mass that moved on, their tall shakos and 
black belts peering amidst the smoke that lay 
densely in the field. On they poured, thousand 
after thousand; ay, there goes the fusilade; the 
platoons are firing; but now they halt! the crash 
of fixing bayonets is heard; a cheer breaks 
forth; the cloud is rent; the thick smoke is sev- 
ered as if by a lightning flash; the red coats have 
dashed through at the charge; the enemy waits 
not; the line wavers and breaks; down come the 
cavalry, like an eagle on the swoop; but again, 
the dread artillery opens; the French form be- 
neath the lines, and the fight is renewed. 

The fever of my mind was at its height; I paced 
my room with hurried steps, and, springing to the 
narrow casement, held my ear to the wall to listen. 



Forgetting where I was, I called out as though at 
the head of my company, with the wild yell of 
the battle around me, and the foe before me; 
suddenly the crowd beneath the window broke: 
the crash of cavalry equipments resounded 
through the street, and the head of a squadron of 
cuirassiers came up at a trot, followed by a train of 
baggage wagons, with six horses to each; the 
drivers whipped and spurred their cattle, and all 
betokened haste. From the strength of the guard 
and the appearance of the wagons, I conjectured 
that they were the treasures of the army: an 
opinion in which I was strengthened by the word 
"Bayonne" chalked in large letters on a chest 
thrown on the top of a carriage. 

Some open wagons followed, in which the in- 
valids of the army lay, a pale and sickly mass; 
their lacklustre eyes gazed heavily around with 
a stupid wonder, like men musing in a dream- — 
even they, however, had arms given them, such 
was the dread of falling into the hands of the 
guerilla bands who infested the mountain passes, 
and never gave quarter, even to the wounded 
and the dying. The long file at length passed, 
but only to make way for a still longer proces- 
sion of Spanish prisoners, who, boimd wrist to 
wrist, marched between two files of mounted gen- 
darmes; the greater number of these were mount- 
aineers, guerillas of the south, condemned to the 
galleys for life, their bronzed faces and stalwart 
figures a striking contrast to their pale ard 
emaciated companions, the inhabitants of the 
towns, who could scarce drag their weary limbs 
along, and seemed at every step ready to sink be- 
tween misery and privation. The ribald jests 
and coarse language of the soldiers ■were always 
addressed to these, there sttming to be a kind of 
respect for the bolder guerillas, even in the hour 
of their captivity. The tramp of led horses, the 
roll of wagons, the cracking of whips, mingled 
with the oaths of the muleteers, and the fainter 
cries of the sick, now filled the air, and only oc- 
casionally did the loud cannonade rise above 
them; from every window facts appeared turned 
with excited eagerness towards the dense crowds; 
and though I could perceive that inquiries as to 
the fate of the day were constantlv made and 
answered, my ignorance of Spanish prevented my 
understanding what was said. 

The noise in front of the prison, where the 
throughfare w^as wider and larger, far exceeded 
that around me; and at last I could hear the ste))s 
of persons marching overhead, and ascending and 
descending the stairs. Doors clapjied and slammed 
on every side; when, suddenly, the door of my o\\ n 
cell was shaken violently, and a voice cried out 
in French, "Try this; 1 passed twice without pti 
ceiving it." The next moment the lock turmd. 
and my room was filled with dragoons, their uiii 
forms splashed and dirty, and evidently bearing 
the marks of a long and severe march. 

" Are you the guerilla Guiposcoa de Condeiga?" 
said one of the party, accosting me, as I stood 
wrajiped up in my cloak. 

" No; I am an English ofllcer." 

"Show your epaulettes, then," said another, 
who knew that Spanish officers never wore such 
I opened my cloak, when the sight of my red 



\ 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



im 



uniform at once satisfied them. At this instant a 
clamor of voices without was heard, and several 
persons called out, " We have him; here he is!" 
The crowd around me rushed forth at the sound; 
and, following among them, I reached tiie street, 
now jammed up with horse and foot, wagons, 
tumbrils, and caissons — some endeavoring to 
hasten forward towards the road to Bayonne; 
others as eagerly turned towards the plain of 
Vittoria, where the deafening roll of artillery 
showed the fight was at its fiercest. The dra- 
goons issued forth, dragging a man amongst 
' them, whose enormous stature and broad chest 
towered above the others, but wlio apparently 
made not the slightest resistance as they hurried 
him forward, shouting as they went, 'A la grand' 
place! — d. la place!" 

It was the celebrated guerilla Guiposcoa, who 
had distinguished himself by acts of heroic dar- 
ing, and sometimes savage cruelty, towards the 
French, and who had fallen into their hands that 
morning. Anxious to catch a glance at one of 
whom I had heard so often, I pressed forward 
among the rest, and soon found myself in the 
motley crowd of soldiers and townspeople that 
hurried towards the plaza. 

Scarcely had I entered the square when the 
movement of the multitude was arrested, and a 
low whispering murmur succeeded to the deaf- 
ening shouts of vengeance and loud cries of 
death I had heard before then came the deep 
roll of a muffled drum. I made a strong effort 
to press forward, and at length reached the rear 
of a line of dismounted dragoons, who stood 
leaning on their carbines, their eyes steadily 
bent on a figure some twenty paces in front. He 
was leisurely employed in divesting himself of 
some of his clothes; which, as he took off, he 
piled in a little heap beside him; his broad 
guerilla hat, his dark cloak, his sheep's-wool 
jacket slashed with gold, fell one by one from 
his hand; and his broad manly chest at last lay 
bare, heaving with manifest pride and emotion, 
as he turned his dark eyes calmly around him. 
Nothing was now heard in that vast crowd, save 
when some low broken sob of grief would burst 
from the close-drawn mantillas of the women, as 
they offered up their heartfelt prayers for the soul 
of the patriot. 

\. low parapet wall, surmounted by an iron 
railing, closed in this part of the plaza, and sep- 
arated it from a deep and rapid river that flowed 
beneath — a branch of the Ebro. 

Beyond, the wide plain of Vittoria stretched 
away towards the Pyrenees; and although two 
leagues distant, the scene of the battle was dis- 
cernible, from the heavy mass of cloud that 
lowered overhead, and the deep booming of the 
guns, that seemed to make the air tremulous. 

The Spaniard turned his calm look towards 
the battle-field, and for an instant his dark eye 
flashed back upon his foes with an expression of 
triumphant daring, which seemed, as it were, to 
say. " I am avenged already!" A crv of im- 
patience burst from the crowd of soldiers, and 
the crash of their firelocks threatened that they 
would not wait longer for his blood. But the 
guerilla's manner changed at once; and holding 



up a small ebony crucifix before him, he seemed 
to ask a moment's respite for a short prayer. 

The stillness showed his request was ccmplied 
with; he turned his back towards the crowd, and 
placing the crucifix on the low parapet, he bent 
down on both his knees, and seemed lost in his 
devotions. As he rose, I thought I could per- 
ceive that he threw a glance, rapid as lightning, 
over the wall towards the river that flowed be- 
neath. He now turned fully round; and unfast- 
ening the girdle of n-.any a gay color that he wore 
round his waist, he threw it carelessly on his left 
arm; and then, baring his breast to the full, 
knelt slowly down, and with his arms wide apart 
called out in Spanish, " Here is my lift — come 
take it." The words were scarcely uttered, when 
the carbines clanked as they brought them to the 
shoulder; the sergeant of the company called out 
the words, "' Donnez"^^ pause — "Jtu!" The 
fusilade rang out, and, as my eyes pierced the 
smoke, I could see that the guerilla had fallen lo 
the earth, his aims crossed upon his boscm. 

A shriek wild and terrific burst from the 
crowd. The blue smoke slowly rose, and I per- 
ceived the French sergeant standing over the 
body of the guerilla, vhich lay covered with 
blood upon the turf. A kind of convulsive spasm 
seemed to twitch the lindis, upon which the 
Frenchman drew his sabre. The rattle of the 
steel scabbard rang through my heart; the bright 
weapon glanced as he raised it above his head. 
At the same instant the guerilla chief sprang to 
his legs; he tottered as he did so, for I could 
see that his left arm hung powerless at his side, 
but his right held a long pcniaid. He threw 
himself upon the Frenchman's loscni — a yell 
followed, and the same mcment the guerilla 
sprang over the battlements, and with a loud 
splash dropped into the river beneath. The 
water had scarce covered his body as the French- 
man fell a corpse upon the ground. 

A perfect roar of madness and rage burst from 
the French soldiers as, rushing to the parapet, a 
hundred balls swept the surface of theri\(r, but 
the tall reeds of the bank had already ccncealed 
the bold guerilla, vhose left aim had received 
the fire of the soldiers, who now saw the mean- 
ing of that quick mo\ement by which he had 
thrown his girdle around it. The incident was 
but the work of a few brief m.cments; nor was 
there longer time to think on it, for suddenly a 
squadron of cavalry swept past, at the full speed 
of their horses, calling out the words, "Place 
there — make way there in front. The ambulance 
— the ambulance!" 

A low groan of horror rose around; the quick 
retreat of the wounded betokened that the battle 
was going against the French; the words "beaten 
and retreat" re-echoed through the crowd; and 
as the dark suspicion crept amid the moving 
mass, the first wagon of the wounded slowly 
turned the angle of the sqirare, a white flag hung 
above it. I caught but one glance of the sad 
convoy; but never shall I forget that spectacle 
of blood and agony. Torn and mangled they 
lay, an indiscriminate heap; their faces black- 
ened with powder, their bodies shattered with 
wounds. High above the other sounds their 



166 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



piercing cries rent the air — with mingled blas- 
phemies and insane ravings. Meanuiiile the 
drivers seemed only anxious to get forward; as, 
deaf to ever prayer and entreaty, they whipped 
their horses, and called OLit to the crowd to make 
way. 

Escape was now open; but where could I go? 
My uniform exposed me to immediate detection, 
should I endeavor to conceal myself, discovery 
would be my death. The vast tide of people 
that poured along the streets was a current too 
strong to stem, and I hesitated what course to 
follow. My doubts were soon resolved for me; 
an officer of General Oudinot's staff, who had 
seen nie the previous night, rode up close to 
where I stood, and then turning to his orderly, 
spoke a few hurried words. The moment after, 
two heavy dragoons, in green uniform and brass 
helmets, came up, one at either side of me, with- 
out a second's delay, one of them unfastened a 
coil of small rope that hung at his saddle-bow, 
which, with the assistance of the other, was 
passed over my right wrist and drawn tight. In 
lliis way, secured like a malefactor, I was ordered 
forward. In vain I remonstrated; in vain I told 
them I was a British officer; to no purpose did I 
reiterate that hitherto 1 had made no effort to 
escape. It is not in the hour of defeat French- 
men can behave either with humanity or justice. 
A volley of ''' sacr^s" was the only answer I re- 
ceived, and nothing was left me but to yield. 

Meanwhile the tumult and confusion of the 
town was increasing every minute. Heavy 
wagons — inscribed in large letters, ''' Domaine 
exterieitr de sa irmjeste iempereur" — containing 
the jewels and treasures of Madrid, passed by, 
drawn by eight, sometimes ten horses, and ac- 
companied by strong cavalry detachments. In- 
fantry regiments, blackened with smoke and gun- 
pjwder, newly arrived from the field, hurried 
past to take up positions on the Bayonne road to 
protect the retreat; then came the nearer din 
and crash of the artillery as the French army 
were falling back upon the town. 

Scarcely had we issued from the walls of the 
city, when the whole scene of flight and ruin 
was presented to our eyes. The country for 
miles round was one moving mass of fugitives 
—cannon, wagons, tumbrils, wounded soldiers, 
horsemen, and even splendid equipages, were all 
mixed up together on the Pampeluna road, which 
lay to our right. The march was here inter- 
cepted by an overturned wagon — the horses were 
jjlunglng, and the cries of wounded men could be 
heard even where we were. The fields at each side 
of the way were soon spread over by the crowd, 
eager to press on. Guns were now abandoned 
and thrown into ditches and ravines; the men 
broke their muskets, and threw the fragments on 
the roadside, and vast magazines of powder were 
exploded here and' there through the plain. 

But my attention was soon drawn to objects 
more immediately beside me. The Bayonne 
road, which we now reached, was the last hope 
of the retiring army. To maintain this line of 
retreat, strong detachmer.ts of infantry, sup- 
ported by heavy guns, were stationed at every 
■eminence commanding the position; but the 



swooping torrent of the retreat had left little 
time for these to form, many of whom were 
borne along with the flying army. Discipline 
gave way on every side — the men sprang upon 
the wagons, refusing to march — the treasures 
were broken open and thrown upon the road. 
Frequently the baggage-guard interchanged 
shots and sabre-cuts with the infuriated 
soldiers, who only thought of escape; and the 
ladies who but yesterday were the objects of 
every care and solicitude, were hurried 
along amid that rude multitude, some on foot, 
others glad to be allowed to take a place in the 
ambulance among the wounded — their dresses 
blood-stained and torn, adding to the honor and 
misery of the scene. Such was the prospect be- 
fore us. Behind a dark mass hovered, as if even 
yet withstanding the attack of the enemy, whose 
guns thundered clearer and clearer every moment. 
Still the long line of wounded came on — some in 
wide, open cart.s — others stretched upon the gun- 
carriages, mangled and bleeding. Among these 
my attention was drawn to one whose head, 
having fallen over the edge of the cart, was en- 
dangered by every roll of the heavy wheel that 
grazed his very skull. There was a halt, and I 
seized the moment to assist the poor fellow as he 
lay thus in peril. His helmet had fallen back, 
and was merely retained by the brass chain be- 
neath his chin; his temples were actually cleft 
open by a sabre-cut, and I could see that he had 
also received seme shot-\\ounds in the side, 
where he pressed his hands, the blood welling up 
between the fingers. 

As I lifted the head to place it within the cart, 
the eyes opened and turned full upon me. A 
faint smile of gratitude curled his lip; I bent 
over him, and, to my liorror, recognized in the 
mangled and shattered form before nie the gal- 
lant fellow withwliom the very night before I had 
formed almost a friendship. The word "cold" 
muttered between his teeth, was the only answer 
I could catch, as I called him by his name. The 
order to march rang out frcm the head of the 
convoy, and I had barely time to unfasten my 
cloak, and throw it over him, ere the wagon 
moved on. I never saw him after. 

A squadron of cavalry now galloped past, reck- 
less of all before them; the traces of the artillery 
were cut, and the men, mounting the horses, de- 
serted the guns, and rode for their lives. In the 
midst of the flying mass, a splendid equipage 
flew past, its six horses lashed to madness by the 
postilions; a straggling guard of honor galloped 
at either side, and a grand ecuyer in scarlet, who 
rode in front, called out incessantly, "P/na- — 
place pour sa maje sii! !" hwt all to no ])urpose. 
Tiie road, blocked up by broken wagons, dense 
crowds of horse and foot, dead and dying, soon 
became impassable. An effort to pass a heavily- 
loaded wagon entangled the coacji; the axle was 
caught by the huge wagon; the horses plunged 
when they felt the restraint, and the next moment 
the roval carriage was hurled over on its side, 
and fell wiih a crash into the ravine at the road- 
side. While the officers of his staff dismounted 
to rescue the fallen monarch, a ribald burst of 
laughter rose from the crowd, and a pioneer ac- 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



167 



t'.ially gave the butt of liis carbine to assist the 
kincr as, covered with mud, lie scrambled up the 
ditch. 

I had but an instant to look upon his pale 
countenance, which even since the night before 
seemed to have grown many years older, ere I 
was myself dragged foru ard among the crowd. 

Darkness now added its horror to the scene of 
riot and confusion; tlie incessant cries of the fu- 
gitives told that the English cavalry were upon 
tliem; the artillery came closer and closer, and 
tlie black sky was traversed by many a line of 
fire, as the shells poured down upon the routed 
array; the English guns, regardless of roads, 
dashed down on the terrified masses, raining 
balls, and howitzer-shells on every side. Already 
the cheers of my gallant countrymen were within 
my hearing, and, amid all the misery and danger 
around me, my heart rose proudly at the glorious 
victory they had gained. 

Meanwhile my escort, whose feeling towards 
me became more brutal as their defeat was more 
perceptible, urged me forward with many an oath 
and imprecation. Leaving the main road, we 
took the fields, already crowded with the infan- 
try. At last, as the charges of the English came 
closer, they seeined to hesitate upon being any 
longer burdened by me, and one, after inter- 
changing some angry words with his companion, 
rode off, leaving me to the care of him who 
passed the cord round my wrist. For a second 
or two this fellow seemed to waver whether he 
might not dispose of me more briefly, and once 
he half withdrew his pistol from the holster, and 
turned round in his saddle to regard me more 
steadily; a better feeling, liowever, gained the 
mastery; the hope, too, of promotion, could he 
bring in an officer his prisoner, had, doubtless, 
its share in his decision. He ordered me to jump 
up behind him, and dashing spurs into his troop- 
horse, rode forward. 

I have, perhaps, lingered too long in my recol- 
lections of this eventful night; it was, however, 
the last striking incident which preceded a long 
captivitv. On the third day of the retreat I was 
joined to a band of Spanish prisoners marching 
towards Bayonne. Of the glorious victory which 
rescued the Peninsula from the dominion of the 
French, and drove their beaten armies beyond 
the Pyrenees, or of the great current of events 
which followed the battles of Vittoria, I do not 
purpose to speak. Neither will I trouble my 
reader with a narrative of hardship and suffer- 
ing; it is enough to mention that my refusal to 
give my parole subjected me in all cases to every 
indignity. 

Wearied out at length, I accepted this only 
chance of rendering life endurable; and on 
reaching 15ayonne gave my word not to attempt 
my es(a|)e, and was accordingly separated from 
my co^np.inions in misfortune, and once more 
treated as a gentleman. 

The refusal to accept "parole," I learned af- 
terwards, was invariably construed by the French 
authorities of the day into a direct avowal not 
only to attempt escape by any means that might 
jjresent themselves, but was also deemed a rejec- 
tion of the hospitality of the country, which 



placed the recusant beyond the pale of its 
courtesy. 

No sooner, then, had I comjilied with thi'^ 
necessity — for such it wns' — than 1 experienced 
the greatest kindness and politeness in e\ery 
quarter. Through every village in the south the 
house of the most respectable inhabitant was 
open to me; and with a delicacy it would be dif- 
ficult to match elsewhere, although the events of 
the Spanish war were the subject of general 
interest wherever we passed, not a word was 
spoken nor a hint dropped before the "pris- 
oner," which could in the slightest degree oflend 
his nationality, or hurt his susceptibility as an 

enemy. 

****** 

I shall now beg of my reader to pass over with 
me a long interval of time, during which my life 
presented nothing of interest or incident, and 
accompany me to the environs of St. Omer, 
where, in the commencement of the year 1814, 
I found myself domesticated as a prisoner of 
war on parole. During the long ]ieriod that had 
elapsed since the battle of Vittoria, I had but 
once heard from home; matters there were pretty 
much as I had left them. My father had re- 
moved to a colonial appointment, whence he 
transmitted the rich revenues of his office to my 
mother, whose habitual economy enabled her to 
dispense at Bath, much in the same kind of way as 
she had formerly done at London. My lovely 
cousin — -in the full posses^ion of her beauty and 
a large fortune- — had refused some half-dozen 
brilliant proposals, and was reported to have an 
unswerving attachment to seme near relative, 
which happy individual, my mother suggested, 
was myself. Of the Eellews, 1 learned from the 
newspapers that Sir Simon was dead; and Miss 
Bellew. having recoveied most of the great es- 
tates of her family, through the instium.tntality 
of a clever attorney — whtm I guessed to lie my 
friend Paul — was now the great belle and fortune 
of Dublin. I had frequently written heme, and 
once or twice to the Kooneys and the major, 
but never received any answer; so that at last I 
began to think myself forgotten by every one, 
and dreamed away my life in a state of almost 
apathy — dead to the exciting events of the 
campaign, which, even in the seclusion where I 
lived, were from time to lime reported. The 
brilliant march of our victorious troops through 
the Pyrenees and the south of France, Nivelle, 
Orthes, and Toulouse, I read of as people read 
of long-past events; life to me appeared to have 
run out; and my thoughts turned ever backward 
to the bright morning of my career in Ireland 
— my early burst of manhood — my first and 
only passion. 

The old rovalist seigneur, upon whom I was 
billetted, could evidently make nothing of the 
stolid indifference with which I heard him and 
his antiquated spouse discuss the glorious pros- 
pect of a restoration of the Brurbons; even the 
hope of liberty was dying nwny within me. One 
ever-present thought had damped all ardor and 
all ambition — I had done nothing as a soldier — 
my career had ended as it began — and, while 
others had risen to fame and honor, my name 



168 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



had won nothing of distinction and repute. In- 
stead of anxiously looking forward to a meeting 
witli Louisa Bellew, I dreaded the very thoughts 
of it. My mother's fashionable calm and indif- 
ference I should now feel as a sarcasm on my 
own failure, and as to my cousin Julia, the idea 
alone of her raillery was insufferable. The only 
plan I could devise for the future was, as soon 
as I should recover my liberty, to exchange into 
some regiment in the East Indies, and never re- 
turn to England. 

It was, then, with some surprise, and not much 
sympathy that I beheld my venerable host ap- 
pear one morning at breakfast with a large white 
cockade in the breast of his frock coat, and a 
huge white lily in awine-glass before him. His 
elated manner and joyous looks were all so many 
riddles to me while the roll of drums in the 
peaceful little town, the ringing of bells, and 
the shouts of the inhabitants, were all too much 
even for apathy like mine 

'What is the uproar about?" said I, pettislily, 
as I saw the old gentleman fidget from the table 
to the window and then back again, rubbing his 
hands, admiring his cockade, and smelling at the 
lily, alternately. 

^' Tintamarre!" said he, indignantly, "sai'csTous, 
monsieur ce nest pas le mot, ce/ni-id? We are 
restored, sir! We have regained our rightful 
throne! We are no longer exiles!" 

" Yes!" said the old lady, bursting into the 
room, and throwing herself into her husband's 
arms, and then into mine, in a rapture of enthus- 
iasm — "yes, brave young man! to you and your 
victorious companions in arras we owe the hap- 
piness of this moment. We are restored!" 

"Oiii! restored! restored!' echoed the old 
gentleman, throvving open the window, and shout- 
ing as though he would have burst a blood-ves- 
sel, while the mob without, catching up the cry, 
yelled it louder than ever. 

■' These people must be all deranged, thought 
I, unable to conjecture at the moment the reas 
ons for such extravagant joy. Meanwhile, the 
room became crowded with townspeople in holi- 
day costume, all wearing the white cockade, and 
exchanging with each other the warmest felicita- 
tions at the hap])y event. 

I now soon learned that the allies were in pos- 
session of Paris, that Napoleon had abdicated, 
and the immediate return of I^ouis XVIII was 
already decided upon The trumpets of a cav- 
alry regiment on the march were soon added to 
the uproar without, accompanied by cries of 
"The English'' " The brave English'" I rushed 
to the door, and, to my astonishment beheld 
above the heads of the crowd the tall caps of a 
British dragoon regiment towering aloft. Their 
band struck up as they approached, and v.diat a 
sensation did my heart experience as I heard the 
well-remembered air of "Garryowen' resound 
through the little streets of a French village. 

"An Irish regiment!" said I, half aloud 

The word was caught by a bystander, who im- 
mediately communicated it to the crowd adding, 
by way of explanation, "Zm Irlandais; oni, re 
soiitles Cosaques de l' Ant^^lcterre" I could not help 
laughing at the interpretation, wh suddenly 



my own name was called out loudly by some 
person from the ranks. I started at the sound, 
and, forcing my way through the crowd, I looked 
eagerly on every side, my heart beating with 
anxiety lest some deception might have misled 
me. 

" Hinton! Jack Hinton!" cried the voice again 
At the head of the regiment rode three officers, 
whose looks were bent steadily on me, while they 
seemed to enjoy my surprise and confusion. The 
oldest of the party, who rode between the two 
others, was a large, swarthy-looking man, with a 
long drooping moustache — at that time rarely 
worn by officers of our army. His left arm he 
wore in a sling; but his rigiit was held in a ccr 
tain easy, jaunty manner I could not soon for- 
get A burst of laughter broke from him at 
length, as he called out, — 

"Come, Jack, you must remember me." 
" ^Vhat!" cried I; "O'Grady! — is it possible?" 
" Even so, my boy,'' cried he, as, throwing his 
reins on his wrist, he grasped my hand and sliook 
it with all his heart " I knew jou were here, 
and I exerted all my interest to get quartered 
near you. This is my regiment — eh? — not fel- 
lows to be ashamed of. Jack? But come along 
with us, we mustn't part company now." 

Amid the wildest cries of rejoicing, and frantic 
demonstrations of gratitude firm the crowd, the 
regiment moved on to the little square of the 
village. Here the billets were s])eedily arranged; 
— the men betook themselves to their quarters — 
the officers broke into small parties — and O'Grady 
and myself retired to the inn, where, having 
dined tcte-a-trte, we began the interchange of our 
various adventures since we parted. 



CHAPTER LV. 



THE FOUR-IN-HAND. 



My old friend, save in the deeper brown upon 
his cheek, and some scars from French sabres, 
was nothing altered from the hour in which we 
parted. The same bold, generous ttniperament, 
the same blending of recklessness and deep feel- 
ing, the wild spirit of adventure, and the gentle 
tenderness of a child — were all mixed up in his 
complex nature, for he was every inch an Irish- 
man 

While the breast of his uniform glittered with' 
many a cross and decoration, he scarcely ever 
alluded to his own feats in the c.nnipaign; nor 
did'he more than passingly mention the actions 
where his own conduct had been most conspic 
uous. Indeed, there was a reserie in his whole 
manner, while speaking of the Peninsular battles, 
which I soon discovered proceeded from delicacy 
towards me. knowing how little I had seen of 
service from my early imprisonmant, and fearing 
lest, in the detail of the glorious career of our 
armies, he might be inflicting fresh wounds on 
one whose fortune forbade him to share in it. 

He often asked me about my father, and seemed 
to feel deeply the kindness he had received from 
him when in London. Of my mother, too, he 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



169 



sometimes spoke, but never even alluded to Lady 
fiilia; and when once 1 spoke of her as the pro- 
tector of Corny, he fidgeted for a second or two, 
seemed uneasy and uncomfortable, and gave me 
the impression that he felt sorry to be reduced 
to accept a favor for his servant, where he 
liimself had been treated with coldness and 
distance. 

Apart frcwn this — and it was a topic we mutu- 
ally avoided — his spirits were as high as ever. 
Mixing much with the ofificers of his corps, he 
was actually beloved by them. He had joined in 
all their schemes of pleasure and amusement with 
the zest of his own buoyant nature; and the 
youngest cornet in the regiment felt himself the 
colonel's inferior in the gayety of the mess, as 
much as at the head of the squadrons. 

At the end of a few days, I received from Paris 
the papers necessary to relieve me from the re- 
straint of my parole, and was concerting with 
O'Grady the steps necessary to be taken to re- 
sume my rank in the service, when an incident 
occurred which altered all our plans for the mo- 
ment, and by one of those strange casualties 
which so often occur in life, gave a new current 
to my own fate forever. 

I should nention here that, amid all the rejoic- 
ings which ushered in the restoration — amid all 
the flattery by which the allied armies were re- 
ceived — one portion of the Royalists maintained 
a dogged, ungenial spirit towards the men by 
whom their cause was rendered victorious, and 
never forgave them the honor of reviving a dy- 
nasty to which 'they themselves had contributed 
nothing. These were the old militaires of Louis 
XVIIL — the men who, too proud or too good- 
for-nothing to accept service under the emperor, 
had lain dormant during the glorious career of 
the French armies, and who now, in their hour 
of defeat and adversity, started into life as the 
representatives of the military genius of the 
country; — these men, I say, hated the English 
with a vindictive animosity which the old 
Napoleonist could not equal. Without the gener- 
ous rivalry of an open foe, they felt themselves 
humbled by comparison with the soldiers whose 
weather-beaten faces and shattered limbs bore 
token of a hundred battles, and for the very cause, 
too, for which they themselves were the most in- 
terested. This ungenerous spirit found vent for 
itself in a thousand petty annoyances, which were 
practised upon our troops in every town and vil- 
lage of the north of France; and every officer 
whose bdlet consigned him to the house of a 
Royalist soldier would gladly have exchanged his 
quarters for the companionship of the most in- 
veterate follower of Napoleon. To an instance 
of what I have mentioned was owing the incident 
which I am about to relate. 

To relieve the ennui of a French village, the 
officers of the i8th had, with wonderful expendi- 
ture of skill and labor, succeeded in getting up a 
four-in-hand drag, which to the astonishment and 
wonder of the natives, was seen daily wending its 
course through the devious alleys and narrow 
streets of the little town, the roof covered with 
dashing dragoons, whose laughing faces and loud- 
sounding bugles were all deemed so many direct 



insults by the ill-conditioned party I have men- 
mentioned. 

The unequivocal evidences of dislike they ex- 
hibited to this dashing "turn-out" lormed, I be- 
lieve, one of its great attractions to the iSth, who 
never omitted an occasion, whatever the state of 
the weather, to issue forth every day, with all the 
noise and uproar they could muster. 

At last, however, the old (ommissaire de police, 
whose indignation at the proceeding knew no 
bounds, devised an admirable expedient for an- 
noying our fellows^one which, supported as it 
was by the law of the country, there was no pos- 
sibility of evading. This was, to demand the 
name of every officer who passed the gate of the 
fortress, thus necessitating him to get down from 
the roof of the coach, jjresent his jjapers, and 
have them carefully conned and scrutinized, their 
visa looked into, and all sorts of questions pro- 
pounded. 

When it is understood that the only drive led 
through one or other of these barriers, it may be 
imagined \\o\v provoking and vexatious such a 
course of proceeding became. Representations 
were made to the mayor ever and anon, explain- 
ing that the papers once produced no further in- 
convenience should be incurred — but all to no 
purpose. Any one who knows France will ac- 
knowledge how totally inadequate a common- 
sense argument is in the decision of a question 
before a government functionary. The mayor, 
too, was a royalist, and the matter was decided 
against us. 

Argument and reason having failed, the gallant 
i8th came lo the resolution to try force, and ac- 
cordingly it was decided that next morning we 
should charge the ban ihe in full gallo]), as it was 
rightly conjectured that no French tviploye would 
feel disposed to encounter the rush of a four-in- 
hand, even with the law on his side. 

To render the coup de maiti more biilliant, and 
])erhaps, too, to give an air of plausibility lo the 
infraction, four dashing thorough-bred light cl'.e.'t- 
nuts- — two of the number having nexer felt a 
collar in their lives— were harnessed for the oc- 
casion. A strong force of the wildest spirits of 
the regiment took their places on the roof; and 
amid a cheer that actually made the street ring, 
and a tantarara from the trumpets, the equipage 
dashed through the town, the leaders bounding 
with the swingle bars every nicment over their 
backs. Away we went, the populace flying in 
terror on every side, and every eye turned tow- 
ards the harrihe, where the dignified official 
stood, in the calm repose of his station, as if dar- 
ing us to transgress his frontier. Alrei'.dy had he 
stepped forward with his accustomed questions; 

the words, "^Messieurs, jc vous dcviaiidi- " had 

escaped his lips, when he had barely time to 
spring into his den, as the furious leaders tore 
past, the pavement crashing beneath their hoofs, 
and the shouts of laughter mingling with the up- 
roar. Having driven for a league or so at a slow 
pace to breathe our cattle, we turned homewards, 
rejoicing in the success of our scheme, which had 
fully satisfied our expectations. What was our 
chagrin, however, as we neared the haj'iierc, to 
discover that a strong force of mounted gendarmes 



170 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



stopped the way, their drawn sabres giving us 
plainly to understand the fate that awaited our 
horses if we persisted in our plan! What was to 
be done? To force a passage, under the circum- 
stances, was only to give an opportunity to the 
gendarmerie they were long anxious for — to cut 
our whole equipage in pieces. To yield was the 
only alternative; but what an alternative! — to be 
laughed at by the whole town on the very day of 
our victory! 

"I have it!" said 0"Grady, whose left arm be- 
ing wounded, sat on the box beside the driver; 
" I have it, lads. Pull up when they tell you, 
and do as they direct." 

With some difficulty, the four dashing nags 
were reined in, as we came up to the barriere; 
and the commissaire, bursting with passion, ap- 
peared at the door of the lodge, and directed us 
to get down. 

" Your papers will avail little on the present 
occasion," said he, insolently, as we produced 
them. " Your carriage and horses are confiscated. 
St, Omer has now privilege as a fortified town. 
The fortresses of France enforce a penalty of 

forty thousand francs " A burst of laughter 

from the bystanders at our rueful faces prevented 
us hearing the remainder of the explanation. 
Meanwhile, to our horror and disgust, some half- 
dozen gendarmes, with their long caps and heavy 
boots, were crawling up the side.-; of the drag, 
and taking their seats upon the top. Some crept 
into the interior, and showed their grinning 
faces at the windows; others mounted into the 
rumble; and two more aspiring spirits ascended 
to the box, by one of whom O'Grady was rudely 
ordered to get down, a summons enforced by the 
commissaire himself in a tone of considerable in- 
solence. O'Grady's face for a minute or two 
seeiTied working with a secret impulse of fun and 
devilment, which I could not account for at 
such a moment, as he asked, in a voice of much 
humility, — 

" Does monsieur the commissaire require me to 
come down?" 

" Instantly!" roared the Frenchman, whose 
passion was now boiling over. 

" In that case, gentlemen, take charge of the 
team." So saying, he handed the reins to the 
passive gendarmes, who took them without well 
knowing why. " I have only a piece of advice," 
continued Phil, as he slowly descended the side; 
"keep a steady hand on the near-side leader, 
and don't let the bar strike her; and now, good- 
bye." He flourished his four-in-hand whip as 
he spoke, and with one tremendous cut came 
down on the team, from leader to wheeler, ac- 
companying the stroke with a yell there was no 
mistaking. The heavy carriage bounded from 
the earth, as the infuriated cattle broke awav at 
full gallop; a narrow street and a sharp angle 
lay straight in front; but few of those on the 
drag waited for the turn: as at everv step some 
bearskin shako shot into the air, followed by a 
tall figure, whose heavy boots seemed ill adapted 
for flying in. 

The corporal himself had abandoned the 
reins, and held on manfullv liy the rail of the 
box. On every side they fell, in every attitude 



of distress. But already the leaders reached 
the corner, round went the swingle bars, the 
wheelers followed, the co£tch rocked to one side, 
sprang clean off the pavement, came down with 
a crash, and then fell right over; while the 
maddened horses, breaking away, dashed through 
the town, the harness in fragments behind ihem, 
and the pavement flying at every step. 

The immediate consequences of this affair 
were some severe bruises, and no small discour- 
agement to the gendarmerie of St. Omer; the 
remoter ones, an appeal from the municipal au- 
thorities to the commander-in-chief, by whom 
the matter was referred for examination to the 
adjutant-general. O'Grady was, accordingly, 
summoned to Paris, to explain, if he could, his 
conduct in the matter. The order for his ap- 
pearance there came down at once, and I, hav- 
ing nothing to detain me at St. Omer, resolved 
to accompany my friend for a few days at least, 
before I returned to England. Our arrange 
ments were easily made; and the same night we 
received the adiutant-general's letter we started 
by post for Paris. 



CHAPTER LVI. 



ST. DENIS. 



We were both suddenly awakened from a 
sound sleep in the calcche by the loud cracking 
of the postilion's whip, the scKind of street 
noises, and the increased rattle of the wheels 
over the unequal pavement. We started up just 
as, turning round in his saddle, and pointing 
with his long whip to either side of him, the fel- 
low called out — 

" Paris, messieurs, Paris! This is the Fau- 
bourg St. Denis; there, before you, lies the Rue 
St. Denis. Sacristi, the streets are as crowded 
as at noonday!" 

By this time we had rubbed the sleep from 
our eyelids and looked about us, and truly the 
scene before us was one to excite all our aston- 
ishment. The Quartier St. Denis was then in 
the occupation of the Austrian troops, who were 
not only billeted in the houses, but bivouacked 
in the open streets; their horses picketed in long 
files along the/(77r', the men asleep around their 
watch-fires, or burnishing arms and accoutre- 
ments beside them. The white-clad cuirassier 
from the Danube, the active and sinewy Hun- 
garian, the tall and swarthy Croat, were all 
there, mixed up among groups of peasant girls 
coming in to market with fowls and eggs. Carts 
of forage and wagons full of all manner of pro- 
visions were surrounded by groups of soldiers 
and country people, trading amicably together, 
as though the circumstances which had brought 
them together were among the ordinary events 
of commerce. 

Threading our way slowly through these, we 
came upon the Jager encampment, their dark 
green uniform and brown carbines pi\ing that 
air sombre to their appearance so striking after 
the steel-clad cuirassiers and the bright helmets 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



171 



of the dragoons. Farther on, around a foun- 
tain, were a body of dismounted dragoons, 
their tall calpacks and scarlet trousers be- 
speaking them Polish lancers; their small but 
beautifully formed white horses pawed the 
ground, and splashed the water round them, 
till the dust and foam rose high above them. 
But the strangest of all were the tall, gigantic 
figures, who, stretched alongside of their horses, 
slept in the very middle of the wide street. Lift- 
ing their heads lazily for a moment, tliey would 
ga/.e on us as we passed, and then lie down again 
to sleep. Their red beards hung in masses far 
down upon their breasts, and their loose trousers, 
of a reddish dye, but half concealed boots of 
undressed skin. Their tall lances were piled 
around them; but these were not wanting to 
prove that the savage, fierce-looking figures be- 
fore us were the Cossacks of the Don, thus come, 
for many a hundred mile, to avenge the slaughter 
of Borodino and the burning of Moscow. As we 
penetrated farther into the city, the mixture of 
nation and costume became still more remark- 
able. The erect and soldier-like figure of the 
Prussian; the loose, wild-eyed I'artar; the brown- 
clad Russian, with russet beard, and curved 
sabre; the stalwart Highlander, with nodding 
plume and waving tartan; the Bashkir, with 
naked scimitar; the gorgeous hussar of Hungary; 
the tall and manly form of the English guards- 
man, passed and repassed before us, adding, by 
the Babel of discordant sound, to the wild con- 
fusion of the scene. 

It was a strange sight to see the savage soldier 
from the steppes of Russia; the dark-eyed, 
heavy-browed Gallician; the yellow-haired Saxon; 
tlie rude native of the Caucasus — who had thus 
giv-en themselves a "rendezvous" in the very 
heart of European civilization — wandering about; 
now stopping to admire some magnificent palace, 
now gazing with greedy wonder at the rich dis- 
play of some jeweller, or the costly and sjjlendid 
dresses which were exhibited in the shop windows; 
while here and there were gathered groups of 
men whose looks of undisguised hate and malig- 
nity were bent unceasingly upon the moving 
mass; their bourgeois dress could not conceal 
that they were the old soldiers of the empire — 
the men of Wagram, of Austerlitz, of Jena, and 
of Wilna — who now witnessed within their own 
capital the awful retribution of their own triumph- 
ant aggressions. 

.As the morning advanced the crowds in- 
creased, and as we approached the Place Car- 
rousel, regiments poured in from every street to 
the morning parade. Among these, the Russian 
garde — the Bonnets d'or — were conspicuous for 
the splendor of their costume and the soldier- 
like precision of their movements; the clash of 
their brass cymbals and the wild strains of their 
martial music adding indescribably to their 
singular appearance. As the infantry drew up 
in line we stopped to regard them, when, from 
the Place Louis Quinze, the clear notes of a 
military band rang out a quickstep, and the 
28th British marched in to the air of " The 
Young May Moon." O'Grady's excitement could 
endure no longer. He jumped up in the calh/ie, 



and, waving his hat above his head, gave a cheer 
that rang through the long corridor beneath the 
Louvre. The Irish regiment caught up the cry, 
and a yell as wild as ever rose above the din of 
battle shook the air. A Cossack picket then 
cantering up suddenl)' halted, and, leaning down 
upon their horses' manes, seemed to listen; and 
then dashing spurs into their flanks, made the 
circuit of the place at full gallop, while their 
" Hurra!" burst forthwith all the wild vehem- 
ence of their savage nature. 

"We shall get into some precious scrape with 
all this," said O'Grady, as, overcome with laugh- 
ing, he fell back into the caPeehc. 

Such was my own opinion; so, telling the postil- 
ion to turn short into the next street, we hurried 
away unperceived, and drove, with all the speed 
we could muster, for the Rue St. Honore. The 
Hotel de la Paix fortunately had room for us; 
and, ordering our breakfasts, ve adjourned to 
dress, each resolving to make the most of his 
few hours at Paris. 

I had just reached the breakfast-room, and 
was conning over the morning papers, when 
O'Grady entered, in full uniform, his face radi- 
ant with pleasure, and the same easy, jaunty 
Buagger in his walk as on the first day 1 met him. 

"When do you expect to have your audience, 
Phil?" said L 

"I have had it, my boy. It's all over, finished, 
completed. Never was anything so successful. 
I talked over the old adjutant in such a strain, 
that, instead of dreaming about a court-martial 
on us, the worthy man is seriously bent on our 
obtaining compensation for the loss of the drag. 
He looked somewhat serious when I entered; 
but when I once made him laugh, the game was 
my own. I wish you saw him wiping his dear 
old eyes as I described the covey of gendarmes 
taking the air. However, the main point is, the 
regiment is to be moved up to Paris, the com- 
missaire is to receive a reprimand, our claim for 
some ten thousand francs is to be considered, 
and I am to dine with the adjutant to-day, and 
tell the story after dinner." 

" Do you know, Phil, I have a theory that an Irish- 
man never begins to prosper but just at the moment 
that any one else would surely be ruined." 

"Don't make a theory of it. Jack, for it may 
turn out unlucky. But the practice is pretty 
much what you represent it. Fortune never 
treats people so well as when they don't care a 
fig about her. She's exactly like a lady patroness 
— confoundedly impertinent, if you'll bear it, but 
all smiles, if you won't. Have you ever met 
Tom Burke — ' Burke of ours?' as they call him, 
I believe, in half the regiments in the service?" 

" No, never." 

" Well, the loss is yours. Tom's a fine fellow 
in his way; and if you could get him to tell you 
his story — or rather one of his stories, for his life 
is a succession of them — perhaps you would find 
that this same theory of yours has some founda- 
tion. We'll pick him up one of these days, and 
I'll introduce you. But now, Jack, I have a 
piece of news for you. What do you think of it, 
my lad? — Lady Charlotte Hinton's at Paris." 
" My mother here? Is it possible?" 



172 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



"Yes. Her ladyship resides at No, 4, Place 
Vendome, opposite tiie Hotel de Londres. There's 
accuracy for you." 

" And who is with her? My father?" 

''No. The general is expected in a few days. 
Lady Julia, I believe, is her only companion." 

There was a kind of reserve suddenly in his 
manner, as he mentioned this name, which made 
us both pause for a few seconds. 

At length O'Grady broke the awkwardness of 
the silence by saying, in his usual laughing 
way, — 

" I contrived to pick up all the gossip of Paris 
in half an hour. The town is full of English — 
and such English too! — the Cossacks are civilized 
people, of quiet, retiring habits, compared to 
tliem. I verily believe the French are more 
frightened by our conviviality than ever they were 
by the bayonets of the allies. I'm dying to hear 
your lady-mother's account of everything here." 

" What say you, then, if you come along with 
me? I'm becoming very impatient to see my 
people once more. Julia will, I am certain, be 
very amusing." 

"Ah! and I have a debt of gratitude in that 
quarter," said O'Grady, hesitatingly. " Lady 
Julia was so very kind as to extend her protec- 
tion to that old villain. Corny. I cannot for the 
life of me understand how she endured him." 

"As to that," said I, "Julia has a taste for 
character; and not even the Chevalier Delany's 
eccentricities would pain her. So let's forward." 

" Did I tell you that de Vere was here?" said 
O'Grady. 

"No; not with my friends, I trust?" 

" On the contrary, I ascertained that he does 
not visit at Lady Charlotte's. He is attached to 
Lord Cathcart's embassy; he's very little in so- 
ciety, and rarely to be seen but at the salou, 
where he plays tremendously high, loses every 
night, but reappears each day with a replenished 
pocket. But I intend to know the secret of all 
this, and many other matters, ere long. So now 
let us proceed." 



CHAPTER LVIL 

PARIS IN 1814. 

If the strange medley of every nation and cos- 
tume which we beheld on entering Paris surprised 
us, how much greater was our astonishment when, 
having finished a hurried breakfast, we issued 
forth into the crowded streets. Here were assem- 
bled among the soldiers of every coimtry, visitors 
from all parts of Europe, attracted by the novel 
spectacle thus presented to them; and eager to 
participate in the pleasures of a capital whose re- 
joicings, so far from being checked by the sad re- 
verse of fortune, were now at th.e higliest pitch; 
and the city much more resembled the gay resort 
of an elated people than a town occupied by the 
troops of conquering enemies. The old soldier 
of the empire alone grieved in the midst of this 
g'neral joy; with the downfall of Napoleon died 
his every hope. The spirit of conquest, by which 



I for so many years the army had been intoxicated, 
was annihilated by the one line that signed the 
treaty of Fontainebleau; and thus among the gay 
and laughing groups that hurried onward, might 
now and then be seen some veteran of the Old 
Guard scowling with contemptuous look ujion 
that fickle populace as eager to celebrate the down- 
fall, as ever they had been to greet the glory of 
their nation. 

Nothing more strikingly marked the incongru- 
ous host that filled the city than the different 
guards of honor which were mounted at the sev- 
eral hotels where officers and generals of distinc- 
tion resided. At this time the regulation was not 
established which prevailed somewhat later, and 
gave to the different armies of the allies flie duty 
of mounting all the guards in rotation. And now 
at one door might be seen the tall cuirassier of 
Austria, his white cloak falling in heavy folds 
over the flank and haunches of his coal-black 
horse, looking like some Templar of old; at an- 
other, the plumed bonnet of a Highlander fluttered 
in the breeze, as some hardy mountaineer paced 
to and fro, his grey eye and stern look unmoved 
by the eager and prying gaze of the crowd that 
stopped to look upon so strange and singular a 
costume; here was the impatient sthimmel of 
some Hungarian hussar pawing the ground with 
restless eagerness, as his gav dolman slashed with 
gold glittered in the sun. The Jager from Bo- 
hemia, the deadly marksman with the long rifle; 
the savage Tartar of the L'kraine, devouring his 
meal on his guard, and turning his dark sus- 
picious eye around him, lest every passer-by might 
mean some treachery; all denoted that some rep- 
resentative of their country dwelt within, while 
every now and then the clank of a musket would 
be heard, as a heavy /i(77-/i? rf^tVw'tf opened to jicr- 
mit the passage of an equipage, as stiange and as 
characteristic as the guard himself. Heie would 
issue the heavy " wagon " of some German prince, 
with emblazoned panels and scarlet hammerclolh; 
the horses as fat and lethargic as the smoking and 
moustached figure they were drawing. '1 here 
was the low droschki of a Russian, ihiee hor^es 
abreast, their harness tinkling with brass bells as 
the spirited animals plunged and curvetted along; 
the quiet and elegant-looking phaeton ot English 
build, with its perfection of appointment, rolled 
along, with its deep woody sound, beside the 
quaint, old-fashioned calccheoi Northern Ger- 
many, above whose cumbrous sidc-p.nnels the 
heads of the passengers were visible only; nor 
were the horsemen less dissimilar: the stately 
Prussian, with his heel in line beneath his elbow; 
the Cossack, with short stirrups, crouched upon 
his horse's mane; the English horse artilleryman, 
powdering along with massive accoutrements and 
gigantic steed; the Polish liglu cavalry soldier, 
standing high in his stirrups, and Irniing his 
restless eye on every side — were all subjects for 
our curiosity and wonder. 

The novelty of the spectacle seemed, however, 
to have greatly worn off for the Parisians, who 
rarely noticed the strange and uncouth figures 
that every moment passed before their eyes, and 
now talked away as unconcernedly amid the scene 
of tumult and confusion as though nothing new 



JACK }{INTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



173 



or remarkable was going on about tiiem; their 
very indifference and carelessness one of the 
strangest sights we witnessed. 

Our progress, which at first was a slow one, 
ceased entirely at the corner of the palace, where 
a considerable crowd was now collected. Al- 
though we asked of the bystanders, no one could 
tell what was going forward; but the incessant 
roars of laugiiter showed that something droll or 
ridiculous had occurred. O'Grady, whose taste 
in such matters would suffer no denial, elbowed 
his way through the mob, I following as well as I 
was able. When we reached the first rank of 
the spectators, we certainly needed no explana- 
tion of the circumstances to make us join in the 
mirth about us. 

It was a single combat of a very remarkable 
description. A tall Cossack, with a long red 
beard now waving wildly on every side, was en- 
deavoring to recover his mutcka cap from a little 
decrepit old fellow, from whom he had stolen a 
basket of eggs. The eggs were all broken on the 
ground, and the little man danced among tliem 
like an infuriated fiend, flourishing a stick all the 
while in the most fearful fashion. The Cossack, 
whose hand at every moment sought the naked 
knife that was stuck in his girdle, was obliged 
to relinquish his weapon by the groans of fhe 
mob, who unequivocally showed that they would 
not permit fold play; and being thus unarmed, 
could make notliing of an' adversary whose con- 
temptible appearance caused all the ridicule of 
the scene. Meanwhile, the little fellow, his clothes 
in rags, and his head surmounted by a red Cos- 
sack mutcka capered al>out like nothing luiman, 
littering the most frightful sounds of rage and 
passion. At length, in a paroxysm of fury, he 
dealt the tall Cossack a rap over the temples 
which made him reel again. Scarcely had the 
blow descended, when, stung by the insulls and 
the jeers of the mob, tiie enraged savage grasped 
his knife. With one spring he pounced upon 
the little man; but, as he did so, a strong hand 
from behind seized him by»the collar, and with 
one tremendous jerk hurled him back upon the 
crowd, where he fell stunned and senseless. 

I had only time to perceive that it was O'Grady 
who had come to the rescue, when the old fellow, 
turning fully round, looked up in his face, and 
without evincing any emotion of surprise or won- 
der, or even of gratitude, croaked out — 

"And it's standin' lookin' on ye wor all the 
time, and I fighting my sowl out! Ugh! bad 
luck to sarvice. Look at my coat and small- 
clothes! Ay, you may laugh, ye grinning bastes 
as ye are: and a basket of fresh eggs in smith- 
ereens, and this Friday!" 

The convulsions of laugiiter which this appari- 
tion and the speech e.xcited prevented our hear- 
ing more. The mob, too, without understanding 
a word, were fully sensible of the absurdity of 
the scene, and a perfect chorus of laughter rang 
through the street. 

"And my elegant beaver — see it now!" said 
Corny — -for we liopc our reader recognizes him — 
as he endeavored to empty the batter from his 
headpiece, and restore it to shape. "Ugh! the 
haythins — the Turks! See now, Master Phil, it's 



warning I'm giving you this minit — here, where 

I stand. May the divil Ah! if ye dare, ye 

eternal robber!" This elegant exordium was 
directed to the poor Cossack, who, having re- 
gained his feet, was skulking away from the field, 
throwing, as he went, a lingering look at his red 
cap, which Mr. Delany still wore as a spoil of his 
victory. 

We now made our way through the crowd, fol- 
lowed by Corny, whose angry looks on every side 
elicited peals of laughter; and ihus accompanied, 
we approached the massive /o^/^TfiV/^/r of a large 
hotel in the Place Vendome, where a Swiss, in 
full costume of porter, informed us that Lady 
Charlotte Hinton resided. 

While I endeavored to pass on, he interposed 
his burly person, informing me, in very short 
phrase, that her ladyship did not receive before 
four o'clock. 

" Arrah, hould your prate," cried Corny; " sure 
it's the woman's son you're talking to. Two pair 
of stairs to your left hand, and the first doore in 
the passage. Look at the crowd there, the lazy 
craytures! that has nothing better to do than fol- 
low a respectable man. Be off! Bad luck to )ez! 
ye ought to be crying over the disgrace ye'ie in. 
Be the light that shines! but you desarved it well." 

Leaving Corny to his oration before the mob, 
of which, happily for the safety of his own skin, 
they did not conij^rehend one word, I took the 
direction he mentioned, and soon found out the 
door, on which a visiting card with my mother's 
name was fastened. 

We wefe now introduced into a large and 
splendidly furnished saloon, with all that light- 
ness and elegance of decoration which in a foreign 
apartment is the compensation — a poor one some- 
times — for the more comfortable look of our Eng- 
lish houses; the room was empty, but the morn- 
ing papers and all the new publications of the 
day were scattered abont with profusion; con- 
signing my friend for a short time to these, I fol- 
lowed the maid, who had already brought in my 
card to my mother, to her ladyship's dressing- 
room. The door was opened noiselessly by the 
maid, who whispered my name; a tienile "Let 
him come in" followed, and I entered. My 
mother was seated before a glass, under the hands 
of a coiffeur, and dared not turn lier head. As 
I approached she readied me her hand, however, 
which having kissed dutifully, I drew my chair, 
and sat down beside her. 

" My dear boy," said she, as her eyes turned 
towards me, and a tear fell from the lid and 
trickled down her cheek. In spite of the un- 
natural coldness of such a meeting, the words, 
the accents, and the look that accompanied 
them, came home to my heart, and I was glad 
to hide my emotion by again pressing my lips to 
her hand. Having kindly informed me that the 
ceremony she was then snbmitting to was imper- 
ative, inasmuch as if she had not M. Dejoncourt 
then, she could not have him at all — that his 
time was so filled up, every moment of it, from 
eight in the morning till eleven at night, that the 
Emperor Alexander himself couldn't obtain his 
services, if he wished for them — she proceeded 
to give me some details of my father, by which 



174 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



I could learn that the change in his circum- 
stances had never been made known to her, and 
tiiat she liad gone on since we last mst in her 
old career of extravagance and expense — the 
indulgence of which, and the cares of her ever- 
declining health, had given'her abundant occu- 
pation. 

As I looked at her beautiful features and del- 
icately fair complexion, upon which time had 
scarcely laid a touch, I sighed to think at what 
a frightful sacrifice of feeling, of duty, and of 
happiness too, such loveliness had been pur- 
chased. If the fine pencilling of that brow had 
never known a wrinkle, the heart had never 
throbbed to one high or holy thought — if the 
smile sat easily on the lip, it was the habitual 
garb of fashionable captivation, and not the 
indication of one kind thought or one affection- 
ate feeling. I felt shocked, too, that I could 
thus criticize my mother; but in truth, for a min- 
ute or two, I forgot she was such. 

"And Julia," said I, at length — '"what of 
her?" 

" Very handsome, indeed — strikingly so. Beul- 
wi;z, the emperor's aide-de-camp, admires her 
immensely. I am sincerely glad that you are 
come, dear John. You know Julia's fortune has 
all been saved; but of that another time. The 
first point now is to secure you a ticket for this 
ball, and how to do it, I'm sure I know not." 

" My dear mother, believe me, I have not the 
slightest desire " 

'■ How very unkind you are, to tliiiik we could 
separate from you after such an absence; be- 
sides Julia would be seriously offended, and, I 
think, with cause. But the ticket — let's con- 
sider about that. Dejoncourt, is it true that the 
Princess of Nassau was refused a card for the 
ball?" 

"(?///, miladi. The king of Prussia has sent 
her one of his, and is to take her; and madame 
la duchesse de St. Bieve is so angry at being 
left out, that she tried to get up an alarm of con- 
spiracy in the faubourgs to prevent the sover- 
eigns from going." 

" But they will go, surely — won't thev?" 

"Ah, to be sure. Pardicu.xXMny vio\\\A say to- 
morrow that they had been omitted too, if they 
didn't appear." 

" What are we to do?" said her ladyship, 
with energy. " Grammont can be of no use 
here; for, unfortunately, these people are not 
French." 

" What then?" said I, " is it some of the 
crowned heads who are the entertainers?" 

"Oh, no; indeed I don't know who they are; 
nor do I know any one who does. The only 
fact of importance is, that tliis is their third 
fete; the two first were the most brilliant things 
ever given in Paris — that the Emperor of Russia 
always dances there — the King of Prussia makes 
his whist party — that Blucher takes the head of 
one of the supper- tables — and, in a word, Tal- 
leyrand himself has employed more diplomacy 
to secure an extra ticket than he has often dis- 
pensed in carving out a new monarchy." 

My mother h.Tnded me a s]ilcndidly-embosst<! 
card as she spoke, upon which, in letters of 



pale burnished gold, were inscribed the follow- 
ing words: "Madame de Roni, nee Cassidy de 
Kilniainham, prie I'honneur," (S;c. A burst of 
laughing at the absurdity of the title stopped 
my reading further. 

" She's an Italian, possibly," said my mother. 

"I should think not," I replied; "'the nee 
Cassidy de Kilmainham smacks of something 
nearer home — what think you of Ireland?" 

"Ireland! Are these ])eople Irish?" said she, 
starting with horror at the thought. " 1 trust, 
my dear John, you would not think proper to 
jest on such a subject." 

" My dear mother, I never heard of them 
before; the only thing that strikes me is the 
name. Cassidy is assuredly more Milesian than 
Roman." 

"But she has birth; that's certain," replied my 
mother, proudly. 

Not caring to argue the point, which, after all, 
resolved itself into the question that the lady was 
the child of somebody, and that somebody was 
called " Cassidy,'' I began to meditate on the sin- 
gularity of such a phase in life as the entertainer 
of sovereigns, kaisers, kings, princes, archdukes, 
and ambassadors, being a jierson utterly unknown. 

"But here's Grammont," said my mother, as a 
gentle tap was heard at the door, and the count 
entered; the only change in his appearance since 
last I saw him being the addition of another cor- 
don to his blue coat, and a certain springiness in 
his walk, which I afterwards remarked as common 
among all the returned c'lnigrt's at the restoration. 

" Quf diabic faut-il /aire?" said the count, en- 
tering, ■' with this Madame de Roni? she refuses 
all the world. Ah, Jack, i/ion (Iter, how do you 
do? — safe and sound from all the perils of these 
terrible French, that cut you all to pieces in the 
Peninsula. But only think, miladi, no card for 
la duchesse de Tavanne; Madame de Givry left 
out. Sacristi! I hope there is nothing against 
ce pauvre Roi de Prusse." 

" Well, and here is John." said my mother; 
"what are we to do about him?" 

My renewed denial of any wish in the matter 
was cut short by a look of reproof, and I waited 
the whole discussion with patience. 

"Never was there such a difificulty," said the 
count, musing. "There iscertainly nothing to be 
done through the worthy husband of madame. 
Dejoncourt and two or three more gave him a 
diner en gourmand at Very's, to seduce him; and 
after his fifth flash of champagne he frankly con- 
fessed he was sorry he could not return their 
civilities as he wished. 'I'll entertain you here, 
and have Blucher and Platoff, Fourhe, and any 
one else you like to meet you. I'll introduce 
you to old Prussia and the czar whenever you 
please; you shall have permission to shoot at 
Fontainebleau any day you mention; but as to 
Madame de Roni, she is devilish exclusive; I 
really cannot manage that for you.' " 

"I wish you could pre\ail on yourself to be 
serious," said my mother, in no wise ])leased with 
the jocular spirit the count's ar.ecdote had excited; 
" but here is Julia — what does she advise?" 

.•\s my mother spoke, the door opened, and my 
cousin appeared. Her figure had more of the 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



175 



roundness of womanliood, and her face, thoi:gh 
jjaler was fuller, and its expression had assumed a 
more decided character tiiar. when I last saw her. 
Her winning smile and graceful carriage were all 
unchanged; and her low, soft voice never struck 
me as more fascinating than when she held out 
her hand and said, — 

"My dear cousin! how happy it makes me to 
see you again!" 

Her dark blue eyes were tearful as she spoke, 
and her lip — that haughty lip — trembled. A 
strange wild thrill crept through my heart as I 
])ressed her hand within both of mine — a vague 
feeling which I dared not suffer to dwell in my 
mind, and yet feared lest wlien it shoidd depart, 
that 1 had lost my chance of happiness. Yes! 
there are times when a man, without the admix- 
ture of any coxcombry in tlie feeling — without a 
l)article of vanity — nay, with a deep sense of his 
own unworthiness, can ask himself — '" Does this 
woman like me.'" And at such moments, if his 
own heart give not the ready answer, it were far 
better that he sought not the reply from his 
reason. 

it was only when my mother asked, for the 
second time, what was to be done about John's 
ticket, that Julia seemed aware of the question, a 
slight — a very slight — curving of her lip showing 
the while the sense she entertained of such an 
inquiry, after long years of separation; and at 
last, as if unable to repress the indignation of the 
moment, she said, abruptly, — 

'■ But of course, as we shall not think of going 
to-night " 

' We not go! Eh^pardieu! why not?" said the 
count. 

'■ The colonel below stairs begs to say that he 
will call somewhat later," said the /,v«;«c flV <://(?«/- 
bre^ at this juncture. 

'■ The colonel! Whom does she mean?" 

" Oh, my friend O'Grady. Poor fellow! I have 
been forgetting him all this while. So allow me 
to join him, and we'll wait for your appearance 
in the drawing-room." 

" I remember him perfectly," said my mother; 
" an agreeable person, I think. So take Julia 
and the count with you, and I'll follow as soon 
as I can." 

Julia blushed deeply, and as suddenly grew 
|)ale again as my mother spoke. I knew that she 
liad always treated my friend with hauteur and 
reserve, without any assignable reason, and had 
long determined that when an opportunity arose, 
I would endeavor to get rid of the unjust impres- 
sion she had somehow conceived of my warmest, 
truest friend. This was not, however, the time 
for ex|:ilanations, and I merely said, as I offered 
my arm, — 

" Poor O'Grady has been badly wounded; but 
I think he's now getting on favorably." 

She said something in reply, but the words 
were lost in the noise of descending the stairs. 
Just as we reached the landing, I caught a 
glimpse of my friend issuing from the gate, and 
only in time to call him by his name, — 

'■ Holloa, Phil! Don't go away." 

As he turned back towards the drawing-room, 
h" cried out, — 



" It's only this instant. Jack, I remembered how 
very awkward it was of me to come here with 
you at tins hour. You have, of course, so much 
to say and hear after your absence " 

The sight of my fair cousin cut short his speech, 
as she stood near the door, with her hand out to 
receive him. As O'Grady took her tajjer fingers 
withm his own, there was an air of cold distance 
jn his manner that actually offended rtic. Bow- 
ing deeply, he said a few brief words in a tone of 
gravity and stiffness quite unusual wilh liim; 
and then, turning to Granmiont, shook his hand 
with a warmth and cordiality most markedly 
different. I only dared to glance at Julia, but as 
I did so I could mark an expression of haughty 
displeasure that settled on her brow, \\hile her 
heightened color made her turn away towards the 
window, 

I was myself so much annoyed by the manner 
in which O'Grady had received advances which 
I had never seen made to any one before, that I 
was silent. Even Granmiont saw the awkward- 
ness of all parties so much in need of his interven- 
tion, that he at once ojjened the whole negotia- 
tion of the ball to O'Grady, describing, with a 
Frenchman's volubility and sar.ca?m, the strata- 
gems and devices which were employed to obtain 
invitations — the triumph of the successiul, the 
despairing malice of the unfortunate — heighten- 
ing his narrati^-e by the mystery of the fair 
hostess, who — herself unknown, unheard of 
till now — was at this moment at the pinnacle 
of fashion, dictating the laws and distributing 
the honors of fashion to the greatest sovereigns 
of Europe. 

" She is very beautiful, no doubt?" asked 
O'Grady. 

" Otii — pas vial" said Grammont, with that all- 
explaining shrug of the shoulders by which a 
foreigner conveys so much. 

" Very rich, perhaps?" 

" Minio/maire .'" said the Frenchman in a tone 
of exultation that bespoke his full acquiescence 
in that surmise at least. 

" And her rank?" 

"Ah! I don't read riddles. All I know is, her 
house is tlie best thing at Paris; she has secured 
old CamhcLcirhfi's c/irf de cuisine J has bought up 
the groom of the chambers of the ex-emperor: 
keeps an estafette going on the Strasbourg road 
for pate's de fflie gras ; and is on such terms with 
the sovereigns that she has their pri\ate bands to 
play at all her parties. Que voiilcz-voiis !" 

" Nothing more, indeed!" said O'CSrady, laugh- 
ing. " Such admirable supremacy in the fashion 
it would be rank heresy to question further, and 
I no longer wonder at the active canvass for 
her invitations." 

" Oui, parldeu f" said the Frenchman, gayly, 
" If Monsieur the Comte d' Artois does not exert 
himself, people will be more proud of a ticket to 
these balls than of the Croix de St. Lom's. For 
my own part, I think of wearing mine over tne 
cordon." 

As he spoke, he flourished his card of invita- 
tion in the air, and displayed it in his bc'soni. 

'■ Madame de Roni, nee Cassidy de Ki'main- 
hani," said O'Gradv, bursting into a perfect roar 



176 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



of laughter. " Tliis is glorious, Jack. Did you 
see this?'' 

"See — eh? — to be sure; and what then?" 

But O'Grady's mirth had burst all bounds, and 
he sat back in an armchair laughing immoder- 
ately. To all our questions he could give no 
other reply than renewed bursts of merriment, 
which, however enjoyed by himself, were very 
provoking to us. 

" He knows her," whispered Grammont in my 
ear^ " be assured he knows madanie." 

"Jack, where shall we meet in half an hour?" 
said Phil at length, jumping up and wiping his 
eyes. 

'■ Here, if you like," said I; "I shall not leave 
this till you return." 

" Be it so," said he; and then with a bow to 
my cousin and an easy nod to Grammont, O'Grady 
took his hat and dejiarted. 

Grammont now looked at his watch, and re- 
membering some half dozen very important ap- 
pointments, took his leave also, leaving me once 
more, after so long an intcr\-al, alone with Julia. 

There were so many things to talk over since 
we had met, so many reminiscences which each 
moment called up, that 1 never thought of the 
hours as they ran over; and it was only by Lady 
Charlotte's a])pearance in the drawing-room that 
we u-ere apprised it was already past four o'clock, 
and that the tide of her morning \-isitors would 
now set in, and break up all hopes of continuing 
our colloquy. 

" Where is your friend ?" said my mother, as 
she carried her eyes languidly round the spacious 
apartment. 

"Gone some hours ago; but he promised to 
take me up here. We shall see him soon, I sus- 
pect." 

"Colonel O'Grady," said a servant; and my 
cousin had just time to leave the room by one 
door as he entered by another. 

Advancing to my mother with a manner of re- 
spectful ease which he ))cssessed to perfection, 
O'Grady contrived in a few brief words to resume 
the ground he had formerly occupied in her ac- 
quaintance, throwing out as he went an occa- 
sional compliment to her looks, so naturally and 
unaffectedly done as not to need acknowledgment 
or reply, but yet with sufficient sincerity to show 
interest. 

" I have heard since my arrival that you were 
interested about this ball and took the oppor- 
tunity to secure you some tickets, which, though 
late, some of your friends may care for." 

He presented my mother as he spoke with sev- 
eral blank cards of invitation, who, as she took 
them, could not conceal her astonishment, nor 
repress the look of curiosity, which she could 
scarcely repel in words, as to how he had accom- 
plished a task the highest people in Paris had 
failed in. I saw what was passing in her mind, 
and immediately said, — 

" My mother would like to know your secret 
about these same cards, O'Grady, for they have 
been a perfect subject of contention here for the 
last three weeks." 

" Her ladyship must excuse me — at least for 
the present — if I have one secret I cannot com- 



municate to her,' said O'Grady, smiling. " Let 
me only assure her. no one shall know it before 
she herself does." 

"And there is a secret?" said Lady Charlotte, 
eagerly. 

"Yes, there is a secret," replied O'Grady, with 
a most ludicrous gravity of tone. 

" Well, at least we have profited by it, and so 
we may wait in patience. Your friend Colonel 
O'Grady will give us the pleasure of his company 
at dinner, I hope,' continued my mother, with 
her most winning smile. 

O'Gradv declined, having already accepted the 
invitation of the adjutant-general, but begged he 
might be permitted to join our party at the ball, 
which being graciously acceded to by my mother, 
we both made our bows and sauntered out to see 
more of the sights of Paris. 

" Come, Phil," said I, when we were once 
more alone, " what is this secret? Who is Madame 
de Roni?" 

" Not even to you, Jack," was his answer; and 
we walked on in silence. 



CHAPTER LVHL 



THE RONI FETE. 



There is no epidemic more catching than ex- 
citement The fussy manner and feverish bustle 
of the people about you are sure, after a time, to 
communicate themselves to you, the very irrita- 
tion they create being ^^'hat the physicians call a 
predisposing cause I became an illustration in 
point, as the hour of this ball drew nigh. At 
first I could not but wonder how, in the midst of 
such stupendous events as were then taking place 
— in the heart of a city garrisoned by an enemy 
— with everything that could wound national 
pride and offend national honor — even French 
levity could raise itself to the enjoyment of 
fashionable frivolity; but, by degrees, the con- 
tinual recurrence of the subject familiarized my 
mind to it, wore off my first and more natural 
impressions, and at last I began, like my neigh- 
bors, not only to listen with patience, but even 
to join in tire various discussions with animation 
and interest. 

No sooner had the report gained currency that 
Lady Charlotte was in possession of blank invit- 
ations, than our hotel was besieged by half Paris 
— the unfortunate endeavoring, by every species 
of flattery, and every imaginable stratagem, to 
obtain tickets; the lucky ones all anxious to find 
out the mystery of her ladyship's success, which 
at first seemed almost incredible. The various 
surmises, guesses, hints, allusions, and subterfuges 
which followed each other in rapid succession, as 
this motley mob of fashionables came and went, 
and went and came again, amused me considerably 
— the more so, perhaps, as the occasion called into 
full play all my cousin Julia's powers of flippant 
raillery and sarcasm, both of which she exercised 
without scruple, but never within range of dis- 
covery by any of her victims. 

Everything gave way to the convenience of 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



177 



this splendid fete. The eight o'clock dinner was 
anticipated by full two hours — no other subject 
of conversation was ever broached by the com- 
pany — and at nine the carriages were ordered to 
the door, it being wisely calculated that if we 
reached our destination at eleven we should esteem 
ourselves fortunate. 

How often, as the dashing equipage whirls past 
to some scene of pleasure, where beautv and 
rank, and riches await the sated votao of 
fashion, will the glare of the carriage lamp« fall 
upon the gloomy footway, where, wet and weary, 
some melancholy figure steals along with down- 
cast head and plodding step — his thoughts turned 
ever to some accustomed scene of wretchedness, 
where want and misery, disease, neglect, decay, 
all herd together, and not even hope can enter. 
The poor man, startled, looks up — the rich one, 
lolling back upon his easy cushion, casts a down- 
ward glance — their eyes meet — it is but a second 
— there is no sympathy between them — the course 
of one lies north, the other south. Thus at each 
moment did my sad heart turn away from all the 
splendor of the preparation about me, to wonder 
with myself how, even for an instant, 1 could 
forget my own path in life, which, opening with 
every prospect of happiness, yet now offered not 
a hope for the future. Between these two alter- 
nate states the hours crept on. As I sat beside 
Julia in the carriage, I couldn't but mark that 
something weighed also on her spirits. More 
silent than usual, she replied, when spoken to, 
with effort, and more than once returned wrong 
answers to iny mother, who talked away unceas- 
ingly of the ball and the guests. 

It was near midnight when we drove into the 
large archway of the Hotel de Rohan, where 
Madame de Roni held her court. Brilliantly 
lighted with lamps of various colors, the very 
equipages were made a part of the spectacle, as 
they shone in bright and changeful hues, reflected 
from gorgeous housings, gilded trappings, and 
costly liveries. A large dark-colored travelling 
carriage, with a smgle pair of horses, stood in tlie 
corner of the court: the only thing to distinguish 
it being two mounted light dragoons, who waited 
beside it, and a chasseur in green and gold uni- 
form, who stood at the door. This simple equip- 
age belonged to the king of Prussia. Around 
onevery side were splendidly appointed carriages, 
glittering with emblazonry and gilding, from 
which, as the guests descended and entered the 
marble vestibule, names of European celebrity 
were called out, and repeated from voice to voice 
along the lofty corridors. Le Prince de Schwart- 
zenberg. Count Po/^zo di Borgo, Le Due de Dal- 
berg, Milord Cathcart, Le Comte de Nesselrode, 
Mon'iieur Talleyrand de Perigord, with others 
equally noble and exalted, followed in rapid suc- 
cession. 

Our turn came at last; and as we reached the 
hall we found O'Grady waiting for our arrival. 

"There's no use in attempting to get forward 
for some time," said he, "so follow me, and I'll 
secure you a more comfortable place to wait in." 

As he spoke he passed through the hall, and, 
whispering a few words to a servant, a door was 
apened in the wainscot, admitting us to a small 



and neatly fitted up library, where a good fire and 
some easy-chairs awaited us. 

"I see yotir surprise," >aid O'Grady, as my 
mother looked aljnut her with astonishment, at 
his perfect acquaintance with the whole localiu, 
"but I can't explain — it's part of my stcrei; 
meanwhile, I have another for your ear," said 
he, in a low whisper, as he drew me aside into a 
corner. "I have made a very singular discovery, 
Jack, to-day, and I have a notion it may lead to 
more. I met, by accident, at tlie adjutant-general's 
table, the brother of a Frenclj officer whose life I 
saved at Nivelle; he remembered my name in a 
moment and we became sworn friends. I accepted 
his offer of a seat in his carriage to this ball, and on 
the way he informed me that he was the chief of 
the secret police of Paris, whose business it is to 
watch all the doings of the regular police and re- 
port upon thern to Fouche, whose spies are in 
every salon and at every dinner-table in the 
capital. I have no time at present to repeat any 
of the extraordinary stories he told me of this 
horrible system; but just as we entered the court- 
yard of this hotel, our carriage was jammed up 
in the line, and detained for some minutes. 
Guillemain suddenly let down the glass, and gave 
a low, peculiar whistle, which, if I had not been 
paying considerable attention to everything about 
him, might have escaped my notice. In about 
a minute after, a man with a hat slouched over 
his face, and a large cravat covering his mouth, 
approached the carriage. They conversed to- 
gether for a short time, and 1 could perceive 
that the new comer spoke his French in a broken 
manner, and with a foreign accent. By a slight 
movement of the horses one of the lamps threw 
the light full upon this man's face; I fixed my 
eyes rapidly on him, and recognized- — whom, 
think you — but you'd never guess — no other than 
your old antagonist, Ulick Burke!" 

" Ulick Burke.'' You must have been mis- 
taken." 

"No, no. I knew him at once: the light rested 
on him for full five minutes, and I had time 
enough to scan every feature of his face. I could 
swear to the man now. He left us at last, and 1 
watched him till he disappeared among the 
crowd of servants that filled the court-yard. 

" ' That's one of your people,' said I, carelessly, 
as Guillemain drew up the glass, and sat back in 
the carriage. 

"'Yes, and a thorough scoundrel he is— cap- 
able of anything.' 

"'He's not French,' said I, with the same in- 
difference of manner I had feigned at first. 

"Guillemain started as I spoke; and I half 
feared I had destroyed all by venturing too mu<h; 
at length, after a short pause, he replied, ' You're 
right, he's not French; but we have them of 
all nations — Poles, Swedes, Germans, Italians, 
Greeks— that fellow is English.' 

'"Say Irish, rather,' said I, determined to risk 
all— to know all. 

" ' You know him, then?' said Guillemain, 
hurriedly; 'Avheredid vou see Fitzgerald ?' 

"' Fitzgeraldl' said I, repeating the name after 
him; and then, affecting disappointment, added, 
'that's not the name.' 



J 78 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



"'Ha! I knew)'ou were mistaken,' said Guille- 
main, witli animation; 'the fellow told me he 
defies recognition; and I certainly have tried him 
often among his countrymen, and he has never 
been detected; and yet he knows the English 
thoroughly and intimately. It was through him 
I first found out these very people we are going to 

" Here, Jack, he entered upon a long account 
of our worthy host, who, with great wealth, great 
pretensions, and as great vulgarity, came to Paris 
some weeks ago in that mighty flood of all sorts 
of people th.it flocked here since the peace. 
Their desire to be ranked among the fashionable 
entertainers of the day was soon reported to the 
minister of police, who, after considering how 
far such a house might be useful, where persons 
of all shades of political opinion might meet — 
friends of the Bourbons, Jacobites, Napoleonists, 
the men of '88, and the admirers of the old regime 
— measures were accordingly taken that their 
invitations should go out to the first persons in 
Paris, and, more still, should be accepted by 
them. 

" While these worthy people are, therefore, 
distributing their hospitalities with all the good 
faith imaginable, their hotel. is nothing more nor 
less than a cabinet dc police^ where Fouche and 
his agents are unravelling the intrigues of Paris, 
or weaving fresh ones for their own objects!" 

"Infamous system! But how comes it, Phil, 
that they have never discovered their anomalous 
position?" 

"What a question, Jack! Vulgar pretension 
is a triple shield that no eye can pierce, and, as 
you know the parties " 

"Know them! no, I never heard of them be-' 
fore." 

" What, Jack! Is your memory so short-lived? 
And yet there was a ])retty girl in the house who 
might have rested longer in your memory ' 

The announcement of Lady Cliarlotte and my 
cousin's names by the servant at the foot of the 
stairs broke up our conference, and we had 
only time to join our party as we fell into that 
closely-wedged phalan.x tliat wound its slow 
length up the spacious staircase. O Grady's last 
words had excited my curiosity to the highest 
pitch; but as he preceded ine with my mother on 
his arm, 1 was unable to ask for any explanation. 

At last we reached the ante-chamber, from 
which a vista of salons suddenly broke upon the 
view, and, although anticipating much, I had 
formed no conception whatever of the splendor 
of the scene before me. More brilliant than 
noonday itself, the room was a blaze of wax- 
lights; the ceilings of fretted gold and blue enamel, 
glittering like a gorgeous firmament, the walls 
were covered with pictiires in costly frames of 
Venetian taste; but the decorations, magnificent 
and princely as they were, were as nothing to 
that splendid crowd of jewelled dames and glit- 
tering nobles; of all that was distinguished in 
beauty, in rank, in military glorv, or in the great 
contest of political life. Here were the greatest 
names of Europe — the kings and princes of the 
earth, the leaders of mighty armies, the genernls 
of a hundred battles — here was the collective 
greatness of the world — all that can influence 



mankind, hereditary rank, military power, stupen- 
dous intellect, beauty, wealth — mixing in the vast 
vortex of fashionable dissipation, and j^lunging 
into all the excesses of voluptuous pleasure. Tlie 
band of the Imperial Guard, stationed near the 
staircase, were playing with all the delicious 
softness of their national instrument — the Russian 
horn — a favorite mazurka of the emjieror's as we 
entered, and a partial silence reigned among the 
hundred listeners. 

O'Grady conxeyed my mother through the 
crowd to a seat, where, having placed my cousin 
beside her, he once more came near nie. 

" Jack," whispered lie, " come a little this way." 
He drew aside a curtain as he spoke; and we en- 
tered a boudoir, where a buffet of refreshments 
was placed; here the scene was ludicrous in the 
extreme, from the incongruous mixture of persons 
of so many nations and languages who were 
chatting away and hob-nobbing to each ether in 
all the dismembered phrases of every tongue in 
Europe, roars of laughter, however, poured from 
one corner of the room, whither O'Grady directed 
his steps, still holding my arm. A group of Cos- 
sack officers, in full scarlet costume, their loose 
trousers slashed with gold tmbroidtry, and thrust 
into wide boots of yellow leather, stocd in a circle 
round a person whom we coidd not yet perceive, 
but who, we were enabled to discover, was exer- 
cising his jicxxers of aniusement for this semi- 
savage audience, whose wild shouts of laughter 
broke forth at every moment. We made our 
way at length through the crowd, and my eyes 
at last fell upon the figure within. I stared — I 
rubbed my eyes- — I actually began to doubt my 
very senses, when suddenly turning his joyous 
face, beaming with good-humor, towards me, he 
held forth his hand, and called out, — 

" Captain, my darling, the top of the morning 
to you. This beats Stephen's green, doesn't it?" 

" Mr Paul Rooney!" said I. 
No, no. Monsieur de Koni, if you please," 
said he, again breaking out into a fit of laughing. 
"Lord help you, man! I've been christened 
since I came abroad. Let me present you to my 
friends." Here Paul poked a tall Cossack m 
the ribs to attract his attention, and then, point- 
ing to me, said. "This is Captain Hinton; his 
name s a poser; a cross between chincoiigh ar.d 
a house key Eh, old fellow?" 

A Tartar grin was the reply to this very intel- 
ligible speech, but a bumper of champagne made 
everything comprehensible between them. Mr 
Rooney's hilarity soon showed me that he had 
not forgotten his native habits, and was steadily 
bent upon drinking glass for glass with his com- 
pany, even though thev only came in detach- 
ments, with Bashkir chiefs, Pomeranian barons, 
Rhine graafs, and Polish counts, he seemed as 
intimate as though he had passed as much of his 
time in the Caucasus as the Four Courts, and was 
as familiar with the banks of the IJon as ever he 
had been with those of the Dodder. 

.^nd it is really our old friend Mrs. Paul, 
who entertains this host of czars and princes?" 

'' Is it really only now that you've guessed it?" 
said O'Grady, as be carried me away with him 
through the salon. 'But I see Lady Charlotte 




@^^^^; JW^ r,,yy^ ^x^^_^S^ 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



179 



is amongst her friends, and your cousin is danc- 
ing, so now let's make the most of our time. I 
say. Jack, your lady-mother scarcely supposes 
that her host is the same person she once called 
on for his bill. By Jove! what a discovery it 
would be to her! and the little girl she had such 
a horror of is now the belle of Paris. You re- 
member Lousia Bellew, don't you? Seven thous- 
and a year, my boy, and beauty worth double 
the money, but there she is, and how handsome!" 

As he spoke, a lady passed us leaning on her 
partner's arm, her liead turned slightly over her 
shoulder. I caught but one glance, and as I did 
so, the rushing torrent of blood that mounted to 
my face made my very brain grow dizzy. I 
knew not where I stood — I sprang forward to 
hjieak to her, and then became rooted to the 
ground. It was she, indeed — beautiful as ever I 
iiad seen her; her pale face wore the very look 
I had last seen the night I saved her from the 
flood. 

" Did you observe her companion?" said 
O'Grady, who fortunately had not noticed my 
confusion. " It was De Vere. I knew he was 
here: and I suspect I see his plans." 

" De Vere!" said I, starting. " De Vere with 
Miss Bellew! Are you certain?" 

"Quite certain — I seldom mistake a face, and 
his I can't forget. But here's Guillemain. I'll 
join you in a moment." 

So saying, O'Grady left my side, and I saw 
him take the arm of a small man in black, who 
was standing at the door-way. The rush of 
sensations that crowded on me as I stood there 
alone, made me forget the time, and I knew not 
that O'Grady had been above half an hour away 
when he again came to my side. 

"How the plot thickens, Hinton," said he, in 
a low whisper. " Only think, the villain Burke 
has actually made the hand and fortune of that 
lovely girl the price of obtaining secret informa- 
tion from De Vere of the proceedings of the 
British embassy. Guillemain did not confess this 
to me, but he spoke in such a way, that with my 
knowledge of all parties, I made out the clue." 

"Burke! but what influence has he over her?" 

" None over her, but much over the Rooneys, 
whom, independent of threats about exposing 
their real condition in life, he has persuaded 
that such a marriage for their ward secures them 
in fashionable society forever. This with Paul 
would do nothing; but Madame de Roni, as you 
know, sets a high price on such a treasure; be- 
sides, he is in possession of some family secret 
about her mother, which he uses as a means of 
intimidation to Paul, who would rather die than 
hurt Miss Bellew's feelings. Now, Jack, De Vere 
only wants intellect to be as great a scoundrel as 
Master Ulick; so we must rescue this poor girl, 
come what will." 

"We must and we will," said I, with a tone of 
eagerness that made O'Grady start. 

" Not a moment is to be lost," said he, after a 
brief pause. "I'll try what can be done with 
Guillemain.' 

An opening of the crowd as he spoke com- 
pelled us to fall back, and as we did so, I could 
parceive that an avenue wasmade-along the room. 



"One of the sovereigns," whispered O'Grady. 

I leaned forward, and perceived two aides-de- 
camp in green uniform, who were retreating, step 
by step, slowly, before some persons farther back. 

"The emperor of Russia," whispered a voice 
near me: and the same instant I saw the tall and 
fine-looking figure of Alexander, his broad, mas- 
sive forehead, and frank, manly face turning from 
side to side as he acknowledged the salutations 
of the room. On his arm he sujjported a lady, 
whose nodding plumes waved in concert with 
every inclination of the czar himself. Curipiis 
to see what royal personage shared thus with him 
the homage of the assembly, I stooped to caich 
a glance — the lady turned — our eyes met — a slight 
flush colored her cheek, as she quickly moved her 
head away — it was Mrs. Paul Rooney herself! 
yes, she whom I had once seen with an effort to 
subdue her pride of station, when led into dinner 
by some Irish attorney-general, or some going 
judge of assize, now leaned on the arm of an 
emperor, and divided with him the honors of the 
moment! 

While O'Grady sought out his new friend, the 
minister of police, I went in search of my mother 
and Lady Julia, whom I found surrounded by a 
knot of their own acquaintances, actively engaged 
in surmises as to the lady of the house — her rank, 
■fortune, and pretensions. P'or some time I could 
not but feel amused at the absurd assertions of 
many of the party, who affected to know all about 
Madame de Roni and her secret mission to Paris. 

"My dear John," said my mother in a whisper, 
"you must find out all about her. Your friend, 
the colonel, is evidently in the secret. Pray, now, 
don't forget it. But really you seem in a dream. 
There's Beulwitz paying Julia all the attention 
imaginable the entire evening, and you have never 
gone near her. A frofos, have you seen this 
ward of Madame de Roni? She is very pretty, 
and they speak of her as a very suitable person." 
(This phrase was a kind of cant with my mother 
and ker set, which expressed in brief that a lady 
was enormously rich and a very desirable match 
for a man with nothing.) "I forget the name." 

" Miss Bellew, perhaps," said I, trembling lest 
any recollection of ever having heard it before 
should cross her mind. 

"Yes, that's the name; somehow it seems 
familiar to me. Do you know her yet? for my 
friend Lady Middleton knows every one, and will 
introduce you." 

" Oh, I have the pleasure of being acquainted 
with her already," said I, turning away to hide 
my confusion. 

"That's quite proper," said her ladyship, en- 
couragingly. "But here she comes; I think you 
must introduce me, John." 

As my mother spoke, Louisa Bellew came up, 
leaning on a lady's arm. A moment's hesitation 
on my part would have only augmented the em- 
barrassment which increased at every instant; so 
I stepped forward and pronounced her name. 
No sooner had the words " Miss Bellew" escaped 
my lips, than she turned round, her large full 
eyes were fixed upon me doubtingly for a second, 
and her face grew deep scarlet, and then as sud- 
denly pale again. She made an effort to speak, 



180 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



but could not; a tottering weakness seemed to 
creep over her frame; and as she pressed her 
companion's arm closely I heard her mutter: 

" Oh, pray move on!" 

"Lady Charlotte Hinton — Miss Bellew, ' said 
the lady at her side, who had paid no attention 
whatever to Louisa Bellew's agitated manner. 

My mother smiled in her sweetest manner; 
while Miss Bellew's acknowledgments were made 
with the most distant coldness. 

" My son had deemed himself fortunate enough 
to be known to you," said Lady Charlotte. 

Miss Bellew became pale as death; her very 
lips were bloodless, as, with a voice tremulous 
with emotion, she replied, — 

" We were acquainted once, madam — but " 

What was to be the remainder of the speech 
I know not; for as the crowd moved on she 
passed with it, leaving me like one whose senses 
were forsaking him one by one. I could only 
hear my mother say, " How very impertinent!" 
and then my brain became a chaos. A kind of 
wild, reckless feeling, the savage longing that in 
moments of dark passion stirs within a man for 
some act of cruelty, some deed of vengeance, 
ran through my breast. I had been spurned, 
despised, disowned by her of whom, through 
many a weary month, my heart alone was full. 
I hurried away from the spot, my brain on fir . 
I saw nothing, I heeded nothing of the bright 
looks and laughing faces that passed me; scorn- 
ful pity and contempt for one so low as I was 
seemed to prevail in every face I looked at. A 
strange impulse to seek out Lord Dudley de 
Vere was uppermost in my mind; and as I turned 
on every side to find him, I felt my arm grasped 
tightly, and heard O'Grady's voice in my ear, — 

" Be calm. Jack, for heaven's sake! Your dis- 
turbed looks make every one stare at you." 

He drew me along with him through the crowd, 
and at length reached a card-room, where, e.xcept 
the players, no one was present. 

" Come, my dear boy, I saw what has annoyed 
you." 

"You saw it!" said I, my eyeballs straining 
as I spoke. 

"Yes, yes; and what signifies it? So very 
handsome a girl, and the expectation of a large 
fortune, must always have followers. But you 
know Lady Julia well enough " 

"Lady Julia!" repeated I, in amazement. 

"Yes. I say you know her enough to believe 
that Beulwitz is not exactly the person " 

A burst of laughter at his mistake broke from 
me at the moment, but so wild and discordant 
was it that O'Grady misconstrued its meaning, 
and went at some length to assure me that my 
cousin's affection for me was beyond my sus- 
picion. 

Stunned by my own overwhelming sorrow, I 
felt no inclination to undeceive him, and let him 
persist in his error without even a word of reply. 

"Rouse yourself, Jack," said he, at length. 
'■ This depression is unworthy of you, had you 
even cause for grief. There's many a heart 
heavier than your own, my boy, where the lip is 
smiling this minute." 
, There was a tone of deep affliction in the cad- 



ence of his voice as these words fell from him, 
and he turned away his head as he spoke. Then 
rallying in an instant, he added, — 

" Do you know, our dear friend Mrs. Paul has 
scarcely ventured to acknowledge me to-night? 
and I feel a kind of devilish spirit of vengeance 
working within me in consequence. To cut ;;;/./ 
I that trained her infant mind to greatness — 
that actually smuggled for her a contraband 
viceroy, and brought him alive into her domin- 
ions! What dire ingratitude! Come, what say 
you to champagne?" 

He poured me out a large glassful as he spoke, 
and, filling his own, called out, laughing, — 

" Here — I give you a toast. 'La Vendetta!'' Eh, 
Jack? Corsican vengeance on all who maltreat 
us!" 

Glass after glass followed; and I felt my brain, 
instead of being excited, grow calmer, steadier; 
a firm and determined resolution usurped the 
flitting thoughts and wandering fancies of before. 

"They're moving towards the supper-room," 
said O'Grady, who for some time past had talked 
away, without my paying any attention to what 
he said. 

As we descended the stairs, I heard my mother's 
carriage announced, and could just see her and 
my cousin handed to it by some Austrian officers 
as we entered the supper-room. 

The incessant crasli and din of the enormous 
banquetting-room, its crowd and heat, its gorge- 
ous table equipage and splendid guests, were 
scarce noticed by me as I followed O'Grady, 
half mechanically, towards the end of the room. 
For some time I remained stupidly unconscious 
of all around; and it was only after a very con- 
siderable time I descried that immediately in 
front of where we stood Mrs. Paul Rooney was 
seated — the emperor of Russia on her right, the 
king of Prussia on her left hand; Schwartzenberg, 
Blucher, Talleyrand, Nesselrode, and many others 
equally distinguished, occupying places along the 
board. Her jocund laugh and merry voice indeed 
first attracted my attention. 

"By Jove, she does it admirably!" said 
O'Grady. who for full five minutes had been 
most critically employed scrutinizing Mrs. Paul's 
manner. "Do you remark the tact with which 
she graduates her attentions to the emperor and 
the king? And look at the hauteur of her bear- 
ing to old Blucher. But hush ! — what's coming ?" 

A kind of suppressed murmur buzzed along 
the crowded room, which subsiding into a dead 
silence, the Emperor Alexander rose, and address- 
ing the guests in a few but well-chosen words in 
English, informed them he had received permis- 
sion from their amiable and captivating hostess to 
propose a toast, and he took the ojjportunity with 
unqualified delight to give the health of " the 
Prince Regent." A perfect thunder of applause 
acknowledged this piece of gracious courtesy, 
and a "Hip! hip! hurrah!" whicli astonished 
the foreigners, shook the very roof. While the 
deafening shouts rose on every side, Mrs. Paul 
wrote a line with her pencil hastily on her card, 
and turning round, gave it to a cossack aide-de- 
camp of the emperor to deliver into Mr. Rooney's 
hands. Either from the excitement of the 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



181 



moment, or his imperfect acquaintance with 
English, the unlucky Cossack turned towards the 
first British officer near him for an explanation, 
who happened to be O'Grady. 

"Wiiat does this mean?" said he, in French. 

"Ah,'' said Phil, looking at it, " this is intended 
for- that gentleman at the foot of the table. 
" You see him yonder — he's laughing now. Come 
along, I'll pilot you towards him." 

Suspecting that O Grady's politeness had some 
deeper motive than mere civility, I leaned over 
his shoulder and asked the reason of it. 

" Look here," said he, showing me the card as 
he spoke, on which was written the following 
words: "Make the band play 'God save the 
King;' the emperor wishes it." 

"Come with us. Jack," whispered O'Grady, 
" we had better keep near the door." 

I followed them through the dense crowd, who 
were still cheering with all their might, and at 
last reached the end of the table, where Paul 
himself was amusing a select party of Tartar 
chiefs, Prussian colonels, Irish captains, and 
Hungarian nobles. 

" Look here," said Phil, showing me the card, 
which in his passage down the room he Iiad con- 
trived to alter by rubbing out the first part, and 
interpolating a passage of his own, making the 
whole run thus: "Sing the ' Cruiskeen Lawn; 
the emperor wishes it." 

I had scarcely time to thrust my handkerchief 
to my mouth, and prevent an outbreak of laugh- 
ter, when I saw the Cossack officer present the 
card to Paul with a deep bow. Mr. Rooney 
read it — surveyed the bearer — read it again — 
rubbed his eyes — drew over a branch of wax 
candles to inspect it better, and then directing a 
look to the opposite extremity of the table, 
exchanged glances with his spouse, as if in- 
terrogating her intentions once more. A quick, 
sharp nod from Mrs. Paul decided the ques 
tion thus tacitly asked , and Paul, clearing 
off a tumbler of sherry, muttered to himself, 
"What the devil put the 'Cruiskeen Lawn' into 
his majesty's head, I can't think, but I sup- 
pose there's no refusing." 

A very spirited tapping with the handle of his 
knife was now heard to mix with the other con- 
vivial sounds, and soon indeed to overtop them, 
as Paul, anxious to obey a royal behest, cleared 
his throat a couple of times, and called out, 
"I'll do the best I can, your majesty" and at 
once struck up; 

" Let the farmer praise his grounds, 
Let the huntsm.iii praise Iiis hounds, 

And talk of the deeds they have done; 
But I, more blest than they " 

Here Paul quavered, and at. last the pent-up 
mirth of the whole room could endure no more, 
but burst forth into one continuous shout of 
laughter, in which kings, dukes, ambassadors, 
and field-marshals joined as loudly as their 
neighbors. To hear the song was utterly impos- 
sible; and though from Mr. Paul's expanded 
cheeks and violent gesticulation it was evident 
he was in full ch.nnt, nothing could be heard 
save the scream of laughing which shook the 



building — an emotion certainly not the less diffi- 
cult to repress, as Mrs. Paul, shaking her hand 
at him with passionate energy, called out — 

' Oh, the baste! — he thinks he's on circuit this 
minnit!" 

As for myself, half choking, and with sore 
sides, I never recovered till I reached the street, 
when O'Grady dragged me along, saying, as he 
did so, — 

We must reach home at once. Nothing but 
a strong aMi will save my character for this in 
the morning." 



CHAPTER LIX. 



FRASCATI. ■ 

I WAS not sorry when I heard the following 
morning that my mother would not appear be- 
fore dinner-hour. I dreaded the chance of any 
allusion to Miss Bellew's name requiring explan- 
ation on iny part, and the more so, as 1 myself 
was utterly lost in conjecture as to the reason of 
her singular reception of me. 

Julia, too, appeared more out of spirits than 
usual. She pleaded fatigue; but 1 could see 
that something lay heavily on her mind. She 
conversed with evident effort, and seemed to 
have a difficulty in recalling her faculties to the 
ordinary topics of the day. A thought struck 
me that perhaps De Vere's conduct might have 
given cause for her depression; and gradually 
I drew the conversation to the mention of his 
name, when I soon became undeceived on this 
point. 

She told me with perfect unconcern how my 
father had tracked out the whole line of his 
duplicity and calumny regarding me, and had 
followed the matter up by a representation to 
the duke at the head of the army, who immedi- 
ately commanded his retirement from the Guards. 
Later on, his family influence had obtained his 
appointment as a ttac hd io the embassy at Paiis; 
but since their first rupture he had discontinued 
his visits, and now had ceased to be acknowl- 
edged by them when they met. 

My cousin's melancholy not being, then, at- 
tributable to anything connected with De Vere, 
I set myself to work to ascertain whence it pro- 
ceeded; and suddenly the thought struck me 
that perhaps my mother's surmise might have 
some ioundation, and that Julia, feeling an 
affection for me, might have l)een hurt at my 
evident want of attention towards her since we 
met. 

I have already begged my reader to distin- 
guish such suspicions from the coxcombry of 
the lady-killer, who deems every girl he meets 
his victim. If I did for a moment imagine that 
my cousin liked me, I did so with a stronger 
sense of my own unworthiness to merit her love, 
than if I myself had sought her affection.s. I 
had felt her superiority to myself too early in 
life to outlive the memory of it as we grew older. 
I'he former feelin.gof dread which I entertained 
of Julia's sarcasm still lived within me; and I 



182 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



felt keenly that she who knew the weaknesses of 
the boy, was little likely to forget them in re- 
flecting over the failures of the man; and thus, 
if she did care for me, I well knew that her af- 
fection must be checkered by too many doubts 
and uncertainties to give it that character of 
abiding love which alone could bring happiness. 
I perceived clearly.enough that she disliked 
O'Grady. Was it, then, that being interested for 
me, she was grieved at my great intimacy with 
one she herself did not admire, and who evidently 
treated her with marked coldness and reserve? 

Harassed with these suspicions, and annoyed 
that those I -had hoped to see -regard each 
other as friends avoided every opportunity of in- 
timacy, I strolled forth to walk alone, my mind 
brooding over dark and disagreeable images, and 
my brain full of plans all based upon disap- 
pointed hopes and blighted expectations. To my 
mother's invitation to dinner for that day O'Grady 
had returned an ajaology — he was engaged to his 
friend M Guillemain, with whom he was also to 
pass the morning; so that I was absolutely with- 
out a companion. 

When first I issued from the Place Vendome, 
I resolved at all hazards to wait on theRooneys, 
and at once see Miss Bellew, and seek an ex- 
planation, if possible, for her manner towards 
me. As I hastened on towards the Chass^e, how- 
ever, I began to reflect on the impropriety of such 
a course, after the evident refusal she had given 
to any renewal of acquaintance. " I did know 
Mr. Hinton," were the words she used — words 
which, considering all that had passed between 
us, never could have been spoken lightly or with- 
out reason. A hundred vague conjectures as to 
the different ways in which my character and 
motives might have been slandered to her oc- 
cupied me as I sauntered along. De Vere and 
Burke were both my enemies, and I had little 
doubt that with them originated the calumny 
from which I now was suffering; and as I turned 
over in my thoughts all the former passages of 
our hatred, I felt how gladly they would embrace 
the opportunity of wounding me where the injury 
would prove the keenest. 

Without knowing it, I had actually reached the 
street where the Rooneys lived, and was within 
a few paces of their house. Strange enough, the 
same scene I had so often smiled at before their 
house in Dublin was now enacting here, the great 
difference being that, instead of the lounging 
subs of marching regiments, the swaggering 
cornets of dragoons, the over-dressed and under- 
bred crowds of would-be fashionables who then 
congregated before the windows or curvetted 
beneath the balcony, were now the generals of 
every foreign service, field marshals glittering 
with orders, powdered diMoinates, cordoned pol- 
itical writers, savants from every country in 
Europe, and idlers whose hoits mots and smart 
sayings were the delight of every dinner-table in 
the capital— all happy to have some neutral 
ground where the outposts of politics might be 
surveyed without compromise or danger, and 
where, amid the excellencies of the table and the 
pleasures of society, intrigues could be fathomed 
or invented, under the auspices of that excellent 



attorney's wife, who deemed herself meanwhile 
the great attraction of her courtly visitors and 
titled guests. 

As I drew near the house, I scarcely ventured 
to look towards the balcony, in which a number 
of well-dressed persons were now standingchatting 
together. One voice I soon recognized, and. its 
every accent cut my very heart as I listened. It 
was Lord Dudley de Vere, talking in his usual 
tone of loud assumption. I could hear the same 
vacant laugh which had so offended me, and I 
actually dreaded lest some chance allusion to 
myself might reach me where I stood. There 
must be something intensely powerful in the in- 
fluence of the human voice, when its very cadence 
alone can elevate to rapture or sting to madness. 
Who has not felt the ecstasy of some one brief 
word from " lips beloved," after long years of 
absence? And who has not experienced the 
tumultuous conflict of angry passions that rise 
unbidden at the mere sound of speaking from 
those we like not? My heart burned within me 
as I thought of her who doubtless was then 
among that gay throng, and for whose amuse- 
ment those powers of his lordship's wit were in 
all likelihood called forth; and I turned away in 
anger and in sorrow. 

As the day wore on, I could not face towards 
home. I felt I dare not meet the searching (pies- 
tions my mother was certain to ask me; nor could 
I endure the thought of mixing with a crowd of 
strangers, when my own spirits were hourly sink- 
ing. I dined alone in a small cafe in the Palais 
Royal, and sat moodily over my wine till past 
eleven o'clock. The stillness of the room startled 
me at length, and I looked up and found the tables 
deserted, a sleepy waiter lounged lazily on a 
bench, and the untrimmed candles and disordered 
look of everything indicated that no other guests 
were then expected. 

"Where have they gone to?" said I, curious 
to know what so suddenly had taken the crowd 
away 

" To Frascati's, monsieur," said the waiter, " the 
salon is filling fast by this time." 

A strange feeling of dislike to being alone had 
taken hold on me, and, having inquired the way 
to the Rue Richelieu from the servant, I issued 
forth. 

What a contrast to the dark and gloomy streets 
of Paris, with their regular pavement, was the bril- 
liantly-lighted vestibule, with its marble pillars 
and spacious stair rising gracefully beyond it,i 
which met my eyes as I entered Frascati's. Fol- 
lowing in the crowd of persons who pressed their 
way along, I reached a long ante-chamber, where 
several servants in rich liveries received the hats 
and canes of the visitors who thronged eagerly 
forward, their merry voices and gay laughter re- 
sounding through the arched roof. 

As the wide doors were thrown open noiselessly, 
I was quite unprepared for the splendor of the 
scene. Here were not only officers of rank in all 
the gala of their brilliant uniform, and civilians 
in full-dress shining in stars and decorations, but 
ladies also, with that perfection of toilette only 
known to Parisian women, the graceful figures 
scattered through the groups, or promenading. 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



183 



slowly up and down, conversing in a low tone ; while 
servants passed to and fro with champagne and 
fruit ices on massive silver salvers, their noise- 
less gesture and quiet demeanor in perfect keep- 
ing with the hushed and tranquil look of all 
around. As I drew closer to the table, I could 
mark that the stillness was even more remarkable, 
not a voice was heard but of the croupier of the 
table, as, with ceaseless monotony, he repeated — 
" Faitrs le Jeu, messieurs! — Lejeu est faite. Noir 
perd — et couleur gagnc. Roti^c perd — et la cou- 
leur— — ;" the rattle of the rake and the chink of 
the gold followed, a low, muttered " Siier//" be- 
ing the only sound that mingled with them. But 
I could mark that, although the etiquette of ruin 
demanded this unbroken silence, passion worked 
in every feature there. On one side was an old 
man, his filmy eyes shaded by his hand from the 
strong glare of wax lights, peering with eagerness, 
and tremulous from age and excitement as the 
cards fell from the banker's hands, his blanched 
lips muttering each word after the croupier, and 
his wasted cheek quivering as the chances inclined 
against him. Here was a bold and manly face, 
flushed and heated, whose bloodshot eye ranged 
quickly over the board, while every now and then 
some effort to seem calm and smile would cross 
the features, and in its working show the dread- 
ful struggle that was maintained within. And 
then, again, a beautiful girl, her dark eyes di- 
lated almost to a look of wild insanity, her lips 
parted, her cheek marked with patches of white 
and red, and her fair hands clenched, while her 
bosom heaved and fell as though some pent-up 
agony was eating her very heart. 

At the end of the table was a vacant chair, be- 
side which an officer in a Prussian uniform was 
standing, while before him was a small brass- 
clasped box. Curious to know what this meant, 
I turned to see to which of those about me I 
might venture to address a question, when sud- 
denly my curiosity became satisfied witliout in- 
quiry. A loud voice talking German with a 
rough accent — the heavy tramp of a cavalry boot, 
clanking with large spurs, announced the approach 
of some one who cared little for the conventional 
silence of the rooms; and as the crowd opened, I 
saw an old man in blue uniform, covered with 
stars, elbow his way towards the chair; his eye- 
brows of shaggy grey almost concealed his eyes as 
effectually as his heavy moustache did his mouth. 
He walked lame, and leaned on a stick, which, 
as he took his place in the chair, he placed un- 
ceremoniously on the table before him. The 
box, which was opened the moment he sat down, 
he now drew towards him, and plunging his hand 
into it, drew forth a handful of " Napoleons," 
which without waiting to count, he threw on the 
table, uttering, in a thick, guttural voice, the one 
word "Jii'/ige." The impassive coldness of the 
croupier, as he pronounced his habitual exordium, 
seemed to move the old man's impatience, as he 
rattled his fingers hurriedly among the gold, and 
muttered some broken words of German between 
his teeth. The enormous sum he betted drew 
every eye towards his part of the table, of all 
which he seemed totally regardless, as he raked 
in his winnings, or frowned with a heavy lowering 



look as often as fortune turned against him. 
Marshal Blucher — for it was he— was an impas- 
sioned gambler, and needed not the excitement 
of the champagne, which he drank eagerly from 
time to time, to stimulate his passion for play. 

As I turned from the rotige et noir table, 1 re- 
marked that every now and then some person 
left the room by a small door, which, concealed 
by a mirror, had escaped my attention when I 
entered. On inquiry I found that this passage 
led to a secret part of the establishment, which 
only a certain set of players frequented, and 
where the tables were kept open during the entire 
day and night. Curious to see the interior of this 
den of greater iniquity, I presented myself at it, 
and on opening found myself in a narrow cor- 
ridor, where a servant demanded my billet. 
Having informed him that I was merely there 
from motives of curiosity, I offered him a napo- 
leon, which speedily satisfied his scruples. He 
conducted me to the end of the gallery, where, 
touching a spring, the door opened, and I found 
myself in a room considerably smaller than the 
Siilivi, and, with the exception of being less bril- 
liantly lighted, equally splendid in its decorations. 
Around on all sides were small partitions, like 
the cells in a London coffee-house, where tables 
were provided for parties to sup at. These were 
now unoccupied, the greater attraction of high 
play having drawn every one around the table, 
where the same monotonous sounds of the 
croupier's voice, the same patter of the cards, 
and the same clinking of the gold, continued 
unceasingly. The silence of the saion was as 
nothing to the stillness that reigned here. Not 
a voice save the banker's was ever heard— each 
better placed his money on the red or black 
square of the table without speaking — and the 
massive rouleaux were passed backwards and 
forwards with no other sound save the noise of 
the rake. I remarked, too, that the stakes 
seemed far heavier; crumpled rolls of billets de 
banque were often thrown down; and from the 
muffled murmur of the banker, I could hear such 
sums as " seven thousand," " ten thousand 
francs," called out. 

It was some time before I could approach near 
enough to see the play; at last I edged my way 
to the front, and obtained a place behind the 
croupier's chair, where a good view of the table 
was presented to me. The different nations, 
with their different costumes, tongues, and ex- 
pressions, so strangely congregated, were a 
study that might have amused me for a long 
time, had not a chance word of English spoken 
close by me drawn off my attention. Imme- 
diately in front, but with their backs towards me, 
sat two persons who seemed, as was often the 
habit, to play in concert. A large heap of gold 
and notes lay before them, and several cards, 
marked with pin-holes to chronicle the run of 
the game, were scattered about. Unable to see 
their faces, I was struck by one singular but de- 
cisive mark of their difference in condition and 
rank — the hands of one were fair and delicate 
almost as a woman's — the blue veins circled 
clearly through them, and rings of great price 
and brilliancy glittered on the fingers; those of 



VI 



184 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



the other were coarse, brown-stained, and ill- 
cared for; the sinewy fingers and strong bony 
knuckles denoting one accustomed to labor- 
ious exertions. It was strange that two persons, 
evidently so wide apart in their walks in life, 
should be thus associated; and feeling a greater 
interest, from the chance phrase of English one 
of them had dropped, I watched them closely. 
By degrees I could mark that their difference in 
dress was no less conspicuous, for although the 
more humble was well, even fashionably attired, 
he had not the same distinctive marks which 
characterized his companion as a person of class 
and condition. While I looked, the pile of gold 
before them had gradually melted down to some 
few pieces; and as they bent down their heads 
over the cards, and concerted as to their play, 
it was clear that by their less frequent ventures 
they were becoming more cautious. 

" No, no," said he who seemed the superior, 
"I'll not risk it." 

" I say yes, yes," muttered the other, in a 
deeper voice; the rouge can't go on forever; it 
has passed eleven times." 

"I know," said the former, bitterly, "and I 
have lost seventeen thousand francs." 

"You have lost!" retorted the other, savagely, 
but in the same low tones, " why not we ? Am / 
for nothing in all this?" 

"Come, come, Ulick, don't be in a passion." 
The name and the tone of the speaker startled 
me; I leaned forward, my very head reeled as I 
looked. It was Lord Dudley de Vere and Ulick 
Burke. The rush of passionate excitement that 
ran through me for a minute or two, to be thus 
thrown beside the two only enemies I had ever 
had, unnerved me so far that I could not collect 
myself. To call them forth at once, and charge 
them with their baseness towards me, was my 
first rapid thought; to dare them openly and de- 
nounce them before that crowded assembly; but 
from this wild thrill of anger I was soon turned, 
as Burke's voice, elevated to a tone of passion, 
called out, — 

" Hold! I am going to bet!" 
The banker stopped — the cards still rested in 
his hands. 

" I say, sir, I will do it," SLaid Burke, turning 
to De Vere, whose cheek was now pale as death, 
and whose disordered and haggard air was in- 
creased by his having torn off his cravat and 
opened the collar of his shirt, "/say I will — 
do you gainsay me?" continued he, laying on the 
words an accent of such contemptuous insolence 
that even De Vere's eye fired at it. " Vingi mille 
francs, noir," said Burke, placing his last fiUlet 
on the table; and the words were scarce spoken, 
when the banker cried out, — 
" Noir perd et passe." 

A horrible curse broke from Burke as he fixed 
his staring eyeballs on the outspread cards, and 
counted over the numbers to himself. 
"You see. Burke," said De Vere. 
"Don't speak to me now, d — n you," said the 
other, with clenched teeth. 

De Vere pushed back his chair, and rising, 
moved through the crowd towards an open win- 
dow. Burke sat with his head buried between 



his hands for some seconds, and then, starting 
up at the banker's call, cried out, "'Bix mille, 
noir!" 

A kind of half suppressed laugh ran round the 
table at seeing that he had no funds, while he 
still offered to bet. He threw his eyes upon the 
board; and then as quickly turned them on the 
players. One by one his dark look was bent on 
them, as if to search out some victim for his hate; 
but all were hushed. Many as reckless as him- 
self were there — many as utterly ruined — but not 
one so lost to hope. 

"Who laughed ?" said he, in French, while the 
thick veins of his forehead stood out like cord- 
age; and then, as none answered to his challenge, 
he rose slowly, still scowling with the malignity 
of a demon. 

" May I have your seat, monsieur?" said a 
dapper little Frenchman, with a smile and a bow, 
as Burke moved away. 

"Yes, take it," said he, as, lifting the strong 
chair with one hand, he dashed it upon the floor, 
smashing it to pieces with a crash that shook the 
room. 

The crowd which made way for him to pass out, 
as speedily closed again around the table, wKere 
the work of ruin still went forward; not a pass- 
ing glance was turned from the board to look 
after the beggared gambler. 

The horrible indifference the players had shown 
to the sufferings of this wretched man so 
thoroughly disgusted me, that I could no longer 
bear even to look on the game; the passion of 
play had shown itself to me now in all its most 
repulsive form, and I turned with abhorrence 
from the table. 

My mind agitated by a number of emotions, 
and my heart now swelling with triumphant 
vengeance, now filled with pity for the sake of 
him who had ruined my fortunes forever, I sat in 
one of the small boxes I have mentioned, which, 
dimly lighted, had not yet been sought by any 
of the players to sup in. A closely drawn cur- 
tain separated the little place I occupied irom 
the adjoining one, where, from time to time, I 
heard the clink of glasses and the noise of cham- 
pagne corks. At first I supposed that some other 
solitary individual had established himself there 
to enjoy his winnings, or brood over his losses, 
when at last I could hear the low muttering of 
voices, which ere long I recognized as belonging 
to Burke and De Vere. 

Burke, who evidently, from his tone and man- 
ner, possessed the mastery over his companion, 
no longer employed the insulting accent 1 had 
witnessed at the table; on the contrary, he con- 
descended to flatter — affected to be delighted 
with De Vere's wit and sharpness; and more 
than once insinuated that with such an associate 
he cared little what tricks fortune played them; 
for, to use his own phrase, "they were sure to 
come round." 

De Vere's voice, which I could only hear at 
rare intervals, told that he had drank deeply; 
and that, between wine and his losses, a kind of 
reckless desperation had seized him, which gave 
to his manner and words a semblance of bold- 
ness which his real character lacked completely. 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



185 



When I knew that Burke and De Vere were 
the persons near me, I rose to leave the spot. 
The fear of playing the eavesdropper forbade 
my remaining; but as I stood up, the mention 
of my own name, uttered in a tone of vengeance 
by Burke, startled me, and I listened. 

"Yes,'' said he, striking his hand upon tlie 
table, and confirming his assertion with a hor- 
rible oath — "yes; for him and througli him my 
uncle left me a beggar. But already I have had 
my revenge; though it sha'n't end there." 

"You don't mean to have him out again. 
Confound him, he's a devilish good shot — winged 
you already. Eh?" 

Burke, unmindful of the interruption, con- 
tinued 

" It was I that told my uncle how this fellow 
was the nephew of the man that seduced his 
own wife. I worked upon the old man so, that 
he left house and home, and wandered through 
the country till mental irritation, acting on a 
broken frame, became fever, and then death." 

Died — eh.' glorious nephew you are, by 
Jove! What ne.\t?" 

" I'll tell you. I forged a letter in his hand- 
writing to Louisa, written as if on his death- 
bed, commanding as his last prayer, that she 
should never see Hinton again; or, if by any 
accident tliey should meet, that she should not 
recognize him nor know him." 

" Devilish clever, that. Egad, a better mar- 
tingale than that you invented a while ago. I 
say, pass the wine — red fourteen times — wasn't 
it fourteen? — and if it had not been for your 
cursed obstinacy I'd have backed the red. See, 
fifty naps. — one hundred — four — eight — sixteen 
— thirty-four — or six — which is it? — oh, confound 
your stupidity!" 

''Come, come, Dudley, better luck another 
time. Louisa's eyes must have been too 
kindly bent on you, or you'd have been more 
fortunate." 

" Eh? you think she likes me? — capital cham- 
pagne that — I always thought she did from the 
first. That's what I call walking inside of Hin- 
ton. How he'll look — ha, ha, ha!" 

"Yes, how he'll look!" echoed Burke, endeav- 
oring to join the laugh. " But now one thing is 
yet wanting." 

" You mean those despatches," replied De 
Vere, suddenly; "you always come back to that. 
Well, once for all, I say, no!" 

"Just hear me, Dudley; nothing is easier — 
nothing incurs less risk." 

"Less risk! what do you mean? No risk for 
me to steal the papers of the embassy, and give 
them to you to hand over to that scoundrel at 
the head of the secret police? Devilish green 
I may be, but not so green as that, Master 
Burke." 

" Guillemain will give us forty thousand francs. 
Forty thousand! With half that and your luck, 
De Vere, we'll break every bank in Paris. I 
know you don't wish to marry Louisa." 

" No; hang it, that's always the wind up. 
Keep that for the last throw— eh? There's 
heavy play there — see how silent they are," 

"Ay; and with forty thousand francs we 



might join them," said Burke, as if musing; 
"and so safely it may be done." 

" I say no," replied De Vere, resolutely. 

"What do you fear? is it me?" 

'' No, not you; I believe you are true enough 
— your own neck will be in the rope, too; so 
you'll say nothing; but I won't do it — pass the 
champagne — there's something so devilish black- 
guard in stealing a man's papers." 

Burke started as if the tones of his compan- 
ion's voice had stung him like an adder. 

"Have you tliought over your present condi- 
tion?" said Burke, firmly. " You have not a 
guinea left — your debts in Paris alone, to ray 
knowledge, are above forty thousand francs." 

" I'll never pay a livre of them — damned 
swindlers and Jew money-lenders," was the cool 
reply. 

" Might not some scrupulous moralist hint 
there was something blackguard in that?" said 
Burke, with slow and distinct articulation. 

"What!" replied De Vere, "do you come here 
to tutor me — a low-bred horse-jockey — a spy? 
Take off your hands, sir, or I'll alarm the room; 
let loose my collar." 

" Come, come, my lord, we're both in fault," 
said Burke, smothering his passion with a terri- 
ble effort; "we, of all men, must not quarrel. 
Play is to us the air we breathe, the light we live 
in. Give me your hand." 

"Allow me to draw on my glove first," said 
De Vere, in a tone of incomparable insolence. 

" Champagne here," said Burke to the waiter 
as he passed; and for some minutes neither 
spoke. 

The clock chimed a quarter to two, and Burke 
started to his feet. 

" I must be going," said he, hastily; " I should 
have been at the Forte St. Martin by half-past 
one." 

" Salute the Jacobite Club de ma part" said 
De Vere, with an insulting laugh, " and tell them 
to cut everybody's throat in Paris save old 
Lafitte's; he has promised to do a bill for me 
in the morning." 

" You'll not need his kindness so soon," re- 
plied Burke, " if you are willing to take my ad- 
vice — forty thousand francs " 

"Would he make it sixty, think you?" 

"Sixty!" said Burke, with animation; "I'm 
not sure, but shall I say for sixty you'll do it?" 

"No, I don't mean that; I was only anxious 
to know if those confounded rigmaroles I have 
to copy sometimes could possibly interest any 
one to that amount." 

Burke tried to laugh, but the hollow chuckle 
sounded like the gulping of a smothering man. 

"Laugh out," said De Vere, whose voice be- 
came more and more indistinct, as his courage be- 
came stronger; "that muttering is so devilish like 
a spy — a rascally, low-bred " 

A heavy blow, a half uttered cry followed, and 
De Vere fell with a crash to the floor, his face 
and temples bathed with blood; while Burke, 
springing to the door, darted down-stairs, and 
gained the street before pursuit was thought of. 
A few of the less interested about the table as- 
sisted me to raise the fallen man, from whose 



186 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



nose and mouth the blood flowed in torrents. 
He was perfectly senseless, and evinced scarcely 
a sign of life, as we carried him down-stairs, and 
placed him in a carriage. 

" Where to?" said the coachman, as I stood 
beside the door. 

I hesitated for a second, and then said, " No. 
4, Place Vendome." 



CHAPTER LX. 



DISCLOSURES. 



I HAVE more than once heard physicians re- 
mark the singular immunity a fool s skull seems 
to possess from the evil effects of injury, as if 
nature, when denying a governing faculty, had, 
in kind compensation, imparted a triple thick- 
ness to the head thus exposed. It is well known 
how, among the educated and thinking classes, 
many maladies are fatal, which are comparatively 
innocuous among those whose hands aloae are 
called on to labor. A very ingenious theory 
might be spun from this fact, to the manifest 
self gratulation of fox-hunters, sailors, gentlemen 
who assault the new police, tithe-proctors, and 
others; for the present I have no further use 
for the remark, than as it bore upon the head- 
piece of Lord Dudley de Vere, whose admirable 
developments had received little or no damage 
from the rude assault of his companion. When 
he awoke the next morning, he was only aware 
that something unusual had occurred; and grad- 
ually, by " trying back" in his sensations, he re- 
membered every particle that took place — had 
the clearest recollection of the run upon red" 
— knew the number of bottles of champagne he 
had partaken of, and was only puzzled by one 
thing — what could possibly have suggested the 
courage with which he confronted Burke, and 
the hardihood that led him to insult him. 

As to any awkwardness at being brought home 
to the house of the person he had himself so ill 
treated, he never felt anything approaching to 
it; the extent of his reasoning on this point only 
went to his satisfaction, that " some one" took 
care of him, and that he was not left to lie on 
the floor of the salon. 

This admirable philosophy of his served in a 
great measure to relieve me from the constraint 
I felt in presenting myself before him, and soon 
put me perfectly at my ease in our interview. 
After learning that, except some head-aching 
Sensations, the only inconvenience he experienced 
was an unconquerable thirst, 1 touched slightly 
on the cause of his misfortune, when, what was 
my astonishment to discern that he not only did 
not entertain a particle of ill-will towards the 
man who had so brutally ill-treated him, but ac- 
tually grew warm in his panegyric of Burke's 
consummate skill and address at play— such 
qualities, in his estimation, being well worthy to 
cover any small blemishes of villany his charac- 
ter might suffer under. 

" I say, don't you think Burke a devilish sharp 
fellow? he's up to everything, and so cool — so 



confoundedly cool; not last night, though: no, by . ij 
Jove! he lost temper completely. 1 shall be I 
marked with that knock, eh? Damn me, it was 
too bad; he must apologize for it. You know 
he was drunk, and somehow he was all wrong 
the whole evening; he wouldn't let me back the 
rouge, and such a run — you saw that, I sup- 
pose?" 

I assented with a nod, for I still hesitated 
how far I should communicate to him my knowl- 
edge of Burke's villany towards myself. 

"By-the-bye, it's rather awkward my being 
here; you know your people have cut me. Don't 
you think I might get a cab to bring me over to 
the Rue d'Alger?" 

There was something which touched me in the 
simplicity of this remark, and I proceeded to as- 
sure him that any former impressions of my 
friends would not be remembered against him 
at that moment. 

" Oh, that I'm sure of. No one ever thinks 
it worth while to bear malice against a poor devil 
like me; but if I'd have backed the red " 

" Colonel O'Grady is in the drawing-room," 
said a servant in a low voice to me at this in- 
stant; and leaving Lord Dudley to speculate on 
the contingencies of his having "backed the 
red," I joined my friend, whom I had not seen 
on the previous day. 

We were alone, and in ten minutes I explained 
to him the entire discovery I had fallen upon, 
concealing only my affection for Louisa Bellew, 
which I could not bring myself even to allude to. 

" I see," said Phil, when I concluded—" I see 
you are half disposed to forgive De Vere all his 
rascality. Now, what a different estimate we 
take of men; perhaps — I can't say — it is because 
I am an Irishman — but I lean to the bold-faced 
villain Burke; the miserable, contemptible weak- 
ness of the one is far more intolerable to me than 
the ruffian effrontery of the other. Don't forget 
the lesson I gave you many a year ago, a fool 
is always a blackguard Now, if that fellow could 
see his companion this minute, there is not a cir- 
cumstance he has noticed here that he would not 
retail, if it bore to your disadvantage. Untouched 
by your kindness to him, he would sell you, ay, 
to the very man you saved him from. But, after 
all, what have we to do with him? Our first 
point is to rescue this poor girl's name from 
being ever mixed with his; anything further is, 
of course, out of the question. The Rooneys 
are going back — I sa\y Paul this morning—' The 
Cruiskeen Lawn' has been their ruin — all the 
Irish officers who had taken Madame de Roni 
for an illustrious stranger have found out the 
true scent; and so many distinguished persons 
are involved in the ridicule of their parties, that 
the old ihef de police, my friend, has sent them a 
private order to leave Paris in a week. Paul is 
in raptures at it — he has spent eiglity thousand 
in two montlis — detests the place — isdyingtobe 
back in Dublin — and swears that, except one Cos- 
sack officer, he hasn't met a pleasant fellow since 
he came abroad." 

" And Mrs. Paul ?" 

"Oh! the old story. I put Guillemain up to. 
it, aad he has hinted that the empress of Russia 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



W' 



has heard of the czar's attentions — that there's 
the devil to pay in St. Petersburg — and that if 
she doesn't manage to steal out of Paris slyly, 
some confounded boyard or other will slip a sack 
over her head and carry her off to Tobolsk. Eliza- 
beth and the E.xiles has formed part of her read- 
ing, and Madame de Roni will dream every night 
of the knout till she reaches her dear native land. 
But now to business. I too, have made my dis- 
coveries since we met. De Vere's high play has 
been a matter of surprise to all who know him. 
I have found out his secret — he plays with forged 
billets de ban que." 

" And has the wretched fellow gone so far as 
this?" 

"He doesn't know it — he believes Ihat the 
money is the proceeds of bills he has given to 
Burke, who affects to get them discounted. See 
here — ^lereare a handful of their notes — Guille- 
main knows all, and retains the secret as a hold 
over Burke, whose honesty to himself he already 
suspects. If he catch him tripping " 

" Then " 

" Why, then, the galleys for life. Such is the 
system — a villain with them is worthless if his 
life isn't at their disposal— Satan's bond com- 
pletely — -all, all. But show me De Vere's room, 
and leave me alone with him for half an hour. 
Let us then meet at ray hotel, and concert future 
measures." 

Having left O'Grady with De Vere, I walked 
Qut upon the Boulevards, my head full of the ex- 
traordinary facts so suddenly thronging one upon 
the other. A dash of hope, that for many a day 
had not visited me, was now mingled through all 
my meditations, and I began to think that there 
was yet a chance of happiness for me. 

I had not gone many paces when an arm was 
thrust into mine, and a hearty chuckling laugh 
at the surprise rang in my ear. I turned — it was 
Mr. Paul Rooney, taking his morning's promen- 
ade of Paris, and now on his way home with an 
enormous bouquet for madame, which she had 
taught him to present to her each day on her ap- 
pearing in the drawing-room. 

"Ah, captain! the very man I wanted. We 
haven't had a moment to ourselves since your 
arrival. You must come and take a bit of dinner 
with us to-day; thank heaven we've no company. 
I have a leg of pork, smuggled into the house as 
if it was a bale of goods from Alexandria. No- 
body knows of it but myself and Tim." 

" Tim! why, have you brought Tim to Paris?" 

"Hush!" said he, in' a low, cautious voice; 
" I'd be ruined entirely if madame was to find 
him out. Tim is dressed like a Tartar, and 
stands in the hall; and Mrs. Rooney believes that 
he never heard of a civil bill in his life. But 
here we are." 

So saying, he opened a small wicket with a 
latch-key, and let me into a large and well- 
trimmed garden, across which we walked at a 
rapid pace; Paul speculating from the closed 
shutters of his wife's room that he needed not 
have hurried home so fast. 

" She's not down yet — one o'clock, as I am a 
sinner. Come along and sit down in the library; 
I'll join you presently."" 



Scarcely had Paul left the room when I began 
to think over the awkwardness of my position 
should I meet Miss Belle w; what course to fol- 
low under the circumstances I knew not; when 
just at the moment the door opened, and she en- 
tered. Not perceiving me, as I stood in a deep 
window recess, she drew a chair to the fire and 
sat down. I hardly ventured to breathe; I felt 
like one who had no right to obtrude himself 
there, and had become, as it were, a spy upon 
her. A long-drawn breath burst from me; she 
started up; I moved slightly forward, and stood 
before her. She leaned her hand upon the arm 
of the chair for support, her cheek grew deadly 
pale, and a tremulous quiver shook her lip. 

" Mr. Hinton," she began; and then, as if the 
very sound of her voice had terrified her, she 
paused. "Mr. Hinton," resumed she, "I am 
sure — nay, I know — if you were aware of the 
reasons of my conduct towards you, you would 
not only acquit me of all blame^ but spare me 
the pain of our ever meeting," 

" I know them— I do know them, ' said I, pas- 
sionately, " I have been slandered." 

" No, you do not — cannot know what I mean," 
interrupted she. " It is a secret between my own 
heart and one who is now no more." 

The last words fell from her one by one, while 
a single tear rolled from her eyelid, and trickled 
along her cheek. 

"Yes, yes, Louisa, I do know it — I know all; 
a chance has told me how your dear father's 
name has been used to banish nie forever from^ 
your sight — how a forgery of his hand-writ- 
ing " 

"What! who could have told you what my 
father's last note contained ?" 

" He who wrote it confessed it in my hearing 
— Ulick Burke; nay, I can even repeat the 

words " But as I spoke, a violent trembling 

seized her, her lips became bloodless, she tot- 
tered, and sank upon the ch.nir. I had only time 
to spring forward and catch her in my arms, 
and her head fell heavily back, and dropped on 
my shoulder. 

I cannot, if 1 would, repeat the words which, 
in all the warm eloquence of affection, I spoke. 
I could mark by her heightened color that the 
life's blood again coursed freely in her veins, and 
could see that she heard me. I told her how 
through every hardship and suffering, in all the 
sorrow of disappointed ambition, in the long 
hours of captivity, my heart had ever turned to 
her; and then, when we did meet, to see her 
changed! 

'"But you do not blame — you cannot blame 
me, if I believed " 

" No, if you tell me now that but for this false- 
hood you have not altered — that your heart is 
still as much my own as I once thought it." 

A faint smile played on her lips as her eyes were 
turned upon me, while her voice muttered, — 

"And do you still love me?" 

I pressed her hand to my lips in rapture, when 
suddenly the door opened, and Paul Rooney 
rushed in. 

"Another candidate for the leg of Eli! 

what's this?" said he, as I rose and advanced to 



188 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



meet liim; while Louisa, blushing deeply, buried 
her head in her hand, and then starting up, left 
the room. 

"Captain, captain," said Paul, gravely, "what 
does this mean? Do you suppose that because 
there is some difference in our rank in life, that 
you are privileged to insult one who is under my 
protection? Is it because you are the guardsman 
and I the attorney, that you have dared to take 
a liberty here, which in your own walk you couldn't 
venture on?" 

" My dear Mr. Rooney, you mistake me sadly." 
" If I do not mistake you I'll put a hole in your 
body as sure as my name's Paul," was the quick 
reply. 

" You do, then, and wrong me, to boot I have 
been long and ardently attached to Miss Bellew. 
From the hour I met her at your house, I loved 
her. It is the first time we have met since our 
long separation. I determined it should not be 
lost. I've asked her to be my wife." 
"You have? And what does she say?" 
"She has consented." 

"Rum-ti-iddity, iddity," said Paul, snapping 
his fingers, and capering about the room like a 
man deranged. "Give me your hand, my buck. 
I'd rather draw the settlements, so help me, than 
I'd see the warrant to make me master of the 
Rolls. Who'd say there isn't luck in a leg of 
poik? She's a darling girl; and beautiful as she 
is, her looks isn't the best of her — an angel, as 
cure as I'm here. And look here," — here he 
dropped his voice — " seven thousand a year, that 
Ciay be made nine. Hennessy's farm is out of 
lease in October, and the Cluangoff estate is let 
at ten shillings an acre. Hurroo! maybe I won't 
be drunk to-night; and bad luck to that Cossack, 
Tartar, Bohemian, or any other blackguard I'll let 
into the house this day or night. Sworn, my lord." 
After some little discussion, it was arranged 
that if Louisa would give her consent to the ar- 
rangement, the marriage should take place be- 
fore the Rooneys left Paris. Meanwhile, Paul 
agreed with me in keeping the whole matter a 
perfect secret from everybody, Mrs. Rooney her- 
self included. Our arrangements were scarcely 
concluded, when O'Grady appeared. Having 
waited for me some time at his hold, he had set 
out in search of me." 

" I'm your man to-day, Paul," said he. " You 
got my note, I suppose?" 

"All right," said Mr. Rooney, whose double 
secret of the marriage and the leg of pork seemed 
almost too much for him to bear. 

" I suppose I may tell Phil ?" said I, in a whisper. 
" No one else," said Paul, as we left the house, 
and I took O'Grady's arm down the street. 

" Well, I have frightened De Vere to some pur- 
pose," said O'Grady. " He has made a full con- 
fession about Burke, who was even a deeper vil- 
lain than we supposed. What do you think, he 
has been the spy of the Bonapartist faction all 
this time, and selling old Guillemain as regularly 
as the others. To indulge his passion for play, 
he received the pay of four different parties, 
whom he pitted against each other exactly as he 
saw proper. Consummate, clever scoundrel! he 
had to deal with men whose whole lives are passed I 



in the very practice of every chicanery and deceit, 
and yet he has jockeyed them all. What a sad 
thing to think that abilities and knowledge of 
mankind should be prostituted to the lowest and 
most debasing uses, and that the sole tendency 
of talent should be to dishonor and disgrace its 
possessor! Some of his manufactured despatches 
were masterpieces of cleverness." 

"Well, where is he now? Still in Paris?" 
" No. The moment he had so far forgotten 
himself as to strike De Vere, he forged a pass- 
port, and returned to London, carrying with him 
hosts of papers of the French authorities, which 
to our foreign-office will be very acceptable. De 
Vere meanwhile feels quite at his ease. He was 
always afraid of his companion, yet can't forgive 
him his last indignity." 
"No! A blow!" 

"Not at all; you mistake — his regrets have a 
different origin. It is for not backing the rouge 
that he is inexorable towards him. Besides, he 
is under the impression that all these confessions 
he has been making establish for him a kind of 
moral insolvency act, by which he is to come 
forth irresponsible for the past, and quite ready 
to contract new debts for the future. At this 
moment, his greatest point of doubt consists in 
whether he should marry your cousin. Lady Julia, 
or Miss Bellew; for, in his own phrase, 'he must 
do something that way to come round.' " 
" Impudent scoundrel!" 

"Fact, I assure you; and so easy, so unaf- 
fected, so free from embarrassment of any kind 
is he, that 1 am really quite a convert to this 
modern school of good manners, when associ- 
ating with even such as Burke conveys no feel- 
ing of shame or discomfort. More than could 
be said some forty years ago, I fancy." 

It was the hour of my mother's morning recep- 
tion, and we found the drawing-room crowded 
with loungers and fashionable idlers, discussing 
the news of the day, and, above all, the Rotii 
fete — the extraordinary finale to which gave rise 
to a hundred conjectures, some asserting that 
Monsieur de Roni's song was a violent pasquinade 
against the Emperor Alexander, others, equally 
well informed, alleging it was the concerted sig- 
nal for a general massacre of the allies, which 
was to have begun at the same moment in the 
Rue Montmarlre. " She is a Bonapartiste — a 
Legitimiste — a Napolitaine — an Anversoise," 
contended one after another, my only fear being 
that some one would enlighten the party by say- 
ing she was the wife of an Irish attorney. All 
agreed, however, she was " trh mauvais ion;" 
that her fete was, with all its magnificence, any- 
thing but select; her supper superb, but two 
crowded by half; and, in fact, that Madame 
Roni had enjoyed the pleasure of ruining herself 
to very little other purpose than that of being 
generally ridiculed and laughed at. 

"And this niece, or ward, or whatever it is — 
who can tell anything of her?" said my mother. 

"Ah, pardieti! she's very handsome," said 
Grammont, with a malicious smile. 

"Perfect," said another, " quite perfect; but a 
little— a very little too graceful. Don't you 
think so?" 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



189 



" Why, what do you mean?" said Lady Char- 
lotte, as her eyes sparkled with animation at the 
thought of a secret. 

" Nothing," replied the last speaker, carelessly, 
" except that one always detects the uanseuse. 
She was thinner when I saw her at Naples." 

I whispered one word — but one — -in his ear, and 
his face became purple with shame and confusion. 

" Eh, what is it.'" said my mother, eagerly. 
" John knows something of her too. John, dear- 
est, let us hear it." 

"I am in your ladyship's debt as regards one 
secret," said O'Grady, interrupting; "perhaps I 
may be permitted to pay it on this occasion. The 
lady in question is the daughter of an Irish bar- 
onet, the descendant of a family as old as any of 
those who now hear me. The baronet would 
have been a peer of the realm, had he consented 
to vote once — but once — with the minister, on a 
question where his conscience told him to oppose 
him: his refusal was repaid by neglect— others 
were promoted to rank and honors before him; 
but the frown of a minister could neither take 
away the esteem of his country, nor his own self- 
respect. He is now dead; but his daughter is 
the worthy inheritor of his virtues and his name 
— perhaps I might interest the present company 
as much in her favor by adding, she possesses 
something like eight thousand per annum." 

" Two hundred thousand livtes de rente!" said 
Grammont, smacking his lips with astonishment, 
and perfectly insensible to the tone of mock- 
ery in which O'Grady's last words were spoken. 

" And you are sure of all this?" said my 
mother, 

O'Grady bowed deeply, but without speaking, 
while his features assumed an expression of severe 
determination I had never witnessed before. 
I could not help remarking that, amid the dis- 
may such an announcement created amid that 
gossiping and calumnious assembly, my cousin 
Julia's eyes shone with an added lustre, and her 
whole face beamed with a look of proud and ex- 
alted beauty. 

This was now the time to tell O'Grady my se- 
cret, and drawing him towards a window, I 
said, — 

" Phil, I can wait no longer — you must hear 
it. I'm going to be married!" 

The words had not left my lips, when O'Grady 
started back, his face pale like a corpse, and his 
whole frame trembling with eagerness. By a 
violent effort, however, he rallied; and, as he 
clutched my arm with his fingers, he said — 

" I must be going! These good people have 
made me forget an appointment. Make my re- 
spectful homage to her ladyship — and the bride. 
I shall see you before I leave?" 

" Leave! Why, where are you thinking of go- 
ing?" 

"To India." 

"To India!" said Julia, starting round as he 
spoke. 

" To India!" said I, in amazement. 

He nodded, and, turning quickly round, left the 
room. 

I hastened after him with all my speed, and 
dashing down-stairs, was making for the gate, 



when a shadow beside the doorway caught my 
eye. I stopped. It was O'Grady. He was lean- 
ing against the wall, his head buried in his hands. 
A horrible doubt shot through my heart — I dared 
not dwell upon it, but rushing towards him, I 
called him by his name. He turned quickly round, 
while a fierce, wild look glistened in his eyes. 

" Not now, Hinton — not now!" said he, motion- 
ing me away with his hand; and then, as a cold 
shudder passed over him, he drew his hand across 
his face, and added, in a lower tone, "I never 
thought to have betrayed myself thus. Good-bye, 
my dear fellow, good-bye! It were better we 
shouldn't meet again." 

" My dearest, best friend! I never dreamed 
that the brightest hour of my life was to throw 
this gloom over your heart." 

" Yes, Jack," said he, in a voice low and broken, 
■' from the first hour I saw her, I loved her. The 
cold manner she maintained towards me at your 
father's house " 

" In my father's house! What do you mean?" 

"When in London, I speak of — when I joined 
first. Your cousin " 

" My cousin!" 

" Yes, Lady Julia. Are you so impatient to 
call her wife, that you will not remember her 
as cousin?" 

" Call her wife! my dear boy, you're raving. 
It's Louisa Bellew " 

" What! is it Miss Bellew you are to marry?"' 

" To be sure " 

But I could not finish the sentence; as he fell 
upon my shoulder, and his strong frame was con- 
vulsed with emotion. In an instant, however, I 
tore myself away; and calling out, "AVait forme, 
O'Grady!" rushed up-stairs. I peeped hastily 
into the drawing-room, and then luirrying along 
a corridor, opened a door at the end. The blinds 
of the windows were down, and the room so dark 
that I could scarcely perceive if any one were 
there, had not my steps been guided by a low 
sob which I heard issue from the end of the sofa. 

"Julia," said I, rushing forward — "Julia, my 
dearest cousin! this is no time to deceive our- 
selves: he loves you — loved you from the first 
hour he met you. Let me have but one word. 
Can he — dare he hope that you are not indifferent 
to him? Let him but see you — but speak to you. 
Believe me, you have bent a heart as proud and 
haughty as your own; and you will have broken 
it if you refuse him. There, dearest girl! — Thanks 
— -my heart's thanks for that'" 

The slightest pressure of her taper fingers sent 
a thrill through me, as I sprang up and dashed 
down the stairs. In an instant I had seized 
O'Grady's arm, and the next moment whispered 
in his ear, — 

" You've won her!" 



CHAPTER LXL 

NEW ARRIVALS. 



Mr. Paul Rooney's secret was destined to be 
inviolable, as regarded his leg of pork; for 



1,90 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



Madame de Roni, either from chagrin or fatigue, 
did not leave her room the entire day; Miss 
Bellew declined joining us; and we sat down, a 
[larty of three, each wrapped up in his own hap- 
l>iness in a degree far too great to render us either 
social or conversational. It is true the wine 
circulated briskly, we nodded pleasantly now and 
tiien to each other; but all our efforts to talk 
led to so many blunders and cross answers, that 
we scarcely ventured on more than a chance 
phrase, or a good-humored smile. There were 
certainly several barriers in the way of our com- 
plete happiness, in the innumerable prejudices 
of my lady-mother, who would be equally averse 
to O'Grady's project as to my own; but now was 
not the time to speculate on these; and we 
wrapped ourselves up in the glorious anticipation 
of our success, and cared little for such sources 
of opposition as might now arise. Meanwhile, 
Paul entered into a long and doubtless very ac- 
curate statement of the Bellew projierty, to which, 
I confess, I paid little attention, save when the 
name of Lousia occurred, which momentarily 
aroused me from my dreaminess. All the wily 
stratagems by which he had gained his points 
with Galway juries — all the cunning devices by 
which he had circumvented opposing lawyers, and 
obtained verdicts in almost hopeless cases, how- 
ever I might have relished another time, I only now 
listened to without interest, or heard without un- 
derstanding. 

Towards ten o'clock I received more than one 
hint from O'Grady that we had promised to take 
tea at the Place Vendorne; while I myself was 
manoeuvring to find out, if we were to adjourn 
for coffee, what prospect there might be of seeing 
Louisa Bellew in the drawing-room. 

It was in the dusky twilight we sat, which 
somehow seems so suited to the quiet enjoyment 
of one's claret with a small and chosen party; 
where intimacy prevails sufficiently to make con- 
versation more a thing of choice than necessity; 
where each man can follow out his own path in 
thought, and only let his neighbor have a peep 
here and there into his dreamings, where some vista 
opens, or some bold prospect stretches away. Next 
to the blazing fire of a winter's hearth, this is the 
pleasantest tiling I know of. Thus was it, when 
the door opened, and a dusky outline of a figure 
appeared at the entrance. 

" Is Master Phil here?" said a cranky voice 
there was no mistaking as Mr. Delany's. 

"Yes, Corny. What's wrong? — anything new?" 

" Where's the captain," said he, in the same 
tone. 

" I'm here. Corny," said I. 

"Well; there's them looking for you without," 
said he, " that'll maybe surprise you, pleasant as 
ye are now." 

A detestable effort at a laugh here brought on 
a fit of coughing that lasted a couple of minutes. 

" Who is it?" said I. " Where are they?" 

A significant gesture with his thumb over his 
shoulder was the only reply to my question, 
while he barked out — 

" Don't you see me coughing the inside out o' 
me?" 
. I started up, and without attending to Paul's 



suggestion to bring my friends in, or O'Grady's 
advice to be cautious if it were Burke — hurried 
outside, where a servant of the house was in 
waiting to conduct me. 

"Two gentlemen in the drawdng-room, sir," 
said he, as he preceded me down the corridor. 

The next instant the door opened, and I saw 
my father, accompanied by another person, who, 
being wrapped up in travelling equipment, I could 
not recognize. 

" My dear father!" said I, rushing towards 
him; when suddenly I stopped short, as I per- 
ceived that, instead of the affectionate welcome 
I looked for, he had crossed his hands behind 
his back, and fixed on me a look of stern dis- 
pleasure. 

"What does this mean?" said I, in amazement; 
"it was not thus I expected " 

" It was not thus I hoped to have received my 
son," said he, resolutely, " after a long and event- 
ful separation. But this is too painful to endure 
longer. Answer me, and with the same truth I 
have always found in you — Is there a young lady 
in this house called Miss Bellew?" 

"Yes, sir," said I, as a cold perspiration broke 
over me, and I could scarcely support myself. 

" Did you make her acquaintance in Ireland?" 

" Yes, sir." 

" Did you, at that time, use every effort to win 
her affections, and give her to understand that 
she had yours?" 

" Yes, sir," said I, more faintly than before; 
for already some horrible doubt was creeping on 
my mind. 

"And have you now, sir," continued he, in a 
voice elevated to a higher pitch — "have you now, 
sir, when a prospect of a richer alliance presents 
itself, dishonored yourself and my name by de- 
serting the girl whose affections you have so 
gained ?" 

" No, sir — that is untrue." 

" Stop, young man! I have one at hand this 
moment who may compel you -to retract your 
words as shamefully as you have boldly said 
them. Do you know this gentleman?" 

"Father Loftus?" said I, starting back in as- 
tonishment, as the good priest unfolded a huge 
comforter from his throat, and stood forth. 

" Yes, indeed — no other," said he, in a voice 
of great sadness; " and sorry I am to see you 
this way." 

" You, surely, my dear friend," said I — '' you 
cannot believe thus harshly of me?" 

"If it wasn't for your handwriting, I'd not 
have believed the Pope of Rome," was his reply, 
as he wiped his eyes. " But there it is." 

So saying, he handed to me, with trembling 
fingers, a letter, bearing the Paris post-mark. 

I tore it open, and found it was written in my 
own name, and addressed to Father Loftus, in- 
forming him of my deep regret that, having dis- 
covered the unhappy circumstance of her moth- 
er's conduct, I was obliged to relinquish all 
thoughts of an alliance with Miss Bellew 's family, 
whose connection with my own had been so 
productive of heavy misfortune. This also con- 
tained an open note, to be handed by the priest 
to Miss Bellew, in which I was made formally to 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



191 



renounce her hand, for reasons in the possession 
of Father Loftus. 

In a second the truth flashed across me from 
whom this plot proceeded, and, scarcely per- 
mitting myself time to read the letter through, I 
called out, — 

" This is a forgery! I never wrote it — never 
saw it before!" 

"What!" said my father, starting round, and 
fixing his eye on the priest. 

'■ You never wrote it?" echoed Father Tom. 
" Do you say so? Is that your word as a gentle- 
man?" 

"It is," said I, firmly. "This day — this very 
day, I have asked Miss Bellew to be my wife, 
and she has consented." 

Before my father could seize my hand, the 
good priest had thrown his arms round my neck, 
and given me an embrace a bear might have 
envied. The scene that followed I cannot de- 
scribe. My poor father, quite overpowered, sat 
down upon a chair, holding my hand within his; 
while Father Tom bustled about the room, look- 
ing into all the glass and china ornaments for 
something to drink, as his mouth, he said, was 
"like a lime-burner's hat." The honest fellow, 
it appeared, on receiving the letters signed with 
my name, left his home the same night, and 
travelled with all speed to London, where he 
found my father just on the eve of leaving for 
Paris. Very little persuasion was necessary to 
induce him to continue his journey farther. On 
their arrival at Paris, they had gone to O'Grady's 
liotel, where securing Corny's services, they lost 
not a moment in tracking me out in the manner 
I have mentioned. 

O'Grady's surprise was little inferior to my< 
own, as I introduced General Hinton and Father 
Loftus; but as to Mr. Rooney, he actually be- 
lieved the whole to be a dream, and even when 
candles were brought, and he had taken a 
patient survey of the priest, he was far from 
crediting that my parent was not performed by 
deputy, till my father's tact and manner con- 
vinced him of his mistake. 

While the priest was recounting some circum- 
stances of his journey, I took occasion to tell 
my father of O'Grady's intentions regarding 
Julia, which with all the warmth of his nature he 
at once responded to; and touching his glass 
gayly with Phil's, merely added, "With my best 
wishes." Poor O'Grady caught up the meaning 
at once, and grasped his hand with enthusiasm, 
while the tears started to his eyes. 

It would lead me too far — and, perhaps, where 
the good-nature of my reader might not follow 
— were I to speak more of that happy evening. 
It is enough to say, that Father Loftus won 
every moment on my father, who also was de- 
lighted with the hearty raciness of honest Paul. 
Their stories of pleasantry and fun — so new to 
him — were poured forth with profusion; and a 
party, all the members of which were more dis- 
posed to like each other, and be pleased, never 
met together. 

I myself, however, was not without my feeling 
of impatience to reach the drawing-room, which 
I took the first favorable opportunity of effecting; 



only then perceiving that O'Grady had antici- 
pated me, having stolen away some time before. 



CHAPTER LXII. 



CONCLUSION. 



It would be even more wearisome to my reader, 
than the fact was worrying to myself, were I to 
recount the steps by which my father communi- 
cated to Lady Charlotte the intended marriages, 
and finally obtained her consent to both. P'or- 
tun.itely, for some time previous she had been 
getting tired of Paris, and was soon brought to 
suppose that these little family arrangements 
were as luuch " got up" to afford her an agree- 
able surprise, and a healthful stimulant to her 
weak nerves, as for any other cause whatever; 
With Mrs. Rooney, on the other hand, there 
was considerable difficulty. The holy alliance 
she had contracted with the sovereigns, had sug- 
gested so much of grandeur to her expectat'ons, 
that she dreamed of nothing but archdukes and 
counts of the empire; and was at first quite in- 
exorable at the bare idea of the mesalliance that 
awaited her ward. A chance decided what re- 
sisted every species of argument. Corny Delany, 
who had been sent with a note to Mr. Rooney, 
happened to be waiting in the hall while Mrs. 
Rooney passed out to her carriage, escorted by 
the " Tartar" of whom we have already made 
mention. Mrs. Rooney was communicating her 
orders to her bearded attendant by a code of 
signals on her fingers, when Corny, who watched 
the proceeding with increasing impatience, 
exclaimed, — 

" Arrah, can't you tell the man whatyou want! 
Sure, though you have him dressed like a wild 
baste, he doesn't forget English." 

"It is a Tartar!" said Mrs. Rooney, with a 
contemptuous sneer at Corny, and a forbidding 
wave of her hand ordaining silence. 

" A Tarther! Oh, blessed Timothy, there's a 
name for one that comes of dacent people. He's 
a county Carlow man, and well known he is in 
the same parts. Many a writ he served — eh, 
Tim?" 

" Tim!" said Mrs. Rooney, in horror, as she 
beheld her wild-looking friend grin from ear to 
ear with a most fearful significance of what he 
heard. 

"It wasn't my fault, ma'am, at all," said tlie 
Tartar, with a very Dublin accent in the words; 
" it was the master made me." 

What further explanation Tim might have af- 
forded, it is difficult to say, for Mrs. Rooney 's 
nerves had received too severe and too sudden a 
shock. A horrible fear lest all the kingly and 
royal personages by whom she had been for 
some weeks surrounded might only turn out to 
be Carlow men, or something as unsubstantial, 
beset her, a dreadful unbelief of everything and 
everybody seized upon her, and, quite overcome, 
she fainted. O'Grady, who happened to come 
up at the instant, learned the whole secret at 
once, and with his wonted readiness resolved to 



192 



JACK HINTON, THE GUARDSMAN. 



profit by it. Mrs. Paul returned to the drawing- 
room, and ere half an hour was fully persuaded 
that as General Hinton was about to return to 
Ireland as commander of the forces, the alliance 
was, on the whole, not so deplorable as she had 
feared. 

To reconcile so many conflicting interests, to 
conciliate so many totally opposite characters, was 
a work I should completely have failed in with- 
out O'Grady's assistance. He, however, entered 
upon it con amore ; and uixler his auspices, not 
only did Lady Charlotte receive the visits of 
Father Tom Loftus, but Mr. Paul became actually 
a favorite with my cousin Julia; and finally, the 
grand catastrophe of the drama was accomplished, 
and my lady-mother proceeded in all state to wait 
on Mrs. Rooney herself, who, whatever her pre- 
vious pretensions, was so awed by the condescen- 
sion of her ladyship's manner, that she actually 
struck her colors at tlie first broadside. 

Weddings are stupid things in reality, but on 
paper they are detestable. Not even the ATorn- 
iiig Post can give them a touch of interest. I 
shall not, then, trouble my reader with any narrative 
of white satin and orange-flowers, bouquets, break- 
fasts, and Bishop Luscombe; neither shall I en- 
tertain him with the article in the French Fcuille- 
toii, as to which of the two brides was the more 
strictly beautiful and which more lovely. 

Having introduced my reader to certain ac- 
quaintances — some of them ratiier eauivocal ones, 
I confess — I ought, perhaps, to add a word of 
their future fortunes. 

Mr. Ulick Burke escaped to America, where, 
by the exercise of his abilities and natural sharp- 
ness, he accumulated a large fortune. 

Of Lord Dudley de Vere I only know that he 



has lived long enough, if not to benefit by experi- 
ence, to take advantage of Lord Brougham's 
change in the law of imprisonment for debt, I 
saw his name in a late number of The Times, with 
a charge of some fifteen thousand annexed to it, 
against which his available property was eieve-n 
pounds odd shillings. 

Father Loftus sleeps in Murranakilty. No 
stone marks his resting-place; bnt not a peasant's 
foot, for many a mile round, has rot pressed the 
little pathway that leads to his grave, to offer up 
a prayer for a good man and a friend to the poor. 

TippcTary Joe is to be met on the Kilkenny 
road. His old red coat, now nearly russet color, 
is torn and ragged; the top-boots have given place 
to bare legs, as well tanned as their predecessors; 
but his merry voice and cheerful "Tally-ho!" 
are still as rich as of yore, and his heart, poor 
fellow, as light as ever it was. 

Corny Delany is the amiable proprietor of a 
hotel in the neighborhood of Castlebar, where his 
habitual courtesy and amenity are as conspicuous 
as of yore. He has requested me to take this 
opportunity of recommending his establishment 
to the " Haythins and Turks" that yearly perform 
tours in his vicinity. 

The Rooneys live, and are as hospitable as ever. 
I dare not venture to give their address, lest you 
should take advantage of the infoiniation. 

O'Grady and his wife are now at Malta. 

Jack Hinton and his, are, as they have every 
right to be, 

Your very grateful and obedient servants. 



THE END. 



THE O'DONOGHUE: 



A TALE OF IRELAND FIFTY YEARS AGO. 



PREFACE. 

It was in wandering through the south of Ireland I came 
to visit the wild valley of Glenflesk — a scene of loneliness 
and desolation, with picturesque beauty, I have never seen 
surpassed. The only living creature I met for miles of the 
way was a very old man, whose dress and look bespoke 
extreme poverty, but who, on talking with him, I discov- 
ered to be the owner of four cows that were grazing on 
the rocky sides of the cliff. He had come some miles, he 
told me, to give the cows the spare herbage that cropped 
up amidst the granite bowlders As I had seen no house 
nor trace of habitation as I came along, I was curious to 
know where he lived, but his answer, as he pointed to the 
mountain, was, "There, alone," and this with evident un- 
willingness to be more freely communicative. 

Though not caring to be interrogated, nor, like most 
Irish peasants, much disposed to have a talk with a 
stranger, he made no scruple to ask for alms, and pleaded 
his wretched rags — and they were very miserable — as a 
proof of his poverty. I did not think that the pittance I 
gave him exactly warranted me in asking how the owner 
of the cows we saw near us could be in that condition of 
want he represented; at all events, I preferred not to dash 
the pleasure I was giving him by the question. We parted, 
therefore, on good terms; but some miles farther on in the 
glen, I learned from a woman, who was " beelling" her 
clothes in the river, that " ould Mat," as she called him, 
was one of the most well-to-do fanners in that part of the 
country, that he had given his daughters, of whom he had 
several, good marriage portions, and that his son was a 
thriving attorney in the town of Tralee. " Maybe yer 
honor's heaid of him," said the woman — *' Tim O' Don- 
oghue. " 

It was no new thing to me to know the Irish peasant in 
his character of a hoarder and a saver. There is no one 
trait so indicative of the Celt as acquisitiveness, nor does 
Eastern story contain a man more given to the castle- 
building that grows out of some secret hoard — however 
small — than Paddy. He is to add half an acre to his po- 
tato garden, or to buy another pig, or to send the " gos- 
soon" to a school in the town, or to pay his passage to 
New York. This tendency to con.struct a future, so strong 
in the Irish nature, has its rise in a great reliance on what 
he feels to be the goodness of God; a firm conviction that 
all his struggles are watched and cared for, and that every 
little turn of good fortune has been given him by some 
especial favor, lies deep in his nature, and suggests an 
amount of hope to him which a less sanguine spirit could 
never have conceived. 

While I thought over the endless contrarieties of this 
mysterious national character, where good and evil eter- 
nally lay side by side, I wondered within myself whether 
the new civilization of later years was likely to be sue 
cessful in dealing with men whose temperaments and 
manners were so unlike the English, or were we right in 
extinguishing the old feudalism that bound the peasant to 
the landlord before we had prepared each for the new rela- 
tions of mere gain and loss that were in future to subsist 
between them? 

Between the great families — the old bouses of the land 



and the present race of proprietors — there lay a couple of 
generations of men who, with all the traditions and many 
of the pretensions of birth and fortune, had really become 
in ideas, modes of life, and habits, very little above the 
peasantry around them. They inhabited, it is true, the 
"great house," and they were in name the owners of the 
soil; but, crippled by debt and overborne by mortgages, 
they subsisted in a shifty conflict wilh their creditors, 
rack-renting their miserable tenants to maintain it. Sur- 
vivors of everything but pride of family, they stood there 
like the stumps, blackened and charred, the last remnants 
of a burnt forest, their proportions attesting the nolile 
growth that had preceded them. 

What would the descendants of these men prove when, 
destitute of fortune and helpless, they were thrown upon 
a world that actually regarded them as blamable for the 
unhappy condition of Ireland? Would they stand by 
" their order" in so far as to adhere to the cause of the 
gentry? or woultl they share the feelings of the peasant 
to whose lot they had been reduced, and charging on (he 
Saxon the reverses of their fortune, stand forth as rebels 
to England? 

Here was much for speculation and something for story 
For an opening scene what could I desire finer than the 
gloomy grandeur and the rugged desolation of Glenflesk, 
and if some patches of bright verdure here and tliere 
gleamed amidst the barrenness — if a stray sunlight lit up 
the granite cliffs and made the heather glow, might there 
not be certain reliefs of human tenderness and love to show 
that no scene in which man has a part is utterly destitute 
of those affections whose home is the heart. I had now 
got my theme and my locality. For my name I took The 
O'Donoghue; it had become associated in my mind with 
Glenflesk, and would not be sejiarated from it. 

Here, then, in one word, is the history of this book. If 
the performance bears but slight relation to the intention 
— if, indeed, my story seems to have little reference to what 
suggested it — it will be only another instance of a way- 
wardness which has beset me through life, and left nie nevei 
sure when I started for Norway that I might not find my- 
self in Naples. 

It is not necessary, perhaps, for me to say that no char- 
acter in this tale was drawn from a model. I began the 
story, in so far as a few pages went, at a little inn at Kil- 
larney, and I believe I stole the name of Kerry O'Leary 
from one of the boatmen on the lake, but, so far as I am 
aware, it is the only theft in the book. I believe that the 
very crude notions of an English tourist for the betterment 
of Ireland, and some exceedingly absurd comments he 
made me on the habits of people which an acquaintance- 
ship of three weeks enabled him to pronounce on, pro- 
voked me to draw the character of Sir Marmaduke. but I 
can declare that the traveller aforesaid mly acted as tinder 
to a mine long prepared, and afforded me a long sought-for 
opportunity — not for exposing, for I did not go that far — ■ 
but for touching on the consummate effrontery with which 
a mere passing stranger can settle the difficulties and de- 
termine the remedies for a country, in which the resident 
sits down overwhelmed by the amount and utterly despair- 
ing of a solution. 

I have elsewhere recorded that I have been blamed for 
the fate I reserved for Kate O'Donoghue, and that she 

193 



194 



THE O • D O N O G 1 1 U E , 



rleserved something better than to have her future linked 
t I one who was so unworthy of iier in ma'ny ways. Till 1 
]^--read the story after a lon^ lapse of years, t had believed 
that this charge was better founded than I am now dis- 
])osed to tliinU it. First of all, judging from an Irish point 
of view, I do not consent to regard Mark O'Donoghue as 
a l)ad fellow. The greater number of his faults were the 
results of neglected training, irregular — armost utter want 
of — education, and the false ]:>o.sition of an heir to a prop- 
erty so swamped" by debt as to be valueless. I will not 
say these are the ingredients which go to the formation of 
a very regular life or a very perfect husband, but they 
might all of them have made a worse character than Mark's 
if he had not possessed some very sterling qualities as a 
counterbalance. Secondly, I am not of tho^e who think 
that the married life of a man is but the second volume 
of his b.achelor existence. I rather incline to believe that 
he starts afresh in life under circumstances very favorable 
to tlie development of whatever is best, rmd to the ex- 
tinguishment of whatever is worst, in him. That is, of 
course, where he marries well, and where he allies himself 
to qualities of temper and tastes which will serve as the 
complement or. at times, the correctives of his own. Now 
Kate O'Donoglme would instance what I mean in this 
case. 

Then I keep my best reason for the last — they liked 
each other — this, if not a guarantee for their future happi- 
ness, is still the best '* martingale" the game of marriage 
admits of. 

I am free to own that the book I had in my head to write 
was a far better one than I have committed to paper, but 
as that is a sort of event that has happened to better men 
tiian myself, I bear it as one of the accidents that author- 
ship is heir to. At all events, my Public received it with 
favor, and I can now — after an interval of close on thirty 
years — recall with warm gratitude the reception it met 
with. 

A French critic — one far too able to have his dicta 
lightly despised — has sneered at my making a poor igno- 
rant peasant child find pleasure in the resonance of a 
Homeric verse, but I could tell him of barefooted boys in 
the south, running errands for a scanty subsistence, with 
a knowleilge of classical literature which would puzzle 
many a gowned student to cope with. If the improbabil- 
ities of this volume went no farther than this, it would 
have been worthy of the reader's attention, and far more 
i;rateful to the conscience of the author. 

CHARLES LEVER. 

Trieste, 1872. 



CHAPTER I. 



GLENFLESK. 



In that wild and picturesque Valley \vhich 
winds its way between the town of Macroon and 
Bantry Bay, and goes by the name of Glenflesk, 
the character of Irish scenery is perhaps more 
])erfectly displayed than in any other tract of 
the same extent in the island. The mountains, 
rugged and broken, are singularly fanciful in 
their outline; their sides a mingled mass of 
granite and straggling herbage, where the deepest 
green and the red purple of the heath-bell are 
blended harmoniously together. The valley be- 
neath, alternately widening and narrowing, pre- 
sents one rich meadow tract, watered by a deep 
and rapid stream, fed by a thousand rills that 
come tumbling and foaming down tlie mountain 
sides, and to the traveller are seen like white 
streaks marking the dark surface of the preci- 
jiice. Scarcely a hut is to be seen for miles of 
this lonely glen, and save for the herds of cat- 
tle and the flocks of sheep here and there to be 



descried, it would seem as if the spot had been 
forgotten by man, and left to sleej) in its own 
gloomy desolation. The river itself has a ciiar- 
acter of wildness all its own — now brawling over 
rugged rocks — now foaming between high and 
narrow sides, abrupt as walls, sometimes flowing 
over a ledge of granite, without a ripple on the 
surface — then plunging madly into some dark 
abyss, to emerge again lower do\yn the valley in 
one troubled sea of foam and spray; its dull 
roar the only voice that echoes in the mountain 
gorge. 

Even where the humble roof of a solitary cabin 
can be seen, the aspect of habitation rather 
heightens than diminishes the feeling of loneli- 
ness and desolation. around. The thcuight of pov- 
erty enduring its ])ri\ ations unseen and unknown, 
without an eye to niaik its struggles, or a heart 
to console its griefs, comes mournfully on the 
mind, and one wonders what manner of man 
he can be who has fi.xed his dwelling in such 
solitude 

In- vain the eye ranges to catch the fight of 
one human being, save that dark speck be such 
which crowns the cliff, and stands out from the 
clear sky behind.. Yes, it is a child watchingthe 
goats that are browsing along the mountain, and 
as you look, llie swooping mist has hidden him 
from your view. Life of dreariness and gloom! 
What sad and melancholy thoughts must be his 
companions, who spends the livelong day on 
these wild heaths, his eye resting on the track- 
less waste where no fellow-creature moves! how 
many a mournful dream will pass over his mind! 
what fearful superstitions will creep in upon his 
imagination, giving form and shape to the flitting 
clouds, and making the dark shadows, as they 
pass, seem things of life and substance. 

Poor child of sorrow! How destiny has marked 
you for misery! For you no childish gambols in 
the sun — no gay play-fellow^no paddling in the 
running stream, that steals along bright and glit- 
tering, like happy infancy — no budding sense of 
a fair world, opening in gladness, but all a dreary 
waste, the weariness of age bound up with the 
terrors of childhood. 

The sun was just setting on a mellow evening, 
late in the autumn of a year towards the close 
of the last rtntury, as a solitary traveller sat 
down to rest himself on one of the large rocks 
by the roadside; divesting himself of his gun and 
shot-pouch, he lay carelessly at his length and 
seemed to be enjoying the light breeze which 
came up the valley. 

He was a young and powerfully-built man, 
whose well-knit frame and muscular limbs 
showed how much habitual exercise had con- 
tributed to make the steepest paths of the moun- 
tain a task of ease to him. He was scarcely above 
the middle height, but with remarkable breadth 
of chest, and that squareness of proportion which 
indicates considerable physical strength; his 
countenance, except for a look of utter listless- 
ness and vacuity, had been pleasing; the eyes 
were large and full, and of the deep grey which 
simulates blue, the nose large and well formed; 
the mouth alone was unprepossessing — the ex- 
pression it wore was of ill-humor and discontent, 



THE 0"DONOGHUE. 



195 



and this character seemed so habitual, that even 
as he sat thus alone and in solitude the curl of 
llie upper lip betrayed his nature. 

His dress was a shciting jacket of some coarse 
stuff, stained and washed by many a mountain 
streamlet; loose trousers of grey cloth, and heavy 
shoes — such as are worn by the peasantry, wher- 
ever such luxuries are attainable. It would have 
been difficult, at a mere glance, to have decided 
what class or condition of life he pertained to, 
for, although certain traits bespoke the person 
of a respectable rank, there was a general air of 
neglect about him, that half contradicted tlie 
supposition. He lay for some time perfectly 
motionless, when the tramp of horses at a distance 
down the glen suddenly roused him from his 
seeming apathy, and resting on his elbow he list- 
ened attentively. The sounds came nearer and 
nearer, and now the dull roll of a carriage could 
be heard approaching. Strange noises these, 
in that solitary valley, where even the hoofs of 
.1 single horse but rarely roused the echoes A 
sudden dip of the road at a little distance from 
where he lay concealed the view, and he remained 
in anxious expectancy, wondering what these 
kounds should portend, when suddenly the car 
riage seemed to have halted, and all was still. 

For some minutes the youth appeared to doubt 
Whether he had not been deceived by some swoop- 
ing of the wind through the passes in the moun- 
tains, when the sound of voices fell on his ear, and 
at the same moment two figures appeared over 
the crest of the hill, slowly advancing up the 
road. The one was a man advanced in years, 
but still hale and vigorous in look, his features, 
even yet eminently handsome, wore an air of 
mingled frankness and haughtiness there was 
in their expression the habitual character of one 
accustomed to exert a degree of command and 
influence over others — a look which, of all the 
riiaractenstics of temper, is least easily mis- 
taken 

At his side walked one who, even at a passing 
glance, might be pronounced his daughter so 
striking the resemblance between them. She did 
not seem above sixteen years of age, but through 
the youthful traits of her features you could 
mark the same character of expression her father's 
wore, modified by tender beauty, which at that 
age blends the loveliness of the girl with the 
graces of womanhood. Rather above than be- 
low the middle height, her figure had that dis- 
tinguishing mark of elegance high birth imjiresses, 
and in her very walk a quick observer might de- 
tect an air of class 

They both stopped short as they gained the 
summit of the hill, and appeared wonder-struck 
at the scene before them The grey gloom of 
twilight threw its sombre shadows over the valley, 
but the mountain peaks were tipped with the 
setting sun, and shone in those rich violet and 
purple hues the autumn heath displays so beau- 
tifully The dark-leaved holly and the bright 
arbutus blossom lent their color to every jutting 
cliff and promontory, which, to eyes unacquainted 
with the scenery, gave an air of culture strangely 
at variance with the desolation around 

"Is this wild enough for your fancy, Sybella," 



said' the father, with a playful smile, as he watched 
tiie varying expression of the young girl's features, 
' or would you desire something still more 
dreary?" But she made no answer. Her gaze 
was fixed on a thin wreath of smoke that curled 
its way upwards from what appeared a low mound 
of earth in the valley below the read, some 
branches of trees, covered with sods ot earth, 
grass-grown and still green, were heaped up to- 
gether, and through these the vapor found a pas- 
sage and floated into the air. 

" I am wondering what that fire can mean,'' 
said she, pointing downwards with her finger 

" Here is some one will explain it," said the 
old man, as for the first time he perceived the 
youth, who still maintained his former attitude 
on the bank, and with a studied indifference paid 
no attention to those whose presence had before 
so much surprised him 

"I say, my good fellow, what does that smoke 
mean we see yonder.''" 

The youth sprang to his feet wdth a bound 
that almost startled his questioner, so sudden 
and abrupt the motion, his features, inactive and 
colorless the moment before, seemed almost con- 
vulsed now, while they became dark with blood. 
'■ Was it to me you spoke' ' said he, in a low, 
guttural tone, which his passion made actually 
tremulous 

Yes " 

But before the old man could reply, his daugh 
ter, with the quick tact of womanhood, perceiving 
the mistake her father had fallen into, hastily 
interrupted him by saying, — 

"Yes, sir, we were asking you the cause of 
the fire at the foot of that cliff." 

The tone and the manner in which the words 
were uttered seemed at once to have disarmed 
his anger and although for a second or two he 
made no answer, his features recovered their 
former half-listless look, as he said, — 

" It is a cabin— there is another yonder, beside 
the river '' 

"A cabin' Surely you cannot mean that peo 
pie are living there?" said the girl, as a sickly 
pallor spread itself over her cheeks. 

"Yes, to be sure,' replied the youth "they 
have no better hereabouts. ' 

"What poverty — what dreadful misery is this'" 
said she, as the great tears gushed forth, and 
stole heavily down her face, 

'They are not so poor," answered the younr; 
man in a voice of almost reproof '' The cattlq 
along that mountain all belong to these people^ 
the goats you see in that glen are theirs also."' 

"And whose estate may this be?'' said the ohi 
man 

Either the questioner or his question seemed 
to have called up again the youth's former lesent- 
ment. for he fixed his eyes steadily on him for 
some time without a word, and then slowly 
added, — 

''This belongs to an Englishman — a certain Sir 
Marmaduke Travers — it is the estate of O'Don- 
ogbue." 

" Was you mean, once answered the old man,. 
I quickly. 
1 " I mean what I say," replied the other, rudeljT: 



196 



THE ODONOGHUE, 



" Confiscation cannot take away a right, it can at 
most " 

Tills speech was fortunately not destined to be 
finished, for while he was speaking, his quick 
glance detected a dark object soaring above his 
head. In a second he had seized his gun, and 
taking a steady aim, he fired. The loud report 
>vas heard repeated in many a far-off glen, and 
ere its last echoes died away, a heavy object fell 
upon the road not many yards from where they 
stood. 

■' This fellow," said the youth, as he lifted the 
body of a large black eagle from the ground — 
'this fellow was a confiscator, too, and see what 
he has come to. You'd not tell me that our lambs 
were his, would you?" 

The roll of wheels happily drowned these 
words, for by this time the postilions had reached 
the place, the four post-horses laboring under the 
heavy-laden travelling carriage, with its innumer- 
able bo.xes and imperials. 

The postboys saluted the young man with 
marked deference, to which he scarcely deigned 
an acknowledgment, as he replaced his shot- 
pouch, and seemed to prepare for the road once 
more. 

MeanwJiile the old gentleman had assisted his 
daughter to the carriage, and was about to follow, 
when he turned around suddenly and said, — 

" If your road lies this way, may I offer you a 
seat with us.'" 

The youth stared as if he did not well com- 
prehend the offer, and his cheek flushed, as he 
answered coldly, — 

"I thank you; but my path is across the 
mountain.' 

Both parties saluted distantly, the door of the 
carriage closed, and the word to move on was 
given, when the young man, taking two dark 
feathers from the eagle's wing, approached the 
window 

"I was forgetting," said he, in a voice of hesi- 
tation and diffidence, "perhaps you would 
accept these feathers." 

The young girl smiled, and, half blushing, 
muttered some words in reply, as she took the 
offered present. The horses sprang forward the 
next instant, and a few minutes after the road 
was as silent and deserted as before, and save 
the retiring sound of the wheels nothing broke 
the stillness. 



CHAPTER II. 



THE W.WSIDE INN 



As the glen continues to wind between the 
mountains, it gradually becomes narrower, and 
at last contracts to a mere cleft, flanked on either 
side by two precipitous walls of rock, which rise 
to the height of several hundred feet above the 
road, this is the pass of Keim-an-eigh, one of 
the wildest and most romantic ravines of the 
scenery of the south. 

At the entrance to this pass there stood, at the 
time we speak of, a small wayside inn, or shebeen 



house, whose greatest recommendation was in 
tile tact tliat it was the only place where shelter 
or refreshment could be obtained for miles on 
either side An humble thatched cabin abutting 
against the granite rock of the glen, and decorated 
'vitii an almost effaced sign of St. Finbar convert- 
ing a very unprepossessing heathen, over the door, 
showed where Mary M'Kelly dispensed " enther- 
tainment for man and baste." 

A chance traveller, bestowing a passing glance 
upon this modest edifice, might deem that an inn in 
such a dreary and unfrequented valley must prove 
a very profitless speculation. Few, very few, 
travelled the road — fewer still would halt to bait 
within ten miles of Bantry. Report, however 
said differently; the impression in the country 
was, that "Mary's" — as it was briefly styled — 
had a readier share of business than many a 
more promising and pretentious hotel, in fact, it 
was generally believed to be the resort of all the 
smugglers of the coast; and the market, where 
the shopkeepers of the interior repaired in se- 
cret to purchase the contiaband wares and r,un 
goods" which poured into the country from the 
shores of France and Holland. 

Vast storehouses and caves were said to exist 
in the rock behind the house, to store away the 
valuable goods which from time to time arrived- 
and it wms currently believed that the cargo of 
an Indiaman might have been concealed within 
these secret recesses, and never a cask left in 
view to attract suspicion. 

It is not into these gloomy receptacles of con- 
traband that we would now conduct our reader, 
but into a far more cheerful and more comfort- 
able locality — the spacious kitchen of the cabin, 
or, in fact, the apartment which served for the 
double puri>ose of cooking and eating — the com- 
mon room of the inn, where around a blazing fire 
of black lurf was seated a party ot three per- 
sons. 

At one side sat the fat and somewhat comely 
figure of Mary herself, a woman of some live-and- 
forty years, with tint expression of rough and 
ready temperament the habits of a wayside inn 
will teach. She had a clear, full eye — a wide, 
but not unpleasant mouth — and a voice that 
suited well the mellifluous intonation of a Kerry 
accent. Opposite to her were two thin, attenuated 
old men, who for dress, look, age, voice, and 
manner, it would have been almost impossible to 
distinguish from each other, for while the same 
weatherbeaten, shrivelled expression was common 
to both, their jackets of blue cloth, leather 
breeches, and top-boots, were so precisely alike, 
that they seemed the very Droniios brou^-ht back 
to life, to perform as postilions Such they were — 
such they had been for about fifty years They had 
travelled the country from the time they were boys 
— they entered the career together, and together 
they were jogging onward to the last stage of all, 
the only one where they hoped to be at rest! Joe 
and lim Daly were two names no one ever heard 
disunited, they were regarded as but one corpo- 
really and although they affected at times to make 
distinctions themselves, the world never gave them 
credit for any consciousness of separate identity. 
These were the postilions of the travelling car- 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



197 



riage, which having left at its destination, about 
two miles distant, they were now regaling them- 
selves at Mary's where the horses were to rest 
for the night. 

" Faix, ma'am, and it's driving ye may call it,' 
said one of the pair, as lie sipped a very smoking 
compound the hostess had just mixed — ''a iiard 
gallop every step of the way, barria' the bit of a 
hill at Carrignacurra. 

"Well, I hope ye had the decent hansel for it, 
anyhow, Jim?" 

'' I'm Joe, ma'am, av it's plazing to ye. Jim 
is the pole-end boy, he rides the layders. And 
it's true for ye — they behaved dacent.'' 

"A goold guinea, divil a less,' said the other, 
"there's no use in denying it Begorra, it was 
all natural, them's as rich as Crasis, sure didn't 
I see the young lady herself throwing out the 
tenpenny bits to the gossoons, as we went by, as 
if it was dirt; bad luck to me, but I was going 
to throw down the bishop of Cloyne ' 

"Throw down who' ' said the hostess. 

"The near wheeler, ma am. he's a broken- 
kneed ould devil we bought from the bishop, and 
called him after him; and as I was saying, I was 
going to cross them on the pole and get a fall, 
just to have a scramble for the money with the 
gaffers." 

" ' They look so poor, says she. God help 
her — it's little poverty she saw — there isn't one 
of them craytures hasn't a sack of potatoes." 

"Ay — more of them a pig. ' 

" And hens," chimed in the first speaker, with 
a horror at the imposition of people so comforta- 
bly endowed affecting to feel any pressure of 
poverty 

" And what's bringing them here at all ?" said 
Mrs M'Kelly, with a voice of some asperity; for 
she foresaw no pleasant future in the fact of a 
resident great man, who would not be likely to 
give any encouragement to the branch of traffic 
her principal customers followed. 

" Sorrow one of me knows," was the safe reply 
of the individual addressed, who, not being pre- 
pared with any view of the matter save that 
founded on the great benefit to the country, pre- 
ferred this answer to a more decisive one 

"'Tis to improve the property, they say," inter- 
posed the other, who was not equally endowed 
with caution " To look after the estate himself 
he has come " 

"Improve, indeed!" echoed the hostess. " Much 
we want their improving' Why didn't they leave 
us the ould families of the country? It's little 
we used to hear of improving, when I was a 
child God be good to us! There was ould 
Miles O'Donoghue, the present man's father, I'd 
like to see what he'd say, if they talked to him 
about improvement. Ayeh! sure I mind the time 
a hogshead of claret didn't do the fortnight. My 
father — rest his soul! — used to go up to the house 
every Monday morning for orders, and ye'd see 
a string of cars following him at the same time, 
with tay, and sugar, and wine, and brandy, and 
oranges, and lemons. Them was the raal im- 
provements!" 

" 'Tis true for ye, ma'am. It was a fine house, 
I always hecrd tell.'" 



"Forty-six in the kitchen, besides about four- 
teen colleens and gossoons about the place; the 
best of entliertainment up-stairs and down." 

"Musha! that was grand." 

" A keg of spcrits, with a spigot, in the serv- 
ants' hall, and no saying by your leave, but 
drink while ye could stand over it." 

"The Lord be good to us!" piously ejaculated 
the twain. 

" The hams was boiled in sherry wine." 

" Begorra, I wish I was a pig them times." 

"And a pike daren't come up to the table 
without an elegant pudding in his belly that cost 
five pounds!" 

" 'Tis the fish has their own luck always," was 
the profound meditation at this piece of good 
fortune. 

"Ayeh! ayeh!" continued the hostess, in a 
strain of lamentation, ''when the ould stock was 
in it, we never heerd tell of improvements. He'll 
be making me take out a license, I suppose," 
said she, in a voice of half contemptuous in- 
credulity. 

"Faix! there's no knowing,' said Joe, as he 
shook the ashes out of his pipe, and nodded his 
head sententiously. as though to say, that in the 
miserable times they'd fallen upon anything was 
possible 

'' Licensed for sperits and groceries,'' said Mrs. 
M'Kelly, with a sort of hysterical giggle, as if 
the thought were too much for her nerves. 

"I wouldn't wonder if he put up a 'pike,'" 
stammered out Jim, thereby implying that human 
atrocity would have reached its climax. 

The silence which followed this terrible sug- 
gestion was now loudly interrupted by a smart 
knocking at the door of the cabin, which was 
already barred and locked for the night. 

"Who's tliere? said Mary, as she held a cloak 
acroSs the blaze of the fire, so as to prevent thu 
light being seen through the apertures of the 
door — '' 'tis in bed we are, and late enough, too." 

"Open the door. Mar}', it's me," said a some- 
what confident voice. " I saw the fire burning 
brightly and there s no use hiding it." 

" Oh, troth, Mr. Mark, I'll not keep ye out in 
the cowld," said the hostess, as, unbarring the 
door, she admitted the guest whom we had seen 
some time since in the glen. "' Sure enough, 
'tisn't an O Donoghue we'd shut the door agin, 
anyhow '' 

" Thank ye, Mary." said the young man: "I've 
been all day in the mountains, and had no sport; 
and as that pleasant old Scotch uncle of mine 
gives me no peace when I come home empty- 
handed, I have resolved to stay here for the 
night, and try my luck to-morrow. Don't stir 
Jim — there's room enough, Joe: Mary's fire is 
never so grudging but there's a warm place for 
every one. What's in this big pot here, 
Mary?" 

" It's a stew, sir; more by token, of your 
honor's providin'." 

"Mine — how is that?" 

" The hare ye shot afore the door yesterday 
morning; sure it's raal luck we have it for you 
now." And while Mary employed herself in the 
pleasant bustle of preparing the supper, the 



198 



THE O'DONOGHU E 



young man drew near to tlie fire, and engaged 
the others in conversation. 

" That travelling carriage was going on to 
Bantry, Joe, I suppose?" said the youth, in a 
tone of easy indifference. 

" Nq, sir; they stopped at the lodge above 

"At the lodge? — burely you can't mean that 
they were the English family — Sir Marmaduke?" 

""I'is just himself, and his daughter. I heard 
them say the names as we were leaving Macroom. 
They were not expected here these three weeks; 
and Captain Hemsworth, the agent, isn't at 
home; and they say tiiere's no servants at the 
lodge, nor nothin' ready for the quality at all; 
and sure when a great lord like that " 

" He is not a lord, you fool, he has not a drop 
of noble blood in his body: he's a London 
banker — rich enough to buy birth, if gold could 
do it." The youth paused in his vehemence; 
then added, in a muttering voice, "Rich enough 
to buy the inheritance of those who have blood 
in their veins." 

The tone of voice in which the young man 
spoke, and the angry look whicli accompanied 
these words, threw a gloom over the party, and for 
some time nothing was said on either side. At 
last he broke silence abruptly by saying, — 

'And that was his daughter then?" 

"Yes, sir; and a purty crayture she is, and a 
kind-hearted. The moment she heerd she was 
on her father's estate, she began asking the names 
of all the people, and if they were well off, and 
what they had to ate, and where was the schools." 

" The schools!" broke in Mary, in an accent of 
great derision — "musha, it's great schooling we 
Want up the glen to teach us to bear poverty and 
cowld without complaining; learning is a fine 
thing for the hunger " 

Her irony was too delicate for the thick ap- 
prehension of poor Jim, who felt himself ad- 
dressed by the remark, and piously responded — 

" It is so, glory be to God !" 

"Well," said the young man, who now seemed 
all eagerness to resume the subject — " well, and 
what then?" 

" Then she was wondering where was the roads 
up to the cabins on the mountains, as if the likes 
uf them people had roads'" 

"They've ways of their own, the English," in- 
terrupted Jim, who felt jealous of his companion 
being always referred to, ' for whenever we 
passed a little potato garden, or a lock of oats, 
it was always, 'God be good to us' but they're 
mighty poor hereabouts,' but when we got 
into the raal wild part of the glen, with divi'l a 
house nor a human being near us, sorrow word 
out of their mouths but ' fine' beautiful' elegant!' 
till we came to Keini-an-eigh, and then ye'd 
thmk that it was fifty acres of wheat they were 
looking at, wid all the praises thev had for the 
big rocks and black cliffs over our heads " 

"I showed them your honor's father's place on 
the mountains," said Joe. 

"Yes, faith," broke in Jim, and the young 
lady laughed, and said, 'You see, father, we have 
a neighbor after all.' " 

The blood moimted to the youth's clieek, till 
it became purple, but he did not uttei a word. 



' 'Tis the O'Donoghue, my lady,' said I," con- 
tinued Joe, who saw the difliculty of the moment, 
and hastened to relieve it; " 'that's his castle up 
there, with the high tower. "I'was there the 
family lived these nine hundred years, whin the 
whole country was their own, and they wor kings 
here.' " 

"And did you hear what the ould gentleman 
said then?" asked Jim. 

" No, I didn't — I wasn't mindin' him," rejoined 
Joe, endeavoring with all his might to repress 
the indiscreet loquacity of the other 

" What was it, Jim?" said the young man, with 
a forced smile. 

"^ Fai.x, he begun a-laughing, yer honor, and 
says he, 'We niust pay our respects at Coort,' 
says he, and I'm sure we'll be well received, for 
we know his royal highness already' — that's what 
he called yer honor " 

The youth sprang to his feet with a gesture so 
violent and sudden as to startle the whole party 

"What'" he exclaimed, and are we sunk so 
low as to be a scoff and a jibe to a London money 
changer? If I but heard him speak the words " 

" Arrah, he never said it at all," said Joe, with 
alook thot made his counterpart tremble all over. 
"That bosthoon there would make you believe 
he was in the coach, convarsing the whole way 
with him. Sure wasn't I riding the wheeler, and 
never heerd a word of it. Whisht, I tell ye, and 
don't provoke me." 

"Ay, stop your mouth with some of this,' in 
terposed Ntary, as she helped the smoking and 
savory mess around the table. 

Jim looked down abashed and ashamed; his 
testimony was discredited; and without knowing 
wliy or wherefore, he yet had an indistinct glim- 
mering that any effort to vindicate his character 
would be ill-received; he therefore said nothing 
more. His silence was contagious, and the meal 
which a few moments before promised so pleas- 
antly, passed off with gloom and restraint. 

All Mary M'Kelly's blandishments, assisted by 
a smoking cup of mulled claret — a beverage which 
not a chateau on the Rhone could rival in racy 
flavor — failed to recall the young man's good 
humor: he sat in gloomy silence, only broken at 
intervals by sounds of some low muttering to him- 
self. Mary at length having arranged the little 
room for his reception, bade him goodnight, and 
retired to rest The postilions sought their dens 
over the stable, and the youth, apparently lost in 
his own thoughts, sat alone by the embers of the 
turf fire, and at last sank to sleep where he was, 
by tlie chimney corner 



THH 



CHAPTER III 



COTTAGE AND THE CASTLE 



Of Sir Marmaduke Travers there is little to 
tell the reader beyond what thie few hints thrown 
out already may have conveyed to him. He was 
a London banker, v/hose wealth was reputed to 
be enormous. Originally a younger son, he suc- 
ceeded somewhat late in life to the baronetcy 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



1D9 



and large estates of his family. Tiie liabits, how 
ever, of an active city lite — tlie pursuits whicii a 
long I areer had made a second nature to him — 
rendered him both unfit to enter upon the less 
exciting duties of a country gentleman s existence, 
and made him regard such as devoid of interest 
or amusement. He continued, therefore, to re- 
side in London for many years after he became 
the baronet; and it was only at the death of liis 
wife, to whom he was devotedly attached, that 
these habits became distasteful; he found that he 
could no longer continue a course which com- 
panionship and mutual feeling had rendered 
agreeable, and he resolved at once to remove to 
some one of his estates, where a new sphere of 
occupation might alleviate the sorrows of his loss. 
To this no obstacle of any kind existed. His 
only son was already launched into life as an 
officer in the Guards; and, exce[)t his daughter, 
so lately before the reader, he had no other 
children. 

The effort to attain forgetfulness was not more 
successful here than it is usually found to be. 
The old man sought, but found not, in a country 
life the solace he expected; neither his tastes nor 
his habits suited those of his neighbors, he was 
little of a sportsman, still less of a farmer The 
intercourse of country social life was a poor 
recompense for the unceasing flow of London 
society. He grew wearied very soon of his ex- 
periment, and longed once more to return to his 
Old haunt and habits. One more chance, how- 
ever, remained for him, and he was unwilling to 
reject without trying it. This was, to visit 
Ireland, where he possessed a large estate, which 
he had never seen. The property, originally 
mortgaged to his father, was represented as sin- 
gul irly picturesque and romantic, possessing 
great mineral wealth, and other resources never 
examined into nor made available. His agent, 
C iptain Hemsworth, a gentleman who resided on 
th • estate, at his annual visit to the proprietor 
use 1 to dilate upon the manifold advantages and 
capab lilies of the property, and never ceased to 
iin|)lore him to pay a visit, if even for a week or 
two, sincerely trusting the while that such an in 
tention might never occur to him. These en- 
treaties, made from year to year, were the regu- 
lar accompaniment of every settlement of ac- 
count, and as readily replied to by a half prom 
ise, which the maker was certainly not more sin 
cere in pledging. 

Three years of country life had now, however, 
disposed Sir Marmaduke to reflect on this long 
unperformed journey; and, regardless of the fact 
that his agent was then grouse-shooting -in Scot- 
land, he set out at a moment's notice, and with- 
out a word to apprise the household at the lodge 
of his intended arrival, reached the house in the 
evening of an autumn day by the road we have 
already been describing. 

It is but justice to Sir Marmaduke to add, that 
he was prompted to this step by other than mere 
selfish considerations. The state of Ireland had 
latterly become a topic of the press in both coun- 
tries. The poverty of the people — interpreted in 
various ways, and ascribed to very opposite 
causes — -was a constant theme of discussion and 



conversation. The strange phenomenon of g 
land teeming with abundance, yet oxerrun bv a 
starving population, had just then begun to at- 
tract notice, and theories were rife in accounting 
for that singular and anomalous social condition, 
which, unhappi!)', the experience of an additional 
half-century has not succeeded in solving 

Sir Marmaduke was well versed in these po] n- 
lar writings, he had the '"Whole State of luland'' 
by heart; and so firmly was he persuaded that 
his knowledge of the subject was perfect, ihnt 
he became actually imjiatic rt until he had reached 
the country, and commei'ced the great schtnie 
of regeneration and civilization, by which Ireland 
and her people were to be j laced among the 
hiost favored nations. He h.id heaid nnu h of 
Irish indolence and superstition — liish l>if:otry 
and intolerance — the indifference to ccnifort — 
the indisposition to exertion — the reckltfsness of 
the present — the improvidence of the future, he 
had been told that saint-days and holidays 
mulcted labor of more than half its due — that 
ignorance made the other half almcst valueless; 
he had read that the easy contentment with 
poverty had made all industry distasteful, and all 
exertion, save what was actually indispensable, a 
thing to be avoided. 

'Why should these things be, when they were 
not so in Norfolk nor in Yorkshire'' was the 
question he ever asked, and to -which his knowl- 
edge furnished no reply There, superstitions, 
if they existed — and he knew not if they did — 
came not in the way of daily labor. Saints never 
unharnessed the team, nor laid the plough inac- 
tive, comfort was a stimulant to industry that 
none disregarded, habits of order and decorum 
made the possessor respected; poverty almost 
argued misconduct, and certainly was dttnied a 
reproach. Why then not propagate the system 
of these happy districts in Ireland ? To do this 
was the great end and object of his vi.sit. 

PhilaiUhropy would often seem unhappily to 
have a dislike to the practical — the generous 
emotions appear shorn of their freedtni when 
trammelled with the fruit of experience or reflec- 
tion. So certainly it was in the case before us. 
Sir Marmaduke had the very best intentions — 
the weakest noUons of iheir realization; the most 
unbounded desire for good^the very narrowest 
conceptions of how to effect it. Like most theo- 
rists, no speculative difficulty was great enough 
to deter — no practical obstacle was so small as 
not to affright him. It never apparently occurred 
to him that men are not everywhere alike, 
and this trifling omission was the source of diffi- 
culties which he persisted in ascribing to causes 
outside of himself. Generous, kind-hearted, and 
benevolent, he easily forgave an injury, never 
wHlingly inflicted one, he was also, howe\er, hot- 
tem])ered and passionate, he could not brook 
opposition to his will where its object seemed 
laudable to himself, and was utterly unable to 
make allowance for prejudices and leanings in 
others, simply because he had never e.xpeiicnced 
them in his own breast. 

Such was in a few words, the present occupant 
of '"the Lodge," as the residence of the_ agent 
was styled. Originally a hunting-box, it had 



soo 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



been enlarged and ornamented by Captain 
Heinsworth, and converted into a cottage of sin- 
gular beauty without, and no mean pretension to 
comfort witiiin doors. It occupied an indenture 
of the glen of Keim-an-eigh, and stood on the 
borders of a small mountain lake, the surface of 
which was dotted with wooded islands. Behind 
the cottage, and favored by the shelter of the 
ravine, the native oaks grew to a great size, 
and contrasted by the rich foliage waving in 
the breeze with the dark sides of the cliff op- 
posite, rugged, barren, and immutable. 

In all the luxuriance of this mild climate 
shrubs attained the height of trees; and flowers 
rare enough elsev/here to demand the most watch- 
ful care, grew here, unattended and unregarded. 
The very grass had a depth of green, softer and 
more pleasing to the eye than in other places. It 
seemed as if nature had, in compensation for the 
solitude around, shed her fairest gift over this 
lonely spot, one bright gem in the dreary sky of 
winter. 

About a mile furtherdown the glen, and seated 
on a lofty pinnacle of rock, immediately above 
the road, stood the once proud castle of the 
O'Donoghue. Two square and massive towers 
still remained to mark its ancient strength, and 
the ruins of various outworks and bastions could 
be traced, extending for a considerable distance 
on every side. Between these square towers, and 
occupying the space where originally a curtain 
wall stood, a long low building now extended, 
whose high-pitched roof and narrow windows 
vouched for an antiquity of little more than a 
hundred years. It was a strange, incongruous 
pile, in which fortress and farm-house seemed 
Welded together — the whole no bad .type of its 
past and its present owners. The approach was 
by a narrow causeway cut in the rock, and pro- 
tected by a square keep, through whose deep 
arch the road penetrated — flanked on either hand 
by a low battlemented wall; along thes.e, two 
rows of lime-trees grew, stately and beautiful in 
the midst of all the ruin about them. They 
spread their waving foliage around, and threw a 
mellow, solemn shadow along the walk. Except 
these, not a tree nor even a shrub was to be seen; 
the vast woods of nature's own planting had dis- 
appeared, the casualties of war, the cTiances of 
limes of trouble, or the more ruinous course of 
poverty, had laid them low, and the barren 
mountain now stood revealed, where once were 
Waving forests and shady groves, the home of 
summer-birds, the lair of the wild deer. 

Cows and farm-horses were stabled in what 
once had been the outworks of the castle. Im- 
plements of husbandry lay carelessly on all sides, 
neglect and decay marked everything, the garden 
Wall was broken down in many places, and cattle 
Rtrayed at will among the torn fruit-trees and 
dilapidated terraces; while, as if to add to the 
dreary aspect of the scene, the ground for a con- 
siderable distance around had been tilled, but 
never subsequently restored to grass land, and 
now along its ridged surface noisome weeds and 
thistles grew rankly, tainting the air with their 
odor, and sending up heavy exhalations from the 
moist and spongy earth. If, without, all looked 



sad and sorrow-struck, the appearances within 
were not much better. A large flagged hall 
opened upon two long ill-lighted corridors, from 
which a number of small sitting-rooms led off 
Many of these were perfectly devoid of furni- 
ture; in the others, what remained seemed to 
owe its preservation to its want of value rnther 
than any other quality. Cracked looking-glasses 
— broken chairs, rudely mended by some country 
hand — ragged and patched carpets, were the only 
things to be found, with here and there some 
dirt-disfigured piece of framed canvas, which, 
whether tapestry or painting, no eye could now 
discover. These apartments bore little or no 
trace of habitation, indeed, for many years they 
were rarely entered by any one. A large square 
room in one of the towers, of some fifty feet in 
dimensions, was the ordinary resort of the family, 
serving the purposes of drawing and dining- 
room. This was somewhat better in appearance: 
whatever articles of furniture had any pretension 
to comfort or convenience were here assembled; 
and here were met old fashioned sofas, deep arm- 
chairs, quaint misshapen tables like millepedes, 
and fat old foot stools, the ]-iious work of long 
forgotten grandmothers. A huge screen, covered 
with a motley array of prints and caricattircs. 
cut off the group around the ample firejilace 
from the remainder of the apartment, and it is 
within this charmed circle we would now conduct 
our reader. 

In the great arm-chair to the right of the ample 
fire-place, sat a powerfully built old man, Avhose 
hair was white as snow and fell in long waving 
masses at either side of his head. His forehead, 
massive and expanded, surmounted two dark, 
penetrating eyes, which even extreme old age 
had not deprived of their lustre. The other 
features of his face were rather marked by a 
careless, easy sensuality tljan by any other char- 
acter, except that in the nicuth the expression 
of firmness was strongly displayed. His dress 
was a strange mixture of the coLtume of gentleman 
and peasant. His coat, worn and threadbare, bore 
traces of better days, in its cut and fashion, his 
vest also showed the frngnient of tarnished em 
broidery along the margin of the flapped pockets; 
but the coarse knee-breeches of corduroy and 
the thick grey lambswool stockings, wrinkled 
along the legs, were no better than those worn 
by the poorer farmers of the neighborhood. 

This was the O'Donoghue himself. Opposite 
to him sat one as unlike him in every respect as 
it was possible to conceive. He was a tall, 
spare, raw-boned figure, whose grey eyes and 
high cheek-bones bore traces of a different race 
to that of the aged chieftain. An expression of 
intense acuteness pervaded every feature of his 
face, and seemed concentrated about the angles 
of the mouth, where a series of deep wrinkles 
were seen to cross and intermix with each other, 
omens of a sarcastic spirit, indugled without the 
least restraint on the part of its possessor. His 
wiry grey hair was brushed rigidly back from his 
bony temples, and fastened into a short queue 
behind, thus giving great apparent length to his 
naturally long and narrow face. His dress was 
that of a gentleman of the tmie, a lull ikirted 



THE O DONOGHUE. 



201 



coat of a dark brown, with a long vest descend- 
ing below the hips, breeches somewhat a deeper 
sliadc of the same color, and silk stockings, with 
silver-buckled shoes, completed an attire, which, 
if plain, was yet scrupulously neat and respecta- 
ble. As he sat, almost bolt upright in his chair, 
there was a look of vigilance and alertness about 
him very opposite to the careless, nearly droop- 
ing air of the O'Donoghue Such was Sir Archi- 
bald M'Nab, the brother of the O'Donoghue's 
late wife, for the old man had been a widower 
for several years. Certain circumstances of a 
doubtful and mysterious nature had made him 
leave his native country of Scotland many years 
before, and since that, he had taken up his abode 
with his brother-in-law, whose retired halfits and 
solitary residence afforded the surest guarantee 
against his ever being traced. His age must 
have been almost as great as the O'Donoghue's; 
but the energy of his character, the lightness of 
his frame, and the habits of his life, all con- 
tributed to make him seem much younger. 

Never were two natures more dissimilar. The 
one, reckless, lavish, and improvident; the other, 
cautious, saving, and full of forethought O'Don- 
oghue was frank and open — his opinions easily 
known — his resolutions hastily formed. M'Nab 
was close and secret, carefully weighing every- 
thing before he made up his mind, and not mucli 
given to imparting his notions when he had done 
so. 

In one point alone was there any similarity 
between them — pride of ancestry and birth they 
both possessed in common; but this trait, so far 
from serving to reconcile the other discrepancies 
of their natures, kept them even wider apart, and 
added to the passive estrangement of ill-matched 
associates an additional element of active dis- 
cord. 

There was a lad of some fifteen or sixteen 
years of age, who sat beside the fire on a low 
stool, busily engaged in deciphering, by tke fit- 
ful light of the bog-wood, the pages of an old 
volume.in which he seemed deeply interested. The 
blazing pine, as it threw its red gleam over the 
room, showed the handsome forehead of the 
youth, and the ample locks of rich auburn, which 
iuing in clusters over it; while his face was strik- 
ingly like the old man's, the mildness of its ex- 
pression — partly the result of youth, partly the 
character imparted by his present occupation — 
was unlike that of either his father or brother; 
for Herbert O'Donoghue was the younger son of 
the house, and was said, both in temper and ap- 
pearance, to resemble his mother. 

At a distance from the fire, and with a certain 
air of half assurance, half constraint, sat a man 
of some five-and-thirty years of age, whose dress 
of green coat, short breeches, and top boots, sug- 
gested at once the jockey, to which the mingled 
look of confidence and cunning bore ample cor- 
roboration. This was a well-known character in 
Ihe south of Ireland at that time. His name was 
Lanty Lawler. The sporting habits of the gentry. 
^— their easiness on the score of intimacy^the 
advantages of a ready-money purchaser, whenever 
Ihey wished " to weed their stables," admitted 
the horse-dealer pretty freely among a class to 



which neither his habits nor station could have 
warranted him in presenting himself. But, in 
addition to these qualities, Lanty was r.nther a 
prize in remote and unvisited tracts such as the 
one we have been describing, his information 
being both great and varied in everything going 
forward. He had the latest news of the cuimal 
— the fashions of hair and toilet — the colors worn 
by the ladies in vogue, and the newest rumors of 
any intended change — he knew well the gossip 
of politics and party — upon the probable turn of 
events in and out of Parliament he could hazard 
a guess with a fair prospect of accuracy. With 
the prices of stock and the changes in the world 
of agriculture he was thioroughly familiar, and 
had, besides, a world of stories and small talk on 
every possible subject, which he brought forth 
with the greatest tact as regarded the tastes and 
character of his comjiany, one half of his ac- 
quantances being totally ignorant of the gifts 
and graces by which he obtained fame and char- 
acter with the other. 

A roving vagabond life gave him a certain free- 
and-easy air, which among the majority of his 
associates, was a great source of his popularity; 
but he well knew when to lay this aside and 
assume the exact shade of deference and respect 
his company might require. If, then, with 
O'Donoghue himself he would have felt perfectly 
at ease, the presence of Sir Archy, and his taciturn 
solemnity, was a sad check upon him, and 
mingled the freedom he felt with a degree of 
reserve far from comfortable. However, he had 
come for a purpose, and, if successful, the result 
would amply remunerate him for any passing in- 
convenience he might incur; and with this thought 
he armed himself as he entered the room some ten 
minutes before. 

" So you are looking for Mark?" said the 
O'Donoghue to Lanty. " You can't help hanker- 
ing after that grey mare of his." 

"Sure enough, sir, there's no denying it. I'll 
have to give him the forty pounds for her, though, 
as sure as I'm here, she's not worth the money; 
but when I've a fancy for a beast, or take a con- 
ceit out of her — it's no use, I must buy her — 
that's it!" 

"Well, I don't think he'll give her to you, now, 
Lanty; he has got her so quiet — so gentle — that 
I doubt he'll part with her." 

"It's little a quiet one suits him; faix, he'd 
soon tire of her if she wasn't rearing or plunging 
like mad! He's an elegant rider, God bless him! 
I've a black horse now that would mount him 
well; he's out of 'Divil-may-care," Mooney's horse, 
and can take six foot of a wall flying, with fourteen 
stone on his back; and barring the least taste of 
a capped hock, you could not see speck nor spot 
about him wrong." 

" He's in no great humor for buying just now," 
interposed the O'Donoghue with a voice to which 
some suddenly awakened recollection imparted a 
tone of considerable depression. 

" Sure we might make a swop with the mare," 
rejoined Lanty, determined not to be foiled so 
easily. And then, as no answer was forthcoming, 
after a long pause, he added, " And haven't I the 
elegant pony for Master Herbert there? a crame 



202 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



color — clean bred — with white mane and tail. 
If he was the Prince of Wales he might rid(^'her. 
She has racing speed — they tell me, for I only'liave 
her a few days; and, faix, ye'd win all the county 
stakes with her!" 

The youth looked up from his book, and 
listened with glistening eyes and animated fea- 
tures to the description, which, to one reared as 
he was, possessed bo common attraction. 

"Sure I'll send over for her to-morrow, and 
you can try her," said Lanty, as if replying to the 
gaze with which the boy regarded him. 

"Ye mauna do nae sich a thing," broke in 
M'Nab. " Keep your rogueries and rascalities 
for the auld generation ye hae assisted to ruin; 
but leave the young anes alane to mind ither 
matters than dicing and horse-racing." 

Either the O'Donoghue conceived the allusion 
one that bore hardly on himself, or he felt ve.xed 
that the authority of a father over his son should 
have been usurped by another, or both causes 
were in operation together, for he turned an 
angry look on Sir Archy, and said, — 

"And why shouldn't the boy ride? was there 
ever one of his name or family that didn't know 
how to cross a country.' I don't intend him for 
a Highland pedler." 

" He might be waur," retorted M'Nab, sol- 
emnly — "he might be an Irish beggar." 

" By my soul, sir—" broke in O'Donoghue. 
But fortunately an interruption saved the speech 
from being concluded, for at the same moment 
the door opened, and Mark O'Donoghue, travel- 
stained and weary-looking, entered the room. 

" Well, Mark," said the old man, as his eyes 
glistened at the appearance of his favorite son, 
" what sport, boy?" 

" Poor enough, sir; five brace in two days is 
nothing to boast of, besides two hares. Ah, 
Lanty, you here — how goes it?" 

" Purty well, as times go, Mr. Mark," said 
the horse-dealer, affecting a degree of defer- 
ence he would not have deemed necessary had 
they been alone. " I'm glad to see you back 
again.'' 

"Wh\ — what old broken-down devils have 
you now got on hand to pass off upon us? It's 
fellows like you destroy the sport of the country. 
You carry away every good horse to be found, 
and cover the country with spavined, wind-galled 
brutes, not fit for the kennel.' 

"That's it, Mark — -give him a canter, lad," 
cried the old man, joyfully. 

" I know what you are at well enough," re- 
stimed the youth, encouraged by these tokens of 
approval; "you want that grey mare of mine. 
You have some fine English officer ready to give 
you a hundred and fifty, or, maybe, two hundred 
guineas for her the moment you take her over to 
England." 

" May I never " 

"That's the trade you drive. Nothing too 
bad for us — nothing too good for them." 

" See now, Mr. Mark, I hope I may never " 

"Well, Lanty, one word for all; I'd rather 



send a bullet through her skull this minute than 
let vDu have her for one of your fine English 
patrons." ■ 



" Won't you let me speak a word at all ?" in- 
terposed the horse-dealer, in an accent half im- 
ploring, half deprecating. If I buy the mare — 
and it isn't for want of a sporting offer if I don't 
— she'll never go to England— no — devil a step. 
She's for one in the country here beside you; 
but I won't say more, and there now" — at these 
words he drew a soiled black leather pocket-book 
from the breast of his coat, and, opening it, dis- 
played a tlrtck roll of bank notes, lied with a 
piece of string — "there's sixty pounds in that 
bundle there — at least I hope so, for I never 
counted it since I got it — take it for her or leave 
it, just as you like; and may I never have luck 
with a beast, but there's not a gentleman in the 
country would give the same money for her ' 
Here he dropped his voice to a whisper, and 
added, " Sure the speedy cut is ten jjounds off 
her price any day, between two brothers." 

" What!" said the youth, as his brows met in 
passion, and his heightened color showed how 
his anger was raised. 

" Well, well — it's no matter, there's my offer, 
and if I make a ten-pound note of her, sure it's 
all I live by; I wasn't born to an estate and a 
fine property, like yourself." 

These words, uttered in such a tone as to be 
inaudible to the rest, seemed to mollify the young 
man's wrath, for sullenly stretching forth his 
hand, he took the bundle and opened it on the 
table before him. 

"A dry bargain never was a lucky one, they 
say, Lanty — isn't that so?" said the O'Donoghue, 
as, seizing a small hand-bell, he ordered uj^ a 
supply of claret, as well as the more vulgar ele- 
ments for punch, should the dealer, as was prob- 
able, prefer that liquor. 

" These notes seem to have seen service,'* 
muttered Mark; " here's a ragged fellow; there's 
no making out whether he's two or ten." 

' They were well handled, there's no doubt of 
it,' said Lant) ; "the tenants was paying them 
in; and sure you know yourself how tliey thumb 
and finger a note before they part with it. You'd 
think they were trying to take leave of them. 
There's many a man can't read a word can tell 
you the amount of a note just by the feel of it! 
— Thank you, sir, I'll take the spirits— it's what 
I'm most used to." 

'Who did you get them from, Lanty?" said 
the O'Donoghue. 

" Malachi Glynn, sir, of Cahernavorra, and, 
by the same tokin, I got a hearty laugh at the 
same house once before.'' 

" How was that?" said the old man, for he saw 
by the twinkle of Lanty's eye that a story was 
coming. 

" Faix, just this way. sir. It was a little after 
Christmas last year that Mr. Malachi thought 
he'd go up to Dublin for a month or six weeks 
with the young ladies, just to show them, byway 
of — for, ye see, there's no dealing at all down 
here— and he thought he'd bring them up and 
see what could be done. Musha! but they're 
the hard stock to get rid of! and somehow they 
don't improve by holding them over And as 
there was levees, and drawing-rooms, and balls 
going on, sure it would go hard but he'd get off 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



203 



a pair of them, anyhow. Well, it was an elegant 
scheme, if there was money to do it, but devil 
a farthin' was to be had, high or low, beyond 
seventy pounds I gave for the two carriage- 
horses and the yearlings that was out in the 
field, and sure that wouldn't do at all. He tried 
the tenants for 'the November,' but what was 
the use of it, though he offered a receipt in full. 
for ten shillings in the jsound? — when a lucky 
thought struck him. Troth, and it's what ye 
may call a grand thought, too. He was walking 
about before the door, thinking and ruminating 
jiow to raise the money, when lie sees the sheep 
grazing on the lawn foment him — not tliat he 
could sell one of them, for there was a strap of 
a bond or mortgage on them a year before. 
' Faix,' and says he, ' when a man's hard up for 
cash, he's often obliged to wear a miglity thread- 
bare coat, and go cold enough in the winter 
season — and sure it's reason sheep isn't better 
than Christians; and begorra!' says he, I'll 
have the fleece off ye, if the weather was twice 
as cowld.' No sooner said than done. They 
were ordered into the haggard-yard the same 
evening, and, as sure as ye're there, they cut the 
wool off them three days after Christinas. 
Musha! but it was a pitiful sight to see them 
turned out shivering and shaking, with the snow 
on the ground. And it didn't thrive with him; 
for three died the first night. Well, when he 
seen what come of it, he had them all brought 
in again, and they gathered all the spare clothes 
and the ould rags in the house together, and 
dressed them up, at least, the ones that were 
worst; and such a set of craytures never was 
seen. One had an old petticoat on; another a 
flannel waistcoat, many could only get a cravat 
or a pair of gaiters, but the ram beat all, for he 
was dressed in a pair of corduroy breeches, and 
an old sjienccr of the master's, and may I never 
live, if I didn't roll down full length on the 
grass when I seen him." 

For some minutes before Lanty had concluded 
his story, the whole party were convulsed with 
laughter, even Sir Archy vouchsafed a grave 
smile, as. receiving the tale in a different light, 
he muttered to himself — 

"They're a' the same — ne'er-do-well, reckless 
deevils." 

One good result at least followed the anec- 
dote — the good humor of the company was re- 
stored at once — the bargain was finally concluded; 
and I^anty succeeded by some adroit flattery in 
recovering five pounds of the price, under the 
title of luck-penny — a portion of the contract 
M'Nab would have interfered against at once, 
but that, for his own especial reasons, he preferred 
remaining silent. 

The party soon after separated for the night, 
and as Lanty sought the room usually destined 
for his accommodation, he muttered, as he went, 
his self-congratulations on his bargain. Already 
he had nearly reached the end of the long cor- 
ridor, where his chamber lay, when a door was 
cautiously opened, and Sir Archy, attired in a 
dressing-gown, and with a candle in his hand, 
stood before him. 

" A word wi' ye, Master Lawler," said he, in a 



low, dry tone thehorse-dealer but half liked. "A 
word wi' ye before ye retire to rest.' 

Lanty followed the old man into the apartment 
with an air of affected carelessness, which soon, 
however, gave way to surprise, as he surveyed 
the chamber, so little like any other in that 
dreary mansion. The walls were covered with 
shelves, loaded with books; maps and jirints lay 
scattered about on tables; an oak cabinet of great 
beauty in form and carving occupied a deep 
recess beside the chimney, and over the fire- 
place a claymore of true Highland origin and a 
pair of silver-mounted pistols, were arranged like 
a trophy, surmounted by a flat Highland cap, with 
a thin black eagle's feather. 

Sir Archy seemed to enjoy the astonishment 
of his guest, and for some minutes made no ef- 
fort to break silence. At length he said, — 

" Ye war speaking about a sma' powny for 
the laird's son, Mister Lawler— may I ask ye the 
price?" 

The words acted like a talisman — Lanty was 
himself in a moment The mere mention of 
horseflesh brought back the whole crowd of his 
daily associations, and with his native volubility 
he proceeded, not to reply to the question, but 
to enumerate the many virtues and perfections of 
the " sweetest tool that ever travelled on four 
legs.'' 

Sir Archy waited patiently till the eloquent 
eulogy was over, and then dryly repeated his fust 
demand. 

" Is it her price?" said Lanty. repeating the 
question to gain time to consider how far circum- 
stances might warrant him in ]nishing a market 
" It's her price ye're asking me. Sir Archibald? 
Troth, and I'll tell you. there's not a man in 
Kerry could say what's her price Goold wouldn t 
pay for her, av it was value was wanted. See 
now, she's not fourteen hands high, but may I 
never leave this room if she wouldn't carry me — 
ay, myself here, twelve stone six in the scales^ 
over e'er a fence between this and Inchigeela." 

" It's no exactly to carry you that I was mak- 
ing my inquiry," said the old man, with an ac- 
cent of more asperity than he had used before. 

'• Well, then, for Master Herbert — sure she is 
the very beast " 

"What are you asking for her? Canna you 
answer a straightforred question, man?" reitera- 
ted Sir Archy, in a voice there was no mistak- 
ing- 

"Twenty guineas, then," replied Lanty, in a 

tone of defiance; "and if ye offer nic pounds I 
won't take it." 

Sir Archy made no answer', but turning to the 
old cabinet, he unlocked one of the small doors 
and drew forth a long leather pouch, curiously 
embroidered with silver; from this he took ten 
guineas in gold, and laid them leisurely on the 
table. The horse-dealer eyed them askance, but 
without the slightest sign . of having noticed 
tlii'in. 

" I'm no goin' to buy your beast, Mr. Law- 
ler," said the old man, slowly; "I'm just goin' 
merely to buy your ain good sense and justice. 
You say the powny is W(jrth twentv guineas?' 

"As sure as I stand here. I wouldn t " 



204 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



" Wecl, weel, I'm content. There's half the 
money; lak' it, but never let's hear anither word 
about her here; tak' her awa' wi' ye; sell or shoot 
her, do what ye please wi' her-; but mind nie, 
man" — here his voice became full, strong, and 
commanding — ^" tak' care that ye meddle not wi' 
that young callant, Herbert. Dinna fill his head 
wi' ranting thoughts of dogs and horses. Let 
there be one of the house wi' a soul above a scul- 
lion or a groom. Ye have brought ruin enough 
here; ye can spare the boy, I trow; there, sir, 
tak' your money." 

For a second or two Lanty seemed undecided 
whether to reject or accept a proposal so humili- 
ating in its terms, and when at length he acceded, 
it was rather from his dread of the consequences 
of refusal than from any satisfaction the bargain 
gave him. 

"I'm afraid. Sir Archibald," said he, half tim- 
idly — " I'm afraid you don't understand me 
well." 

" I'm afraid I do," rejoined the old man, with 
a bitter smile on his lip; " but it's better we 
should understand each other. Good-night." 

"Well, good night to you, anyhow," said 
Lanty, with a slight sigh, as he dropped the 
money into his pocket, and left the room 

"I have bought the scoundrel cheap!" mut- 
tered Sir Archy, as the door closed. 

" Begorra, I thought he was twice as knowing!" 
was Lanty's reflection, as he entered his own 
chamber. 



CHAPTER IV. 



KERRY O LEARY. 



Lanty Lawler was stirring the first in the 
house. The late sitting of the preceding even- 
ing, and the deep potations he had indulged in, 
left little trace of weariness on his well-accus- 
tomed frame. Few contracts were ratified in 
those days without the solemnity of a drinking 
bout, and the habits of the O'Donoghue house- 
hold were none of the most abstemious. All was 
still and silent then as the horse-dealer descended 
the stairs, and took the path towards the stable 
where he had left his hackney the night before. 

It was Lanty's intention to take possession of 
his new purchase, and set out on his journey be- 
fore the others were stirring, and with this ob- 
ject he wended his way across the weed-grown 
garden, and into the wide and dreary court-yard 
of the building. 

Had he been disposed to moralize— assuredly 
an occupation he was little given to — he might 
have indulged the vein naturally enough as he 
surveyed on every side the remains of long past 
greatness and present decay. Beautifully pro- 
portioned columns, with florid capitals, supplied 
the place of gate-piers. Richly carved armorial 
bearings were seen upon the stones used to re- 
pair the breaches in the walls. Fragments of 
inscriptions and half obliterated dates appeared 
amid the moss-grown ruins: and the very door 
of the stable had been a portal of dark oak, 
studded with large nails, its native sti;ength 



having preserved It when even the masonry was 
crumbhng to decay. Lanty ]3assed these with 
perfect indifterence. Their voice awoke no echo 
within his breast; and even when he noticed 
them, it was to mutter some jeering allusion to 
their fallen estate, rather than with any feeling 
of reverence for what they once represented. 

The deep bay of a hound now startled him, 
however. He turned suddenly round, and close be- 
side him, but within the low wall of aruitied kennel- 
yard, lay a large fox-hound, so old and fet ble that, 
even roused by the approach of a stranger, he 
could not rise from the ground, but lay help- 
lessly on the earth, and with uplifted throat sent 
forth a long wailmg note Lanty leaned upon 
the wall, and looked at him. The emotions 
which other objects failed to suggest, seemed lo 
flock upon him now That poor dog, the last of a 
once noble pack, wiiose melody used to ring 
through every glen and ravine of the wild mount 
ains, was an a|)peal to his heart he could not 
withstand, and he stood with his gaze fi.xed upon 
him 

" Poor old fellow'" said he, compassionately, 
"it's a lonely thing for you to be there now, and 
all your friends and companions dead and gone. 
Rory, my boy, don't you know me?" 

The tones of his voice seemed to soothe the 
animal, for he responded in a low cadence, in 
describably melancholy. 

" That's my boy. Sure I knew you didn't for- 
get nie;" and he stooped over and patted the 
poor beast upon the head. 

"The top of the morning to you, Mister 
Lawler," cried out a voice straight over his head 
—and at the same instant a strange-looking face 
was protruded from a little one-paned window ol 
a hayloft — "'tis early you are to-day." 

" Ah, Kerry, how are you, man? I was takin;; 
a look at Rory here." 

" Fai,\, he's a ])oor sight now," responded thii 
other, with a siph, "but he wasn't so once. I 
mind the time he could lead the pack over 
Cubber-na-creena mountain, and not a dog but 
himself catch the scent, after a hard frost and ^ 
north wind. I never knew him wrong. Hi( 
tongue was as true as the priest's — sorrow lie in 
it." 

A low whine from the poor old beast seemed 
to acknowledge the praise bestowed upon him; 
and Kerry continued, — 

"It's truth I'm telling; and if it wasn't, it's 
just himself would contradict me. — Tally-ho! 
Rory- — tally-ho! my ould boy;" and both man 
and dog joined in a deep-toned cry together 

The old walls sent back the echoes, and for 
some seconds the sounds floated through the 
still air of the morning. 

Lanty listened with animated features and lit- 
up eyes to notes which so often had stirred the 
strongest chords of his heart, and then suddenly, 
as if recalling his thoughts to their former chan 
nel, cried out, — 

"Come down, Kerry, my man — come down 
here, and unlock the door of the stable I must 
be early on the road this morning." 

Kerry O'Leary^ — for so was he called to dis- 
tinguish him from those of the name in the ad 



THE O'DONOGH U E 



203 



joining county — soon made his appearance in the 
court-yard beneath. His toilet was a hasty one, 
consisting merely of a pair of worn corduroy 
small-clothes and an old blue frock, with faded 
scarlet collar and cuffs, which, for convenience, 
he wore on the present occasion buttoned at the 
neck, and without inserting his arms in the sleeves, 
leaving these appendages to float loosely at his 
sides. His legs and feet were bare, as was his 
head, save what covering it derived from a thick 
fell of strong black hair that hung down on every 
side like an ill-made thatch. 

Kerry was not remarkable for good looks. His 
brow was low, and shaded two piercing black 
eyes, set so closely together, that they seemed to 
present to the beholder one single continuous 
dark streak beneath his forehead; a short snubby 
nose, a wide thick-lipped mouth, and a heavy, 
massive under-jaw, made up an assemblage of 
features, which, when at rest, indicated little 
remarkable or striking; but when animated and 
excited, displayed the strangest possible union 
of deep cunning and simplicity, intense curiosity 
and apathetic indolence. His figure was short, 
almost to dwarfishness, and as his arms were 
enormously long, they contributed to give that 
air to his appearance. His legs were widely 
bowed, and his gait had that slouching, shamblmg 
motion so indicative of an education cultivated 
among horses and stable-men. So it was, in fact, 
Kerry had begun life as a jockey. At thirteen 
he rode a winning race at the Curragh, and came 
in first on tlie back of Blue Blazes, the wickedest 
horse of the day in Ireland. From that hour he 
became a celebrity, and, until too old to ride, 
was the crack jockey of his time. From jockey 
he grew into trainer — the usual transition of the 
tadpole to the frog, and when the racing stud 
was given up by the O'Donoghue in exchange 
for the hunting-field, Kerry led the pack to their 
glorious sport. As time wore on. and its course 
brought saddening fortunes to his master, Kerry's 
occupation was invaded; the horses were sold, 
the hounds given up, and the kennel fell to ruins. 
Of the large household that once filled the 
castle, a few were now retained; but among these 
was Kerry. It was not that he was useful, or that 
his services could minister to the comfort or con- 
venience of the family; far from it, the com- 
monest offices of in-door life he was ignorant of, 
and, even if he knew, would have shrunk from 
performing them, as being a degradation. His 
whole skill was limited to the stable-yard, and 
there now his functions were unneeded. It 
would seem as if he were kept as a kind of 
memento of their once condition, rather than 
anything else. There was a pride in maintaining 
one who did nothing the whole day but lounge 
about the offices and the court-yard, in his old 
ragged suit of huntsman And so, too, it im- 
pressed the country people, who, seeing him 
believed that any moment the ancient splen- 
dor of the house might shine forth again, and 
Kerry, as of yore, ride out on his thoroughbred, 
to make the valleys ring with music. He was, as 
it were, a kind of staff, through which at a day's 
notice, tlie whole regiment might be mustered. 
It was in this spirit he lived, and moved, and 



spoke. He was always going about looking 
after a " nice beast to carry tiie master," and a 
"real bit of blood for Master Mark;" and he 
would send a gossoon to ask if Barry O'Brien of 
the bridge " heard tell of a fox in the cover 
below the road." In fact, his prejjarations ever 
portended a speedy resumption of the habits in 
which his youth and manhood were spent. 

Such was the character wlio now, in the easy 
dishabille described, descended into the court- 
yard with a bunch of keys in his hand, and led 
the way towards the stable 

"I put the little mare into the hack-stable, Mr 
Lawler," said he, " because the huniers is in train- 
ing, and I didn't like to disturb ihcm «ilh a 
strange beast." 

" Hunters in training! ' replied Lnniy in as- 
tonishment. " Why, I thought he had nothing 
but the grey mare with the black legs. 

"And sure, if he hasn't," responded Kerry, 
crankily. "couldn't he buy them when he wants 
them?" 

" Oh, that's it," said tlie other, laughing to 
himself. " No doubt of it, Kerry. Money will 
do many a thing." 

" Oh, it's wishing it I am for money' Bad luck 
to the peace or ease I ever seen since they became 
fond of money. I remember the time it was, 
'Kerry, go down and bring this, or take that,' 
and devil a more about it; and lashings of every- 
thing there was. See, now! if the horses could 
eat peas-pudding, and drink punch, they'd got it 
tor askin', but now it's all for saving, and saving. 
And sure, wliat's the use of goold? God be good 
to us, as I heard Father Luke say, he'd do as 
much tor fifteen shillings as for fifty pounds, av 
it was a poor boy wanted it." 

" What nonsense are you talking, you old sin- 
ner, about saving? Why, man, they haven't got 
as much as they could bless themselves on among 
them all. You needn't be angry, Kerry. It's 
not Lanty Lawler you can humbug that way Is 
there an acre of the estate their own now? Not 
if every perch of it made four, it wouldn't pay 
the money they owe."' 

'' And if they do," rejoined Kerry, indignantly, 
'' who has a better right, tell me that? Is it an 
O'Donoghue would be behind the rest of the 
country? Begorra, ye're bould to come up here 
and tell us that!" 

" I'm not telling you anything of the kind — I'm 
saying that if they are ruined entire!) " 

"Arrah! don't provoke me. Take your baste 
and go in God's name!" 

And so saying, Kerry, whose patience was fast 
ebbing, pushed wide the stable-door, and pointed 
to the stall where Lanty 's hackney was stand- 
ing. 

" Bring out that grey mare. Master Kerry ' 
said Lanty, in a tone of easy insolence, purposely 
assumed to provoke the old huntsman's anger — 
"bring her out here." 

"And what for would I bring her out?'' 

" Maybe I'll tell you afterwards," was the re- 
ply " Just do as I s;ky, now." 

" The devil a one o' me will touch the beast 
at your bidding, and, what's more, I'll not let 
yourself lay a fingei on her." 



206 



THE O DONOGHUE. 



"Be quiet, you old fool!" said a deep voice be- 
hind him. He turned, and there stood Mark 
O'Donoghue himself, pide and haggard after his 
night's excess. "Be quiet, I say. The mare is 
his — let him have'her." 

"Blessed Virgin!" exclaimed Kerry, 'here's 
the hunting season beginning, and sorrow thing 
you'll have to put a saddle on, barrin' — bar- 

rin'^ -" 

"Barring what?" interposed Lanty, with an in- 
solent grin. 

The young man flushed at the impertinence 
of the insinuation, but said not a word for a few 
minutes, then suddenly exclaimed, — 

"Lanty, I have changed my mind; I'll keep 
the mare." 

The iiorse dealer started, and stared him full 
in the face. 

" Why, Mr. Mark, surely you're not in earnest? 
The beast is paid for — the bargain all settled. ' 
"I don t care for that. There's your money 
again. I'll keep the mare." 

"Ay, but listen to reason. The mare is mine. 
She was so when you handed nie the luck-penny, 
and if I don't wish to part with her, you cannot 
compel me." 

"Can't I ?" retorted Mark, with a jeering laugh 
— "can't I, faith? Will you tell me what's to 
prevent it? Will you take the law of me? Is 
that your threat?" 

" Devil a one ever said I was that mean, be- 
fore'" replied Lanty, with an air of deeply-of- 
fended pride. "I never demeaned myself to the 
law, and I'm fifteen years buying and selling 
horses in every county in Munster No, Mr. 
Mark, it is not that; but I'll just tell you the truth. 
The mare is all as one as sold already; — there it 
is now, and that's the whole secret." 

"Sold! what do you mean.' — that you sold 
that mare before you ever bought her?" 

"To be sure I did," cried Lanty, assuming a 
forced look of easy assurance he was very far 
from feeling at the moment. " There's nothing 
more common in my trade Not one of us buys 
a beast without knowing where the next owner 
is to be had." 

" And do you mean, sir," said Mark, as he eyed 
him with a steady stare — " do you mean to tell 
me that you came down here, as you would to a 
petty farmer's cabin, with your bank-notes, ready 
to take whatever you may pitch your fancy on, 
sure and certain that our necessities must make 
us willing chapmen for all you care to deal in' 
Do you dare to say that you have done this with 
fue?" 

For an instant Lanty was confounded. He 
could not utter a word, and looked around liim in 
the vain hope of aid from any other quarter, but 
none was forthcoming, Kerry was the only un- 
occupied witness of the scene, and his face beamed 
with ineffable satisfaction at the turn matters had 
taken, and as he rubbed his hands he could 
scarcely control his desire to laugh outright at 
the lamentable figure of his late antagonist. 

" Let me say one word. Master Mark," said 
Lanty, at length, and in a voire subdued to its 
very softest key — "just a single word in your 
own ear." And with that he led the young man 



outside the door of the stable, and whispered for 
some minutes with the greatest earnestness, con- 
cluding in a voice loud enough to be heard by 
Kerry, "And after that, I'm sure I need say no 
more." 

Mark made no answer, but leaned his back 
against the wall, and folded his arms upon his 
breast. 

" May I never if it is not the whole truth," said 
Lanty, with a most eager and impassioned ges- 
ture; "and now I leave it all to yourself " 

" Is he to take the mare?" asked Kerry, in 
anxious dread lest his enemy might have carried 
the day. 

"Yes," was the reply, in a deep, hollow voice, 
as the speaker turned away and left the stable. 

While Lanty was engaged in placing the saddle 
on his new purchase, an operation in which Kerry 
contrived not to afford him any assistance what- 
ever, Mark O'Donoghue jaaced slowly to and fro 
in the courtyard, with his arms folded, and his 
head sunk upon his breast, nor was he aroused 
from his reverie until the step of the horse was 
heard on the pavement beside him 

" Poor Kitlane," said he, looking up suddenly, 
"you were a great pet I hope they'll be as kind 
to you as I was; and they'd better, too," added 
lie, half savagely, "for you've a drop of the Cel't 
in your blood, and can revenge harsh treatment 
when you meet with it Tell her owner that she 
is all gentleness if not abused, but get her temper 
once up, and, by Jove, there's not a torrent on 
the mountain can leap as madly! She knows her 
name, too: I trust they'll not change that She 
was bred beside Lough Kittane, and called after 
it. See how she can follow." And with that the 
youth sprang forward, and placing his hand on 
the top bar of a gate, vaulted lightly over, but 
scarcely had he reached the ground, when the 
mare bounded after him, and stood with her head 
resting on his shoulder. 

Mark turned an elated look on the others, and 
then surveyed the noble animal beside him with 
all the pride and admiration of a master regard- 
ing his handiwork. She was, indeed, a model of 
symmetry, and well worthy of all the ])raise be- 
stowed on her 

For a moment or two the youth gazed on he: 
with a flashing eye and quivering lip, while thi! 
mare, catching excitement from the free air oi 
the morning and the spring she had made, stood 
with swelled veins and trembling limbs, his 
counterpart in eagerness. One spirit seemed t(i 
animate both. So Mark appeared to feel it, as 
with a bound he sprang into the saddle, and with 
a wild cheer dashed forward. M'ith lightning's 
s|)eed they went, and in a moment disap|ieared 
from view Kerry jumped up on a bioken gate- 
pier, and strained his eyes to catch them, while 
Lantv, muttering maledictions to himself on the 
hair-brained boy, turned everywhere for a spot 
where he might view the scene 

"There he goes!" shouted Kerry; "look at 
him now; he's coming to the furze ditch inio the 
big field. See, seel she does not see the feiK e 
her head's in the air. Whew — elegant, by thy 
mortial — never touched a hoof to it' Murther, 
niurther! how she gallops in the deep ground. 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



207 



and the wide gripe that's before her' Ah, he 
won't take it; lu-"s turning away." 

"I wish to the Lord he'd break a stirni]!- 
leather," muttered Lanty. 

'Oh, Joseph!" screamed Kerry, "there was a 
jumi) — twenty feet, as sure as I'm Hving. Where 
is he now? — I don't see him." 

"May you never!" growled Lanty, whose in- 
dignant anger had burst all bounds. "That's 
not treatment for another man's horse." 

"There he goes, the jewel; see him in the 
stubble-field; sure it's a real picture to see him 
going along at his ease. Whurroo — he's over the 
wall. What the devil's the matter now? — they're 
away." And so it was, the animal that an in- 
stant before was cantering perfectly in hand, had 
now set off at top speed and fidl stretch. "See 
the gate — mind the gate. Master Mark — tear and 
ages, mind the gate!" shouted Kerry, as though 
his admonition could be heard half a mile away 
"Oh, Holy Mary! he's through it!" And true 
enough — the wild and now affrighted beast 
dashed through the frail timbers, and held on her 
course without stopping. ' He's broke the gate 
to flitters." 

" May I never! if I don't wish it was his neck, ' 
said Lanty, in open defiance. 

"Do you, then?" called out Kerry. "Why, 
then, as sure as my name is Kerry O'Leary, if 
there's a hair of his head hurted, I'll " 

What the threat was intended for cannot be 
known; for his eye once more caught sight of his 
idol, and he yelled out, — 

" Take care of the sheep, Bad luck to ye for 
sheep, ye're always in the way. That's the darling 
■ — 'twas myself taught you to have a light liand. 
Ah, Kittane, you're coming to rayson now." 

" The mare won't be worth sixpence," muttered 
Lanty. 

"'Twas as good as a day's sport to me," said 
Kerry, wiping his brow with the loose sleeve of 
his coat, and preparing to descend from the 
elevation, for the young man now entered the 
distant part of the lawn, and, at an easy canter, 
was returning to the stable-yard. 

"There!" said Mark, as he flung himself from 
the saddle — " there, Kittane, it's the last time 
you're likely to have a bold burst of it, or myself 
rither, perhaps. She touched he-r counter on 
that gate, Lanty; but she's nothing the worse 
of it." 

Lanty grumbled some indistinct mutterings as 
he wi])ed a blood-stain from the mare's chest, 
and looked sulkily at her heaving flanks and sides 
reeking with foam and sweat. 

" "Pis a darling you wor," said Kerry patting 
her over from her mane to her hind-(iuarters. 

" Faix, that cut is ten pounds out of my pocket 
this morning, anyhow," said Lanty, as he pointed 
to the slight scratch from which a few drops of 
blood still flowed. 

" Are you off the bargain, then?" said Mark 
sternly, as he turned his head round; for he was 
already leaving the spot. 

" I didn't say so," was the answer. 
For a second or two Mark seemed uncertain 
what 'reply to make, and then, as if controlling 
his temper, he nodded carelessly, and with a 



" Good bye, Lanty,' he sauntered slowly towards 
the house. 

'■ Well, Mr. O'Leary," said Lanty, in a voice 
of affected politeness Irishmen are occasionally 
very fond of employing when they intend great 
self-respect, "'may 1 trouble you to bring out that 
hack of mine?" 

'Tis a pleasure, Mr. Lawler, and no trouble 
in life, av it helps to get rid of you,' responded 
Kerry, as he waddled off on the errand, 

Lanty made no reply; perhaps he felt the en- 
counter unequal — perhaps he despised his an- 
tagonist, in any case, tie waited patiently for 
Kerry's appearance, and then, passing his arm 
within the bridle of each horse, he slowly des- 
cended the avenue towards the high road. 



CHAPTER V. 



IMPRESSIONS OF IRELAND. 



It was not without a feeling closely allied to 
disappointment that Sir Marmaduke Travers 
found the advent to his Irish estate uncelebrated 
by any of tliose testimonies on the part of 
his tenantry his agent, C'a])tam Hemsworth, had 
often so graphically pictured before him. The 
post-horses were suffered to drag his carriage 
unmolested to its destination, there was no as- 
semblage of people to welcome — not a bonfire to 
hail his arrival. True, he had come totally un- 
expected. The two servants sent forward to pre- 
pare the lodge for his reception only reached 
there a single day before himself. But Sir Mar- 
maduke had often taken his Yorkshire tenants 
as much by surprise, and there he always found 
a deputation and a cortege of mounted yeomen. 
There were addresses, and triumphal arches, and 
newspaper paragraphs, and all the innumerable 
but well-known accompaniments of those pat- 
ronizing acts of condescension which consist in 
the visit of a rich man to his own home. Now, 
however, all was dift'erent. No cheering sound 
broke the quiet stillness of the deep valley. No 
troops of people on horseback or on foot 
filled the glen. The sun set, calm and golden, 
behind the purple hills, unscared by the lurid 
glow of a single bonfire. Save from an appear- 
ance of increased bustle, and an air of movement 
and stir around the lodge itself, there was noth- 
ing to mark his coming. There, indeed, serv- 
ants were seen to pass and repass; workmen 
were employed upon the flower-garden and the 
shrubbery walks; and all the indications of care 
and attention to the villa and its grounds easily 
perceptible. Beyond these precincts, however, 
all was still and solitary as before. For miles 
the road could be seen without a single traveller. 
The mountains seemed destitute of inhabitants. 
The peaceful solemnity of the deej) glen, along 
which the cloud shadows moved slowly in pro- 
cession, increased the sense of loneliness, and 
Sir Marmaduke already began to suspect tiiat this 
last trial of a residence would scarcely prove 
more fortunate than the previous ones. 

Age and wealth are uncomplying task-masters 



208 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



— habit and power endure restraint witli an ill- 
grace. The old baronet was iniH angry with him- 
self for what he fdt a mistake, and he could not 
forgive the country which was tlie cause of it. 
He had come expressly to see and pronounce 
for himself — to witness witli-his own eyes — to 
hear with his own ears; and yet, he knew not 
how it was, nothing revealed itself before him. 
The very laborers who worked in tiie garden 
seemed uncommunicative and shy. Their great 
respect and reverence he understood as a cau- 
tious reserve. He must send for Hemsworth — 
there was nothing else for it. Hemsworth was 
used to them, and could explain the mode of 
dealing with them. Their very idioms required 
translating, and he could not advance without an 
interpreter. 

Not so his daughter. To her the scene had 
all the charm of romance. The lone dwelling 
bseide the blue lake, the tall and peaked moun- 
tains lost in the white clouds, the waving forest 
with its many a tangled path, the brigln islands 
that, gem-like, spangled the calm surface of the 
water, realized many a poetic dream of herchild- 
hood, and she felt that visionary happiness which 
serenity of mind, united to the warm imagination 
of early life, alone can bestow. 

It was a fairy existence to live thus secluded 
in that lonely valley, where the flowers seemed 
to blossom for them alone, for them the summer 
birds sang their roundelays, and the fair moon 
shed her pale light over hill and stream, with 
none to mark herspL-ndor save themselves. Not 
these thoughts alone filled her mind. Already 
had she noticed the artless habits of tlie humble 
peasantry — their gratitude for the slightest ser- 
vices, their affectionate greetings, the touching 
beauty of their expressions, teeming with an im- 
agery she never heard before. All appealed to 
her mind with a very different force froin what 
they addressed themselves with to her father's. 
Already she felt attracted by the figurative elo- 
quence so popular a gift among the people. The 
warm fervor of fancy she had believed the at- 
tribute of highly-wrought temperaments only, she 
found here amid poverty and privations; flashes of 
bright wit broke from the gloom of daily suffer- 
ing, and the fire which gives life its energy 
burned brightly amid the ashes of many an ex- 
tinguished hope. These were features she was 
not prepared to meet among a peasantry living 
in a wild, unvisited district, and day by day they 
fascinated her more strongly. 

It was not entirely to the difference between 
father and daughter that these varied imjjres- 
sions were owing. The people themselves assumed 
a tone quite distinctive to each. Sir Marmaduke 
they had always heard spoken of as a stern-tem- 
pered man, whose severity towards his tenantry 
was, happily, tempered by the personal kindness 
of the agent. Captain Hemsworth constantly 
impressed them with a notion that all harsh 
measures originated with his principal — the fa- 
vors came from himself only. The exactions of 
high rents, the rigorous prosecutions of the law 
he ever asserted were acts compulsory with him, 
but always repugnant to his own better feelings. 
Every little act of grace he accompanied by an 



assurance that he "hoped Sir Marmaduke might 
not hear of it," as the consequences to himself 
might prove ruinous. In fact, he contrived to 
mislead both parties in their estimate of each 
other, and their first acquaintanceship, it could 
not be supposed, should dispel the illusion. The 
peasantry, however, were the first to discover the 
error. Long before Sir Marmaduke had made \ 
any jirogress in deciphering the mystic symbols 
of i/u'ir natures, they had rend /a's from end to 
end. Tliey scanned him with powers of observ- 
ation no other people in Europe can compete 
with, and while /le was philosophizing about tlie 
combined influence of their superstitions, their 
ignorance, and their apathy to suffering, //i/yweie 
accurately speculating on all the possible bene- 
fits which might accrue from the residence 
amongst them of so very kind-hearted, but such 
a mere simpleton of a man as himself. 

They listened with sincere pleasure — for they 
love any appeal to themselves — to the precepts 
he so liberally bestowed regarding "industry" 
and "frugality," nor did they ever make the re- 
ply, which was ready at every lip, that industry 
cannot be practised without an occupation, nor 
frugality be pushed beyond the very borders of 
starvation. No; they answered with a semblance 
of concurrence, " True for you, sir; the devil a 
lie in it — your honor knows it well." Or, when 
pushed home by any argument against their im- 
providence or recklessness, the ever-pleasant re- 
ply was, " Sure, sir, it's the will of God" — a 
piece of fatalism that rescued them from many a 
difficulty when no other aid was near. 

"They are a simple set of people," said Sir 
Marmaduke, as he sat at his breakfast in the small 
parlor of the lodge wliich looked out upon tlie 
glen — " very ignorant, very barbarous, but easily 
led — I see through them clearly." 

" I like thcni greatly," said his daughter, 
"their gratitude knows no bounds for the slight- 
est services; they have akind of native courtesy, 
so rare to find amongst a peasantry. How that 
poor fellow last night wished to climb the cliff 
where the eagle's nest is, because I foolishly said 
I had never seen a young eagle." 

" They are totally misunderstood," said Sir 
Marmaduke, sententiously, rather following out 
the train of his own reflections than noticing the 
remark of his daughter; "all one hears of their 
absurd reverence for the priest, or the devoted 
adherence they practise towards the old families 
of the country, is mere nonsense. You heard 
how Dan laughed this morning when I joked 
with him about purgatory and the saints; and 
what a droll description they gave of that (jueer 
household— the chieftain — what is his name.'" 

" The O'Donoghue." 

" Yes; I never can remember it. No, no, they 
are not so bigoted; they are merely uninformed. 
We shall soon see many changes among them. I 
have written to Bradston about the plans for the 
cottages, and also the design for a school house; 
and then there's the chapel — -that reminds me, I 
have not returned the priest's visit; he was here 
the day before yesterday." 

" If you like, we'll ride there; I have heard 
that the glen is beautiful higher up." 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



209 



''I was just going to propose it. That mare 
seems ijuiet eiiougli — Lawler says tliat she has 
been carrying a lady these two years^will you 
try her?" 

"I am longing to do so. I am certain she is 
gentleness itself." 

" Strange fellow that horse-dealer is, too," said 
the old gentleman, in half soliloquy. "In no 
other country in the universe would such a mere 
simpleton have taken to the trade of a jockey. 
He actually did not know what price to ask for 
his horse; he left it all to ourselves. He'd soon 
finish his career in London, at that rate of going. 
But what have we got here.' — what, in Heaven's 
name, is all this?" cried he aloud, as lie suddenly 
rose from the table, and approached a small 
glass door that opened upon the lawn. 

The object which so e.xcited his astonishment 
was an assemblage of something more than a 
hundred poor people of every sex and age — from 
infancy to dotage — seated on the grass in a wide 
semicircle, and awaiting the moment when he 
should issue forth. Every phase of human misery 
which want and wretchedness can bestow was 
there. The cheeks of some were pale and hag- 
gard with recent sickness, others had but a few 
tattered /ags to cover them, many were cripples, 
unable to move without assistance. There was 
wan and sickly childhood, and tremulous old 
age, yet the tone of their voices showed no touch 
of sadness, they laughed and talked with all the 
seeming of light-heartedness, and many a droll 
and merry saying broke from that medley mass 
of suffering and sorrow. The sudden appearance 
of Sir Marmadiike at the door instantaneously 
checked all merriment, and a solemn silence 
ensued as he walked forth and stood in front of 
them. 

" What do you want, my good people ?" said 
he, at length, as none seemed disposed to open 
the proceedings. 

Had their tongues been unlocked by the spell 
of a magician the effect could not have been more 
instantaneous — a perfect volley of speech suc- 
ceeded, in which Sir Marmaduke in vain en- 
deavored to follow the words of any single speaker. 
Their rapid utterance, their vehement gesticula- 
tion, and a certain guttural mode of pronuncia- 
tion, quite n-ew to him, made them totally unin- 
telligible, and he stood confused, pcrple.xed, and 
confounded, for several minutes, staring round 
on every side. 

' Do, in Heaven's name, be quiet," cried he at 
last, 'let one or two only talk at a time, and I 
shall learn what you mean" 

A renewal of the clamor ensued; but this time 
it was a general effort to enforce silence — a pro- 
cess which eventuated in a far greater uproar 
than before 

'' Who, or what are you?" cried Sir Marmaduke, 
at last losing all temper at the continuance of a 
tumult there seemed no prospect of coming to 
an end. 

'■ We're your honor's tenants, every one of us," 
shouted the crowd with one voice. 

" j1/v tenants!" reiterated he in horror and 
astonishment. "What! is it possible that you 
are tenants on my property? Where do you 



live, my poor old man?" said he, addressing a 
venerable old fellow, with a head as white as 
snow, and a beard like a patriarch's. 

" He does not talk any English, your honor's 
worshij) — he has only Jri.'.h; he lives in the glen 
beyond," said a comely woman at his side. 

" And you, where do you come from vour- 
self?" 

" I'm a poor widow, your honor, with six chil- 
der; and sorra bit I have but the little garden, 
and the grass of a goat; and sure, fifteen shill- 
ings every half-year is more nor 1 can pay, wid 
all the scrapin' in life." 

Sir Mnrmnduke turned away his head, and as 
he did so, his eye fell upon a poor creature, whose 
bloated cheeks and swollen figure denoted 
dropsy. The man, interjjieting tlie look into a 
compassionate inquiry, broke forth in a feeble 
voice, "I brought the nine shillings with me, yer 
honor; and though the captain lefused to take 
it, I'm sure you won't turn me out of the little 
place, for being a trifle late. It's the watery 
dropsy — glory be to God! — I'm under; but they 
say I'm getting better." 

While the poor creature spoke, a low mutter' 
ing of pity burst from those around him, and 
many a compassionate look, and many a cheering 
word, was expressed by those scarce less misera- 
ble than himself. 

There was now a certain kind of order restored 
to the assembly, and as Sir Marmaduke moved 
along the line, each in turn addressed his suppli- 
cation or complaint. One was threatened with 
a distress on his pig, because he owed two half- 
years' rent, and could only i)ay a portion of the 
debt; there was a failure in the potato-crop, and 
a great famine the consequence. Another was 
only recovering from the "shaking ague," and 
begged for time, since if he tlirashed his oats 
now, they would bring nothing in the market. 
A third entreated liberty to cut his turf on a dis- 
tant bog, as he was up to his knees in water in 
the place allotted to him. 

Some came with odd shillings due on the last 
rent-day, and anxious to get leave to send their 
children to the school without payment. 

Every one had some favor to look for — some 
Biere trifle to the granter; the whole world to him 
who asked — and, for these, many had come miles 
awqy from homes far in the mountains, a glimmer- 
ing hope of succor the only encouragement to the 
weary journey. 

As Sir Marmaduke listened with a feigned 
composure to narratives, at which his very heart 
bled, he chanced to observe a strange-looking 
figure in an old scarlet uniform, and a paper cap, 
with a cock's feather stuck slantwise in the side 
of it. The wearer, a tall, bony youth, with yellow 
hair, carried a long wattle over his shoulder, as 
if it'were a gun, and when the old baronet's eye 
fell upon him, he immediately stood bolt upright 
and held the sapling to his breast, like a soldier 
presenting arms. 

"Shoulder arms," he cried, and as the words 
were heard, a hearty burst of laughter ran through 
the crowd; every grief and sorrow was at once 
forgotten; the eyes wet with tears of sadness, 
were now moistened with those of mirth, and 



210 



THE O DONOGH UE. 



they laughed like those whose liearts had never 
known sulTering, 

"Who is this fellow?" said Sir Marmaduke, half 
doubting how far he might relish the jest like the 
otiiers 

" I'erry the Woods, your honor/' replied a score 
of voices together 

" Terry the Woods'" repeated he, " and is Terry 
a tenant of mine?" 

" Faix, I am proud to say I am not," said Terry, 
grounding his weapon, and advancing a step 
towards him; " divil a farthin' of rent 1 ever 
paid, nor ever will. I do have my health mighty 
well — glory be to God! — and sleep sound, and 
have good clothes, and do nothing for it; and 
they say I am a fool, but which of us is the great- 
est fool after all ?" 

Another outbreak of laughter was only quelled 
by Sir Marmaduke asking the reason of Terry's 
appearance there that morning, if he had nothing 
to look for. 

"I just come to pay my respects," said Terry, 
composedly, "to wish you a welcome to the 
country. I thought that as you might be lading 
the same kind of life as myself, we wouldn't be 
bad companions, you see, neither of us having 
much on our hands; and then,' continued he, as 
he took off his paper bonnet and made a deep 
reverence, " I wanted to see the young lady there, 
for they tould me she was a born beauty." 

Miss Travers blushed — she was young enough 
to blush at a compliment from such a source, as 
her father said, laughingly, — 

" Well, Terry, and have they been deceiving 
you." 

" No," said he, gravely, as with steady gaze he 
fixed his large blue eyes on the fair features 
before him — "no — she is a purty crayture — a 
taste sorrowful or so — but I like her all the better. 
I was the same myself when I was younger." 

Terry's remark was true enough The young 
girl had been a listener for some time to the 
stories of the people, and her face betrayed the 
sad emotion of her heart. Never before had 
such scenes of human suffering been revealed 
before her — the tortuous windings of the poor 
man's destiny, where want and sickness lie in 
wait for those whose happiest hours are the strug- 
gles against poverty and its evils. 

" I can show you the beautifullest places in the 
whole country," said 'I'erry, approaching Miss 
Travers, and addressing her in alowvoice; " I'll 
tell you where the white heath is growing, with 
big bells on it, like cups, to hould the dew. 
Were you ever up over Keim-an-eigh?" 

" Never," said she, smiling at the eagerness of 
her questioner 

'■ ril take you, then, by a short cut, and you 
can ride the whole way and maybe we'll shoot an 
eagle Have you a gun in the house?" 

" Yes, there are three or four," said she, humor- 
ing him. 

''And if I shoot him I'll give you the wing- 
feathers — that's what they always gave their 
sweethearts long ago, but them times is gone by ' 
The girl blushed deeply, as she remembered 
the present of young O'Donoghue, on the even- 
ing they came up the glen She called to mind I 



the air of diflfidence and constraint in which he 
made the proffer, and for some minutes paid no 
attention to I'erry, who still continued to talk as 
rapidly as before. 

"There, they are filing off,' said Terry — 
"orderly time," as he once more sliouldered his 
sapling and stood erect. This observation was 
made with reference to the crowd of poor people, 
whose names and places of residence Sir Marma- 
duke having meanwhile written down, they were 
now returning to their homes with happy and 
comforted hearts. " There they go," cried Terry, 
" and an awkward squad they are." 

"Were you ever a soldier, Terry?'' said Miss 
Travers. 

Tlie poor youth grew deadly pale — the very 
blood forsook his lips, as he muttered, " I was." 
Sir Marmaduke came up at the instant, and Terry 
checked himself at once, and said, — 

"Whenever you want me, leave word at Mary 
M'Keliy's, in the glen below, and I'll hear of it." 

"But don't you think you had better remain 
here with us? you could help in the garden and 
the walks." 

"No; I never do be working at all — I hate 
work." 

" Yes, but easy work, Terry," said Miss 
Travers, "among the flowers and shrubs here. ' 

"No — I'd be quite low and sorrowful if 1 was 
to be staying in one place, and maybe — maybe," 
— here he whispered so low as only to be heard 
by her — " maybe they'd find me out.' 

" No; there's no fear of that, said she; 
we'll take care no one shall trouble you — stay 
here, Terry." 

" Well, I believe I will, said he, after a pause, 
" I may go away when 1 like? ' 

■'To be sure; and now let us see how you are 
to be lodged," said Sir Marmaduke, who already, 
interested by that inexplicable feeling which 
grows out of our pity for idiocy, entered into his 
daughter's schemes for poor Terry's welfare. 

A small cottage near the boat-house on the 
verge of the lake, inhabited by a laborer and his 
children, offered the wished-for asylum, and 
there Terry was at once installed, and recog- 
nized as a member of the household. 



CHAPTER VI. 



'the black valley." 



Although deferred by the accidents of the 
morning. Sir Marmaduke's visit to the |)riest 
was not abandoned, and at length he and his 
daughter set out on their excursion up the glen. 
Their road, after pursuing the highway for about 
two miles, diverged into a narrow valley, from 
which there was no exit save by the mode in 
which it was entered. Vast masses of granite 
rock, piled heap above heap, hung as it were 
suspended over their heads, the tangled honey- 
suckle falling in rich festoons from these, and 
the purple arbutus glowing like grape clusters 
among the leaves. It was a mellow, autumnal 
day when the warmth of coloring is sobered 



THE O'DONOG HUE. 



211 



down by missive shadows — the impress of the 
clouds which moved slowly above The air was 
hot and thick, and, save when an occasional 
breeze came, wafted from the water, was even 
oppressive 

The silence of the glen was profound — not a 
bird was heard, nor was there in the vast expanse 
of air a single wing seen floating. As they rode, 
they often stopped to wonder at the strange but 
beautiful effects of light that glided now slowly 
along the mountains — disappeared — then shone 
again; the giant shadows seeming to chase each 
other through the dreary valley. Thus saunter- 
ing along thay took no note of time, when at last 
the long, low cottage, where the priest lived, 
came in sight. It was an humble abode, but 
beautifully situated at the bottom of the glen, 
the whole valley lying expanded in front, with its 
bright rivulet and its bold sides of granite. The 
cottage itself was little better than that of a poor 
farmer, and save from fhe ornament of some 
creepers, which were trained against the wall;, 
and formed into a deep porch at the entrance, 
differed in no respect from such. A few strag- 
gling patches of cultivation, of the very rudest 
kind, were seen here and there, but all without any 
effort at fence or enclosure. Some wild-fruit trees 
were scattered over the little lawn in front, ft the 
narrow strip of grass that flanked the river could 
be called such, and here a small Kerry cow was 
grazing, the only living thing to be seen. 

A little well, arched over with pieces of rock, 
and surmounted by a small wooden cross, stood 
close to the roadside, and the wild-thorn that 
overshadowed it was hung on every side with 
small patches of rags of every color and texture, 
that human dress ever consisted of: a sight new 
to the eyes of the travellers, who knew not that 
the shrine was deemed holy, and the tree the 
receptacle of the humble offering of those whose 
sorrows of mind and body came there for allev- 
iation and succor. 

Sir Marmaduke dismounted and approached 
the door, which lay wide open; he knocked 
gently with his whip, and as no answer to his 
summons was returned, repeated it again and 
again. He now ventured to call aloud, but no 
one came, and at last both father and daughter 
began to suspect there miglit be no one in the 
house. 

" This is most strange," said he, after a 
long pause, and an effort to peep in through the 
windows, half hid with honeysuckles. "The 
j)lace seems totally deserted. Let us try at the 
back, however." 

.\s the old baronet wended his way to the rear 
of the cottage, he muttered a half upbraiding 
against his daughter for not complying with his 
desire to have a groom along with them- — a want 
which now increased the inconvenience of their 
position She laughingly defended herself against [ 
the charge, and at the same moment sprang down , 
from her saddle to assist in the search 

" I certainly perceived some smoke from the ; 
chimney as we came U]) the glen, and there must 
have been some one here lately, at least," said 
she, looking eagerly on every side. 

'■ This is indeed solitude," muttered her father, 



as he listened for some minutes, during which 
the stillness had an effect most appalling. 

While he was speaking, Miss Travers had 
drawn near to a low latticed window which lay 
half open, and as she peeped in, immediately 
drew back, and beckoned with her hand for her 
father to approach, intimating by a cautious ges- 
ture that he should do so noiselessly Sir Mar- 
maduke came stealthily to her side, and, leaning 
over her shoulder, looked into the room. As 
both father and daughter exchanged glances, 
they seemed with difficulty to refrain from 
laughing, while astonishment was strongly de- 
picted on the countenance of each As they 
continued to gaze, their, first emotion gradually 
yielded to a look of intense interest at the scene 
before them. 

Seated beside the large turf fire of the priest's 
kitchen, for such it was, was a youth of some 
fifteen or sixteen years. His figure, light and 
well proportioned, was clad a in fashion which de- 
noted his belonging to the better class, though 
neglect and time had made many an inroad on 
the costume. His brow was lofty and delicately 
formed — the temples marked by many a thin 
blue vein, which had given a look of delicacy lo 
the countenance, if the deep glow of healih had 
not lit up his cheeks, and imjiarud a bright 
lustre to his eyes He held before him an open 
volume, 'from which he declaimed rather than 
read aloud, as it seemed, for the special delight 
and amusement of a small ragged urchin of about 
nine years old, who, with bare legs and feet, was 
seated on a little pyramid of turf right opposite 
to him. 

Well might Sir Marmaduke and his daughter 
feel surprise; the volume was Homer, from 
which, with elevated voice and flashing eye, the 
boy was reading — the deep-toned syllables ring- 
ing through the low-vaulted chamber with a sweet 
but a solemn music. Contrasted with the fervid 
eloquence of the youth was the mute wonder and 
rapt attention of the little fellow who listened. 
-Astonishment, awe, and eager curiosity, blended 
together in that poor little face, every lineament 
of which trembled with excitement. If a high 
soaring imagination and elevated tone of thought 
were depicted in the one, the other not less forci- 
bly realized the mute and trembling" eagerness 
of impassioned interest. 

The youth paused for a few seconds, and 
seemed to be reflecting over what he read, when 
the boy, in an accent broken with anxiety, cried 
out, — 

" Read it again, Master Herbert. Oh, read it 
again. It's like the cry of the big stag-hound at 
Carrignacurra." 

" It is the language of the gods, Mickey — finer 
and grander than ever man spoke," replied the 
youth, with fervor. "Listen to this, here." And 
then, with solemn cadence, he declaimed some 
twenty lines, while, as if the words were those of 
an incantation, the little fellow sat spell-bound, 
with clasped hands and staring eye-balls gazinj; 
before him. 

"What does it mean, Master Herbert! — what 
is it?" he said, in panting eagerness. 

" It's about a great hero, Mickey, that was pre- 



212 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



paring for battle. He was putting on his armor, 
a coat and a cap of steel, and he was behing on 
his sword." 

" Yes, yes," broke in the little fellow, " and 
wasn't he saying how he'd niurther and kill all 
before him?" , 

"Right enough," said the youth, laughing 
"You guessed it well." 

"Ah, I knew it," said the boy. "I saw how 
you clenched your fist, and your eyes wor shinin' 
like sparks of fire, and I knew it was darin' 
them he was, in the book there. What did he 
do after. Master Herbert? Just tell me that, sir." 

" He went out in his chariot " 

" Say It like himself first, sir, av it's plazin' 
to ye,' said he, with a most imploring look of 
entreaty. " I do be glad to hear it out of the 
book " 

The youth, thus entreated, resumed the vol- 
ume, and read on for several minutes without 
stopping. 

"Oh, that's grand!" said the boy, in a burst 
of enthusiasm. " 'Tis for all the world the way the 
thunder comes down the glen — moanin' first, far 
off on the mountains, and then swellin' into a 
big roar, and afterwards goin' clap! clap! like a 
giant clapping his hands. Did he kill the inimy, 
master, dear?" 

"No, he was killed himself, and his body 
dragged over the battle-field." 

" VVirra, wirra, wirra'" broke in the child, while 
he wrung his hands, and burst forth into a tor- 
rent of tumultuous grief. 

" He was killed, Mickey, and listen to the la- 
ment of his friends for his death." 

Scarcely had the youth read a few lines, when . 
Sir Marmaduke, advancing a little farther, his 
shadow fell across the chamber. The youth 
sprang up at once, and came towards them. The 
flush of surprise — it miglit be, too, of shame — 
was on his features; but there was less of awk- 
wardness than many might have exhibited in the 
manner of his address, as he said — 

" Father Luke is from home, sir. He has been 
sent for to Ballyvourney— — " 

■' You are his relation, I presume?" said Sir 
Marmaduke, without letting him finish his speech. 

" I am his pupil," replied the youth, in a tone 
in which offended pride was clearly confessed. 

"I ask pardon," said the baronet, hastily. 
"It was merely that I might convey my respect- 
ful greetings to the worthy father that I asked 
the question. Perhaps you will allow me to 
trespass so far upon you, and say that Sir Mar- 
maduke Travers has been here." 

While Sir Marmaduke was speaking, the 
youth's eyes were fixed with a steadfast gaze ;>n 
the features of the young girl, of whose pres- 
ence till then he had seemed unconscious. Fixed 
and earnest as his stare was, there was nothing 
in it of rudeness, still less of insult. It was the 
imequivocal expression of astonishment, the 
suddenly-awakened sense of admiration in one, 
on whom, till that very instant, beauty had shed 
no fascination. His eyes were bent upon her, as 
Sir Marmaduke thus finished speaking, and the 
old man smiled as he saw the wonder-struck ad- 
miration of the boy. 



" You will please to say Sir Marmaduke 
Travers," repeated he once more, to recall the 
scattered senses of the youth. 

"And his daughter?" murmured the other, as 
he still continued to stare at her. 

"Yes, his daughter," replied Sir Marmaduke, 
smiling " May I ask if there be no shorter 
road back to ' the Lodge' than that yonder? for 
I perceive it is full two hours later than I sus- 
pected." 

" None for those on horseback. The moun- 
tain path lies yonder, but even on foot it is not 
without danger." 

" Come, then, Sybella» let us lose no time. 
We must ride briskly, to reach home by daylight. 
We are late enough already." 

" Too late, if you ride not very fast," replied 
the youth. "The rain has fallen heavily on the 
mountains this afternoon. See that waterfall 
yonder, I crossed it dryshod at daybreak, and 
now it is a cataract. ' "This river rises rapidly, 
and in a single night's rain I have seen the valley 
all one lake." 

" What are we to do then?" cried Miss Travers, 
eagerly, for now she felt self-reproach at her re- 
fusal to take a groom along with them, and was 
vexed with herself, as well as uneasy for her father. 

" Keep the left of the valley till you reach the 
tall black rock they call 'the Pulpit' — you know 
it, at least you must have seen it as you came 
along — then cross the stream, it will be fordable 
enough by that time, and make the best of your 
way along under the cliffs till you arrive at the 
broken bridge — the two buttresses, I mean. Re- 
cross the stream there, and gain the meadows, 
and in some hundred yards you are safe upon the 
highroad. Away then; lose no more time now, 
a minute is all the space between risk and safety." 
And with these words he sprang forward and 
lifted the young girl to her saddle, ere she had 
time or forethought to decline the service. 

" May we not know the name of our kind 
adviser?" asked Sir Marmaduke, as he mounted 
his horse. 

" Hark! there it comes!" cried the youth, 
pointing upwards to the brow of a cliff, over 
which a leaping torrent had just bounded. " The 
mountain lakes are flooded when Derrybahn is 
spouting. Away! away! if you care for safety. ' 
They turned their horses' heads as he spoke, 
and with a hasty "good-bye" they spurred for- 
wards. Short as the time had been since they 
travelled the same path, the scene was wonder- 
fulljf changed; the placid stream that stole along 
murmuring over its gravelly bed, now rushed 
onward with a yellow current streaked with white 
foam; the tiny rivulets that came in slender drops 
upon the roadside, were now become continuous 
streams of water, hurrying on to bear their trib- 
ute to the river. The sky itself was black and 
lowering, resting midway on the mountains, or 
drifting past in heavy clouds, while no breeze 
was stirring below. 'The many torrents as they 
fell filled the air with a low monotonous sound, 
like the noise of tree-tops moved by a distant 
storm. 

" I thought I heard a voice calling to us," said 
Sir Marmaduke, as for the first time they slack- 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



213 



ened their pace to clear several loose stones that 
obstructed the way: "did you hear it?' 

I half thought so, too,'' replied his daughter; 
"but I can see no one near. There it is again!" 

They halted and listened- but the swelling 
uproar of the waterfalls drowned every sound, 
and they spurred forward once more, fearing to 
loiter longer; yet both as they went thought they 
could trace the words ''Come back! come back!" 
but from some strange dread of communicating 
fears that might not be real, neither told the 
other. 

'■ He said the left side of the valley; but surely 
he mistook- see how the water has gained here, 
and the opposite bank seems dry.' 

■' Let us follow the advice father/ cried Sybella' 
"we have no guidance save his, he could not — 
would not deceive u?. Is it not grand! With 
all its danger I can admire it " 

As she spoke, a tremendous clap of thunder 
broke above their heads, and made the valley 
tremble with the sound, while, as if by the shock, 
tlie charged clouds were rent open, and the rain 
descended in torrents. With the swooping gush 
01 the ocean spray, storm-lashed and drifted, the 
rain came down, wrapping in misty darkness 
every object around them. And now the swollen 
cataracts tore madlv down the mountain sides, 
leaping from crag to crag and rendmg the clayey 
soil in deep clefts and gashes Again the thun- 
der peaied out, and every echo sent back the 
sound, till the whole glen vibrated with the deaf- 
ening clamor Still they sped onward The 
terrified horses strained every limb, and dashed 
madly on, mid rock and rushing water they went, 
now clearing at a bound the course of some gush- 
ing stream, now breastmg the beating rain with 
vigorous chest. 

The s':orm increased; the howling wind joined 
with the deep-toned thunder into one long con- 
tinuous roar, that seemed to shake the very air 
itself. 

"Yonder' ' said the father, as he pointed to 
the tall dark pinnacle of rock known by the 
country people as ' the Pulpit' — ' yonder! ' 

Sybella strained her eye to see through the 
dense beating rain, and at last caught sight of 
the huge mass, around whose summit the charged 
clouds were flying. 

" We must cross the river in this place," said 
the old man, as he suddenly checked his horse, 
and looked with terrified gaze on the swollen 
stream that came boiling and foaming over to 
where they stood, with branches of trees and 
fragments of rock rolling onward in the tide. 
'The youth told us of this spot.' 

"Let us not hesitate, father" cried the young 
girl, with a tone of firm, resolute daring she had 
not used before; "remember what he said, a 
minute may save or ruin us. Great Heaven! 
what is that'" 

A terrific shriek followed her words, and she 
fell with her head upon her horse's mane: abroad 
flash of lightning had burst from a dark cloud, 
and came with vivid force upon her eyeballs. 

Fathei, dear lather, my sight is gone!" she 
screamed aloud, as lifting up her head she rubbed 
the orbs now paralyzed by the shock. 



"My child! my child!" cried the old man, 
with the piercing shriek of a breaking heart; 
" look on me, look towards me. Oh, say that you 
can see me now — my brain is turning. " 

"Oh, God, I ihank thee'' said the terrified girl, 
as once more her vision was restored, and, dimly, 
objects began to form themselves before her. 

With bare head and upturned eyes the aged 
man looked up and poured forth nis prayei of 
thankfulness to Heaven. The raging storm beat 
on his brow unfelc- his thoughts were soaring to 
the Throne of Mercies, and knew not earth, nor 
all its sorrows. 

A clap of thunder at the mcmenl broke from 
the dense cloud above them, and then in quick 
succession, like the pealing of artillery, came 
several more, while the forked lightning shot to 
and fro. and at last, as if the very earth was 
riven to its centre, a low, booming sound was 
heard amid the clouds; the darkness grew thicker, 
and a crash followed that shook the ground be- 
neath them, and splashed the wild waves on every 
side. The spray sprang madly up, while the 
roaring of the stream grew louder- the clouds 
swept past, and the tall Pulpit rock was gone' 
Struck by lightning, it had rolled from its centre 
and fallen across the river, the gushing waters of 
which poured over it in floods, and fell in white 
sheets of (oam and spray beyond it. 

"God is near us, my child," said the old man. 
with fervor; "let us onward." 

Her streaming eyes turned on him one look of 
affection — the emblem of a heart's love — and she 
prepared to follow. 

To return was now impossible; the river had 
already extended the whole way across the valley 
in the rear; the only chance of safety lay in front. 

"Keep by my side, dearest.'' said the father, 
as he rode first into the stream, and tried to head 
the terrified animal against the current. 

" I am near you father — fear not for me," said 
she, firmly, her bold heart nerved to the danger 

For some seconds the affrighted horses seemed 
rooted to the earth, and stood amid the boiling 
current as if spell-bound A fragment of a tree, 
however, in its course, struck the flank of the lead- 
ing horse, and he sprang madly forward, followed 
by the other. Now breasting the stream, now 
sinking to the mane beneath it, the noble beasts 
struggled fiercely on till near the spot where the 
Pulpit rock had left a space between it and the 
opposite bank, and here a vast volume of water 
now poured along unchecked by any barrier. 

"To my side — near me, dearest — near me'" 
cried the father, as his horse dashed into the 
seething flood, and sank above the crest beneath it. 

"I cannot, father — I cannot!" screamed the 
affrighted girl, as, with a bound of terror her 
horse sprang back from the chasm, and refused 
to follow. The old man heard not the words — 
the current had swept him far down into the 
stream, amid the rent branches and the rolling 
rocks — "My child! my child!" the only accents 
heard above the raging din. 

Twice did the heroic girl try to face the cur 
rent, but in vain — the hoise plunged wildly up. 
and threatened to .all back, when suddenly 
through the white foam a figure struggled on and 



214 



TH E O'DONOGHUE. 



grasped the bridle at the head; next moment a 
man leaped forward and was breasting the surge 
before her. 

" Head the stream — head the stream, if you 
can!" cried he, who still held on, while the wild 
waves washed over him. But the poor horse, 
rendered unmanageable through fear, had yielded 
to the current, and was now each moment Hear- 
ing the cataract. 

"Cling to me, now!" cried the youth, as, with 
the strength of despt ration, he tore the gir from 
the saddle, while with the other hand he grasped an 
ash bough that hung drooping above his head 
As he did so, the mare bounded forward — the 
waves closed over her, and she was carried over 
the precipice. 

"Cling fast to me, and we are safe!" cried the 
youth, and with vigorous grasj) he held on the 
tree, and, thus supported, breasted the stream 
and reached the bank. Exhausted and worn 
out, both mind and body powerless, they both 
fell senseless on the grass. 

The last shriek of despair broke from the 
father's heart as the horse, bereft of rider, swept 
past him in the flood. The cry aroused the 
fainting girl, she halt rose to her feet, and called 
upon him. The next moment they were locked 
in each other's arms. 

" It was he who saved me, father," said she, 
in accents broken with joy and sorrow, "he 
risked his life for mine " 

The youth recovered consciousness as the old 
man pressed him to his heart. 

"Is she safe?" were the first words he said, as 
he stared around him vaguely; and then, as if 
overcome, he fell heavily back upon the sward. 

A joyous cheer broke forth from several voices 
near, and, at the instant, several country people 
weie seen coming forward, with Terry at their 
head 

" Here we are — here we are, and in good time, 
too," cried Terry; "and if it wasn't that you 
took a fool's advice, we'd have gone the other 
road. The carriage is in the glen, my lady," 
said he, kneeling down beside Sybella, who still 
remained clasped in her father's arms. 

By this time some of Sir Marmaduke's servants 
had reached the spot, and by them the old man and 
his daughter were assisted towards the hP^h toad, 
while two others carried the poor youth, by this 
time totally unable to make the least exertion 

''This brave boy — this noble fellow,' said Sir 
Marmaduke, as he stooped to kiss the pale high 
forehead, from which the wet hair Jiung backwards 
— " can no one tell me who he is? ' 

"He's the young O'Donoghue," replied a half- 
dozen voices together, " a good warrant for 
courage or bravery any day." 

" The O'Donoghue!" repeated Sir Marma- 
duke, vainly endeavoring in the confusion of the 
inament to recall the name, and where he had 
heard it. 

" Ay, the O'Donoghue," shouted a coarse voice 
near liim, as a new figure rode up on a small 
mountain pony ''It oughtn't to be a strange 
name in these parts. Rouse yourself. Master 
Herbert, rouse up, my child — sure it isn't a wet- 
tin' would cow you this way?" 



"'What! Kerry, is this you?" said the youth, 
faintly, as he looked around him with half-closed 
eyelids. " Where's my father?" 

" Faix, he's snug at the parlor fire, my darlin . 
where his son ought to be, if he wasn't turning 
guide on the mountains to the enemy of his kith 
and kin." 

These words were said in a whisper, but with 
an energy that made the boy start from the arms 
of those who bore him 

" Here's the pony. Master Herbert — get up on 
him, and be off at once; sure there isn't a black- 
guard there, with lace on his coat, wouldn't be 
laughing at your old clothes when the light 
comes." 

Sir Marmaduke and his daughter were a few 
paces in advance as these words were spoken, 
the old baronet giving directions for bestowing 
every care and attention on one he deemed his 
guest. 

The boy, ashamed and offended both, yielded 
to the counsel, and suffered himself to be placed 
upon the saddle. 

" Now then, hould fast, and I'll guide him," 
said Kerry, as elbowing the crowd right and left, 
he sprang forward at a run, and in less than a 
minute had disappeared in the darkness. 

Sir Marmaduke became distracted at the loss 
of his benefactor, and message after message was 
despatched to bring him back, but all in vain. 
Kerry and his pony had already gained so much 
in advance none could overtake them, 

"To-morrow, then, my child," said Sir Mar. 
maduke — " to-morrow will, I hope, enable me to 
speak my gratitude, though I shall not sleep well 
to-night. I never rested with so heavy a debt 
unpaid before." 

And with these words they slowly weuded their 
way homeward. 



CHAPTER VII. 
SIR archy's temper tried 

It was strange that, although the old man and 
his tender daughter should have sustained no 
other ill results from their adventure than the 
terror which even yet dwelt on their minds, the 
young and vigorous youth, well trained to every 
accident of flood or field, felt it most seriously. 

The exertions he made to overtake Sir Mar 
maduke and his daughter, followed by the Strugs 
gle in the swollen stream, had given such a shock 
to his frame, that ere day broke the following 
morning he was in a fever. The mental excite- 
ment, conspiring with fatigue and exliaustion, 
had brought on the symptoms of his malady with 
such rapidity that it was evident, even to the un- 
accustomed observers around him, his state was 
precarious. 

Sir Archibald was the first person at the sick 
youth's beside. The varied fortunes of along life, 
not devoid of its own share of vicissitude, had 
taught him so much of medical skill as can give 
warning of the approach of fever, and as he felt 
the strong and frequent pulse, and saw the flushed 



THE ODONOGHUE, 



211 



and almost swollen features before him he re- 
cognized the comraencemerit of severe and dan- 
gerous illness 

Vague and confused images of the previous 
night's adventure, or visions of tlie dark valley 
and the tempest, occupied all the boy's thoughts, 
and though he endeavored when spoken to, to 
preserve coherency and memory, the struggle was 
unavailing, and the immediate impression of a 
(]uestion past, his min<l wandered back to the 
theme which filled his brain. 

" How was it then?" said Sir Archy, who, as 
he sat beside the sick bed, questioned the youth 
about his adventures. ''Vou said something of 
a horse.' 

''Yes' she was riding. Oh how bravely she 
rode, too! It was fine to see her as the spray 
fell over her like a veil, and she shook the drops 
from her hair." 

" Whence came she:' 'Who was the lady? ' 

" Take care — take care, ' said the youth, in a 
solemn whisper, and with a steadfast look belore 
him; " Derrybahn has given warning — the storm 
is coming. Jt is not for one so tender as you to 
tempt the river of the black valley." 

"Be still, my boy" said the old tnan; "you 
must not speak thus; your head will ache if you 
take not lest — keep quiet. ' 

' Yes' my head, my head," muf^ered he 
vaguely, repeating the words which clinked upon 

his mind. "She put her arm round my neck 

There — there,' cried he starting up vvildly in his 
bed, 'catch it — seize it — my feet are slipping — 
the rock moves — 1 can hold no longer; there- 
there' And with a low moaning sigh he sank 
back fainting on the pillow. 

Sir Aichibald applied all his efforts to enforce 
repose and rest, and having partially succeeded, 
hastened to the O'Donoghue's chamber to con- 
fer with the boy s father on what steps should 
be taken to procure medical aid. 

It was yet some hours earlier than the accus 
tomed time of his waking, as the old man saw 
the tiiin and ha^jgard lace of Sir Archy peering 
betw en the curtains of his bed. 

" Well, what is it? ' said he. in some alarm at 
the un^.^pected sight. "Has Gubbins issued 
the distress' Are the scoundrels going to sell 
us out? 

' No. no; it is another matter brings me here,'' 
leplied M'Nab with a gravity even deeper than 
usual. 

'That infernal bond! By God, I knew it- it 
never left my dreams these last three nights. 
Mark was too late, I suppose; or they wouldn't 
take the interest And the poor fellow sold his 
mare to get the money! 

Dinna fash about these things now, ' said 
M'Nab with impatience. "It's that poor cal- 
lant. Herbert — he's very ill — it s a fever he's 
caught, I m thinking " 

'Oh, Herbert'" said O'Donoghue, with atone 
of evident relief that his misfortunes had taken 
any other shape than the much-dreaded one of 
money-calamity " What of him>'' 

" He's in a fever; his mind is wandering al- 
ready.' 

'' Not a bit of it; it's a mere wetting — a com 



mon cold- the boy fell into the river last night 
at the old bridge there- Keiry told me something 
about it: and so, maybe, Mark may reach Cork 
in good time after all ' 

'■ 1 am no speaking of Mark just now," said 
M Nab tartly, "but of the other lad. wha may 
be dangerouLly ill if something be nae done 
quickly. 

" Then send for Roach, Let one of the boys 
saddle a horse and ride over to Killarney. Oh! 
I was forgetting; let a fellow go off on foot, 
he 11 get there before evening It is confound- 
edly hard to have nothing in the stables even to 
mount a messenger. I hope Mark may be able 
to manage matteis in Cork Poor fellow, he 
hates business as much as I do myself." 

Sir Archy did not wait for the conclusion of 
this rambling reply. Long before it was over, 
he was halfway down-stairs in search of a safe 
messenger to despatch to Killarney for Doctor 
Roach, muttering between his teeth as he went — 

■'We'll hae nae muckle chance of the doctor 
if we canna send the sillei to fetch him as well 
as the flunkie — eh, sirs? He's a cannie chiel, is 
auld Roach, and can smell a fee as soon as scent 
a fever.'' And with thij sensible reflection he 
proceeded on his way. 

Meanwhile the O Donoghue himself had sum- 
moned energy enough to slip on an old and 
ragged dressing gown, and a pair of very unlo- 
comotive slippers with which attired he entered 
the sick boy's room. 

" Well, Herbert lad," said he, drawing the 
curtains back and suffering the grey light to fall 
on the youth's features, " what is the matter? 
Your uncle has been routing me up with a story 
about you.' 

He ceased suddenly, as his eyes beheld the 
change a few hours had wrought in the boy's 
appearance. His eyes, deep buried in their 
orbits, shone with an unnatural lustre; his cheeks 
were ])ale and sunken, save where a bright patch 
ot florid red marked the centre of each, his lips 
were dry and shrivelled, and had a slight trem- 
ulous motion, as if he were muttering to him 
self. 

" Poor fellow," said the father, '" how dreadful 
ill he looks. Have you any pain, my boy?" 

The boy knew the voice, and recognized the 
kindly accent, but could not hear or understand 
the words; and, as his eyes glistened with de- 
light he stole his burning hand from beneath 
the bedclothes, and held it out. all trembling, 
towards his father 

" How sudden this has been — you were quite 
well last night. Herbert. 

" Last night!" echoed the boy, with a strange 
emphasis on the only words he had caught up 

"No, by the way it was the night before, I 
mean I did not see you last night; but, cheer 
up, my dear boy- we've sent (or Roach — hell 
put you to rights at once. I hope Mark may 
reach home before the doctor goes. I'd like 
to have his advice about that strain in the back." 

These last words were uttered in soliloquy, 
and seemed to flow from a train of thought very 
different from that arising from the object before 
him. Sunk in these reflections, he drew near 



216 



THE O'DONOGHUE, 



the window, which looked out upon the old 
courtyard behind the house, and where now a 
very considerable crowd of beggars had assem- 
bled to collect the alms usually distributed each 
morning from the kitchen. Each was provided 
with an ample canvas bag, worn over the neck 
by a string, and capable of containing a suffi- 
ciency of meal or potatoes, the habitual offering, 
to support the owner for a couple of days at 
least. They were all busily engaged in stowing 
away the provender of various sorts and kinds, 
as luck, or the preference of the cook, decided, 
laughing or grumbling over their portions, as it 
might be, when Sir Archibald M'Nab hurriedly 
presented himself in the midst of them — an ap- 
pearance which seemed to create no particular 
satisfaction, if one were to judge from the in- 
creased alacrity of their movements, and the 
evident desire they exhibited to move off. 

The O'Donoghue laughed as he witnessed the 
discomfiture of the ragged mob, and let down 
the window-sash to watch the scene. 

" 'Tis going we are. God be good to us!" 

"Ye need't be cursing that way," said an old 
hag, with a sack on her back large enough to 
contain a child. 

" Eyah! the Lord look down on the poor!" said 
a little fat fellow, with a flannel nightcap and 
stockings without any feet; " there's no pity now 
at all, at all." 

" The heavens be your bed, any way," said a 
hard-featured little woman, with an accent that 
gave the blessing a very different signification 
from the mere words. 

"Blessed Joseph! sure it isn't robbers and 
thieves we are, that ye need hunt us out of the 
place." 

Such were the e.xclamations on every side, in- 
termingled with an under-growl of the "Scotch 
naygur!" — "The ould scrape-gut!" and other 
equally polite and flattering epithets. 

" This is no a place for ye, ye auld beldames 
and blackguards. Awa' wi' ye — awa' wi' ye, at 
once!" 

" Them's the words ye'll hear in heaven yet, 
darlint!" said an old fiend of a woman, with one 
eye, and a mouth garnished by a single tooth. 
" Them's the very words St. Peter will spake to 
yourself." 

" Begorra! he'll not be strange in the other 
place, anyhow," muttered another. " 'Tis there 
he'll meet most of his countrymen." 

This speech was a signal for a general outburst 
of laughter. 

"Awa' wi' ye, ye ragged deevils! — ye'r a dis- 
grace to a Christian country!" 

"Throth we wear breeches an us," said an old 
fellow on crutches; "and sure I hear that's more 
nor they do in the parts your honor comes from." 

Sir Archy's passion boiled over at this new in- 
dignity. He stormed and swore, with all the 
impetuous rage of one beside himself with pas- 
sion; but the effect on his hearers was totally 
lost. The only notice they took was an occa- 
sional exclamation of — 

"There it is, now!" "Oh, blessed F.uher! 
hear what he says!" "Oh, holy Mother! isn't he 
a terrible man?" — comments by no means judi- 



ciously adapted to calm his irritation. Mean- 
while, symptoms of evacuating the territory were 
sufficiently evident. Cripples were taken on the 
backs and shoulders of their respective friends; 
sacks and pouches were slung over the necks. 
Many a preparatory shake of the rags showed 
that the wearer was getting ready for the road, 
when Sir Archy, suddenly checking himself in 
the full torrent of his wrath, cried out, — 

" Bide a wee — stay a minit, ye auld beasties — 
I hae a word to say to some amang ye." 

Tiie altered tone of voice in which he spoke 
seemed at once to have changed the whole cur- 
rent of popular feeling; for now they all chmied 
in with, — 

" Arrah! he's a good man after all. Sure, 'tis 
only a way he has," — sentiments which increased 
in fervency as Sir Archibald took a tolerably 
well-filled purse from his pocket, and drew out 
some silver into his hand, many exclaiming, — 

" 'Tis the kind heart often has the hard word; 
and sure ye can see in his face he isn't cruel." 

" Hear till me," cried Sir Archy, aloud, as he 
held up a shilling before their wistful eyes, "there's 
mony a ane among ye able to earn siller. Which 
o' ye, now, will step down to Kiliarney, and tell 
tlie doctor he's wanted up here wi' a' despatch? 
Ye maun go fast and bring him, or s«nd him here 
to-night; and if ye do, I'll gie ye this piece o' 
siller money when ye come back." 

A general groan from that class whose age and 
infirmities placed them out of the reach of com- 
petitorship met this speech, while from the more 
able section a not less unequivocal expression of 
discontent broke forth. 

"Down to Kiliarney!" cried one. "Begorra! 
I wonder ye didn't say Kenmare, when ye war 
about it — the devil a less than ten miles it is." 

" Eyah! I'd like to see my own four bones 
going the same road; sorra a house the whole 
way where's there's a drop of milk or a pratie." 

"That's the charity to the poor, I suppose," 
said the fat fellow of the nightcap. " 'Tis wish- 
in' it, I am, the same charity." 

" We wor to bring the doctor on our back, I 
hope?" said a cripple in a bowl. 

" Did ever man hear or see the like o' this?" 
exclaimed M'Nab, as with uplifted hands he 
stared in wonderment around him. " One would 
na believe it." 

" True for you, honey," joined in one of the 
group. "I'm fifty-three years on the road, and 
I never heerd of any one askin' us to do a hand's 
turn afore." 

"Out of my sight, ye worthless ne'er-do-weels; 
awa' wi' ye at once and forever. I'll send twenty 
miles round the country but I'll hae a mastiff here 
'ill worry the first o' ye that dares to come near 
the house." 

"On my conscience, it will push you hard to 
find a wickeder baste nor yourself." 

" Begorra, he won't be uglier, anyhow." 

And with these comments, and the hearty 
laughter that followed, the tattered and ragged 
group defiled out of the yard with all the honors 
of war, leaving Sir Archy alone, overwhelmed 
with astonishment and anger 

A low chuckling laugh, as the sash was closed 



THE O'DONOGH UE, 



217 



overhead, made him look up, and he just caught 
a. glimpse of O'Donoghue as he retired from the 
\vindow; for in his amusement at the scene the 
(Id man forgot the sick boy and all about him, 
and only thought of the ridiculous interview he 
had witnessed. 

" His ain father — his ain father!" muttered 
Sir Archv, as with his brows contracted and his 
hands clasped behind his back, he ruminated in 
sadness on all he saw. "What brings ye back 
again, ye lazy scoundrels? How dare ye venture 
in here again?" 

This not over-courteous interrogatory was ad 



ness of his impertinent mistake. He saw at 
once the immeasurable gulf, impassable to any 
elfort of assumption or insolence, which separated 
them, and with the ready tact of his calling he 
respectfully took off his hat, and iield forth a 
sealed letter, without one word of reply or apol- 
ogy. 

Sir Archibald put on his spectacles, and having 
carefully read the superscription, turned back to- 
wards the house without speaking. 

" Here is a letter for you, O'Donoghue," said 
he, as he entered the parlor, where the chief was 
already seated at his breakfast, while Kerry 



dressed to poor Terry the Woods, who, followed ; O'Leary, a short distance behind his chair, was 



by one of Sir Marmaduke's footmen, had at that 
instant entered the yard. 

" What for are ye come, I say? and what's the 
flunkie wanting beside ye?" 

Terry stood thunderstruck at the sudden out- 
break of temper, and turned at once to the re- 
sponsible individual, to whom he merely acted as 
guide, to make a reply. 

" And are ye tramping it, too?" said M'Nab, with 
a sneering accent as he addressed the footman. 
" Methinks ye might hae a meal's meat onto' the 
goold lace on your hat, and look mair like a de- 
cent Christian afterwards. Ye're out of place, may- 
be?" 

These last words were delivered in an irony to 
which a tone of incredulity gave all the sting; 
and these only were intelligible to the sleek and 
well-fed individual to whom they were addressed. 

In all likelihood, had he been charged with 
felony or highway robbery, his self-respect might 
have sustained his equanimity; any common 
infraction of the statute laws might have been al- 
leged against him without exciting an undue in- 
dignation; but the contemptuous insinuation of 
being "out of place" — that domestic outlawry — 
was more than human endurance could stomach; 
nor was the insult more palatable coming from 
one he believed to be a servant himself. It was 
therefore with the true feeling of outraged dignity 
he replied, — 

"Not exactly out of place jest now, friend; 
though, if they don't treat you better than your 
looks show, I'd recommend you trying for a new 
situation." 

Of a verity, Sir Archibald's temper was destined 
to sore trials that morning; but this was a home 
thrust, for which no forethought could have pre- 
pared him. 

"I hope I am no going to lose my senses," 
said he, as he pressed his hands on either side of 
his temples. " May the Lord keep me from that 
worst of a' human calamities." 

This pious wish, uttered with real, unfeigned 
fervency, seemed to act like a charm upon the 
old man's temper, as though the very appeal had 
suggested a calmer and more patient frame of 
mind. It was, then, with all the dignity of his 
natural character, when unclouded by momentary 
flashes of passion, that he said, — 

"What may be your errand here this morn- 
ing?" 

Few and simple as the words were, there was 
that in their quiet, unassuming delivery, wiiich in 
a second recalled the footman to a full conscious- 



relating the circumstance of the last night's adven- 
ture. 

"Is it from Mark?" said the old man, eagerly; 
and then glancing at the writing, he threw it from 
him in disappointment, and added, " I am getting 
very uneasy about that lad." 

" Had ye no better read the letter? the mes- 
senger wha brought it seems to expect an answer," 
interposed M'Nab. 

" Messenger! — eh — not by post? Is Hems- 
worth come back?" exclaimed O'Donoghue, with 
an evident degree of fear in his manner. 

"No, sir," said Kerry, guessing to what topic 
his master's thoughts were turning; "the captain 
is not coming, they say, for a month or six weeks 
yet." 

"Thank God!" muttered O'Donoghue; "that 
scoundrel never leaves me a night's rest when I 
hear he's in the neighborhood. Will you see 
what's in it, Archy? My head is quite confused 
this morning; I got up three hours before my 
time." 

Sir Archibald resumed his sjjectacles, and 
broke the seal. The contents were at some 
length, it would seem, for as he perused the letter 
to himself several minutes elapsed. 

"Go on, Kerry," said O'Donoghue; "I want 
to hear all about this business." 

" Well, I believe your honor knows the most of 
it now; for when I came up to the glen they 
were all safe over, barrin' the mare; poor Kit- 
tane, she was carried down the falls, and they 
took her up near a mile below the old bridge, 
stone dead; Master Mark will fret his heart out 
when he hears it." 

" This is a very polite note," interposed Sir 
Archy, as he laid the letter open before him, 
" from Sir Marmaduke Travers, begging to know 
when he may be permitted to pay his personal 
respects to you, and express his deep and grate- 
ful sense — his own words — of your son's noble 
conduct in rescuing his daughter at the hazard 
of his life. It is written with much modesty and 
good sense, and the writer canna be other than 
a true gentleman." 

" Travers — Travers," repeated O'Donoghue , 
"why that's the man himself. It was he bought 
the estats; he's Hemsworth's principal." 

"And if he be," replied M'Nab, "canna an 
honest man hae a bad servant? There's nothing; 
about Hemsworth here. It's a ceevil demand 
from one gentleman to anither." 

" So it is, then. Sir Marmaduke that has been 
staying at the lodge these some weeks past. 



218 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



That was Mark's secret — poor dear boy, he 
wouldn't tell me, tearing it would annoy me. 
Well, what is it he wants?" 

"To visit you, O'Donoghue. 

"What nonsense; the mischief's done already. 
The mortgage is foreclosed; and as for Carrig- 
nacurra, they can do nothing before the next term 
Swaby says so, at least." 

" Can ye no comprehend ? It is no law docu- 
ment, but a ceevil way to make your acquain- 
tance. Sir Marmaduke wad pay his respecti 
to ye." 

"Well, let him come." said O'Donoghue, 
laughing; " he's sure to find me home. The 
sheriff takes care of that for him. Mark will be 
here to-morrow or next day; I hope he won't 
come before that." 

"The answer must be a written one," said 
M'Nab; " it wadna be polite to gie the fiunkie the 
response." 

" VVith all my heart, Archy, so that I am not 
asked to indite it. Miles O'Donoghue are the 
only words I have written for many a year;" and 
he added, with a half bitter laugh, " it would 
have been as well for poor Mark if I had for- 
gotten even that same." 

Sir Archibald retired to write the answer, with 
many a misgivmg as to the substance of the 
epistle; for, while deeply gratified at heart that 
his favorite, Herbert, had acquitted himself so 
nobly, his own pride was mortified, as he thought 
over the impressions a visit to the O'Donoghue 
household might have on the mind of a " haughty 
Southern," for such in his soul he believed him. 

Tliere was no help for it, however; the ad- 
vances were made in a spirit, so very respectful, 
every line breathed such an evident desire, on 
the writer's part, to be well received, that a re- 
fusal, or even a formal acceptance of the prof- 
fered visit, was out of the question. His re])ly, 
then, accepted the intended honor with a pro- 
fession of satisfaction; apologizing for his omission 
in calling on Sir Marmaduke, on the score of ill- 
health, and concluded by a few words about 
Herbert, for whom many inquiries were made in 
the letter. This, written in the clear, but quaint 
old-fashioned characters of the writer's time, 
and signed " O'Donoghue," was carefully folded, 
and enclosed m a large square envelope, and 
with it in his hand M'Nab re-entered the break- 
fast-room. 

"Wad you like to hear the terms of the re- 
sponse, O'Donoghue, before I seal it up?" asked 
Sir Archy, with an air of importance. 

" No, no, I am sure it is all right and proper. 
You mentioned, of course, that Mark was from 
home, but we were expecting him back every 
day." 

" I didna make ony remark o' that kind. I 
said ye wad be happy to see him, and felt proud 
at the honor of making acquaintance wi' him." 

" Damn me if I do, then, Archy," broke in the 
old man, roughly. " For so great a stickler for 
truth as yourself, the words were somewhat out 
of place. I neither feel pride nor honor on the 
suliject. Let it go, however, and there's an end 
to it." 

"I've despatched a messenger for Roach to 



Killarney; that bit of a brainless body, Terry, is 
gone by the mountain road, and we may expect 
the doctor here to-night." And with these 
words Sir Archy departed to send off his epistle, 
and the O'Donoghue leaned back in his easy- 
chair, sorely weaned and worried by the fatigues 
of the day. 



CHAPTER VIII. 



THE HOUSE OF SICKNESS. 



How painfully is the sense of severe illness 
diffused through every part of a household. How 
solemn is the influence it sheds on every indi- 
vidual, and every object; the noiseless step, the 
whispered words, the closed curtains, the inter- 
ruption to the ordinary avocations of life, or the 
performance of them in gloom and sadness. 
When wealth and its appliances exist, these 
things take all the features of extreme care and 
solicitude for the sufferer; all the agencies of 
kindness and skill are brought into active exer- 
tion to minister to the rich man in sickness; but 
when poverty and its evils are present — when the 
struggle is against the pressure of want, as well 
as the sufferings of malady, the picture is indeed 
a dark one. 

The many deficiencies in comfort which daily 
habit has learned to overlook, the privatiors 
which in the active conflict with the world are 
forgotten, now come forth in the solitude of the 
sickhouse to affright and afflict us, and we sor- 
row over miseries long lost to memory till now. 

Never since the fatal illness which left O'Don- 
oghue a widower had there been anything like 
dangerous sickness in the house; and like most 
people who have long enjoyed the blessings of 
uninterrupted health, they had no thought for 
such a calamity, nor deemed it among the con- 
tingencies of life. Now, however, the whole 
household felt the change. The riotous laughter 
of the kitchen was silenced, the loud speaking 
hushed, the doors, banged by the wind, or the 
rude violence of careless hands, were closed 
noiselesslv — everything betokened that sorrow 
was there. O'Donoghue himself paced to and 
fro in the chamber of the old tower, now stop- 
)jing to glance down the glen, where he still 
hoped to see Mark approaching, now resuming 
his melancholy walk in sadness of heart. 

In the darkened sick room, and by the bed, 
sat Sir Archibald, concealed by the curtain, but 
near enough to give assistance to the sick boy 
should he need it. He sat buried in his own 
gloomy thoughts, rendered gloomier as he list- 
ened to the hurried breathings and low mutter- 
ings of the )'outh, whose fever continued to m- 
crease upon him. The old ill-tempered cook, 
whose tongue was the terror of the region r.he 
dwelt in, sat smoking by the fire, nor noticed the 
presence of the aged foxhound, who had followed 
Kerry into the kitchen, and now lay asleep be- 
fore the fire. Kerry himself ceased to hum the 
snatches of songs and ballads by which he was 
accustomed to beguile the weary day. There 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



219 



was a gloom on everytliing, nor was the aspect 
without doors more cheering. The rain beat 
heavily in drifts against the windows; the wind 
shook the old trees violently, and tossed their 
gnarled limbs in wild confusion, sighing with 
mournful cadence along the deep glen, or pour- 
ing a long melancholy note tnrough the narrow 
corridors of the old house. The sound of the 
storm, made more audible by the dreary silence, 
seemed to weigh down every heart. Even the 
bare-legged little gossoon, Mickey, who had 
come over from Fa'ther Luke's with a message, 
sat mute and sad, and as he moved his naked 
foot among the white turf ashes, seemed to feel 
the mournful depression of the hour. 

"'Tis a dreadful day of rain, glory be to 
God!" said Kerry, as he drew a fragment of an 
old much-soiled newspaper from his pocket, and 
took his seat beside the blazing fire. For some 
time he persevered in his occupation without in- 
terruption: but .Mrs. Branaghan, having appar- 
ently exhausted her own reflections, now turned 
upon him to supply a new batch. 

" What's in the news, Kerry O'Leary? I tliink 
ve might as well read it out, as be mumbling it 
to yourself there," said she, in a tone seldom dis- 
puted in the realm she ruled. 

" Musha, then," said Kerry, scratching his 
head, "the little print bates me entirely; the let- 
ters do be so close, they haven't room to stir in, 
and my eye is always going to the '.ine above and 
the line below, and can't keep straight in the fur- 
row at all. Come here, Mickey, alanah! 'tis you 
ought to be a great scholar, living in the house 
with his reverence. They tell me," continued 
he, in a whisper to the cook — " they tell me he 
can sarve mass already." 

Mrs. Branaghan withdrew her dudeen at these 
words, and gazed at the little fellow with un- 
inixed astonishment, who, in obedience to the 
Summons, took his place beside Kerry's chair, 
and prepared to commence his task. 

" Where will I begin, sir?" 

"Begin at the news, av coorse," said Kerry, 
somewhat puzzled to decide what kind of intelli- 
gence he most desired. " What's this here with 
a large P in the first of it?" 

" Prosperity of Ireland, sir," said the child. 

"Ay, read about that, Mickey," said the cook, 
resuming her pipe. 

With a sing song intonation, which neither re- 
garded paragraph nor period, but held on equa- 
bly throughout the column, the little fellow be- 
gan:— 

"The prospect of an abundant harvest is now 
very general throughout the country; and should 
we have a continuance of the heavenly weather 
for a week or so longer, we hope the corn will 
all be saved." 

As the allusion made here by a journalist was 
to a period of several years previous, the listeners 
might be excused for not feeling a perfect con- 
currence in the statement. 

" Heavenly weather, indeed!" grunted out the 
cook, as she turned her eyes towards the win- 
1 dow, against which the plashing rain was beat- 
ing. " Mike, read on." 

" Mr. Foran was stopped last night in Baggot 



street, and robbed of his watch and clothes, by 
four villains who live in Stony Batter; they are 
well known, and are advised to take care, as 
such depredations cannot go long unpunished. — 
The two villains that broke into the house of the 
archbishop of Dublin, and murdered the house- 
maid, will be turned off 'Lord Temple's trap' on 
Saturday next; this will be a lesson to the peo- 
ple about the Cross Poddle, that we hope may 
serve to their advantage. 

"Sir Miles M'Shane begs to inform the person 
who found his shoe-buckle after the last levee, 
that he will receive one-and-cight-pence reward 
for the same, by bringing it to No. 2, Ely Place: 
or, if he prefer it. Sir Miles will toss up who 
keeps the pair. They are only jiaste, and not 
diamond, though mighty well imitated." 

" Paste!" echoed Mrs. Branaghan; " the lying 
thieves!" her notions on the score of that mate- 
rial being limited to patties and pie-crusts. 

"The 'Bucks' are imitating the ladies, in all 
the arts of beautifying the person. Many were 
seen painted and patched at the duchess's last ball. 
We hope this effeminacy may not spread any 
further. — It is Mr. Rigby, and not Mr. Harper, 
is to have the silk gown. — Sir George Rose is to 
get the red ribbon for his services in North 
America." 

"A silk gown and a red ribbon!" cried Mrs. 
Branaghan. "Bad luck to me, but they might 
be ashamed of themselves." 

" Faix, I never believed what Darby Long 
said before," broke in Kerry. "He tould me 
he saw the bishop of Cork in a black silk petti- 
coat like a famale. Is there no more murders, 
Mickey?" 

" I don't know, sir, barrin' they're in the 
fashionable intelligence." 

"Well, read on." 

" Donald, the beast, who refused to leave his 
cell in Trim gaol at the last assizes, and was con- 
sequently fired at by a file of infantry, had his 
leg amputated yesterday by Surgeon Huston of 
this town, and is doing remarkably well." 

" Where's the sporting news?" said Kerry. 
"Is not this it here?" as he pointed to a figure 
of a horse above a column. 

" Mr Conolly's horse, Gabriel, would have 
been in first, but he stopped to eat Whaley, the 
jockey, when he fell. The race is to be run 
again on Friday next. It was Mr. Daly, and 
not Mr. Crosbie. horsewhipped the attorney over 
the course last Tuesday. Mr. Crosbie spent the 
day with the duke of Leinster, and is very angry 
at his name being mentioned in the wrong, par- 
ticularly as he is bound over to keep the peace 
towards all members of the bar for three years. 

"Captain Heavyside and Mr. Malone ex- 
changed four shots each on the Bull this morn- 
ing. The quarrel was about racing and politics, 
and miscellaneous matteis. 

"It is rumored that if the chief justice be 
appointed from England, he will decline giving 
personal satisfaction to the master of the rolls; 
but we cannot credit the report. 

" The Carmelites have taken Ranelagh House 
for a nunnery." 

"That's the only bit in the paper I'd give the 



220 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



snuff of my pipe for," said Mrs. Branaghan. 
" Read it again, acuslila.'' 
Tlie boy re-read the passage. 
"Well, well, I wonder if Miss Kate will ever 
come back again," said she in a pause. 

''To be sure she will,'' said Kerry; "what 
Would hinder her? Hasn't she a fine fortune out 
t»f the property? Ten thousand, I heerd the 
master say." 

" Eyah! sure it's all gone many a day ago; the 
sorra taste of a brass fartiien's left for her, or any 
one else. The master sould every stick an' stone 
in the place, barrin' the house that's over us, 
and sure that's all as one as sould too. Ah, 
then, Miss Kate was the party child, and had 
the coaxing ways with her." 

" 'Tis a pity to make her a nun," said Kerry. 
" A pity? why would it be a pity, Kerry 
O'Leary?" said the old lady, bristling up with 
anger. " Isn't the nuns happier, and dacenter, 
and higher nor other women, with rapscallions 
for husbands, and villains of all kinds for 
childer? Is it the likes of ye, or the crayture be- 
side ye, that would teach a coleen the way to 
heaven? Musha, but they have the blessed times 
of it — fastin' and prayin', and doing all manner 
of penance, and talking over their sins with holy 
men." 

"Whisht! what's that? there's the bell ringing 
above stairs," said Kerry, suddenly starting up 
and listening. "Ay, there it is again;" and, so 
saying, he yawned and stretched himself, and 
after several interjectional grumblings over the 
disturbance, slowly mounted the stairs towards 
the parlor. 

"Are ye sleepin' down there, ye lazy deevils?" 
cried Sir Archy, from the landing of the stairs. 
" Did ye no hear the bell?" 

" 'Tis now I heerd it," said Kerry, com- 
posedly, for he never vouchsafed the same de- 
gree of deference to Sir Archy he yielded to the 
rest of the family. 

"Go see if there be any lemons in the house, 
and lose no time about it." 

" Faix, I needn't go far, then, to find out," 
(vhined Kerry ; " the master had none for his 
punch these two nights. They put the little box 
into a damp corner, and, sure enough, they had 
beards on them like Jews, the same lemons, when 
they went to look for them." 

" Go down, then, to the woman M'Kelly's, in 
the glen, and see if she hae na some there." 

" Oh, murther! murther!" muttered Kerry to 
himself, as the whistling storm reminded him of 
the dreadful weather without doors. " 'Tis no 
use in going without the money," said he, slyly, 
hoping that by this home-thrust he might escape 
the errand. 

" Ye maun tell her to put it in the account, 
man." 

" 'Tis in bad company she'd put it, then," mut- 
tered Kerry below his breath; then added, aloud, 
"Sorrow one she'd give, if I hadn't the sixpence 
in my hand." 

" Canna ye say it's no for yoursel', it's for the 
house? She wad na refuse that." 

"No use in life," reiterated he, solemnly. 
"She's a real naygur, and would not trust Father 



Luke with a week's snuff, and he's dealt there 
for sneeshin these thirty years." 

" A weel, a weel," said M'Nab, in a low, harsh 
voice; " the world's growing waur and waur. Ye 
maun e'en gie her a shilling, and mind ye get 
nae bad bawbees in change. She suld gie ye 
twelve for saxpence." 

Kerry took the money without a word of re- 
ply: he was foiled in the plan of his o\in devis.- 
ing, and, with many a self-uttered sarcasm on 
the old Scotchman, he descended the stairs once 
more. 

" Is Master Herbert worse?" said the cook, 
as the old huntsman entered the kitchen, 

" Begorra, he must be bad entirely, when ould 
Archy would give a shilling to cure him. See 
here, he's sending me for lemons down to 
Mary's." 

Kerry rang the coin upon the table, as if to 
test its genuineness, and muttered to himself, — 
" 'Tis a good one — devil a lie in it!" 
" There's the bell again; musha, how he rings 
it!" 

This time the voice of Sir Archy was heard in 
loud tones summoning Kerry to his assistance, 
for Herbert had become suddenly worse, and the 
old man was unable to prevent him rising from 
his bed and rushing from the room. 

The wild and excited tones of the youth were 
mixed with the deeper utterings of the old man, 
who exerted all his efforts to calm and restrain 
him as Kerry reached the spot. By his aid the 
boy was conveyed back to his bed, where, ex- 
hausted by his own struggles, he lay without 
speaking or moving for some hours. 

It was not difficult to perceive, however, that 
this state boded more unfavorably than the for- 
mer one. The violent paroxysms of wild insan- 
ity betoken ed, while they lasted, a degree of vital 
energy and force, which now seemed totally to 
have given way; and although Kerry legarded 
the change as for the better, the more practised 
and skilful mind of Sir Archibald drew a far dif- 
ferent and more dispiriting augury. 

Thus passed the weary hours, and at last tha 
long day began to decline, but still no sign no^ 
sound p roclaimed the doctor's coming, and 
M'Nab's anxiety became hourly more intense. 

" If he come ns soon," said he, after a long 
and dreary silence, " he need na tak' the trouble 
to look at him." 

" 'Tis what I'm thinking, too," said Kerry, with 
a sententious gravity almost revolting. " When 
the fingers does be going that way, it's a mighty 
bad sign. If I seen the hounds working with 
their toes, I never knew them recover." 



CHAPTER IX. 
A doctor's visit. 



The night was far advanced as the doctor 
arrived at the O'Donoghue's house, drenched 
with rain, and fatigued by the badness of the 
roads,_where bis gig was often compelled to pro- 
ceed for above a mile at a foot-pace. Doctor 



THE O'DONOGHUE, 



221 



Roach was not in the most bland of tempers as 
he reached his destination, and, of a verity, his 
was a nature that stood not in need of any in- 
creased acerbity. The doctor was a type of a 
race at one time very general, but now, it is hard 
to say wherefore, nearly extinct in Ireland. But 
so it is; the fruits of the earth ciiange not in 
course of years more strikingly than the fashions 
of men's minds. The habits popular enough in 
one generation, survive as eccentricities in an- 
other, and are extinct in a third. 

There was a pretty general impression in the 
world, some sixty or seventy years back, that a 
member of the medical profession, who had at- 
tained to any height in his art, had a perfect 
right to dispense with all the amenities and cour- 
tesies which regulate social life among less 
privileged persons. The concessions now only 
yielded to a cook were then extended to a phys- 
ician; and in accordance with the privilege by 
which he administered most nauseous doses to 
the body, he was suffered to extend his domin- 
ion, and apply scarcely more palatable remedies 
to the minds of his patients. As if the ill-fla- 
vored draughts had tinctured the spirit tiiat 
conceived them, the tone of his thoughts usually 
smacked of bitters, until at last he seemed to 
have realized, in his own person, the conflicting 
agencies of the pharmacopoeia, and was at once 
acrid, and pungent, and sojjorific together. 

The College of Physicians could never have 
reproached Doctor Roach with conceding a sin- 
gle iota of their privileges. Never was there one 
who more stoutly maintained, in liis whole prac- 
tice through life, the blessed immunity of " the 
doctor." The magic word " Recipe," which 
headed his prescriptions, suggested a tone of 
command to all he said, and both his drugs and 
dicta were swallowed without remonstrance. 

It may not be a flattering confession for hu- 
manity, but it is assuredly a true one, that the 
exercise of power, no matter how humble its 
sphere, or how limited its range, will eventually 
generate a tyrannical habit in him who wields 
it. Doctor Roach was certainly not the excep- 
tion to this rule. The czar himself was not 
more autocrat in the steppes of Russia, than was 
he in any house where sickness had found en- 
trance. From that hour he planted his throne 
there. All the caprices of age, all the follies of 
childhood, the accustomed freedoms of home, 
the indulgences which grow up by habit in a 
household, had to give way before a monarch 
more potent than all, " the doctor." Men bore 
the infliction with the same patient endurance 
they summoned to sustain the malady. They 
felt it to be grievous and miserable, but they 
looked forward to a period of relief, and panted 
for the arrival of the hour when the disease and 
the doctor would take their departure together. 

If the deHght they experienced at such a 
consummation was extreme, so to the physician 
it savored of ingratitude. " I saved his life yes- 
terday," saith he, " and see how happy he is to 
dismiss me to-day.'' But who is ever grateful 
for the pangs of a toothache? — or what heart 
can find pleasure in the memory of sententious- 
ness, senna, and low diet? 



Never were the blessings of restored health 
felt with a more suitable thankfulness than by 
Doctor Roach's patients. To be free once more 
from his creaking shoes, his little low, dry cough, 
his harsh accents, his harsher words, his contra- 
dictions, his sneers, and his selfishness, shed a 
halo around recovery which the friends of the 
patient could not properly appreciate. 

Such was the individual whose rumbling and 
rattling vehicle now entered the courtyard of 
Carrignacurra, escorted by poor Terry, who 
had accompanied him the entire way on foot. 
The distance he had come, his more than doubts 
about the fee, the severity of the storm, were 
not the accessories likely to amend the infirm- 
ities of his temper; while a still greater source 
of irritation than all existed in the mutual feel- 
ing of dislike between him and Sir Archibald 
M'Nab. An occasional meeting at a little board- 
ing-house in Killarney, which Sir Archy was in 
the habit of visiting each summer for a few days 
— the only recreation he permitted himself — had 
cultivated this sentiment to such a pitch, that 
they never met without disagreement, or parted 
without an actual quarrel. The doctor was a 
democrat and a Romanist of the first water; 
Sir Archy was a member of the Scottish Epis- 
copal Church, and, whatever might have been 
his early leanings in politics, and in whatever 
companionship his active years were passed, ex- 
perience had taught him the fallacy of many 
opinions, which owe any appearance of truth or 
stability they possess to the fact that they have 
never advanced beyond the stage of speculative 
notions into the realms of actual and practical 
existence; — but, above all, the prudent Scotch- 
man dreaded the prevalence of these doctrines 
among young and unsettled minds, ever ready 
to prefer the short and hazardous career of for- 
tune to the slow and patient drudgery of daily 
industry. 

If the doctor anticipated but little enjoyment in 
the society of Sir Archy, neither did the latter 
hope for any pleasure to himself from Roach's 
company. However, as the case of poor Herbert 
became each hour more threatening, the old man 
resolved to bury in oblivion every topic of mutual 
disagreement, and, so long as the doctor remained 
in the house, to make every possible or impos- 
sible concession to conciliate the good-will of one 
on whose services so much depended. 

" Do ye hear?" cried Roach, in a harsh voice 
to Kerry, who was summoned from the kitchen 
fire to take charge of his horse; "let the pony 
have a mash of bran — a hot mash — and don't 
leave him till he's dry." 

"Never fear, sir," replied Kerry, as he led the 
jaded and wayworn beast into the stable, "I'll 
take care of him as if he was a racer;" and then, 
as Roach disappeared, added, " I'd like to see 
myself strapping the likes of him — an ould 
mountaineer. A mash of bran, indeed! Cock 
him up with bran! Begorra, 'tis thistles and 
docks he's most used to;" and, with this sage re- 
flection on the beast's habits, he locked the stable 
door, and resumed his former place beside the 
blazing turf fire. 
1 O'Donoghue's reception of the doctor was most 



223 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



cordial. He was glad to see him on several 
accounts. He was glad to see any one who could 
. tell him what was doing in the world, from which 
all his intercourse was cut off; he was glad, because 
tlie supper was waiting an hour and a half beyond 
its usual time, and he was getting uncommonly 
hungry; and, lastly, he really felt anxious about 
Herbert, whenever by any chance his thoughts 
took that direction. 

"How are you. Roach?" cried he, advancing to 
meet him with an extended hand. " This is a kind 
thing of you — you've had a dreadful day, I fear." 

" D — n me, if I ever saw it otherwise in this 
confounded glen. I never set foot in it that I 
wasn't wet through." 

" We have our share of rain, indeed," replied 
the other, with a good-humored laugh; " but if we 
have storm, we have shelter." 

Intentionally misunderstanding the allusion, 
and applying to the ruined mansion the praise 
bestowed on the bold mountains, the doctor threw 
a despairing look around the room, and repeated 
the word " shelter" in a voice far from compli- 
mentary. 

The O'Donoghue's blood was up in a moment. 
His brow contracted and his cheek flushed, as, in 
a low and deep tone, he said, — 

"It is a crazy old concern. You are right 
enough — neither the walls nor the com-pany within 
them are like what they once were." 

The look with which these words were given 
recalled the doctor to a sense of his own imper- 
tinence; for, like certain tethered animals, who 
never become conscious of restraint till the check 
of the rope lays them on their back, nothing short 
of such a home-blow could have staggered his 
self-conceit. 

"Ay, ay," muttered he, with a cackling apology 
for a laugh, "time is telling on us all. But I'm 
keeping the supper waiting." 

The duties of hospitality were always enough 
to make O'Donoghue forget any momentary 
chagrin, and he seated himself at the table with 
all his wonted good-humor and affability. 

As the meal proceeded, the doctor inquired 
about the sick boy, and the circumstances attend- 
ing his illness; the interest he bestowed on the 
narrative mainly dependingon the mention of Sir 
Marmaduke Travers's name, whose presence in the 
country he was not aware of before, and from 
whose residence he began already to speculate on 
many benefits to himself. 

" They told me," continued O'Donoghue, " that 
the lad behaved admirably. In fact, if the old 
weir-rapid be anything like what I remember it. 
the danger was no common one. There used to 
be a current there strong enough to carry away 
a dozen horsemen." 

" And how is the young lady? Is she notliing 
the worse from the cold, and the drenching, and 
the shock of the accident?" 

" Faith, I must confess it, I have not had the 
grace to ask after her. Living as I have been 
for some years back has left me sadly in arrear 
with every demand of the world. Sir Marma- 
duke was polite enough to say he'd call on me; 
but there is a still greater favor he could bestow, 
which is, to leave me alone." 



" There was a lawsuit, or dispute of some kind 
or other between you, was there not?' 

" There is something of the kind," said 
O'Donoghue, with an air of annoyance at the 
question; " but these are matters gentlemen leave 
to their lawyers, and seek not to mix themselves 
up with." 

" The strong purse is the sinew of war," mut- 
tered the inexorable doctor; "and they tell me 
he is one of the wealthiest men in England." 

" He may be, for aught I know or care.'' 

" Well, well," resumed the other, after a long, 
deliberative pause, "there's no knowing how 
this adventure may turn out. If your son saved 
the girl's life, I scarcely think he could press you 
so hard about " 

" Take care, sir," broke in O'Donoghue, and 
with the words he seized the doctor's wrist in his 
strong grasp- — "take care iiow you venture to 
si)eak of affairs which nowise concern you;" then, 
seeing the terrified look his speech called up, he 
added, " I liave been very irritable latterly, and 
never desire to talk on these subjects; so, if you 
please, we'll change the topic." 

The door was cautiously opened at this mo- 
ment, and Kerry presented himself, with a request 
from Sir Archibald, that, as socn as Doctor 
Roach found it convenient, he would be glad to 
see him in the sick room. 

" I am ready now," said the doctor, rising from 
his chair, and not by any means sorry at the 
opportunity of escaping a iete-a-tcte he had con- 
tri\'ed to render so unjjalatable to both parties. 
.•\s he mounted the stairs, he continued in broken 
phrases to inveigh against the house and the 
host in a half soliloquy: "A tumble-down old 
barrack it is — not fifty shillings worth of furnii:ure 
under the roof — the ducks were as tough as 
soaked parchment — and where's the fee to come 
from — I wish I knew that — unless I take one of 
these old devils instead of it;" and he touched 
the frame of a large, damp, discolored portrait 
of some long-buried ancestor, several of which 
figured on the walls of the staircase. 

" The boy is worse — far wor.'re," \\hispered a 
low but distinct voice beside him. " His head 
is now all astra) — he knows no one." 

Doctor Roach seemed vexed at the ceremony 
of salutation being forgotten in Sir Archibald s 
eagerness about the youth, and dryly answered, — 

" I have the honor to see you well, sir, I 
hope?" 

"There is one here very far from well," re- 
sumed Sir Archy, neither caring for nor consider- 
ing the speech. " We have host too much time 
already — I trust you may na be too late now." 

The doctor made no reply, but rudely taking 
the candle from his hand, walked towards the 
bed. 

"Ay, ay," muttered he, as he beheld the lus- 
trous eyes and wide-spread pupils, the rose-red 
cheek, and dry, cracked lips of the youth, "he 
has it, sure enough." 

" Has what? — what is it?'' 

" The fever — brain fever, and the worst kind 
of it, too." 

" And there is danger, then?" whispered 
M'Nab. 



THE O'DONOGH UE. 



223 



"Danger, indeed! I wonder bow many come 
through it. Pshaw! there's no use trying to 
count his pulse;" and he threw the liand rudely 
back upon the bed. " That's going as fast as 
ever his father went with the property." A 
harsh, low, cackling laugh followed this brutal 
speech, which demanded all Sir Archy's prede- 
termined endurance to suffer unchecked. 

" Do you know me?" said the doctor, in the 
loud voice used to awaken the dormant faculty 
of hearing — " do you know me.'" 

" Yes," replied the boy, staring steadfastly at 
him. 

'' Well, who am I, then? Am I your father?" 

A vacant gaze was all the answer. 

"Tell me, am I your father?" 

No reply followed. 

"Am I your uncle, then?" said the doctor, still 
louder. 

The word " uncle" seemed to strike upon some 
new chord of his awakened sense; a faint smile 
played upon his parched lips, and his eyes wan- 
dered from the speaker, as if in search of some 
object, till they fell upon Sir Archy, as he stood 
at the foot of the bed, when suddenly his whole 
countenance was lighted up, and he repeated the 
word "uncle" to himself in a voice indescribably 
sweet and touching. 

"He has na forgotten me, 'murmured M'Nab, 
in a tone of deep emotion. " My ain dear boy 
— he knows me yet." 

"You agitate him too much," said Roach, 
whose nature had little sympjithy with the feel- 
ings of either. " You must leave me alone here 
to examine him myself." 

M'Nab said not a word, but, with noiseless 
steji, stole from the room. The doctor looked 
after him as he went, and then followed to see 
that the door was closed behind. This done, he 
beckoned to Kerry, who still remained, to ap- 
proach, and deliberately seated himself in a chair 
near the window. 

"Tell me, mv good fellow," said he, affecting 
an air of confidence as he spoke, "ain't they a! 
broke here? Isn't the whole thing smashed?" 

"Broke — smashed!" repeated Kerry, as he 
held up both hands in feigned astonishment: " 'tis 
a droll smash; begorra, I never see money as 
plenty this many a year. Sure av there wasn't 
lashings of it, would he be looking out for car- 
riage-horses, and buying hunters, not to say put- 
ting the kennel in order?" 

" Is it truth you are telling?" said Roach, in 
astonishment. 

" True as my name is Kerry O'Leary. We 
offered Lanty Lawler a hundred and twenty 
guineas on Friday last for a match wheeler, and 
we're not off of him yet; he's a big brown horse 
with a star on his face; and the cob for the 
master cost forty pounds. He'll be here to- 
morrow or next day; sure ye'U see him yourself." 

" The place is falling to ruin — the roof will 
never last the winter," broke in the doctor. 

" \Vell, and whose fault is it but that spalpeen 
Murphy's, that won't set the men to work till he 
gets oak timber from the Black Say. 'Tis the 
finest wood in the world, they tell me, and lasts 
forever and ever," 



" But don't they owe money everywhere in the 
country? There isn't a little shop in Killarney 
without an account of theirs in it." 

"Of course they do; and the sarne in Cork — 
ay, and in Tralee, for the matter of that. Would 
you have them not give encouragement to more 
places nor one? There's not one of those cray- 
tures would send in their bill — no, though we do 
be asking for it week after week. They're afraid 
of losing the custom. And I'll engage, now, 
they do be telling you they can't get their money 
by hook or by crook; that's it — I knew it well." 

The doctor meditated long on these strange 
revelations, so very opposite to all he had heard 
of the circumstances of the O'Donoghue; and 
while liis own convictions were strongly against 
Kerry's narrative, that worthy man's look of 
simplicity and earnest truth puzzled him con- 
siderably, and made him hesitate which side to 
credit. 

After a long pause, from which the incoherent 
ravings of the sick boy aroused him, he looked 
up at Kerry, and then, with a motion of his 
thumb towards the bed, he muttered, — 

" He's going fast." 

"Going fast!" echoed Kerry, in a voice very 
different from his former accent. " Oh, wirra! 
there's nothing so bad as death! Distress and 
poverty is hard enough, but that's the raal mis- 
fortune." 

A dry, sarcastic grin from the doctor seemed 
to say that poor Kerry's secret was discovered. 
The allusion to want of means came too natur- 
ally not to be suggested by present circum- 
stances, and the readiness of Doctor Roach's ap- 
prehension clinched the discovery at once. 

"We'll go down, now," said the doctor; "I be- 
lieve I know the whole state of the case." And, 
with these words of ambiguous meaning, he re- 
turned to the drawing-room. 



CHAPTER X. 

AN EVENING AT " MARV" m'KELLY's. 

If sorrow had thrown its sombre shadow over 
the once proud house of the O'Donoghue, within 
whose walls now noiseless footsteps stole along, 
and whispered words were spoken, a very dif- 
ferent scene presented itself at the small hostel 
of Mary M'Kelly, There, before the ample fire- 
place, a quarter of a sheep was roasting, while 
various utensils of cookery, disposed ujjon and 
around the fire, diffused a savory odor through 
the apartment. A table, covered with a snow-white 
napkin, and containing covers for a party of six, 
occupied the middle of the room; cups and drink- 
ing-vessels of richly chased silver, silver forks 
and spoons of handsome pattern, were there also 
— strange and singular spectacle beneath the 
humble thatch of a wayside cabin. Mary herself 
displayed in her toilet a more than usual care and 
attention, and wore, in her becoming cap, with a 
deep lace border, a bouquet of tri-colored rib- 
bons, coquettishly knotted, and with the ends 
falling loosely on her neck. While she busied 



224 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



herself in the preparation for the table, she main- 
tained from time to time a running conversation 
with a person who sat smoking in the chimney 
corner. Althougli screened from the glare of the 
fire, the light which was diffused around showed 
enough of the dress and style of the wearer to 
recognize him at once for Lanty Lawler, the 
horse-dealer. His attitude, as he lolled back on 
one chair, and supported his legs on another, be- 
spoke the perfection of easi, while in the jaunty 
manner lie held the long pipe-stick between his 
fingers could be seen the affectation of one who 
wished to be thought at home, as well as to feel so. 

" What hour did they mention, Mary?" said he, 
after a pause of some minutes, during which he 
puffed his pipe assiduously. 

" The gossoon that came from Beerhaven said 
it would be nine o'clock, at any rate; but sure 
it's nigher to ten now. They were to come up on 
the flood tide. Whisht! what was that? Wasn't 
that like the noise of wheels?" 

" No; that's the wind, and a severe night it is, 
too. I'm thinking, Mary, the storm may keep 
them back." 

"Not a bit of it; there's a creek down there, 
they tell me, safer nor e'er a harbor in Ireland; 
and you'd never see a bit of a vessel till you were 
straight over her; and sure it's little they mind 
weather. That Captain Jack, as they call him, 
says there's no time for business like a gale of 
wind. The last night they were here there were 
two wrecks in the bay." 

" I mind it well, Mary. Faix, I never felt a 
toast so hard to drink as the one they gave after 
supper." 

" Don't be talking about it," said Mary, cross- 
ing herself devoutly; " they said it out of devil- 
ment, sorra more." 

" Well, maybe so," muttered he, sententiously. 
"They're wild chaps any wav, and they've a wild 
life of it." 

" Troth, if I was a man, 'tis a life I'd like well," 
said Mary, with a look of resolute determination 
well becoming the speech. "Them's the fine 
times they have, going around the world for sport, 
and nothing to care for — as much goold as they'd 
ask — fine clothes — the best of eating and drink- 
ing; sure there's not one of them would drink 
out of less than silver." 

"Faix, they may have iron round their ankles 
for it, after all, Mary." 

" Sorra bit of it — the gaol isn't built yet that 
would howld them. What's that noise, now? 
That's them. Oh, no; it's the water running 
down the mountain." 

" Well, I wish they'd come, any way," said 
Lanty, " for I must be off early to-morrow. I've 
an order from the ould banker here above for six 
beasts, and I'd like to get a few hour's sleep be- 
fore morning." 

" 'Tis making a nice penny you are there, Lanty," 
said Mary, with a quizzical look from the corner 
of her eye. 

"A good stroke of business, sure enough, Mary," 
replied he, laughingly. "\Vhat d'ye think I did 
with him yesterday morning? I heerd here, ye 
know, what happened to the grey mare I bought 
from Mark O'Donoghue — that she was carried 



over the weir-gash and drowned. What does I 
do, but goes up to the lodge, and asks for Sir 
Marmaduke; and, says I, ' I'm come, sir, to offer 
a hundred and fifty for the little mare I sould you 
the other day for a hundred: 'tis only now I found 
out her real value, and I can get two hundred 
for her in Cork the day I bring her up; and sure 
your honor wouldn't prevent a poor man making 
a trifle in the way of his trade.' 'You're an 
honest fellow, Lanty,' said he — devil a lie in it, 
Mary, don't be laughing — ' You're an honest fel- 
low; and although I cannot let you have your 
mare back again, for she was killed last night, 
you shall have your own price for the four car- 
riage-horses and the two roadsters I ordered.' 
With that I began blubbering about the mare, 
and swore I was as fond of her as if she was my 
sister. I wish you had seen his daughter then; 
upon my conscience, it was as good as a play. 
' They have so much feelin',' says she to her 
father. ' For fun,' says I, to myself. O murther, 
murther, Mary, and them's the people that rules 
us!" 

" Omadhauns they are, the devil a more!" in- 
terposed Mary, whose hearty contempt for the 
Saxon originated in the facility by which he 
could be imposed upon. 

" That's what I'm always saying," said Lanty. 
" I'd rather have the chaytin' than the baytin' of 
John Bull, any day! Y'ou'll humbug him out of 
his shirt, and faix it's the easiest way to get it 
after all." 

" It's a mane way, Lanty," interposed Mary, 
with a look of pride — " it's a dirty, mane way, 
and doesn't become an Irishman." 

" Wait till the time comes, Mary M'Kelly," 
said Lanty, half angrily, "and maybe I'd be as 
ready as another." 

" I wish it was come," said Mary, sighing; " I 
wish to the Virgin it was; I'm tired hearin' of 
the preparations. Sorra one of me knows what 
more they want, if the stout heart was there. 
There's eight barrels of gunpowder in that rock 
there," said she, in a low whisper, " behind your 
back; you needn't stir, Lanty. Begorra, if a 
spark was in it, 'twould blow you and me, and 
the house that's over us, as high as Hungry 
Mountain." 

"The angels be near us!" said Lanty, making 
the sign of the cross. 

"Ay," resumed Mary, "and mtiskets for a 
thousand min, and pikes for two more. There's 
saddles and bridles, eighteen hogsheads full." 

"True enough," chimed in Lanty; "and I 
have an order for fi\'e hundred cavalry horses— 
the money to be paid out of the Bank of France. 
Musha, I wish it was some place nearer home." 

" Is it doubting them ye are, Lanty Lawler?" 

" No, not a bit, but it's always time enough 
to get the beasts when we see the riders. I could 
mount two thousand men in a fortnight, any 
day, if there was money to the fore; ay, and 
mount them well, too; not the kind of devils I 
give the government; they won't stand three days 
of hard work. Musha, Mary, but it's getting 
very late; that mutton will be as dry as a stick." 

" The French likes it best that way," said 
Mary, v.-ith a droll glance, as though to intimate 



THE ODONOGHUE. 



225 



she guessed the speaker's object " Take a look 
down the road, Lanty, and try if you can hear 
any one coming." 

Lanty arose trom his comfortable corner with 
evident reluctance, and laid down his pipe with 
a half sigh, as he moved slowly towards the door 
of the cabin, which having unbarred, he issued 
forth into the darkness. 

"It's likely I'd hear anything such a night as 
this," grumbled he to himself, " with the trees 
snapping across, and the rocks tumbling down' 
It's a great storm entirely." 

" Is there any sign of them, Lanty?" cried 
Mary, as she held the door ajar, and peeped out 
into the gloomy night. 

"I couldn't see my hand fornint me." 

" Do you hear nothing?" 

" Faix I hear enough over my head; that was 
thunder! Is there any fear of it getting at the 
powder, Mary?" 

" Divil a fear; don't be unasy about that," 
said the stout-hearted Mary. " Can you see 
nothing at all ?" 

" Sorra a thing, barrin' the lights up at Carrig- 
nacurra; they're moving about there, a wonderful 
rate. What's O'Donoghue doing at all?" 

" 'Tis the young boy, Herbert, is sick," said 
Mary, as she opened the door to admit Lanty 
once more. " The poor child is in a fever. 
Kerry O'Leary was down here this evening for 
lemons for a drink for him. Poor Kerry! he 
was telling me, himself has a sore time of it, 
with that ouid Scotchman that's up there; noth- 
ing ever was like him for scoulding, and barging, 
and abusing; and O'Donoghue now minds noth- 
ing inside or out, but sits all day long in the 
big chair, just as if he was asleep. Maybe he 
does take a nap sometimes, for he talks of 
bailiffs, and writs, and all them things. Poor 
ould man! it's a bad end when the law comes 
with the grey hairs!" 

" They've a big score with yourself, I'll be 
bound," said Lanty, inquiringly. 

" Troth, I'd like to see myself charge them 
with anything," said she, indignantly. "It's to 
them and theirs I owe the roof that's over me, 
and my father, and my father's father before me 
owes it. Musha, it would become me to take 
their money, for a trifle of wine and spirits, and 
tay and tobacco, as if I wasn't proud to see them 
send down here — the raal ould stock that's in it! 
Lanty, it must be very late by this. I'm afeard 
something's wrong up in the bay." 

" 'Tis that same I was thinking myself," said 
Lanty, with a sly look towards the roasted joint, 
whose savory odor was becoming a temptation 
overmuch for resistance. 

"You've a smart baste in the stable," said 
Mary; "he has eaten his corn by this time, and 
must be fresh enough, just put the saddle on 
him, Lanty, dear, and ride down the road a mile 
or two — do, and good luck attend you." 

There never was a proposition less acceptable 
to the individual to whom it was made; to leave 
a warm fire-side was bad enough, but to issue 
forth on a night it would have been inhumanity 
to expose a dog to, was far too much for his 
compliance; yet Lanty did not actually refuse; 



no, he had his own good reasons for keeping fair 
with Mary M'Kelly; so he commenced a system 
of diplomatic delay and discussion, by which 
time at least might be gained, in which it was 
possible the long-expected guests would arrive, 
or the project fall to the ground on its own 
merits. 

" Which way will they come, Mary?" said he, 
rising from his seat. 

" Up the glen, to be sure — what other way 
could they, from the bay? You'll hear them 
plain enough, for they shout and sing every step 
of the road, as if it was their own; wild devils 
they are." 

"Sing is it? Musha, now, do they sing?" 

"Ay, faix, the drollest songs ever ye heerd; 
French and Roosian songs — sorra the likes of 
them going at all." 

" Light hearts they have of their own." 

" You may say that, Lanty Lawder; fair weather 
or foul, them's the boys never change; but come 
now, be alive, and get out the baste." 

"I'm going, I'm going; it's myself would like 
to hear them sing a Roosian song. Whisht! 
what's that? did ye hear a shout there?" 

"Here they are; that's them," said Mary, 
springing towards the door and withdrawing the 
bolt, while a smart knock was heard, and the 
same instant a voice called out, — • 

" Holloa! house ahoy!" 

The door at the moment flew open, and a 
short, thick-set looking man, in a large boat cloak, 
entered, follow^ed by a taller figure, equally 
muffled. The former dropping his heavy en- 
velope, and throwing off an oilskin cap from his 
head, held out his arms wide, as he said, — 

^''Marie, ma mie! emhrasse-tnoi;" and then, rot 
waiting for a compliance with the request, sprang 
forward, and clasped the buxom landlady in his 
arms, and kissed her on each cheek, with an air 
compounded of true feeling and stage effect. 

"Here's my friend and travelling companion, 
Henry Talbot, come to share your hospitality, 
Mary," said he in English, to which the slightest 
foreign accent lent a tone of recitative. " One 
of us, Mary — one of us." 

The individual alluded to had by this time 
dropped his cloak to the ground, and displayed 
the figure of a slight and very young man, whose 
features were singularly handsome, save for a 
look of great effeminacy; his complexion was fair 
as a girl's, and, flushed by exercise, the tint upon 
his cheek was of a pale rose color; he was dressed 
in a riding-coat and top-boots, which, in the 
fashion of the dav, were worn short, and wrinkled 
around the leg; his hair he wore without powder, 
and long upon his neck; a heavy riding-whip, 
ornamented with silver, the only weapon he car- 
ried, composed his costume — one as unlike his 
companion's as could be. 

Captain Jacques Flahault was a stout-built, 
dark-complexioned fellow, of some four or five- 
and-'^orty, his face a grotesque union of insol- 
ence and drollery, the eyes black as jet, shaded 
bv brows so arched as to give always the idea 
of laughing to a countenance the lower part of 
which, shrouded in beard and moustache, was 
intended to look stern and savage. 



226 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



His dress was a short blue frock, beneath which 
he wore a jersey shirt, striped in various colors, 
across which a broad buff leather belt, loosely 
slung, supported four pistols and a dirk, Jack- 
boots reached about the middle of the thigh, and 
were attached to his waist by thongs ot strong 
leather — no needless precaution, apparently, as in 
their looseness the wearer might at any moment 
have stepped freely from them; a black handker- 
chief, loosely knotted round his neck, displayed 
a throat brawny and massive as a bulls, and im- 
parted to the whole head an appearance ot great 
size — the first impression every stranger con- 
ceived regarding him. 

"Ah' all' Lawler, you here? How goes it. 
my old friend? Sit done here, and tell me all 
your rogueries since we parted. Par St Piej-rt^ 
Henry, this is the veriest fn'pon in the kingdom' 
— I'albot bowed, and, with a sweetly courteous 
smile, saluted Lanty, as if accepting the speech 
in the li.s;ht of an introduction — -'' a fellow that, 
in the way of his trade, could cheat the Saint 
Pere himself. ' 

"Where's the others. Captain Jack?" said Marv, 
whose patience all tiiis time endured a severe 
trial — " where's the rest?'' 

'^ Place pour Ic pota_£;e, ma inic' — soup before a 
story. You shall hear everything by-and-bye. 
Let us have the supper at once " 

Lanty chimed in a willing assent to this propos- 
ition, and in a few moments the meat smoked up- 
on the table, around which the whole party took 
their places with evident good-will. 

While Mary performed her attentions as hostess 
by heaping up each plate, and ever supplying 
the deficiency caused by the appetite of the guests, 
the others eat on like hungry men. Captain 
Jacques alone intermingling with the duties of the 
table a stray remark from time to time 

Ventrcblcu, how it blows! If it veers more 
to tlie south'ard, there will be a heavy strain on 
tliat cable. Trinquons, mon ami — trin/ji/oiis tou- 
joiirs. Ma helk Marie, yon eaX nothing." 

' Tis uneasy I am, Captain Jack, about what's 
become of the others," said Mrs. M'Kelly. 

" Another bumper, ;«(Z mie, and I'm ready for 
tlie story — the more as it is a brief one. AU071S 
d)nc — now for it. We left the bay about nine 
o'clock, or lialf-past, perhaps, intending to push 
f,)rward to the glen at once, and weigh with the 
morning's tide, for i". happens that this time our 
cargo is destined for a small creek on the North- 
west coast, our only business here being to land 
my friend Harry" — here Talbot bowed and 
smiled — " and to leave two hogsheads of Bor- 
deau.x for that very true-hearted, kind brave 
homme, Hemsworth, at the lodge there. You 
remember last winter we entered into a compact 
wirli him to stock his cellar, provided no infor- 
mation of our proceedings reached the revenue 
from any quarter. Well, the wine was safely 
stored in one of the caves on the coast, and we 
started with a light conscience; we had neither 
despatches nor run-brandy to trouble us — nothing 
to do but eat our supper, saluer madame " — here 
he turned round, and, with an air of mock res- 
pect kissed Mary's hand — "and get afloat again. 
As we came near tlie lodge, I determined to 



make my visit a brief one, and so, leaving all my 
party, Harry included, outside, I a])proached the 
house, which, to my surprise, showed lights from 
nearly every window. This made me cautious, 
and so I crept stealthily to a low window, across 
which the curtain was but loosely drawn, and, 
meri de ma vie! what did I behold, but the pret- 
tiest face in Europe. Un ange de beaiite She 
was leaning over a table copying a drawing, or a 
painting of some sort or other. Tete hleiic! here was 
a surprise. 1 had nexerseen her before, although 
I was with Hemsworih a dozen times." 

"Go on — go on'" said Lanty, ^hose curiosity 
was extreme to hear what happentd next 

" Eh hicn — I tried the sash, but it was fastened, 
I then went round the house, and examined the 
other windows, one after the other — all the same. 
Que /aire? I thought of knocking boldly at the 
back door, but then I should have no chance of 
a peep at la belle in that way ' 

" \\'hat did you want with a peep at her'" 
asked Mary, grufifly 

" Diable .' what did I want' Poiir I admirer, 
r adorer — or at least 'o make my respects, as be- 
comes a stranger and a Frenchman Pmirsuiions. 
Tliere was no entree without seme noise, so I 
preferred the room she was in to any other, and 
gently disengaging my dirk, I slipped it between 
the two sashes, to lift up the latch that fastened 
them. Morbleii! the weapon slipped and came 
slap through the pane, with a tremendous fracas. 
She started up and screamed^lhere was no use 
in any more delay I put my foot through the 
window, and pushed open the sash at once; but, 
before I was well in the room, the bells were 
ringing in every quarter of the house, and men's 
voices calling aloud, and shouting to each other; 
when suddenly the door opened, and ^^hiz went 
a pistol-ball close by my iiead, and shattered the 
shutter behind me. My fellows outside, hearing 
the shot, unslung their pieces, and, before I could 
get down to them, poured in a voile}— why, 
wherefore, or upon whom, the devil himself, that 
instigated them, can tell The garrison mustered 
strong, however, and replied- — that they did^by 
Jove! — for one of ours, Emile de Louvois, is 
badly wounded I sounded the retreat, but the 
scoundrels would not mind me; and, belore I 
was able to prevent \X, tete bleiie / they had got 
round to the farm-yard, and set fire to the corn- 
stacks; in a second, the corn and hay blazed up, 
and enveloped house and all in smoke I sounded 
the retreat once more, and off the villains scam- 
pered, with poor Emile to the boat, and I, find- 
ing my worthy friend here an inactive spectator 
of the whole from a grove near the road, resolved 
not to give up my supper — and so, vievoiei J But 
come, can none of you explain this affair? What 
is Hemsworth doing, wiih all this armed house- 
hold, and this captive princess?' 

"Is the lodge burned down?' said Lanty, 
whose interest in the inhabitants had a somewhat 
selfish origin. 

'' No, they got the fire under. I saw a wild- 
looking devil mount one of the ricks with a great 
canvas sail, all wetted, and drag it over the burn- 
ing stack, and before I left the place the lodge 
was quite safe." 



\ 



THE ODONOGHUE, 



227 



" I'm sorry for it/' said Mary with a savage 
determination. " I'm sorry to tlie heart's core. 
Luck nor grace never was in the glen since the 
first stone of it was laid — nor will it be again, tiil 
It is a ruin! Why didn't they lay it in ashes when 
they were about it?" 

''Faith, it seemed to me," said Talbot, in a 
low, soft voice, " they would have asked nothing 
better I never saw such bull-dogs in my life. 
It was all you could do, Flahault, to call them 
off " 

"True enough," replied Jacques, laughing. 
" They enjoy a brisee like that with all their 
hearts. 

"The English won't stay long here, after this 
night," was Lanty's sage reflection, but one which 
he did not utter aloud in the present company 
And then, in accordance with Jacques's request, 
he proceeded to e.xplain by what different tenants 
the Lodge became occupied since his last visit, 
and that an English baronet and his daughter, 
Vvith a household of many servants, had rei)laced 
Hemsworth and his few domestics At every 
i;tage of the recital, Flahault stopped the narra- 
tive, to give him time to langh. To him the ad- 
venture was full of drollery. Even the recollec- 
tion of his wounded comrade little damped his 
enjoyment of a scene which might have been at- 
tended by the saddest results; and he chuckled 
ii hundred times over what he suspected the 
Englishman must feel on this his first visit to 
Ireland 

" I could rob the mail to-morrow, for the mere 
fun of reading his letters to his friends," said he 
" Morbleu ! what a description ot Irish rapparees, 
five hundred in number, armed with pikes!" 

" I wish ye'd give him the cause to do it," said 
Mary bitterly. " What brings them here? who 
wants them, or looks for them?" 

'You are right, Mary," said Talbot, mildly. 
"Ireland for the Irish!" 

"Ay, Ireland for the Irish' repeated Mary 
' and Lanty, and the sentiment was drunk with all 
the honors of a favored toast. 

For some time the party continued to discuss 
Flahault's story and calculate on every possible 
turn the affair miglit give rise to, all agreeing, 
finally, on one point, that Sir Marmaduke would 
scarcely venture to protract his stay in a coun- 
try where his visit had been signalized by such a 
reception. The tone of the conversation seemed 
little to accord with Captain Jacques's humor, 
whose convivial temperament found slight pleas- 
ure in protracted or argumentative discussions of 
any kind. 

"Qiie/eJiuMe rcmporte!" cried he, at last 'This 
confounded talk has stopped the bottle this half- 
hour. Come, Talbot, let's have a song, my lad; 

never shake your head, vwn enfant Well, 

then, here goes." 

Thus saying, Flahault pushed back his chair 
a little from the table, and in a rich, deep, 
bass voice, which rang through the high rafters 
of the cabin, chanted out the following rude 
verses to a French vaudeville air, giving the 
final e of the French words, at the end of each 
line, the peculiar accentuation of a, which made 
the word sound contrebanda. 



Though this information as to Captain Jacques s 
performance seems of little moment, yet such was 
the fact, that any spirit the doggerel ] oEsessed 
could only be attributed to the m;mner of the 
singer, and the effect produced by the intonation 
we have mentioned. 

LA CONTREBANDE. 

A bumper, " mesenfans," to swallow your care, 

A full bumper, we pledge, " a I'Irlande;" 
The land of "belles fenimes, le pays de bonne chere, 

Et toujours de la Contrebande. " 

Some like lo make love, and .some like to make war, 

Some of beauty obey " la conimande," 
But what IS the glance from an eye, ' blue," or '' noir, ' 

Except it be " la Contrebande." 

When a prince takes the cash that a peasant can't spare. 

And lets him lie down " sur la lande," 
Call it as you like^ — -but the auth is, I swear. 

" C'est bien pire que la Contrebande." 

Stolen kisses are ever the sweetest, we're told. 

They sink like a " navire qui fondle;'' 
And what's true of a kiss is the same, too, of gold. 

They're both m their way " Contrebande!" 

When kings take your money, they won't even say, 

*' Mon ami. que Dieu vous le lende," 
While even the priest lor a blessing takes pay, 

'' C'est partout et toujours Contrebande." 

The good things of life are not equal, I'm sure, 
Then how pleasant to make the "amende." 

To take from the wealthy, and give to the poor. 
" Voilei ce que j'appelie Contrebande.'' 

■Vet as matters go, one must not deem it strange, 

That even " la France et I'Irlande," 
If good wishes and friendship they simply exchange. 

There are folks that call that " Contrebande." 

''''Vive la Contrebande, mes amis!" shouted out 
Jacques, as he arose, glass in hand, and made the 
room ring with the toast. And every voice re- 
peated the words, in such imitations as they 
were able. 

" 'Tis an elegant song, any way," said Lanty, 
" if one only understood it all — and the tune's 
mighty like the 'Cruiskeen Lawn.' ' 

''Well, Harry ' said Flahault, slapping his 
friend on the shoulder, " will the song persuady 
you (o turn smuggler? I fear not You'd rather 
practise your own 'Contrebande among thy 
bright eyes and dark locks of the capital. Well, 
there are worse ' metiers. I have had a turn at 
it these fifteen years, and whether on the waters 
of Ontario, or Champlain. or scudding aloni; 
under the fog-banks of the Scheldt, I never grew 
weary of it. But now for a little business talk;, 
where is the padre? where's Father Luke? was 
he not to have been here to-night? " 

Mary whispered the answer in the captain'.s 
ea\ 

'' Ah, parbleti!" exclaimed he, aloud — " is it so? 
Practising a little 'Contrebande' of his own — ■ 
trying to see a poor fellow safe over the frontier, 
into the next world." 

"Fie for shame. Captain Jacques," said Mary, 
with pious horror. "That's not the way to talk 
of the holy offices." 

" I wish I had old Maurice Dulang here, the 



228 



THE ODONOGHUE, 



priest of Trois Rivieres, he's the boy could 
despatch them witliout trouble.'' 

Neither Lanty nor Mary gave any encourage- 
ment to Flahaulfs new turn of the conversation, 
and so, addressing himself to Talbot, he went 
on, — 

"We were dining together one day at the lit- 
tle inn at Trois Rivieres, when a messenger came 
from Lachegon for the pere to administer the 
last rites to a 'mourant.' Maurice promised to 
be there in half an hour, but never stirred — and 
though three other messengers came for him, tlie 
answer was all the same — until at last came word, 
' C'est trap tard, il est mort. ' 

"' Trop tard !' said Maurice, 'not a bit of it; 
give me a pen and ink and some paper.' Witli 
that he folded a piece^ note fashion, and wrote, — 

"'Hon CHER Pierre, — Fais ton petit possible 
pour ce pauvre diable. qui s'est glisse hors du 
monde sans mes soins Apparemment il etait 
bien presse; mais tu t'arrangeras pour le mieux. 

" ' Ton viel ami, 

" ' Maurice Dul.'Vng. 
"'St. Pierre, a la Conciergerie du Paradis.' 

■" Put that in his mouth,' said Maurice, 'and 
there's no fear of him.' " 

" 'Twas a blessed gospel he gave him," said 
Mary, who did not comprehend the French por- 
tion of the story, "and sure it's as good as anv- 
thing." 

" We all thought so, Mary. Poor Maurice re- 
lated the story at Lyons, when he was led out to 
the guillotine, but though the commissnire 
laughed heartily, and enjoyed it much, they had 
found a breviary in his portmanteau, and they 
couldn't let him off. Pauvre bete! To travel 
about the world with the 'piece de conviction' 
in his possession. What, Harry, no more wine?" 

"I thank you, no more for me, although that 
claret is a temptation " 

"A bouquet, every glass of it! What say you. 
Master Lawler — does it suit your palate'' 

" I begin to think it a taste cold or so by this 
time," said Lanty, "I'm not genteel enough for 
wine, God help me; but it's time to turn in, 
anyhow — and there's Mary asleep already ' 

"I don t stir till I finish the flask," said 
Jacques, firmly, "and if you won't drink, you 
needn't grudge me your company. It's hard to 
say when we meet again. You go northward, 
Talbot, isn t that so?" 

" Yes, and tliat's the point I wish to come to 
—where and how shall I iind a mount? I de- 
pended on this priest you spoke of to me, but 
he has not made his appearance." 

" You never fell upon your legs more fortun- 
ately — here's your man for a horse, all Ireland 
over. Eh, Lanty, what's to be had now?" 

" Devil a thing can be got for love or money," 
said Lanty. " If the gentleman only told me 
yesterday " 

"Yesterday, Master Lanty. we were riding 
white horses in the Western Ocean — but that's 
gone by — let us talk of to-day " 

" My own hackney is here in the stable. If 



his honor likes him, I'll sell him; but he's a 
fancy beast, and must have a fancy price." 

" Has he strength and speed for a fast ride?" 
said Talbot, ''and will his condition bear it?" 

" I'll answer for it — you may push on to Cork 
in a hand gallop, if you give him ten minutes' 
rest and a glass of whiskey at Macroom." 
"That's eniuigh — what's his price?" 
"Take a look at him first," replied Lanty, "for 
if you are judge of a beast, you'll not refuse what 
I ask you." With these words he lighted a can- 
dle, and placed it in an old iron lantern which 
hung against the wall, and opening a small door 
at the back of the cabin, proceeded by a narrow 
passage cut in the rock, towards the stable, fol- 
lowed by Talbot, Flahault remaining where he was 
as if sunk in meditation. Scarcely, however, had 
the two figures disappeared in the distance, when 
he shook Mary violently by the shoulder, and 
whispered in a quick, but collected tone, — 
" Mary — Mary, I say — is that fellow all safe?" 
"Ay, is he safe," said she, resuming her 
wonted calmness in a second. " Why do you 
ask now?" 

" I'll tell you why — for myself I care not a 
sou — I'm here to-day, away tomorrow — but 
Talbot's deep in the business— his neck's in the 
halter — can we trust Lawler on his account — a 
man of rank and large fortune as he is cannot 
be s]iared — what say you?" 

" You may trust him, captain, ' said Mary, 
"he knows his life would not be his own two 
hours if he turned informer; and thtn this Mr. 
Talbot, he's a great man, you tell me?" 

" He's a near kinsman of a great peer, and has 
a heavy stake in the game — that's all 1 know, 
Mary — and, indeed, the present voyage was more 
to bring him over than anything else. But hush, 
here they come." 

"You shall have your money^you've no ob- 
jection to French gold, I hope — for several years 
I have seen no other, ' said Talbot, entering. 

" I know it well,' said Lanty, and would just 
as soon take it as if it had King George on it." 
'"You said forty pounds — fifty louis is not 
far off — will that do?'' said the youth, as he 
emptied a heavily filled purse of gold upon the 
table, and pushed fifty pieces towards the horse- 
dealer. 

" As well as the best, sir, ' said Lanty, as he 
stored the money in his long leathern j ocket- 
book, and placed it within his breast-pocket. 

'Will Mrs M'Kelly accept this small token as 
a keep-sake'" said the youth, while he took from 
around his neck a fine gold chain of Venetian 
work, and threw it gallantly over Mary's. "This 
is the first shelter I have found, after a long exile 
from my native land, and you, my old comrade, 
I have left you the pistols you took a fancy to; 
they are in the lugger. And so. now, good-bye 
all; I must take to the road at once: I should like 
to have met the priest, but all chance of that 
seems over " 

Manv and affectionate were the parting salut- 
ations between the young man and the others; 
for, although he had mingled but little in the 
evening's conversation, his mild and modest de- 
meanor, added to the charm of his good looks, 



THE O'DONOGH U E, 



229 



had won their favorable opinions; besides that 
he was pledged to a cause which had all their 
sympathies. 

While the last good-bye was being spoken, 
Lanty had saddled and bridled the hackney, and 
led him to the door. The storm was still raging 
fiercely, and the night dark as ever 

"You'd better go a little ways up the glen, 
Lanty beside him,' said Mary, as she looked out 
into the wild and dreary night. 

" 'Tis what I mean to do,'' said Lanty, "I'll 
show him as far as the turn of the road.'' 

Though the stranger declined the proffered 
civility, Lanty was firm in his resolution, and the 
young man, vaulting lightly into the saddle, 
called out a last farewell to the others, and rode 
on beside his guide. 

Mary had scarcely time to remove the remains 
of the supper, when Lanty re-entered the cabin. 

" He's the noble-hearted fellow any way " 
said he, " never took a shilling off the first price 
I asked him;" and with that he put his hand 
into his breast-pocket to examine once more the 
strange coin of France. With a start, a tremend- 
ous oath broke from him " My money — my 
pocket-book is lost!" exclaimed he, in wild ex- 
< itement, while he ransacked pocket after pocket 
of his dress. " Bad luck to that glen' I dropped 
it out there; and with the torrent of water that's 
falling it will never be found. Och, murther, 
this is too bad!" 

In vain the others endeavored to comfort and 
console him — -all their assurances of its safety, 
and the certainty of its being discovered the next 
morning, were in vain. Lanty relighted the 
lantern, and muttering maledictions on the 
Weather, the road, and his own politeness, he issued 
forth to search after his treasure — an occupation 
which, with all his perservance, was unsuccessful, 
for when day was breaking, he was still groping 
along the road, cursing his hard fate, and every- 
thing which had any share in inflicting it. 

"The money is not the worst of it," said 
Lanty, as he threw himself down, exhausted and 
worn out, on his bed. "The money's not the 
worst of it — there was papjrs in that book I 
wouldn't have seen for double the amount " 

Long after the old smuggler was standing out 
to sea the next day, Lanty Lawler wan 1 ered 
backwards and forwards in the glen, now search- 
ing among the wet leaves that lay in heaps by 
the wayside, or, equally in vain, sounding everv 
rivulet and watercourse which swept past. His 
search was fruitless; and well it might be: the 
road was strewn with fragments of rocks and tree- 
tops for miles, while even yet the swollen stream 
tore wildly past, cutting up the causeway in its 
passage, and foaming on amid the wreck of the 
hurricane. 

Yet the entire of that day did he persevere, 
regardless of the beating rain, and the cold, 
drifting wind, to pace to and fro, his heart bent 
upon recovering what he had lost. 

"Yersowl is set upon money; devil a doubt 
of it, Lanty," said Mary, as dvipi-iing with wet, 
and shaking with cold, he at last re-entered the 
cabin; " sorra one of me would go rooting there 
f-ir a crock of goold, if I was sure to find it." 



" It is not the money, Mary, I tould you be- 
fore — it's something else was in the pocketbook," 
said he, half angrily, while he sat down to brood 
in silence over his misfortune 

■■'Tis a letter from your sweetheart, then," 
said she, with a spice of jealous malice in her 
manner, for Lanty had more than once paid his 
addresses to Mary, whose wealth was reported to 
be something considerable. 

" May be it is, and may be it i^ not, ' was the 
cranky reply. 

' Well, she'll have a saving husband, any way," 
said Mary, tartly, ''and one that knows how to 
keep a good grip of the money.'' 

The horse dealer made no answer to this en- 
comium on his economy, but with eyes fixed on 
the ground, pondered on his loss; meanwhile 
Mrs M'Kelly's curiosity, piqued by her ineffectual 
efforts to obtain information, grew each instant 
stronger, and at last became irrepressible. 

" Can't you say what it is you ve lost? Sure 
there's manv a one goes by here of a Saturday 
to market — and if you leave the toker- " 

"There's no use in it — sorra bit," said he, de- 
spondingly 

" You know your own saycrets best," said 
Mary, foiled at every effort; " and they must be 
tlie dhroll saycrets too, when you're so much 
afraid of their being found out." 

"Troth, then," said Lanty, as a ray of his old 
gallantry shot across his mind — " troth, then, 
there isn't one I'd tell a saycret to as scon as 
yourself, Mary M'Kelly; you know the most of 
niv heart alreadv, and why wouldn't you know it 
all?" 

" Faix, it's little I care to hear about it," said 
Mary with an affectation of indifference the most 
finished coquetry could not have surpassed. 
" Ye may tell it, or no, just as ye plaze." 

" That's it now," cried Lanty — '' that's the 
way of women, the whole world over; keep never 
minding them, and bad luck to the peace or ease 
you get, and then try and plaze them, and see 
what thanks you have. I vas going to tell you 
all about it" 

"And why don't you?" interrupted site, half 
fearing lest she might have pulled the cord over- 
tight already— "why don't you tell it, Lanty, 
dear?" 

These last words settled the matter. Like the 
feather that broke the camel's back, these few 
and slight syllables were all that was wanting to 
overcome the horse-dealer's resistance. 

"Well, here it is now," said he, casting, as he 
spoke, a cautious glance around, lest any chance 
listener should overhear him. "There was in 
that pocket-book a letter, sealed with three big 
seals, that Father Luke gave me yesterday morn- 
ing, and said tg me, 'Lanty Lawkr, I'm poing 
over to Ballyvourney, and after that I'm going 
on to Cork, and it's mighty likely I'll go as far 
as Dublin, for the bishop may be there, and if 
he is, I must follow him;' and 'here's a letter,' 
says he, that you must give the O'Donoghue 
with your own hands' — them was the words — ■ 
' with your own hands, Lanty, and now swear 
you'll not leave it to any one else, but do as I 
tell you;' and, faix, I took my oath of it, and see, 



230 



THE O'DONOGH UE, 



now, it's lost; may I never, but I don't know 
liow I'll ever face him again; and sure God knows 
w.hat was in it." 

"And there was three seals on it," said Mary, 
musingly, as if such extraordinary measures of 
secrecy could bode nothing good. 

" Each of them as big as a half-crown — and 
it was thick inside too; musha, 'twas the evil 
day I ever set eyes on it!" And with this allu- 
sion to the lost money, which, by the adroitness 
of superstition, he coupled with the bad luck the 
letter had brought him, Lanty took his farewell 
of Mary, and, with a heavy heart, set out on his 
journey. 



CHAPTER XI. 

MISTAKES ON ALL SIDES. 

The occurrence so briefly mentioned by 
Flahault, of the night attack on the Lodge, was 
not so easily treated by the residents; and so 
many different versions of the affair were in cir- 
culation, tliat Miss Travers, the only one whose 
information could have thrown any light upon it, 
Avas confused by the many marvels she heard, 
and totally unable to recall to mind what had 
really taken place. Sir Marmaduke himself ex- 
amined the servants, and compared their testi- 
mony; but fear and exaggeration conspired to 
make the evidence valueless, some asserting that 
there were at least a hundred assailants surround- 
ing the house at one time, others, that they wore 
a kind of uniform, and had their faces blackened; 
some again had seen parties prowling about the 
premises daring the day, and could positively 
swear to one man, " a tall fellow in a ragged blue 
coat, and without shoes or stockings" — no un- 
common phenomena in those parts. But the 
butler negatived all these assertions, and stoutly 
maintained that there had been neither attack nor 
.assailants; that the whole affair was a device of 
Terry's, to display his zeal and bravery; and, in 
short, that he iiad set fire to the rick in the hag- 
gard, aijd " got up" the affray for his own 
benefit, i' 

In proportion as any fact occurred to throw 
discredit on the testimony of each, he who prof- 
ferred it became a thousand times more firm and 
resolute in his assertion — circumstances dubious 
a moment before, were then suddenly remembered 
and sworn to, with numerous little aids to corrob- 
oration newly recalled to mind. To one point, 
however, all the evidence more or less con- 
verged, and that was, to accuse Terry of being 
the cause, or at least an accomplice in the trans- 
action. Poor fellow! his own devotedness had 
made enemies for him everywhere; the alacrity 
with which he mounted the burning stack was an 
offence not soon to be forgotten by those who 
neither risked life nor limb, nor were the taunts 
he lavished on their sluggish backwardness to be 
forgiven now. Unhappily, too, Terry was not a 
favorite among the servants: he had never learnt 
hnw much deference is due from the ragged man 
trj the pampered menial of a rich household; 
he had not been trained to that subserviency of 



demeanor which should mark the intercourse of 
a poor, houseless, friendless creature like liimself, 
with the tagged and lace-covered servants of 3 
wealthy master. Terry, by some S'trange blun- 
der of his nature, imagined that, in his freedom 
and independence, he was the better man of the 
two; he knew that to do nothing was the preroga- 
tive of the great; and as he fulfilled that con- 
dition to a considerable extent, he fancied he 
should enjoy its privileges also. For this reason 
he had ever regarded the whole class of servants 
as greatly his inferiors; and although he was 
ready and willing to peril his life at any moment 
for Sir Marmaduke or his daughter, the merest 
commonplace services he would refuse to the 
others without a moment's hesitation. Neither 
intimidation could awe, nor bribery bend him; 
his nature knew not what fear was in any shape, 
save one— that of being apprehended and shot 
for a deserter; and as to any prospect of buying 
his good offices, that was totally out of the 
question. 

In an Irish household Terry's character would 
have been appreciated at once. The respect which 
is never refused to any bereavement, but in partic- 
ular to that greatest of all afflictions, would have 
secured for him there both forgiveness and af- 
fection—his waywardness and caprice would 
have been a law to the least good-ttnipered ser- 
vant of the family; but Sir Marmaduke's re- 
tainers were all English, and had about as much 
knowledge of, or sympathy with, such a creature, 
as he himself possessed of London life and 
manners. 

As his contempt was not measured by any 
scale of pirudence, but coolly evinced on every 
occasion of their intercourse, they, one and all, 
detested him beyond bounds — most asserting 
that he was a thorough-paced knave, whose 
folly was a garb assumed to secure a life of idle- 
ness, and all regarding him in the light of a spy, 
ever ready to betray them to their master. 

When, therefore, one after another, the ser- 
vants persisted in either openly accusing or 
insinuating suggestions against Terry, Sir Mar- 
maduke became sorely puzzled. It was true he 
himself had witnessed his conduct the night 
before; but if their version was correct, all his 
daring, energy, and boldness were so many proofs 
against him. He was, indeed, reluctant tofliink 
so badly of the poor fellow, but how discredit 
the evidence of his entire household? His but- 
ler had been in his service for years — and, oh! 
what a claim for all the exercise of evil influ- 
ence, for the petty tyranny of the low-minded 
and the base-born, tracking its way through 
eaves-dropping, and insinuatjng its venom in 
moments of unguarded freedom! His footman, 

too But why go on? His daughter alone 

rejected the notion with indignation; but, in her 
eager vindication of the poor fellow's honor, 
her excitement militated against success — for 
age thus ever pronounces upon youth, and too 
readily confounds a high-spirited denunciation 
of wrong with a mistaken, ill-directed enthusi- 
asm. He listened, it is true, to all she said of 
Terry's devotedness and courage — of his artless, 
simple nature — of his single-minded, gentle 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



231 



character; but, by a fatal tendency, too frequent 
as we advance in years, the scales of doubt ever 
lean against, and not to the side favorable to, 
human nature, and, as he shook his head mourn- 
fully, he said — 

" I wish I did not suspect him." 

" Send for him, at least," said his daughter, 
as with an effort she restrained the emotion that 
agitated her; "speak to him yourself." 

"To what end, my cliild, if he really is inno- 
cent?" 

"Oh! yes; indeed — indeed, he is," she ex- 
claimed, as the tears at length fell fast upon her 
cheek. 

" Well, then, be it so," said Sir Marmaduke, 
as he rang the bell, and ordered Terry to be 
sent for. 

While Miss Travers sat with lier head buried 
in her hands, her father paced slowly up and 
down the room, and so absorlied was he in his 
thoui;lits, that he had not noticed Terry, who 
meanwhile entered the room, and now stood 
respectfully beside the door. When the old 
man's eyes did fall on him, he started back 
with horror and astonishment. Tlie poor fel- 
low's clothes were actually reduced to a mass 
of burned raa;s, one sleeve was comjiletely gone, 
and there could be seen his bare arm, scorched 
and blackened by the fire, a bandage of coarse 
linen wrapping the hand and fingers; a deep cut 
marked his brow, and his hair was still matted 
and clotted with the blood, while his face was of 
the color of death itself. 

"Can you doubt him, now, father?" whispered 
the young girl, as she gazed on the poor fellow, 
whose wandering eyes roamed over tlie orna- 
ments of the chamber, in total unconsciousness 
of himself and his sufferings. 

" Well, Terry," said Sir Marmaduke, after a 
pause, "what account do you give of last night's 
business?" 

"That's a picture of Keira-an-eigh," said 
Terry, as he fixed his large eyes, open to their 
widest extent, on a framed drawing on the wall. 
"There's the Eagle's Cliff, and that's Murrow 
Waterfall; and there's the lake — ay, and see if 
there isn't a boat on it. Well, well, but it's 
beautiful^one could walk up the shepherd's 
path, there, where the goat is^ay, there's a fel- 
low going up — musha! that's me — I'm going 
over to Cubber-na-creena, by the short cut." 

" Tell me all you know of what ha]>pened last 
night, Terry," repeated Sir Marmaduke. 

" It was a great fire, devil a doubt of it," said 
Terry, eagerly; "the blaze from the big stack 
was twice as high as the roof; but when I put 
the wet sail of the boat on it, it all went into 
black smoke; it nearly choked me." 

" How did it catch fire first, Terry? Can you 
tell us that?" 

"They put a piece of tinder in it. I gave 
them an ould rag, and they rubbed it over with 
powder, and set it burning." 

" Who were they that did this?" 

" The fellows that threw me down. What fine 
pistols they had, with silver all over them! They 
said that they would not beat me at all, and they 
didn't either. When I gave them the rag, they 



said, 'Now, my lad, we'll show you a fine fire!' 
and, true for them, I never seen a grander." 

In this vague, rambling strain did 'Jerry reply 
to everv question put to him, his thoughts ever 
travelling in one narrow circle. W ho they were 
that fired the haggard, how many, and what kind 
of apiiearance they were, he knew nothing of 
whatever; for, in addition to his natural imbe- 
cility of mind, the shock of ll.e adventure, and 
the fever of his wounds and bruises, had utterly 
routed the small remnant of understanding 
which usually served to guide him. 

To one question only did his manner evince 
hesitation and doubt in the answer, and that was 
when Sir Marmaduke asked him how it happened 
that he should have been up at the lodge at so 
late an hour, since the doors were all locked and 
barred a considerable time previous. 

Terry's face flushed scarlet at the question, 
and he made no reply; he stole a sharp, quick 
glance towards Miss Travers, benealii his eyelids, 
but as rapidly withdrew it again, when his color 
grew deeper and deeper. 

The old man marked the embarrassment, and 
all his suspicions were revived at once. 

"You must tell me this, 1'erry," said he, in a 
voice of some impatience; "I insist upon know- 
ing it." 

" Yes, Terry, speak it out freely; you can have 
no cause for concealment," said Sybella, encour- 
agingly. 

" I'll not tell it," said he, after a pause of some 
seconds, during which he seemed to have been 
agitating within himself all the reasons on either 
side — " I'll not tell it." 

"Come, sir," said Sir Marmaduke, angrily, 
"I must and will know this; your hesitation has 
a cause, and it shall be known." 

The boy started at the tones so unusual to his 
ears, and stared at the speaker in mute astonish- 
ment. 

" I am not displeased with you, Terry; at 
least I shall not be, if you speak freely and 
openly to me. Now, then, answer my question; 
what brought you about the lodge at so late an 
hour?" 

" I'll not tell," said the youth, resolutely. 

"For shame, Terry," said Sybella, in a low, 
soothing voice, as she drew near him; "how can 
you speak thus to my father? Y'ou would not 
have 7)11' displeased with you?" 

The boy's face grew pale as death, and his 
lips quivered with agitation, while his eyes, 
glazed with heavy tears, vi'ere turned downwards; 
still he never spoke a word. 

"Well, what think you of him now?" said Sir 
Marmaduke, in a whisper to his daughter. 

"That he is innocent — perfectly innocent," re- 
plied she, triumphantly. "The poor fellow has 
his own reasons — shallow enough, doubtless — for 
his silence; but they have no spot or stain of 
guilt about them. Let me try if I cannot un- 
tathora this business; I'll go down to the boat- 
house." 

The generous girl delayed not a moment, but 
hastened from the room as she spoke, leaving 
Sir Marmaduke and Terry silently confronting 
each other. The moment of his daughter's de- 



232 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



parture, Sir Marmaduke felt relieved from the 
interference her good opinion of Terry suggested, 
and, at once altering his whole demeanor, he 
walked close up to him, and said, — 

" I shall but give you one chance more, sir. 
Answer my question now, or never." 

"Never, then!" rejoined Terry, in a tone of 
open defiance. 

The words, and the looks by which they were 
accompanied, overcame the old man's temper in 
a moment, and he said, — 

" I thought as much. I guessed how deeply 
gratitude had sunk in such a heart. Away! Let 
me see you no more!" 

The boy turned his eyes from the speaker till 
they fell upon his own seared and luriied limb, 
and the hand swathed in its rude bandage. That 
inute appeal -vas all lie made, and then burst 
into a flood of tears. The old man turned away 
to hide his own emotions, and when he looked 
round, Terry was gone. The hall door lay open. 
He had passed out and gained the lawn — no 
sught of him could be seen. 

"I know it, father, I know it all now!" said 
Sybella, as she came running up the slope from 
the lake. 

"It is too late, my child; he has gone — left 
us forever, I fear," said Sir Marmaduke, as in 
shame and sorrow he rested his head upon her 
shoulder. 

For some seconds she could not comprehend 
his words; and, when at last she did so, she 
burst forth, — 

" And, oh, father, think how we have wronged 
him! It was in his care and devotion to us the 
poor fellow incurred our doubts. His habit was 
to sit beneath the window each night, so long as 
lights gleamed within. Till they were extin- 
guislied, he never sought his rest. The boat- 
man tells m; this, and says his notion was that 
God watches over the dark hours onl\, and that 
man's precautions were needed up to that time " 

With sincere and heartfelt sorrow Sir Marma- 
duke turned away. Servants were despatched 
on foot and horseback to recover the idiot boy, 
and persuade him to return, but bis path lay 
across a wild and mountain region, where few 
could follow; and at nightfall the messengers re- 
turned unsuccessful in their search. 

If there was real sorrow over his departure in 
the parlor, the very opposite feeling pervaded the 
kitchen. There, each in turn exulted in his share 
of what had occurred, and took pains to exagger- 
ate his claims to gratitude for having banished 
one so unpopular and unfriended. 

Alarm at the attack of the previous night, and 
sorrow for the unjust treatment of poor Terry, 
were not Sir Marmaduke's only emotions on this 
sad morning. His messenger had just returned 
from Carrignacurra with very dispiriting tidings 
of Herbert O'Donoghue. Respect for the feel- 
ings of the family under the circumstances of 
severe illness had induced him to defer his in- 
tended visit to a more suitable opportunity; but 
his anxiety for the youth's recovery was unceas- 
ing, and he awaited the return of each servant 
sent to inquire after him with the most painful 
impatience. In this frame of mind was he as 



evening drew near, and he wandered down his 
avenue to the roadside to learn some minutes 
earlier the last intelligence of the boy. It was a 
calm and peaceful hour; not a leaf moved in the 
still air, and all in the glen seemed bathed in the 
tranquil influence of the mellow sunset. The 
contrast to the terrific storm which so lately swe].t 
through the mountain pass was most striking, and 
appealed to the old man's heart, as reflecting lack 
the image of human life, so varying in its aspect, 
so changeful of good and evil. He steed ard 
meditated on the passages of his own life, whose 
tenor had, till now, been so equable, but who^e 
fortunes seemed already to participate in the 
eventful fate of a distracted country. He re- 
gretted, deeply regretted, that he had ever ccn:e 
to Ireland. He began to learn how little ] ewer 
there is to guide the helm of human fortune ■when 
once engaged in the stormy curitnt, and he saw 
himself already the sport of a destiny he hrd 
never anticipated. 

If he was puzzled at the. aspect of a peasrntry, 
highly gifted with intelligtrce, yet baibarcusly 
ignorant — active ar.d energetic, yet indolent and 
fatalist — a few hints he had gathered of his neigh- 
bor, the O'Donoghue, aniaztd him still n.cre; 
and by no effort of his in^aginaticn could he con- 
ceive the alliance between fcmily pride and 
poverty — between the reverence for ancestry snd 
an utter indifference to the present. Hecculdnct 
understand such an ancnialy as prelensicn with- 
out wealth; and the only tati&faclcry explanaticn 
he could arrive at, to h nuelf, was, that in a wild 
and secluded tract, even so iruch superiority r :i 
this old chieftain posfesEtd attracted towards hini 
the respect of all hi n bier ard nore Icwly ihEii 
himself, and even made his rude state setni jffiu. 
ence ar.d power. If in his ad\Ences lo thy 
O'Donoghue he hrd observed all the foims of ;| 
measured respect, it was because he felt so deeply 
his debtor, for a service, that he w culd emit roth, 
ing in the repajment: his gratili;de vas sir.cera 
and heartfelt, and would rot admit any obstacln 
in the way of acknowledging it. 

Reflecting thus, he was suddenly startled by 
the scurd of wheels rcming up the glen; he lis- 
tene d, and now heard the lew trot of a horse, sn(| 
the sdmonitions of a man's voice, delivered iri 
tones of anger and impatience. The niement 
after, an old-fashioned gig, drawn by a small, 
miserable pony, appeared, firm which a man had 
dismounted to ascend the hill. 

"A fine evening, sir," said Sir Maimaduke, as 
the stranger, whose dress bespoke one of the rank 
of gentleman, drew near. 

The other stopped suddenly, and surveyed the 
baronet without speaking; then, throwing down 
the collar of his greatcoat, wl.ieh he wore high 
round his face, he made a respectful salute and 
said, — 

"A lovely evening, sir. I have the honor to 
see Sir Marmaduke Travers, I believe? May I 
introduce myself — Doctor Roach, of Killarney?" 

"Ah, indeed! Then you are probably ccme 
from Mr. O'Donoghue's house? Is tl'^e young 
gentleman better this evening?" 

Roach shook his head dubiously, but made no 
reply. 




,#r/^y^^ //^//^/;^:,y^-:^- €W^i^^^^^' '&^'^-' 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



2SJ 



" I hope, sir, you don't apprehend danger to 
his life?" asked Sir Marmaduke, with an effort 
to appear cahn as he spoke. 

"Indeed I do, then," said Roach, firmly ; "the 
mischief's done already." 

" He's not dead .''" said Sir Marmaduke, almost 
breathless in his terror. 

" Not dead, but the same as dead. Effusion 
will carry him off some time to-morrow." 

"And can you leave him in tliis state? Is 
there nothing to be done? Nothing you could 
suggest?" cried -the old man, scarcely able to re- 
press his indignant feeling at the heartless man- 
ner of the doctor. 

" There's many a thing one might try," said 
Roach, not noticing the temper of tlie question, 
"for the boy is young; but for the sake of a 
chance, how am I to stay away from my prac- 
tice and my other patients? And, indeed, slight 
. a prospect as he has of recovery, my own of a 
fee is slighter still. I think I've all the corn in 
Egypt in my pocket this minute," said he, clap-" 
ping his hand on his purse; "one of the late 
king's guineas, wherever they had it lying by till 
now." 

"I am overjoyed to have met you, sir," said 
Sir Marmaduke, hastily, and by a great exertion 
concealing the disgust this speecli suggested. " I 
wish for an opinion about my daughter's health 
' — a cold, I fancy — -but to-morrow will do better. 
Could you return to Mr. O'Donogluie's, to-night? 
I have not a bed to offer you here. 'I'his ar- 
rangement may serve both parties, as I fervently 
hope something may yet be done for the youth." 

" I'll visit Miss Travers in the morning with 
pleasure." 

" Don't leave him, sir, I entreat you, till I 
send over; it will be quite time enough when you 
hear from me. Let the youth be your first care, 
doctor; in the meanwhile accept this slight re- 
tainer, for I beg you to consider your time as 
given to me now;" and with that he pressed 
several guineas into the willing palm of the 
doctor. 

As Roach surveyed the shining gold, his quick 
cunning divined the old baronet's intentions, 
and with a readiness long habit had perfected, 
he said, — 

" The case of danger before all others, any 
day. I'll turn about at once, and see what can 
be done for the lad." 

Sir Marmaduke leaned towards him, and said 
some words hastily in a low whispering voice. 

" Never fear — never fear. Sir Marmaduke," 
was the reply, as he mounted to the seat of his 
vehicle, and turned the pony's head once more 
down the glen. 

"Lose no time, I beseech you," cried the old 
man, waving his hand in token of adieu; nor was 
the direction unheeded, for, using his whip with 
redoubled energy, the doctor sped along the road 
at a canter, which threatened annihilation to the 
frail vehicle at every bound of the animal. 

"Five hundred!" muttered Sir Marmaduke to 
himself, as he looked after him. "I'd give half 
my fortune to .see him safe through it." 

Meanwhile Roach proceeded on his way, specu- 
lating on all the gain this fortunate meeting would 



bring to him, and then meditating what reasons 
he should allege to the O'Donoghue for his speedy 
return. 

"I'll tell him a lucky thought struck me in 
tiie glen," muttered he; "or what if I said I 
forgot something! — a pocket-book, or case of 
instruments — anything will do;" and, with this 
comfortable reflection, he urged his beast on- 
ward. 

The night was falling as he once more ascended 
the steep and narrow causeway which led to the 
old keep; and here, now, Kerry O'Leary was 
closing the heavy but time-worn gate, and fast- 
ening it with many a bolt and bar, as though 
aught within could merit so much precaution. 
The sound of wheels seemed suddenly to have 
caught the huntsman's ear, for he hastily shut 
down the massive hasp that secured the bar of 
the gate, and as quickly opened a little latched 
window, which, barred with iron, resembled the 
grated aperture of a convent door. 

"You're late this time, anyhow," said Kerry. 
" Tramp back again, friend, the way you came; 
and be thankful it's myself seen you, for, by the 
blessed Father, if it was Master Mark was here, 
you'd carry away more lead in your skirts than 
you'd like." 

" VVIiat, Kerry? — what's that you're saying'" 
said the astonished doctor; "don't you know 
me, man?" 

"Kerry's my name, sure enough; but, artful 
as you are, you'll just keep the other side of the 
door. Be off now in God's name. 'Tis a fair 
warning I give you; and, faix if you won't listen 
to rayson, you might hear worse;" and, as he 
spoke, that ominous sound, the click of a gun- 
lock, was heard, and the muzzle of a carbine 
peeped between the iron bars. 

"Tear and ounds! ye scoundrel! you're not 
going to fire a bullet at me?" 

'"Tis slugs they are," was the reply, as Kerry 
adjusted the piece, and seemed to take as good 
an aim as the darkness permitted — "divil a more 
nor slugs, as you'll know soon. I'll count three, 
now, and may I never wear boots if I don't blaze 
if you're not gone before it's over. Here's one!" 
shouted he, in a louder key. 

" The saints protect me, but I'll be mur- 
dered," muttered old Roach, blessing himself, 
but unable from terror to speak aloud or stir 
from the spot. 

"Here's two!" cried Kerry, still louder. 

"I'm going! — I'm going! give me time to leave 
this blasted place; bad luck to the day and hour 
I ever saw it." 

" It's too late!" shouted Kerry; " here's three!" 
and, as he spoke, bang went the piece, and a 
shower of slugs and duck-shot came peppering 
over the head and counter of the old pony; for, 
in his fright. Roach had fallen on his knees to 
pray. The wretched quadruped, thus rudely 
saluted, gave a plunge and a kick, and then 
wheeled about with an alacrity long forgotten, 
and scampered down the causeway with the old 
gig at his heels, rattling as if it were coming in 
pieces. Kerry broke into a roar of laughter, 
and screamed out — 

" I'll give you another yet, begorra! That's 



234 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



only a true copy; but you'll get the original now, 
you ould varmint!" 

A heavy groan from the wretched doctor, as 
he sank in a faint, was the only response; for in 
his fear he thought the contents of the piece 
were in his body. 

" Musha, I hope he isn't dead," said Kerry, as 
he opened the wicket cautiously, and peeped out 
with a lantern. " Mister Cassidy — Mr. James, 
get up now — it's only joking I was. Holy Joseph! 
is he kilt?" And overcome by a sudden dread 
of having committed murder, Kerry stepped out 
and approached the motionless figure before him. 
"By all that's good, I've done for the sheriff,' 
said he, as he stood over the body. "Oh! wirra, 
wirra! who'd think a few grains of shot would 
kill him?" 

'' What's the matter here? who fired that shot?" 
said a deep voice, as Mark O'Donoghue appeared 
at Kerry's side, and snatching the lantern held 
it down till the light fell upon the pale features 
of tiie doctor 

"I'm murdered! I'm murdered!" was the 
faint exclamation of old Roach. " Hear me, 
these are my dying words, Kerry O'Leary mur- 
dered me." 

" Where are you wounded? where's the ball?" 
cried Mark, tearing open the coat and waistcoat 
in eager anxiety. 

" I don't know, I don't know; it's inside bleed- 
ing I feel." 

"Nonsense, man, you have neither bruise 
nor scar about you; you're frightened, that's 
all. Come, Kerry, give a hand, and we'll help 
him in." 

But Kerry had fled; the idea of the gallows 
had just shot across his mind, and he never 
waited for any further disclosures about his vic- 
tim; but deep in the recesses of a hayloft he lay 
cowering in terror, and endeavoring to pray. 
Meanwhile Mark had taken the half-lifeless body 
on his shoulder, and with the ease and indiffer- 
ence he would have bestowed upon an inanimate 
burden, coolly carried him into the parlor, and 
threw him upon a sofa. 



CHAPTER XII. 

THE GLEN AT MIDNIGHT. 

"What have you got there, Mark?" called out 
the O'Donoghue, as the young man threw the 
still insensible figure of the doctor upon the 
sofa. 

"Old Roach, of Killarney," answered MaTrk, 
sullenly "That confounded fool, Kerry, must 
have been listening at the door, there, to what 
we were saying, and took him for Cassidy, the 
sub-sheriff, he fired a charge of slugs at him — 
that's certain; but I don't tliink tliere's much 
mischief done." As he spoke, he filled a goblet 
with wine, and without anv waste of ceremony, 
poured it down the doctors tliroat. "You're 
nothing tlie worse, man," added he, roughly; 
"you've given many a more dangerous dose 



yourself, I'll be bound, and people have survived 
it, too." 

" I'm better now," said Roach, in a faint voice 
— "I feel something better. But, may I never 
leave this spot if I don't prosecute that scoun- 
drel O'Leary. It was all malice — I can swear to 
that." 

" Not a bit of it. Roach. Mark says the fel- 
low mistook you for Cassidy," 

"No, no — don't tell me that; he knew me 
well; but I foresaw it all. He filled my pony 
with water I might as well be rolling a barrel 
before me, as try to drive him this morning. 
The rascal had a spite against me for giving him 
nothing, but he shall hang for it.'' 

"Come, come. Roach, don't be angry; it's all 
past and over now; the fellow did it for the 
best." 

" Did it for the best! Fired a loaded blunder- 
buss into a fellow-creature for the best." , 

"To be sure he did," broke in Mark, with an 
imperious look and tone. " There's no harm done, 
and you need not make such a work about it." 

" Where's the pony and the gig, then?" called 
out Roach, suddenly remembering the last sight 
he had of them. 

" I heard the old beast clattering down the 
glen as if he had fifty kettles at his tail. I'liey'll 
stop him at last; and if they shouldn't, I don't sup- 
pose it matters much. The whole yoke wasn't 
worth a five-pound note — no, even giving the 
owner into the bargain," muttered he, as he 
turned away. 

The indignity of this speech acted like a 
charm upon Roach. As if galvanized by the in- 
sult, he sat bolt upright on the sofa, and thrust 
his hands down to the deepest recesses of his 
breeches-pockets, his invariable signal for close 
action. 

" What, sir, do you tell me that my conven- 
iency, with the pony, harness, and all " 

" Have patience. Roach," interposed the old 
man; "Mark was but jesting. Come over and 
join us here.' 

At the same instant the door was flung sud- 
denly wide, and Sir Archy rushed in, with a 
speed very unlike his ordinary gait. 

" There's a change for the better!" cried he, 
joyfully; "the boy has made a rally, and if we 
could overtake that d — d auld beastie, Roach, 
and bring him back again, we miglit save the 
lad." 

" The d — d auld beastie," exclaimed Roach, as 
he sprang from the sofa, and stood before him, 
" is very much honored by your flattering men- 
tion of him.'' Then, turning towards the OT)on- 
ogliue, he added, "Take your turn out of me 
now, when you have me; for, by the Father of 
Physic, you'll never see Denis Roach under this 
roof again.'" 

The O'Donoghue laughed till his face streamed 
with the emotion, and lie rocked in his chair like 
one in a convulsion. "Look, .-\rchy." cried he 
— "see now' — hear me Roach!" were the only 
words he could utter between the paroxysms, 
while M'Nah, the very picture of shame and con- 
fusion, stood overwhelmed with his blunder, and 
unable to say a word. 



THE ODONOGHUE. 



235 



" Let us not stand fooling liere," said Mark, 
gruffly^ as he took the doctors arm. "Come 
ond see my brother, and try what can be done 
for him." 

With an under-growl of menace and rage, old 
Roach suffered himself to be led away by the 
young man, Sir Archy following slowly, as they 
mounted the stairs. 

Although alone, the O'Donoghue continued to 
laugh over the scene he had just witnessed; nor 
did he know which to enjoy more — the stifled 
rage of the doctor, or the mingled shame and 
distress of M'Nab. It was, indeed, a rare thing 
to obtain such an occasion for triumph over Sir 
Archy, whose studied observance of all the cour- 
tesies and proprieties of life formed so strong a 
contrast with his own careless and indifferent 
habits. 

"Archy will never get over it — that's certain; 
and, begad, he shan't do so for want of a re- 
minder. The d — d auld beastiel" and with the 
words came back his laughter, which had not 
ceased as M.uk re-entered the room. " Well, 
lad," he cried, "have they made it up? What 
has Sir Archy done with him?" 

"Herbert's better," said the youth, in a low, 
ileep voice, and with a look that sternly rebuked 
Ihe heartless forgetfulness of his father 

"Ah, better is he? Well, that is good news, 
Mark; and Roach thinks he may recover?" 

"He has a chance now, a few hours will de- 
cide it. Roach will sit up with him till four 
o'clock, and then I shall take the remainder of 
the night, for my uncle seems quite worn out 
with watching." 

" No, Mark, my boy, you must not lose your 
night's rest; you've had a long and tiresome ride 
to-day." 

"I'm not tired, and I'll do it," replied he, in 
the determined tone of his self-willed habit — one 
which his father had nevet sought to control, 
from infancy upwards. There was a long pause 
after this, which Mark broke, at length by 
saying, " So it is pretty clear now that our game 
is up — the mortgage is foreclosed. Hemsworth 
has noticed the Ballyvourney tenants not to pay 
us the rents, and the ejectment goes on." 

" What of Callaghan?" asked the O'Donoghue, 
in a sinking voice. 

" Refused— flatly refused to renew the bills. 
If we give him five hundred down," said the 
youth, with a bitter laugh, "he says he'd strain a 
point." 

"You told him how we were circumstanced, 
Mark? Did you mention about Kate's money?" 

"No," said Mark, sternly, as his brows met in 
a savage frown—" no, sir, I never said a word of 
it. She shall not be made a beggar of for our 
faults. I told you before, and I tell you now, 
I'll not suffer it." 

" But hear me, Ma;-k. It is only a question 
of time. I'll repay " 

" Repay!" was the scornful echo of the young 
man, as he turned a withering glance at his 
father. 

" Then there's nothing but ruin before us," 
said the O'Donoghue, in a solemn tone — 
" nothing!" 



The old man's head fell forward on his bosom, 
and, as his hands dropped listlessly down at 
either side, he sat the very impersonation of 
o\erwlielming affliction, while Mark, with heavy 
step and slow, walked up and down the roomy 
chamber. 

"Hemsworth's clerk hinted something about 
this old banker's intention of building here,' re- 
sumed he, after a long interval of silence. 

" Building where? — over at the lodge?" 

" No, here, at Carrignacurra; throwing down 
this old place, I suppose, and erecting a modern 
villa instead.' 

"What!" exclaimed the O'Donoghue, with a 
look of fiery indignation, " are they going to grub 
us out, root and branch? Is it not enough to 
banish the old lords of the soil, but they must 
remove their very landmarks also?" 

"It is for that he's come here, I've no doubt,' 
resumed Mark; "he only waited to have the 
whole estate in his possession, which this term 
will give him." 

" I wish he had waited a little longer, a year 
or at most two, would have been enough," said 
the old man, in a voice of great dejection, then 
added, with a sickly smile, " you have little affec- 
tion for the old walls, Mark." 

The youth made no reply, and he went on 
'' Nor is it to be wondered at. You never knew 
them in their happy days! but I did, Mark — ay, 
that I did. I mind the time well when your 
grandfather was the head of this great county — 
when the proudest and the best in the land stood 
uncovered when he addressed them, and deemed 
the highest honor they could receive an invita- 
tion to this house. In the very room where we 
are sitting, I've seen thirty guests assembled, 
whose names comprised the rank and station of 
the province, and yet, all — every man of them 
— regarded him as their chief, and he was so, too 
— the descendant of one who was a king." 

The animated features of the young man, as he 
listened, encouraged the O'Donoghue, and he 
went on- ' Thirty-seven thousandacresdescended 
to my grandfather, and even that was but a moiety 
of our former possesions." 

" Enough of this," interrupted Mark, rudely 
" It is but an unprofitable theme. The game is 
up, father," added he, in a deep, stern voice, 
"and I, for one, have little fancy to wait for the 
winner to claim the stakes. Could I but see you 
safely out of the scrape, I'd be many a mile away 
ere a week was over." 

"You would not leave me, boy!" cried the old 
man, as he grasped the youth's hands in his, and 
gazed on him with streaming eyes — "you would 
not desert your poor old father. Oh, no — no, 
Mark! this would not be like you. A little 
patience, my child, and death will save you that 
cruelly '' 

The young man's chest heaved and fell like a 
swelling wave, but he never spoke, nor changed a 
muscle of his rigid features. 

" I have borne all misfortunes well till now," 
continued the father. "I cared little on my own 
account, Mark; my only sorrow was for you; but 
so long as we were together, boy — so long as hand 
in hand we stood against the storm, I felt that my 



236 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



courage never failed me. Stay by me, then, Mark 
— tell me that whatever comes you'll never leave 
me. Let it not be said, that when age and afflic- 
tion fell upon the O'Donoghue, his son — the boy 
of his heart — deserted him. You shall command 
in everything," said he, with an impassioned tone, 
as hi fi.xed his eyes upon the youth's countenance, 
" I ask for nothing but to be near you. The 
house — the property — all shall be yours." 

" What house — what property — do you speak 
of?" said Mark, rudely. "Are we not beggars?" 
The old man's head dropped heavily, he relin- 
quished the grasp of his son's hand, and his out- 
stretched arm fell powerkss to his side. "I 
was forgetting," murmured he, in a broken voice, 
" it is as you say— you are right, Mark — you must 
go." 

Few and simple as the words were, the utterance 
sank deep into the young man's heart; they 
seemed the last effort of courage wrung from 
despair, and breathed a pathos he was unable to 
resist. 

"I'll not leave you," said he, in a voice scarce 
louder than a whisper, "there's my hand upon 
it," and he wrung in his strong grasp the unre- 
sisting fingers of the old man. I'hat's a promise, 
father, and now let us speak no more about it." 
"I'll get to my bed, Mark," said the O'Don- 
oghue, as he pressed his hands upon his throb- 
bing temples. It was many a day since anything 
like emotion had moved him, and the conflict of 
passion had worn and exhausted him. "Good- 
night, my boy — my own boy;" and he fell upon 
the youth's shoulder, half choked with sobs. 

As the O'Donoghue slowly ascended the stairs 
towards his bedroom, Mark threw himself up m 
a chair and buried his face in his hands. His 
sorrow was a deep one. The resolve he had 
just abandoned had been for many a day the 
cherished dream of his heart — his comfort under 
every affliction — his support against every diffi- 
culty. To seek his fortune in some foreign 
service — to win an honorable name, even though 
in a strange land, was the whole ambition of his 
life, and so engrossed was he in his own calcula- 
tions, that he never deigned a thought of what 
jiis father might feel about it. The poverty that 
eats its way to the heart of families seldom fails 
to loosen the ties of domestic affection. The 
daily struggle, the hourly conflict with necessity, 
too often destroy the delicate and trustful sense 
of protection that youth should feel towards age. 
The energies that should have expanded into 
homely affection and mutual regard, are spent in 
warding off a common enemy, and with weary 
minds and seared hearts the gentler charities of 
life have few sympathies. Thus was it here. 
Mark mistook his selfishness for a feeling of 
independence; he thought indifference to others 
meant confidence in himself — and he was not the 
first who made the mistake. 

Tired with thinking, and harassed with diffi- 
culties, thr )ugh which he could see no means of 
escape, he tiirew open the window, to suffer the 
cool night air lo blow upon his throbbing temples, 
and sat down beside the casement to enjoy its 
refreshing influence. The candles had burned 
down in the apartment, and the lire, now reduced 



to a mere mass of red embers, scarce threw a 
gleam beyond the broad hearth- stone. The old 
tower itself flung a dark shadow upon the rock, 
and across the road beneath it, and, except in 
the chamber of the sick boy, in a distant part of 
the building, not a light was to be seen. 

The night was calm and starlit: a stillness 
almost painful reigned around. It seemed as if 
exhausted nature, tired with the work of storm 
and hurricane, had sunk into a deep and wearied 
sleep. Thousands of bright stars speckled the 
dark sky; yet the light they shed upon the earth 
but dimly distinguished mountain and valley, 
save where the calm surface of the lake gave back 
their lustre in a heaven placid and motionless as 
their own. Now and then a briglit meteor would 
shoot across the blue vault, and disappear in the 
darkness, while in tranquil splendor the planets 
shone on, as though to say, the higher destmy is 
rather to display an eternal brightness than the 
brilliancy of momentary splendor, however glit- 
tering its wide career. 

The young man gazed upon the sky. The 
lessons which, from human lips, he had rejected 
with scorn and impatience, now sank deeply into 
his nature from those silent monitors. The stars 
looked down, like eyes, into his very soul, and 
lie felt as if he could unburden his whole heart 
of its weary load, and make a confidence with 
heaven. 

"7'//^y point ever downwards," said he to him- 
self, as he watched the bright streak of the fall- 
ing stars, and moralized on their likeness to man's 
destiny. But, as he spoke, a red line shot up 
into the sky, and broke into ten thousand glitter- 
ing spangles, shedding over glen and mountain 
a faint but beauteous gleam, scarce more lasting 
than the meteor's flash. It was a rocket sent up 
from the border of the bay, and was quickly 
answered by another from the remote end of the 
glen. The youth started, and leaning out from 
the window, looked down the valley, but noth- 
ing was to be seen or heard — all was silent as 
before, and already the flash of the signals, for 
such tliey must have been, he could not doubt, 
had faded away, and the sky shone in its own 
spangled beauty. 

"They are smugglers!" muttered Mark, as he 
sank back in his chair, for in that wild district 
such signals were employed without much fear 
by those who either could trust the revenue as 
accomplices, or dare them by superior numbers. 
More than once it had occurred to him to join 
this lawless band, and many a pressing invitation 
had he received from the leaders to do so; but 
still the youth's ambition, save in his darkest 
hours, took a higher and nobler range. The 
danger of the career was its only fascination to 
him. Now, however, all these thoughts were 
changed. He had given a solemn pledge to his 
father never to leave him; and it was with a feel- 
ing of half apathy he sat pondering over what 
cutter it might be that had anchored, or whose 
party were then preparing to load their cargo. 

"Ambrose Denner, belike," muttered he to 
himself, '"the Flemish fellow from the Scheldt— 
a greedy old scoundrel, too — he refused a passage 
to a poor wretch that broke the gaol in Limerick, 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



237 



because he could not pay for it I wish the 
people here may remember it to hini Maybe 
its Hans ' der Teufel, though, as they call him, 
or Flahault — -he's the best of them, if there be a 
difference. I've half a mind to go down the 
glen and see," and while he hesitated, a low, 
monotonous sound of feet, as if marching, struck 
on his ear; and as he listened, he heard the dis- 
tant tramp of men, moving in what seemed a 
great number. These could not be the smug- 
glers, he well knew; reckless and fearless as they 
were, they never came in such large bodies as 
these noises portended. 

There is something solemn in the sound of 
marching heard in th^ stillness of the night, and 
so Mark felt it, as with cautious breathing he 
leaned upon the window and bent his ear to 
listen. Nearer and nearer they came, till at last 
the footfalls beat loudly on the dull ground, as 
in measured tread they stepped At first, a dark 
movmg mass, that seemed to fill the narrow road, 
was all he could discern, but as this came closer, 
he could perceive that they marched in compa- 
nies or divisions, each headed by its leader, who, 
from time to tim;, stepped from his place, and 
observed their order and precision. They were 
all country people; their dress, as well as he 
could discern, tlie common costume of every 
day, undistinguished by any military emblem. 
Nor did they carry arms, the captains alone wore 
a kind of white scarf over the shoulder, which 
could be distinctly seen even by the imperfect 
light. They alone carried swords, with which 
they checked the movements from time to time. 
Not a word was uttered m the dense ranks — not 
a murmur broke the stillness of the solemn scene, 
as that host poured on, the one command, " Right 
shoulders forward — wheel'" being given at inter- 
vals, as the parties defiled beneath the rock, at 
which place the road made an abrupt turning. 

So strange the spectacle, so differeni from all 
he had ever witnessed or heard of, the youth 
more than once half doubted lest a wearied and 
fevered brain had not called up the illusion; but 
as he continued to gaze on the moving multitude, 
he was assured of its reality, and now was he 
hirrassed by conjectures what it all sliould mean 
For nearly an hour— to him it seemed many such 
— the human tide flowed on, till at length the 
sounds grew fainter, and the last party moved 
by followed, at a little distance, by two figures 
on horseback. Their long cloaks concealed the 
wearers completely from his view, but he could 
distinctly mark the steel scabbards of swords, and 
hear their heavy clank against the horses' 
flanks. 

Suffering their party to proceed, the horsemen 
halted for a few seconds at the foot of the rock, 
and as they reined in, one called out to the 
other, in a voice every syllable of which fell dis- 
tinctlv on Mark's ears, — 

" That's the place, Godfrey; and even by this 
light you can judge of its strength." 

" But whv is he not with us?" said the other, 
hastily. " Has he not an inheritance to win 
back — a confiscation to wipe out?" 

"True enough," said the first speaker; "but 
eighty winters do not improve a man's nerve for 



a hazardous exploit. He has a son, though, and, 
as I liear, a bold fellow. 

"Look to him, Harvey, it is of moment that 
we should have one so near the bay. See to this 
quickly If he be like what you say, and desires 

a command " The rest was lost in the sound 

of their retreating hoofs, for already the party 
resumed their journey, and were in a few minutes 
hidden from his view. 

With many a conflicting doubt, and many a 
conjecture, each wilder than the other, Mark 
pondered over what he had seen, nor noted the 
time as it slipped past, till the grey tint of the 
day-dawn warned him of the hour The rum- 
bling sounds of a country carf ]ust then attracted 
his attention, and he beheld a countryman, with 
a little load of turf, on hia way to the market at 
Killarney. Seeing that the man must have met 
the procession, he called aloud,- — 

'I say my good man, where were ihey all 
marching to-night, those fellows? 

What fellows, your honor?" said the man, as 
he touched his hat obsequiously 

" That great crowd of people — you could not 
help meeting them — there was no other road they 
could take." 

" Sorraman, woman or child I seen your honor, 
since I left home, and that's eight miles from 
this, And so saying he followed his journey, 
leaving Mark in greater bewilderment than before. 



CHAPTER XIII, 
"the guardsman." 

Leaving for a brief season Glenflesk and its 
inhabitants, we shall ask of our readers to 
accompany us to London, to a scene scmewhat 
different from that of our last chapter 

In a handsomely furnished drawing-room in 
St. James's street, where the appliances of ease 
and luxury were blended with the evidence of 
those tastes so popular among young men of 
fashion of the period, sat, or rather lay, in a deep 
cushion ed arm-chair, a young officer, who, even 
in the dishabille of the morning, and with the 
evident traces of fatigue and dissipation on his 
brow, was strikingly handsome Though not 
more than three or four-and-twenty the habits 
of his life, and the assured features of his char- 
acter, made him appear several years older. In 
figure he vk-as tall and well-proportioned, while his 
countenance bore those lineaments which are 
pre-eminently distinguished as Saxon — massive 
but well-chiselled features, the harmony of whose 
expression is even more striking than their indi- 
vidual excellence; a look of frank daring, which 
many were prone to attribute to superciliousness, 
was the most marked trait in his face, nor vas 
the impression lessened by a certain hauteur 
which military men of the time assumed, and 
which he in particular somewhat prided himself 
on. 

The gifts of fortune and the graces of person 
wil-1 often seem to invest their possessor with at- 
tributes of insolence and overbearing, which are, 



238 



THE O'DONOGH UE. 



in reality, nothing more tiian the unbridled buoy- 
ancy of youth and power revelling in its own ex- 
ercise. 

■ We have no fancy to practise mystery with 
our reader, and shall at once introduce him to 
Frederick Travers, Sir Mannaduke's only son, 
and captain in the First Regiment of Guards. 
Wealth and good looks were about as popular 
fifty years ago as they are in the year we write in, 
and Frederick Travers was as universal a fav- 
orite in the circles he frequented as any man of 
his day. Courtly manners, spirits nothing could 
depress, a courage nothing could daunt, expen- 
sive tastes, gratlfijd as rapidly as they were con- 
ceived, were all accessories which won their way 
among his acquaintances, and made them proud of 
his intimacy and boastTul.of his friendship. That 
circumstances like these should have rendered a 
young man self-willed and imperious, is not to be 
wondered at, and such was he in reality — less, 
however, from the unlimited license of his posi- 
tion, than from an hereditary feature which dis- 
tinguished every member of his family, and made 
them as intolerant of restraint as they were way- 
ward in purpose. The motto of their house was 
the index of their character, and in every act and 
thought they seemed under the influence of their 
emblazoned inscription, "A tortet a iravers." 

Over his father, Frederick Travers exercised 
an unlimited influence; from his boyhood upward 
he had never met a contradiction, and the natural 
goodness of his temper, and tlie affectionate turn 
of his disposition, made the old man believe in 
the excellence of a system whose success lay less 
in its principle than in the virtue of him on whom 
it was practised. 

Sir Marniaduke felt proud of his son's career 
in the world, and enjoyed to the utmost all the 
flattery which the young man's acceptance in so- 
ciety conferred; he was proud of him, almost as 
much as he was fond of him, and a letter 
from Frederick had always the effect of re- 
storing his spirits, no matter how deep their de- 
pression the moment before. 

The youth returned his father's affection with 
his whole heart; he knew and valued all the high 
and generous principles of his nature; he estimated 
with an honest pride those gifts which had won 
Sir Marmaduke the esteem and respect of his fel- 
low-citizens; but yet he thought he could trace 
certain weaknesses of character from which his 
own more enlarged sphere of life had freed 
liim. 

Fashionable asso ;iates, the society of men of wit 
and pleasure, seem often to suggest more acute 
and subtle views of life than are to be obtained 
in less exalted and distinguished company; the 
smart sayings and witty epigrams which are cur- 
rent among clever men appear to be so many 
texts in the wisdom of the world. Nothing is 
more common than this mistake; nothing more 
frequent than to find that intercourse with such 
people diffuses few, if any, of their distinguish- 
ing merits among their less gifted associates, who 
rarely learn anything from the intercourse but a 
hearty contempt for all who are debarred from it. 
Frederick was of this school; the set he moved 
in was iiis religion — their phrases, their preju- 



dices, their passions, he regarded as standards 
for all imitation. It is not surprising, then, if 
he conceived many of his father's notions obsolete 
and antiquated, and had they not been his, he 
would have treated them as ridiculous. 

This somewhat tedious explanation of a char- 
acter with whom we have not any very lengthened 
business hereafter, demands some apology from 
us; still, without it, we should be unable to ex- 
plain to our reader the reason of those events to 
whose narrative we are hastening. 

On the table, among the materials of a yet un- 
tasted breakfast, lay an open letter, which from 
time to time, the young man read, and as often 
threw from him, with expressions of impatience 
and anger. A night of more than ordinary dis- 
sipation had made him irritable, and the contents 
of the epistle did not seem of a character to calm 
him. 

" I knew it," said he at last, as he crushed the 
letter in his hand. "I knew it well, my poor 
father is unfit to cope with those savages, what 
could ever have persuaded him to venture among 
them I know not; the few hundreds a year the 
whole estate produces are not worth as many 
weeks' annoyance. Hemswortb knows them 
well, he is the only man fit to deal with them 
Heigho!" said he, with a sigh, "theie's nothing 
for it, I suppose, but to bring them back again 
as soon as may be; and this confounded accident 
Hemsworth has met with in the Highlands ivill 
lay him on his back these five wetks' — I must 
e'en go myself. Yet nothing was ever more ill- 
timed: the Queen's fete at Frogmore, fixed for 
Wednesday; there's the tennis match on Friday, 
and Saturday, the first day of the stag hounds 
It is too bad. Hemsworth is greatly to blame; 
he should have been candid about these people, 
and not have made his Pandemonium an Arcadia 
My father is also to blame, he might have asked 
my advice about this trip; and S\bella, too, why 
didn't she write? She above all should have 
warned me about the folly.'' And thus did he 
accuse in turn all the parties concerned in a 
calamity, which, after all, he saw chiefly reflected 
in the inconxenience it caused himself. 

Now, assuredly, Hemsworth requires some 
vindication at our hands. It had never entered 
into that worthy man's most imaginative concep- 
tions, to believe a visit from Sir Maimaduke to 
his Irish property within the reach of possibility; 
for although, as we have already said, he was in 
the constant habit of entreating Sir Marmaduke 
to bestow this mark of condescension on his 
Irish tenants, he ever contrived to accompany 
the recommendation with certain casual hints 
about the habits and customs of the natives, as 
might well be supjjosed sufficient to deter a more 
adventurous traveller than the old baronet; and 
while he pressed him to come and see for him- 
self, he at the same time plied him with news- 
papers and journals whose columns were crammed 
with the fertile theme of outrage; the editorial 
comments on which often indicated a barbarism 
even deeper than the offence they affected to de- 
plore. 'The accident which ultimately led to Sir 
Marmaduke's hurried journey was a casualty 
which Hemsworth had overlooked, and when he 



THE O'DONOGHUE, 



239 



heard that the family were actually domesticated 
at the lodge, his regrets were indeed great. It 
was only on the day before the intelligence 
reached him — for the letter had followed him 
from place to place for a fortnight — that he had 
the misfortune to break his leg by a fall from a 
cliff in deer-shooting. Whatever the urgency 
of the measure, lie was totally incapable of 
undertaking a journey to Ireland, whither, under 
other circumstances, he would have hastened 
with all speed. Hemsworth's correspondent, of 
whom we shall have occasion to speak more 
hereafter, was the sub-agent of the estate — a 
creature of his own, in every sense, and far 
more in his interest than in that of his principal. 
He told him, in forcible terms, how Sir Marma- 
duke had commenced his work of Irish reforma- 
tion; that, already, both the baronet and his 
daughter had undertaken the task of improve- 
ment among the tenantry; that rents were to be 
lowered, school-houses erected; medical aid pro- 
vided for the sick and suffering, more comfort- 
able dwellings built, more liberal wages allowed, 
he narrated how rapidly the people, at first sus- 
picious and distrustful, were learning to feel 
confidence in their benefactor, and an.xious to 
avail themselves of his benevolence; but more 
than all, he dwelt upon the conviction, which 
every hour gained ground among them, that 
Hemsworth had misrepresented the landlord, 
and that, so far from being himself the instru- 
ment of, he had been the obstacle to, their wel- 
fare and happiness. The letter concluded with 
a pressing entreaty for his speedy return to the 
lodge, as, should he be longer absent, the mis- 
cliief would become past remedy. 

Never did agent receive an espistle more 
alarming; he saw the game, for which he had 
been playing half a lifetime, slip from him at the 
very moment of winning. For above twenty 
years his heart was set on becoming the owner 
of the estate; all his plans, his plots, his machina- 
tions, had no other end or object. From the 
deepest stroke of his policy, to the most trivial 
act of his power, he had held this in view. By 
his artful management a veil was drawn between 
the landlord and the ]5eople which no acuteness 
on either side could penetrate. The very acts in- 
tended as benefits by the owner of tlie soil passed 
through such a medium that they diverged from 
their destined direction, and fell less as blessings 
than inflictions. The landlord was taught to re- 
gard tlie tenant as incurably sunk in barbarism, 
ignorance, and superstition. The tenant to sup- 
pose the landlord a cruel, unfeeling taskmaster, 
with no care but for his rent; neither sympathy 
for their sufferings, nor sorrow for their calami- 
ties. Hemsworth played his game like a master, 
for while obtaining the smallest amount of 
rental for his chief, heexacted the most onerous 
and impoverishing terms from the people. Thus 
diminishing the apparent value of the property, 
he hoped one day to be able to purchase, and at 
the same time preparing it for becoming a lucra- 
tive and valuable possession; for although the 
rents were nominally low, the amount of fees, 
and " duty-labor" were enormous. There was 
scarcely a man upon the property whose rent 



was paid to the day and hour; and for the favor 
of some bYief delay, certain services were exacted 
which virtually reduced the tenants to a vassalage 
the most miserable and degrading. 

If, then, the eye ranged over a district of pov- 
erty-struck and starving peasantry, with wretched 
hovels, naked children, and rude, unprofitable 
tillage, let the glance but turn to the farm around 
the lodge, and there the trim fences, the well- 
weeded corn, and the nicely-cultivated fields, 
were an evidence of ^^hat well-directed labor 
could effect, and the astounding lesson seemed 
to say. "Here is an object for imitation. Look 
at yonder wheat, see that clover, and themeadow 
beyond it. They could all do likewise. Their 
land is the same, the climate the same, the rent 
the same; but yet ignorance and obstinacy are 
incurable. They will not be taught- — prefer their 
own barbarous ways to newer and better meth- 
ods — in fact, are beyond the lessons of either 
precept or example." 

Yet what was the real cause? To till that 
model-farm, to make these fields the perfection 
you see them, families were starving, age left lo 
totter to the grave uncared for, manhood pining 
in want and misery, and infancy to dav^n upon 
suffering to last a life long. Duty-labor calls the 
poor man from the humble care of his own farm 
to come, with his whole house, and toil upon the 
rich man's fields, the requital for which is seme 
poor grace of a week's or a month's foibearance 
ere he be called on for that rent these exactions 
are preventing him from earning. Duty-labor 
summons him from his own profitless ground to 
behold the fruits his exertions are raising for an- 
other's enjoyment, and of which he must never 
taste. Duty-labor culls the days of fair sky and 
sunshine, and lea\es him the glee my hours of 
winter, when, with darkness without and despair 
within, he may brood, as he digs, over the dis- 
proportion ed fortunes of his tyrant and himself 
Duty-labor is tbe type of a slavery that hardens 
the heart, by extinguishing all hope, and uproot- 
ing every feeling of self-confidence and reliance, 
till, in abject and degraded misery, the wretched 
man grows reckless of his life, while his vengeance 
yearns for that of h's taskmaster. 

Nor does the system end 1 ere. The agent must 
be conciliated by presents of various kinds, the 
humble pittance wrung from misery and hoarded 
up by industry must be cffered to him, as the 
means of obtaining some poor and petty favor — 
most frequently one the rightful due of the 
asker. A tyranny like this spreads its baneful 
influence far beyond the r.fiflictions of mere pov 
erty — it breaks down the spirit, it demoralizes 
the heart of a people; for where was blackmail 
ever extorted that it did not engender cruelty 
on the one hand and abject slavery on the 
other? 

So far from regarding those placed above them 
in rank and station as their natural friends and 
protectors, the peasantry felt the great man as 
their oppressor. They knew him not as their 
comforter in sickness, their help in time of 
trouble — they only saw in him the rigid exactor 
of his rent, the merciless taskmaster who cared 
not for tiiTie or season, save those that brought 



240 



THE O'DONOGH UE. 



round the period of repayment; and as year by 
year poverty and misery ate deeper into tlieir na- 
tures, and hope died out, fearful thoughts of ret- 
jibution flashed upon minds on which no pros- 
pect of better days shone; and, in the gloomy 
desolation of their dark hours, they wished and 
prayed for any change, come in what shape, and 
surrounded by what danger it might, if only this 
bondage should cease. 

Men spoke of their light-heartedness, their 
gayety of temper, their flashing and brilliant wit. 
How little they knew that such qualities, by some 
strange incongruity of our natures, are the ac- 
companiments of deeply-reflective and imagina- 
tive minds, overshadowed by lowering fortune. 
The glittering fancy that seems to illumine the 
path of life is often but the wildfire that dances 
over the bleak and desolate heath. 

Their apathy and indifference to exertion was 
made a matter of reproach to them; yet was it 
ever known that toil should be voluntary, when 
hopeless, and that labor should be endured with- 
out a prospect of requital.'' 

We have been led almost unconsciously into 
this somewhat lengthened digression, for which, 
even did it not bear upon the circumstances of 
our story, we would not seek to apologiEe to our 
reader. Such we believe to have been, in great 
part, the wrongs of Ireland — the fertile source of 
those thousand evils under which the land was 
suffering. From this one theme have arisen most, 
if not all, the calamities of the country. Happy 
were it if we could say that such e.xisted no longer 
' — that such a state of things was a matter for 
historical inquiry, or an old man's memory — and 
that, in our own day, these instances were not to 
be found among us. 

When Hemsworth perceived that the project 
of his life was in peril, he bethought him of every 
means by which the danger could be averted. 
Deep and well-founded as was his confidence in 
the cleverness of his deputy, his station was an 
insurmountable barrier to his utility at the pres- 
ent conjuncture. Sam Wylie, for so this worthy 
was called, was admirable as a spy, but never 
could be employed as minister plenipotentiary: 
it needed one, now, who should jjossess more in- 
fluence over Sir Marmadukc himself. For this pur- 
pose, Frederick Travers alone seemed the fitting 
person; to him, therefore, Hemsworth wrote a let- 
ter marked "strictly confidential," detailing with 
painstaking accuracy, the inevitable misfortunes 
Sir Marmaduke's visit would entail upon a people 
whose demands no benevolence could satisfy, 
whose expectations no concessions could content. 

He narrated the fearful instances of their ven- 
geance, whenever disappointment had checked 
the strong current of their hopes; and told, with 
all the semblance of truth, of scenes of bloodshed 
and murder, no cause for which could be traced 
save in the dark susjiicions t-f a people long ac- 
customed to regard the Saxon as their tyrant. 

The night attack upon the lodge furnished also 
its theme of terror; and so artfully did he blend his 
fact and fiction, his true statement and his false in- 
ference, that the young man read the epistle with 
an anxious and beating heart, and longed for the 
hour when he should recall those he held dearest 



from such a land of anarchy and misfortune. 

Not satisfied with the immediate object in view, 
Hemsworth ingeniously contrived to instil into 
Frederick's mind misgivings as to the value of an 
estate thus circumstanced, representing, not with- 
out some truth on his side, that the only chance 
of bettering the condition of a peasantry so sunk 
and degraded was by an actual residence in the 
midst of them — a penalty which, to the youth, 
seemed too dear for any requital whatever. 

On a separate slip of paper, marked "to be 
burned when read," Frederick deciphered the 
following linesr — 

" Above all things, I would caution you regard- 
ing a family who, though merely of the rank of 
farmer, affect a gentility which had its origin 
some dozen centuries back, and has had ample 
opportunity to leak out in the meantime; these 
are the ' O'Donoghues,' a dangerous set, haughty, 
ill-conditioned, and scheming. They will en- 
deavor, if they can, to obtain influence with your 
father, and 1 cannot too strongly represent the 
hazard of such an event. Do not, I entreat you, 
suffer his compassion, or mistaken benevolence, 
to be exercised in their behalf. Were they merely 
unworthy, I should say nothing on the subject; 
but they are highly and eminently dangerous in 
a land where their claims are regarded as only in 
abeyance — deferred, but not obliterated, by con- 
fiscation. " E. H." 

It would in nowise forward the views of our 
story were we to detail to our readers the affect- 
ing scenes which preluded Frederick's departure 
from London, the explanations he was called on 
to repeat, as he went from house to house, for a 
journey at once so sudden and extraordinary; 
for even so late as fifty years ago a visit to Ireland 
was a matter of more moment, and accompanied 
by more solemn preparation, than many now be- 
stow on an overland journey to India. The Lady 
Marys and Bettys of the fashionable world re- 
garded him pretty much as the drmsels of old 
did some doughty knight when setting forth on 
his way to Palestine. That filial affection could 
exact such an instance of devotion called up their 
astonishment even more than their admiration; 
and many were the cautions, many the friendly 
counsels, given to the youth for his preservation 
in a land so rife w ith danger. 

Frederick was a soldier, and a brave one; but 
still he was not entirely divested of those appre- 
hensions which the ignorance of the day propa- 
gated, and although only accompanied by a single 
servant, they were both armed to the teeth, and 
prepared to do valiant battle, if need be, against 
the Irish "rogues and rapparees." 

Here, then, for the present, we shall leave him, 
having made his last "adieux" to his friends, 
and set out on his journey to Ireland. 



CHAPTER XIV. 

THE COMMENTS ON A HURRIED DEPARTURE. 

Brief as has beeti the interval of our absence 




u>a€/ie^ ^<m^i'r?n/e/i^/y/: 



THE O'DONOGHU E, 



241 



from Glenflesk, time's changes have been there. 
Herbert O'Donogluie had experienced a fortun- 
ate change in his malady, and on tiie day fol- 
lowing Roach's eventful reiurn became actually 
out of danger. The symptoms of his disease, 
so suddenly subdued, seemed to reflect immortal 
honor on the doctor, who certainly did not 
scruple to attribute to his skill what, with more 
truth, was owing to native vigor and youth. Sir 
Archy alone was ungrateful enough to deny the 
claim of physic, and slightly hinted to Roach 
that he had at least benefited his patient by ex- 
ample, if not by precejJt, since he had slept the 
entire night through without awaking. The re- 
mark was a declarition of war at once; nor was 
Roach slow to accept the gage of battle — in fact, 
both parties were wearied of the truce, and anx- 
ious for the fray. Sir Archibald had only waited 
till the moment Roach's services in the sick room 
could be safely dispensed with to reopen his fire; 
while Roach, harassed by so unexpected a 
peace, felt like a beleaguered fortress during the 
operation of the miners, and knew not when 
and how the dreaded explosion was to occur. 
Now, however, the signal-gun was fired — hesita- 
tion was at an end; and, of a verity, the cham- 
pions sliowed no disinclination for the field. 

" Ye'll be hungry this morning, doctor," said 
Sir Archy, " and I have ordered breakfast a bit 
early. A pick o' ham at twelve o'clock, and a 
quart of sherry, aye gives a man a relish for 
breakfast." 

" Begad, so it might, or for supper, too," re- 
sponded Roach, " when the ham was a shank- 
bone, and the sherry-bottle like a four-ounce 
mixture." 

" Ye slept surprisingly after your slight refec- 
tion. I heerd ye snoring like a grampus." 

" 'Twasn't the nightmare from indigestion, any- 
how," said Roach, with a grin. " I'll give you a 
clean bill of health from that malady here." 

"It's weel for us that we ken a cure for it — 
more than ye can say for the case you've just 
left." 

" I saved the boy's life," said Roach indignantly. 

" Assuredly ye did na kill him, and folks canna 
a'ways say as muckle for ye. We maun thank 
the Lord for a' his mercies; and he vouchsafed 
you a vara sound sleep." 

How this controversy was to be carried on 
farther it is not easy to say, but at this moment 
the door of the brealcfast-room opened cautiously, 
and a wild, rough head peeped stealthily in, 
which gradually was followed by the neck and 
in succession the rest of the figure of Kerry 
O'Leary, who, droppirg down on both knees be- 
fore the doctor, cried out in a most lamentable ac- 
cent, — 

"Oh! docther, darlint — docther, dear — forgive 
me — for the love of Joseph, forgive me!" 

Roach's temper was not in its blandest mo- 
ment, and his face grew purple with passion as 
he beheld the author of his misfortunes at his 
feet. 

"Get out of my sight, you scoundrel; I never 
want to set eyes on you ti'.l I see you in the dock 
— ay, with handcuffs on you." 

" Oh, murther, murther, is it take the law of 



me for a charge of swan-drops? Oh, docther, 
acushla, don't say you'll do it." 

"I'll have your life, as sure as my name's 
Roach." 

" Tryhimwi'a draught," interposed M'Nab. 

" Begorra, I'm willin'," cried Kerry, grasping 

at the mediation. " I'll take anything, barrin' 

the black grease he gave the masther — that would 

kill the divil." 

This exceptive compliment to his skill was not 
so acceptable to the doctor, whose passion boiled 
over at the new indignity. 

" I'll spend fifty guineas but I'll hang you — 
there's my word on it." 

"Oh, wirra! wirra!" cried Kerry, whose ap- 
prehensions of how much law might be had 
for the money made him tremble all over, 
" that's what I get for tramping the roads all 
night after tlie pony." 

" Where's the pony — where's the gig?" called 
out Roach, suddenly reminded by material in- 
terests that he had more at stake than mere ven- 
geance. 

" The beast is snug in the stable — that's w here 
he is, eating a peck of oats — last year's corn — 
divil a less." 
" And the gig?" 

" Oh, the gig is it? Musha, we have the gig, 

too," responded Kerry, but with a reluctance 

that could not escape the shrewd questioner. 

"Where is it, then?" said Roach, impatiently. 

" Where would it be, but in the yard? We're 

going to wash it." 

The doctor did not wait for the conclusion of 
this reply, but hastening from the room, passed 
down the few stairs that ltd towards the old 
court-yard, followed by Sir Archy and Kerry, 
the one eager to witness the termination of the 
scene, the other muttering in a very different 
spirit, " Oh, but it's now we'll have the divil to 
pay!" 

As soon as Roach arrived at the court-yard, 
he turned his eyes on every side to seek his con- 
veyance; but although there were old harrows, 
broken ploughs, and disabled wheelbarrows in 
numbers, nothing was there that bore any re- 
semblance to what he sought. 

"Where is it?" said he, turning to Kerry, with 
a look of exasperation that defied all attem])t to 
assuage by mere "blarney" — "where is it?" 

" Here it is, then," said O'Leary, with the 
tone of one whose courage was nerved by utter 
despair, while, at the same time, he drew forth 
two wheels and an axle, the sole surviving numbers 
of the late vehicle. As he displayed the wreck 
before them, the ludicrous — always too strong 
for an Irish peasant, no matter how much it may 
be associated with his own personal danger — over- 
came his more discreet instincts, and he bioke 
forth into a broad grin, while he cried, " ' There's 
"the inside of her now!' as Darby CosFoon said, 
when he tuk his watch in pieces, ' and, begorra, 
we'll see how she's made, any way.'" 

This true history must not recount the expres- 
sions in which Roach permitted himself to in- 
dulge. It is enough to say that his passion took the 
most violent form of invective against the house, 
the glen, the family, and their retainers, to an 



242 



THE ODONOGHUE. 



extreme generation, while lie stamped and ges- 
ticulated like one insane. 

" Ye'll liae sma' space for yer luggage in yon," 
said M'Nab, with one of his dryest laughs, while 
he turned back and re-entered the house. 

"Where's my pony? where's my pony?" 
shouted out the doctor, determined to face all 
his calamities at once. 

" Oh, faix, he's nothing the worse," said Kerry, 
as he unlocked the door of the stable, and 
pointed with all the pride of veracity to a beast 
in the stall before him. " There he is, jumping 
like a kid out of his skin wid fun this morning." 

Now, although the first part of Kerry's simile 
was assuredly incorrect, as no kid of which we 
have any record, ever bore the least resemblance 
to the animal in question, as to the fact of being 
'"out of his skin" there could not be a second 
opinion, the beast being almost entirely flayed 
from his shoulders to his haunches, his eyes be- 
ing represented by two globular masses about 
the size of billiard-balls, and his tail bearing 
some affinity loan overgrown bamboo, as it hung 
down, jointed and knotted, but totally destitute 
of hair. 

" The thief of the world," said Kerry, as he 
patted him playfully, "he stripped a trifle of 
hair off him with kicking, but a little gunpow- 
der and butter will bring it on again in a day or 
two." 

■' Liar that thou art, Kerry — it would take a 
cask of one and a firkin of the other to make up 
the necessary ointment'" 

There are some evils which no anticipation can 
paint equal to their severity, and these, in com- 
pensation, perhaps, are borne for the most part 
without the same violent exuberance of sorrow 
lesser misfortunes elicit. So it was — Roach 
spoke not a word, one menace of his clenched 
hand towards Kerry was the only token he gave 
of his malice, and he left the stable. 

"I've a note here for Doctor Roach," said 
the servant, in Sir Marmaduke's liverv, to Kerry, 
as he proceeded to close and lock the stable- 
door. 

" I'm tlie person," said the doctor, taking the 
billet and breaking the seal. " Have you the 
carriage here now?" asked he, when he had fin- 
ished reading 

" V'es, sir, it's on the road. Sir Marmaduke 
desired me not to drive up, for fear of disturb- 
ing the sick gentleman." 

" I'm ready, then," said the doctor, and never 
casting a look backward, nor vouchsafing another 
word, he passed out of the gate, and descended 
towards the high road. 

"I'll take good care of the baste till I see vou, 
sir'" shouted Kerry after him, and then, as' the 
distance widened, he added, "and may I never 
see your ould yallow wig agin, I pray this day. 
Divil take me, but I hope you've some of tlie 
slugs in ye, after all." And with these pious 
wishes, expressed fervently, Kerry returned to 
the house, his heart considerably lightened bv 
the doctor's departure. 

Scarcely was he seated beside the kitchen 
fire — the asylum he reffarded as his own — when, 
all fears for his misconduct and its consequences 



past, he began speculating in a very Irish fash- 
ion on the reasons of the doctor's sudden de- 
parture. 

"He's off now to the lodge — divil- fear him — ■ 
faix, if he gets in there, they'll not get him out 
so asy — they'll have a pain for every day of the 
week before he leaves them. Well, well, thanks 
be to God, he's out of this." 

" Is he gone, Kerry?" said Mrs. Branaghan. 
" Did he leave a 'cure' for Master Herbert be- 
fore he went?" 

J'Sorra bit," cried Kerry, as if a sudden 
thought struck him, " that's what he didn't!" 
And, without hesitating another moment, he 
sprang from his chair, and mounted the stairs 
towards the parlor, where now tlie O'Donoghue, 
Mark, and Sir Archy, were assembled at break- 
fast. 

'' He's away, sir, he's off again," said Kerry, 
as though the nature of his tidings did not de- 
mand any more ceremonious preliminary. 

" Who's away? who's gont?" cried they all in 
a breath. 

"The doctor, sir — Doctor Roach. There was 
a chap in a sky-blue livery came up with a bit of 
a letter for him to go down there, and when he 
read it, he just turned about, this way" — here 
Kerry performed a not over graceful pirouette — 
"and without saying 'by yer leave,' he walks 
down the road and gets into the coach. 'Won't 
you see Master Herbert before \ou go, sir?' says 
I; 'sure you're not leaving him that way?' but 
bad luck to one word he'd say, but went away 
wid a grin on him. ' 

"What!" cried Mark, as his face crimsoned 
with passion. "Is this true? — are you sure of 
what you're saying?" 

" I'll take the book an it," said Kerry, sol- 
emnly. 

" Well, Archy," said the O'Donoghue, address- 
ing his brother-in-law. " You are a good judge 
of these matters. Is this conduct on the part of 
our neighbors suitable or becoming? \\'as it ex- 
actly right and proper to send here for one 
whose services we had taken the trouble to 
seek, and might much have needed besides? 
Should we not have been consulted, think you?" 

"There's not a poor farmer in the glen would 
not resent it!" cried Mark, passionately. 

" Bide a wee, bide a wee,'' said Sir Archy, 
cautiously; "we hae na heard a' the tale yet. 
Roach may perhaps explain. ' 

" He had better not come here to do se," in- 
terrupted Mark, as he strode the room in pas- 
sion, "he has a taste for hasty departures, and, 
by G — , I'll help him to one; for out of that 
window he goes, as sure as my name is Mark." 

" 'Tis the way to serve him, divil a doubt," 
chimed in Kerry, who was not sorry to think 
how agreeably he might thus be relieved from 
any legal difficulties. 

" I am no seeking to excuse the man," said 
Archy, temperately. "It's weel kenned we hae 
na muckle love for ane anither; but fair play is 
bonnie play." 

"I never heard a mean action yet, but there 
was a Scotch adage to warrant it," muttered 
Mark, in a whisper inaudible by the rest. 



THE O'DONOGHUE, 



243 



"It's no improbable but that Sir Marmaduke 
Travers did ask if the doctor could be spared, 
and it's no impossible, either, that Roach took 
the answering the question in his ain hands." 

" I don't think so," broke in Mark; "the whole 
thing bears a different aspect. It smacks of 
English courtesy to an Irish kern." 

"By Jove, Mark is right," said the O'Don- 
oghue, whose prejudices, strengthened by pov- 
erty, too readily chimed in with any suspicion of 
intended insult. 

"They were not long learning the game," said 
Mark, bitterly; "they are, if I remember aright, 
Ncarce two months in the country, and, see, they 
treat us as 'mere Irish,' already." 

" Ye'r ower hasty, Mark. I hae na muckle re- 
spect for Roach, nor wad I vouch for his good 
breeding; but a gentleman, and this Sir Marma- 
duke's note bespeaks him " 

"What note? I never heard of it." 

"Oh! it was a polite kind of message, Mark, 
to say he would be obliged if I permitted him to 
pay his respects here. I forgot to tell you of it." 

" Does the enemy desire to peep at the for- 
tress, that he may calculate how long we can 
hold out?" said the youth, sternly. 

" Begorra, with the boys from Ballyvourney 
and Inchigeela, we'll hould the place agin the 
English army," said Kerry, mistaking the figura- 
tive meaning of the speech; and he rubbed his 
hands with delight at the bare prospect of such 
a consummation. 

Sir Archy turned an angry look towards 
him, and motioned with his hand for him to 
leave the room. Kerry closed the door after 
him, and for some minutes the silence was un- 
broken. 

" What does it matter, after all ?" said the 
O'Donoghue, with a. sigh. " It is a mere folly to 
care for these things, now. When the garment 
is worn and threadbare, one need scarce fret 
that the lace is a little tarnished." 

"True, sir, quite true; but you are not bound 
to forget or forgive him who would strip it rudely 
off, even a day or an hour before its time." 

"There is na muckle good in drawing infer- 
ences from imaginary evils. Shadows are a' bad 
enough; but they needna hae children and 
grandchildren; and so I'll even take a cup of tea 
to the callant." And thus, wise in practice and 
precept. Sir Archibald left the room, while 
O'Donoghue and Mark, already wearied of the' 
theme, ceased to discuss it farther. 



CHAPTER XV. 

SOME OF THE PLEASURES OF PROPERTY. 

In a small, but most comfortable apartment of 
the lodge, which, in virtue of its book-shelves 
and smartly-bound volumes, was termed " the 
Study," sat Sir Marmaduke Travers. Before him 
was a table covered with writing materials, books, 
pamphlets, prints, and drawings; his great arm- 
chair was the very ideal of lounging luxury, and 



in the soft carpet his slippered feet were almost 
hidden. Through the window at his right hand 
an alley in the beech wood opened a view of 
mountain scenery it would have been difficult to 
equal in any country of Europe. In a word, it 
was a very charming little chamber, and might 
have excited the covetousncss of those whose 
minds must minister to their maintenance, and 
who rarely pursue their toilsome task save debarred 
from every sound and sight that might foster 
imagination. How almost invariably is this the 
case! Who has not seen, a hundred times over, 
some perfect little room, every detail of whose 
economy seemed devised to sweeten the labor of 
the mind, teeming with its many appliances for 
enjoyment, yet encouraging thought more certainly 
than ministering to luxury — with its cabinet 
pictures, its carvings, its antique armor, sugges- 
tive in turn of some passage in history or some 
page in fiction; — who has not seen these devoted 
to the half-hour lounge over a newspaper, or the 
tiresome examination of house expenditure with 
the steward, while he, whose meiUal flights were 
soaring midway 'twixt earth and heaven, looked 
out from some gloomy and cobwebbed pane upon 
a forest of chimneys, surrounded by all the evils of 
poverty, and tortured by the daily conflict with 
necessity. 

Here sat Sir Marmaduke, a great volume like 
a ledger open before him, in vi'hich, from time to 
time, he employed himself in making short 
memoranda. Directly in front of him stood, in 
an attitude of respectful attention, a man of about 
five-and-forty years of age, who, althoue,h dressed 
in an humble garb, had yet a look of Ljniething 
above the common; his features were homely, 
but intelligent, and though a quick, sharp glance 
shot from his grey eye when he spoke, yet in his 
soft, smooth voice the words came forth with a 
measured calm, that served to indicate a patient 
and gentle disposition. His frame betokened 
strength, while his face was pale and colorless, and 
without the other indications of active health in 
his gait and walk, would have implied a delicacy 
of constitution. This was Sam Wylie, the sub- 
agent — one whose history may be told in a few 
words: — His father had been a butler in the 
O'Donoghue house, where he died, leaving his 
son, a mere child, as a legacy to his master. The 
boy, however, did not turn out well; delinquencies 
of various kinds — theft among the number — were 
discovered against him; and after many, but 
ineffectual, efforts to reclaim him, he was turned 
off, and advised, as he wished to escape worse, 
to leave the country. He took the counsel, and 
did so; not for many a year after was he seen or 
heard of. A report ran that he passed fourteen 
years in transportation; but however that might 
be, when he next appeared in Kerry, it was in the 
train of a civil engineer, come to make surveys 
of the county. His cleverness and skill in this 
occupation recommended him to the notice of 
Hemsworth, who soon after appointed him as 
bailiff, and subsequently sub-agent on the estate; 
and in this capacity he had now served about 
fifteen years, to the perfect satisfaction, and with 
the full confidence of his chief. Of his "antece- 
dents" Sir Marmaduke knew nothing; he was only 



244 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



aware of the implicit trust Hemsworth had in him, 
and his own brief experience perfectly concurred 
in the justice of the opinion. He certainly found 
him intelligent, and thoroughly well informed on 
all connected with the property When ques- 
tioned, his answers were prompt, direct, and to 
the purpose; and to one of Sir Marmaduke's 
business habits this quality possessed merit of the 
highest order. If he had a fault with him, it was 
one he could readily pardon — a leniency towards 
the people — a desire to palliate their errors and 
extenuate their failings — and always to promise 
well for the future, even when the present looked 
least auspicious. His hearty concurrence with 
all the old baronet's plans for improvement were 
also highly in his favor; and already Wylie was 
looked on as " a very acute fellow, and with 
really wonderful shrewdness for his station;" as 
if any of that acuteness or that shrewdness, so 
estimated, could have its growth in a more pro- 
lific soil than in the heart and mind of one bred 
and reared among the people, who knew their 
habits, their tone of thinking, their manners, and 
their motives — not through any false medium of 
speculation and theory, but practically, innately, 
instinctively — who had not studied the peasantry 
like an algebraic formula, or a problem in Euclid, 
but read them as they sat beside their turf fires, 
in the smoke of their mud hovels, cowering from 
the cold of winter, and gathering around the 
scanty meal of potatoes— the only tribute they 
had not rendered to the landlord. 

" Roger Sweeney," said Sir Marmaduke — 
" Roger Sweeney complains of his distance from 
the bog; he cannot draw his turf so easily as 
when he lived on that swamp below the lake; 
but I think the change ought to recompense him 
for the inconvenience." 

"He's a Ballyvourney man, your honor," said 
Sam, placidly, "and if you couldn't bring the 
turf up to his door, and cut it for him, and 
stack it, and carry a creel of it inside, to make 
the fire, he'd not be content." 

" Oh, that's it, is it.'" said Sir Marmaduke, ac- 
cepting an explanation he was far from thorough- 
ly understanding. " Then there's Jack Heffer- 
nan — what does this fellow mean by saying that 
a Berkshire pig is no good ?" 

" He only means, your honor, that he's too 
good for the place, and wants better food than 
the rest of the family." 

■' The man's a fool, and must learn better. 
Lord Mudford told me that he never saw such 
an excellent breed, and his swineherd is one of 
the most experienced fellows in England. Widow 
Mul — Mul — what?" said he, endeavoring to spell 
an unusually long name in the book before him 
— " MuUa " 

" Mullahedert, your honor," slipped in Wylie, 
"a very dacent crayture.' 

" Then why won't she keep those beehives? 
Can't she see what an excellent thing honey is in the 
house? — if one of her children was sick, for in- 
stance." 

" True for you, sir," said Sam, without the 
slightest change of feature. "It is wonderful 
how your honor can have the mind to think of 
these things — upon my word, it's surprising, ' 



" Samuel M'Elroy refuses to dra.n the field — 
does he?" 

" No, sir; but he says the praties isn't worth 
digging out of dry ground, nor never does grow 
to any size. He's a Ballyvourney man, too, 
sir." 

"Oh, is he?" said Sir Marmaduke, accepting 
this as a receipt in full for any degree of eccen- 
tricity. 

"Shamus M'Gillicuddy — Heavens, what a 
name! This Shamus appears a very desperate 
fellow; he beat a man the other evening, coming 
back from the market." 

" It was only a neighbor, sir; they live fornint 
each other." 

'■ A neighbor! but bless my heart, that makes 
it worse." 

"Sure, sir, it was nothing to speak of; it was 
Darby I,enahan said your honor's bull was a 
pride to the place, and Shamus said the O'Don- 
oghue's was a finer baste any day; and from one 
word they came to another, and the end of it 
was, Lenahan got a crack on the skull that laid 
him quivering on the daisies." 

" Savage ruffian, that Shamus; I'll keep a sharp 
eye on him." 

" Faix, and there's no need — he's a Ballyvour- 
ney man." 

The old baronet looked up from his large 
volume, and seemed for a moment undecided 
whether he should ask the meaning of a phrase, 
which, occurring at every moment, appeared most 
perplexing in signification ; but the thought that by 
doing so he should confess his ignorance before 
the sub-agent, deterred him, and he resolved to 
leave the interpretation to time and his own 
ingenuity. 

" What of this old fellow, who has the mill ?— ^ 
has he consented to have the overshot wheel ?" 

" He tried it on Tuesday, sir," said Sam, with an 
almost imperceptible smile, "and the sluice gav(j 
way, and carried off the house and the end of 
the barn into the tail race. He's gone in to take 
an action again your honor for the damages." 

" Ungrateful rascal! I told him I'd be at thu 
whole expense myself, and I explained the 
great saving of water the new wheel would ensure 
him." 

"True, indeed, sir; but as the stream never 
went dry for thirty years, the ould idiot thought 
it would last his time. Begorra, he had enough 
of water on Tuesday, anyhow." 

"He's a Ballyvourney man, isn't he?" 

" He is, sir," replied Wylie, with the gravity of 
a judge. 

Another temptation crossed Sir Marmaduke's 
mind, but he withstood it, and went on, — 

" The mountain has then been divided as I 
ordered, has it?" 

" Yes, sir; the lines were all marked out before 
Saturday." 

" Well, I suppose the people were pleased to 
know that they have each their own separate- 
pasturage?" 

"Indeed, and, sir, I won't tell you a lie — 
they are not; they'd rather it was the ould way 
still." 

" What, have I taken all this trouble for noth- 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



245 



ing, then? Is it possible that they'd rather have 
their cattle straying wild about the country than 
see them grazing peaceably on their own land ?" 

"That's just it, sir, for, you see, when they 
had the mountain among them, they fed on what 
they could get; one had, maybe, a flock of goats, 
another, maybe, a sheep or two, a heifer, an ass, 
or a bullsheen." 

" A what?" 

" A little bull, your honor; and they didn't 
mind if one had more nor another, nor where 
they went, for the place was their own, but now 
that it is all marked out and divided, begorra, if 
a beast is got trespassing, out comes some one 
with a stick and wallops him back again, and 
then the man that owns him, natural enough, 
wouldn't see shame on his cow, or whatever it 
was, and that leads to a fight, and, faix, there's 
not a day now but there's blood spilt over the 
same boundaries." 

"They're actually savages!" said Sir Marma- 
duke, as he threw his spectacles over his fore- 
head, and dropped his pen from his fingers in 
mute amazement; ' I never heard — I never read 
of such a people." 

"They're Ballyvourney men," chimed in 
Wylie, assentively. 

" D d " 

Sir Marmaduke checked himself suddenly, for 
the idea flashed on him that he ought at least to 
know what he was cursing, and so he abstained 
from such a perilous course, and resumed his 
search in the big volume. Alas! his pursuit of 
information was not more successful as he pro- 
ceeded. Every moment disclosed some case 
where, in his honest efforts to improve the con- 
dition of the people, from ignorance of their 
habits, from total unconsciousness of the social 
differences of two nations essentially unlike, he 
discovered the failure of his plans, and unhesitat- 
ingly ascribed to the prejudices of the peasantry 
what with more justice might have been charged 
against his own unskilfulness. He forgot that 
a people long neglected cannot at once be won 
back — -that confidence is a plant of slow growth; 
but, more than all, he lost sight of the fact that 
to engraft the customs and wants of richer com- 
munities upon a people sunk in poverty and 
want, to introduce among them new and improved 
modes of tillage, to inculcate notions which have 
taken ages to grow up to maturity in more 
favored lands, must be attended with failure and 
disappointment. On both sides the elements of 
success were wanting. The peasantry saw — for, 
however strange it may seem, through every 
phase of want and wretchedness their intelligence 
and apprehension suffer no impairment — they 
saw his anxiety to serve them; they believed him 
to be kind-hearted and well-wishing, but they 
knew him to be also wrong-headed and ignorant 
of the country, and what he gained on the score 
of good feeling he lost on the score of good sense, 
and Paddy, however humble his lot, however 
hard his condition, has an innate reverence for 
ability, and can rarely feel attachment to the 
heart where he has not felt respect for the head. 
It is not a pleasant confession to make, yet one 
might explain it without detriment to the charac- 



ter of the people; but, assuredly, popularity in 
Ireland would seem to depend far more on intel- 
lectual resources than on moral principle and 
rectitude. Romanism has fostered this feeling, 
so natural is it to the devotee to regard power 
and goodness as inseparable, and to associate the 
holiness of religion with the sway and influence 
of the priesthood. If the tenantry regarded the 
landlord as a simple-hearted, crotchety old gen- 
tleman, with no harm in him, the landlord be- 
lieved them to be alhiost incurably sunk in bar- 
barism and superstition. Their native courtesy 
in declining to accept suggestions they never 
meant to adopt he looked on as duplicity; he 
could not understand that the matter-of-fact 
sternness of English expression has no parallel 
here, that politeness, as they understood it, has 
a claim to which truth itself may be sacrificed; 
and he was ever accepting in a literal sense what 
the people intended to be received with its ac- 
customed qualification. 

But a more detrimental result followed than 
even these. The truly well-conducted and re- 
spectable portion of the tenantry felt ashamed 
to adopt plans and notions they knew inapplicable 
and unsuited to their condition, they therefore 
stood aloof, and by their honest forbearance in- 
curred the reproach of obstinacy and barbarism; 
while the idle, the lazy, and the profligate became 
converts to any doctrine or class of opinion which 
promised an easy life and a rich man's favor. 
These, at first sight, found favor with him, as pos- 
sessing more intelligence and tractability than 
their neighbors, and for them cottages were built, 
rents abated, improved stock introduced, and a 
hundred devices organized to make them an ex- 
ample for all imitation. Unhappily, the condi- 
tions of the contract were misconceived. The 
people believed that all the landlord required was 
a patient endurance of his benevolence; they 
never reckoned on any reciprocity in duty; they 
never dreamed that a Swiss cottage cannot be 
left to the fortunes of a mud cabin; that stagnant 
pools before the door, weed-grown fields, and 
broken fences, harmonize ill with rural palings, 
drill cultivation, and trim hedges. They took 
all they could get, but assuredly they never un- 
derstood the obligation of repayment. They 
thought (not very unreasonably perhaps), " It's 
the old gentleman's hobby that we should adopt a 
number of habits and customs we were never 
used to— live in strange houses, and work with 
strange tools. Be it so; we are willing to gratify 
him," said they; " but let him pay for his whistle." 

He, on the other hand, thought they were 
greedily adopting what they only endured, and 
deemed all converts to his opinion who lived on 
his bounty. Hence, each morning presented an 
array of the most worthless, irreclaimable of the 
tenantry around his door, all eagerly seeking to 
be included in some new scheme of regeneration, 
by which they understood three meals a day and 
nothing to do. 

How to play off these two distinct and very 
opposite classes, Mr. Sam Wylie knew to perfec- 
tion, and while he made it appear that one por- 
tion of the tenantry, whose rigid rejections of 
Sir Marmaduke's doctrines proceeded from a 



246 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



Hurdy spirit of self-confidence and independence, 
Were a set of wild, irreclaimable savages, he softly 
insinuated his compliments on the success in 
other quarters, while, in his heart, he well knew 
what results were about to happen. 

" They're here now, sir," said Wylie, as he 
glanced through the window towards the lawn, 
where, with rigid punctuality, Sir Marmaduke 
each morning held his levee; and, where, indeed, 
a very strange and motley crowd appeared. 

The old baronet threw up the sash, and as he 
did so, a general murmur of blessings and 
heavenly invocations met his ears — sounds, that 
if one were to judge from his brightening eye 
and beaming countenance, he relished well. No 
longer, however, as of old, suppliant and entreat- 
ing, with tremulous voice and shrinking gaze, 
did they make their advances. These people 
were now enlisted in his army of " regenerators:" 
they were converts to the landlord's manifold 
theories of improved agriculture, neat cottages, 
pigstyes, dovecots, beehives, and Heaven knows 
what other suggestive absurdity, ease and af- 
fluence ever devised to plate over the service of 
rude and rugged misery. 

" The Lord bless your honor every morning 
you rise, 'tis the iligant little place ye gave me to 
live in. Musha, 'tis happy and comfortable 1 do 
be every night, now, barrin' that the slates does be 
falling betimes — bad luck to tliem for slates, one 
of them cut little Joe's head this morning, and I 
brought him up for a bit of a plaster. '•■ 

This was the address of a stout, middle-aged 
woman, with a man's greatcoat around her in lieu 
of a cloak. 

" Slates falling — why doesn't your husband 
fasten them on again? He said he was a handy 
fellow, and could do anything about a house." 

"It was no lie, then; Thady Morris is a good 
warrant for a job any day, and if it was thatch 
was on it " 

"Thatch — why, woman, I'll have no thatch; 
I don't want the cabins burned down, nor will 
I have them the filthy hovels they used to be." 

" Why would your honor? — sure there's rayson 
and sinse agin it," was the chorus of all present, 
while the woman resumed, — • 

" Well, he tried that same, too, your honor: 
and if he did, by my sowl, it was worse for him, 
for when he seen the slates going off every 
minit with the wind, he put the harrow on the 
top " 

" The harrow — put the harrow on the roof ?" 

"Just so — wasn't it natural? But as sure as 
the wind riz, down came the harrow, and stripped 
every dirty kippeen of a slate away with it." 

"So the roof is off?" said Sir Marmaduke, 
with stifled rage. 

" 'Tis as clean as my five fingers, the same 
rafters," said she, with unmoved gravity. 

"This is too bad — Wylie, do you hear this?" 
said the old gentleman, with a face dark with 
passion. 

" Ay,"chorussed in some half dozen friends of 
the woman — "nothing stands the wind like the 
thatch." 

Wylie whispered some words to his master, 
and by a side gesture motioned to the woman to 



take her departure. The hint was at once taken, 
and her place immediately filled by another. This 
was a short little old fellow, in yellow rags, his 
face concealed by a handkerchief, on removing 
whicli he discovered a countenance that bore no 
earthly resemblance to that of a human being; 
the eyes were entirely concealed by swollen 
masses of cheek and eyelid — the nose might 
have been eight noses — and the round, immense 
lips, and the small aperture between, looked like 
the opening in a ballot-box. 

" Who is this? — what's the matter here?" said 
Sir Marmaduke, as he stared in mingled horror 
and astonishment at the object before liim. 

" Faix, ye may well ax," said the little man, 
in a thick, guttural voice. " Sorra one of the 
neighbors knew me this morning. I'm Tim 
M'Garrey, of the cross-roads." 

" What has happened to you, then?" asked Sir 
Marmaduke, somewhat ruffled by the sturdy tone 
of the ragged fellow's address. 

" 'Tis your own doing, then — divil a less — you 
may be proud of your work." 

" My doingt— how do you dare to say so?" 

"'Tis no darin' at all — 'tis thrue as I'm here. 
Them cursed beehives you made me take home 
wid me, I put them in a corner of the house, and 
by bad luck it was the pig's corner, and, sorra 
bit, but she rooted them up and upset them, and 
with that the varmint fell upon us all, and it was 
two hours before we killed them — divil such a 
fight ever ye see: Peggy had the beetle, and I 
the griddle, for flattening them agin the wall, 
and maybe we didn't work hard, while the childer 
was roarin' and bawlin' for the bare life." 

" Gracious mercy! could this be credited? — 
could any man conceive barbarism like this?" 
cried Sir Marmaduke, as with uplifted hands he 
stood overwhelmed with amazement. 

Wylie again whispered something, and again 
telegraphed to the applicant to move off; but the 
little man stood his ground and continued, 
" 'Twas a heifer you gave Tom Lenahan, and 
it's a dhroll day the M'Garreys warn't as good 
as the Lenahans, to say we'd have nothing but 
bees, and them was to get a dacent baste!" 

"Stand aside, sir," said Sir Marniyduke: 
" Wylie has got my orders about you. A\'ho is 
this?" 

" Faix, me, sir — Andrew Maher. I'm come 
to give your honor the key — I couldn't stop 
there any longer." 

"What! not stay in that comfortable house, 
with the neat shop I had built and stocked for 
you? What does this mean." 

"Tis just that, then, your honor — the house 
is a nate little place, and barrin' the damp, and 
the little grate, that won't burn turf at .nil, one 
might do well enough in it; but the shop is the 
divil entirely." 

" How so? — what's wrong about it?" 

" Everything's wrong about it. First and 
foremost, your honor, the neighbors has no money; 
and though they might do -mighty well for want 
of tobacco, and spirits, and bohea, and candles, 
and soap, and them thrifles, as long as they never 
came near them, throth they couldn't have them 
there fornint their noses without wishing for a 



THE O'DONOGHU E. 



247 



taste; and so one conies in for a pound of 
sugar, and another wants a ba'porth ot nails, or 
a piece of naygur-head, or an ounce of starch — 
and divil a word they have, but ' Put it in the 
book, Andy.' By my conscience it's a quarc 
book would hould it all." 

" But they'll pay in time — they'll pay when they 
sell the crops." 

" Bother! I ax your Iwnor's pardon — I was 
manin' they'd see me far enough first. Sure, when 
they go to market, they'll have the rint, and the 
tithe, and the taxes; and whenthat'sdone, and they 
get a sack of seed potatoes for next year, I'd like 
to know where's the money that's to come to me?" 

" Is this true, Wylie.' — are they as poor as this.?" 
asked Sir Marmaduke. 

Wylie's answer was still a whispered one. 

"Well," said Andy, with a sigh, "there's the 
key, any way. I'd rather be tachin' the gaffers 
again than be keeping the same shop." 

These complaints were followed by others, dif- 
fering in kind and complexion, but all agreeing 
in the violence with which they were urged, and all 
inveighing against " the improvements" Sir Mar- 
maduke was so interested in carrying forward. 
To hear them,y-ou would suppose that the griev- 
ances suggested by poverty and want were more 
in unison with comfort and enjoyment than all the 
appliances wealth can bestow; and that the priv- 
ations to which habit has inured us are sources of 
greater happiness than we often feel in the use of 
unrestricted liberty. 

Far from finding any contented, Sir Marmaduke 
only saw a few among the number willing to en- 
dure his bounties, as the means of obtaining other 
concessions they desired more ardently. They 
would keep their cabins clean if anything was to 
be made by it; they'd weed their potatoes if Sir 
Marmaduke would only offer a price for the 
weeds. In fact, they were ready to engage in any 
arduous pursuit of cleanliness, decency and pro- 
priety, but it must be for a consideration. Other- 
wise, they saw no reason for encountering labor 
which brought no requital, and the real benefits 
offered to them came so often associated with 
new-fangled and absurd innovations, that both 
became involved in the same disgrace, and both 
sank into the same ridicule together. These were 
the refuse of the tenantry; for we have seen that 
the independent feeling of the better class held 
them aloof from all the schemes of " improve- 
ment" which the others, by participating in, con- 
taminated. 

Sir Marmaduke might, then, be pardoned if 
he felt some sinking of the heart at his failure; 
and although encouraged by his daughter to per- 
severe in his plan to the end, more than once he 
was on the brink of abandoning the field in dis- 
comfiture, and confessing that the game was above 
his skill. Had he taken but one-half the pains 
to learn something of the national characterthat he 
bestowed on his absurd efforts to fashion it to 
his liking, his success might have been different. 
He would, at least, have known how to distinguish 
between the really deserving and the unworthy 
recipients of his bounty — between the honest and 
independent peasant, earning his bread by the 
sweat of his brow, and the miserable dependent. 



only seeking a life of indolence, at any sacrifice 
of truth or character, and even this knowledge, 
small as it may seem, will go far in appreciating the 
difficulties which attend all the attempts at Irish 
social improvement, and explain much of the 
success or failure observable in different parts of 
the country. But Sir Marmaduke fell into the 
invariable error of his countrymen — he first suf- 
fered himself to be led captive by " blarney," 
and when heartily sick of the deceitfulness and 
trickery of those who employed it, coolly sat 
down with the conviction that there was no truth 
in the land. 



CHAPTER XVI. 



THE FOREIGN LETTER. 



The arrival of a post-letter at the O'Donoghue 
house was an occurrence of sufficient rarity to 
create some excitement in the household; and 
many a surmise, as to what new misfortune hung 
over the family, was hazarded between Mrs. 
Branaghan and Kerry O'Leary, as the latter 
poised and balanced the epistle in his hand, as 
though its weight and form might assist him in 
his divination. 

After having conned over all the different 
legal processes which he deemed might be con- 
veyed in such a shape, and conjured up in his 
imagination a whole army of sheriffs, sub-sher- 
iffs, bailiffs, and drivers, of which the ominous 
letter should prove the forerunner, he heaved a 
heavy sigh at the gloomy future his forebodings 
had created, and slowly ascended towards his 
master's bedroom. 

" How is Herbert?" said the O'Donoghue, as 
he heard the footsteps beside his bed, for he had 
been dreaming of the boy a few minutes pre- 
vious. "Who is that? Ah! Kerry. Well, how is 
he to-day?" 

" Troth there's no great change to spake of," 
said Kerry, who, not having made any inquiry 
himself, and never expecting to have been ques- 
tioned on the subject, preferred this safe line of 
reply, as he deemed it, to a confession of his ig- 
norance. 

" Did he sleep well, Kerry?" 
"Oh! for the matter of the sleep we won't 
boast of it. But here's a letter for your honor, 
come by the post." 

" Leave it on the bed, and tell me about the 
boy." 

" Faix, there's nothing particular, then, to tell 
your honor — sometimes he'd be one way, some- 
times another — and more times the same way 
again. That's the way he'd be all the night 
through." 

The O'Donoghue pondered for a second or 
two, endeavoring to frame some distinct notion 
from these scanty materials, and then said,— 

" Send Master Mark to me." At the same time 
he drew aside the curtain, and broke the seal of 
the letter. The first few lines, however, seemed 
to satisfy his curiosity, although the epistle was 
written in a close hand, and extended over three 
sides of the paper; and he threw it carelessly on 



248 



TH E O'DONOGHUE, 



the bed, and lay down again once more. During 
all this time, however, Kerry managed to remain 
in the room, and, while affecting to arrange 
clothes and furniture, keenly scrutinized the 
features of his master. It was of no use, how- 
ever. The old man's looks were as apathetic as 
usual, and he seemed already to have forgotten 
the missive Kerry had endowed with so many 
terrors and misfortunes. 

"Herbert has passed a favorable night," said 
Mark, entering a few moments after. " The fever 
seems to have left him. and, except for debility, 
I suppose there is little to ail him. What! — a 
letter? VVhoJs this from?" 

" From Kate," said the old man, listlessly. " I 
got as far as ' My dear uncle;' the remainder 
must await a better light, and, mayhap, sharper 
eyesight too — for the girl has picked up this new 
mode of scribbling, which is almost unintelligible 
to me." 

As the O'Donoghue was speaking, the young 
man had approached the window, and was busily 
perusing the letter. As he read, his face changed 
color more than once. Breaking off, he said, — 

"You don't know, then, what news we have 
here? More embarrassment — ay, by Jove! and 
a heavier one than even it seems at first sight. 
The French armies, it appears are successful all 
over the Low Countries, and city after city fall- 
ing into their possession; and so the convents are 
breaking up, and the Sacre Cceur, where Kate is, 
has set free its inmates, who are returning to 
their friends. She comes here." 

"What!— here!" said the O'Donoghue, with 
some evidence of doubt at intelligence so strange 
and unexpected. " Why, Mark, my boy, that's 
impossible — the house is a ruin; we haven't a 
room; we have no servants, and have nothing like 
accommodation for the girl!" 

" Listen to this, then," said Mark, as he read 
from the letter: "'You may then conceive, my 
dear old papa — for I must call you the old name 
again, now that we are to meet — how happy I am 
to visit Carrignacurra once more. I persuade 
myself I remember the old beech wood in the 
glen, and the steep path beside the waterfall, 
and the wooden railings to guard against the 
precipice. Am I not right? And there's an ash 
tree over the pool, lower down. Cousin Mark 
climbed it to pluck the berries for me, and fell 
in, too. There's memory for you!'" 

"She'll be puzzled to find the wood now," said 
the O'Donoghue, with a sad attempt at a smile. 
"Goon, Mark." 

" It's all the same kind of thing: she speaks of 
Molly Cooney's cabin, and the red boat-house, 
and fifty things that are gone many a day ago. 
Strange enough, she remembers what I myself 
have long since forgotten. ' How I long for my 
own little blue bedroom, that looked out on the 
Keim-an-eigh! ' " 

" There, Mark — don't read any more, my lad. 
Poor dear Kate!— what would she think of the 
place now?" 

"The thing is impossible," said Mark, sternly; 
"The girl has got a hundred fancies and tastes, 
iinsuited to our rude life; her French habits would 
ill agree with our barbarism. You must write to 



your cousin— that old Mrs. Bedingfield — if that's 
her name. She must take her for the present, 
at least; she offered it once before." 

" Yes," said the old man, with an energy he had 
not used till now, "she did, and I refused. My 
poor brother detested that woman, and would 
never, had he lived, haveentrusted his daughter 
to her care. If she likes it, the girl shall make 
this her home. My poor Harry's child shall not 
ask twice for a shelter while I have one to offer 
her." 

"Have you thought, sir, how long you maybe 
able to extend the hospitality you speak of? 
Is this house now your own, that you can make a 
proffer of it to any one? — and if it were, is it here, 
within these damp, discolored walls, with ruin 
without and within, that you'd desire a guest — 
and such a guest?" 

" What do you mean, boy?" 
" I mean what I say. "I'he girl, educated in 
the midst of luxury, pampered and flattered — 
we heard that from the abbe — what a favorite she 
was there, and how naturally she assumed airs of 
command and superiority over the girls of her 
own age — truly, if penance were the object, the 
notion is not a bad one." 

" I say it again — this is her home. I grieve it 
should be so rude a one — but I'll never refuse to 
let her share it." 

" Nor would I," muttered Mark, gloomily, " if 
it suited either her habits, or her tastes. Let her 
come, however; a week's experience will domoru 
to undeceive her than if we wrote letters for a 
twelvemonth." 

"You must write to her, Mark; you must tell 
her that matters have not gone so well with us 
latterly — that she'll see many changes here, but 
mind you say how happy we are to receive 
her." 

" She can have her choice of blue bedrooms, 
too— shall I say that?" said Mark, almost sav- 
agely " The damp has given them tlie proper 
tinge for her fancy; and as to the view she speaks 
of, assuredly there is nothing to baulk it: the win- 
dow has fallen out many a long day ago that 
looked on Keim-an-eigh." 

' How can you torture me this way, boy?" said 
the old man, with a look of imploring, to which 
his white hairs and aged features gave a most 
painful expression. But Mark turned away, and 
made no answer. 

"My uncle," said he, after a pause, "must 
an' • -r this epistle. Letter-writing is no burden 
to hnn. In fact, I believe he rather likes it; so 
here goes to do him a favor. It is seldom the 
occasion presents itself." 

It was not often that Mark O'Donoghue paid 
a visit to Sir Archibald in his chamber; and the 
old man received him as he entered with all the 
show of courtesy he would have extended to a 
stranger — a piece of attention which was very 
far, indeed, from relieving Mark of any portion 
of his former embarrassment. 

' I have brought you a letter, sir," said he. al- 
most ere he took his seat—" a letter which my 
father would thank you to reply to. It is from 
my cousin Kate, who is about to return to Ire- 
land, and take up her abode here." 



THE O'DONOGHU E. 



249 



" Ye dinna mean she's coming here, to Carrig- 
nacurra?" 

"It is even so! though I don't wonder at your 
finding it hard of belief." 

" It's mair than that — it's far mair — it's down- 
right incredible." 

" I thought so too; but my father cannot agree, 
with me. He will not believe that this old bar- 
rack is not a baronial castle; and persists in fall- 
ing back on what is past, rather than look on the 
present, not to speak of the future." 

" But she canna live here, Mark," said Sir 
Archy, his mind ever dwelling on the great ques- 
tion at issue. "There's no a spot in the whole 
house she could inhabit. I ken something of 
these French damsels and their ways; and the 
strangers that go there for education are a' worse 
than the natives. I mind the time I was in Paris 

with his royal " Sir Archy coughed, and 

reddened up, and let fall his snuff-box, spilling 
all the contents on the floor. " Gude save us, 
here's a calamity! It was real mackabaw, and 
cost twa shillings an ounce. I maun even see 
if I canna scrape it up wi' a piece of paper;" 
and so he set himself diligently to glean up the 
scattered dust, muttering, all the time, maledic- 
tions on his bad luck. 

Mark never moved nor spoke the entire time; 
but sat with the open letter in his hand, pa- 
tiently awaiting the resumption of the dis- 
cussion. 

" Weel, weel!" exclaimed Sir Archy, as he 
resumed his seat once more; "let us see the 
epistle, and perhaps we may find some clue to 
put her off." 

" My father insists on her coming,' said Mark, 
sternly. 

"So he may, lad," replied Sir Archy; "but 
she may hae her ain reasons for declining — 
dinna ye see that? This place is a ruin. Wha's 
to say it is no undergoing a repair — that the 
roof is off, and will not be on for sax months 
to come. The country, too, is in a vera dis- 
turbed state. Folks are talking in a suspicious 
way." 

Mark thought of the midnight march he had 
witnessed, but said nothing. 

" There's a fever, besides, in the house, and 
wha can tell the next to tak' it? The Lord be 
mercifu' to us!" added he, gravely, as if the lat- 
ter thought approached somewhat too close on a 
temptation of Providence. 

" If she's like what I remember her as a child," 
replied Mark, " your plan would be a bad one 
for its object. Tell her the place is a ruin, and 
she'd give the world to see it for bare curiosity; 
say there was a likelihood of a rebellion, and 
she would risk her life to be near it; and as for 
a fever, we never were able to keep her out of 
the cabins when there was sickness going. Faith, 
I believe it was the danger, and not the benevo- 
lence, of the act charmed her." 

" You are no far wrong. I mind her weel — 
she was a saucy cutty; and I canna forget the 
morning she gave me a bunch o' thistles on my 
birthday, and ca'ed it a ' Scotch bouquey.' " 

"You had better read the letter in any case," 
said Mark, as he presented the epistle. Sir 



Archy took it, and perused it from end to end 
without a word; then laying it open on his knee, 
he said — 

" The lassie's heart is no far wrang, Mark, de- 
pend upon it. Few call up the simple memories 
o' childish days if they have no retained some 
of the guileless spirit that animated them. I wad 
like to see her mysel'," said he, after a pause. 
" But what have we here in the postscript?" And 
he read aloud the following lines: — 

" ' I have too good a recollection of a Carrig- 
nacurra household to make any apology for add- 
ing one to the number below stairs, in the person 
of my maid. Mademoiselle Hortense, from whose 
surprise and astonishment at our Irish mountains 
I anticipate a rich treat. She is a true Parisian, 
who cannot believe in anything outside the Bou- 
levards. What will she think of Mrs. Branaghan 
and Kerry O'Leary? — and what will they think 
of her?' 

"Lord save us, Mark, this is an awfu' busi- 
ness; a French waiting-woman here! Why, she 
might as weel bring a Bengal tiger! I protest 
I'd rather see the one than the other." 

" She'll not stay long; make your mind easy 
about her; nor will Kate either, if she need such 
an attendant." 

" True enough, Mark; we maun let the malady 
cure itsel'; and so, I suppose, the lassie must 
even see the nakedness o' the land wi' her ain 
eyes, though I'd just as soon we could 'put the 
cover on the parritch,' as the laird said, 'and 
make the fules think it brose.' It's no owcr 
pleasant to expose one's poverty." 

"Then you'll write the letter," said Mark, 
rising, " and we must do what we can in the way 
of preparation. The time is short enough, too, 
for that letter was written almost a month ago. 
She might arrive this very week." 

As he spoke, the shuffling sounds of feet were 
heard in the corridor outside; the young man 
sprang to the door and looked out, and just 
caught sight of Kerry O'Leary, with a pair of 
boots under his arm, descending the stairs. 

" That fellow Kerry — listening as usual," said 
Mark. " I heard him at my door about a fort- 
night since, when I was talking to Herbert, and 
I sent a bullet through the panel — I thought it 
might cure him." 

"I wonder it did na kill him!" exclaimed 
M'Nab, in horror. 

" No, no, my hand is too steady for that. I 
aimed at least two inches above his head — it 
might have grazed his hair." 

"By my word, I'll no play the eavesdropper 
wi' you Mark; or, at least, I'd like to draw the 
charge o' your pistols first." 

"She can have my room," said Mark, not 
heeding the speech. "I'll take that old tower 
they call the guard-room; I fancy I shall not be 
dispossessed for a considerable time." And the 
youth left the chamber to look after the arrange- 
ments he spoke of. 

"'Tis what I tould you," said Kerry, as he 
drew his stool beside the kitchen fire; "I was 
right enough, she's coming back again to live 
here. I was listening at the door, and heerd it 
all." 



250 



THE O'DONOGHUE 



"And she's laving the blessed nunnery!" ex- 
claimed Mrs, Branaghan, with a holy horror in 
her countenance — " desarting the elegant place, 
with the priests, and monks, and friars, to come 
here again, in the middle of every wickedness 
and divilment — ochone! ochone!" 

"What wickedness and what divilment are you 
spaking about?" said Kerry, indignantly, at the 
aspersion thus cast on the habits of the house 

Mrs. Branaghan actually started at the bare 
idea of a contradiction, and turned on him a 
look of fiery wrath, as she said, — 

■' Be my conscience you're bould to talk that 
way to me! — What wickedness! Isn't horse- 
racing, card-playing, raffling, wickedness' Isn't 
drinking and swearing wickedness? Isn't it 
wickedness to kill three sheep a week, and a cow 
a fortnight, to feed a set of dirty spalpeens of 
grooms and stable chaps? Isn't it wicked- 
ness Botheration to you, but I wouldn t be 

losing my time talking to you! When was one of 
ye at his duties? Answer me that. How much 
did one of ye pay at Ayster or Christmas, these 
ten years? Signs on it. Father Luke ha.sn't a 
word for ye when he comes here — he trates ye 
with contimpt." 

Kerry was abashed and terrified. He little 
knew when he pulled up the sluice-gate the torrent 
that would flow down; and now would have 
made any ''amende" to establish a truce again, 
but Mrs. Branaghan was a woman, and, having 
seen the subjugation of her adversary, her last 
thought was mercy 

"Wickedness, indeed! It's fifty years out of 
purgatory, sorra less, to live ten years here, and 
see what goes on." 

" Divil a lie in it," chimed in Kerry, meekly; 
"^there's no denying a word you say." 

"I'd like to see who'd dare deny it — and, 
signs on it, there's a curse on the place — nothing 
thrives in it " 

" Faix, then, ye mustn't say that, anyhow,'' 
said Kerry, insinuatingly " y'ou have no rayson 
to spake again it. 'Twas Tuesday week last I 
heerd Father Luke say — it was to myself he said 
it — ' How is Mrs. Branaghan, Kerry? says he. 
She's well and hearty, your reverence, sa\s 
I. 'I'll tell you what she is, Kerry,' says he; 
'she's looking just as I knew her fiveand-thirty 
years ago; and a comelier, dacenter woman 
■wasn't in the three baronies. I remember well, 
says he, 'I seen her at the fair of Killarney, and 
she had a cap with red ribbons.' Hadn't ye a 
cap with red ribbons in it? 

A nod was the response, 

" True for him, ye see he didn't forget it, and 
says he, 'Siie took the shine out of the fair, she 
could give seven pounds and half a distance to 
ere a girl there, and beat her after by a neck 

" What's that ye're saying?" said Mrs Bran- 
aghan, who didn't comprehend the figurative 
language of the turf, particularly when coming 
from Fatlier Luke's lips. 

" I'm saying ye were the purtiest woman that 
■walked the fair-green," said Kerry, correcting his 
phraseology. 

"Father Luke was a smart little man then him- 
self, and had a nate leg and foot." 



"Killarney was a fine place, I'm tould,'' said 
Kerry, with a dexterous shift to change the topic, 

I wasn t often there myself but I heerd it was 
the digani lair entirely. 

So It was, said Mrs Branaghan; there never 
was the kind of sport and divarsion wasn t there. 
Jt begun on a Monday and went through the 
week, and short enough the time was. There 
was dancing, and fighting, and singing and sta- 
tions' up to Agliadoe and down again on the 
bare knees and a pilgrimnge to the holy well — 
three times round that, maybe after a ]ig two 
hours long, and there was a dwarf that tould for- 
tunes, and a friar that sould gospels agin fever 
and fallin sickness, and ballad- singers, and play- 
actors. Musha, there never was the like of it " 
And in this strain did she pour forth a flood of 
impassioned eloquence on the recollection of 
those carnal pleasures and enjoyments which, 
but a few minutes before, she had condemned so 
rigidly in others, nor was it till at the very close 
ef her speech that she suddenly perceived how 
she had wandered from her text, then, with a 
heavy groan, she muttered, ■ Ayeh! we're sinful 
craytures, the best of us. 

Kerry responded to the sentiment with a fac- 
simile sigh, and the peace was ratified. 

' You wouldn t believe now, what Miss Kate 
is bringing over with her — faix, you wouldn't 
believe it." 

" Maybe a monkey,' said Mrs. Branaghan, who 
had a vague notion that France lay somewhere 
within the tropics. 

■ Worse nor that '' 

" Is It a bear?'' asked she again. 

'' No; but a French maid, to dress her hair, 
and powder, and put patches on her face." 

'Whisht, I tell you," cried Mrs Branaghan, 
" and don t be talking that way. Miss Kate was 
never the one to turn to the likes of them things." 

' 'Tis truth I m telling ye, then; I f.eerd it all 
between the master and Master Mark and after- 
wards with ould Sir Archy and the three of them 
is in a raal fright abouc the maid, they say she'll 
be the divil for impidence.' 

■ Will she then! said Mrs. Branaghan, with 
an eye glistening in anticipation of battle. 

'The never a day's peace oi ease we're to 
have again, wheii she's here — -'tis what tlie mas- 
ter says. 'I pity poor Mrs Branaghan,' says he; 
she's a quiet crayture that ■won't take her own 
part, and ' " 

''Won't I ? Be my conscience, we'll soon see 
that 

' Them's his words — 'and if Kerry and she 
don t lay their heads together to make the place 
too hot for her, she'll bully the pair of them, ' 

' Lave it to myself — lave it to me alone. Kerry 
O Leary 

I wns thinking that same, nia am, said Kerry, 
with a d-roU leer as he spoke, I'd take the odds 
on you any day and never ask the name of the 
other horse " 

" I'll lay the mark of my fingers on her av she 
says 'pays, " snid Mrs Branaghan with an en- 
ergy that looked like truth 

Meanwiiile, Kerry, perceiving that her temper 
was up, spared nothing to aggravate her passion. 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



251 



retailing every possible and impossible affront 
the new visitor might pass off on her, and ex- 
pressing the master's sorrows at the calamities 
awaiiing lier. 

"If she isn't frightened out of the country at 
once, there's no hel|) for it," said he, at last. " I 
have a notion myself, but sure, maybe it's a bad 
one." 

"What is it, then?— spake it out free." 

" 'Tis just to wait for the chaise — she'll come 
in a chaise, it's likely — — " 

But what was Kerry's plan, neither Mrs. 
Branaghan nor the reader are destined to hear, 
for at that moment a loud summons at the hall 
door— a very unusual sound — announced the ar- 
rival of a stranger. Kerry, therefore, had barely 
time for a hasty toilet with a pocket-comb, be- 
fore a small fragment of looking-glass he carried 
in his pocket, as he hastened to receive the 
visitor. 



CHAPTER XVII. 

KATE o'dONOGHUE. 

Before Kerry O'Leary had reached the hall, 
the object around whose coming all his schemes 
revolved was already in her uncle's arms. 

" My dear, dear Kate," said the old man, as he 
embraced her again and again, while she, over- 
come by a world of conflicting emotions, con- 
cealed her face upon his shoulder. 

"This is Mark, my dearest girl — cousin Mark. 

The girl looked up, and fixed her large, full 
eyes upon the countenance of the young man, as, 
in an attitude of bashful hesitation, he stood un- 
certain how far the friendship of former days 
warranted his advances. She, too, seemed 
equally confused; and when she held out her hand, 
and he took it half coldly, the meeting augured 
but poorly for warmth of heart on either side. 

" And Herbert — where is he?" cried she, 
eagerly, hoping to cover the chilling reception 
by the inquiry; "and my uncle Archy " 

" Is here to answer for himsel'," said M'Nab, 
quietly, as he came rapidly forward and kissed 
her on either cheek; and, with an arm leaning 
on each of the old men, she walked forward to 
the drawing-room. 

"And are you alone, my dear child — have you 
come alone?" said the O'Donoghue. 

" Even so, papa. My attached and faithful 
Hortense left me at Bristol. Sea-sickness be- 
came stronger than affection. She had a dream, 
besides, that she was lost, devoured, or carried 
off by a merman — I forgot what. And the end 
was, she refused to go farther, and did her best 
to persuade me to the same opinion. She didn't 
remember that I had sent on my effects, and 
that my heart was here already." 

"My own dearest child," said O'Donoghue, 
as he pressed her hand fervently between his 
own. 

"But how have ye journeyed by yoursel'?" 
said Sir Archy, as lie gazed on the slight and 
delicate figure before him. 

"Wonderfully well, uncle. During the voyage 



c'ery one was most polite and attentive to me. 
There was a handsome young guardsman who 
would have done more, had he not been gentle- 
man enough to know that I was a lady. And 
once at Cork, I met, at the very moment of land- 
ing, with a kind old friend. Father Luke, who 
took care of me hither He only parted with 
me at the gate, not wishing to interfere, as he 
said, with our first greetings. But I don't see 
Herbert- — where is he? ' 

" Poor Herbert has been dangerously ill, my 
dear, ' said the father, " 1 scarcely think it safe 
for him to see you." 

'' No, no," interposed Sir Archy, feelingly. 
"If the sight of her can stir the seared heart of 
an auld carle like niysel', it wadna be the surest 
way to calm the frenzied blood of a )outh." 

Perha])s Sir Archy was not far wrong. Kate 
O'Donoghue was, indeed, a girl of no common 
attraction. Her figure — rather below than above 
the middle size — was yet so perfectly moulded 
that, from very symmetry and giace, it seemed 
as if such should have been the standard of 
womanly beauty while her countenance had a 
character of loveliness even more striking and 
beautiful; her eyes were large, full, and of a 
liquid blue that resembled black; her hair a rich 
brown, through which a golden tinge was seen 
to run, almost the color of an autumn sunset, 
giving a brilliancy to her complexion which, in 
its transparent beauty, needed no such aid; but 
her mouth was the feature whose expression, 
more than any other, possessed a peculiar charm. 
In speaking, the rounded lips moved with a 
graceful undulation, more expressive than mere 
sound, while, as she listened, the slightest trem- 
ble of the lips harmonizing with the brilliant 
glance of her eyes, gave a character of rapid in- 
telligence to her face, well befitting the vivid 
temper of her nature. She looked her very self 
— a noble-hearted, high-spirited girl, without a 
thought save for what was honorable and lofty; 
one who accepted no compromise with a doubt- 
ful line of policy, but eagerly grasped at the 
right, and stood firmly by the consequence. Al- 
though educated withm the walls of a convent, 
she had mixed, her extreme youth considered, 
much in the world of the city she lived in, and 
was thus as accomplished in all the "usage" and 
conventional habits of society, as she was culti- 
vated in those gifts and graces which give it all 
its ornament. "To a mere passing observer there 
might seem somewhat of coquetry in her manner; 
but very little observation would show, that such 
unerring gracefulness cannot be the result of mere 
practice, and that innate character had assumed 
that garb which best suited it, and not one to be 
merely worn for a season. Her accent, too, 
when she spoke English, had enough of foreign 
intonation about it to lay the ground for a charge 
of affectation; but he should have been a sturdy 
critic who could have persisted in the accusa- 
tion. The fear was rather, that one leaned to 
the very fault of pronunciation as an excellence, 
so much of piquancy did it occasionally lend to 
expressions which, from other lips, had seemed 
tame and commonplace. To any one who has 
seen the graceful coquetry of French manner 



252 



THE O'DONOGH U E. 



engrafted on the more meaning eloquence of 
Irish beauty, my effort at a portrait will appear 
a very meagre and barren outline; and 1 feel 
how poorly I have endeavored to convey any 
idea of one, whose Spanish origin had left a legacy 
of gracefulness and elegance, to be warmed into 
life by the fervid character of the Celt, and tem- 
pered again by the consummate attraction of 
P'rench manner. 

The ease and kindliness of spirit with which 
she sat between the two old men, listening in turn 
to each, or answering with graceful alacrity the 
questions they proffered — the playful delicacy 
with which she evaded the allusions they made 
from time to time to the disappointment tlie 
ruined house must have occasioned iier — and the 
laughing gayety witii which she spoke of the new 
life about to open before her, were actually con- 
tagious. They already forgot the fears her an- 
ticipated coming had inspired, and gazed on her 
with the warm affection that should wait on a 
welcome. Oh! what a gift is beauty, and how 
powerful its influence, when strengthened by the 
rich eloquence of a spotless nature, beaming from 
beneath long-lashed lids, when two men like these, 
seared and hardened by the world's ills — broken 
on the wheel of fortune — should feel a glow of 
long-forgotten gladness in their chilled hearts as 
they looked upon her! None could have guessed, 
however, what an effort that seeming light-heart- 
edness cost her. Poor girl! Scarcely was slie 
alone and had closed the door of her room be- 
hind her, when she fell upon the bed in a torrent 
of tears, and sobbed as if her heart was breaking. 
All that Father Luke had said as they came along 
— and the kind old man had done his utmost to 
break the shock of the altered state of her uncle's 
fortunes — was far from preparing her for the cold 
reality she witnessed. It was not the ruined 
walls, the treeless mountain, the desolate and 
dreary look of all around tliat smote upon her 
heart. Sad as these signs were, her grief had a 
higher source. It was the sight of that old man 
she called father, tottering feebly to the grave, 
surrounded by images of poverty and misfortune. 
It was the aspect of Mark, the cousin she had 
pictured to her mind as an accomplished gentle- 
man in look and demeanor — the descendant of a 
house more than noble— the heir of a vast prop- 
erty; and now she saw him scarce in gesture and 
manner above the peasant — in dress, as slovenly 
and uncared for. She was prepared for a life of 
monotonous retirement and isolation. She was 
ready to face the long winter of dreary solitude 
— but not in such company as this. That she 
never calculated on. Her worst anticipations 
had never conjured up more than an unchequered 
existence, with little to vary or relieve it; and 
now, she foresaw a life to be passed amid the 
miserable straits and shifts of poverty, with all 
its petty incidents and lowering accidents to lessen 
her esteem for those she wished to look up to 
and love. And this was Carrignacurra, the proud 
castle she had so often boasted of to her school 
companions, the baronial seat she had loved to 
exalt above the antique chateaux of France and 
Flanders; and these the haughty relatives, whose 
pride she mentioned as disdaining the alliance of 



the Saxon, and spurning all admixture of blood 
with a race less noble than their own. The very 
chamber she sat in, how did it contradict her own 
animated descriptions of its once comforts and 
luxuries! Alas! it seemed to be like duplicity 
and falsehood, that she had so spoken of these 
things. More than once she asked herself — ■ 
" Were they always thus?" Poor child! she knew 
not that poverty can bring sickness, and sorrow, 
and premature old age. It can devastate th« 
fields, and desolate the affections, and make cold 
both heart and home together. 

If want stopped short at privation, men need 
not to tremble at its approach. It is in the de- 
basing and degrading influence of poverty iti 
real terror lies. It is in the plastic facility with 
which the poor man shifts to meet the cominji 
evil, that the high principle of rectitude is sac- 
rificed, and the unflinching course of honor 
deviated from. When the proud three-decker, 
in all the majesty of her might, may sail alonji 
her course unaltered, the humble craft, in thy 
same sea, must tack, and beat, and watch for 
every casualty of the gale to gain her port in 
safety. These are the trials of the poor, but 
proud man. It is not the want of liveried lac- 
queys, of plate, of equipage, and all the glitter- 
ing emblems of wealth, that smite his heart and 
break his spirit. It is the petty subterfuge he 
is reduced to that galls him — it is the sense 
of struggle between his circumstances and his 
conscience — between what he does and what he 
feels. 

It is true Kate knew not these things, but yet 
she had before her the results of them too pal- 
pably to be mistaken. Sir Archibald was the 
only one on whom reverse of fortune had not 
brought carelessness and coarseness of manner. 
He seemed, both in dress and demeanor, little 
changed from what she remembered him years 
before: nor had time, apparently, fallen on him 
with heavier impress in other respects. What 
was Herbert like? was the question ever rising to 
her mind, but with little hope that the answer 
would prove satisfactory. 

While Kate O'Donoghue was thus pondering 
over the characters of those with whom she was 
now to live, they, on the other hand, were exert- 
ing themselves to the utmost to restore some 
semblance of its ancient comfort to the long- 
neglected dwelling. A blazing fire of bog deal 
was liglited in the old hall, whose mellow glare 
glanced along the dark oak wainscot, and threw 
a rich glow along the corridor itself, to the very 
door of the tower. In the great chamber, where 
they sat, many articles of furniture, long disused 
and half forgotten, were now collected, giving, 
even by their number, a look of increased com- 
fort to the roomy apartment. Nor were such 
articles of ornament as they possessed forgotten. 
The few pictures which had escaped the wreck 
of damp and time were placed upon the walls, 
and a small miniature of Kate, as a child- — a 
poor performance enough — was hung up over 
the chimney, as it were to honor her, whose 
presence these humble preparations were made 
to celebrate. Sir .\rchy, too. as eager in these 
arrangements as Mark himself, had brought sev- 



TH E O'DONOGHU E. 



253 



eral books and illustrated volumes from his 
chamber to scatter upon the tables; while, as if 
for a shrine for the deity of the place, a little 
talVleof most elaborate maiqueterie, and a richly 
carved chair beside the fire, designated the 
place Kate was to occupy as her own, and to 
mark which he had culled the very gems of his 
collection. 

It is scarcely possible to conceive how com- 
pletely even a few trifling objects like these can 
change the "morale" of a chamber — how that, 
which before seemed cumbrous, sad, and dispir- 
iting, becon>es at once lightsome and pleasant- 
looking. But so it is; the things which speak 
of human thought and feeling appeal to a very 
different sense from those which merely minister 
to material comfort; and we accept the pres- 
ence of a single book, a print, or drawing, as 
an evidence that mental aliment has not been 
forgotten. 

If the changes here spoken of gave a very 
different air and seeming to the old tower, Kate's 
own presence there completed the magic of the 
transformation. Dressed in black silk, and wear- 
ing a profusion of lace of the same color — for 
her costume had been adapted to a very differ- 
ent sphere — she took her place in the family 
circle, diffusing around her a look of refinement 
and elegance, and making of that sombre cham- 
ber a spacious salaii. Her guitar, her embroi- 
dery, her old-fashioned writing-desk, inlaid with 
silver, caught the eye as it wandered about the 
room, and told of womanly graces and accom- 
])lishments, so foreign to the rude emblems of 
the chase and the field, henceforth to be ban- 
ished to the old entrance hall. 

The O'Donoghue himself felt the influence of 
the young girl's presence, and evidenced in his 
altered dress and demeanor the respect he de- 
sired to show; while Mark took from his scanty 
wardrobe the only garment he possessed above 
the rank of a shooting-jacket, and entered the 
room with a half bashful, half sullen air, as 
though angry and ashamed with himself for even 
so much compliance with the world's usages 

Although Kate was quick-sighted enough to 
see that these changes were caused on her ac- 
count, her native tact prevented her from show- 
ing that knowledge, and made her receive their 
attentions with that happy blending of courtesy 
and familiarity so fascinating from a young and 
pretty woman. The dinner — and it was a c/ief- 
d'xuvre on the part of Mrs. Branaghan — passed 
off most pleasantly. The t'ear her coming had 
excited now gave way to the delight her presence 
conferred. They felt as if they done her an in- 
justice in their judgment, and hastened to make 
every aincnde for their unfair ojiinion. Never 
for years long, had the O'Donoghue been so 
happy. The cold and cheerless chamber was 
once more warmed into a home. The fi.'e beside 
which he had so often brooded in sadness was 
now the pleasant hearth surrounded by cheery 
faces. Memories of the past, soothing through 
all their sorrow, flowed in upon his mind, as he 
sat and gazed at her in tranquil ecstasy. Sir 
Archibald, too, felt a return to his former self in 
the tone of good breeding her presence diffused, 



and evinced, by the attentive politeness of his 
manner, how happy he was to recur once more 
to the obser\ances which he remembered with so 
much affection, associated as they were with the 
brightest period of his life. 

As for Mark, although less an actor than the 
others in the scene, the effect upon him was not 
less striking. All his assumed apathy gave way 
as he listened to her descriptions of foreign so- 
ciety and the habits of those she had lived 
amongst, The ringing melody of her voice, the 
brilliant sparkle of her dark eyes, the graceful 
elegance of gesture — the Frenchwoman's preroga- 
tive — threw over him their charm, a fascination 
never e.\i)erienced before, and although a dark 
dread would now and then steal across his mind, 
How was a creature, beautiful and gifted like 
this, to lead the life of dreariness and gloom 
their days were passed in? — the tender feeling of 
affection she showed his father, the fondness 
with which she dwelt on every little incident of 
her childhood — every little detail of the moun- 
tain scenery — showed a spirit which well might 
harmonize with a home even humble as theirs, 
and pleasures as uncostly and as simple. " Oh? 
if she grow not weary of us'" was the heart- 
uttered sentence each moment as he listened^ 
and in the very anxiety of the doubt the ecstacy 
of enjoyment was heightened. To purchase this 
boon there was nothing he would not dare. To 
think that as he trod the glens or followed the 
wild deer along some cragged and broken moun- 
tain gorge, a home like this ever awaited him, was 
a picture of happines too bright and dazzling to 
look upon. 

'■ Now, then, ma helle," said Sir Archibald, as 
he rose from his seat, and with an air of gallantry 
that might have done credit to Versailles of old, 
threw the ribbon of her guitar over her neck, 
'now for your promise — that little romance ye 
spoke of." 

" Willingly, dear uncle," replied she, striking 
the chords as a kind of prelude. "Shall I sing 
you one of our convent hymns? — or will you 
have the romance?" 

' It is no fair to tempt one in a choice," said 
M'Nab, slyly; "but sin ye say so, I mtist hear 
baith before I decide." 

"Your own favorite the first," said she, smil- 
ing, and began the little chanson of the "Garde 
Ecossaise," the song of the exiled nobles in the 
service of France, so dear to every Scotchman's 
heart. 

While the melody described the gathering of 
the clans in the mountains to take leave of their 
departing kinsmen, the measured tramp of the 
music and the wild ringing of the pibroch, the 
old chieftains face lit up, and his eye glared with 
the fierce fire of native pride; but when Ibf moment 
of leave-taking arrived, and the heart-rending 
cry of " Farewell '" broke from the deserted, his 
eye became glazed and filmy, and, with a hand 
tremulous from emotion, he stopped the singer. 

" Na, na, Kate- I canna bear that the noo. 
Ye hae smote the rock too suddenly, lassie;" 
and the tears rolled heavily down his seared 
cheeks 

'' You must let me finish, uncle," said she, dis- 



254 



THE O'DONOGHU E. 



engaging her hand; and at the instant, sweeping 
the chord with a bold and vigorous finger, she 
broke into a splendid and chivalrous description 
of tlie Scottish valor in the service of France, 
every line swelling with their proud achieve- 
ments, as foremost they marched to battle. To 
this succeeded the crash and turmoil of the fray, 
the ringing cheers of the plaided warriors ming- 
ling with the war-cries of the Gaul, till, in a 
burst of triumph and victory, the song con- 
cluded. Then the old man sprang from his 
chair and threw his arms around her in trans- 
port, as he cried, — 

" It's a mercifu' thing, lassie, ye didna live 
fifty years ago; by my soul, there's nae saying 
how many a brave fellow the like o' that had 
laid low!" 

" If that be one of the hymns you spoke of, 
Kate," said the O'Donoghue, smiling, " I fancy 
Mark would have no objection to be a nun; but 
where is he? — he has left the room." 

" I hope there is nothing in my song he dis- 
liked ?" asked she, timidly ; but before there was 
time for an answer the door opened, and Mark 
appeared with Herbert in his arms. 

"There!" said he, laying him gently on the 
sofa; " if cousin Kate will only sing that once 
more, I'll answer for it, it will save you a fort- 
night in your recovery." 

Kate knelt down beside the sick boy and 
kissed him tenderly, while he. poor fellow, scarce 
daring to believe in the reality of all before him, 
played with the long tangles of her silky hair, 
and gazed on her in silence. 

"We maun be cautious, Mark," whispered 
M'Nab, carefully; but Mark had no ears nor 
eyes save for her who now sat beside his brother, 
and in a low, soft voice, breathed her affectionate 
greetings to him. 

In this way passed the first evening of her 
coming — a night whose fascination dwelt deep 
in every heart, and made each dreamer blest. 



CHAPTER XVIII. 



A HASTY PLEDGE. 



While these things were happening within 
the ruined castle of the O'Donoghue, a guest, 
equally unexpected as theirs, had arrived at the 
lodge. F'rederick Travers, delayed in Bristol 
by contrary winds, had come over in the same 
packet with Kate; but without being able either 
to learn her name, or whither she was going. 
His unlooked-for appearance at the lodge was 
a most welcome surprise both to Sir Marmaduke 
and Sybella; and as he did not desire to avow 
the real object of his coming, it was regarded 
by them as the most signal proof of affection. 
They well knew how much London life engrossed 
him — how completely its peculiar habits and 
haunts possessed attractions for him— and with 
what a depreciating estimate he looked down on 
every part of the globe, save that consecrated to 
the fashionable follies and amusements of his 
own set. 



He was not, in reality, insensible to other and 
better influences; his affection for his father and 
sister was unbounded; he had a bold, manly 
spirit, unalloyed with anything mean or sordid; 
a generous, candid nature, and straightforward 
earnestness of purpose, that often carried him 
farther by impulse than he was followed by his 
convictions. Still, a conventional cant, atone of 
disparaging, half contemptuous indifference to 
everything which characterized his associates, 
had already infected him; and he felt ashamed 
to confess to those sentiments and opinions, to 
possess and to act upon which should have been 
his dearest pride. 

'' Well, Fred," said Sybella, as they drew 
around the fire after dinner, in that happy home 
circle so suggestive of enjoyment, " let us hear 
what you thought of the scenery. Is not Glen- 
flesk fine?" 

" Matlock on a larger scale," said he, coolly. 
"Less timber and more rocks." 

"Matlock! dear Fred. You might as well 
compare Keim-an-eigh with Holbu.-.i — you are 
only jesting." 

" Compare what? Repeat that droll name, I 
beg of you." 

"Keim-an-eigh. It is a mountain pass quite 
close to us here." 

" Admirably done! Why, Sybella, dear, I shall 
not be surprised to see you take to the red petti- 
coat and bare feet soon. You have indoctrinated 
yourself wonderfully since your arrival." 

" I like the people with all my heart, Fred," said 
she, artlessly, " and if I could imitate many of 
their traits of forbearance and long suffering 
patience by following their costume, I promise 
you I'd don the scarlet." 

"Ay, Fred," said Sir Marmaduke, with a sen- 
tentious gravity, "they don't know these Irish at 
all at our side of the water. They mistake them 
totally. They only want teaching — a little ex- 
ample, a little encouragement, that's all — and 
they are as docile and tractable as possible. I'll 
show vou to-morrow what improvements a few 
months have effected. I'll bring you over a 
part of the estate where there was not a hovel fit 
for a dog, and you shall see what comfortable 
dwellings they have. We hear nothing in Eng- 
land but the old songs about popery, and super- 
stition, and all that. Why, my dear Fred, these 
people don't care a straw for a priest — they'd be 
anytliing I asked them." 

" Devilish high principled that, any way," said 
Fred, dryly. 

" I didn't exactly mean that; at least, in the 
sense you take it. I was abotit to say, that such 
is their confidence, such their gratitude to the 

landlord, that — that " 

"That, in short, they'd become Turks, for an 
abatement in the rent. Well, Sybella, dear, is 
this one of the traits you are so anxious to 
imitate?" 

"Why will you misunderstand, Fred ?" said 
Sybella, imploringly. " Cannot you see that grati- 
tude may lead an uninstructed people far beyond 
the limits of reason? — my father is so good to 
them." 

" With all my heart; I havt not the slightest 



TH E O'DONOGHUE. 



^SS 



objection in life; indeed, I'm not sure, if all the 
estate be like what I passed through this after- 
noon, if my generosity wouldn't go farther, and 
instead of reducing the rent, make them an honest 
present of the fee simple." 

"Foolish boy!" said Sir Marmaduke, half 
angrily. " There are forty thousand acres of re- 
claimable land " 

" Which might bear crops anno Domini 3095." 

"There are mines of inexhaustible wealth." 

"And would cost such to work them, sir, no 
doubt. Come, come, father — Hemsworth has 
passed a life among these people. He knows 
more than we do, or ever shall." 

" I tell you, sir," said Sir Marmaduke, nettled 
by such a sarcasm on his powers of observation, 
"I know them perfectly; I can read them like a 
book. They are a guileless, simple-minded, con- 
fiding people; you may see every tliought they 
have in their countenances. They only need the 
commonest offices of kindness to attach them; 
and, as for political or religious leanings, I have 
questioned them pretty closely, and, without a 
smgle exception, have heard nothing but senti- 
ments of loyalty and attachment to the Church." 

" Well, I only hope you don't mean to prolong 
your stay here. I'm sure you've done enough 
for any ordinary call of conscience, and, if you 
have not, set about it in right earnest — convert 
the tens into hundreds — make them all as com- 
fortable as possible — and then, in Heaven's name, 
get back again to England. There is no eartiily 
reason why you should pass your time here; and 
as for Sybelia " 

" Don't include me, Fred, in your reasons for 
departure. I never was so happy in my life." 

" There, boy — there's an example for you; and 
if you need another, here am I, ready to confess the 
same thing. I don't mean that there are not little 
dampers and difficulties. There's that fool about 
the mill-wheel, and that fellow that persists in 
dragging the river with a net;" and so he muttered 
on for some minutes between his teeth, to the 
evident enjoyment of Fred, whose quivering lip 
and laughing eye told how he appreciated the con- 
flicting evidence memory was eliciting. 

Thus, for some time, the conversation con- 
tinued, until Miss Travers retired for the night. 
Then Sir Marmaduke drew his chair closer to his 
son's, and, in an earnest manner, related the 
whole circumstance of Sybella's escape from the 
mountain torrent, dwelling with grateful elo- 
quence on the young O'Donoghne's heroism in 
coming to her rescue. " The youth has narrowly 
escaped with his life. The doctor, who left this 
but a few hours ago, said he ' never witnessed a 
more dangerous case than the symptoms at one 
time presented.' He is well, however, now — the 
risk is past — and I want your aid, Fred, to 
devise some suitable mode of evincing our 
gratitude." 

" These O'Donoghues are your tenants, are 
they not?" asked the young man. 

"Yes, they are tenants; but on that score we 
must not say much in their favor. Wylie tells 
me that they have been at feud with Hemsworth 
for years past — they never pay rent, nor will 
they surrender possession. "The whole thing is 



first of all, there 



a difficult matter to understand; 
is a mortgage " 

" There, there, my dear father, don't puzzle 
my brain and your own with a statement we'll 
never get to the end of. The point I want to 
learn is, they are your tenants — ■ — " 

" Yes, at least for part of the land they oc- 
cupy. Tliere is a dispute about anotlier portion; 
but I believe Hemsworth has got the attorney- 
general's opinion that their case cannot stand." 

"Tush — never mind the attorney-general. 
Give up the question at issue; send him, or his 
father, or whoever it is, the receipt for the rent 
due, and take care Hemsworth does not molest 
liim in future." 

" But you don't see, boy, what we are doing. 
We hope to obtain the whole of the Ballyvourney 
property — that is part of our plan; tlie tenants 
there are in a state of absolute misery and 
starvation." 

"Then, in God's name, give them plenty to 
eat; it doesn't signify much, I suppose, whose 
tenantry they are when they're hungry." 

The old gentleman was scarcely prepared for 
such an extended basis for his philanthropy, and, 
for a moment or two, seemed quite dumbfounded 
by his son's proposition, while Fred continued, — 

"If I understand the matter, it lies thus: you 
owe a debt of gratitude which you are desirous 
to acquit — you don't care to pay highly." 

" On the contrary, I am quite willing," inter- 
posed Sir Marmaduke; " but let the price be one 
which shall realize a benefit equivalent to its 
amount. If I assure these people in the posses- 
sion of their land, what security have I that 
they will not continue, as of old, the same useless, 
wasteful, spendthrift set they ever were — pre- 
senting the worst possible example to the other 
tenants, and marring the whole force of the 
lesson I am endeavoring to inculcate?" 

"That, I take it, is more ///nr affair than 
yours, after all, " said Fred; "you are not to con- 
fer the boon and allocate its advantages after- 
wards — but come, what kind of people are they?" 

"Oh! a species of half-gentry, half- farmer 
set, I believe — proud as they are poor— deem- 
ing themselves, as O'Donoghues, at least our 
equals; but living, as I believe, in every kind of 
privation." 

"Very well; sit down there, and let me have 
a cheque on your banker for five hundred pounds, 
and leave the affair to me." 

" But you mistake, Fred, they are as haughty as 
Lucifer." 

" Just leave it to me, sir, I fancy I know 
something of the world by this time. It may re- 
quire more money, but the result I will answer 
for." 

Sir Marmaduke's confidence in his son's tact 
and worldly skill was one of the articles of his 
faith, and he sat down at the table and wrote the 
order on the bank at once. " Here, Fred," said 
he; " I only beg of you to remember that the 
way to express the grateful sense I entertain of 
this bov's conduct is not by wounding the sus- 
ceptibilities of his feelings; and if they be above 
the class of farmers, which I really cannot ascer- 
tain, your steps must demand all your caution." 



256 



THE ODONOGH UE. 



" I hope, sir," said Fred, with some vanity in 
the tone, " that I have never made you blush for 
my awkwardness, and I don't intend to do so 
now. I promise for the success of my negotia- 
tion; but I must not say a word more of how I 
mean to obtain it." 

Sir Marmaduke was far from feeling satisfied 
with himself for having even so far encouraged 
a plan that his own blind confidence in his son's 
cleverness had for a moment entrapped him into; 
he would have gladly withdrawn his consent, but 
old experience taught him that Fred was never 
completely convinced he was right until he met 
opposition to his opinion. So he parted with him 
for the night, lioping that sleep might suggest a 
wiser counsel and a clearer head; and that, being 
left free to act, he might possibly feel a doubt as 
to the correctness of his own judgment. 

As for Fred, no sooner was he alone than he 
began to regret the pledge his precipitancy had 
carried him into. What were the nature of the 
advances he was to make — how to open the 
negotiation, in a quarter the habits and prejudices 
of which he was utterly ignorant of, he had not 
the most vague conception; and, as he sought his 
chamber, he had half persuaded himself to the 
conviction, that the safest, and the most honest 
course, after all, would be to avow in the morning 
that he had over-stated his diplomatic abilities, 
and fairly abandon a task to which he saw himself 
inadequate. These were his last sleeping thoughts; 
for his waking resolves we must enter upon 
another chapter. 



CHAPTER XIX. 

A DIPLOMATIST DEFEATED. 

If Frederick Travers went to sleep at night 
with very considerable doubts as to the practica- 
bility of his plans regarding the O'Donoghues, his 
wakmg thoughts were very far from reassuring 
him, and he heartily wished he had never en- 
gaged in the enterprise. Now, however, his honor 
was in a manner pledged; he had spoken so con- 
fidently of success, there was nothing for it but 
to go forward, and endeavor, as well -he might, to 
redeem his promise. 

At the time we speak of, military men never 
for a moment divested themselves of the emblems 
of their career; the uniform and the sword, the 
plumed hat and the higli boot formed a costume 
not to be worn at certain periods and laid aside 
at others, but was their daily dress, varying 
merely in the degree of full or half dress, as the 
occasion warranted. There was no affectation 
of the happy freedom of " mufti" — no pretended 
enjoyment of the incognito of a black coat and 
round hat; on the contrary, the king's livery was 
borne with a pride which, erring on the opposite 
side, suggested a degree of assumption and con- 
scious importance in the wearer, whifh more or less 
separated the soldier from the civilian in bearing, 
and gradually originated a feeling of soreness on 
the part of the more humbly-clad citizen lowaiids 
the more favored order. 



A certain haughty, overbearing tone of manner' 
was then popular in the army, and particularly 
in those regiments which boasted of an unalloyed 
nobility among the officers. If they assumed an 
air of superiority to the rest of the service, so 
much the more oid they look down upon the 
mere civilian, whom they considered as belong- 
ing to a very subordinate class and order of man- 
kind. To mark the sense of this difference of 
condition in a hundred little ways, and by a hun- 
dred petty observances, was part of a military 
education, and became a more unerring test of the 
soldier in society, than even the cockade and the 
crossbelt. To suppose that such a line of con- 
duct should not have inspired those against whom 
it was directed with a feeling of counter hatred, 
would be to disbelieve in human nature. The 
civilian, indeed, reciprocated with dislike the 
soldier's insolence, and, in their estrangement 
from each other, the breach grew gradually wider 
— the dominant t)ranny of the one, and the 
base-born ^•ulgarity of the other, being themes 
each loved to dilate upon without ceasing. 

Now this consciousness of superiority, so far 
from relieving Frederick Travers of any portion 
of the difficulty of his task, increased it tenfold. 
He knew and felt he was stooping to a most un- 
warrantable piece of condescension in seeking 
these people at all; and although he trusted 
firmly that his aristocratic friends were very un- 
likely to hear of proceedings in a quarter so re- 
mote and unvisited, yet how he should answer 
to his own heart for such a course, was another 
and a far more puzzling matter. He resolved, 
then, in the true spirit of his order, to give his 
conduct all the parade of a most condescending 
act, to let them see plainly how immeasurably low 
he had voluntarily descended to meet them; and 
to this end he attired himself in his full field uni- 
form, and with as scrupulous a care as though 
the occasion were a review before his majesty. 
His costume of scarlet coat, with blue velvet 
facings, separated at the breast so as to show a 
vest of white kerseymere, trimmed with a gold 
border- — his breeches, of the same color and 
material, met at the knee by the high and pol- 
ished boot, needed but the addition of his cocked 
hat, fringed with an edging of ostrich feathers, to 
set off a figure of singular elegance and symmetry. 
The young men of the day were just beginning 
to dispense with hair powder, and Fred wore his 
rich brown locks, long and floating, in the new 
mode — a fashion which well became him and, 
served to soften down the somewhat haughty 
carriage of his head. There was an air of free- 
dom, an absence of restraint, in the military coS- 
tume of the period, which certainly contributed 
to increase the advantages of a naturally good- 
looking man, in the same way as the present stiff 
Prussian mode of dress will assuredly conceal 
many defects in mould and form among less- 
favored individuals. The loosely-falling flaps of 
the waistcoat — the deep hanging cuffs of the coat 
— the easy folds of the long skirt — gave a charac- 
ter of courtliness to uniform which, to our eye, it 
at present is very far from possessing. In fact, 
the graceful carriage and courteous demeanor of 
the drawing-room suffered no impediment from 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



257 



the pillory of a modern stock, or the rigid 
inflexibility of a coat strained almost to burst- 
ing. 

" Are you on duty, Fred ?" said Sir Marma- 
duke, laughing, as his son entered the breakfast- 
room thus carefully attired. 

"Yes, sir, I am preparing for my mission; and 
it would ill become an ambassador to d.;jliver his 
credentials in undress." 

" To what court are you then accredited ?" said 
Sybella, laughing, 

" His Majesty The O'Donoghue," interposed 
liis father, "King of Glenflesk, Baron of Inchi- 
geela. Lord Protector of — of half the blackguards 
in the county, I verily believe," added he, in a 
more natural key. 

" Are you really going to Carrignacurra, Fred ?" 
asked Miss Travers, hurriedly; "are you going 
to visit our neighbors?" 

"I'll not venture to say that such is the place, 
tnuch less pretend to pronounce it after you, my 
dear sister, but I am about to wait on these 
worthy people, and, if they will permit me, have 
a. peep at the interior of their stockade or wig- 
Vvam, whichever it be." 

"It must have been a very grand thing in its 
day: that old castle has some fine features about 
it yet," replied she, calmly. 

"Like Windsor, I suppose," said Fred, as he 
teplied to her; and then complacently glanced at 
the well-fitting boot which ornamented his leg. 
"They'll not be over ceremonious, I hope, about 
according me an audience." 

"Not in the forenoon, I believe," said Sir 
Marmaduke, dryly; for he was recalling the de- 
Kcription old Roach had given him of his own re- 
ception by Kerry O'Leary, and which circum- 
stance, by-the-bye, figured somewhat ostenta- 
tiously in his charge to the old baronet. 

" Oh, then, they receive early," resumed Fred, 
" the old French style — the petii lever dii roi — - 
before ten o'clock. Another cup of tea, Sybella, 
and then I must look after a horse." 

" I have given orders already on ihat score. 
I flatter myself you'll approve of my stud; for, 
amongst the incongruitie.s of Ireland, I have fallen 
upon an honest horse-dealer." 

"Indeed!" said the young man, with more in- 
terest than he had yet shown in the conversa- 
tion; " I must cultivate that fellow; one miglit 
exhibit him with great success in London." 

"Unquestionably, Fred, he is a curiosity; for 
while he is a perfect simpleton about the value 
of an animal — an easy-tempered, good-natured, 
soft fellow — with respect to knowledge of a 
horse, his points, his performance, and his 
soundness, I never saw his equal." 

" I'll give him a commission to get me two 
r.hargers," said Fred, delighted at the prospect 
of deriving so much benefit from his Irish 
journey " What makes you look so serious, 
Sybella?" 

" Was I so, Fred ? I scarcely know — perhaps 
I was regretting," added she, archly, "that there 
were no ladies at Carrignacurra to admire so very 
smart a cavalier." 

Fred colored slightly and endeavored to laugh, 
but the consciousness that his "bravery" of cos- 



tume was somewhat out of place, worried him. 
and he made no reply. 

" You'll not be long, Fred," said his fatlier; 
" I shall want you to take a walk with me to the 
lake." 

"No, Fred — don't stay long away; it is not 
above two miles from this at farthest." 

" Had I not better send a guide with you?" 

" No, no; if the place be larger than a mud 
hovel, I cannot mistake it. So here comes our 
steed. Well, I own, he is the best thing I've 
yet seen in these parts;" and the youth opened 
the window and stepped out to approach the 
animal. He was, indeed, a very creditable spec- 
imen of Lanty's taste in horseflesh — the model 
of a compact and powerfully-built cob horse. 

" A hundred guineas, eh?" said Fred, in a tc5ne 
of question. 

" Sixty — not a pound more," said the old man, 
in conscious pride. " The fellow said but fifty; 
I added ten on my own account." 

Frederick mounted the cob, and rode him 
across the grass, with that quiet hand and steady 
seat which bes])eaks the judgment of one called 
upon to be critical. "A little, a very little over- 
done in the mouthing, but his action perfect," 
said he, as he returned to the window, and held 
the animal in an attitude to exhibit his fine sym- 
metry to advantage. " The prince has a passion 
for a horse of this class; I hope you have not 
become attached to him?" 

" His royal highness shall have him at once, 
Fred, if he will honor you by accepting him." 
And as he spoke, he laid the stress on the you, 
to evince the pleasure he anticipated in the 
present being made by Frederick and not himself. 

" Now, then, with God and St. George!" cried 
Fred, laughingly, as he waved an adieu with his 
plumed hat, and cantered easily toward the high 
road. 

It was a clear and frosty day in December, 
with a blue sky above, and all below bright and 
glittering in a thin atmosphere. The lake, clear 
as crystal, reflected every cliff and crag upon 
the mountain, while each island on its surface 
was defined with a crisp sharpness of outline, 
scarce less beautiful than in the waving foliage 
of summer. The many-colored heaths, too, 
shone in hues more bright and varied than usual 
in our humid climate; and the voices which 
broke the silence, heard from long distances 
away, came mellowed and softened in their tones, 
and harmonized well with the solitary grandeur 
of the scene. Nor was Frederick Travers insen- 
sible to its influence; the height of those bold 
mountains — their wild and fanciful outlines — 
the sweeping glens that wound along their bases 
— the wayward stream that flowed through the 
deep valleys, and, as if in sportiveness, ser- 
pentined their course, were features of scenery 
he had not witnessed before, while the perfect 
solitude awed and appalled him. 

He had not ridden long when the tall toVers 
of the old castle of Carrignacurra caught his 
eye, standing proudly on the bold mass of rock 
above the road. The unseemly adjunct of farm- 
house and stables were lost to view at such a 
distance or blended with the general mass of 



258 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



building, so that the whole gave the impression 
of extent and pretension to a degree he was by 
no means prepared for. These features, how- 
ever, gradually diminished as he drew nearer, 
the highly-pitched roof, pierced with narrow 
windows, patched and broken — the crumbling 
battlements of the towers themselves — the ruin- 
ous dilapidation of the outer buildings, disen- 
chanted the spectator of his first more favorable 
opinion; until at length, as he surveyed the in- 
congruous and misshapen pile, with its dreary 
mountain background, he wondered how, at any 
point of view, he should have deemed it other 
than the gloomy abode it seemed at that moment. 

The only figure Frederick Travers had seen, as 
he rode along, was that of a man carrying a gun 
in his hand, in a dress somewhat like a game- 
keeper's, who, at some short distance from the 
road, moved actively across the fields, springing 
lightly from hillock to hillock with the step of 
a practised mountain walker, and seemingly 
regardless of the weight of a burden which he 
carried on one shoulder: so rapidly did he move, 
that Frederick found it difficult to keep pace with 
him, as the road was deeply cut up, and far from 
safe for horse travel. Curious to make out what 
he carried, Travers spurred eagerly forwards; 
and at last, but not without an effort, came within 
hail of him at the iron-barred gate which formed 
the outer entrance to the castle from the high 
road. The burden was now easily seen, and at 
once suggested to Frederick's mind the reason of 
the bearer's haste. It was a young buck, just 
killed; the blood still trickled from a wound in 
its skull. 

" Leave that gate open, my good fellow," cried 
Frederick, in a voice of command, as the other 
pushed the frail portal wide and let it fall back 
heavily to its place again — " do you hear me? — 
leave it open." 

"We always leap it when mounted," was the 
cool reply, as the speaker turned his head round, 
and then, without deigning either another word 
or look, continued his way up the steep ascent. 

Travers felt the rude taunt sorely, and would 
have given much to be near hmi who uttered it; 
but, whether disdaining to follow a counsel thus 
insolently conveyed, or, it might be, not over- 
confident of his horse, he dismounted, and fling- 
ing wide the gate, rode quickly up the causeway 
■ — not, however, in time to overtake the other, 
for, although the way was enclosed by walls on 
both sides, he had disappeared already, but in 
what manner, and how, it seemed impossible to 
say. 

"My father has omitted poaching, it would 
seem, in his catalogue of Irish virtues," muttered 
the young man, as he rode through the arched 
keep, and halted at the chief enhance of the 
house. The door lay open, di.'iplaymg the cheer- 
ful blaze of a pine-wood fire, that burned briskly 
within the ample chimney in the keen air of a 
frosty morning. " I see I shall have my ride 
for my pains," was Fred's reflection as he passed 
into the wide hall, and beheld the old weapons 
and hunting spoils arranged around the walls, 
" These people affect chieftainship, and go hungry 
to bed to dream of fourteen quarterings Be it 



so. I shall see the old rookery, at all events;" 
and so saying, he gave a vigorous pull at the old 
bell, which answered loudly in its own person, 
and also by a deep howl from the aged fox- 
hound, then lying at the fire in the drawing-room. 
These sounds soon died away, and a silence 
deep and unbroken as before succeeded. A 
second time, and a third, Travers repeated his 
summons, but without any difference of result, 
save that the dog no longer gave tongue; it 
seemed as if he were becoming reconciled to the 
disturbance, as one that needed no further atten- 
tion from him. 

" 1 must explore for myself," thought Fred; 
and so, attaching his horse to the massive ring 
by which a chain used once to be suspended 
across the portal, he entered the house. Walking 
leisurely torward, he gained the long corridor. 
For a second "or two he was uncertain how to 
proceed, when a gleam of light from the half- 
open door in the tower led him onward. As he 
drew near, he heard the deep tones of a man's 
voice recounting, as it seemed, some story of the 
chase; the last words, at least, were, "I fired but 
one shot — the herd is wild enough already. ' 
Travers pushed wide the door, and entered As 
he did so, he involuntarily halted, the evidences 
of habits and tastes he was not prepared for 
suddenly rebuked his unannounced ajiproach, 
and he would gladly have retreated were it now 
practicable. 

"Well, sir," said the same voice he heard be- 
fore, and from a young man, who leaned with 
one arm on the chimney-piece, and with the 
other hand held his gun, while he appeared as 
if he had been conversing with a pale and sickly 
youth, propped and pillowed in a deep arm- 
chair. They were the only occupants of the 
room. " Well, sir, it would seem you have made 
a mistake; the inn is lower down the glen — 
you'll see a sign over the doorway." 

The look which accompanied this insolent 
speech recalled at once to Frederick's mind the 
same figure he had seen in the glen, and, stung 
by impertinence from such a quarter, he re- 
plied, — 

'' Have no fear, young fellow; you may poach 
every acre for twenty miles round — I have not 
tracked you on that score " 

" Poach ! — tracked me!" reiterated Mark 
O'Donoghue, for it is needless to say it was he; 
and then, as if the ludicrous were even stronger 
in his mind than mere passion, he burst into a 
rude laugh; while the sick boy's pale face grew 
a deep crimson, as, with faltering accents, he 
said, — 

" You must be a stranger here, sir, I fancy." 

"I am so," said Travers, mildly, and yielding 
at once to the respect ever due to sufi'ering; "my 
name is Travers. I have come over here to in- 
quire after a young gentleman who saved my sis- 
ter's life." 

"Then you've tracked him well," interposed 
Mark, with an emphasis on the word. " Here 
he is." 

"Will you not sit down?' said Herbert, mo- 
tioning with his wasted hand to a seat. 

Frederick took his place beside the boy a1 



THE O'DONOGHU E. 



2C9 



once, and said, " We owe you, sir, the deepest 
debt of gratitude it lias ever been our fortune to 
incur; and if anytiiing could enhance the obli- 
gaiion, it has been the heroism, the personal 
daring " 

"Hold, there," said Mark, sternly, "It's not 
our custom here to listen to compliments on our 
courage — we are O'Donoghues." 

"This young gentleman's daring was no com- 
mon one," answered Travers, as if stung by the 
taunt. 

" My brother will scarce feel flattered by your 
telling him so," was Mark's haughty answer; and 
for some seconds Frederick knew not how to re- 
sume the conversation; at last, turning to Her- 
bert, he said, — 

" May I hope that, without offending you, we 
may be permitted in some shape to express the 
sentiment I s])eak of? It is a debt which cannot 
be requited; let us at least have some evidence 
that we acknowledge it." 

" It is the more like some of our own," broke 
in Mark, with a fierce laugh; "we have parch- 
ments enough, but we never pay. Your father's 
iigent could tell you that." 

Frederick gave no seeming attention to this 
Speech, but went on: " When I say there is noth- 
ing in our power we would deem enough, I but 
express the feelings of my father and myself." 

"There, there," cried Mark, preventing Her- 
bert, who was about to reply, "you've said far 
more than was needed for a wet jacket and a few 
weeks' low diet. Let us have a word about the 
poaching vou spoke of." 

His fixed and steady stare — the rigid brow by 
which these words were accompanied — at once 
proclaimed the intention of one who sought rep- 
aration for an insult, and so instantly did they 
convey the sentiment that Travers, in a second, 
forgot all about his mission, and, starting to 
his feet, replied in a whisper, audible but to 
Mark, — 

"True, it was a very hazardous guess; but 
when, in England, we meet with a fustian jacket 
and a broken beaver in compnny with a gun and 
a game-bag, we have little risk in pronouncing 
the owner a gamekeeper or a poacher." 

Mark struck his gun ag:unst the ground with 
such violence as shivered the stock from the 
barrel, while he grasped tiie corner of the chim- 
ney-piece convulsively with the other hand. It 
seemed as if passion had actually paralyzed him. 
As he stood thus, the door opened, and Kate 
O'Donoghue entered. She was dressed in the 
becoming half-toilette of the morning, and wore 
on her head one of those caps of blue velvet, 
embroidered in silver, which are so popular 
among the peasantry of Rhenish Germany. The 
light airiness of her step as she came forward un- 
conscious of a stranger's presence, displayed her 
figure in its most graceful character. Suddenly 
her eyes fell upon Frederick Travers, she 
stopped and curtseyed low to him, while he, 
thunderstruck witli amazement at recognizing his 
fellow-traveller so unexpectedly, could scarcely 
return her salute with becoming courtesy. 

" Mr. Travers," said Herbert, after waiting in 
vain for Mark to speak — " Mr. Travers has been 



kind enough to come and inquire after me. 
Miss O'Donoghue, sir;" and the boy, with much 
bashfulness, essayed in some sort the ceremony 
of inlroduction. 

"i\]y cousin, Mr. Mark O'Donoghue," said 
Kate, with a graceful movement of her hand to- 
wards Mark, whose attitude led her to suppose 
he was not known to Travers. 

"1 have had the honor of presenting myself 
already," said Frederick, bowing; but Mark re- 
sponded not to the inclination, but stood still with 
bent brow and clenched lip, seemingly unconscious 
of all around him, while Kate seated herself, and 
motioned to Travers to resume his place. She 
felt how necessary it was that she should atone, 
by her manner, lor the strange rudeness of her 
cousin's; and her mind being now relieved of 
the fear which first struck her, that Frederick's 
visit might be intended for herself, she launched 
freely and pleasantly into conversation, recurring 
to the incidents of the late journey, and the fel- 
low-travellers they had met with. 

If Kate was not sorry to learn that the lodge 
was tenanted by persons of such condition and 
class as might make them agreeable neighbors, 
Travers, on the other hand, was overjoyed at 
discovering one of such attractions within an 
easy visiting distance; while Herbert sat by, 
wondering how persons so little known to each 
other could have so many things to say, and so 
many topics which seemed mutually interesting. 
For so it is; they who are ignorant of the world 
and its habits can scarcely credit the great extent 
of those generalities which form focd for daily 
intercourse, nor with what a]:'pannt interest 
people can play the game of life with but count- 
erfeit coinage. He listened at first with astonish, 
ment, and afterwards with delight, to the pleasant 
flippancy of each, as in turn they discussed scenes, 
and pleasures, and people, of whcm he nevef 
so much as heard The gcn/iV/fsse of French 
manner— would that we had aname for the thing 
in English — imparted to Kate's conversation a 
graceful ease our niore reserved habits rarely per- 
mit; and while in her costume and her carriage 
there was a certain coquetry discernible, not a 
particle of affectation pervaded either her opin- 
ions or expressions. Travers, long accustomed 
to the best society of London, had yet seen 
scarcely anything of the fascination of foreign 
agreeability, and yielded himself so insensibly to 
its charm, that an hour slipped away uncon- 
sciously, and he totally forgot the great object of 
his visit, and lost all recollection of the luckless an- 
imal he had attached to the door ring — luckless, 
indeed, for already a heavy snowdrift was falling, 
and the day had assumed all the appearance of 
severe winter. 

"You cannot go now, sir," said Herbert, an 
Frederick rose to take his leave — " there's a 
heavy snow-storm without," for the boy was so 
interested in all he heard, he could not endure 
the thought of his departure. 

"Oh! it's nothing," said Travers, lightly. 
" There's an old adage — ' Snow should not scare 
a soldier.' " 

" There's another proverb in the French ser- 
vice," said Kate, laughing, as she pointed to the 



260 



THE O'DONOGHUE, 



blazing hearth — " ' Le soldat ne tourne pas son 
dos au feu.' '' 

■' I accept the augury," cried Frederick, laugh- 
ing heartily at the witty misapplication of the 
phrase, and resumed his seat once more. 

"Cousin Kate plays chess,"' said Herbert, in 
his anxiety to suggest a plausible pretext for de- 
laying Frederick's departure. 

"And I am passionately fond of the game; 
would you favor me so far?" 

" With pleasure," said she, smiling; "I only 
ask one condiuon, point de grace — no giving back 
— the O'Donoghues never take or give quarter — 
isn't that so, Mark? Oh! he's gone." And now 
for the first time it was remarked that he had 
left the apartment. 

In a few moments after they had drawn the 
little marqueterie table close to the fire, and 
were deeply interested in the game. 

At first each party played with a seeming at- 
tention, which certainly imposed on Herbert, 
who sat eagerly watching the progress of the 
game. Frederick Travers was, however, tar 
more occupied in observing his antagon- 
ist, than in the disposition of his rooks 
and pawns. While she, soon perceiving his in- 
attention, half suspected that he did not deem 
her an enemy worth exerting his skill upon, and 
thus, partly in pique, she bestowed more watch- 
fulness than at first. 

"So, mademoiselle," cried Travers at length, 
recurring to his game, " I perceive you have only 
permitted me to advance thus far to cut off my 
retreat forever. How am I to save myself now?" 

"It's hard to say. Sir Captain. It's the old 
tactique of CeUs and Saxons on both sides; you 
would advance into the heart of the enemy's 
country, and as, unhappily, the men in ivory are 
truer than the natives were here, and won't take 
bribes to fight against their fellows, you must e'en 
stand or fall by your own deservings." 

" Come, then, the bold policy forever. Check." 

"And you lose your castle." 

" And you your bishop!" 

" We must avenge the Church, sir. Take care 
of your queen." 

'^ Fiirbleii, mademoiselle, you are a fierce foe! 
What say you, if we draw the battle?" 

" No, no, cousin Kate; continue, and you win 
it." 

" Be it so. And now for my turn," said 
Travers, who was really a first-rate player, and 
at length began to feel interested in the result. 

The move he made exhibited so much of skill, 
that Kate foresaw that the fortune of the day 
was about to change. She leaned her brow upon 
her hand, and deliberated long on the move; and 
at length, lifting her head, she said, — 

"I should like much to beat you — but in fair 
fight, remember — no courtesy nor favor." 

"I can spare neither," said Travers, smiling. 

" Then defeat is no dishonor. There's my 
move." 

"And mine," cried Fred, as rapidly. 

"What prevents my taking you? I see noth- 
ing." 

" Nor I either," said he, half chagrined, for his 
move was an oversight. 



" You are too proud to ask quarter — of course 
you are — or I should say, take it back." 

" No, Kate, no," whispered Herbert, whose ex- 
citement was at the highest. 

" I must abide my fortune," said Frederick, 
bowing; "and the more calmly, as I have won 
the game." 

" Won the gamel How? — where?" 

"Check!" 

" How tauntingly he says it now," said Kate, 
while her eyes sparkled brilliantly. " There is 
too much of the conqueror in all that." 

Frederick's glance met hers at the instant, and 
her cheek colored deeply. 

Who knows the source of such emotions, or of 
how much pleasure and pain they are made up! 
" And yet I have not won," said he, in a low 
voice. 

" Then be it a drawn battle," said Kate. " You 
can afford to be generous, and I can't bear being 
beaten — that's the truth of it." 

"If I could but win!" muttered Travers, as 
he rose from the table; and whether she over- 
heard the words, and that they conveyed more 
than a mere allusion to the game, she turned 
hastily away, and approached the window. 

"Is that snowball your horse, Captain Trav- 
ers ?" said she, with a wicked smile. 

" My father's favorite cob, by Jove !" ex- 
claimed Frederick ; and, as if suddenly aroused 
to the memory of his lengthy visit, made his 
adieux with more confusion than was exactly 
suitable to a fashionable guardsman — and de- 
parted 

" I like him," said Herbert, as he looked out 
of the window after him. " Don't you, cousin 
Kate>" 

But cousin Kate did not reply. 



CHAPTER XX. 

TEMPTATION IN A WEAK HOUR. 

When Mark O'Donoghue left the room, his 
passion had become almost ungovernable — the 
entrance of his cousin Kate had but dammed up 
the current of his anger— and, during the few 
moments he still remained afterwards, his temper 
was fiercely tried by witnessing the courtesy of 
her manner to the stranger, and the apparent 
intimacy which subsisted between them. " I ought 
to have known it," was the expression he ut- 
tered over and over to himself—" I ought to 
have known it! That fellow's gay jacket and 
plumed hat are dearer to her woman's heart 
than the rude devotion of such as I am. Curses 
be on them' tliey carry persecution through 
everything — house, home, country, rank, wealth, 
station — ay, the very affection of our kindred 
they grudge us' Was slavery ever like this?" 
And with these bitter words, the offspring of 
bitterer thoughts, he strode down the causeway, 
and reached the high road. The snow was falling 
fast — a chilling north wind drove the thin flakes 
along, but he heeded it not. The fire of anger 
that burned within his bosom defied all sense of 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



261 



winter's cold; and with a throbbing brow and 
fevered hand he went, turning from time to time 
to look up at the old castle, whence he expected 
each moment to see Travers take his departure 
Now he hurried eagerly onward, as if to reach 
some destined spot — now he would stop, and 
retrace his steps, irresolutely, as though half de- 
termined to return home. 

'■ Degraded, insulted, outraged on the very 
hearth of my father's house!" cried lie, aloud, as 
he wrung his hands in agony, and gave his pas- 
sion vent. Again he pressed forward, and at last 
arrived at that part of the glen where the road 
seems escarped between the two mountains, which 
rise several hundred feet, like walls, on either side. 
Here he paused, and after examining the spot for 
some seconds, he muttered to himself, "He has 
no choice here but stand or turn!" And so saying, 
he drew from the breast of his coat two pistols, 
examined the priming of each, and then replaced 
them. The prospect of speedy revenge seemed 
to have calmed his vindictive spirit, for now he 
continued to walk backwards and forwards, at a 
slow space, like a sentinel on his post, pausing 
occasionally to listen if a horse's hoofs could be 
heard upon the road, and then resuming his walk 
once more. A rustling sound in the brushwood 
above his head once startled him, but the granite 
cliffs that overhung the road prevented his seeing 
from what it proceeded, and his heart was now 
bent on a very different object than the pursuit 
of the deer. At that moment the proudest of 
the herd might have grazed in safety within 
pistol-shot of him, and he had not deigned to 
notice it. Thus passed an hour — -a second and a 
third succeeded — and already the dull shadows 
of approaching night were falling, yet no one 
came. Tortured witli strange conjectures, Mark 
saw the day waning, and yet no sight nor sound 
of him he looked lor. Let not poets speak of 
the ardent longing of a lover's heart, as in throb- 
bing eagerness he waits for her whose smile is 
life, and hope, and heaven. Compared with the 
mad impatience of him who thirsts for vengeance, 
his passion is but sluggish apathy. It is the bad 
that ever calls forth the sternest energies of 
human nature. It is in crime that men transcend 
the common attributes of mankind. Here was 
one, now, who would have given his right hand 
beneath the axe for but one brief moment of 
vengeance, and have deemed years of suffering 
cheaply bought for the mere presence of his 
enemy before him. 

" He must have guessed my meaning when I 
left the room," was the taunting expression he 
now uttered, as his unsated anger took the shape 
of an insolent depreciation of his adversary. 
"An Irishman would not need a broader hint." 

It grew darker — the mountains frowned heavily 
beneath the canopy of clouds, and night was 
rapidly approaching, when, from the gloom of 
his almost extinguished liope, Mark was sud- 
denly aroused. He heard the tramp of a horse's 
feet; the dull reverberation on the deep snow 
filled the air, and sometimes they seemed to come 
from the opposite part of the glen, when the 
pace slackened, and at last the sounds became 
almost inaudible 



" There is yet enough of daylight if we move 
into the broad road," was Mark's soliloquy, as 
he stoojied his ear to listen — and at the instant 
he beheld a man leading his horse by the bridle, 
while he himself seemed seeking along the road- 
side, where the snowdrift had not yet fallen, as 
if for some lost object. A glance, even by the 
imperfect light, and at some thirty paces off, 
showed Mark it was not him lie sought, and were 
it not that the attitude attracted his curiosity, he 
had not wasted a second look on him; but the 
horseman by this time had halted, and was scrap- 
ing with his whip-handle amid the pebbles of the 
mountain rivulet. 

"I'll never see it again — it's no use'" was the 
exclamation of the seeker, as he gathered up his 
reins and prepared to mount. 

" Is that Lanty Lawler?" cried Mark, as he rec- 
ognized the voice; "I say, did you nutt with a 
young officer riding down the glen, in the direc- 
tion of Carrignacurra?" 

"No, indeed, Mr. Mark- — I never saw a living 
thing since I left Bantry." 

The young man paused for a few seconds — 
and then, as if anxious to turn all thought from 
his question, "What have you lost thereabouts?" 

" Oh, more than I am worth in the world!" 
was the answer, in a deep, heart-drawn sigh; 
"but blessed Heaven! what's the pistols for? 
Oh, Master Mark, dear — sure — sure " 

" Sure what?" cried the youth with a hoarse 
laugh^" sure I'm not turned highway robber! Is 
that what you want to say? Make your mind 
easy, Lanty, I have not reached that point yet; 
though, if indifference to life might tempt a man, 
I'd not say it is so far off." 

" 'Tis a duel, then," cried Lanty, quickly; 
"but I hope you wouldn't fight without seconds. 
Oh! that's downright murder. What did he do 
to you? Was it one of the fellows you met in 
Cork?" 

" You are all wrong," said Mark, sullenly. "It is 
enough, however, that neither of us seems to have 
found what he was seeking. You have your 
secret; I have mine." 

"Oh, faix, mine is soon told — 'twas my pocket- 
book, with as good as seventy pounds in goold, 
I lost here three weeks ago, and never set eyes 
on it since; and there was papers in it — ay, faix, 
papers of great value — and 1 daren't face Fatlier 
Luke without them. I may leave the country 
when he hears what happened. " 

" WHiere are you going now?" said Mark, 
gloomily. 

" I'm going as far as Mary's for the night. 
Maybe you'd step down there, and take a bit of 
supper? When the moon rises the night will 
take up fine." 

The young man turned without speaking, and 
bent his steps in the direction Lanty was travelling. 

The horse-dealer was too well versed in human 
nature to press for a confidence which he fore- 
saw would be at last willingly extended to him; 
he therefore walked along at Mark's side, without 
uttering a word, and seeming to be absorbed in 
his own deep musings. His calculation was a 
correct one. They had not gone many paces for- 
ward when young O'Donoghue unburdened his 



262 



THE O'DONOGHU E. 



whole heart to him — told him, with all the elo- 
quent energy of a wounded spirit, of the insult 
he had received in his own home, before his 
younger brother's face. He omitted nothing in 
his description of the overbearing impertinence 
of Frederick Travers's manner — with what cool 
assurance he had entered the house, and with 
what flippant carelessness he treated his cousin 
Kate. 

" I left home with an oath not to return thither 
unavenged," said he, " nor will I, though this 
time luck seems against me Had he but come, 
I should have given him his choice of pistols 
and his own distance. My hand is true from five 
paces to thirty, but he has not escaped me yet." 

Lanty never interrupted the narrative except 
to ask from time to time some question, the 
answer to which was certain to develop the 
deeper indignation of the youth. A low, mut» 
tering commentary, intended to mean a lieartfelt 
sympathy with his wrongs, was all he suffered to 
escape his lips, and, thus encouraged in his pas- 
sionate vehemence, Mark's wrath became like a 
frenzy. 

" Come in, now," said Lanty, as he halted at 
the door of Mary's cabin, " but don't say a word 
about this business. I have a thought in my 
head that may do you good service, but keep a 
fair face before people — do you mind me?" 

There was a tone of mystery and secrecy in 
these words Mark could not penetrate; but, how- 
ever dark their meaning, they seemed to promise 
some hope of that revenge his heart yearned 
after, and with this trust he entered the house. 

Mary received them with her wonted hospi- 
tality — Lanty was an expected guest— and showed 
how gratified she felt to have young O'Donoghue 
beneath her roof. 

" I was afeard you were forgetting me en- 
tirely, Mr. Mark," said she; "you passed the 
door twice, and never as much as said, ' God 
save you, Mary.' " 

"I did not forget you, for all that, Mary," 
said he, feelingly. " I have too few friends in 
the world to spare any of them; but I've had 
many things on my mind lately." 

"Well, and to be sure you had, and why 
wouldn't you? 'Tis no shame of you to be sad 
and down-hearted — an O'Donoghue of the ould 
stock — the best blood in Kerry, wandering about 
by himself, instead of being followed by a troop 
of servants, with a goold coat-of-arms worked on 
their coats, like your grandfather's men — the 
heavens be his bed. Thirty-eight mounted men, 
armed— ay, and well armed — were in the saddle 
after him, the day the English general came down 
here to see the troops that was quartered at 
Bantry." 

" No wonder we should go afoot now," said 
Mark, bitterly. 

"Well, well, it's the will of God," ejaculated 
Mary, piously; "and who knows what's in store 
for you yet?" 

"That's the verv thing I do be telling him," 
said Lanty, who onlv waited for the right moment 
to chiine in with the conversation. "There's 
fine times coming." 

Mary stared at the speaker with the eager look 



of one who wished to derive a meaning deeper 
than the mere words seemed to convey, and 
then, checking her curiosity at a gesture from 
Lanty, she set about arranging the supper, which 
only awaited his arrival. 

Mark ate but little of the fare before him, 
though l\Liry's cookery was not without its temp- 
tation; but of the wine — and it was strong Bur- 
gundy — he drank freely. Goblet after goblet 
he drained with that craving desire to allay a 
thirst, which is rather the symptom of a mind 
fevered by passion than by malady. Still, as ho 
drank, no sign of intoxication appeared; on the 
contrary, his words evinced a tone of deepev 
resolution, and a more settled purpose than at 
first, when he told how he had promised never 
to leave his father, although all his hopes pointed 
to the glorious career a foreign service would 
open before him. 

"It was a good vow you made, and may the 
saints enable you to keep it," said Mary. 

" And for the matter of glory, maybe there's 
some to be got nearer home, and without travel- 
ling to look for it," interposed Lanty. 

" What do you mean?" said Mark, eagerly. 

" Fill your glass. Take the big one, for it's a 
toast I'm going to give you — are you ready? 
Here now, then— drink — 

" 'A stout heart and mind. 
And an easterly wind. 
And tlie devil tiehind 
The Saxon.' " 

Mark repeated the doggerel as well as he was 
able, and ])ledged the only sentiment he could 
divine, that of the latter part, with all his en- 
thusiasm. 

"You may tell him what you plaze, now," 
whispered Mary in Lanty's ear; for her ready 
wit perceived that his blood was warmed by the 
wine, and his heart open for any communication. 

Lanty hesitated but a second, then drawing 
his chair close to Mark's, he said, — 

" I'm going now to put my life in your hands, 
but I can't help it. When Ireland is about to 
strike for liberty, it is not an O'Donoghue should 
be last in the ranks. Swear to me you'll never 
mention again what I'll tell you — swear it on the 
book." Mary, at the same moment, placed in 
his hand-a breviary, with a gilt cross on the bind- 
ing, which Mark took reverently, and kissed 
twice. " That's enough — your word would do 
for me, but I must obey them that's over me;" 
and so saying, Lanty at once proceeded to lay be- 
fore the astonished mind of young O'Donoghue 
the plan of France for an invasion of Ireland 
— not vaguely nor imperfectly, nor in the meru 
language of rumor or chance allusion, but with 
such aids to circumstance and time, as gave him 
the ap])carance of one conversant with what Im 
spoke on. The restoration of Irish independ- 
ence — the resumption of forfeited estates — thu 
return of the real nobility of the land to theii; 
long-lost position of eminence and influence, 
were themes he descanted upon with consum- 
mate skill, bringing home each fact to the actual 
effect such changes would work in the youth'i 
own condition, who, no longer degraded to thq 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



263 



rank of a mere peasant, would once again assert 
his own rightful station, and stand forth at the 
head of his vast property — the heir of an hon- 
ored name and house. Lanty knew well, and 
more, too, implicitly believed in all the plausible 
pretension of French sympathy for Irish suffer- 
ing, which formed the cant of the day. He had 
often heard the arguments in favor of the suc- 
cess of such an expedition— in fact, the reasons 
for which its failure was deemed impossible. 
These he repeated fluently, giving to his narra- 
tive the semblance of an uncontestable state- 
ment, and then he told him that from Brest to 
Dublin was "fifty hours' sail, with a fair breeze" 
— that same "easterly wind" the toast alluded 
to, that the French could throw thirty, nay fifty 
thousand troops into Ireland, yet never weaken 
their own army to any extent worth speaking of 
— that F2ngland was distracted by party spirit, 
impoverished by debt, and totally unable to re- 
pel invasion, and, in fact, that if Ireland would 
be but " true to herself," her success was as- 
sured. 

He told, too, how Irishmen were banded to- 
gether in a sworn union to assert the independ- 
ence of their country, and that such as held back, 
or were reluctant in the cause, would meet the 
fate of enemies. On the extent and complete- 
ness of the organization he dwelt with a proud 
satisfaction, but when he spoke of large masses 
of men trained to move and act together, Mark 
suddenly interrupted him, saying, — 

" Yes, I have seen them. It's not a week since 
some hundreds marched through this glen at 
midnight." 

" Ay, that was Holt's party," said Mary, com- 
posedly; " and fine men they are." 

" They were unarmed," said Mark. 

" If they v,'ere, it is because the general didn't 
want their weapons." 

" There's arms enough to be had when the time 
comes for using them," broke in Mary. 

" Wouldn't you show him " and Lanty hesi- 
tated to conclude a speech the imprudence of 
which he was already aware of 

"Ay, will 1," said Mary. "I never mistrusted 
one of his name;" and with that, she rose from 
the fireside, and took a candle in her hand. 
"Come here a minute. Master Mark." Unlock- 
ing a small door in the back wall of the cabin, 
she entered a narrow passage which led to the 
stable, but off which a narrow door, scarcely dis- 
tinguishable from the wall, conducted into a spa- 
cious vault, excavated in the solid rock. Here 
were a vast number of packing-cases and boxes, 
piled on each other, from floor to roof, together 
with hogsheads and casks of every shape and size. 
Some of the boxes had been opened, and the lids 
laid loosely over them. Removing one of these, 
Mary pointed to the contents, as she said, — 

" There they are — French muskets and car- 
bines. There's pistols in that case; and all them, 
over there, is swords and cutlasses. 'Tis pike- 
heads that's in the other corner; and the casks 
has saddles and holsters and them kind of things." 

Mark stooped down and took up one of the 
muskets. It was a light and handy weapon, and 
bore on its stock the words — " Armee de Sambre- 



et-meuse," for none of the weapons were new. 

" These are all French," said he, after a brief 
pause. 

" Every one of them," replied Mary, proudly, 
" and there's more coming from the same 
place." 

"And why can we not fight our own battles 
without aid from France?" said Mark, boldly. 
"If we really are worthy of independence, are 
we not able to win it?" 

" Because there's traitors among us," said Mary, 
replying before Lanty could interpose — " because 
there's traitors that would turn again us if we 
were not sure of victory; but when they see we 
have the strong hand as well as the good cause, 
they'll be sure to stand on the safe side." 

" I don't care for that," said Mark. " I want 
no such allies as these. I say, if we deserve our 
liberty, we ought to be strong enough to take 
it." 

" There's many think the same way as your- 
self," said Lanty, quietly. " I heard the very 
words you said from one of the delegates last 
week. But I don't see any harm in getting help 
from a friend when the odds is against you." 

" But I do — and great harm, too. What's the 
price of the assistance? — tell me that." 

" Oh, make your mind easy on that score. 
The French hate the English, whether they love 
us or no." 

"And why wouldn't they love us," said Mary, 
half angry at such a supposition, "and we all 
Catholics? Don't we both belong to the ould 
ancient Church? and didn't we swear to destroy 
the heretics wherever we'd find them? Ay, and 
we will, too!" 

" I'm with you, whatever conies of it," said 
Mark, after a few seconds of thought. "I'm 
with you; and if the rest have as little to live 
for, trust me, they'll not be pleasant adversaries." 

Overjoyed at this bold avowal, which consum- 
mated the success they desired, they led Mark 
back into the cabin, and pledged, in a bumper, 
the "raal O'Donoghue." 



CHAPTER XXL 

THE RETURN OF THE ENVOY. 

Sir Marmaduke Travers and his daughter 
had passed a morning of great uneasiness at the 
delay in Frederick's return. Noon came, and 
yet no appearance of him. They wandered along 
the road, hoping to meet him, and at last turned 
homeward, with the intention of despatching a 
servant towards Carrignacurra, fearing lest he 
should have missed the way. This determina- 
tion, ho\vever, they abandoned, on being told by 
a countryman that he had seen the horse young 
Travers rode still standing at the gate of the 
"castle." 

A feeling of curiosity to hear his son's account 
of the O'Donoghues mingled with the old man's 
excitement at his absence; and as the day de- 
clined, and still no sign of his return, he walked 



264 



THE O'DONOGHU E. 



every now and then to the door, and looked 
anxiously along the road by which he ex[)ected 
his approach. Sybella, too, was not without her 
fears, and though vague and undefined, she 
dreaded a possible collision between the hot 
blood of Mark and her brother. The evening 
of her first arrival was ever present to her mind, 
and she often thought of what might have then 
occurred had Frederick been present. 

They had wearied themselves with every mode 
of accounting for his delay, guessed at every 
possible cause of detention, and were at length 
on the point of sending a messenger in search of 
him, when they heard the tramp of a horse com- 
ing, not along the high road, but, as it seemed, 
over tlie fields in front of them. A few minutes 
more of anxious expectancy, and Frederick, witli 
his horse splashed and panting, alighted beside 
them. 

" Well, you certainly have a very pretty eye 
for a country, father," said he, gayly. "That 
same line you advised has got three as rasping 
fences as I should like to meet with." 

" What do you mean, boy.?" said Sir Marma- 
duke, as much puzzled at the speech as the 
reader himself may feel. 

"Simply, sir, that though the cob is a capital 
horse, and has a great jump in him, I'd rather 
have daylight for that kind of thing; and I really 
believe the ragged fellow you sent for me chose 
the stiff est places. I saw the rascal grinning when 
I was coming up to the mill-stream." 

"Messenger! — ragged feljow! Theboy isdream- 

"My dear Frederick, we sent no messenger. 
We were, indeed, very anxious at your delay, but 
we did not despatch any one to meet you." 

Frederick stared at both the speakers, and 
then repeated, in astonishment, the last words, 
" Sent no messenger!" but when they once more 
assured him of the fact, he gave the following 
account of his return: — 

"It was very late when I left the castle. I de- 
layed there the whole day; but scarcely had I 
reached the high road, when a wild-looking fel- 
low, with a great pole in his hand, came up to me, 
and cried out, — 

"'Are you for the lodge.'" 'Yes,' said he, 
answering for himself, ' you are her brother. I'm 
sent over to tell you not to go back by the road, 
for the bridge is down; but you're to come over 
the fields, and I'll show you the way.' 

"Supposing the fellow was what he assumed 
to be, your messenger, I followed him; and, by 
George, it was no joking matter; for he leaped 
like a deer, and seemed to take uncommon pleas- 
ure in pitting himself against the cob. I should 
have given up the contest, I confess, but that the 
knave had me in his power. For when it grew 
dark, I knew not which way to head, until, at 
length, he shouted out, — 

There's the lodge now, where you see the 
light.' And after that, what became of himself 
I cannot tell you." 

"It was Terry, poor Terry," cried Sybella. 

"Yes, it must have been Terry," echoed her 
father. 

" And is this Terry retained to play WilUo'- 



the-wisp?" asked Fred; "or is it a piece of 
amateurship?" 

But both Sir Marmaduke and Sybella were too 
deeply engaged in canvassing the motive for this 
strange act to pay due attention to his question. 

As Frederick was but little interested in his 
guide, nor mindful of what became of him, they 
were not able to obtain any clue from him as to 
what road he took; nor what chance there was of 
overtaking him. 

" So then this was a piece oi politcsse for which 
I am indebted to your friend Terry's own devis- 
ing," said Fred, half angrily. "The fellow had 
better keep out of my way in future." 

" You will not harm him, Fred, you never could, 
when I tell you of his gallant conduct here." 

" My sweet sister, I am really wearied of this 
eternal theme — I have heard of nothing but hero- 
ism since my arrival. Once for all, 1 concede the 
matter, and am willing to believe of the Irish, as 
of the family of Bayard, that all the men are 
brave — and all the women virtuous. And now, 
let us to dinner." 

" You have told us nothing of your visit to the 
enchanted castle, Fred," said his sister, when the 
servants had withdrawn, and they were once more 
alone, "and I am all impatience to hear of your 
adventures there." 

"I confess, too," said Sir ISIarmaduke, "I am 
not devoid of curiosity on the subject — let us 
hear it ail." 

"I have little to recount," said Frederick, with 
some hesitation in his manner; "I neither saw 
the O'Donoghue, as they call him, nor his brother- 
in-law — the one was in bed, and the other had 
gone to visit some sick person on the mountain. 
But I made acquaintance with -^owx prcux chevalier, 
Sybella — a fine-looking young fellow, even though 
wasted with sickness; he was there with an elder 
brother, an insolent kind of personage- — half peas- 
ant, all bully." 

" He was not wanting in proper respect \.o you" 
said Sir Marmaduke. " I trust, Fred, he was 
aware of who you were?" 

" Faith, sir, I fancy he cared very little on the 
subject; and had I been a much more important 
individual, he would have treated me in the same 
way — a way, to say the least of it, not over- 
burdened with courtesy." 

" Had you any words together, boy?" said Sir 
Marmaduke, with an evident anxiety in his look 
and voice. 

" A mere interchange of greeting," replied Fred, 
laughing, "in which each party showed his teeth, 
and did not bite withal. I unhappily mistook 
him for a gamekeeper, and, worse still, told him 
so, and he felt proportionably angry at the im- 
putation, preferring, probably, to be thought a 
poacher. He is a rude, coarse fellow," said he, 
with a changed voice, " with pride to be a gentle- 
man, but not breeding nor manner to enact the 
character." 

" The visit was, after all, not an agreeable 
one," said Miss Travers, " and I am only surprised 
how you came to prolong it. You spent the 
whole day there." 

Although there was not the slightest degree 
of suspicion insinuated by this remark, Fred 



THE O DONOGHUE. 



266 



stole a quick glance at his sister, to see if she 
really iiiiended more than the mere words im- 
plied. Then, satisfied that she had not, he said, 
in a careless way, — 

''Oh, the weather broke; it came on a heavy 
snow-storm; and as the younger brother pressed 
me to remain, and I had no fancy to face the 
hurricane, I sat down to a game of chess." 

"Chess! Indeed, Fred, that sounds very 
humanizing. And how did he play?" 

" It was not with him I played," answered he, 
hesitatingly." 

" What— with the elder?" 

" No, nor him either; my antagonist was a 
cousin — I think they called her cousin." 

" Called her," said Sybella, slyly. " So, then, 
Master Fred, there was a lady in the case. 
Well, we certainly have been a long while coming 
to her." 

" Yes, she has lately arrived — a day or two ago 
— from some convent in the Low countries, where 
she has lived since she was a child." 

■' A strange home for her," interposed Sir 
Marmaduke. 

" If I do not misconceive them greatly, they 
must bi very unsuitable associates for a young 
lady educated in a French convent." 

" So you would say if you saw her," said Fred, 
seizing with avidity at the opening then offered 
to coincide with an opinion he was half afraid to 
broach. " She is perfectly foreign in look, dress, 
and demeanor — with all the mannerism of Paris 
life, graceful and pleasing in her address; and 
they, at least one of them, a downright boor; the 
other, giving him credit for good looks and good 
nature, yet immeasurably her inferior in every 
respect." 

" Is she pretty, Frederick?" said Sybella, not 
lifting her eyes from her work as she spoke. 

"I should say pretty," replied he, with hesita- 
tion, as if qualifying his praise by a word which 
did not imply too much. " I prefer a quieter style 
of beauty, for my own part; less dazzle, less 
sparkling effect; something to see every day, and 
to like the better the more one sees it;" and he 
placed his arm around his sister's waist, and 
gazed at her, as if to give interpretation to his 
speech 

" You have made me quite curious to see her, 
Fred," said Sybella. "The very fact of finding 
one like her in such a place has its interest." 

" What if you were to visit her, my dear?" said 
Sir Marmaduke; " the attention would only be a 
proper one; you have books and music here be- 
sides, which she might be glad to have in a region 
so remote as this." 

Frederick never spoke a word, but anxiously 
awaited his sister's answer. 

" I should like it greatly; what says Fred to 
the notion?" 

' I see nothing against it," replied he, with a 
well-affected indifference. "She is a most lady- 
like person, and if it be your own intention to 
pass a few weeks longer in this solitude, would 
be of infinite value for companionship." 

"A few weeks longer! — I shall remain till 
Christmas, boy," said his father, with determina- 
tion. " I have taken a fancy to Ireland; and my 



intention is to go up to Dublin for a few months 
in winter, and return here in the spring." 

This was at once approaching the very subject 
which Frederick had journeyed to determine; but 
whether it was that the time seemed unfavorable, 
or that his own ideas in the matter had under- 
gone some modification since his arrival, he con- 
tented himself with simply a doubtful shake of 
the head, as if distrusting Sir Marmaduke's firm- 
ness, and did not endeavor to oppose his deter- 
mination by a single argument of any kind. On 
the contrary, he listened with patience and even 
seeming interest to his father's detailed account 
of his project; how he had already given orders 
to secure a house in Stephen's green for the 
winter, intending to made acquaintances with the 
gentry of the capital, and present himself and his 
daughter at the vice-regal court. 

" Sybella mav as well make her d3ut in soci- 
ety here as in London," said Sir Marmaduke. 
" Indeed, I am not sure but the provincial boards 
are the best for a first appearance. In any case, 
such is the line I have laid down for myself; and 
if it only secured me against a sea-voyage to 
England in such a season, I shall be amply re- 
paid for my resolve." 

Against the season of his return, too. Sir 
Marmaduke hoped to make such additions to 
the lodge as should render it more comfortable 
as a residence; various plans for which were 
heaped upon the library table, and littered the 
chairs about the room. 

Miss Travers had already given her hearty 
concurrence to all her father's schemes, and sec- 
onded most ably every one of his views by such 
arguments as she was possessed of; so that Fred- 
erick, even if disposed to record his opposition, 
saw that the present was not an opportune mo- 
ment, and prudently reserved for another time 
what, if unsuccessful now, could never be re- 
curred to with advantage. 

The conversation on these topics lasted long. 
They discussed with interest every detail of their 
plans; for so it is, the pleasures of castle-build- 
ing are inexhaustible, and the very happiest 
realities of life are poor and vague compared 
with the resources provided by our hopes and 
fancies. The slightest grounds of probability 
are enough to form a foundation, but there is no 
limit to the superstructure we raise above. 

In the indulgence of this view, they contin- 
ued to chat till a late hour, and parted for the 
night in high good humor with each other — a 
visit to the O'Donoghue being the plan for the 
succeeding day's accomplishment. 



CHAPTER XXII. 

A MORNING VISIT. 



On the afternoon of the following day, Sir 
Marmaduke, accompanied by his son and daugh- 
ter, bent their steps towards the castle of the 
O'Donoghue. The day was a fine and bright 
one, with a blue sky above, and a hard, frosty 
surface on the earth beneath, and made walking 



266 



THE O'DONOGHUE, 



as pleasant as open air and exercise can render 
it. The carriage was ordered to meet them on 
their return, less, indeed, on account of the dis- 
tance, than that the shortness of the day made 
the precaution reasonable. 

Chatting agreeably, on they went. The time 
slipped rapidly away, now adverting to tlie bold 
and majestic scenery around them, now speak- 
ing of the people, their habits, their prejudices, 
and their leanings, or anon discussing the 
O'Donoghue family, which, of all the puzzling 
themes the land presented, was certainly not the 
least embarrassing to them. 

" We must think of some means of evincing 
our gratitude to this boy, Fred," said Sir Mar- 
niaduke, in a whisper. "You appear to have 
found the matter more difficult than you an- 
ticipated." 

" Very true, sir; in the early part of my visit, 
it was rendered impossible by the interruption 
of the elder brother; and, in the latter part, 
somehow, I believe I — I actually begin to fear 
I forgot it altogether. However, I have thought 
of one thing, and it should be done without a 
moment's loss of time. You must write to Car- 
den, the law agent, and stop any proceedings 
Hemsworth may have begun against these peo- 
ple. It would be most disgraceful to think that, 
while professing sentiments of good feeling and 
friendliness, we were using the arm of the law 
to harass and distress them." 

" I'll do it at once, Fred, by this night's post. 
In truth, I never understood the point at issue 
between us; nor can I clearly see Hemsworth's 
reason for the summary course he has taken 
with them. There must be more in it than I 
know of." 

" The castle stands proudly, as seen from this 
point," said Sybella, who felt somewhat wearied 
cf a conversation maintained in a voice too low 
for her to hear. And the remark had the effect 
of recalling them to other thoughts, in discuss- 
ing which they arrived at the old keep of Car- 
rignacurra. 

Whether recent events had sharpened Kerry 
O'I.eary to a more acute sense of his duties as 
butler, or that Kate O'Donoghue had exerted 
some influence in bringmg about so desirable an 
object, we know not; but at the very first sum- 
mons of the hall-door bell he made his appear- 
ance, his ordinary costume being augmented, if 
not improved, by a pair of very unwieldy top- 
boots of his master's, which reached somewhere 
to the middle of the thigh, and were there met 
by a green velvet waistcoat, from the same ward- 
robe, equally too large and voluminous for its 
present owner. 

Visitors at the O'Donoghue house were gen- 
erally of a character which Kerry felt necessary 
to close the door against. They unhappily came, 
not with the ceremonial of a visiting-card, but 
with some formidable missive of the law, in the 
shape of a distress warrant, a latitat, or that 
meeker and less dreaded engine, a protested bill. 
It was, then, with a considerable relief to his anx- 
ieties that his eye caught the flutter of a lady's 
dress, as he peeped from the small casement be- 
side the door, and his heart expanded in a little 



thanksgiving of its own as he unbarred the portal 
to admit her. 

Having informed his visitors tiiat the family 
were at home, he preceded them to the drawing- 
room, witii a stei) the noise of which happily 
drowned the tittering it was impossible to sub- 
due at beholding him. To prevent the awkward- 
ness which Sir Marmaduke foresaw might arise 
from the blundering announcement Kerry would 
inevitably make of their names, he having re- 
peated over and over as he went along, by way 
of refreshing his memory, " Sir Marmaduke, Sir 
Marmaduke Travers," the old gentleman stepped 
forward as the door opened, and presented him- 
self by name, introducing his daughter at the 
same time. 

The O'Donoghue, seated in his chair, half 
rose, for it was one of his gouty days, and he 
could not stir without great difficulty, and with 
an air and voice which bespoke the gentleman, 
welcomed his guests. 

Herbert's eyes gleamed with delight as he gazed 
on the party; and Sir Archibald, bowing with an 
ancient grace that would have suited a courtier 
of a century previous, presented chairs to each, 
going through the ceremonial of a new obeisance 
to every one of the group. Kate O'Donoghue 
was not in the room, nor Mark — the latter, in- 
deed, h?.d not returned to the castle since the 
day previous. 

The ordinary greetings over, and Sir Marma- 
duke having expressed, in well-chosen phrase, 
the gratitude he had so long labored to acquit, 
the conversation became easy and agreeable. Sir 
Marmaduke, seating himself next to O'Donoghue, 
had entered into a discussion of tiie state of the 
country and the people — Frederick, beside Her- 
bert's chair, was conversing with the boy by 
lively sallies and pleasant stories, that flowed the 
more rapidly as the listener was an eager one; 
while Sir Archibald, standing in an attitude of 
respectful attention, had engaged Miss Travers 
in a conversation about the glen and its scenery, 
to which his own correct taste and thorough ap- 
preciation of the picturesque gave a charm and 
piquancy that already interested her deeply. So 
naturally easy and unaffected was the tone of 
their reception, that all astonishment at finding 
their host so superior to their anticipation was 
merged in the pleasure that Travers felt in the 
interview. The good-tempered heartiness of the 
O'Donoghue himself, his frank speech, his ready 
humor, won each moment more and more on Sir 
Marmaduke. Frederick, too, never grew wearied 
of the fresh and joyous spirit which gleamed out 
of every look and word from Herbert, whose ar- 
dent temperament and high-hearted nature caught 
up the enthusiasm of a spirit like his own; and 
as for Sybella, the charm of Sir Archy's manner, 
whose perfection was its adaptation to the soci- 
ety of ladies, delighted her greatly, and she soon 
forgot any slight inclination to smile at the pre- 
cision of language, where deep sound sense and 
high feeling were conveyed with only the fault 
of jjedantry. While thus agreeably engaged on 
all sides, the door opened, and Kate entered, but 
so noiselessly withal, that she was in the midst 
of the party before they knew of her approach. 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



267 



Recognizing Frederick Travers with a gracious 
smile, she received Sir Marniaduke's sakitation 
with a deep courtesy, and then, as if similarity of 
years required a less ceremonious introduction, 
took her seat beside Miss Travers, with an air 
of mingled kindness and cordiality she so well 
knew how to assume. As in an orchestra, amid 
the swell of many instruments, where deep-toned 
thunders mingle with sounds of softer influence, 
some one strain will rise, from time to time, sug- 
gestive of feelings apart from the rest, with 
higher and nobler sympathies around it, so did 
her voice, heard among the others, sound thus 
sweetly. Her words came winged with a fine ex- 
pression, which look'and gesture could alone give 
them, and in the changing color of her cheek, 
her brilliant brow, her lips, even in silence elo- 
quent, there was a character of loveliness as much 
above mere beauty as life transcends the marble. 
The more perfect regularity of Sybella's feat- 
ures, their classic outline, their chaste correct- 
ness in every line and lineament, seemed cold 
and inanimate when contrasted with the more 
expressive loveliness of Kate O'Donoghue. The 
fearless character of her mind, too, was blended 
with so much of womanly delicacy and refine- 
ment, the wish to please so associated with a 
seeming forgetfulness of self, that every act and 
every gesture teemed witb a charm of interest for 
which there is no word save "fascination;" even 
that slightly foreign accent, of which we have al- 
ready spoken, served to individualize all she 
said, and left it graven on the heart long after 
the words were spoken. 

Frederick Travers watched with eager delight 
the effects these gifts were producing upon his 
sister. He saw the pleasure with which Sybella 
listened; he recognized, even already, the symp- 
toms of that conquest by which mind subdues 
mind, and was overjoyed as he looked. 

To Sir Marmaduke's gracefully expressed hope 
that this visit should form a prelude to their 
nearer intimacy, the O'Donoghue, with a touch 
of sadness in his voice, replied that he himself 
was an invalid, whose steps never wandered 
beyond the precincts of his home; but his brother- 
in-law, and his niece, and the boys, they would 
all, he was certain, avail themselves of such a 
neighborhood. 

Sir Archibald bowed low, and somewhat stiffly, 
perhaps, in accordance with a pledge thus given 
without his concurrence; but Herbert's bright 
eyes grew brighter, and his cheek flushed with 
delight at the bare anticipation of the thought. 

" And you. Miss O'Donoghue," said Sir Marma- 
duke, turning towards Kate, "our humble library 
at the lodge is perfectly at your service; the only 
condition we ask is, that you come and choose 
from it in person." 

" That promise is already most kindly made, 
father," interrupted Sybella whose pleased look 
showed how she had been captivated by her new 
friend. 

While their smiles and gracious words went 
round, the door was suddenly opened by Kerry 
O'Leary, who, forgetful of the visitors in his eager 
anxiety as the bearer of news, cri^d out,— 
- " There's a shindy, master dear! Such a row! 



May I never die in sin if ever I seen the equal of 
it!" 

"What does he mean? — is the fellow mad?" 
cried the O'Donoghue, angrily, while Sir Arcliy, 
bendingon him amostominousfrown, muttered, — 
" Have ye lost a' decency together. Ye daft 
loon, what ails ye?" 

" I ax your pardon, and the quality's pardon," 
said Kerry, with an expression of abject misery 
for his unceremonious entree, "but, if you seen 
it, sorra bit but you'd forgive me." 

" There has been good fun somewhere, I'm 
certain," cried out Frederick Travers, whose 
curiosity to learn Kerry's intelligence could no 
longer be repressed. 

" What is it, then, Kerry?" said the O'Don- 
oghue. " Let us hear it all." 

" 'Tis Master Mark, good luck to him!" cried 
Kerry, overjoyed at the permission to speak out 
freely. " He was over at Ballyvourney with the 
greyhounds, when he seen that dirty spalpeen, 
Sam Wylie, wid a process-sarver along wid him, 
noticin' the tenants. The sarver was a stranger, 
and he didn't touch him; but he made the boys 
put Sam on Nick Malone's mule, and give him a 
fair start, and tney run him down the mountain, 
with a fine view, and ran into him here at the 
horse-pond, where the mule flung him head over 
heels; and begorra, you wouldn't know 'twas a 
Christian, if you seen him this minit dripping wet, 
and the duckweed all hanging round him; and 
he's running still, for he thmks Master Mark will 
take the life of him before he stops." 

A roar of laughter from Frederick, joined in by 
Herbert, and at last by the O'Donoghue himself, 
for some moments prevented a word of com. 
mentary on this outrageous proceeding, when 
Sir Marmaduke, rising slowly, said, — 

"I am a stranger.here, very ignorant of th« 
country and its habits; but I have yet to learn 
that any man, in the just discharge of his duty, 
should be thus treated. I call upon you, sir, to 
investigate this affair, and if it be as we have 
heard it, to make reparation' " 

" Ye hae muckle reason for what ye say, sir," 
interposed Sir Archy; "but the freaks and 
follies o' young men hae a license here I doubt 
ye are na used to." 

"I'll lay my life on it Mark was right," called 
out the O'Donoghue. "The boy never makes 
any mistake in these matters." 

"If the fellow were insolent," said Frederick, 
"your son has served him properly." 

Kate smiled at the speaker a look of gratitude, 
which amply repaid him for coming thus promptly 
to the rescue. 

" It may be so," said Sir Marmaduke, happy 
at such a means of escaping from a farther prose- 
cution of a most unpleasant topic. 

" The captain's guessed it well," cried Kerry. 
" The spalpeen tould Master Mark that he'd be 
up here to-morrow wid a notice for the master 
himself, and it would go hard but he'd see us out 
of the place before Easter. 

" Is this possible?" said Sir Marmaduke, blush- 
ing deeply. " I beg, my dear sir, that you 
will forgive any hasty expression I may have 
used." 



268 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



" I can forgive the lad myself," said Sir Archy, 
proudly. 

" Not I, then, uncle," interposed Kate — '' not 
I. Mark should have horsewhipped the fellow 
within an inch of his life." 

Sybella Travers started at the energy of voice 
and manner which accompanied these words; 
while the O'Donoghue, rising from his chair, came 
slowly across the hearth, and imprinted a kiss 
upon Kate's forehead. 

" You're one of the raal stock — there's no 
denying it," muttered Kerry, as he gazed on her 
with an expression of almost worship. " 'Tis 
blood that never gives in — divil a lie in it!" 

Herbert who alone had witnessed the unfriendly 
meeting between his brother and young Travers, 
turned a pleasant smile at the latter, as he half 
whispered, — 

"This was very kind o{ you." 
It would have been a difficult — nay, an almost 
impossible task, to recall the tone and temper of 
the party previous to this unhappy interruption. 
All Sir Marmaduke's efforts to resume the con- 
versation had lost their former ease — the O'Don- 
oghue himself was disconcerted; for he was not 
quite certain what were Sir Marmaduke's words 
on the occasion, and how far he should feel 
called upon to demand a retraction, and Sir 
Archibald, fretful and annoyed at the impression 
Mark's conduct would convey of the habits and 
temper of the house, felt his task a severe one to 
assume an air of serenity and quietude. 

Frederick Travers alone seemed happy and 
delighted. The sudden expression of Kate 
O'Donoghue's opinion, so utterly unlike anything 
he had ever heard before from a young lady's 
lips, took him as much by surprise as the spirit 
pleased him; and he would willingly have en- 
gaged to horsewhip a dozen process-servers for 
another glance of her flashing eyes, as she deliv- 
ered the words; while Sybella could not help a 
sentiment bordering on fear, for one who, young 
as herself, gifted with every womanly attribute 
of grace and loveliness, had yet evinced a degree 
of impetuosity and passion she could not recon- 
cile with such attractions. As for Kate, the sen- 
timent had evoked no stir within her bosom. It 
Was a wish as naturally expressed as it was felt, 
and all the surprise the others experienced at her 
words would have been nothing to her own to 
have known of their astonishment. 

The visit soon carne to a termination, and Sir 
Marmaduke, having succeeded in a great degree 
in restoring the favorable impressions he had at 
first obtained, took his leave of the O'Donoghue, 
and then, addressing Sir Archy, said, — 
I "You, sir, I rejoice to learn, are not an invalid. 
May I expect the happiness of seeing you some- 
times?" 

Sir Archy bowed deeply, and, with a motion 
of his hand towards Miss Travers, replied, — 

" I have already made an engagement here, 
sir." 

"Yes," said Sybella, to whom this speech 
seemed half addressed, "Sir Archibald has been 
kind enough to offer me his guidance up the 
glen, where there are several points of view finer 
than any I have seen." 



Emboldened bv the success of these advances. 
Sir Marmaduke, with a courtesy he was perfect 
master of, requested the party would not delay 
their kind intentions, but favor him with their 
company the following day. 

It is doubtful whether Sir Archy might not 
have declined a more formal invitation; but there 
seemed something so frank in the abruptness of 
the present, that he acceded at once; and Kate 
having also pledged herself to accompany him, 
their greetings were interchanged, and Ihey 
parted. 



CHAPTER XXIII. 

SOME OPPOSITE TRAITS OF CHARACTER. 

It may seem strange, and almost paradoxical 
— but so it was — Kate O'Donoghue's presencu 
appeared to have wrought a most magical change; 
in the whole household of the O'Donoghue Th« 
efforts they themselves made to ward off the 
semblance of their fallen estate induced a hap. 
pier frame of mind than that which resulted 
from daily brooding over their misfortunes; the 
very struggle elicited a courage they had left 
long in disuse; and the cheerfulness which at 
first was but assumed, grew gradually more and 
more natural. To the O'Donoghue, who, for 
many a day, desired no more than to fend of^ 
the evil in his own brief time — who, with the 
selfishness of an old age passed in continual con- 
flict with poverty, only sought a life interest in 
their bettered fortunes — she was a boon above 
all price. Her light step, her lighter laugh, hei 
mirthful tone of conversation, with its many 
anecdotes and stories of places and people he 
had not heard of before, were resources against 
gloom that never failed. 

Sir Archy, too, felt a return to the old associa- 
tions of his youth in tlie presence of a young, 
beautiful, and accomplished girl, whose grace- 
fulness and elegance threw a halo around her aj 

she went, and made of that old and crumblin!> 

. . . ^ 

tower, dark with neglect, and sad with time, q 

sa/a/i, teeming with its many appliances against 
depression, where she herself, aimed with so 
many fascinations, dispensed cheerfulness and 
bliss on all about her. Nor was he selfish in all 
this. He marked with delight the impression 
made upon his favorite Herbert by his cousin s 
attractive manners. How insensibly, as it were, 
the boy was won from ruder pursuits and coarser 
pleasures, to sit beside her as she sang, or near 
her as she read; with what interest he pursued 
his lessons in French beneath her tuition, and 
the ardor with which he followed every plan of 
study suggested by her. Sir Archibald saw all these 
things, and calculated on their result with ac- 
curacy. He foresaw how Kate's attractive gifts 
would throw into the shade the ruder tastes the 
boy's condition in life might expose him to 
adopt, and thus aid him in the great object of 
his whole existence — to save him, at least, from 
the wreck of his house, 

Mark alone seemed untouched by her presence, 
save that the wild excesses of high spirit, to 



THE O'DONOGHUE, 



269 



which from time to time he ever gave way, were 
now gone, and, in their place, a deep gloom, a 
morosencss of character succeeded, rendering 
him usually silent before her, or sunk in his own 
saddening reflections. Kate would sometimes 
adventure to disperse the dark clouds from iiis 
mind, but ever without success; he either felt 
annoyed at bemg the subject of remark, or left 
the room; so that at last she abandoned the 
effort, hoping that time and its changes would 
effect what the present denied. Perhaps, too, 
.she had reasons for this hope. More than once, 
with womanly quickness, had she marked how 
he had stood with his eye fixed upon her, un- 
conscious of being seen; how, when about to 
leave the room, he would loiter about, as if in 
search of something, but, in reality, to listen to the 
Kong she was singing. Still, she showed no sign 
of having seen these things, but always, in her 
air towards him, affected a careless ease of man- 
ner as like his own as possible. For days, some- 
times for an entire week, he would absent him- 
self from home; and, as he was never submissive 
to much questioning, his appearance called forth 
no other remark than some passing observation 
of what had occurred in his absence, but which 
drew from him no interchange of confidence. 

These symptoms of Mark's altered character 
made a deeper impression on his father than 
events of greater moment could have done. He 
Vvatched every movement and expression of his 
favorite son, to catch some clue to the change; 
but all in vain. The young man never, by any 
accident, alluded to himself, nor did he often 
now advert to the circumstances of the family 
difficulties; on the contrary, a lethargic careless- 
ness seemed to brood over him, and he went 
about like one who had lost all zest for life, and 
all care for its enjoyments. 

The O'Donoghue was too well versed in the 
character of his son to hope for any elucidation 
of the mystery by a mere inquiry; so that he 
was left to speculate on the many causes which 
might have operated the change, and divine, as 
well as he was able, the secret grief that affected 
him In this pursuit, like all who have long suf- 
fered the pressure of a particular calamity, he 
ever felt disposed to ascribe Mark's suffering to 
the same cause which produced his own, namely, 
the fallen fortunes of the house, and the ruin 
that hung over them. Yet, somehow, of late, 
matters had taken a turn more favorable. His 
attorney at Cork had informed him, that from 
some informality in the proceedings, the eject- 
ment was stopped, at least for the present term. 
The notices to the tenants not to pay were with- 
drawn, and the rents came in as before; and the 
only very pressing evils were the bills, the re- 
newal of which demanded a considerable sum 
of ready money. That this one misfortune 
should occasion a gloom the accumulated griefs 
of former days had not done, he could not un- 
derstand; but by long musing on the matter, 
and deep reflection, he at last came to the con- 
viction that such was the case, and that Mark's 
sorrow was the greater from seeing how near 
they were to a more favorable issue to their af- 
fairs, and yet how fatally debarred from such 



a consummation by this one disastrous circum- 
stance. 

The drowning man grasps not at the straw 
with more avidity than does the harassed and 
wearied mind, agitated by doubts, and worn out 
with conjectures, .seize upon some one apparent 
solution to a difficulty that has long oppressed 
it, and for the very moment, convert every pass- 
ing circumstance into an argument for its truth- 
fulness. The O'Donoghue now saw, or believed 
he saw, why Mark would never accompany the 
others in their visits to the lodge, nor be present 
when any of the Travers family came to the 
castle; he mimediately accounted for his son's 
rejection of the proffered civilities, by that 
wounded pride which made him feel his present 
position so painfully, and, as the future head of 
the house, grieve over a state so unbecoming to 
its former fortunes. 

" The poor fellow," said he, "is too high-spir- 
ited to be a guest to those he cannot be a host. 
Noble boy! the old blood flows strongly in your 
veins, at least." 

How to combat this evil now became his sole 
thought. He mused over it by day — lie dreamed 
of it by night. Hour by hour he endured the 
harrassing tortures of a poverty whose struggles. 
were all abortive, and whose repulses canse with- 
out ceasing. Each plan he thought of was met 
by obstacles innumerable; and when, worn out 
with unprofitable schemes, he had resolved on 
abandoning the subject forever, the sight of 
Mark's wasted cheek and sunken eye rallied him 
again to an effort, which, each time, he vowed 
should be the last. 

The old and often successful remedies to rally 
him from his low spirits his father possessed no 
longer — the indulgence of some caprice, some 
momentary fancy for a horse or a hound — a boat 
or a fishing rod. He felt, besides, that his grief, 
whatever it was, lay too deep for such surface 
measures as these, and he pondered long and 
anxiously over the matter. Nor had he one to 
share his sorrow, or assist him with advice. Sir 
Archibald he ever regarded as being prejudiced 
against Mark, and invariably more disposed to 
exaggerate than extenuate his faults. To have 
opened his heart to him would be to expose him- 
self to some very plausible, but, as he would 
deem them, very impracticable remarks, on fru- 
gality and order — the necessity of submitting to 
altered fortunes — and, if need be, of undertak- 
ing some humble but honest occupation as a 
livelihood. These, and such like, had more than 
once been intruded upon him; but to seek and 
court them, to invite their presence, was not to 
be thought of. 

Kerry O'Leary was, then, the only one who 
remained; and they who know the intimacy to 
which old servants, long conversant with the for- 
tunes of the family, and deemed faithful, be- 
cause from utter inutility, they are attached to 
the house that shelters them, are admitted in 
Irish households, will not be surprised at the 
choice of the confidant. He, I say, was the 
O'Donoghue's last resource; and from him he 
still hoped to gain some clue, at least, to the 
secret of this mystery. Scarcely had the O'Don- 



270 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



oghue retired to his room at night, when Kerry 
fras summoned to his presence, and after a few- 
preliminaries, was asked if lie knew where, how, 
or with whom his young master latterly spent his 
time. 

" Faix, and 'tis that same does be puzzling 
myself," said Kerry, to whom the matter had 
already been one of considerable curiosity. 
"Sometimes I think one thing, and then I think 
another — but it beats me entirely." 

'■ What were your thoughts then, Kerry?" 

" 'Twas Tuesday last I suspected Joe Lena- 
han's daughter — the fair-haired girl, above at 
the three meadows; then I took it into my head 
it miglit be a badger he was after — for he was 
forever going along by the bank of the river; but, 
twice in the week, i was sure I had him — and, 
faix, I think, maybe I have." 

" How is that, Kerry? Tell me at once, man." 

"It's a fine brown beast Lanty Lawler has— 
a strapping four-year-old, as likely a weight-car- 
rier as ever I seen — that's what he's after — sorra 
lie in it. I obsarved him, on Friday, taking him 
over the big fence beyant the whinfield — and I 
meas\ired his tracks — and may I never die in 
sin if he didn't stride nineteen feet over the yal- 
low ditch." 

" Do you know what he's asking for him, 
Kerry?" cried the old man, eagerly. 

" His weight in goold, I heerd say; for the 
captain, up at the lodge, will give him his own 
price for any beast will make a charger — and 
three hundred guineas Lanty expects for the 
same horse. Ayeh! he's a play-actor, is Lanty, 
?id knows how to rub the gentlemen down with 
a damp wisp." 

"And you think that's it, Kerry?" 

"ril take the vestment it's not far off it. I 
never heerd Master Mark give a cheer out of 
him going over a fence that he hadn't a conceit 
out of the beast under him. 'Whoop!' says he, 
throwing up the whip-hand, ' this way.' 'Your 
)ieart's in him,' says I, 'and 'tis a murtherhe isn't 
your own.' " 

"You may leave me, Kerry," said the old 
man, sighing heavily, " 'tis getting near twelve 
o'clock." 

" Good-night, sir, and a safe rest to you." 

"Wait a moment — stay a few minutes. Are 
they in the drawing-room still?" 

"Yes, sir; I heerd Miss Kate singing as I 
came up the stairs." 

" Well, Kerry, I want you to wait till she is 
leaving the room, and just whisper to her — mind 
now, for your life, that nobody sees nor hears 
you — just say that I wish to see her up here 
for a few seconds to-night. Do you understand 
me?" 

" Never fear, sir; I'll do it, and sorra one the 
wiser." 

Kerry left the apartment as he spoke, nor was 
his master long doomed to suspense, for imme- 
diately after a gentle tap at the door announced 
Kate's presence there. 

" Sit down there, my darling Kate," cried the 
O'Donoghue, placing a chair beside his own, 
" and let me have five minutes' talk with you." 
• The young girl obeyed with a smile, and 



returned the pressure of her uncle's hand with 
warmth. 

" Kate, my child," said he — speaking with evi- 
dent difficulty and embarrassment, and fixing 
his eyes, not on her, but towards the fire, as he 
spoke — "Kate, you have come to a sad and 
cheerless home, with few comforts, with no 
pleasure for one so young and so lovely as you 
are." 

" My dear uncle, how can you speak thus to 
me? Can you separate me in your heart from 
.your other children? Mark and Herbert make 
no complaint — do you think that I could do so?" 

"They are very different from you, my sweet 
child. The moss-rose will not bear riie storms 
of winter that the wild thorn can brave without 
danger. To you this dreary house must be a 
prison. I know it — I feel it." 

" Nay, nay, uncle. If you think thus, it must 
be my fault — some piece of wilfulness of mine 
could alone have made you suppose me discon- 
tented; but I am not so — far from it.' I love 
dear old Sir Archy and my cousins dearly; yes, 
and my uncle Miles, too, though he seems anx- 
ious to get rid of me." 

The old man pressed her fingers to his lips, 
and turned away his head. 

" Come, Kate," said he, after a brief pause, 
" It was with no intention of that kind I spoke. 
We could none of us live without you now. My 
thoughts had a very different object." 

"And that was " 

"Simply this" — and here he made a great 
effort, and spoke rapidly, as if fearing to dwell 
on the words — " lawsuits and knavish attorneys 
have wasted three-fourths of my estate — the 
remainder I scarcely know if I be its master or 
not; on that portion, however, the old house 
stands, and the few acres that survive the wreck. 
At this moment heavy proceedings are pending 
in the courts, if successful in which, I shall be 
left in possession of the home of my father, and 
not turned adrift upon the world, a beggar 
There — don't look so pale, child — the story is an 
old one now, and has few terrors for us as long 
as it remains merely anticipated evil. This is a 
sad tale for your ears— I know it.' said he, wip- 
ing away a tear that would come in spite of him. 

Both were now silent. The old man paused, 
uncertain how he should proceed farther. Kate 
spoke not; for as yet she could neither see the 
drift of the communication, nor, if it were in any 
way addressed to her, what part she was ex- 
pected to take in the matter. 

"Are you aware, my dear," resumed he, after 
a considerable delay, " that your father was mar- 
ried to your mother when she was but sixteen ?" 

"I have often heard she was scarcely more 
than a child," said Kate, timidly, for she had no 
recollection of having seen either of lier parents. 

"A child in years, love, she was, but a woman 
in grace, good sense, and accomplishments — in 
fact, so fortunate was my poor brother in his 
choice, he ever regarded the youthfulness of his 
wife as one of the reasons of that amiability of 
temper she possessed. Often have we talked of 
this together, and nothing could convince him to 
the contrary, as if, had the soil been unfruitful, 



THE O'DONOGIIUE. 



271 



the tares and the tliistles had not been as abun- 
dant a crop as the good fruit really was. He 
acted on his conviction, however, Kate; for he 
determined, if ever he had a daughter, she should 
be of age at sixteen — the period of life her 
mother was married at. I endeavored to dis- 
8 lade him, I did my best to expose the dangers 
and difficulties of such a plan. Perhaps, dearest, 
I should have been less obstinate in argument 
had I been prophetic enough to know what my 
niece would be; but it was all in vain. The idea 
had become a dominant one with him, and I was 
obliged to yield. And now, Kate, after the long 
lapse of years — for the conversation I allude to 
took place a great while ago — it is my lot to say, 
that ray brother was right and 1 was vvrong; that 
he foresaw with a truer spirit the events of the 
future than \»as permitted to me You were of 
age two months since." 

The young girl listened with eager curiosity 
to every word that fell from her uncle's lips, and 
Keemed disappointed when he ceased to speak. 
To have gone thus far, and no farther, did not 
tatisfy her mind, and she waited with impatience 
for him to continue. 

" I see, my child," said he, gently, "you are 
not aware of the proceedings of coming of age; 
you have not heard, perhaps, that, as your guar- 
dian, I hold in my hands tlie fortune your father 
b&queathed to you. It was his portion as a 
younger son; for, poor fellow! he had the family 
failing, and never could live within his income. 
Your ten thousand — he always called it yours — 
he never encroached upon — and that sum, at 
least, is secured to you. 

Although Kate knevv that her uncle was her 
guardian, and had heard that some property 
would revert to her, what its amount was slie had 
not the most remote idea of, nor that her power 
over it should commence so soon. 

"I see, uncle — I understand all you say," said 
she hurriedly; "I am of age, and the owner of 
ten thousand pounds." 

The tone of decision she employed half terri- 
fied the O'Donoghue for the prudence of his 
communication, and he almost hesitated to 
answer lier directly — '' Yes, my child, it is a rent- 
charge — a ' 

'' I care not for the name, sir. Does it repre- 
sent the value?" 

" Unquestionably it does." 

" Take it, then, dearest uncle," said she, fling- 
ing herself up.in his neck^" take it, and use it, 
so that it may bring some comfort to yourself — 
some ease of mind, at least, and make vour home 
a happier one. What need to think of the boys? 
Mark and Herbert are not of the mould that 
need fear failure, whatever path they follow: and 
as for me, when you grow weary of me, the Sacre 
Coeur will gladly take me back. Indeed, they 
feel their work of conversion of me but very im- 
perfectly executed," added she smilingly; "and 
the dear nuns would be well pleased to finish 
their task." 

" Kate, my child — my own darling," cried the 
old man, clasping her to his heart, " this may 
not — this cannot be." 

"It must, and it shall be, uncle," said she, res- 



olutely. " If my dear father's will be not ^ 
nullity, I have power over my fortune." 

" But not to effect your ruin, Kate." 

"No, sir, nor shall I. Will my dear uncia 
love me less for the consciousness in my own 
heart that I am doing right? Will he have a 
smile the less for me, that I ran return it with 
an affection warmer from very ha|>])iness? I can- 
not believe this; nor can I tliink that you would 
render your brother's daughter un'.\orthy of her 
father. You would not refuse him." Her 
lip trembled, and her eyes grew full as she ut- 
tered the last few words, in a voice every word 
of which went to the old man's heart. 

"There is but one way, Kate." 

" What need of more, uncle? Do we want a 
choice of roads, if we see a straight path before 
us?" 

" Yes, dearest; but it will be said that I should 
not have suffered you to do this, ''i'hat in ac- 
cepting a loan " 

" A loan!" uttered she, reproachfully. 

"As that, or nothing, can I ever touch a far- 
thing of it," replied the O'Donoghue. " No, no! 
Distress and hardship have been a weary load 
tliis many a year; but all sense of honor is not 
yet obliterated in this poor heart!" 

" Be it as you please, my dear, dear uncle," 
said the affectionate girl; "only let it not cost 
you another painful thought, to rob me of so 
many happy ones. 1'here now, we must ne\er 
speak of this any more;" and, so sajing, she 
kissed him twice, and rose from her chair. " We 
are going to the lodge to-morrow, to spend the 
day; Herbert is so well that he comes with us." 

"And Mark — what of him, dearest?" 

"Mark will be none of us, sir. We are either 
too gay, or too frivolous, or too silly, or too some- 
thing or other, for his solemn humor, and he only 
frowns and stares at us; but all that will pass 
away soon; I shall find the key to his temper yet, 
and then make him pay for all his arrears of 
sulkiness." 

" It is our changed condition, my love, that 
has made him thus," said the father, anxious to 
excuse the young man's morose habits. 

" The poorer courage his, then," replied the 
high-spirited girl, "I have no patience for a 
man who acts but the looking-glass to fortune — • 
frowns when she frowns, and smiles when she 
smiles. No! (iive me the temper that can enjoy 
the sunshine and brave the storm — take all the 
good the world affords, and show a bold heart to 
resist the evil." 

"My own brother, my poor dear Mark, spoke 
there," cried the old man in an ecstasy, as, spring- 
ing up, he flung his arms about her; " and that's 
your philosophy, sweet Kale?" 

"Even so; the stout heart to the stae brae, as 
Sir Archy would call it. and as he mutters eveiy 
evening he has to climb the steep stair towards 
his bedroom. And now, good-night, dear uncle, 
good-night." 

With an affectionate greeting the old man took 
his leave of her for the night and sat down, in a 
frame of mingled happiness and shame, to think 
over what had passed. 

The O'Donoghue was very far from feeling 



J72 



THE O'DONOGIIUE. 



latisfied wilh himself for wliat he had done. 
Had Kate been at all difficult of persuasion — 
had she yielded to his arguments, or been con- 
vinced by any explanations of his views, he 
would soon have reconciled himself to the act 
as one in which both parties concurred. Far 
from this; he saw that her only motive was affec- 
tion; that she would listen to nothing save the 
promptings of her own warm heart; she would 
not let hmi even exculpate himself from the 
charge of iiis own conscience; and, although ac- 
quitted by her, he felt the guilt still upon him. 

There was a time when he would not have 
stooped to such a course; but then he was rich — 
rich in the world's wealth, and the honor such af- 
fluence suggests; for, alas! humbling as the avowal 
may seem, the noble traits so often admired in pros- 
perity are but the promptings of a spirit revelling 
in its own enjoyment^open-handed and gener- 
ous, because these qualities are luxuries; free 
to give, because the giving involves gratitude; and 
gratitude is the incense of weakness to power — of 
poverty to wealth. How often are the warm af- 
fections, nurtured by happy circumstances, mista- 
ken for the evidence of right principles? How fre- 
quently are the pleasurable impulses of the heart 
confounded with the well-directed judgments of 
the mind. This man was less changed than he knew 
of — the world of his circumstances was, indeed, 
different, but he was little altered; the same 
selfishness that once made him munificent now 
made him mean; but, whether conferring or ac- 
cepting favors, the spirit was one. 

Besides, how ingenious is the mind in suggest- 
ing plausible reasons for its indulgences! — how 
naturally easy did it seem to borrow and repay' 
The very words satisfied his scruples on that 
score; but if he were indeed so contented with 
himself, why did he fear lest any one should 
ever learn the circumstance? Why cower with 
shame before himself to think of his brother-in- 
law, or even Mark, hearing of it? Were these 
tlie signs of conscious rectitude, or were they 
the evidence of a spirit seeking rest in casuistry 
and self-deception? In this conflict of alternate 
approval and condemnation he passed the 
■'reater part of the night — sometimes a struggling 
sense of honor urging him to regret a course so 
fraught with humiliations of every kind, and 
again a thrill of delight would run through his 
heart to think of all the pleasure he could confer 
upon his favorite boy — the indulgences he could 
once more shower upon him. He fancied the 
happiness of emancipation from pressing difficult- 
ies, and how instinctively Mark's buoyant temper 
would take the tone of their altered fortunes, and 
he once again become the gay and reckless youth 
he loved to see him. 

" He must have that brown horse Kerry 
speaks of," muttered he to himself. " Sir Mar- 
maduke shall not outbid us there, and we'll see 
which of the two best becomes his saddle. I'll 
back my own boy against his scarlet-coated fop 
for a thousand. They've got some couples of 
dogs, too, Kerry was telling me, up the moun- 
tains. We must inquire about them; with eight 
or ten couple Mark could have good sport in the 
glen. Then there's those bills of Callaghan's — 



but he'll not press hard when he sees we've 
money. Cassidy must get his j£,"8oo, and so he 
shall; and that scoundrel, Swaby, will be sending 
in his bill of costs; but a couple of hundred 
pounds ought to stop his mouth. Archy, too, — ■ 
by Jove, I forget how much I owe him now; but 
he doesn't, I'll warrant him. Well, well, if it 
won't stop the leak, it will at least give us time 
to work the pumps — ay, time, time!" He asked 
for no more; he only sought to reach the haven 
himself, and cared nothing what happened the 
craft nor the crew afterwards. 

His next thought was how to effect all the 
legal arrangements in these complicated matters 
without the knowledge of Mark or Sir Archy; 
and on this difficult point he spent till nigh 
morning deliberating. The only mode he could 
think of was by writing to Swaby himself, and 
making him aware of the whole proceeding. 
That, of course, would be attended by its own 
penalties, as Swaby would take care that his own 
costs were among the first things to be liquidated; 
but yet it seemed the sole course open to him, 
and with the resolve to do this on the morrow 
he turned on his pillow and fell asleep. 

The morning broke with happiness to the 
uncle and the niece, but it was a happiness of a 
very different order. To him, the relief of mind 
for the long harassing cares of debt and diffi- 
culty was a boon of inestimable price — life and 
liberty at once to the imprisoned spirit of his 
proud heart. To her, the higlier and nobler 
sense of gratification which flows from having 
acted well, sent a thrill of ecstacy through her 
bosom such as only gentle and generous youth 
can ever feel. And thus, while the O'Donoghue 
mused over the enjoyments and pleasures his 
new accession of wealth might place at his dis- 
posal, she revelled in the delight of having min- 
istered to the happiness of one she had always 
regarded as a father, and even felt grateful to 
him for the emotions of her own heart. 

The O'Donoghue's first thought on awaking 
was to employ this large sum to liquidate some 
of his most pressing debts, and to make such ar- 
rangements as might enable them to live econ- 
omically but comfortaljly paying off those credi- 
tors whose exorbitant interest was consuming all 
the remnant of his income, and entering into 
contracts with others for the gradual repayment 
of loans. The more he reflected on these good 
intentions, the less pleasure did they yield him 
He had for years past taught himself to regard 
a creditor as an implacable enemy. The very 
idea of succumbing smacked of defeat He had 
defied the law so long, it looked like cowardice 
to surrender now. besides, the very complication 
of his affairs offered an excuse which he was not 
slow to catch at How could he pay Cassidy in 
full, and only give Hickson a part? Would not 
the mere rumor of his paying off his debts bring 
down a host of demands that had almost slum- 
bered themselves out of existence. He had often 
heard that his grandfather "muildled away his 
fortune paying small debts." It could not be 
supposed he would reject the traditions of his 
own house — nor did he. 

He judged wisely, if not well, that new habits 



THE O'DONOGHU E. 



273 



of expenditure would do more to silence the 
complaints of duns than the most accurately 
calculated system of liquidation. That enter- 
tainments and equipages, a stable full of horses, 
and a house crammed with guests, are a receipt 
in full for solvency, which, however some may 
distrust, none are bold enough to question openly 

If the plan had fewer excellences, it at least 
suited him better; and he certainly opened the 
campaign with vigor. No sooner had he de- 
cided on his line of acting, than he despatched 
Kerry O'Leary to Cork with a letter for Swaby, 
his attorney, requiring his immediate presence 
at Carrignacurra, and adding, " that if he brought 
.1 couple of hundred pounds over with him at 
the same time, he might include them with the 
costs, and get a cheque for the whole together " 

As the old man sealed his epistle, he chuckled 
over the thoughts of Swaby's astonishment, and 
fancied the many guesses the crafty attorney 
would frame to account for such unexpected 
prosperity. The little remaining sorrow he felt 
for his share in the transaction gave way to the 
vulgar pleasure of this surprise, for so it is, the 
conflict with poverty can debase the mind, and 
make the very straits and stratagems of want 
seem straits of cleverness and ability. 

It was a day of pleasure almost to all. Sir 
Archy, dressed in a suit which had not seen day- 
light for many a previous year, gave his arm to 
Kate, and, accompanied by Herbert, set out to 
pass the day at the lodge. Mark alone had no 
participation in the general joy; he stood with 
folded arms at the window of the old tower, and 
gazed on the group that moved along the road. 
Although he never thought of accompanving 
tliem, there was a sense of desertion in his posi- 
tion of which he could not divest himself. With 
the idea of the pleasure tlieir visit would afford 
them came the reflection that he was debarred 
from his share of such enjoyment, and the galling 
feeling of inferiority sent the blood with a 
throbbing current through his temples, and 
covered his face with a deep flush. He retorted 
his own isolation against those he had so strenu- 
ously avoided, and accused them of the very 
fault of which he was himself guilty. " My 
uncle is more distant to me than ever," muttered 
he, *' and even Herbert, too — Herbert, that used 
to look up to and rely on me — even he shuns 
me." He did not utter his cousin's name, but a 
single tear, that rolled heavily down his cheek, 
and seemed to make it tremble as it passed, 
showed that another and a deeper spt'ing of sorrow 
was opened in his heart. With a sudden gesture 
of impatience he roused himself from his musing, 
and hastily descending the stair, he crossed the 
old courtyard, and, without any fixed resolve as 
to his course, walked down the road, nor was it 
until after proceeding some distance that he per- 
ceived he was rapidly gaining on the little party 
on their way to the lodge; then he quitted the 
high road, and soon lost himself in one of the 
mountain glens. 

As for the others, it was indeed a day of un- 
accustomed pleasure, and such as rarely presented 
itself in that solitary valley. All that kindness 
and hospitality could suggest was done by the 



family at the lodge to make their visit agreeable; 
and while Sir Marmaduke vied with his son and 
daughter m courteous attentions to his guests, 
they, on their part, displayed the happy con- 
sciousness of these civilities by efforts to please 
not less successful. 

Sir Archy — albeit the faculty had long lain in 
disuse — was possessed of conversational jjowers 
of a high order, and could blend his observation 
of passing events with the wisdom derived from 
reflection, and the experience of long intercourse 
with the world; while, as if to relieve the sombre 
coloring of his thoughts, Kate's lively sallies and 
sparkling repartees lit up the picture, and gave 
it both brilliancy and action. The conversation 
ranged freely over the topics which form the 
staple of polite intercourse in the world of the 
cultivated and the fashionable; and although Sir 
Archy had long been renio%ed from sucii compan- 
ionship, it was easy to perceive how naturally he 
could revert to a class of subjects with whicli he 
had once been familiar. 

It was thus alternating remarks of the past 
with allusions to the present — mingling giave 
and gay, with that happy blending which springs 
from the social intercourse of different ages — 
they sat, after dinner, watching, through the un- 
shuttered window, the bright moonlight that 
streamed across the glen and glittered on the 
lake, the conversation, from some reference to 
liie scenery, turned to the condition of Ireland, 
and the then state of her people Sir Mainia- 
duke, notwithstanding his late experiences, fully 
maintaining the accuracy of his own knotiledge 
in matters which have not ceased to puzzle even 
wiser heads, gained confidence from the cautious 
reserve of Sir Archy, who rarely ventured an 
opinion, and never hazarded a direct assertion. 

"Thev would have me believe, in England," 
said Sir Marmaduke, "that Ireland was on the 
very brink of a rebellion; that the organization 
of revolt was perfect, and only waiting French 
co-operation to burst forth; but how absurd 
such statements are to us who live amongst 
them." 

Sir Archy smiled significantly, and shook his 
head. 

"You, surely, have no fears on this head, sir? 
It is not possible to conceive a state of more 
profound peace than we observe around us. 
Men do not take up arms against a rightful au- 
thority without the working of strong passions 
and headlong impulses. \\ hat is there to indi- 
cate them here?" 

"You'll allow. Sir Marmaduke, they are no 
over-likely to mak' ye a confidant, if they intend 
a rising?" was the dry observation of M'Nab. 

"True; but could they conceal their inten- 
tions from me — that is the question' Think 
you that I should not have discovered them long 
since, and made them known to the government?" 

"I trust you'd have done no such thing, sir," 
interposed Fred. "I heard Maitland say there 
never was a chance of keeping this country down 
if we did not have a brush with them every thirty 
or forty years, and, if I don't mistake, the time 
for a lesson has just come round." 

" Is it so certain on which side is to be the 



274 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



teacher?" said Kate, with a voice whose articu- 
late distinctness actually electrified the party; 
and, as it drew their eyes towards her, height- 
ened the flush that mantled on her ciieek. 

" It never occurred to me to doubt the mat- 
ter," said Fred, with an air of ill-dissembled 
mortification. 

"No more than you anticipated it, perhaps," 
retorted she, quickly; "and yet events are hap- 
pening every day which take tlie world 'by sur- 
prise. See there! — look. That mountain peak 
was dark but a moment back; and now, see the 
blazing fire that has burst forth upon it." 

The whole party started to their feet, and 
drew near the window, from which, at a distance 
of about two miles, the red glare of a fire was 
seen. It burned brightly for some minutes, and 
then decaying, became extinguished, leaving the 
dark mountain black and gloomy as before. 

" What can it mean?" said Sir Marmaduke, in 
amazement. "Can it be some signal of the 
smugglers? I understand they still venture on 
this coast." 

"That mountain yonder is not seen from the 
bay," said Sir Archy, thoughtfully. "It can 
scarcely be that." 

"I think we must ask Miss O'Donoghue for 
the explanation," said Fred Travers. "She is 
the only one here not surprised at its appear- 
ance." 

"Miss O'Donoghue is one of those who, you 
assert, are to be taught; and, therefore, unable 
to teach others," said she, in a low whisper, only 
audible to Frederick, who stood beside her; and 
he almost started at the strange meaning the 
words seemed to convey. 



CHAPTER XXIV. 



A WALK BY MOONLIGHT. 



The visit alluded to in the last chapter formed 
the first step to an acquaintance which speedily 
ripened into intimacy. Seldom a day passed 
without some interchange of civilities; and as 
they progressed in knowledge of each other they 
advanced in esteem, so that, ere long, they learned 
to regard themselves as members of a single 
family. The conventional usages of society are 
stronger barriers against friendship than the world 
deems them. The life of cities supplies a coin- 
age of social intercourse which but very imper- 
fectly represents the value of true feeling; while 
in remoter and less cultivated regions men are 
satisfied to disencumber themselves of this false 
currency, and deal frankly and openly with each 
other. 

How little, now, did Sir Marmaduke remember 
of all Sir Archy's peculiarities of manner and 
expression! how seldom did Sybella think 
Kate's opinions wild and eccentric! and how 
difficult would it have been to convince the 
fastidious guardsman tliat the society of St. 
James's possessed any superiority in tone or 
elegance over the evenings at the lodge. 

The real elements of mutual liking were pres- 



ent here: the discrepancy of character and taste 
— the great difference of age and habit of thought 
— yet moulded into one common frame of esleem 
from the very appreciation of qualities in otliers 
in which each felt himself deficient. If Kate 
admired the simple but high-minded English 
girl, whose thoughts were rarely faulty save when 
attributing to others higher and purer motives 
than the world abounds in, Sybella looked up 
with enthusiastic delight to the glittering talents 
of her Irish friend — the warm and generous glow 
of her imagination — the brilliant flashes of her 
wit — the ready eloquence of her tongue; and, 
perhaps, not least of all, the intrepid fearlessness 
of her nature, inspired her with sentiments of 
almost awe, which seemed to deepen and not 
diminish her affection for Kate O'Donoghue. 

It miglit appear an ungenerous theme to dwell 
on, but how often are our friendships suggested 
by self-love? — how frequently are we led to think 
highly and speak praisingly of qualities the 
opposite to our own, from the self-satisfaction our 
apparent impartiality yields us. Justice must, 
indeed, be a great virtue when its very shadow 
can ennoble human nature. Not such, however, 
were the motives here. Kate's admiration for 
the unerring rectitude of Sybella's character 
was as free from taint as was Sybella's heartfelt 
enthusiasm for the Irish girl. As for Frederick 
Travers, the same dissimilarity in character which 
made him at first compare Kate with his sister 
disadvantageously, new induced him to be struck 
and fascinated by her qualities. The standard 
by which he had measured her she had long since 
passed, in his estimation; and any ideaofa.com- 
parison between them would now have appeared 
ridiculous. It was true many of her opinions 
savored of a nationality too strong for his admi- 
ration. She was intensely Irish — or, at least, 
what he deemed such. The traditions which, as 
a child, she had listened to with eager delight, 
had given a bias to her mind that grew more con- 
firmed with years. The immediate circumstances 
of her own family added to this feeling, and her 
pride was tinctured with sorrow at the fallen con- 
dition of her house. All her affection for her 
cousins could not blind her to their great defects. 
In Mark she saw one whose spirit seemed crushed 
and stunned, and not awakened by the ]iressure 
of misfortune. Herbert, with all his kmdliiiess of 
nature and open-heartedness, appeared more dis- 
posed to enjoy the sunshine of life than to prepare 
himself to buffet with its storms. 

How often she wished she had been a boy — 
how many a day-dream floated before her of such 
a career as she might have struck out! Ireland 
a nation — her " own sons her rulers" — had been 
the theme of many an oft-heard tale; and there 
was a poetry in the sentiment of a people recalled 
to a long-lost, long-sought- for nationality, that 
excited and exalted her imagination. 

Her convent education had stored her mind 
with narratives of native suffering and Saxon 
tyranny, and she longed for the day of retribution 
on the "proud invaders." Great washer disappoint, 
ment at finding her cousins so dead to every feel- 
ing of this kind; and she preferred the chivalrous 
ardor of the French soldier to the sluggish 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



273 



apatliy of Mark, or the happy indolence of 
Herbert O'Donoghue. 

Had Frederick Travers been an Irishman, 
would he have borne his country's wrongs so 
meekly? was a reflection that more than once 
occurred to her mind, and never more powerfully 
than on parting with him the very evening we 
have mentioned. He had accompanied them on 
their return to Carrignacurra, which, as the night 
was fine and the moon nearly at her full, they 
did on foot. Kate, who rarely accepted an arm 
when walking, had by some accident, taken his 
•on this occasion, Sir Archy leaning on that of 
Herbert. 

The young soldier listened with a high-beating 
heart as she related an incident of which the spot 
they were traversing had been the scene. It was 
a faithless massacre of a chieftain and his fol- 
lowers, seduced under pretences of friendship 
and a pledge of amity. 

" They told him," said she, " that his young 
wife, who had been carried away by force, and 
imprisoned for two entire years, should on this 
spot be restored to him; that he had but to come, 
witii twelve of his retainers, unarmed, save with 
their swords, and that here, where we now stand, 
she should once more become his own. The 
hour was sunset, and he waited vvith anxious im- 
patience, beneath that tall cliff yonder, where you 
can see the deep cleft. Strange enough, they 
have added a legend to the true story, as if their 
wrongs could derive any force from fiction! and 
they tell you still that the great rock was 
never split until that night. Their name for it, 
in Irish, is ' the rent,' or ' the ruptured pledge.' 
Do I weary you with these old tales?" 

" No, no; go on, I entreat you. I cannot say 
how the scene increases its fascinations from con- 
nection with your story." 

" He stood yonder, where the black shadow 
now crosses the road, and having dismounted, he 
gave his horse to one of his attendants, and 
walked, with an anxious heart, up and down, 
waiting for their approach. 

" There was less sympathy among his followers 
for their chieftain's sorrow than might be ex- 
pected; for she was not a native born, but the 
daughter of an English earl. He, perhaps, loved 
her the more — her very friendlessness was another 
tie between them." 

"Says the legend so, or is this a mere sus- 
picion on your part?" whispered Travers, softly. 

"I scarcely know," continued Kate, with an 
accent less assured than before. " I believe I tell 
you the tale as I have heard it; but why may 
she not have been his own in every sentiment and 
thought — why not have imbibed the right from 
him she learned to love?" The last words were 
scarcely uttered, when, with a sudden exclama- 
tion, less of fear than astonishment, Kate grasped 
Travers's arm, and exclaimed — " Did you see 
that?" 

" I thought some dark object moved by the 
roadside." 

" I saw a man pass, as if from behind us, and 
gain the thicket yonder: he was alone, how- 
ever." 

" And I am armed," said Travers, coolly. 



" And if you were not," replied she, proudly, 
" an O'Donoghue has nothing to fear in the val- 
ley of Glenflesk. Let us join my uncle, however, 
for I see he has left us some distance behind 
him;" and while they hastened forward she re- 
sumed her story with the same unconcern as be- 
fore the interruption. 

Travers listened eagerly — less, it is true, in 
sympathy with the story than in delight at the 
impassioned eloquence of her who related it. 
" Such," said she, as she turned to bid him 
farewell at the old keep on the roadside — " such 
are the traditions of our land; they vary in time, 
and place, and persons; but they have only one 
moral through all — what a terrible thing is sla- 
very!" 

Travers endeavored to turn the application of 
her speech by some commonplace compliment 
about her own powers of inflicting bondage; but 
she stopped him suddenly with, — 

" Nay, nay; these are not jesting themes, al- 
though you may deem them unsuited for one as 
ignorant and inexperienced as I am; nor will I 
speak of them again, if they serve but as matter 
for laughter." 

Amid his protestations of innocence against 
this charge, which, in his ardor, he pushed far- 
ther than calmer judgment might warrant, they 
shook hands cordially, and parted. 

" He's a fine-hearted fellow, too," thought 
Kate, as she slowly moved along in silence, 
"Saxon though he be, there's a chord in his 
bosom that responds to the touch of truth and 
honor." 

" Noble girl," said Frederick, half aloud, " it 
would be hard to rebuke treason, when spoken 
from such lips;" then added, with a smile, "it's 
no fair temptation to expose even a guardsman to." 

And thus each speculated on the character of 
the other, and fancied how, by their own influence, 
it might be fashioned and moulded to a better 
form; nor was their interest lessened in each 
other's fortune from the fact that it seemed to 
involve so much, of mutual interposition. 

"You should not walk this road so late," said 
Mark O'Donoghue, almost rudely, as he opened 
the door to admit them. " The smugglers are 
on the coast now, and frequently come up the 
glen at nightfall." 

" Why not have come to be our escort, then?" 
said Kate, smiling. 

"What? With the gay soldier for your guard," 
said he, bitterly. 

" How knew you that, my worthy cousin?" said 
Kate, rapidly; and then, with a significant shake 
of the head, added, in a whisper, " I see there 
a7e marauders about." 

Mark blushed till his face became scarlet, and 
turning abruptly away, sought his own room in 
silence. 



CHAPTER XXV. 

A DAY OF DIFFICULT NEGOTIATIONS. 

The time was now approaching when the- 
Traverses were to remove to the capital, and, at 



276 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



Sybella's urgent entreaty, Sir Marmaduke was 
induced to request that Kate O'Donoghue might 
accompany them in their visit, and thus enjoy 
the pleasures of a winter in Dublin, then second 
to no city of Europe in all that constituted social 
excellence. 

The note of invitation, couched in terms the 
most flattering and cordial, arrived when the 
O'Donoghues were seated at breakfast, and, as 
was usual on all occasions of correspondence, 
was opened by Kate herself. Scarcely had she 
thrown her eyes over its contents, when, with a 
heightened color, and a slight tremor in her 
voice, she passed the letter across the table to 
her uncle, and said, " This is for your considera- 
tion, sir." 

"Then you must read it for me, Kate," replied 
he, "for my ears have outlived my eyes." 

"Shall I do it?" interposed Sir Archy, who, 
having remarked some hesitation in Kate's 
manner, came thus good-naturedly to the rescue. 

"With all my heart, Archy," said the O'Don- 
oghue; "or rather, if you would do me a favor, 
just tell me what it is about — polite correspond- 
ence affects me pretty much as the ceremonies 
of bowing and salutation, when I have a fit of 
the gout. I become devilish impatient, and 
would give the world it was ail over, and that I 
I were back in my easy-chair again." 

" The politeness in the present case lies less 
in the style than in the substance," said Sir 
Archy. " This is a vara civil, though, I must 
say, to me a vara unwelcome proposal, to take 
our darling Kate away from us, for a season, and 
show her some of the life and gayeties of the 
capital." 

"Well, that is handsomely done, at least, " said 
the O'Donoghue, whose first thought sprang from 
gratified pride at the palpable evidence of social 
consideration; then suddenly changing his tone, 
he said, in a low voice, " but what says Kate 
herself?" 

Mark turned his eyes full upon her as his father 
said these words, and as a deadly pallor came 
over his face, he sat steadfastly awaiting her reply, 
like one expecting the decree of a judge. 

" Kate feels too happy here, sir, to risk any- 
thing by a change," replied she, avoiding, even 
for a second, to look towards where Mark was 
sitting. 

" But you must not lose such an opportunity, 
dearest Kate," whispered Herbert eagerly into 
her ear. "These are the scenes and the places 
you are used to, and best fitted to enjoy and to 
adorn; and besides " 

A stern frown from Mark, who, if he had not 
overheard the speech, seemed to have guessed its 
import, suddenly arrested the youth, who now 
looked overwhelmed with confusion. 

"We are a divided cabinet, that I see plainly 
enough, Kate," said O'Donoghue; " though, if our 
hearts were to speak out, I'd warrant they would 
be of one mind. Still, this would be a selfish 
verdict, my dear girl, and a poor requital for all 
the happiness you have brought back to these 
old walls;" and the words were spoken with a 
degree of feeling that made all indisposed to break 
the silence that followed. 



" I should like to see the capital, I own,'" said 
Kate, "if my absence were to be a short one." 

"And I wad hae nae objection the capital 
should see yersel'," said Sir Archy, "albeit I may 
lose a sweetheart by my generosity." 

" Have no fears of my fidelity," said Kate, 
laughing, as she extended her hand towards him, 
while, with antique gallantry, he pressed it to 
his lips. " The youth of this land are not, so far 
as my little experience goes, likely to supplant so 
true an admirer; they who have so little devo- 
tion to their country may well be suspected of 
having less for its daughters." 

Mark's brow grew dark with the flush that 
covered his face and forehead in an instant; he 
bent his head almost to the table to avoid ob- 
servation, and, as if in the distraction of the mo- 
ment, he took up the note and seemed to jiore 
over its contents; then suddenly crushing it in 
his hand, he rose from the table and left the room. 

" My sweet Kate," said Sir Archy, as he led 
her within the deep recess of a window, "tak' 
care ye dinna light up a flame of treason where 
ye only hoped to warm a glow of patrioti.'-m; such 
eyes and lips as yours are but too ready teachers; 
be cautious, lassie. This country, however others 
may think, is on the eve of some mighty struggle; 
the people have abandoned many of their old 
grudges and seem disposed to unite." 

"And the gentry — where are they who should 
stand at their head and share their fortunes?" 
cried Kate, eagerly; for the warning, so far from 
conveying the intended moral, only stimulated 
her ardor and excited her curiosity. 

"The gentry," replied Sir Arthy, in a firm, 
decided tone, "are better satisfied to live under 
a government they dislike than to be at the mercy 
of a rabble they despise. I hae lived larger than 
you in this dreary world, lassie, and trust me, the 
poetry of patriotism has little relation to the re- 
vengeful fury of rebellion. You wish freedom 
for those who cannot enjoy the portion of it they 
possess. It is time to outlive the evil memories 
of the past; we want here — time, to blunt the 
acuteness of former and long-past sufferings — • 
time, to make traditions so far forgotten as to be 
inapplicable to the present — time, to read the 
homely lesson, that one-half the energy a people 
can expend in revolt will raise them in the rank 
of civilized and cultivated beings." 

" Time, to make Irishmen forget that the land 
of their birth was ever other than an English 
province," added Kate, impetuously. "No, no, 
it was not thus your own brave countrymen un- 
derstood their 'devoirs.'" 

"They rallied round the standard of a prince 
they loved, lassie," said M'Nab, in a tone whose 
fervor contrasted with his former accent. 

"And will you tell me that the principle of 
freedom is not more sacred than the person of the 
sovereign?" said Kate, tauntingly. 

" There can be nae mistake about the one, but 
folksmay have vara unsettled notions of the other," 
said he, dryly; "but we mauna quarrel, Kate, 
dear; our time is e'en too short already. Sit ye 
down and sing me a sang." 

" It shall be a rebel one, then, I promise you," 
replied she, with an air of defiance which it was 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



277 



impossible to pronounce more real or assumed. 
"But here comes a visitor to interrupt us, and so 
your loyalty is saved for this time." 

The observation was made in reference to a 
traveller, who, seated in a very antique-looking 
dennet, was seen slowly laboring his wearied horse 
up the steep ascent to the castle. 

"It's Swaby, father," cried Herbert, who im- 
mediately recognized the equipage of the Cork 
attorney, and felt a certain uneasiness come over 
him at the unexpected appearance. 

" What brings him down to these parts?" said 
the O'Donoghue, affecting an air of surprise. 
" On his way to Killarney, perhaps. Well, well, 
they may let him in." 

The announcement did not, to all appearance, 
afford much pleasure to the others, for scarcely 
had the door bell ceased its jingle, when each 
quitted the drawing-room, leaving O'Donoghue 
alone to receive his man of law. 

Although the O'Donoghue waited with some 
impatience for the entrance of his legal adviser, 
that worthy man did not make his appearance at 
once, his progress to the drawing-room being 
arrested by Sir Archy, who, with a significant 
gesture, motioned him to follow hnii to his 
chamber. 

" I will not detain you many minutes, Mr. 
Swaby," said he, as he made signs for him to be 
seated. " I hae a sma' matter of business in 
which you can serve me. I need scarcely observe 
I reckon on your secrecy." 

Mr. Swaby closed one eye, and placed the tip 
of his finger on his nose — a pantomime intended 
to represent the most perfect fidelity. 

" I happen," resumed Sir Archy, apparently 
satisfied with his pledge — " I happen at this mo- 
ment to need a certain sum of money, and would 
wish to receive it on these securities. They are 
title-deeds of a property, which, for reasons I 
have no leisure at this moment to explain, is at 
present held by a distant relative in trust for my 
heir. You may perceive that the value is con- 
siderable" — and he pointed to a formidable array 
of figures which covered one of the margins. 
" The sum I require is only a thousand pounds 
— five hundred at once — immediately — the re- 
mainder in a year hence. Can this be arranged?" 

" Money was never so scarce," said Swaby, as 
he wiped his spectacles and unfolded one of the 
cumbrous parchments. " Devil take me if I 
know where it's all gone to. It was only last 
week I was trying to raise five thousand for old 
Hoare on the Ballyrickan property, and I could 
not get any one to advance me sixpence. The 
country is unsettled, you see. There's a notion 
abroad that we'll have a rising soon, and who 
knows what's to become of landed property 
after?" 

" This estate is in Perth," said M'Nab, tapping 
the deeds with his finger. 

"So I perceive," replied Swaby; "and they 
have no objection to a ' shindy' there too, some- 
times. The pretender got some of your country- 
men into a pretty scrape with his tricks. There 
are fools to be had for asking everywhere." 

"We will no discuss this question just noo," 
said Sir Archy, snappishly; "and, to return to 



the main point, please to inform me, is this loan 

impracticable?" 

" I didn't say it was, all out," said Swaby. 
" In about a week or two " 

" I must know before three days," interrupted 
M'Nab. 

" His honor's waiting for Mr. Swaby," said 
Kerry, who now appeared in the room, without 
either of the others having noticed his entrance. 

Sir Archy rose with an angry brow, but spoke 
not a syllable, while he motioned Kerry to leave 
the room. 

" You must join my brother-in-law, sir," said 
he at last; "and if our conversation is not already 
become the gossip of the house, I entreat of you 
to keep it a secret." 

"That, of course," said Swaby; "but I'm 
thinking I've hit on a way to meet your wishes, 
so we'll talk of the matter again this evening;" 
and thus saying, he withdrew, leaving Sir Archy 
in a frame of mind very far indeed from tranquil 
or composed. 

Swaby's surprise at his interview with Sir 
Archy, whom he never had the slightest sus- 
picion of possessing any property whatever, was 
even surpassed by his astonishment on hearing 
the favorable turn of O'Donoghue's affairs; and 
while he bestowed the requisite attention to 
follow the old man's statement, his shrewd mind 
was also engaged in speculating what probable 
results might accrue from this unexpected piece 
of fortune, and how they could best be turned 
to his own benefit. O'Donoghue was too deeply 
interested in his own schemes to question Swaby 
respecting his business with M'Nab, of which 
Kerry O'Leary had already given him a hint. 
The attorney was, therefore, free to deliberate in 
his own mind how far he might most advanta- 
geously turn the prosperity of the one to the aid 
of the other, for the sole benefit of himself. It 
is not necessary, nor would it conduce to the ob- 
ject of this story, to ask the reader's attention 
to this interview. It will be enough to say, that 
Swaby heard with pleasure O'Donoghue's dis- 
closure, recognizing with practised acuteness how 
far he could turn such unlooked for prosperity 
to his own purposes, and subsidize one brother- 
in-law at the expense of both. 

While thus each within the limit of this narrow 
household was following out the thread of his 
destiny, eagerly bent on his own object, Kate 
O'Donoghue sat alone at the window of her 
chamber, buried in deep thought. The prospect 
of her approaching visit to the capital presented 
itself in so many aspects, that, while offering 
pleasures and enjoyments none relished more 
highly than herself, she yet saw difficulties which 
might render the step unadvisable, if not peril- 
ous. Of all considerations, money was the one 
which least had occupied any share in her calcu- 
lations; yet now she bethought herself that expense 
must necessarily be incurred which her uncle's 
finances could but ill afford. No sooner had this 
thought occurred to her, than she was amazed it 
had not struck her before, and she felt actually 
startled lest, in her eagerness for the promised 
pleasure, she had only listened to the suggestion 
of selfishness. In a moment more she determined 



278 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



to decline the invitation. She was not one to 
take half measures when she believed a point of 
principle to be engaged; and the only difficulty 
now lay, how and in what manner to refuse an 
offer proffered with so much kindness. The note 
itself must open the way, thought she, and at 
the instant she remembered how Mark had taken 
it from the breakfast- table. 

She heard his heavy step as he paced back- 
wards and forwards in his chamber overhead, and 
without losing another moment hastily ascended 
the stairs to his door; her hand was already out- 
stretched to knock, when suddenly she hesitated; 
a strange confusion came over her faculties — 
how would Mark regard her request? — would he 
attribute it to over-eagerness on the subject of 
the invitation? Such were questions which oc- 
curred to her: and as quick came the answer, 
"And let him think so. I shall certainly not 
seek to undeceive him. He alone of all here has 
vouchsafed me neither any show of his affection 
nor his confidence." The flush mounted to her 
cheek, and her eyes darkened with the moment- 
ary excitement, and at the same instant the door 
was suddenly thrown open, and Mark stood be- 
fore her. 

Such was his astonishment, however, that for 
some seconds he could not speak; when at last 
he uttered, in a low, deep voice, — 

" I thought I heard a hand upon the lock, and 
I am so suspicious of that fellow Kerry, who 

frequently plays the eavesdropper here " 

" Not when you are alone, Mark?" said Kate, 
smiling. 

"Ay, even then. I have a foolish habit of 
thinking aloud, of which I strive in vain to break 
myself; and he seems to know it too." 

"There is another absent trick you have ac- 
quired also," said she, laughing. " Do you re- 
member having carried off the note that came 
while we were at breakfast?" 

" Did I ?" said he, reddening. " Did I take it off 
the table? Yes, yes; I remember something of it 
now. You must forgive me, cousin, if these care- 
less habits take the shape of rudeness." He 
seemed overwhelmed with confusion, as he 
added, " I know not why I put it into my pocket; 
here it is." 

And so saying, he drew from the breast of his 
coat a crushed and crumpled paper, and gave it 
into Kate's hand. She wished to say something 
in reply — something which would seem kind and 
good-natured; but, somehow, she faltered and 
hesitated. She twice got as far as, "I know, 
Mark — I am certain, Mark;" then unable to say 
what, perhaps, her very indecision rendered more 
difficult, she merely uttered a brief "thank you," 
and withdrew. 

" Poor fellow!" said she, as she re-entered 
her chamber, "his is the hardest lot of all." 

She had often wished to persuade herself fnat 
Mark's morose, sullen humor was the discontent 
of one who felt the ignorr>iny of an inglorious 
life — that habits of recklessness had covered, but 
not obliterated, the traces of tliat bold and gen- 
erous spirit for which his family had been long 
distinguished; and now, for the first time, she 
believed she had fallen on the evidences of such 



a temper. She pondered long on this theme, 
and fancied how, under circumstances favorable 
to their development, Mark's good qualities and 
courageous temper had won for him both fame 
and honor. "And here," exclaimed she, half 
aloud — " here he may live and die a peasantl" 
With a deep sigh she threw herself into a chair, 
and, as if to turn her thoughts into seme chan- 
nel less suggestive of gloom, she opened the 
letter Mark had given her. Scarcely, however, 
had she cast her eyes over it, when slie uttered 
a faint cry, too faint, indeed, to express any mere 
sense of fear, but in an accent in which terror 
and amazement were equally blended. 

The epistle was a brief one, not more than a 
few lines, and she had read it at a glance, before 
ever there was time to consider how far her do- 
ing so was a breach of confidence; indeed, the 
intense interest of the contents left little room 
for any self-examinings. It ran thus: — 

"Dear Brother, — No precipitation — no 
haste — nothing can be done without France. T. 
has now good hopes from that quarter, and if 
not 30,000, 20,000, or at least 15,000 will be 
given, and arms for double the number. You- 
ghal is talked of as a suitable spot; and H. has 
sent charts, &'C., over Above all, be patient; 
trust no rumors, and rely en us for the earliest 
and the safest intelligence. L. will hand you 
this. You must contrive to learn the cipher, as 
any correspondence discovered would ruin all. 
" Yours ever, and in the cause, 

"H. R." 

Here, then, was the youth she had been com- 
miserating for his career of lowly and unambi- 
tious hopes — here, the mere peasant! the accom- 
plice of some deep and desperate plot, in which 
the arms of France should be employed against 
the government of England. Was this the secret 
of his preoccupation and his gloom? Was it to 
concentrate his faculties on such a scheme tliat 
he lived this lonely and secluded life? "Oh, 
Mark, Mark, how have I misjudged you!" she 
exclaimed, and, as she uttered the words, came 
the thought, quick as a lightning flash, to her 
mind — what terrible hazards such a temperament 
as his must incur in an enterprise like this — with- 
out experience of men or any knowledge of the 
world whatever — without habitual prudence or 
caution of any kind, the very fact of his mistak- 
ing the letter a palpable evidence of his unfitness 
for trust. Reckless by nature^more desperate 
still from the fallen fortunes of his house — what 
would become of him? Others would wait the 
time and calculate their chances. He would 
listen to nothing but the call of danger. She 
knew him well, from boyhood upwards, and had 
seen him often more fascinated by peril than 
others were by pleasure. 

As she reasoned thus, her thoughts insensibly 
turned to all the dangers of such an enterprise 
as she believed him engaged in. The fascinat- 
ing visions of a speculative patriotism soon gave 
way before the terrors she now conjured up. 
She knew he was the only tie that bound his 
father to existence, and that any misfortune to 



THE O'DONOGHUE, 



279 



Mark would be the old man's death-blow. Nor 
were these the most poignant of her reflections, 
for she now remembered how often she had al- 
luded tauntingly to those who lived a life of 
mean or inglorious ambition; how frequently she 
had scoffed at the miserable part of such as, en- 
dowed with high names and ancient lineage, 
evinced no desire to emerge from an ignoble 
position, and assume a station of eminence and 
power; could she, then, have contributed to this 
youth's rash step — had her idle words and ran- 
dom speeches driven him to embrace a cause 
where his passions and not his judgment were 
interested ? What misery was in this fear! 

Each moment increased the agony of this re- 
flection, while her doubts as to how she ought to 
act thickened around her. Sir Archy alone was 
capable of advising her; his calm and unbiassed 
reason would now be invaluable, but dare she, 
even to him, make use of a confidence thus ac- 
cidentally obtained? Would Mark — could he 
ever forgive her? And how many others might 
such a disclosure compromise? In this dilemma 
she knew no course open to her but one — to ad- 
dress herself at once to Mark, to explain how his 
secret had become known, to learn from him as 
much as lay in her power of the dangers and 
difficulties of the meditated revolt, and if una- 
ble to dissuade him from participation, at least 
to mingle with his resolves all she could of pru- 
dence or good counsel. The determination was 
scarcely formed when she was once more at the 
door of his chamber; she knocked twice, with- 
out any reply following, then gently opened the 
door. The room was vacant, he was gone. " I 
will write to him," said she, hurriedly, and, with 
this new resolve, hastened to her chamber, and 
began a letter. 

The task she proposed to herself was not so 
easyof accomplishment; adozen times she endeav- 
ored, while explaining the accident that divulged 
his secret, to impress hiin with the hazard of 
an undertaking so palpably depicted, and to the 
safe keeping of which his own carelessness might 
prove fatal; but each effort dissatisfied her. In 
one place, she seemed not to have sufficiently 
apologized for her unauthorized cognizance of 
his note; in another, the stress she laid upon this 
very point struck her as too selfish and too per- 
sonal in a case where another's interests were 
the real consideration at issue; and even when 
presenting before him the vicissitudes of fortune 
to which his venturous career would expose him, 
she felt how every word contradicted the tenor 
of her own assertions for many a day and week 
previous. In utter despair how to act, she ended 
by closing the letter with merely these few 
words: — 

" I have read the enclosed, but your secret is 
safe with me. " K. O'D." 

This done, she sealed the packet, and had just 
written the address when, with a tap at the door. 
Sir .\rchy entered, and approached the table. 

With a tact and delicacy he well understood. 
Sir Archy explained the object of his visit — to 
press upon Kate's acceptance a sum of money 



sufficient for her outlay in the capital. The tone 
of half authority he assumed disarmed her at 
once, and made her doubt how far she could feel 
justified in opposing the wishes of her friends 
concerning her. 

"Then you really desire I should, go to 
Dublin?" said she. 

" I do, Kate, for many reasons — reasons which 
I shall have little difficulty in explaining to you 
hereafter." 

" I half regret I ever thought of it," said Kate, 
speaking her thoughts unconsciously aloud. 

" Not the less reason, perhaps, for going," 
said Sir Archy, dryly; while at the same moment 
his eye caught the letter bearing Mark O'Don- 
oghue's name. 

Kate saw on what his glance was fixed, and 
grew red with shame and confusion. 

" Be it so then, uncle," said she, resolutely. 
" I do not seek to know the reasons you speak 
of, for if you were to ask my own against the 
project, I should not be able to frame them; it 
was mere caprice." 

" I hope so, dearest Kate," said he, with a 
tone of deep affection — " I hope so, with all piy 
heart;" and thus saying, he pressed her hand 
fervently between his own and left the room. 



CHAPTER XXVI. 

A LAST EVENING AT HOME. 

With the experience of past events to guide 
us, it would appear now that a most unaccount- 
able apathy existed in the English cabinet of the 
period with regard to the plan of invasion medi- 
tated against Ireland by France, nor is it easy to 
determine whether this indifference proceeded 
more from ignorance of the danger, or that 
amount of information concerning it which dis- 
posed the minister to regard it as little import- 
ant. 

From whatever cause proceeding, one thing is 
sufficiently clear — the emissaries of France per- 
vaded the country in every part without impedi- 
ment or molestaton; statistical information the 
most minute was forwarded to Paris every week; 
the state of popular opinion, the condition of 
parties, the amount of troops disposable by gov- 
ernment, even the spirit which animated them, 
were reported and commented on. and made the 
subject of discussion in the " bureau" of the 
war minister of France. To such an extent was 
this system carried, that more than once the 
French authorities became suspicious regarding 
the veracity of statements, from the very facility 
with which their details were communicated, and 
hinted that such regularity in correspondence 
might be owing to the polite attentions of the 
English cabinet; and to this distrust is in a 
great measure to be attributed the vacillating 
and hesitating policy which marked their own 
deliberations. 

Tone's letters show the wearisome toil of his 
negotiation; the assurances of aid. obtained after 
months of painful, harassing solicitation, de- 



280 



THE O • D O N O G 1 1 U E . 



ferred or made dependent on some almost im- 
possible conditions; guarantees demanded from 
him which he neither could nor would accord; 
information sought, which, were they in actual 
possession of the country, would have been a 
matter of difificult acquisition; and, after all, 
when the promised assistance was granted, it 
came coupled with hints and acknowledgments 
that the independence of Ireland was nothing in 
their eyes, save as inflicting a death-blow to the 
powers and greatness of England. 

In fact, neither party was satisfied with the 
compact long before the time of putting it in op- 
eration arrived. Meanwhile the insurgents spared 
no efforts to organize a powerful body among the 
peasantry, and, at least, numerically to announce 
to France a strong and effective co-operation. 
Such reports were necessary to enable Tone to 
press his demand more energetically; and al- 
though he never could have deceived himself as 
to the inutility of such undisciplined and almost 
unarmed masses, still they looked plausible on 
paper, and vouched for the willingness of tlie 
people to throw off the yoke of England. 

It is now well known that the French party in 
Ireland was really very small. The dreadful 
wrongs inflicted on the Roman Catholic Church 
during the Revolution could not be forgotten or 
forgiven by that priesthood, who were their 
brethren; nor could it be supposed that they 
would lend a willing aid to further a cause which 
began its march to freedom over the ashes of 
their Church. Such as were best capable of pro- 
nouncing on the project — those educated in 
France — were naturally fearful of a repetition at 
home of the terrible scenes they had witnessed 
abroad, and thus the "patriots" lost the aid 
which, more than any other, could have stirred 
the heart of the nation. Abstract principles of 
liberty are not the most effective appeals to a 
people; and although the French agents were 
profuse of promises, and the theme of English 
oppression could be chanted with innumerable 
variations, the right chord of native sentiment 
was never touched, and few joined the cause 
save those who, in every country and in every 
age, are patriots — because they are paupers. 
Some, indeed, like the young O'Donoghue, were 
sincere and determined. Drawn in at first by 
impulses more purely personal than patriotic, 
they soon learned to take a deep interest in the 
game, and grew fascinated with a scheme which 
exalted themselves into positions of trust and 
importance. The necessity of employing this 
lure, and giving the adherents of the cause their 
share of power and influence, was another great 
source of weakness. Diversity of opinion arose 
on every subject; personal altercations of the 
bitterest kind, reproaches and insinuations, 
passed continually between them, and it needed 
all the skill and management of the chiefs to 
reconcile, even temporarily, these discordant in- 
gredients, and maintain any semblance of agree- 
ment among these "United Irishmen." 

Among those who lived away from such scenes 
of conflict the great complaint was the delay. 
" What are we waiting for?" " When are we 
to Strike the blow,'" were the questions ever aris- 



ing; and their inability to answer such satisfac- 
torily to the people only increased their chagrin 
and disappointment. If the sanguine betrayed 
impatience, the despondent — and there are such 
in every cause — showed signs of vacillation, and 
threw out dark hints of treachery and betrayal; 
while between both were the great masses, moved 
by every passing rumor, and as difificult to re- 
strain to-day as impossible to muster to-morrow. 

Such, briefly, was the condition of the party 
into which Mark O'Donoghue threw his fortune 
in life, as reckless of his fate as he was ignorant 
of the precise objects in view, or the means pro- 
posed for their accomplishment. 

His influence among the people was consider- 
able. Independently of all claims resulting from 
his name and family, he was individually a great 
favorite with them. Personal courage and dar- 
ing, skill in every manly exercise, and undaunted 
resolution, are gifts which, when coupled with 
a rough good-nature, and a really kind heart, are 
certain of winning their way among a wild and 
uncultivated people; and thus Herbert, who 
scarcely ever uttered a harsh word — whose daily 
visits to the sick were a duty Sir Archy expected 
from him — whose readiness to oblige was the 
theme of every tongue, was less their favorite 
than his brother. 

This influence, which, through Lanty Lawler, 
was soon reported to the delegates in Dublin, 
was the means of Mark's being taken into special 
confidence, and of a command being conferred 
on him, for the duties and privileges of which, 
he was informed, a few days would sufficiently 
instruct him. 

Nearly a week had elapsed from the day on 
which Kate addressed her note to Mark, and he 
had not yet returned home. Such absences 
were common enough; but now she felt an im- 
patience almost amounting to agony at the 
thought of what treasonable and dangerous pro- 
jects he might be engaged in, and the doubt be- 
came a torture how far she ought to conceal her 
own discovery from others. 

At length came the evening before her own de- 
parture from Carrignacurra, and they were 
seated around the tea-table, thoughtful and si- 
lent by turns, as are they who meet for the last 
time before separation. Although she heard 
with pleasure the announcement that Herbert 
would be her companion to the capital, where 
he was about to take up his residence as a stud- 
ent in Trinity College, her thoughts wandered 
away to the gloomier fortunes of Mark, darker as 
they now seemed in comparison with the pros- 
pects opening before his brother. 

Of all the party Herbert alone was in good 
spirits. The career was about to begin which 
had engrossed all his boyish ambition — the great 
race of intellect his very dreams had dwelt upon. 
What visions did he conjure of emulative ardor 
to carry off the prize among his companions, and 
win fame that might reflect its lustre on all his 
after life. From his very childhood Sir Archy 
had instilled into him this thirst for distinction, 
wisely substituting such an ambition for any 
other less ennobling. He had taught him to be- 
lieve thiit there would be more true honor in the 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



281 



laurels there won than in all the efforts, however 
successful, to bring back the lost glories of their 
once proud house. And now he was on the very 
threshold of that career his heart was centred in. 
No wonder is it, then, if his spirits were high 
and his pulse throbbing. Sir Archy's eyes sel- 
dom wandered from him. He seemed as if read- 
ing the accomplishment of all his long teaching, 
and as he watched the flashing looks and the ex- 
cited gestures of tlie boy, appeared as though 
calcuLiting how far such a temperament might 
minister to or mar his future fortune. 

The O'Donoghue was more thoughtful than 
usual. The idea of approaching solitude, so 
doubly sad to those advanced in life, depressed 
him. His evenings of late had been passed in 
a happy enjoyment he had not known for years 
before. Separation to the young is but the rup- 
ture of the ties of daily intercourse; to the old, 
it has all the solemn meaning of a warning, and 
tells of the approach of the last dreadful part- 
ing, when adieu.\ are said forever. He could 
not help those gloomy forebodings, and he was 
silent and depressed. 

Kate's attention wandered from the theme of 
Herbert's anticipated pleasures to think again of 
him, for whom none seemed now interested. She 
had listened long and anxiously for some sound 
to mark his coming, but all was still without, and 
on the road for miles the moonlight showed no 
object moving, and at last a deep reverie suc- 
ceeded to this state of anxiety, and she sat lost 
to all around her. Meanwhile, Sir Archy, in a 
low, impressive voice, was warning Herbert of 
the dangers of involving himself in any way in 
the conflicts of party politics then so high in 
Dublin. 

He cautioned him to reject those extreme opin- 
ions so fascinating to young minds, and which 
either give an unwarrantable bias to the judg- 
ment through life, or which, when their fallacy 
is detected, lead to a reaction as violent and 
notions as false. " Win character and reputation 
first, Herbert — gain the position from which your 
opinions will come with influence, and then, my 
boy, with judgment not rashly formed, and a 
mind trained to examine great questions, then 
you may fearlessly enter the lists, free to choose 
your place and party. You cannot be a patriot 
this way, in the newspaper sense of the term. It 
is possible, too, our dear Kate may deem your 
ambition a poor one " 

"Kate, did you say? — Kate, uncle?" said she, 
raising her head with a look of abstraction. 

" Yes, my dear, I was speaking o' some of the 
dangers that beset the first steps in political 
opinion, and telling Herbert that peril does not 
always bring honor." 

"True, sir — true; but Mark " She stopped, 

and the blush that covered her face suffused her 
neck and shoulders. It was not till her lips pro- 
nounced the name that she detected how inad- 
vertently she had revealed the secret of her own 
musings. 

" Mark, my sweet Kate, is, I trust, in no need 
of my warnings. He lives apart from the strug- 
gle; and, were it otherwise, he is older, and more 
able to form his opinions than Herbert here." 



These words were spoken calmly, and with a 
studious desire to avoid increasing Kate's con- 
fusion. 

" What about Mark?" cried the O'Donoghue, 
suddenly aroused by the mention of the name. 
" It's very strange he should not be here to say 
'good-bye' to Kate. Did any one tell him of the 
time fixed for your departure?" 

" I told him of it, and he has promised to be 
here," said Herbert. " He was going to Beer- 
haven for a day or two for the shooting, but, 
droll enough, he has left his gun behind him." 

" The boy's not himself at all, latterly," mut- 
tered the old man. " Lanty brought up two 
horses here the other day, and he would not even 
go to the door to look at them. I don't know 
what he's thinking of." 

" Kate never spoke, and tried with a great ef- 
fort to maintain a look of calm unconcern; when, 
with that strange instinct so indescribable and so 
inexplicable, she felt Sir Archy's eyes fixed upon 
her, her cheek became deadly pale. 

" There — there he comes, and at a slapping 
pace, too!" cried Herbert; and as he spoke the 
clattering sound of a fast gallop was heard as- 
cending the causeway, and the next moment the 
bell sent forth a loud summons. 

" I knew he'd keep his word," said the boy, 
proudly, as he walked to meet him. The door 
opened, and Frederick Travers appeared. 

So unexpected was the disappointment, it 
needed all Sir Archy's practised politeness to 
conceal from the young guardsman the discom- 
fiture of the rest. Nor did he entirely succeed, 
for Frederick was no common observer, and 
failed not to detect in every countenance around 
that his was not the coming looked for. 

" I owe a thousand apologies for the hour of 
my visit, not to speak of its abruptness," said he, 
graciously; "but we only learned accidentally 
to-day that Herbert was going up to Dublin, and 
my father sent me to request he would join our 
party." 

" He is about to enter college," said Sir Archy, 
half-fearing to divert the youth's mind from the 
great object of his journey. 

"Be it so." said Fred, gayly; '"we'll talk 
Virgil and Homer on the road." 

" I'm afraid such pleasant companionship may 
put Greece and Rome in the background," said 
Sir Archy, dryly. 

" I'll answer for it, he be nothing the worse 
for the brief respite from study. Besides, you'd 
not refuse me his company, when I tell you that 
otherwise I must travel alone, my father in his 
wisdom having decided lo despatch me half a 
day in advance to make preparations for his ar- 
rival. Is that quite fair. Miss O'Donoghue?" 

" I protest I think not, as regards us. As for 
you," added she, archly, "I should say so accom- 
plished a traveller always finds sufficient to amuse 
him on the least interesting journey. I remem- 
ber a little theory of yours on that subject; you 
mentioned it the first time I had the pleasure to 
meet you." 

The allusion was with reference to the manner 
in which Travers made her acquaintance in tlie 
Bristol packet, and the cool assurance of which 



282 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



she, with most womanly pertinacity, had not yet 
forgiven. Travers, who liad often felt ashamed 
of the circumstance, and had hoped it long since 
forgotten, looked the very picture of confusion. 

" I perceive Sir Archibald has not taught you 
to respect his native proverb, Miss O'Donoghue, 
and let 'bygones be bygones.' " 

" I hae taught her nothing Scotch, sir," replied 
Sir Archy, smiling, " but to love a thistle, and 
that e'en because it has a sting." 

" Not for those that know how to take it, 
uncle," said she archly, and with a fond expres- 
sion that lit up the old man's face in smiles. 

The guardsman was less at his ease than usual; 
and, having arranged the matter of his visit sat- 
isfactorily, arose to take his leave. 

"Then you'll be ready for me at eight, Her- 
bert. My father is a martinet in punctuality, 
and the phaeton will not be a second behind 
time; remember that, Miss O'Donoghue, for he 
makes no exception, even for ladies." 

He moved towards the door, then, turning 
suddenly, said, — 

"By-the-bye, have you heard anything of a 
movement in the country here about us? The 
government have apparently got some informa- 
tion on the subject, but I suspect without any 
foundation whatever." 

" To what extent does this information go?" 
said Sir Archy, cautiously. 

" That I can't tell you. All I know is, that my 
father has just received a letter from the Castle, 
stating that we are living in the very midst of an 
organized rebellion, only waiting the signal for 
open revolt." 

"That same rebellion has been going on, to my 
knowledge, something more than forty years," 
said the O'Donoghue, laughing; "and I never 
knew of a lord-lieutenant or chief secretary who 
didn't discover the plot, and save the kingdom; 
always leaving a nest-egg of treason for his suc- 
cessor to make a character by." 

"I'm no so sure it will no come to a hatching 
yet," said Sir Archy, with a dry shake of the head. 

" If it is to come, I wish with all my heart it 
might while I have a chance of being a specta- 
tor," said Travers. Then, suddenly remember- 
ing that the levity of the remark might not please 
the others, he muttered a few words about a 
hope of better prospects, and withdrew. 

During this brief colloquy, Kate listened with 
breathless interest to learn some fact, or even 
some well-grounded suspicion, which might serve 
to put Mark on his guard; but nothing could be 
more vague and indecisive than Travers 's informa- 
tion, and it was evident that he had not con- 
cealed anything he knew. Was he in a position 
to learn more? was the next question to herself; 
might he not be able to ascertain where the sus- 
picion of government rested, and on whom? 
Her decisions were seldom but the work of a 
second, and as soon as this thought struck her, 
she determined to act upon it. Slipping noise-- 
lessly from the room, she hastily threw a shawl 
around her, and hurried from the house by a 
small postern door which, leading down to the 
high road, was considerably shorter than the 
causeway by which Travers must pass. 



I It was no time for the indulgence of bashful- 
! ness, and, indeed, her thoughts were far too 
highly excited by another's destiny to leave any 
room to think of herself; and, short as the path 
was, it sufficed to let her arrange her plan of 
procedure, even to the very words she should 
employ. 

"J must not tell him it is for Mark," said she; 
"he must think it is a general desire to save any 
rash or misguided enthusiast from ruin. But 
here he comes." And at the same instant the 
figure of a man was seen approaching, leading 
his horse by the bridle. The dark shadow of 
the castle fell across the road at the spot, and 
served to make the form dim and indistinct. Kate 
waited not for his coming nearer, but, advancing 
hastily towards him, cried out, — 

" Captain Travers, I have a favor to ask you 
— one which my coming thus to seek " 

" Say no more, Kate, lest I hear what was never 
intended for my ears," said a low, deep voice. 

" Mark — cousin Mark, is this you?" cried she, 
with mingled pleasure and shame. 

"Yes,' replied he, in a tone of still deeper 
gravity; " I grieve to disappoint you — it is 
me." 

"Oh! Mark, mistake me not — do not wrong 
me." said she, laying her hand affectionately on 
his arm. "I have longed so much to see you — 
to speak to you, ere we went away." 

"To see OT^ — to speak to w^," said he, stepping 
back, and letting the moonlight fall full upon his 
features, now pale as death; "it was not me you 
expected to meet here." 

" No, Mark, but it was for you I came. I 
wished to serve^ — perhaps to save you. I know 
your secret, Mark, but it is safe with me." 

" And I know yours, young lady," retorted he, 
bitterly. " I cannot say how far my discretion 
will rival your own." 

As he spoke, a horseman darted rapidly past, 
and, as he emerged from the shadow, turned 
round in his saddle, stared fixedly at the figures 
before him, and then, taking off his hat, said, — 

" Good-night, Miss O'Donoghue." 

When Kate recovered the shock of this surprise, 
she found herself alone — Mark had disappeared, 
and she now returned slowly to the castle, her 
heart torn with opposing emotions, among which 
wounded pride was not the least poignant. 



CHAPTER XXVII. 



A SUPPER PARTY. 



As we are about to withdraw our reader for a 
brief period from the scenes wherein he has so 
kindly lingered with us hitherto, we may be per- 
mitted to throw on them a last look ere we part 

On the evening which followed that recorded 
in our last chapter, the two old men were seated 
alone in the tower of Carrignacurra, silent and 
thoughtful, each following out in his mind the 
fortunes of him for whom his interest was deepest, 
and each sad with the sorrow that never spares 
thpse who are, or who (leen) themselves, forsake 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



283 



Unaided memory can conjure up no such 
memorials of past pleasure as come from the 
objects and scenes associated with days and nights 
of happiness. They appeal with a force mere 
speculation never suggests, and bring back all 
the lesser but moie touching incidents of hourly 
intercourse, so little at the time — so much when 
remembered years afterward. 

The brightest moments of life are the most diffi- 
cult to recall; they are like the brilliant lights 
upon a landscape, which we may revisit a hun- 
dred times yet never behold under the same 
favorable circumstances, nor gaze on with the 
same enthusiasm as at first. It was thus that 
both the O'Donoghue and Sir Archy now re- 
membered her whose presence lightened so many 
hours of solitude, and even grafted hope upon 
the tree scathed and withered by evil fortune. 
Several efforts to start a topic of conversation; 
were made by each, but all equally fruitless, and 
both relapsed into a moody silence, from which 
they were suddenly aroused by a violent ringing 
at the gate, and the voices of many persons talking 
together, among which Mark 0'Donoghue"s could 
plainly be heard. 

" Yes, but I insist upon it," cried he; " to re- 
fuse will offend me." 

Some words were then spoken in a tone of re- 
monstrance, to which he again replied, but with 
even greater energy, — 

"What care I for that? This is my father's 
house, and who shall say that his eldest son can- 
not introduce his friends " 

A violent jerk at the bell drowned the re- 
mainder of the speech. 

"We are about to hae company, I perceive," 
said Sir Archy, looking cautiously about to secure 
his book and his spectacles before retreating to 
his bedroom. 

" Bedad, you guessed it," said Kerry, who, hav- 
ing reconnoitred the party through a small win- 
dow beside the door, had now prudently ad- 
journed to take counsel whether to admit them. 
" There's eight or nine at laste, and it isn't fresh 
and fasting either they are." 

" Why don't you open the door? — do you want 
your bones broken for you?" said the O'Don- 
oghue, harshly. 

"I'd let them gang the gait they cam," said 
Sir Archy, sagely; " if I may hazard a guess from 
their speech, they are no in a fit state to visit 
any respectable house. Hear till that!" 

A fearful shout now was heard outside. 

" What's the rascal staring at?" cried the 
O'Donoghue, with clenched teeth. "Open the 
door this instant." 

But the words were scarcely uttered, when a 
tremendous crash resounded through the whole 
building, and then a heavy noise like the fall of 
some weighty object. 

"'Tis the window he's bruk in — divil a lie," 
cried Kerry, in an accent of unfeigned terror; 
and, without waiting a second, he rushed from 
the room to seek some place of concealment from 
Mark's anger. 

The clash of the massive chain was next heard, 
as it banged heavily against the oak door; bolt 
after bolt was quickly shot, and Mark, calling 



out, "Follow me — this way," rudely pushed wide 
the door and entered the tower. A mere passing 
glance was enough to show that his excitement was 
not merely the fruit of passion- — his eyes wild 
and bloodshot, his flushed cheek, his swollen and 
heavy lips, all betrayed that he had drunk deeply. 
His cravat was loose and his vest open, while 
the fingers of his right hand were one mass of 
blood, from the violence with which he had 
forced his entrance. 

" Come along, Talbot— Holt, this way — come 
in boys," said he, calling to those behind. " I 
told them we should find you here, though they 
insisted it was too late." 

" Never too late to welcome a guest, Mark, 
but always too early to part with one," cried the 
O'Donoghue, who, although shocked at the con- 
dition he beheld his son in, resolved to betray 
for the time no apparent consciousness of it. 

"This is my friend, Harry Talbot, father — 
Sir Archy M'Nab, my uncle. Holt, where are 
you? I'll be hanged if they're not slipped away;" 
and with a fearful imprecation on their treachery, 
he rushed from the room, leaving Talbot to make 
his own advances. The rapid tramp of feet, and 
the loud laughter of the fugitives without, did 
not for a second or two permit of his few words 
being heard; but his manner and air had so far 
assured Sir Archy, that he stopped short as he 
was about to leave the room, and saluted him 
courteously. 

"It would be very ungracious in me," said 
Talbot, smiling, "to disparage my friend Mark's 
hospitable intentions, but in truth I feel so much 
ashamed for the manner of our entry here this 
evening, that I cannot express the pleasure such 
a visit would have given me under more becom- 
ing circumstances." 

Sir Archibald's surprise at the tone in which 
these words were delivered did not prevent him 
making a suitable reply, while, relinquishing his 
intention of retiring, he extinguished his candle, 
and took a seat opposite Talbot. 

Having in an early chapter of our tale presented 
this gentleman to our reader's notice, we have 
scarcely anything to add on the present occasion. 
His dress, indeed, was somewhat different; then, 
he wore a riding costume — now, he was habited 
in a frock, richly braided, and ornamented with 
a deep border of black fur; a cap of the same 
skin, from which hung a band of deep gold lace, 
he also carried in his hand — a costume which at 
the time would have been called foreign. 

While Sir Archy was interchanging courtesies 
with the newly-arrived guest, the O'Donoghue, 
by dint of reiterated pulling at the bell, had suc- 
ceeded in inducing Kerry O'Leary to quit his 
sanctuary, and venture to the door of his apart- 
ment, which he did with a caution only to be 
acquired by long practice. 

" Is he here, sir?" whispered he, as his eyes 
took a rapid but searching survey of the apart- 
ment. " Blessed Virgin, but he's in a dreadful 
temper to-night." 

" Bring some supper here, directly," cried 
O'Donoghue, striking the ground angrily with hiu 
heavy cane; "if I have to tell you again, I hope 
he'll break every bone in your skin." 



284 



THE O'DONOGHUE, 



" I reqnest you will not order any refreshment 
for me, sir," said Talbot, bowing; "we partook 
of a very excellent supper at a little cabin in the 
glen, where, among other advantages, I had the 
pleasure of making your son's acquaintance." 

"Ah, indeed, at Mary's," said the old man. 
" There are worse places than that little ' shebeen:' 
but you must permit me to offer you a glass of 
claret, which never tastes the worse in company 
with a grouse-pie." 

" You must hae found the travelling somewhat 
rude in these parts," said M'Nab, who thus en- 
deavored to draw from the stranger some hint 
either as to the object or the road of his jour- 
ney. 

"We were not over particular on that score," 
said Talbot, laughing. "A few young college 
men, seeking some days' amusement in the wild 
mountains of this picturesque district, could well 
afford to rough it for the enjoyment of the 
ramble." 

'"You should visit us in the autumn," said 
O'Donoghue, " when our heaths and arbutus blos- 
soms are in beauty; then, they who have travelled 
far, tell me that there is nothing to be seen 
in Switzerland finer than this valley. Draw your 
chair over here, and let me have the pleasure of 
a glass of wine with you." 

The party had scarcely taken their places at 
the table, when Mark re-entered the room, heated 
and excited with the chase of the fugitives. 

"They're off," muttered he, angrily, "down 
the glen, and I only hope they may lose their way 
in it, and spend the night upon the heather." 

As he spoke, he turned his eyes to the corner 
of the room, where Kerry, in a state of the most 
abject fear, was endeavoring to extract a cork 
from a bottle by means of a very impracticable 
screw. 

"Ah, you there!" cried he, as his eyes flashed 
fire. " Hold the bottle up — hold it steady, you 
old fool!" and with a savage grin he drew a pis- 
tol from his breast-pocket, and levelled it at the 
mark. 

Kerry was on his knees, one hand on the floor 
and in the other the bottle, which, despite all his 
efforts, he swayed backwards and forwards. 

"O master, darlin'! — O Sir Archy dear! — O 
Joseph and Mary!" 

"I've drunk too much wine to hit it flying," 
said Mark, with a half-drunken laugh, "and the 
fool won't be steady. There!" and as he spoke, 
the crash of the report resounded through the 
room, and the neck of the bottle was snapped off 
about half an inch below the cork. 

" Neatly done, Mark — not a doubt of it," said 
the O'Donoghue, as he took the bottle from 
Kerry's hand, who, with a pace a kangaroo might 
have envied, approached the taWe, actually 
dreading to stand up straight in Mark's pres- 
ence. 

"At the risk of being thought an epicure," 
said N'Nab, " I maun say I'd like my wine 
handled more tenderly." 

" It was cleverly done, though," said Talbot, 
helping himself to a bumper from the broken 
flask. " I remember a trick we used to have at 
St. Cyr, which was, to place a bullet on a cork, 



and then, at fifteen paces, cut away the cork, 
and drop the bullet into the bottle." 

" No man ever did that twice," cried Mark, 
rudely. 

" I'll wager a hundred guineas I do it twice, 
within five shots," said Talbot, with the most per- 
fect coolness. 

" Done, for a hundred — I say done,'' said 
Mark, slapping him familiarly on the shoulder. 
" I'll not win your money on such unfair terms," 
said Talbot, laughing; " and if I can refrain from 
taking too much of this excellent Bordeaux, I'll 
do the trick to-morrow without a wager." 

Mark, like most persons who place great store 
by feats of skill and address, felt vexed at the 
superiority claimed by another, answered care- 
lessly, " that, after all, perhaps the thing was 
easier than it seemed." 

"Very true," chimed in Talbot, mildly; "what 
we have neither done ourselves nor seen done by 
another, has always the appearance of difficulty. 
What is called wisdom is little other than the 
power of calculating success or failure on grounds 
of mere probability." 

"Your definition has the advantage of being 
sufficient for the occasion," said Sir Archy, smil- 
ing. " I am happy to find our glen has not dis- 
appointed you; but if you have not seen the Lake 
and the Bay of Glengariff, I anticipate even a 
higher praise from you." 

" We spent the day on the water," replied 
Talbot; "and if it were not a heresy, I should 
affirm that these bold mountains are grander and 
more sublime in the desolation of winter than 
even when clothed in the purple and gold of sum- 
mer. There was a fine sea, too, rolling into that 
great bay, bounding upon the rocks, and swelling 
proudly against the tall cliffs, which, to my eye, 
is more pleasurable than the glassy surface of 
calm water. Motion is the life of inanimate ob- 
jects, and life has always its own powers of ex- 
citement." 

While they conversed thus, M'Nab, endeavor- 
ing, by adroit allusions to the place, to divine the 
real reason of t'he visit, and Talbot, by encom- 
iums on the scenery, or, occasionally, by the ex- 
pression of some abstract proposition, seeking to 
avoid any direct interrogatory, Mark, who had 
grown weary of a dialogue, which, even in his 
clearer moments, would not have interested him, 
filling and refilling a large glass unceasingly, while 
the O'Donoghue merely paid that degree of at- 
tention which politeness demanded. 

It was thus that, while Sir Archy believed he 
was pushing Talbot closely on the objects of his 
coming, Talbot was, in reality, obtaining from 
him much information about the country gener- 
ally, the habits of the people, and their modes of 
life, which he effected in the easy, unconstrained 
manner of one perfectly calm and unconcerned. 
"The life of a fisherman," said he, in reply to a 
remark of Sir Archy 's — "the life of a fisherman 
is, however, a poor one; for though his gains are 
great at certain seasons, there are days — ay, whole 
months — he cannot venture out to sea. Now it 
strikes me, that in that very Bay of Bantry the 
swell must be terrific when the wind blows from 
the west, or the nor'- west." 





<^Wat^{/ta//T^a XI ^^/^^/^A 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



285 



" You are right — quite right," answered M'Nab, 
kho at once entered freely into a discussion of 
the condition of the bay, under the various chang- 
ing circumstances of wind and tide. " Many of 
our poor fellows have been lost within my own 
inemory, and, indeed, save when we have an 
easterly wind " 

"An easterly wind?" re-echoed Mark, lifting 
his head suddenly from between his hands, and 
staring in half-drunken astonishment around him. 
"Is that the toast — did you say that.'" 

"With all my heart," said Sir Archy, smiling. 
" There are few sentiments deserve a bumper bet- 
ter by any who live in these parts. Won't you 
join us, Mr. Talbot?" 

"Of course I will," said Talbot, laughing; but 
Vvith all his efforts to seem at ease, a quick ob- 
server might have remarked the look of warning 
he threw towards the young O'Donoghue. 

" Here, then," cried Mark, rising, while the 
Vvine trickled over his hand from a brimming 
goblet — " I'll give it — are you ready?" 

"All ready, Mark," said the O'Donoghue, laugh- 
ing heartily at the serious gravity of Mark's 
countenance. 

"Confound it," cried the youth, passionately, 
"I forgot the jingle." 

" Never mind — never mind," interposed Talbot, 
Blyly; "we'll pledge it with as good a mind." 

"That's — that's it," shouted Mark, as the last 
Word clinked upon his memory. " I have it now," 
and his eyes sparkled, and his brows were met, 
as he called out, — 

" 'A stout heart and mind. 
And an easterly wind. 
And the devil behind 
The Saxon.' " 

Sir Archy laid down his glass untasted, while 
Talbot, bursting forth into a well-acted laugh, 
cried out, " You must e.\cuse me from repeating 
your amiable sentiment, which, for aught I can 
guess, may be a sarcasm on my own country." 

" I'd like to hear the same toast explained," 
Raid Sir Archy, cautiously, while his looks wan- 
dered alternately from Mark to Talbot. 

"So you shall, then," replied Mark, sternly, 
"and this very moment, too." 

" Come, that's fair," chimed in Talbot, while 
he fixed his eyes on the youth with such a steady 
gaze as seemed actually to have pierced the dull 
Vapor of his clouded intellect, and flashed light 
upon his addled brain. " Let us hear your ex- 
planation." 

Mark, for a second or two, looked like one 
suddenly awakened from a deep sleep, and trying 
to collect his wandering faculties, while, as if 
instinctively seeking the clue to his bewilderment 
from Talbot, he never turned his eyes from him. 
As he sat thus he looked the very ideal of half- 
drunken stupidity. 

" I'm afraid we have no right to ask the explana- 
tion," whispered Talbot into M'Nab's ear. "We 
ought to be satisfied if he give us the rhyme, even 
though he forget the reason." 

" I'm thinking you're right, sir," replied M'Nab; 
"but I suspect we hae na the poet before us ony 
mair than the interpreter." 

Mark's faculties, in slow pursuit of Talbot's 



meaning, had just at this instant overtaken their 
object, and he burst forth into a boisterous fit of 
laughter, which, whatever sentiment it might have 
excited in the others, relieved Talbot, at least, 
from all his former embarrassment: he saw that 
Mark had, though late, recognized his warning, 
and was at once relieved from any uneasiness on 
ths score of his imprudence. 

Sir Archy was, however, very far from feeling 
satisfied. What he had heard, brief and broken 
as it was, but served to excite his suspicions, and 
make him regard his guest as at least a very 
doubtful character. Too shrewd a diplomatist to 
push his inquiries any farther, he adroitly turned 
the conversation upon m.ntiers of comparative 
indifference, reserving to himself the part of 
acutely watching Talbot's manner, and narrowly 
scrutinizing the extent of his acquaintance with 
Mark O'Donoghue. In whatever school Talbot 
had been taught, his skill was more than a match 
for Sir Archy's. Not only did he at once detect 
the meaning of the old man's policy, but he con- 
trived to make it subservient to his own views by 
the opportunity it afforded him of estimating the 
influence he was capable of exerting over the 
nephew, and how far, if need were, Mark should 
become dependent on his will, rather than on 
that of any member of his own family. The 
frankness of his manner, the seeming openness of 
his nature, rendered his task a matter of apparent 
amusement; and none at the table looked m every 
respect more at ease than Harry Talbot. 

While Sir Archy was thus endeavoring, with 
such skill as he possessed, to worm out the secret 
reason — and such, he well knew, there must be — • 
of Talbot's visit to that unfrequented region, 
Kerry O'Leary was speculating, with all his 
imaginative ability, how best to account for that 
event. The occasion was one of more than 
ordinary difficulty. Talbot looked neither like a 
bailiff nor a sheriff's officer; neither had he out- 
ward signs of a lawyer or an attorney. Kerry 
was conversant with the traits of each of these. 
If he was a suitor for Miss Kate, his last guess, 
he was a day too late. 

" But sure he couldn't be that; he'd never come 
with a throop of noisy vagabonds, in the dead of 
the night, av he was after the young lady. Well, 
well, he bates me out— sorra lie in it," said he, 
drawing a heavy sigh, and crossing his hands 
before him in sad resignation. 

" On my conscience, then, it was a charity to cut 
your hair for you, anyhow!" said Mrs. Branaghan, 
who had been calmly meditating on the pistol- 
shot, which, in grazing Kerry's hair, had some- 
what damaged his locks. 

"See, then, by the holy mass! av he went half 
an inch lower, it's my life he'd be after taking; 
and av he was the fifty O'Donoghues, I'd have 
my vingince. Bad cess to me, but they think the 
likes of me isn't fit to live at all." 

"They do," responded Mrs. Branaghan, with a 
mild puff of smoke from the corner of her mouth 
— "they do; and if they never did worse than 
extarminate such varmin, their sowls would have 
an easier time of it." 

Kerry's brow lowered, and his lips muttered, 
but no distinct reply was audible. 



286 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



" Sorra bit of good I see in ye at all," said she, 
with inexorable severity. " I mind the time ye 
used to tell a body what was doing above-stairs; 
and though half what ye said was lies, it was 
better than nothing; but now yer as stupid and 
lazy as the ould beast there fornint the fire — not 
a word out of your head from morning to night. 
Ayeh, is it your hearin's failin' ye?" 

"I wish to the Blessed Mother it was," mut- 
tered he, fervently, to himself. 

"There's a man now eatin'and drinkin' in the 
parlor, and the sorra more ye know about him 
, than if he was the Queen of Sheba." 

" Don't I, thin — maybe not," said Kerry, 
tauntingly, and with a look of such well-affected 
secrecy that Mrs. Branaghan was completely de- 
ceived by it. 

" What is he, then? — spake it out free this 
minit," said she. " Bad cess to you, do you 
want to trate me like an informer?" 

" No, mdeed, Mrs. Branaghan; it's not that same 
I'd even to you — sure I knew your people — father 
and mother's side — two generations back. Miles 
Buoy — Yallow Miles, as they called him — was the 
finest judge of ahorse in Kerry — I wonder, now, 
he didn't make a power of money." 

"And so he did, and spint it after. 'Twas 
blackguards, with ould gaiters, and one spur on 
them, that ate up every shilling he saved." 

■' Well, well! think of that now," said Kerry, 
with the sententiousness of one revolving some 
strange and curious social anomaly; " and that's 
the way it wint?" 

"Wasn't it a likely way enough?" said Mrs. 

Branaghan, with flashing eyes; " feedin' a set of 

spalpeens that thought of nothing but chatingthe 

, World, The sight of a pair of top-boots gives me 

the heartburn to this day." 

" Mine warms to them, too," said Kerry, tim- 
idly, who ventured on this humble pun with deep 
humility. 

A contemptuous scowl was Mrs. Branaghan's 
reply, and Kerry resumed, — 

" Them's the changes of the world— rich yes- 
terday — poor to-day. Don't I know what pov- 
erty is well myself? Augh! sure enough, they wor 
the fine times when I rode out on a beast worth 
eighty guineas in goold, with clothes on my back 
a lord might envy; and now, look at me!" 

Mrs. Branaghan, to whom the rhetorical figure 
seemed a direct appeal, did look; and assuredly 
the inspection conveyed nothing flattering, for 
she turned away abruptly and smoked her pipe 
with an air of profound disdain. 
. "Faix, ye may say so," continued Kerry, con- 
verting her glance into words. " 'Tis a poor 
object I am this blessed day. The coat on my 
back is more like a transparency, and my small 
clothes, saving your favor, is as hard to get into 
as a fishing-net; and if I was training for the 
coorse I couldn't be on shorter allowance." 

" What's that yer saying about yer vittals?" said 
the cook, turning fiercely towards him. " There's 
not your equal for an appetite from this to Cork. 
It's little time a Kerry cow would keep you in 
beef, and it's an ill skin it goes into. Yer a dis- 
grace to a good family." 

" Well, I am, and there's no denying it!" ejac- 



ulated Kerry, with a sigh that sounded far more 
like despair than resignation. 

"Is it to hang yourself you have that piece 
of rope there?" said she, pointing to the end 
of a stout cord that depended from Kerry's 
pocket. 

" Maybe it might come to that same yet," said 
he; and then putting his hand into his pocket, 
he drew forth a great coil of rope, to the end of 
which a leaden weight was fastened. " There 
now," resumed he, "yer a cute woman — can ye 
tell me the meanin' of that?" 

Mrs. Branaghan gave one look at the object 
in question, and then turned away, as though the 
inquiry was one beneath her dignity to investigate. 
" Some would call it a clothes-line, and more 
would say it was for fishing; but sure there's no 
sign of hooks on it at all; and what's the piece 
of lead for? — that's what bothers me out entirely." 
These observations were so many devices to 
induce Mrs. Branaghan to offer her own specula- 
tions; but they failed utterly, that sage per- 
sonage not deigning to pay the least attention 
either to Kerry or the subject of his remarks. 

" Well, I'll just leave it where I found it," said 
he, in a half soliloquy, but which had the effect of 
at least arousing the curiosity of his companion. 
"And where was that?" asked she. 
" Outside there, before the hall door," said he, 
carelessly, " where I got this little paper book 
too;" and he produced a small pocket almanac 
with blank pages interleaved, some of which had 
short pencil memoranda. I'll leave them both 
there, for, somehow, I don't like the look of 
either of them." 

" Read us a bit of it first, anyhow," said Mrs. 
Branaghan, in a more conciliating tone than she 
had yet employed. 

" 'Tis what I can't do, then," said Kerry, "for 
it's writ in some outlandish tongue that's past mg 
altogether." 

" And you found them at the door, ye say?" 
" Out there fornint the tower. 'Twas the chapj 
that run away from Master Mark that dropped 
them. Ye'ra dhroli bit of a rope as ever I seen," 
added he, as he poised the lead in his hand, " av 
a body knew only what to make of ye." Then 
turning to the book, he pored for several minutes 
over a page, in which there were some lines 
written with a pencil. "Be my conscience I 
have it," said he, at length; "and faix it wasn't 
bad of me to make it out What do you think, 
now, the rope is for?" 

"Sure I tould you afore I didn't know." 
" Well, then, hear it, and no lie in it — 'tis for 
measurin' the say." 

"Measurin' the say! What bother you're 
talkin': isn't the say thousands and thousands of 
miles long?" 

" And who says it isn't? — but for measurin' the 
depth of it, that's what it is. Listen to this — 
' Bantry Bav, eleven fathoms at low water inside of 
Whiddy Island; but the shore current at half ebb 
makes landing difficult with any wind from the 
westward;' and here's another piece, half rubbed 
out, about flat-bottomed boats being best for the 
surf." 

" 'Tis the smugglers again," chimed in Mrs, 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



287 



Branaghan, as though summing up her opinion on 
the evidence. 

"Troth, then, I don't think so; they never 
found it hard to land, no matler how it blew. I' 
thinking of a way to find it out at last." 

"And what's that?" 

"I'll just go up to the parlor, wid an innocent 
face on me, and I'll lay the rope and the little 
book down on the table before the strange man 
there, and I'll just say, ' There's the things your 
honor dropped at the door outside;' and may- 
be ould Archy won't have the saycret out of 
him." 

" Do that, Kerry, avick," said Mrs. Branaghan, 
who at length vouchsafed a hearty approval of 
his skill in devices — "do that, and I'll broil a 
bit o' meat for ye again ye come down." 

"Wid an onion on it, av it's plazing to ye, 
ma'am," said Kerry, insinuatingly. 

"Sure I know how ye like it; and if ye have 
the whole of the saycret, maybe you'd get adhrop 
to wash it down besides." 

" And wish you health and happy days, Mrs. 
Branaghan, "added Kerry, with a courteous gal- 
lantry he always reserved for the kitchen. So 
saying, he arose from his chair, and proceeded to 
arrange his dress in a manner becoming the 
"dignity of his new mission, rehearsing at the same 
time the mode of his entry. 

" ' 'Tis the rope and the little book, your 
honor,' I'll say, ' that ye dropped outside there, 
and sure it would be a pity to lose it afther all 
your trouble measuring the places.' That will 
be enough for ould Archy; let him get a sniff of 
the game once, and begorra he'll run him home 
by himself afterwards." 

With this sensible reflection Kerry ascended 
the stairs in high good humor at his own sagacity 
and the excellent reward wiiich awaited it on his 
return. As he neared the door, the voices were 
loud and boisterous; at least, Mark's was such; 
and it seemed as if Talbot was endeavoring to 
moderate the violent tone in which he spoke, and 
successfully, too; for a loud burst of laughter 
followed, in which Talbot appeared to join 
heartily. 

" Maybe I'll spoil your fun," said Kerry, mali- 
ciously, to himself; and he opened the door, and 
entered. 



CHAPTER XXVIII. 

THE CAPITAL AND ITS PLEASURES. 

Dublin, at the time we speak of, possessed 
social attractions of a high order. Rank, 
beauty, intellect, and wealth, contributed their 
several influences; and while the tone of society 
had all the charms of a politeness now bygone, 
there was an admixture of native kindliness and 
cordiality as distinctive as it was fascinating. 

Almost every Irishman of rank travelled in 
those days. It was regarded as the last finish- 
ing-touch of education, and few nations possess 
quicker powe>rs of imitation, or a greater apti- 
tude in adapting foreign habitudes to home 



usages, than the Irish; for, while vanity with 
the Frenchman — coldness with the Englishman 
— and stolid indifference with the German, are 
insuperable barriers against this acquirement, the 
natural gayety of Irish character, the buoyancy, 
but still more than all, perhaps, the inherent de- 
sire to please, suggest a quality which, when 
cultivated and improved, becomes that great ele- 
ment of social success — the most precious of all 
drawing-room gifts — men call tact. 

It would be a most unfair crite^'ion of the 
tastes and pleasures of that day, were we to pro- 
nounce from our experience of what Dublin now 
is. Provincialism had not then settled down 
upon the city, with all its petty attendant evils. 
The character of a metropolis was upheld by a 
splendid court, a resident parliament, a great and 
tilled aristocracy. The foreground figures of the 
time were men whose names stood high, and 
whose station was recognized at every court of 
Europe. There was wealth more than propor- 
tioned to the cheapness of the country; and while 
ability and talent were the most striking features 
of every circle, the taste for gorgeous display ex- 
hibited within doors and without, threw a glare 
of splendor over the scene, that served to illus- 
trate, but not eclipse, the prouder glories of 
mind. The comparative narrowness of the cir- 
cle, and the total absence of English reserve, 
produced a more intimate admixture of all the 
ranks which constitute good society here than in 
London, and the advantages were evident; foi 
while the aristocrat gained immeasurably from in- 
tercourse with men whose pursuits were purely 
intellectual, so the latter acquired a greater ex- 
pansiveness, and a wider liberality in his views, 
from being divested of all the trammels of mere 
professional habit, and threw off his pedantry as 
a garment unsuited to his position in society. 
But what more than all else was the characteris- 
tic of the time, was the fact that social eminence 
— the succes de salon — was an object to every one. 
From the proud peer, who aspired to rank and 
influence in the councils of the State, to the ris- 
ing barrister, ambitious of parliamentary distinc- 
tion — from the mere fashionable idler of the 
squares, to the deeper plotter of political intrigue 
— this was alike indispensable. The mere ad- 
mission into certain circles was nothing — the fact 
of mixing with the hundred others who are an- 
nounced, and bow, and smile, and slip away, did 
not then serve to identify a man as belonging to 
a distinct class in society; nor would the easy 
platitudes of the present day, in which the fool 
or the fop can always have the ascendant, suffice 
for the absence of conversational ability, ready 
wit, and sharp intelligence, which were assem- 
bled around every dinner-table of the capital. 

It is not our duty, still less our inclination, to 
inquire why all these goodly attractions left us, 
nor wherefore is it. that, like the art of staining 
glass, social agreeability should be lost forever. 
So it would seem, however; we have fallen upon 
tiresome times, and he who is old enough to re- 
member pleasanter ones has the sad solace of 
knowing that he has seen the last of them. 

Crowded as the capital was with rank, wealth, 
and influence, the arrival of Sir Marmaduke 



288 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



Travers was not without its ^ilat. His vast for- 
tune was generally known; besides that, there 
Was a singularity in the fact of an Englishman, 
bound to Ireland by the very slender tie of a 
small estate, without connections or friends in 
the country, coming to reside in Dublin, which 
gratified native pride as much as it excited pub- 
lic curiosity; and the rapidity with which the 
most splendid mansion in Stephen's green was 
prepared for his reception vied in interest with 
the speculation as to what possible cause had in- 
duced him to come and live there. The rumors 
of his intended magnificence, and the splendor 
of his equipage, furnished gossip for the town 
and paragraphs for the papers. 

It was, indeed, a wondrous change for those two 
young girls — from the stillness and solitude of 
Glenflesk, to the gayety of the capital — from a 
life of reflection and retirement, to the dazzling 
scenes and fascinating pleasures of a new world. 
Upon Sybella the first effect was to increase her 
natural timidity — to render her more cautious, 
as she found herself surrounded by influences so 
novel and so strange; and in tliis wise there 
was mingled with her enjoyment a sense of hesi- 
tation and fear that tinged all her thoughts, and 
even impressed themselves upon her manner. 
Not so with Kate: the instinct that made her 
feel at home in the world was but the conscious- 
ness of her own powers of pleasing. She loved 
society as the scene where, however glossed over 
by conventionalties, human passions and feelings 
were at work, and where the power of influencing 
or directing others gave a stimulus to exist- 
ence far higher and nobler than all the pleas- 
ures of retirement. It was life, in fact. Each 
day had its own separate interests, dramatizing, 
as it were, the real, and making of the ordinary 
events of the world a romance, of which she felt 
herself a character. As much an actor as spec- 
tator, she threw herself into the pleasures of 
society with a zest which need only have the ac- 
companiments of youth, beauty, and talents, to 
make it contagious. Thus differing in character 
as in appearance, these two young girls at once 
became the acknowledged beauties of the capital, 
and each was followed by a troop of admirers, 
whose enthusiasm exhibited itself in a hundred 
different ways. Their favorite colors at a ball 
became the fashionable emblems of the next day 
on the promenade, and even the ladies caught 
up the contagion, and enlisted themselves into 
parties, whose rivalry amused none so much as 
those in whom it had its origin. 

While the galling enmity of Celt to Saxon was 
then stirring in secret the hearts of thousands 
in the country, and fashioning itself into the 
elements of open insurrection, the city was di- 
vided by a more peaceful animosity, and the Eng- 
lish and the Irish party were arrayed against 
each other in the cause of beauty. 

It would be impossible to conceive a rivalry 
from which every ungenerous or unworthy feel- 
ing was more perfectly excluded. So far from 
any jealousy obtruding, every little triumph of 
one was a source of unalloyed heartfelt pleasure 
to the other; and while Sybella sympathized with 
all the delight of Kate's followers in an Irish 



success, so Kate, with characteristic feeling, en- 
joyed nothing so much as the chagrin of hei 
own party when Sybella was unquestionably in 
the ascendant. Happily for us, we are not 
called upon to explain a phenomenon so novel 
and so pleasing — enough if we record it. Cer- 
tain it is, the absence of all envy enhanced the 
fascinations of each, and exalted the objects in 
the eyes of their admirers. On this point alone 
opinion was undivided — none claimed any super- 
iority for their idol by ascribing to her a greater 
share of this good gift; nor could even malice 
impute a difference in their mutual affection. 

One alone among the circle of their acquaint- 
ances stood neutral — unable to divest himself 
enough of natural partiality to be a fair and just 
judge. Sir Marmaduke Travers candidly avowed 
that he felt himself out of court. The leaders 
of fashion, the great arbiters of bon ton, were 
happily divided, and if England could boast of 
a majority among the Castle party, Ireland 
turned the scale with those who, having enjoyed 
opportunities of studying foreign manners, pro- 
nounced Kate's the very perfection of French 
agreeability, united to native loveliness and at- 
traction. 

So much for " the sensation," to use the phrase 
appropriated by the newspapers, their entrance 
into the fashionable life of Dublin excited. Let 
us now return to the parties themselves. In a 
large and splendidly furnished apartment of Sir 
Marniaduke's Dublin residence, sat the baronet, 
his daughter, and Kate, at breakfast, alternately 
reading from the morning papers, and discussing 
the news as they ate. 

"Well, but, my dear Kate" — Sir Marmaduke 
had emancipated himself from the more formal 
" Miss" a week before — " turn to another column, 
and let us hear if they have any political news." 

" There's not a word, sir, unless an allusion 
to the rebel color of my dress at the chancellor's 
ball be such. You see, Sybella, Falkner fights 
not under my banner." 

" I think you stole the chancellor himself from 
me," replied Sybella, laughing, " and I must say 
most unhandsomely, too; he had just given me 
his arm, to lead me to a chair, when you said 
something in a half whisper — I could not catch 
it if I would — he dropped my arm, burst out 
a-laughing, and hurried over to Lord Clonmel — 
I suppose to repeat it." 

" It was not worth relating, then," said Kate, 
with a toss of her head. "I merely remarked 
how odd it was Lady Ridgeway couldn't dance 
in time, with such beautiful clocks on her stock- 
ings." 

"Oh, Kate, dearest!" said Sybella, who, while 
she could not refrain from a burst of laughter, 
became deep scarlet at her friend's hardihood. 

" Why, Meddlicot told that as his own at sup- 
per," said Sir Marmaduke. 

" So he did, sir; but I cautioned him that a 
license for wholesale does not permit the retail 
even of jokes. Isn't the worthy sheriff a drug- 
gist? But what have we here — all manner of 
changes on the staff — Lord Sellbridge to join 
his regiment at Hounslow, vice Captain — your 
brother, Sybella — Captain Frederick Travers;" 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



289 



and she reddened slightly at the words. " I did 
not know he was appointed aide-de-camp to the 
viceroy." 

" Nor did I, my dear," said Sir Marmaduke. 
" I knew he was most anxious to make the ex- 
change with Lord Sellbridge; but this is the first 
I have heard of the success of his negotiation." 

" You see, Kate," said Sybella, while a sly 
glance shot beneath her long-lashed lids, "that 
even Fred has become a partisan of Ireland." 

" Perhaps the prospect of the revolt he hinted 
at," replied Kate, with an air of scornful pride, 
" has made the guardsman prefer this country 
for the moment." 

"I incline to a very different reason," said 
Sybella, but in a voice so subdued as to be only 
audible to Kate herself, who again blushed 
deeply, and seemed greatly confused. 

" }{a! here it is," said Sir Marmaduke, read- 
ing aloud a long paragraph from a morning 
paper, which, descanting on the abortiveness of 
any effort to destroy the peace of the realm by 
enemies without or within its frontiers, con- 
cluded with a glowing panegyric on the blessings 
of the British constitution. " ' The government, 
while confiding implicitly on the loyalty and 
bravery of his majesty's people, have yet neg- 
lected no measures of precaution against the 
insane and rash attempts of our " natural ene- 
mies," whose temerity is certain of again receiv- 
ing the same severe lesson which every attempt 
upon our shores has taught them." Yes — yes — 
very prompt and active measures — nothing could 
be better," muttered he to himself. 

" May I ask what they consist in, these pre- 
cautionary movements?" said Kate. 

" A full organization of the militia and yeo- 
manry," replied Sir Marmaduke, proudly — for 
he commanded a regiment of Northamptonshire 
Fencibles — " strengthening the different garri- 
sons in large towns, mounting guns of heavy 
calibre on the forts " 

A hearty burst of laughter broke from Kate, 
which she made no effort to control whatever. 

" I cannot help laughing, because that same 
word recalls a conversation I once heard be- 
tween two French officers in Bruges. One of 
them, who seemed to know Ireland well, averred 
that these forts were so placed as only to be ca- 
pable of battering down each other. I know he 
instanced two on the southern coast, which, in 
♦hree discharges, must inevitably make a drawn 
battle of it." 

" My dear young lady," said Sir Marmaduke, 
with an unusual gravity, " it is not exactly to our 
enemies we must look for any warm encomium 
on our means of defence; nor has experience 
yet shown that British courage can be justly a 
subject for a Frenchman's laughter." 

" And as to the militia and yeomanry," con- 
tinued Kate, for she seemed bent on torment- 
ing, and totally indifferent to the consequences 
regarding herself, " Colonel Delcamp called 
them 'arsenaux ambulants,' admirably contrived 
to provide an invading army with arms and 
ammunition." 

" I heartily wish your friend, Colonel Del- 
camp, would favor us with a visit of inspec- 



tion," said the baronet, scarcely able to control 
his anger. 

"I should not think the occurrence unlikely," 
was the cool reply; "and if so, I may be per- 
mitted to assure you that you will be much 
pleased with his manners and agreeability." 
Sybella's imploring look was all in vain. Kate, 
as she herself said, belonged to a race who 
neither gave nor took quarter, and such a con- 
troversy was the very conflict she gloried in. 
How it was to be carried on any farther is not 
easy to foresee, had not the difficulty been solved 
by the entrance of Frederick Travers, come to 
communicate the news of his appointment. While 
Sir Marmaduke and Sybella expressed their joy 
at his success, Kate, half chagrined at the inter- 
ruption to a game where she already deemed her- 
self the winner, walked towards the window and 
looked out. 

" Have 1 nothing like congratulation to expect 
from Miss O'Donoghue?" said Frederick, as he 
placed himself at her side. 

" I scarcely knew if it were a subject where 
congratulation would be suitable. To exchange 
the glories of London life, the fascinations of a 
great court, and the society of the first people in 
the land, for the lesser splendors of a second- 
rate capital — perhaps you might have smiled at 
the simplicity of wishing you joy for all this;" 
and here her voice assumed a deeper, fuller ac- 
cent. " I own that I do not feel Ireland in a 
position to bear even a smile of scorn without 
offence to one of her children." 

" I was not aware till now that you could sus- 
pect me of such a feeling." 

" You are an Englishman, sir — that's enough," 
said Kate, hurriedly. "In your eyes, we are the 
people you have conquered; and it would be too 
much to expect you should entertain great re- 
spect for the prejudices you have labored to sub- 
due. But, after all, there is a distinction worth 
making, and you have not made it." 

" And that is — if I dare ask " 

" That is, there is a wide difference between 
conquering the territory and gaining the affec- 
tions of a people. You have succeded in one; 
you'll never, at least by your present courses, ac- 
complish the other." 

" Speak more plainly to me," said Travers, who 
felt a double interest in a conversation which 
every moment contained an allusion that bore 
upon his own fortune. 

" There — there, sir," said Kate, proudly, " your 
very request is an answer to yourself. We here, 
who have known each other for some time, have 
had opportunities of enterchanging opinions and 
sentiments, cannot understand a simple matter 
in the same way, nor regard it in the same light, 
how do you suppose that millions, separated by 
distance, habits, and pursuits, can attain to what 
we, with our advantages, have failed in? Can 
you not see that we are not the same people " 

" But need our dissimilitudes sever — may they 
not be made rather ties to bind us more closely 
together," said he, tenderly. 

" Equality for the future, even if we obtained 
it, cannot eradicate the memory of the past. The 
penal laws " 



290 



THE O'DONOGHUE, 



"Come — come. There is no longer anything 
there. See the University, for instance. By-the- 
bye" — and here Travers caught eagerly at the 
opportunity of escape — " what of Herbert? is not 
this near the time for his examination?" 

"The very day, the 28th of February," said 
she, reading from a small memorandum-book. 
" It is si.\ weeks yesterday since we have seen 
him — poor boyi" 

"How pale and sickly he looked, too! I wish 
with all my heart he had not set his mind so 
eagerly on college success." 

" It is only for women to live without ambition 
of one sort or other," replied Kate, sadly; "and 
a very poor kind of existence it is, I assure you." 

"What if we were to make a party, and meet 
him as he comes out? AVe might persuade him 
to join us at dinner, too." 

" Well thought of, Fred," said Sir Marmaduke. 
" Herbert seems to have forgotten us latterly, 
and knowing his anxiety to succeed, I really 
scrupled at the thought of idling him." 

" It'» very kind of you all," said Kate, with 
one of her sweetest smiles, "to remember the 
poor student, and there is nothing I should like 
better than the plan you propose." 

" We must find out the hour they leave the 
Hall," said Frederick. 

"I heard him say it was at four o'clock," said 
Sybella, timidly, venturing for the first time to 
interpose a word in the conversation. 

" You have the best memory in the world, 
Sybella," whispered Kate in her friend's ear; 
and simple as the words were, they called the 
blush to her cheek in an instant. 

The morning passed away in the thousand 
little avocations which affluence and ease have 
invented to banish ennui and render life always 
interesting. A few minutes before four o'clock 
the splendid equipage of Sir Marmaduke Trav- 
ers, in all the massive perfection of its London 
appointments, drew up at the outer gate of the 
university; the party preferring to enter the 
courts on foot. 

As Frederick Travers, with his two lady com- 
panions, appeared within the walls, the murmur 
of their names ran through the crowd of gowns- 
men already assembled in the court; for although 
by college time it still wanted fifteen minutes of 
the hour, a considerable number of students 
Were gathered together, anxious to hear the re- 
sult of the day. The simple but massive style 
of the buildings; the sudden change from the 
tumult and noise of a crowded city to the si- 
lence and quietude of these spacious quad- 
rangles; the number of youths dressed in their 
university costume, and either gazing wistfully 
at the door of the examination hall, or convers- 
ing eagerly together, were all matters of curious 
interest to the Travers party, who saw them- 
selves in a world so different from that they daily 
moved in. Nor were the loungers the students 
only; mixed up with them, here and there, might 
be seen some of the leading barristers of the 
day, and one or two of the most distinguished 
members of the House of Commons^ — men who 
themselves had tasted the sweets of college suc- 
cess, and were fain, even by a passing moment, 



to refresh the memory of youthful triumphs, and 
bring back, by the sight of familiar objects, the 
recollection of days to which all the glories of 
after life are but poor in comparison. Many of 
these were recognized by the students, and sa- 
luted by them with marks of profound respect; 
and one, a small, mean-looking man, with jet- 
black eyes and olive complexion, was received 
with a cheer, which was with difficulty arrested 
by a waving motion of his hand and a gesture 
towards the door of the hall, from which, with 
a hollow, cavernous sound, a heavy bolt was now 
drawn, and the wide portal opened. A general 
movement in the crowd showed how intense ex- 
pectation then was; but it was destined to a 
further trial, for it was only the head porter, 
dressed in his crimson robe, and carrying his 
cap at arm's length before hnn, who, followed 
by the provost, issued forth; the students re- 
moved their caps and stood in respectful silence 
as he passed. Again the door was closed, and 
all was still. 

"There is something in all this that stimulates 
curiosity strongly," said Kate. "When I came 
in here, I could have waited patiently for an 
hour or two, but now, the sight of all these anx- 
ious faces, these prying looks, that seem eager 
to pierce the very door itself, those short sen- 
tences, broken by quick glances at the clock, 
have worked me up to an excitement high and 
fevered as their own." 

" It wants but a minute now," said Fred. 

" I think the hand has not moved for the last 
ten," said Sybella, smiling faintly. 

"I hope he has gained the prize," muttered 
Kate, below her breath; and at the moment the 
bell tolled, and the wide doors, as if burst open 
by the sound, were flung wide, and the human 
tide poured forth, and mingled with that beneath; 
but what a different aspect did it present. The 
faces were mostly flushed and heated, the eyes 
flashing, the dress disordered, the cravats awry, 
the hair tangled— all the signs of mental excite- 
ment, long and arduously sustained, were there, 
and save a few, whose careless look and unmoved 
expression showed that their jiart had no high 
ambition at stake, all were im])ressed with the 
same character of mingled eagerness and ex- 
haustion. 

Many among these were quickly singled out and 
surrounded by troops of eager and anxious 
friends, and the passing stranger might easily 
read in the tone and accent of the speaker his 
fortune, whether good or evil. 

"Where is Herbert — where can he be? — I 
don't see him," said each of the Travers party, 
as, mingling with the crowd, they cast their anx- 
ious looks on every side; but amid the bustle 
of the scene, the hurrying forms, and the bab- 
ble of tongues, they felt bewildered and con- 
fused. 

"Let us try at his chambers," said Frederick; 
"he will in all likelihood, be there soon;" and 
at once they turned their steps towards the 
corner of the old square near the library, where 
Herbert lived his solitary life; for although nomi- 
nally linked with a companion — a chum, in col- 
lege parlance — he rarely made his appearance 



TME O'DONOGHUE. 



291 



within the walls, and then only lor a few days at 
a time. 

When they reached the door iliey found it 
open, and without further waiting, or any notice 
of their aporoach, they entcretl, !iut so noise- 
lessly and auietly withal, that the deep accents 
of grief — thj heavy soi:nd of broken sobs — 
struck at once upon their ears. I'hey stopped 
and gazed in silence at each othef, reading, as it 
were, their own heartfelt fears in the face of 
each. 

" Poor fellow," said Kate, as her proud lip 
trembled with agitation; "this is a sad begin- 
ning." 

"Let us go back," whispered Sybella, faintly, 
and her cheek was pale as death as she spoke. 

" No, no," cried Frederick, hurriedly; " we 
must cheer him up. What signifies the whole 
affair — aitiece of mere boyish ambition, that he'll 
only laugh it one of these days." 

"Not ' I," said Kate; "the augury of success 
or failure in the outset of life is no such trifle as 
you deem it. If he be faint-hearted, the game 
is up with him forever — if he be made of sterner 
stuff, as one of his name and house ouglit to be, 
he'll revenge his present fall by a great hereafter. 
Let me see him " and, at once disengaging her 
arm, she walked forward and entered the cham- 
ber, while Frederick and his sister retired to the 
court to wait her return. 

When Kate O'Donoghue entered the room, 
Herbert was seated before a table, on whicli liis 
head was leaning, with his hands pressed against 
his face. At his feet lay his cap, and the books 
he carried with him from the hall. Unconscious 
of her presence, lost to everything save his over- 
whelming affliction, the sobs came with a con- 
vulsive shudd-jr that shook his frame and made 
the very table rattle, while at intervals there 
broke from him a faint moan of heartrending 
sorrow. 

" My dear brother," said Kate, placing her arm 
around his neck. The boy started and looked 
up, and prepared as she was to see the traces of 
suffering there, she started at the ravages long 
days and nights of study and deep grief had left 
behind them; his eyes were sunk, and»surrounded 
by dark circles, that made them seem quite 
buried beneath his brows; hi forehead, traversed 
by a network of blu veins, had that transparent 
thinness mental labo impresses, and his lips 
were lliin and colorless; while on each cheek a 
burning spot of red looked like the mark of hec- 
tic. He made no answer, but the tears ran fast 
from his eyes, and his mouth quivered as he tried 
to say something. 

She sat down beside him on the same chair, 
and bending her head till the silken curls touched 
his very cheek, she spoke to him — not in words 
of encouragement and good cheer, for such her 
own instinct told her were inapplicable, but in 
t!ie soft accents of affection, neither undervalu- 
ing the source of his grief, nor yet suffering him 
to be carried awav bv his own sense of his cal- 
amity. " Remember, my dear brother," said she, 
"you are not less dear to our hearts for all this 
— remember that for the casualities of the world, 
and its cliances, we can only do our utmost — 



that success is not for us to determine, but to 
strive for. Had you \von tij-dny, some other 
must now have grieved like you, and who can 
tell if he could count as many fond and loving 
hearts to feel lor and console him?" 

"Oh, if you knew how 1 strived and longed — 
how I prayed for success," said he, in a \oice 
almost stifled by convulsive throbs. 

"And it will come yet, Herbert. The tree is 
only the more fruitful when the knife has cut 
down to its very heart. Yours is not the nature 
to be deterred by one repulse, nor yours the 
name to be stamped with failure because the con- 
test is difficult. Ambitions are only noble vhen 
their path is steep. Who knows how indolent 
you might have become had you found the prize 
too easily won. Come, come, Herbert — enough 
for the past; look forward now, and with good 
courage and hope. The next struggle will end 
differently; but, above all, wear a fair face be- 
fore the world. I remember seme French pris- 
oners being brought into Courtray, who amused 
us so much by their gay and smiling air, and 
look of ease and satisfaction; their secret was, 
that defeat was never disgrace, save when it low- 
ered the spirit and made the heart droop. Theirs 
never failed, and I promise you we thought all 
the better of them." 

" But my uncle— who is to tell hin " 

" Let Mc tell him. I see you have begun a 
letter already- ^" 

"That was written last night," said the boy, 
as the tears gushed forth afresh — " last night, 
when hope was almost certainty." 

"Then Fll finish it," said Kate, taking up the 
half-written letter. 

"Say to him — I would wish him to know all — 
say that I had beaten my opponents down to 
one, and that he, too, almost gave up the con- 
test, when, somehow — I cannot now say exactly 
how or wherefore — I got into a dispute with the 
examiner about the meaning of a word in Ter- 
ence. He seemed to enjoy the eagerness with 
which I defended my opinion for a time, and 
actually encouraged my persistence, until at 
length, my temper excited and my brain on fire, 
1 said something — I know not what; but it was 
e\ idently an offence, for he closed the book, and 
merely replied, 'Enough, sir; I give your op- 
ponent the premium. His temper more than 
compensates for any deficiency in his scholar- 
ship;' and I was beaten." The last words 
evoked all his sorrow once more, and the youth 
burst into tears. 

" That, then, I call unfair," said Kate, pas- 
sionately, " unless the gentleman were the arbi- 
ter of temperament as well as talent. Come, 
Herbert, even this should reconcile you to your 
fortune; you have not failed unworthily." 

" But my uncle, Kate — my uncle will deem it 
far otherwise. To guard against this very error 
of my temper was almost the last pledge I made 
him; and here, in my first trial, see haw I have 
kept my promise." 

" Leave the explanation to me;- only promise 
one thing— and mind, Herbert, this is a pledge 
there must be no forgetting — do all in your 
power — spare nothing tOi win, tJie next time.. I 



292 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



care not whether yon ever carry away another prize 
witliin these walls; but one you must have. Is 
this agreed ? — give me your hand upon it. There, 
that's like your own self, and now don't waste 
another thought on what's bygone. The Trav- 
erses invited you to dine with them to-day." 

" Oh, no- — no." 

" No, I have no intention to press you, only 
come soon to see us — to see me." She kissed 
his forehead tenderly as she spoke the last word, 
and glided rapidly from the room. 



CHAPTER XXIX. 

FIRST IMPRESSIONS. 

Kate O'Donoghue was more deeply affected 
by Herbert's failure than she had let appear to 
the youth, or even confessed to herself. It was 
not that the character of his ambition enlisted 
her sympathies or engaged her interest. Far 
from it; she thought too meanly of such 
triumphs, and knew not how far they shed an 
influence on a future career. The habits of her 
education — -all her early prejudices — disposed 
her to regard the life of a soldier as the only one 
becoming a gentleman. The passion for mili- 
tary glory which the great victories of the 
Republic and the Consulate h.^d spread through- 
out Europe, penetrated into every remote vilKige 
of the Continent; and even the prison-like walls 
of the convent did not keep out the spirit-stirring 
sounds of drum and trumpet, the tramp of 
marching hosts, and tjie proud clangor of war. 
'It was a time when the soldier was everything. 
There was but one path in life by which to win 
'bonor, rank, fame, and fortune. Even the 
'humblest might strive, for the race was open to 
;all; or, in the phrase of the period, every con- 
•=script left a spare corner in his knapsack for his 
ffuture hdton de ma?-/c/ial. 

All she had ever seen of foreign society par- 
took of this character, for, strangely enough, on 
the ruin of an aristocracy a new and splendid 
chivalry was founded — a chivalry whose fascina- 
tions covered many a wrong, and made many a 
bad cause glorious by the heroism it evoked ! 
Tlie peaceful path in life was then, in her esti- 
mate, the inglorious one. Still, her proud na- 
ture could not brook defeat in anything. It was 
not without its influence upon the hearts and 
minds of her house that the eagle figured at 
their crest. The soaring bird, with outstretched 
wing, careering high above his compeers, told of 
a race who once, at least, thought no amliition 
above tlieir daring; and she «as worthy of the 
haughtiest of lier ancestors. 

Too proud to enter into any detail of Herbert's 
failure, she dismissed the subject as briefly as 
she could, and made her ap])earance in the draw- 
ing-room without any perceptible change of man- 
ner; nor did she appear to take any notice of the 
announcement made by Sir Marmaduke to his 
son, that Hemsworth, who had just arrived from 
Scotland, would join the family circle at dinner. 
Kate had never seen him, but his name was long 



associated in her mind with anecdotes of oppres- 
sion and cruelty to her uncle — of petty insults 
and annoyances which the letters from Carrig- 
nacurra used constantly to tell of, and of which 
her relatives abroad had often descanted in her 
hearing. The picture she had drawn c4 him in 
her own mind was not a flattering one — composed 
of features and ingredients which represented all 
that was base, low-minded, and treacherous — a 
vulgar sycophant, and a merciless tyrant. What 
was her astonishment, almost her chagrin, to dis- 
cover that Hemsworth entered the room a gen- 
tleman-like person, of about five-and-forty, tall, 
and well-formed, with regular features, rather 
melancholy in their expression than otherwise, 
with a voice singularly low, soft, and pleasing, 
his manner u mixture of well-bred ease, and that 
excessive deference so often seen in those who 
have passed a long portion of life about persons 
of rank superior to their own, but without the 
slightest trace, that she could discover, of any- 
thing subservient. With all her disposition to be 
critical, she could find little fault with either his 
manner or his conversation, nor could she detect 
any appearance of affectation. On the contrary, 
he seemed affable, like one who felt hinself among 
friends, and need set no limits to his natural 
frankness. On the several topics he talked, he 
spoke with good sense and fairness; and even 
when the often agitated question of the state of 
Ireland was alluded to, he surprised Kate by the 
absence of any violent or exaggerated tone, speak- 
ing of the people in terms of kindliness and even 
affection — lauding the native virtues of their 
character, and dvvelling with pleasure on the traits 
which advantageously distinguish them from the 
peasantry of other lands. 

She listensd at first with suspicion and distrust, 
then, by degrees, with interested attention, and, 
at last, with actual delight, to the narrative he 
gave of the social condition of Ireland; in which 
h.e labored to show that a mistaken estimate of 
the people by England — a misconception of the 
national character, a contempt of it, perhaps — 
had per])etuated usages which, by their injustice, 
had excited the hatred and animosity of the 
country, and led to that condition of insulting de- 
preciation on one side, and proud defiance on 
the other, which the two people exhibited 
towards each other. 

So well and ably did he sustain his part — so 
powerfully support each position by reference to 
some fact ^^ith which his ample memory supi)lied 
him — that Sir Marmaduke was eventually obliged 
to confess himself vanquished, though uncon- 
vinced — who ever was when worsted ? — and Fred- 
erick, chagrined at the favor Kate bestowed on 
the speaker, merely remarked, as he con- 
cluded, — ■ 

"Very conclusive and satisfactory, I have no 
doubt it is: but, in my mind, all you have said 
goes to prove that we English are a very inferior 
nation, and very unworthily placed in rule and 
governance over a people so much our superiors." 

Kate's eyes flashed with an unwonted fire, and 
for an instant she felt almost unable to control 
the temjitation to answer this taunt; but a quiet 
smile of half acquiescence on Hemsworth's face so 



THE O'DONOGHUE, 



293 



adequately expressed what she wished, but dared 
not say, that she merely returned the smile, and 
was silent. 

Had Hemsworth's whole object been on that 
evening to disabuse Kate O'Donoghue of her 
dislike to him — to obliterate all memory of tlie 
wrongs with which she had heard him charged 
towards her family — he could not have chosen a 
more successful path. There was the very de- 
gree of firmness and decision she admired in the 
manner he gave his opinions, and yet all the 
courtesy of one who would not be supposed 
capable of advancing them as incontrovertible or 
irrefutable. They were merely his sentiments — 
his mode of seeing and estimating particulai 
events, of which another might judge differently. 
For all he advanced he was ready to show his 
reasons — they might be shallow, they might be 
inconclusive — but they were his, and, fortunately 
for his chance of winning her favor, they were 
her opinions also. 

"So you think we shall have no outbreak, 
Hemsworth?"' said Sir Marmaduke, as they sat 
at tea. 

" I scarcely go so far," said he, gravely. " There 
are too many reasons for an opposite fear, to say 
so much, even if the secretary of state did not 
assure us that the danger is over. The youth of 
Ireland will always be dangerous when left v. ith- 
out a career or a road to their ambition; and from 
them any peril that may now be apprehended 
will certainly come. Many young men of the 
best families of the country, whose estates are 
deeply encumbered — heavy mortgages and large 
dowries weighing them down — are ready to join 
in any bold attempt which promises a new order 
of things. They see themselves forgotten in the 
distribution of all patronage — excluded from 
every office — sometimes for reasons of religion — 
sometimes for family, even for a mere namesake. 
They are ready to play a bold game, where losing 
is only quicker ruin, and to gain would be a 
glorious victory." 

" But what could a few rash and desperate 
young men like these effect against a power so 
great and so consolidated as England ?" 

"Little, perhaps, as regards the overthrow of 
a government, but a world of injury to the pros- 
pect of future quiet. The rebellion of a week — 
ay, a day — in Ireland, will sow the seeds of filty 
years of misery, and retard the settlement of 
peaceful relations at least another century. Had 
the minister made the same concessions here he 
was glad to accord to Scotland — had he, without 
insulting a nationality, converted it into a banner 
under which loyalty was only rendered more 
conspicuous — you might have, perchance, seen a 
different order of things in Ireland." 

" For the life of me, I cannot see the evils and 
wrongs these people labor under. I have a very 
large Irish acquaintance in London, and pleas- 
anter, happier fellows cannot exist than they are." 

"All the young men of family in Ireland are 
not in the Guards," said Hemsworth, with a smile, 
which, with all its blandishment, very thinly 
covered over the sarcasm of his remark. 

Frederick's face flushed angrily, and he turned 
away without speaking. 



" Should we not ask pardon of the ladies for 
this subject of our conversation?" said Hems- 
worth. " I am sure neither Miss Travers nor 
Miss O'Donoghue deem the topic interesting or 
amusing." 

" On the contrary, sir, I believe I may reply 
for both of us," said Kate, "whatever concerns 
the fortunes of a country we have so near at 
heart has all our sympathy; and, as an Irish girl, 
I feel grateful for your explanation of motives 
which, while I appreciate, I should still be unable 
so satisfactorily to account for." 

" How happy I am to meet my country\voman's 
approval," said Hemsworth, bowing courteously, 
and with a marked emphasis directing his speech 
to Kate. 

The manner in which he spoke the words was 
so palpably intended for herself, that she felt all 
the charm of a flattery to which the disparity of 
their years imparted force. 

Soon after tea. Sir Marmaduke retired with 
Hemsworth to his study. Frederick took his 
leave at the same time, and Sybella and Kate 
were left alone together. 

" I have a long letter to write this evening, my 
dear Sybella," Kate said, after they had talked 
some time. " Poor Herbert has failed in his ex- 
amination, and I have promised to break the news 
to my uncle; not so difficult a task as the poor 
boy deems, but one to which he is himself un- 
equal." 

" Does he then feel it so deeply?" said Sybella, 
timidly. 

"Too much, as regards the object of the ambi- 
tion; but no more than he ought as a defeat. It 
is so bad to be beaten, Sybella," said she, with a 
sharp distinctness on each word. " I shall hate 
the sight of that University until he carries off 
the next prize; and then^ — then I care not whether 
his taste incline him for another effort;" and so 
saying, she embraced her friend, and they parted 
for the night. 

The epistle which Kate had promised to con- 
clude was in itself a lengthy one — written at dif- 
ferent intervals during the week before the ex- 
amination, and containing a minute account of 
his progress, his hopes and his fears, up to that 
very moment. There was little in it which could 
interest any but him to whom it was addressed, 
and to whom every allusion was familiar, and the 
reference to each book and subject thoroughly 
known — what difficulties he had found here, 
what obscurity there — how well he had mastered 
this, how much he feared he might have mistaken 
the other — until on the evening of the first day's 
examination, when the following few lines, written 
with trembling hand, appeared: — 

"They say I shall gain it. H called my 

translation of Horace a brilliant one, and asked 
the vice-provost to listen to my repeating it. I 
heard I gave it in blank verse. Oh, my dearest 
uncle, am I deceiving myself, and deceiving you? 
Shall I be able to write thus to-morrow night?" 

Then came one tremulous line, dated " Twelve 
o'clock." 

" Better and better — I might almost even now 
say, victory; but my heart is too much excited 
to endure a chance." 



294 



THE O'DONOGH UE. 



" And it remains for me, my dear uncle," 
wrote Kate, after these words, " to fulfil the un- 
grateful task of bearing bad tidings; and I, who 
have never had the good fortune to bring you 
happiness, must now speak to you of misfortune, 
— My dear cousin has failed." 

She followed these few lines by a brief narra- 
tive Herbert had given her — neither seeking to 
extenuate his errors, nor excuse his rashness — 
well knowing in her heart that Sir Archy would 
regard the lesson thus conveyed an ample recom- 
pense fgr the honor of a victory so hardly lost. 

"It is to you he looks for comfort — to you, 
sir, whom his efforts were all made to please, and 
for whose praise his weary nights and toilsome 
days were offered. You, who know more of the 
human heart than I do, can tell how far so severe 
a discouragement may work for good or evil on 
his future life; for myself, I feel the even cur- 
rent of prosperity is but a sluggish dream, that 
calls for no efforts to stem its tide; and, were his 
grief over, I'd rather rejoice that he has found 
a conflict, because he may now discover he has 
courage to meet it. 

"Even I, to follow a theme so dispiriting — 
even I grow weary of pleasure, and tire of gayety. 
The busy world of enjoyment leaves not a mo- 
ment free for happiness, and already I am long- 
ing to be back in the still valley of Glenflesk. 
It is not that Dublin is not very brilliant, or tliat 
society has less of agreeability than I expected — 
both have exceeded my anticipations; nor is it 
that I have not been what we should call in 
France 'successful' in ms debut — far from thai, 
I am the fashion, or rather, half the fashion, 
Sybella dividing public favor with me; but,' 
somehow, nobody contradicts me here — no 
one has courage to tell me I'm wrong — no 
one will venture to say, what you have often 
said, and even oftener looked, that 'I talked 
of what I knew nothing:' and, in fact, my dear 
uncle, every one is so very much in love with 
me. that I am beginning to detest them, and 
would give the world to be once more at home 
before I extend the hatred to myself, which I 
must inevitably end by doing, if nobody antici- 
pates me in the sentiment. 

" You told me I should prove faithless to you. 
Well, I have refused Heaven knows how many 
' brilliant offers,' for such even the proposers 
called them. Generals of fourscore, guardsmen 
of twenty, dignitaries in the church, Serjeants 
learned in the law, country gentlemen in hordes, 
two b-ironets, and one luckless viscount have 
asked for the valueless hand that writes these 
lines; and yet — and yet, my dear chevalier, I 
shall still write myself at the bottom of this page, 
' Kate O'Donoghue.' I have no doubt you are 
very vain of my constancy, and will be so when 
you read this; and it is right you should be, for 
I promise you, in my robe,colcur de cerise, looped 
with white roses, and my chapean de paysajte, I am 
a very pretty person indeed — at least, it seems a 
point the twelve judges agree upon, and the 
master of the rolls tells me, ' that with "such 
long eyelashes I might lift my eyes very high 
indeed.' 

"And now, my dear, kind uncle, divide your 



sorrow between your niece who is dying of 
vanity, and your nephew who is sick of grief — 
continue your affection to both— and believe 
me, in all sincerity of heart, your own fond and 
faithful "Kate O'Donoghue. 

" I have met Hemsworth, and, strange to say, 
found him both pleasant and agreeable." 

Such were the concluding lines of an epistle, 
in which few who did not possess Sir Archy's 
acuteness could successfully trace anything of 
the real character of the writer. 



CHAPTER XXX. 

OLD CHARACTERS WITH NEV*f FACES. 

At the time we speak of, Clontarf was the 
fashionable watering-place of the inhabitants of 
Dublin; and, although it boasted of little other 
accommodation than a number of small thatched 
cabins could afford, and from which the fisher- 
men removed to give place to their more opulent 
guests, yet thither the great and the wealthy of 
the capital resorted in summer to taste the 
pleasures of a seaside, and that not inferior one, 
the change of life and habit entailed by altered 
circumstances and more restricted spheres of 
enjoyment. 

If, with all the aid of sunshine and blue water, 
waving foliage and golden beach, this place had 
an aspect of modest poverty in its whitened 
walls and net-covered gardens in summer, in 
winter its dreariness and desolation were great 
indeed. The sea swept in long waves the narrow 
road, even to the doors of the cabins, the muddy 
foam settling on the window-sills, and even 
drifting to the very roofs: the thntch was fastened 
down with strong ropes, assisted by oars and 
spars, to resist the wild gale that generally blew 
from the south-east. The trim cottages of 
summer were now nothing but the miserable 
hovels of the poor — their gardens waste, their 
gay aspect departed, even the stirring signs of 
life seemed vanished. Few, if any, of the inhabit- 
ants stirred abroad, and, save some muffled figure 
that moved past, screening his face from the 
beating storm, all was silent and motionless. The 
little inn, which in the summer time was thronged 
from morning till night, and from whose ojien 
windows the merry laugh and the jocund sound 
of happy voices poured, was now fast shuttered 
up, and all the precautions of a voyage were 
taken against the dreaded winter; even to the 
sign of a gigantic crab, rudely carved in wood 
and painted red, everything was removed, and a 
single melancholy dip-candle burned in the bar, 
as if keeping watch over the sleeping revelry of 
the place. 

If such were the gloomy features without, 
within doors matters wore a more thriving as- 
pect. In a little parlor behind the bar a brisk 
fire was burning, before which stood a table 
neatly prepared for supper; the covers were laid 
for two, but the provision of wine displayed 
seemed suited !o a larger number. The flashy- 



THE O'DONOGHU E. 



295 



looking prints upon the walls shone brightly in 
the ruddy blaze; the brass fender and the glasses 
sparkled in its clear liglit, and even to the small 
keen eyes of Billy Corcoran, the host, who kept 
eternally running in and out, to see all right, 
everything presented a very cheering contrast to 
the bleak desolation of the night without. 

It was evident that Mr. Corcoran's guests were 
bihind time; his impatience was not to be mistaken. 
He walked from the kitchen to the parlor and 
b.ick again without ceasing, now adding a turf 
to tiie fire, now removing the roasting chickens a 
little farther from the blaze, and anon bending 
his ear to listen if perchance he could catch the 
sound of approaching wheels. He had sat down 
on every chair of the parlor, he had taken a 
half-glass out of each decanter on the table, he 
had sharpened every knife in turn, and, in fact, 
resorted to every device to cheat time, when 
suddenly the sound of a carriage was heard on 
the road, and the next moment he unbarred the 
door and admitted two persons, whose dripping 
hats and soaked greatcoats bore evidence to the 
downpour without. 

" Well, Billy," said the first who entered. " this 
rain will beat down the wind at last, and we shall 
be able to get some fish in the market." 

" Sorra bit, sir," said Billy, as he assisted the 
■speaker to remove liis wet garments, leaving the 
other stranger to his own devices. " The wind 
is coming more round to the east, and I know 
from the noise on the Bull we'll have plenty of 
it. I was afeared something happened you, sir; 
you're an hour behind the time you said yourself." 

" Very true — so I am. I was detained at a 
dinner party, and my friend here also kept me i 
waiting a few minutes for him." 

"It was not my fault," interposed the other; 
"I was ready when " 

" Never mind — it was of no consequence 
whatever; the only misfortune was, we could find 
no coach, and were forced to put up with a car, 
and got wet for our pains. But the supper, Bill 
— the supper." 

" Is smoking hot on the t.Tble," was the reply; 
and. as he opened the door into the pailor, 
the fact declared itself to their senses. 

The strangers were soon seated at the meal, 
and like men who could relish its enjoyment not 
the less for the merit of what they had quitted 
without doors. It is not necessary to consume! 
much time in presenting them to our readers; 
they are both already known to him. One was 
Mr. Hemsworth; the other no less a person than 
Lanty Lawler, the horse-dealer. One only re- 
mark is necessary. Familiar as these characters 
already are, they here appear in aspect some- 
what different from what they have hitherto ex- 
hibited. Hemsworth, no longer the associate of 
fashionable company, had exchanged his silken 
deferential manner for an air of easy confidence 
that seemed to fit him even better; Lanty, on 
tlie other hand, had lost all his habitual self-pos- 
session, looked abashed and sheepish, and seemed 
for all the world as though he were in the hands 
of one who ro\ild dispose of his destinv as he 
willed it. All tlie got-up readines<' n( Mi; wit. 
all his acquired frankness, were nou gone, and 



in their place a timid, hesitating manner that be- 
spoke the most abject fear and terror; it was 
evident, too, that lie struggled Jiard to conceal, 
these signs of trepidation. He ate voraciously 
of all before him, and endeavored, by the ])ieoc- 
cupation of the table, to cover his real sentiments 
at the moment; he drank, too, freely, filling a 
large goblet to the brim with sherry several limes 
during the meal; nor was this unnoticed by 
Hemsworth, who at last interposed, in a calm 
but commanding tone, as he laid his hand on the 
decanter: 

"A pipe of it, if you please, Lanty; you may 
have a whole bank of the Guadalquiver for your 
own drinking at another time; but now, if you 
please, let us have calm heads and cool judg- 
ments. It is some time since we met, and it 
may be longer ere we have another opportunity 
like the present." 

" Very true, sir," said Lanty, submissively, as 
he pushed his untasted glass before him. " It 
was the wetting I was afeard of; my clothes were 
soaked through." 

Hemsworth paid no attention to the excuse, 
but sat for some minutes deeply sunk in his re- 
flections; then lifting his head suddenly, he 
said, — 

"And so these papers have never been found?" 

" Never, sir. I did niy best to get them. I 
spent days at the place, and had others looking 
besides. I said I'd give five guineas — and you 
know what a reward that is down there — to the 
man who would bring them tome; but from that 
hour to this I never set eyes on them." 

While he was speaking these words, Hems- 
worth's eyes never turned from him. They were 
fixed on him, not with any expression of sever- 
ity or harshness, neither did the glance indicate 
suspicion. It was a steady, passionless stare, 
rather like one seeking an explanation than pre- 
judging a motive. 

" You were quite certain that they were the 
papers we wanted?" 

"Sure I opened them — sure I read the writing 
myself when I took them out of the old man's 
desk." 

"They had better have remained there," said 
Hemsworth to himself, but loud enough for the 
other to hear; then, rallying quickly, he added, 
" No matter, however; we have evidence enough 
of another kind. There are the letters Mark 
wrote to the delegates." 

" I think Mr. Morrissy has most of them, sir," 
said Lanty, hesitating; he is the man that keeps 
all the writings." 

" So he may be, Lanty; but you have some of 
them yourself: three or four are as good as 
thirty or forty, and you may have as many as 
that — ay, and here in your pocket, too, this 
minute. Come, my worthy friend, you may cheat 
me in horseflesh whenever I'm fool enough to 
deal with you, but at this game I'm your master. 
Let me me see these letters." 

" How would I have them, captain, at all ?" 
said Lanty, imploringly; " sure you know as 
well as me that I'm nr.t in the scheme at all." 

"Save so far a.s having a contract to mount 
five hundred men of the French on their land- 



396 



THE O'DONOGHUE, 



ing in Ireland, the money for which you have 
partly leceived, and for which I hold tlie cheque, 
countersigned by yourself, Master Lanty. Very 
pretty evidence in a court of justice — more than 
enough to hang you, that's all." 

" There's many a one sould a horse, and didn't 
know what use he was for," replied Lanty, half 
rudely. 

"Very true; but a contract that stipulates for 
strong cattle, able to carry twelve-stone men 
with full cavalry equipments, does not read like 
an engagement to furnish plough-iiorses." Then, 
altering his tone, lie added, '' No more of this, sir; 
I can't afford time for such fencing. Show me 
these letters — show me that you have done 
something to earn your own indemnity, or, by 
G — d, I'll let them hang you as I'd see them hang 
a dog." 

Lanty became lividly pale as Hemsworth was 
speaking; a slight convulsive tremor shook his lip 
for a moment, and he seemed struggling to re- 
press a burst of passion, as he held the chair witli 
either hand; but he uttered not a word. Hems- 
worth leisurely drew forth his watch and placed 
it on the table before liim, saying, — 

" It wants eleven minutes of one o'clock; I'll 
give you to that hour to make up your mind, 
whether you prefer five hundred pounds in your 
hand, or take your place in the dock with the 
rest of them; for, mark me, whether we have 
your evidence or not, they are equally in our 
hands. It is only an economy of testimony I'm 
studying here, and I reserve my other blackguards 
for occasions of more moment." 

The taunt would appear an ill-timed one at 
such a minute; but Hemsworth knew well the 
temperament of him he addressed, and did not 
utter a syllable at random. Lanty still preserved 
silence, and looked as though doggedly deter- 
mined to let the minutes elapse without speak- 
ing; his head slightly suiik on his chest, his eyes 
bent downwards, he sat perfectly motionless. 
Hemsworth meanwhile refilled his glass, crossed 
his arms before him, and seemed awaiting with- 
out impatience, the result of the other's delibera- 
tion. At length the hand approached the figure; 
it wanted but about half a minute of the time, 
and Hemsworth, taking up the watch from 
the table, held it before Lanty's eyes, as he 
said, — 

"Time is nearly up. Master Lawler; do you 
refuse?" 

" I only ask one condition," said Lanty, in a 
faint whisper. 

"You shall make no bargains: the letters, 

or . It is too late now;" and with these 

words he replaced his watch in his pocket and rose 
from the table. 

Lanty never moved a muscle, while Hems- 
worth approached the fireplace and rang the 
bell. In doing so, he turned his back to the 
horse-dealer, but commanded a view of him 
through tneans of the little glass above the chim- 
ney. He stood thus for a few seconds, when 
Lanty — in whose flashing eyes and darkened 
color inward rage was depicted — suddenly thrust 
his arm into the breast of his coat. Hemsworth 
turned round at once, and seizing the arm in his 



powerful grasp, said in a cool, determined voice, — ■ 
"No, no, Lanty; I'm armed too." 
" It was the pocket-book I was feeling for, sir," 
said Lanty, with a sickly effort at a smile, while 
he drew forth a black leather case, and handed 
it towards Hemsworth. "They are all there — 
seventeen letters — besides two French commis- 
sions signed by young Mark, and a receipt for 
four hundred pounds in French gold." 

" You must find it hard to get bullets for those 
pistols I gave you, Lanty," said Hemsworth, in 
a tranquil voice. " I forgot to let you have the 
bullet-mould with them. Remind me of it to- 
morrow or next day." 

Lanty muttered a faint "I will," but looked 
the very picture of abject misery as he spoke. 

" Let me see them, Lanty, "said Hemsworth, in 
a manner as calm and unconcerned as could be. 
" If I don't mistake, they are nearly a quarter of 
an inch in the bore." 

" About that same, sir," replied Lawler, while 
he drew forth the two pistols from the same 
breast-pocket he had taken the letters. 

Hemsworth first examined one, and then the 
other leisurely, passing the ramrod into each in 
turn, and tlien opening the pans, inspected the 
priming, adjusting the powder carefully with his 
finger. "You spoil such pistols as these by load- 
ing with two bullets, Lanty," said he, as he 
handed them back to him. "The bore is too per- 
fect for such coarse usage. Now, this is a less 
delicate weapon, and will bear harder usage," 
and he drew forth a short pistol, containing tour 
revolving barrels, each as wide as the bore of a 
musket. Lanty gazed in astonishment and terror 
at the murderous implement, into which the 
hand fitted by a handle like that of a saw. 
Hemsworth played the spring by which the barrels 
moved with a practised finger, and seemed to 
exult in the expression of L;inl)'s terror as he 
watched them. Then quickly replacing the 
weapon, he resumed: '' AVcll, I am gir.d, foryour 
own sake, that you are more reasonable. You 
ought to know that I never place dependence on 
only one man for any single service. Such would 
be merely to play the part of slave instead of 
master. But, first of all, how did you become 
possessed of these letters?" 

"I was charged by Mark to deliver them to 
the delegates, and as they never saw his hand- 
writing, 1 just copied the letters, and ktpt all the 
originals, so that he has received his answers 
regularly, and never suspects what hns happened." 
" All right so far. And the younger brother — 
what of him?" 

"Oh, he is too much under old M'Nab's in- 
fluence to be caught. I wouldn't say but that 
he's a Protestant this minute." 

"You appear to be greatly shocked at your 
suspicion, Lanty," said HemsMorth, smiling. 
"Well, well; we must hope for the best. And 
now, as to this other fellow— where and how can 
[ see him— this Talbot, I mean?" 

" Av, that's the puzzle," replied Lanty, with a 
greater ap])earance of ease in his manner than 
l)efore. " You never can meet him when you 
look for him; but he's at your elbow every day 
twenty times ii you don't want hiui." 



THE O'DONOGHU E. 



297 



" Could you not manage a meeting for me with 
him down liere, Lanty? — i'll take care of the rest." 

" I don't think so; he's a wary fellow; he 
gave nie a friglu once or twice already, by a 
word he let drop. I am not easy in his company 
at all." 

" False or true, he would be an immense service 
to us," said Hemsworth, musingly. "If I only 
could see and speak with him, I'd soon convince 
him that he incurred no risk himself. It's a bad 
sportsman shoots his decoy duck, Lanty," and he 
pinched his cheek good-humoredly as he spoke. 
Lanty endeavored to laugh, but the effort was a 
feeble one. Meanwhile, the host, now summoned 
for a second time, made his appearance, and by 
Hemsworth's orders the car was brought round 
to the door; for, severe as the night was he 
determined to return to the city. 

" You are coming back to town, too, Lanty?" 
said he, in a tone of intjuiry. 

" No, sir; I'm going to stop here with Billy, if 
your honor has no objection." 

"None whatever. Remember to let me see 
you on Tuesday, when I shall have everything 
in readiness for your journey south — till then, 
good-bye." So saying, and handing Corcoran 
two guineas in gold, for he paid liberally, 
Hemsworth mounted the car and drove off. 

Lanty looked after him till the darkness shut 
out the view, and then, buttoning his rough coat 
tightly around his throat, set out himself towards 
town, muttering, as he went, " I wish it was the 
last I was ever to see of you." 



CHAPTER XXXI. 

SOME HINTS ABOUT HARRY TALBOT. 

We must beg of our reader to retrace his steps 
once more to the valley of Glenflesk, but only 
for a fleeting moment. When last we kft Car- 
rignacurra it was at night, the party were at 
supper in the old tower, and Kerry stood outside, 
rehearsing to himself for the tenth time the 
manner in which he should open his communica- 
tion. The sound of Mark's voice, raised above 
its ordinary pitch, warned him that his mission 
might not be without danger, if perchance any- 
thing on his part might offend the youth. None 
knew better than Kerry the violent temper of 
the young O'Donoghue, and how little restraint 
he ever put upon any scheme he thought of to 
vent his humor on him who crossed him. It was 
an account of debtor and creditor then with him 
how he should act; on the one side lay the pen- 
alties, on the other the rewards of his venture — 
how was he to escape the one and secure the 
other? A moment's reflection suggested the plan. 

" I'll not go in, divil a step, but I'll tell I was 
convarsin' with them this half-hour, and that the 
rope and the bit of lead is a new way they have 
for catching mermaids and other faymale fishes 
in the bay; and sure if I only say that there's an 
act of Parlimint agin doin' it, she'll not only 
believe it all, but she'll keep the saycret to her 
dying bed." And with this profound reflection 



on Mrs. Branaghan's character, and a face of 
very well got up surprise, Kerry re-enteied the 
kitchen to announce his discovery. . 

It is not our intention to dwell on the scene 
that followed; we have merely adverted to the 
fact, inasmuch as that on the trivial circumstances 
of Kerry's resolve depended the discovery of a 
plot which, if once known to M'Nab, would im- 
mediately have been communicated to the gov- 
ernment. The fates willed it otherwise; and 
when the party separated in the old tower, Sir 
Archy was as little satisfied concerning Talbot's 
character as ever, and as eager to ascertain whence 
and wherefore he came, and with what intention 
he had made Mark's acquaintance. With many 
a wily scheme for the morrow, the old man went 
to rest, determining to spare no |)ains to unravel 
the mystery; a fruitless resolve after all, for when 
day broke Talbot and Mark were already away, 
many miles on the road to Dublin 

The O'Donoghue's first act, on completing his 
arrangements with Swaby, was to place at Mark's 
disposal a sum of five hundred pounds, an 
amount far greater than ever the young man had 
at any time possessed in his life. Talbot, to whom 
the circumstance was told by Mark, readily per- 
suaded him to visit Dublin, not merely for the 
pleasures and amusements of the capital, but that 
he might personally be made known to the dele- 
gates, and see and confer with those who were 
the directors of the threatened rebellion. Tal- 
bot understood perfectly the kind of flattery 
which would succeed with the youth, and by allu- 
sion to his ancient lineage, his more than noble 
blood, the rights to which he was entitled, and to 
which he would unquestionably be restored, not 
only stimulated his ardor in the cause, but bound 
him in a debt of gratitude to all who encouraged 
him to engage in it. 

Mark's character, whatever its faults, was can- 
did and frank in everything. He made no secret 
to his new friend of his present unhajipiness, nor 
did he conceal that an unpaid debt of vengeance 
with respect to young Travers weighed heavily 
on his spirits. It was the first time in his life 
he had tasted the bitterness of an insult, and it 
worked like a deadly poison within him, sapping the 
springs of his health, and rendering miserable the 
hours of his solitude. The thought rarely left 
him day or night — how was he to wipe out this 
stain? When Talbot, therefore, spoke of a visit 
to the capital, Mark cheerfully acceded, but rather 
from a secret hope that some opportunity might 
arise to gratify this cherished passion than from 
any desire of witnessing the splendor of the me- 
tropolis; and while the one pictured the glittering 
scenes of festive enjoyment to which youth and 
money are the passports, the other darkly rumin- 
ated on the chances of meeting his enemy and 
provoking him to a duel. 

It was on the evening of the third day after 
they left Carrignacurra that they drew near the 
capital, and after a promise from Mark that in 
everything he should be guided by his friend, nor 
take any step without his counsel and advice, 
thev both entered the city. 

" You see, Mark," said "Talbot, as, after passing 
through some of the wider and better-lighted. 



298 



THE O'DONOGH U E. 



thoroughfares, they approached a less frequented 
and more gloomy part of the town — " you see, 
Mark, that the day is not come when we should 
occupy the place of honor: an humble and quiet 
hotel will best suit us for the present; but the 
hour is not very distant, my boy, when the 
proudest mansion of the capital will throw wide 
it-id jors to receive us The Saxon has but a 
short tenure of it now." 

" I don't see any reason for secrecy," said 
Mark, half doggedly; " we have good names, and 
a good purse, why then must we betake ourselves 
to this gloomy and desolate quarter?" 

"Because I am the guide," said Talbot, laugh- 
ing, "and, if that's not reason enough, that's the 
only one I will give you just now. But come, 
here we are, and I do not think you will com- 
plain of your entertainment." And, as he spoke, 
the carriage entered the spacious courtyard of 
an old-fashioned-inn, which, standing in Thomas 
street, commanded a view of the river through 
one of the narrow streets leading down to the 
quay. 

" This was the fashionable house, some fifty 
years back," said Talbot, as he assisted his friend 
to alight, " and though the heyday of its youlii 
is over, there are many generous qualities in its 
good old age — not your father's cellar can boast 
a better bottle of Burgundy " 

Talbot's recommendation was far from being 
unmerited. The " Black Jack, ' as the inn was 
named, was a most comfortable house of the old 
school, with large, low-ceilinged rooms, wide 
stairs, and spacious corridors; the whole furnished 
in a style which, though far from pretending to 
elegance or fashion, possessed strong claims for 
the tired traveller seeking rest and repose. 
Here, then, our young travellers alighted; Talbot 
being received with all the courteous urbanity 
due to an old acquaintance; the landlord him- 
self appearing to do the honors of the house, and 
welcome a valued guest. 

"We must get our host, Billy Crossley, to 
sup with us, Mark. No one can tell us so much 
of how matters are doing here; for, however it 
happens, Billy knows all the gossip of the day — 
fashionable, political, or sporting, he keeps him- 
self up to what is going forward everywhere." 
And so saying, Talbot at once hastened after 
the landlord to secure his company for the 
evening. 

Billy was somewhat fastidious about bestowing 
his agreeability in general, but on the present oc- 
casion he acceded at once, and in less than half 
an hour the three were seated at a meal which 
would not have disgraced an hotel of more pre- 
tentious exterior; Mr. Crossley doing the lienors 
of the table, like a host entertaining his friends. 

" I scarcely had expected to see you so soon. 
Mr. Talbot," said he, w-hen the servants had left 
the room, and the party drew round the fire, 
"They told me you would pass the winter in the 
country." 

"So I had intended, Billy; but as good luck 
would have it, I made an acquaintance in tlie 
south, whi('h changed my plan.s — my friend, Mr, 
O'Donoghue here; and as he had never seen the 
capital, and knew nothing oi your gay doings, 1 



thought I'd just take a run back, and show him 
at least the map of the land." 

"My service to you, sir," said Billy, bowing to 
Mark, "it would be hard to have got a belter 
guide than you have in Master Harry. 1 can 
assure \'ou, so far as wickedness goes, he's a match 
for anything here — from the Royal Barracks to 
Trinity College." 

" Flattery, gross flattery. Bill. I was your own 
pupil, and you can't help partiality." 

"You area most fa\orable specimen of private 
tuition, there's no doubt of it," said Crossley, 
laughing; " and 1 have reason to be proud of 
you. Did Mr. O'Donoghue ever hear of your 
clearing out Hancy Hennessy at hazard — the 
fellow that carried the loaded dice?" 

" Have done. Bill. None of these absurd 
stories now." 

" Nor what a trick you played Corney Mehan 
at the spring meeting with the roan cob that knew 
how to limp when you wanted him?— as great a devil 
as himself, Mr C'Donoghue. You'd swtar ihe 
beast had a bad blood spavin if you saw him 
move, and he all the time a three-quarter bred 
horse, w ithout a stain or a blemish about him." 

Talbot seemed for a second or two somewhat 
uneasy at these familiar reminiscences of his 
friend Crossley, not knowing precisely how Mark 
might take them, but when he saw that a hearty 
hiugli was the reception they met with, he joined 
in the mirth as freely as the others. 

" 'I'he best of all was the AVicklow steeple- 
chase; sorrow doubt about it, that was good 
fun!" and Crossley laughed till his eyes streamed 
again with the emotion. 

" You must tell me ihat," said Mark. 

" It was just this:— Mister Henry there had a 
wager with Captain Steevens, of the staff, that 
he'd reach the course before him, each starting 
at the same moment from Qnin's door, at Bray, 
Well, what does he do but bribes one of the 
boys to let him ride postilion to Steevens's chaise, 
because that way he was sure to win his wager. 
All went right. The blue jacket and boots fitted 
him neath^they were both new — got on pur- 
pose for the day; and Mr. Talbot lay snug in 
the stable, waiting for the chaise to be ordered 
round, when down comes the word, ' Number 
four, two hays, you're wanted;' and up he jumps 
into the saddle, and trots round to the door, 
afraid of his life to look round, and keeping his 
chin sunk down in his cravat to hide his face. 
He never once looked back, but let the boys 
harness the cattle without saying a word. 

" 'My lord says you're to drive slow,' said one 
of the boys. 

"He looked round, and what did he see but 
an old man in the chaise with a horseshoe wig, 
and in the full dress of a bishop. 

" ' Who is he at all ?' says Talbot. 

" ' The bishop of Cloyne,' whispered the boy; 
' he's going up to the levee.' 

" 'By my conscience, he is not!' said Talbot, 
for at that moment he spied Steevens starting 
from the door at a round trot, and with that he 
turned ihe bishop's horses sharp round, laid the 
whip hea\ilv over them, and took the lead 
towards \\ icklow. 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



299 



" Never such cries were heard as the bishop's. 1 dangefous rapids of the St. Lawrence — now 



Some say that he swore hard; but it isn't true — 
lie prayed, and begged, and shouted — but no use. 
Talbot gave them the steel at every stride; and 
after a long, slapping gallop, he drew up at the 
Stand-house, with a cheer that shook the course; 
iind a fine sight it was to see the little man in 
the lawn sleeves stepping out, his face red with 
shame and passion. 

"'Twelve miles in forty-two minutes, m\ 
lord,' said Talbot, showing his watch; 'hope 
your lordship won't forget the boy.'" 

If Mark O'Donoghue enjoyed heartily the 
story, he was not the less surprised that Harry 
Talbot was the hero of it — all his previous 
k'nowledge of that gentleman leading him to a 
Very different estimate of his taste and pursuits. 
Indeed, he only knew Talbot from his own lips, 
and from them he learned to regard him as the 
emissary despatched by the Irish party in France 
to report on the condition of the insurgents in 
Ireland, and, if necessary, to make preparations 
for the French landing on the Irish shores. 
Mark could not well understand how any one 
charged with such a mission could have either 
Svasted his time or endangered his safety by any 
ridiiHilous adventures, and did not scruple to 
show his astonishment at the circumstance. 

Talbot smiled significantly at the remark, and 
exch:uiged a glance with Crossley, while he an- 
swered — 

" Placed in such a position as I have been for 
some years, Mark, many different parts have been 
forced upon me; and I have often found that 
there is no such safe mask against detection as 
following out the bent of one's humor in circum- 
stances of difficulty. An irresistible impulse to 
play the fool, even when high interests were at 
stake, has saved me more than once from de- 
tection, and from habit I have acquired a kind 
of address at the practice, that with the world 
passes for cleverness 



bending to this side and to that — each moment 
in peril, but ever calm and collected — so do they 
feel all the excitement of hazard in the game of 
address. Under an impulse of this kind was it 
that Talbot spoke, and the unguarded freedom 
of his manner showed, even to so poor an ob- 
server as Mark, that the words conveyed a hid- 
den meaning. 

"And our gay city of Dublin — what of it, 
Billy? ' said he, at length rallying from his mood 
ot thought, as he nodded his head, and drank to 
Crossley. 

'■ Pretty much as you have always known it. 
'A short life and a merry one,' seems the adage 
in favor here. Every one spending his money 
and character — ■ — " 

"Like gentlemen, Bill — that's the phrase," 
interrupted Talbot; "and a very comi)rehensive 
term it is, after all. But what is the i)arliament 
doing?" 

"Voting itself into government situations." 

" And the viceroy?" 

" Snubbing the parliament." 

"And the government in England?" 

" Snubbing the viceroy." 

" Well, they are all employed at least; and, as 
the French say, that's always something. And 
who are the play-men now?" 

" The old set. Tom Whaley and Lord Drog- 
heda — your old friend Giles Daxon — Sandy 
Moore " 

" Ah, what of Sandy? They told me he won 
heavily at the October races." 

" So he did — beggared the whole club at haz- 
ard, and was robbed of the money the night after, 
when coming up through Naas." 

'Ha' I never heard of that, Billy. Let us hear 
all about it." 

" It's soon told, sir. Sandy, who never tries 

economy till he has von largely, and is reckless 

And so, in turn, I have I enough of money when on the verge of ruin, 

been an actor, a smuggler, a French officer, an heard, on leaving the course, that a strange gen- 



Irish refugee, a sporting character, a man of 
pleasure, and a man of intrigue; and however 
such features may have blended themselves into 
my true character, my real part has remained 
undetected. Master Crossley here might furnish 
a hint or two towards it; but — but, as Peachem 
says, ' we could hang one another' — eh. Bill ?" 

A nod and a smile, more grave than gay, was 
Crossley's answer, and a silence ensued on all 



sides. There was a tone of seriousness, even ^ for and weight over a country 



tieman was waitmg to get some one to join him 
'n a chaise up to Dublin. Sandy at once sent 
the waiter to open the negotiations, which were 
soon concluded, and the stranger appeared — a 
fat, unwieldly-looking old fellow, with a powdered 
wig and green goggles — not a very sporting style 
of travelling companion; but no matter for that, 
he had a dark chestnut mare with him, that 
looked like breeding, and with strength enough 



through the levity of what Talbot said, very un 
like his ordinary manner; and Mark began, for 
the first time, to feel that he knew very little 
about his friend. Tiie silence continued unbroken 
for some time; for while Mark speculated on the 
various interpretations Talbot's words might 
bear, Talbot himself was reflecting on what he 
had just uttered. There is a very strange, but 
not wholly unaccountable tendency in men of 
subtle minds, to venture near enough to disclos- 
ures to awaken the suspicions without satisfying 
the curiosity of others. The dexterity with which 
they can approach danger, yet not incur it, is an 
exercise they learn to pride themselves upon; 
and as the Indian guides his canoe through the 



' ' She'll follow the chaise — my son taught her 
that trick,' said the old fellow, as lie hobbled out 
of the inn, and took his place in the carriage. 

"Well, in jumped Sandy, all his pockets burst- 
ing with guineas, and a book of notes crammed 
into his hat, very happy at his adventure, but 
prouder of saving half the posting than all be- 
sides. 

" ' Keep to your ten miles an hour, my lad, ot 
not a sixpence,' said the old gentleman; and he 
drew his night-cap over his eyes, and was soon 
snoring away as sound as need be. 

" That was the last was seen of him, however, 
for when the postilion drew up for fresh horses 
at Carrick's, they found Sandy alone in the 



300 



THE ODONOGHUE. 



chaise, with his hands tied behind him, and his 
mouth gagged. His companion and the dark 
chestnut were off, and all the winnings along 
with them." 

" Cleverly done, by Jove!" cried Talbot, in an 
ecstacy of admiration. 

"What a contemptible fellow your friend 
Sandy must be!" exclaimed Mark, in the same 
breath. " Man to man — I can't conceive the 
thing possible." 

"A bold fellow, well armed, Mark," observed 
Talbot, gravely, "might do the deed, and Sandy 
be no coward after all." 

Chatting in this wise the first evening was spent; 
and if Mark was, at times, disposed to doubt the 
morality of liis new friend, he was very far from 
questioning his knowledge of mankind. His ob- 
servations were ever shrewd and caustic, and his 
views of life those of one who looked at the world 
with a scrutinizing glance; and although the 
young O'Donogluie would gladly have seen in 
his young companion some traces of the enthusi- 
asm he himself e.xperienced in the contemplated 
rising, he felt convinced that a cooler judgment, 
and a more calculating head than his, were indis- 
pensable requisites to a cause beset with so many 
dangers. He, therefore, imjilictly yielded him- 
self to Talbot's guidance, resolving not to go any- 
where, nor see any one, even his brother, save 
with his knowledge and consent. 

If the scenes into which Talbot introduced 
Mark O'Donoghue were not those of fashionable 
life, they were certainly as novel and exciting to 
one so young and inexperienced. The taverns 
resorted to by young men of fashion, the haunts 
of sporting characters, the tennis-court, but, more 
frequently still, the houses where high ]jlay was 
carried on, he was all familiar with — knew the 
precise type of company at each, and not a little 
of their private history; still it seemed as if he 
himself were but little known, and rather received 
for the recommendation of good address and en- 
gaging manners than from any circumstance of 
previous acquaintance. Mark was astonished at 
this, as well as that, although now several weeks 
in Dublin, Talbot had made no advance towards 
introducing him to the leading members of the 
insurgent party, and latterly had even but very 
rarely alluded to the prospect of the contemplated 
movement. 

The young O'Donoghue was not one to harbor 
any secret thought long unuttered in his breast, 
and he briefly expressed to Talbot his surprise — 
almost his dissatisfaction — at the life they were 
leading. At first, Talbot endeavored to laugh 
off such inquiries, or turn them aside by some 
passing pleasantry; but when more closely pressed, 
he avowed that his present part was a duty im- 
posed upon him by iiis friends in France, who 
desired, above all things, to ascertain the feeling 
among young men of family and fortune in the 
metropolis, how they really felt affected towards 
England, and with what success, should French 
republicanism fail to convert them, would the 
fascinations of Parisian elegance and vice be 
thrown around them. 

"There must be bribes for all temperaments. 
Mark," said he, at the end of a very lengthened 



detail of his views and stratagems. "Glory is 
enough for such as you, and happily you can have 
wherewithal to satisfy a craving appetite; but 
some must be bought by gold, some by promises 
of vengeance upon others, some by indemnities for 
past offences, and not a few by the vague hope 
of change, which disappointed men ever regard 
as for the better. To sound the depths of all 
such motives is part of my mission here, and 
hence I have rigidly avoided those by whom I am 
more than slightly known; but, in a week or two, 
I shall exchange this part for another, and then, 
Mark, we shall mix in the gayer world of the 
squares, where your fair cousin shines so bril- 
liantly. Meanwhile, have a little patience with 
me, and suffer me to seem sometimes inconsist- 
ent, that I may be least so in reality. I see you 
are not satisfied with me, Mark, and I am sorry 
to incur a friend's reproach, even for a brief 
season; but come — 1 make you a pledge. To- 
day is the 1 2th; in five days more the viceroy 
gives his St. Patrick's Ball, at which I am to meet 
one of our confederates. You seem surprised at 
this; but where can man speak treason so safely 
as under the canopy of the throne?" 

" But how do you mean to go there? You do 
not surely expect an invitation?" 

"Of course not; but I shall go, notwithstand- 
ing, and you with me. Ay, IMark, never frown 
and shake your head. This same ball is a public 
assembly, to which all presented at the levees are 
eligible, without any bidding or invitation. Who 
is to say that Harry Talbot and Mark O'Donoghue 
have not paid their homage to mock royalty? If 
you mean that there is some danger in the step, 
I agree with you there is; but you are not the 
man, 1 take it, to flinch on that account." 

This adroit stroke of Talbot's settled the mat- 
ter, and Mark felt ashained to offer any objec- 
tion to a course which, however disinclined to, 
he now believed was accompanied by a certain 
amount of peril. 



CHAPTER XXXII. 



A PRESAGE OF DANGER. 



When the long-wished-for evening drew nigh 
in which Taibot had pledged himself to reveal 
to Mark the circumstances of their enterprise, 
and to make him known to those concerned in 
the plot, his manner became flurried and ex- 
cited; he answered, when spoken to, with signs 
of imjfatience, and seemed so engrossed by his 
own thoughts, as to be unable to divert his at- 
tention from them. Mark, in general the reverse 
of a shrewd observer, perceived this, and attribut- 
ing it to the heavy losses he had latterly in- 
curred at play, forbore in anyway to notice the 
circumstance, and from his silence Talbot be- 
came probably more indifferent to appearances, 
and placed less restraint on his conduct. He 
drank, too, more freely than was his wont, and 
appeared like one desirous by any means to rid 
himself of some unwelcome reflections. 

" It is almost time to dress, Mark," said he, 



THE O'DONOGH U E, 



301 



with an effort to seem easy and unconcerned. 
"Let us have another flask of Burgundy before 
we go." 

" I'll have no more wine; nor you, if you will 
be advised by me, either." said Mark, gravely. 

"Ha! then you would imply I have drunk too 
much already, Mark? Not far wrong there, per- 
haps, and under ordinary circumstances such 
would be the case; but there are times when the 
mind, like the body, demands double nourish- 
ment, and with me wine strengthens, never con- 
fuses thought. Do you know, Mark, that I have 
a presentiment of some evil before me; — whence, 
and in what shape it is to come, I cannot tell 
you; but I feel it as certain as if it had been re- 
vealed to me." 

"You are despondent about our prospects," 
said Mark, gloomily. 

Talbot made no answer, but leaned his head 
on the chimney-piece, and seemed buried in 
deep thought; then recovering himself, he said, 
in a low, but distinct accent, — 

" Did you take notice of a fellow at the tennis- 
court the other day, who stood beside me all the 
time I was settling with the marker? Oh! I for- 
got — you were not there. Well, there was such a 
one — a flashy-looking, vulgar fellow, with that 
cast of countenance that betokens shrewdness 
and cunning. I met him yesterday in the Park, 
and this evening, as I came to dinner, I saw him 
talking to the landlord's nephew, in the liall." 

"Well, and what of all that? If any one 
should keep account of where and how often he 
had seen either of us, this week past, might he 
not conjure up suspicions fully as strong as 
yours? Let us begin to take fright at shadows, 
and we shall make but a sorry hand of it when 
real dangers approach us." 

"The shadows are the warnings, Mark, and 
the wise man never neglects a warning." 

" He who sees thunder in every dark cloud 
above him is but the fool of his own fears," said 
Mark, rudely, and walked towards the window. 
" Is that anything like your friend, Talbot?" 
added he, as he belield the dark outline of a 
figure, which seemed standing, intently looking 
lip at the window. 

"The very fellow!" cried Talbot; for at the 
moment a passing gleam of light fell upon the 
figure, and marked it out distinctly. 

" There is something about him I can half 
recognize myself," said Mark; "but he is so 
muffled up with great-coat and cravat, I cannot 
clearly distinguish him." 

"Indeed! Do, for Heaven's sake, think of 
where you saw iiim, and when, Mark; for I own 
my anxiety about him is more tlian common." 

"I'll soon find out for you," said Mark, sud- 
denly seizing his hat; — but at the same instant 
the door opened, and a waiter appeared. 

"There's a gentleman below stairs, Mr. Tal- 
bot, would be glad to speak a few words with 
you." 

Talbot motioned, by an almost imperceptible 
gesture, that Mark should retire into the adjoin- 
ing room; and then, approaching the waiter, 
asked, in a low, cautious voice, if the stranger 
were known to him. 



" No, sir — never saw him before. He seems 
like one from the country; Mr. Crossley says 
he's from the south." 

"Show him up," said Talbot, hurriedly; and, 
as the waiter left the iKJom, he seated himself in 
his chair, in an attitude of well-assumed careless- 
ness and ease. This was scarcely done, when 
the stranger entered, and closed the door behind 
him. 

" Good-evening to you, Mr. Talbot. I hope I 
see your honor well," said he, in an accent of 
very unmistakable Kerry Doric. 

" Good-evening to you, friend," replied Talbot. 
" My memory is not so good as yours, or I'd call 
you by your name also." 

"I'm Lanty Lawler, sir— that man that sold 
your honor the dark chestnut mare down in the 
county Kerry last winter. I was always wishing 
to see your honor again, by reason of that same." 

"How so?" said Talbot, getting suddenly paler, 
but with no other appearance of emotion in his 
manner. " Was not our contract honestly con- 
cluded at the time?" 

"It was, sir — there's no doubt of it. Your 
honor paid like a gentleman, and in goold be- 
sides; but that's just the business I come about 
here. It was French money you gave me, and I 
got into trouble about it — some saying iliat I was 
a spy, and others making out that I was, maybe, 
worse, and so I thought I wouldn't pass any more 
of it till I seen yourself, and maybe you'd change 
it for me." 

While he was speaking, Talbot's eye never 
wandered from him — not fixed, indeed, with any 
seeming scrutiny, but still intently watcliing every 
play of his features. 

"You told me at the time, however, that 
French gold was just as convenient to you as 
English," said he, smiling good-himioredly, "and 
from the company I met you in 1 found no diffi- 
culty in believing you." 

"The times is changed, sir," said Lanty, sigh- 
ing. " God help us! — we must do the best we 
can." 

This evasive answer seemed perfectly to 
satisfy Talbot, who assented with a shake of the 
head, as he said, — 

" Very well, Lanty; if you will come here to- 
morrow, I'll exchange your gold for you." 

"Thank your honor kindly,' said Lanty, with 
a bow; but still making no sign of leaving the 
room, where he stood, changing from one foot to 
the other, in an attitude of bashful diffidence. 
" There was another little matter, sir, but I'd be 
sorry to trouble you about it — and sure you 
couldn't help it, besides.'' 

" And that is — Let us hear it, Lanty." 

"Why, sir, it's the horge — the mare with the one 
white fetlock. They say, sir, that she was left 
at Moran's stables by the man that robbed Mr. 
Moore, of Moore Croft. Deaf Collison, the 
postboy, can swear to her; and as I bought her 
myself at Dycer's, they are calling me to account 
for when I sold her, and to whom." 

"Wliy. there's no end to your troid)le about 
that unlucky beast, Lanty," said Talbot, laugh- 
ing; "and i confess it's rather hard tliat )0U are 
not only expected to warrant your horse sound, 



303 



THE O'DONOGH U E. 



but must give a guarantee that the rider is honest." 
" Devil a lie in it, but that's just it," said 
Lanty, who laughed heartily at the notion. 

'' Well, we must look to this for you, Lanty; for 
although I have no desire to have my name 
brought forward, still you must not suffer on 
that account. I remember paying my bill at 
Rathmallow with that same mare. She made an 
overreach coming down a hill, and became dead 
lame with me; and I gave her to the landlord 
of the little inn in the square in lieu of my 
score." 

"See, now, what liars there's in the world!" 
said Lanty, holding up his hands in pious horror. 
"Ould Finn, of the Head Inn, tould me she ate 
a feed of oats at the door, and started again for 
Askeaton with a gentleman just like your honor 
the night after I sold her. He knew the mare 
well; and by the same token, he said she was 
galled on the shoulder with holsters that was 
fixed to the saddle. Now, think of that, and he 
after buying her! Is it early in the morning I'm 
to come to your honor?" said he, moving towards 
the door. 

" Ves — that is — no, Lanty, no — about twelve 
o'clock. I'm a late riser. Wait a moment, 
Lanty; I have something more to say to you, if 
I could only remember it." He passed his hand 
across his brow as he spoke, and looked like one 
laboring to recall some lost thought. " No 
matter," said he, after a pause of some minutes; 
"I shall, perhaps, recollect it before to-morrow." 

"Good-night to you, then, sir," said Lanty, 
with a most obsequious bow, as lie opened the 
door. 

Their eyes met: it was only for a moment; 
but with such intelligence did each glance read 
the other, that they both smiled significantly. 
Talbot moved quickly forward at the instant, 
and closing the door with one hand, he laid the 
other gently on Lantv's shoulder. 

"Come, Lanty," said he, jocularly, " I can af- 
ford to sport ten pounds for a whim. Tell me 
who it was sent you after me this evening, and 
I'll give you the monev." 

" Done, then!" cried Lanty, grasping his hand; 
"and you'll ask no more than his name?" 

" Nothing more. 1 pledge my word; and 
here's the money." 

" Captain Hemsworth, the agent to the rich 
Englishman at Glenflesk." 

" I don't think I ever saw him in my life — I'm 
certain I don't know him. Is he a tall, dark 
man?" 

" I'll tell you no more," said Lanty. "The 
devil a luck I ever knew come of speaking of 
him." 

"All fair, Lanty — a bargain's a bargain; and 
so, good-niglit." And with a shake-hands of 
affected cordiality they parted. 

" Your conference has been a long one," said 
Mark, who waited with impatience until the silence 
without permitted him to come forth. 

" Not as long as I could have wished it," was 
Talbot's reply, as he stood in deep thought over 
what had passed. "It's just as I feared, Mark; 
there is danger brewing for me in some quarter. 
but how, or in what shape, I cannot even guess. 



This same horse-dealer, this Lanty Lawler " 

" Lanty Lawler, did you say?" 

" Yes. You know him, then?" 

" To be sure I do. We've had many dealings 
together. He's a shrewd fellow, and not over- 
scrujjulous in the way of his trade; but, apart 
from that, he's a true-hearted, honest fellow, and 
a friend to the cause." 

" You think so, Mark," said Talbot, with a smile 
of significant meaning. 

"I know it, Talbot. He is not an acquaint- 
ance of yesterday with me. I have known him 
for years long. He is as deep in the plot as any, 
and perhaps has run greater risks than either 
of us." 

" Well, well," said Talbot, sighing, as either 
weary of the theme or disinclined to contradict 
the opinion; "let us think of other matters. 
Shall we go to this ball or not? I incline to say 
nay." 

" What! Not go there?" said Mark, starting 
back in astonishment. "Why, what in Heaven's 
name have we been waiting for but this very op- 
portunity? — and what reason is there now to turn 
from our plans?" 

" There may be good and sufficient ones, even 
though they should be purely personal to myself," 
said Taibot, in a tone of ill-dissembled pique. 
" But come; we will go. I have been walking 
over a mine too long to care for a mere petard. 
And now, let us lose no more time, but dress at 
once." 

" .Must I really wear this absurd dress, Talbot? 
For very shame's sake, I shall not be able to look 
about me." 

" That you must, Mark. Remember that your 
safety lies in the fact that we attract no notice 
of any kind. To be as little remarked as possi- 
ble is our object; and for this reason I shall wear 
the uniform of an English militia regiment^ of 
which there are many at every levee. We shall 
separate on entering the room, and meet only 
from time to time, but as we go along, I'll give 
you all your instructions. And now to dress as 
quickly as may be." 



CHAPTER XXXIIL 



THE ST. PATRICK S BALL. 

Much as O'Donoghue marvelled at the change 
effected in his own appearance by the court 
dress, he was still more surprised at finding what 
a comi)lete transformation his friend Talbot had 
undergone. The scarlet uniform seemed to 
make him appear larger and fatter; while the 
assumption of a pair of dark whiskers added 
several years to his apparent age, and totally 
changed the character of his countenance. 

" I see by your face, Mark," said lie, laughing, 
"that the disguise is complete. You could 
scarcely recognize me— I may safely defy most 
others." 

"But you are taller, I think?" 

" .\bout an inch and a half onlv — fiil-r heels 
inside my boots give me a slight advantagi over 



THE ODONOGHUE. 



303 



you. Don't be jealous, liowever; I'm not your 
match on a fair footing." 

This flattery seemed successful, for Mark smiled 
and reddened slightly. As they drove along, 
'I'albot entered minutely into an account of the 
people they should meet with — warning Mark of 
the necessity there existed to avoid any, even 
the most trivial, sign of astonisliment at anything 
he saw — to mix with the crowd, and follow the 
current from room to room, carefully guarding 
against making any chance acquaintance — and, 
above all, not to be recognized by his cousin 
Kate, if by any accident he should be near her. 

In the midst of these directions, Talbot was 
interrupted by the sudden stoppage of the car- 
riages in the line, already extended above a mile 
from the Castle gate. 

" Here we are at last, Mark, in the train of the 
courtiers — does your patriotism burn for the 
time when your homage shall be rendered to a 
native sovereign? Hal there goes one of the 
privileged class — that carriage, with the two 
footmen, is the lord chancellor's; he has the 
right of the private e'ntrle, and takes the lead of 
such humble folk as we are mixed up with." 

A deep groan from the mob burst forth as the 
equipage, thus noticed, dashed forward. Such 
m inifestations of public feeling were then fre- 
quent, and not always limited to mere expres- 
sions of dislike. The very circumstance of quit- 
ting the regular line and passing the rest, seemed 
to evoke po[)ular indignation, and it was won- 
derful with what readiness the mob caught up 
allusions to the public or private life of those 
thus m.),nentarily ex|)osed to their indignation. 
Some speech or vote in Parliament, some judicial 
sentence, or some act or event in their private 
history, was at once recalled and criticized in a 
manner far more frank than flattering. None 
escaped this notice, for, notwithstanding the 
strong force of mounted police that kept the 
street clear, some adventurous spirit was always 
ready to rush forward to the carriage window, 
and in a moment announce to the ot'iers the name 
of its occupant. By all this Mark was greatly 
amused; he had few sympathies with those in 
little favor with the multitude, and could afford 
to laugh at the sallies which assailed the mem- 
bers of the government. The taunting sar- 
casms and personal allusions, of which the Irish 
member- were not sparing in the house, were 
here repeated by those who suffered the 
severity to lose little of its sting in their own 
version. 

"Look at Flood, boys — there's the old vul- 
ture with broken beak and cadaverous aspect — 
a groan for Flood!" And the demand was an- 
swered by thousands. 

"There's Tom Connolly," shouted a loud 
voice; "three cheers for the Volunteers — three 
cheers for Castletown!" 

"Thank you, boys, thank you," said a rich, 
mellow voice, as in their enthusiasm the mob 
pressed around the carriage of the popular mem- 
iser, and even shook hands with the footmen be- 
hind the f-arriage. 

"Here's Luttrel, here's Luttrel!" cried out 
several together; and in a moment the excite- 



ment, which before was all joy, assumed a char- 
acter of deepest execration. 

Aware of the popular feeling towards him, 
this gentleman's carriage was guarded by two 
troopers of the horse police. Nor was the pre- 
caution needless, for no sooner was he recog- 
nized, than a general rush was made by the mob, 
and for a moment or two the carriage was separ- 
ated from the rest of the line. 

" Groan him, boys, groan him, but don't touch 
the traitor!" shouted a savage-looking fellow, 
who stood a head and shoulders above the crowd. 

" Couldn't you afford to buy new liveries with 
the eighty thousand pounds the government gave 
you?" yelled another; and the sally was responded 
to with a burst of savage laughter. 

" Tiirow us out a penny," called a third; "it 
will treat all your friends in Ireland. Let him 
go, boys, let him go — he's only stopping the way 
of his betters!" 

" Here's the man that knows how to spend his 
money — three cheers for the Englishman from 
Stephen's green — three cheers for Sir Marnia- 
duke Travers!" And the cheers burst forth with 
an enthusiasm that showed how much more n 
character for benevolence and personal kindness 
conciliated mob estimation than all the attributes 
of political partisanship. 

"Bring us a lamp here, bring us a lamp!" cried 
a miserable object in tattered rags; "takedown n 
lamp, boys, till we have a look at the two beauties;" 
and, strange as the suggestion may seem, it wan 
hailed with a cry of triunii)hal delight, and in 
another moment a street lamp was taken frcrn 
its i)lace and handed over the heads of the molj 
to the very window of Sir Marmaduke's carriage; 
while the old baronet, kindly humoring the ec- 
centricities of the people, lowered the glass to 
permit them to see in. A respectful silence ex~ 
tended over that crowd, motley and miserable a!i 
it was, and they stood in mute admiration, not 
venturing upon a word nor a remark, until, as it 
were, overcome by a spontaneous feeling of en- 
thusiasm, they broke forth into one loud cheer 
that echoed from the college to the very gates of 
the Castle; and with blessings deep and fervent, 
as they would have bestowed for some real favor, 
the carriage was allowed to proceed on its way 
once more. 

"Here's Morris, here's the colonel!" was now 
the cry; and a burst of as merry laughter as ever 
issued from happy hearts welcomed the new 
arrival. "Make him get out, boys, make him 
get out, and show us his legs; that's the fellow 
ran away in Flanders!" And before the mirth 
had subsided, the unhappy colonel had passed on. 

"Who's this in the hackney-coach?" said one, 
as the carriage in which Talbot and Mark were 
seated came up. The window was let down in a 
moment, and Talbot, leaning his head out, 
whispered a few words in a low voice; whatever 
their import, their effect was m'agical, and a 
hurra, as wild as the war-cry of an Indian, shook 
the street. 

' What was it you said ?" cried Mark. 

"Three words in Irish," said Talbot, laughing: 
"they are the only three in my vocabulary, and 
their meaning is, 'Wait awhile;' and, somehow. 



304 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



it would seem a very significant intimation to 
Irishmen." 

The carriage moved on, and the two friends 
alighted in the brilliantly- illuminated vestibule, 
now lined with battleaxe-guards, and resounding 
with the clangor of a brass band. Mixing with 
the crowd that poured up the staircase, they 
passed into the first drawing-room without stop- 
ping to write tlieir names, as was done by the 
others, Talbot telling Mark, in a whisper, to move 
up and follow him closely. 

The distressing impression that he himself 
would be an object of notice and remark to others, 
and which had up to that very moment tortured 
him, gave way at once, as he found himself in that 
splendid assemblage where beauty, in all the glare 
of dress and jewels, abounded, and where, for the 
first time, the world of fashion and elegance burst 
upon his astonished senses. The courage that, with 
dauntless nerve, would have led him to the can- 
non's mouth, now actually faltered, and made 
him feel faint-hearted, to find himself mixing 
with those among whom he had no riglit to be 
present. Talbot's shrewd intelligence seemed to 
divine what was passing in Mark's mind, for he 
took him by the arm, and as he led him forward, 
whispered, from time to time, certain particulars 
of the company, intended to satisfy him that, 
however distinguished by rank and personal 
appearance, in reality their characters had little 
claim to his resjject. With such success did he 
demolish reputations — so fatally did liis sarcasms 
depreciate those against whom they were directed 
— that, ere long, Mark moved along in utter con- 
tempt for that gorgeous throng, which at first 
had im[)ressed him so profoundly. To hear that 
the proud-luoking general, his coat a blaze of 
orders, was a coward; that tlie benign and inild- 
faced judge was a merciless, unrelenting tyrant; 
that the bishop whose simple bearing and gentle 
quietude of manner were most winning, was in 
reality a crafty place-hunter and a subtle intrig- 
ant — such were the lessons Talbot poured into 
his ear, while amid the ranks of beauty still more 
deadly calumnies pointed all he said. 

" Society is rotten to the very core here, Mark," 
said he, bitterly. "There never was a land nor 
an age when profligacy stood so high in the 
market. It remains to be seen if our friends will 
do better — for a time, at least, they are almost 
certain to do so; but now that I have shown you 
something of the company, let us separate, lest 
we be remarked. This pillar can always be our 
rallying spot. Whenever you want me. come 
here;" and so saying, and with a slight pressure 
of his hand. Talbot mixed with the crowd, and 
soon was lost to Mark's view. 

Talbot's revelations served at first to impair 
the pleasure Mark experienced in the brilliant 
scene around him; but when once more alose. 
the magnetic infiuence of a splendor so new, and 
of beauty so dazzling, appealed to his heart far 
more powerfully than the cold sarcasms of his 
companion. Glances which, directed to others, 
he caught in passing, and felt with a throb of 
ecstasy within his own bosom; bright eyes, that 
beamed not for him, sent a glow of delight through 
his frame. The atmosphere of pleasure which he 



had never breathed before, now warmed the cur- 
rent of his blood, and his pulse beat high and 
madly. All the bitter thoughts he had harbored 
against his country's enemies could not stand be- 
fore his admiration of that gorgeous assemblage, 
and he felt asliamed to think that he, and such 
as he, should conspire the downfall of a system 
whose very externals were so captivating. He 
wandered thus from room to room in a dream of 
pleasure — now stopping to gaze at the dancers, 
then moving towards some of the refreshment- 
rooms, where parties were seated in familiar cir- 
cles, all in the full enjoyment of the brilliant 
festivity. Like a child roaming at will through 
some beauteous garden, heightening enjoyment 
by the rapid variety of new pleasures, and mak- 
ing in the quick transition of sensations a source 
of more fervid delight, so did he pass from place 
to place, and in this way time stole by, and he 
utterly forgot the rendezvous he had arranged 
with Talbot. At last, suddenly remembering 
this, he endeavored to find out the place, and in 
doing so was forced to pass through a card-room, 
where several parties were now at play. Around 
one of the tables a greater crowd than usual was 
assembled. There, as he passed, Mark thought 
he overheard Talbot's voice. He stopped and 
drew near, and, with some little difficulty, making 
his way through, perceived his friend seated at 
the table, deeply engaged in what, if he were to 
judge from the heap of gold before him, seemed, 
very high play. His antagonist was an old, fi'ne- 
looking man, in the uniform of a general office:; 
but while Mark looked, he arose, and his place 
was taken by another- — the etiquette being, that 
the winner should remain until he ceased to win. 

" He has passed eleven times," said a gentle- 
man to his friend, in Mark's hearing; "he must 
at least have won four hundred pounds." 

" Do you happen to know who he is?" 

" No; nor do I know anyone that does. There! 
— see! — he has won again." 

" He's a devilish cool player — that's certain. 
I never saw a man more collected." 

"He studies his adversary far more than his 
cards — I remark that." 

" Oh! here's old Clangoff ccme to try hisluck;" 
and an opening of the crowd was now made to 
permit a tall and very old man to approach the 
table. Very much stooped in the shoulders, and 
with snow-white hair, Lord Clangoff still pre- 
served the remains of one who in his youth had 
been the handsomest man of his day. Ahliough 
simply dressed in the Windsor uniform, the bril- 
liant rings he wore upon his fingers, and the 
splendor of a gold snuff-box surrounded by 
enormous diamonds, evinced the taste for mag- 
nificence for which he was celebrated. There 
was an air of dignity with which he took his seat, 
saluting the acquaintances he recognized about 
him, very strikingly in contrast with the familiar 
manners then growing into vogue, while in the 
courteous urbanity of his bow to Talbot, his 
whole breeding was revealed. 

"It is a proud thing even to encounter such 
an adversary, sir," said he, Smiling. "They 
have just told me that you have vanquished our 
best players." 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



305 



" The caprice of Fortune, my lord, that so 
often favors tlie undeserving," said Talbot, with 
a gesture of extreme humility. 

" Your success should be small at play, if the 
French adage have any truth in it," said his lord- 
ship, alluding to Talbot's handsome features, 
which seemed to indicate favor with the softer 
sex. 

"According to that theory, my lord, I have 
the advantage over you at present." 

This adroit flattery at the other's earlier repu- 
tation as a gallant seemed to please him highly; 
for, as he presented his box to one of his friends 
near, he whispered, "A very well-bred fellow, 
indeed." Then turning to Talbot, said, '' Do you 
like a high stake.'" 

" I am completely at your service, my lord — 
whatever you please." 

"Shall we sav fifty, or do you prefer a hun- 
dred?" 

"If the same to you, I like the latter just twice 
as well." 

The old lord smiled at having found an adver- 
sary similarly disposed with himself, and drew 
out his pocket-book with an air of palpable sat- 
isfaction; while in the looks of increased interest 
among the bystanders could be seen the anxiety 
they felt in the coming struggle. 

"You have the deal, my lord," said Talbot, 
presenting the cards. " Still, if any gentleman 
cares for another fifty on the game " 

" I'll take it, sir," said a voice from behind 
Lord Clangoff's chair; and Mark, struck by the 
accent, fixed his eyes on the speaker. The blood 
rushed to his face at once, for it was Hemsworth 
who stood before him — the ancient enemy of his 
house — the tyrant, whose petty oppressions and 
studied insults had been a theme he was familiar 
with from boyhood. All fear of his being re- 
cognized himself was merged in the savage 
pleasure he felt in staring fixedly at the man he 
hated. 

He would have given much to be able to whis- 
per the name into Talbot's ear; but remember- 
ing how such an attempt might be attended by 
a discovery of himself, he desisted, and with a 
throbbing heart awaited the result of the game. 
Meanwhile Hemsworth. whose whole attention 
was concentrated on Talbot, never turned his 
eyes towards any other quarter. The moment 
seemed favorable for Mark, and gently retiring 
through the crowd, he at last disengaged him- 
self.and sat down on abench near a doorway. His 
mind was full of its own teeming thoughts — 
thoughts that the hated presence of his enemy 
sent madly thronging upon him, he lost all 
memory of where he was, nor did he remark that 
two pel sons had entered and seated themselves 
near him, when a word — a single word, fell upon 
his ear. He turned round and saw his cousin Kate 
sitting beside Frederick Travers. The start of 
surprise he could not restrain attracted her notice. 
She turned also, and as a deadly pallor came over 
her features, she uttered the one word, " Mark!" 
Travers immediately caught the name, and, lean- 
ing forward, the two young men's e)es met, and 
for some seconds never wandered from each 
other. 



" I should have gone to see you, cousin Kate," 
said Mark, after a momentary struggle to seem 
calm and collected, '' but 1 feared — that is, I did 
not know " 

" But Mark, dear Mark, why are you here?" 
said she, in a tone of heartfelt terror, " Do you 
know that none save those presented at the levees, 
and known to the lord-lieutenant, dare to attend 
these balls?" 

"I came with a I'riend," said Mark, in a voice 
where anger and self-reproach were mingled. 
"If he misled me, he must answer for it." 

"It was imprudent, Mr. O'Donoghue, and 
that's all," said Travers in a tone of great gen- 
tleness; "and your friend should not have 
misled you. I'll take care that nothing un- 
pleasant shall arise in consequence. Just remain 
here for a moment." 

"Stay, sir," said Mark, as Travers rose from 
his seat; "I hate accepting favors, even should 
they release me from a position as awkward as 
this is. Here comes my friend Talbot, and he'll 
perhaps explain what I cannot." 

" I've lost my money, Mark," said Talbot, 
coming forward, and perceiving with much 
anxiety that his young friend was engaged in a 
conversation. " Let us move about and see the 
dancers." 

" Wait a few seconds first," said Mark, sternly, 
"and satisfy this gentleman that I'm not in fault 
in coming here, save so far as being induced by 
you to do so." 

" May I ask how the gentleman feels called 
on to require the explanation?" said Talbot, 
proudly. 

" I wish him to know the circumstances," said 
Mark. 

"And I," said Travers, interrupting, "might 
claim a right to ask it as first aide-de-camp to 
his excellency." 

"So then," whispered Talbot, with a smile, 
"it is the mere impertinence of oftice." 

Travers's face flushed up, and his lips quiv- 
ered, as, in an equally low tone of voice, he 
said, — 

" Where and when, sir, will you dare to repeat 
these words ?" 

" To-morrow morning, at seven o'clock, on the 
strand below Clontarf, and in this gentleman's 
presence," said Talbot, into his ear. 

A nod from Travers comjileted the arrange- 
ment, and Talbot, placing his arm hurriedly 
within Mark's, said, — 

" Let us get away from this, Mark. It is all 
settled. We meet to-morrow." 

Mark turned one look towards Kate, who was 
just in the act of acceijting Travers's arm to return 
to the ball-room. Their glances met for a second, 
but with how different a meaning! — in Iters, a 
world of anxiety and interest — in his, the proud 
and scornful defiance of one who seemed to ac- 
cept of no compromise with fortune. 

" So, then, it is your friend Travers, Mark, 
with whom I am to have the honor of a rencontre. 
I'm sorrv, for your sake, that it is so." 

"And why so?" asked Mark, sternly, for in 
his present mood he was as little satisfied with 
Talbot as with Travers. 



306 



THE O'DONOGHUE, 



"Because, if I don't mistake much, you will 
not have the opportunity of wiping out your old 
score with him. I'll shoot him, Mark!" These 
last words were uttered between his almost closed 
teeth, and in a tone of scarce restrained anger. 
" Are eitlier of us looking very bloody-minded 
or savage, Mark, I wonder? for see how the 
people are staring and whispering as we pass!" 

The observation was nut made without reason, 
for already the two young men were regarded on 
all sides as they passed — the different persons 
in their way retiring as they approached. 

" How do you do, my lord ? I hope I see you 
well," said Talbot, bowing familiarly to a vener- 
able old man who stood near, and who as 
promptly returned his salute. 

" Who is it you bowed to ?" said Mark, in a 
whisper. 

"The chief-justice, Mark. Not that I know 
him, or he me; but at this critical moment such 
a recognition is a certificate of character, which 
will at least last long enough to see us down-stairs. 
There, let me move on first, and follow me," and 
as he spoke, he edged his way through a crowded 
door, leaving Mark to follow how he could. 
This was, however, a task of more difficulty than 
it seemed, for already a number of persons 
blocked up the doorway, eager to hear something 
whicli a gentleman was relating to those about 
him. 

"1 can only tell you," continued he, "that 
none seems to know either of them. As Clan- 
goff has lost the diamond snuff-box the emperor 
of Austria presented him with — he missed it 
after leaving the card-table — the presumption is, 
that we are favored with somewhat doubtful 
company." 

"Carysford says," cried another, "that he 
knows one of them well, and has often seen him 
in Paris at the play-houses." 

A low whisper ran around after these words, 
and at the instant every eye was directed to 
Mark OT~)onoghue. The young man sustained 
their looks with a frown of resolute daring, turn- 
ing from one to the other to see if, perchance, 
by any gesture or expression, he could single 
out one to pay the penalty for the rest: his blood 
boiled at the insulting glances that fell upon him, 
and he was in the very act of giving his temper 
vent, when an .arm was slipped within his, and 
Frederick Travers whispered in his ear, — 

" I hope your friend has got safely away. 
There are some fellows here to-night of notori- 
ously bad character, and Mr. Talbot may get 
into trouble on tliat account." 

" He has just left this. I hope before now he 
has reached the street." 

" Let me be your convoy, then," said Travers, 
good-naturedly. " These talking fools will cease 
their scandal when they see us together;" and, 
affecting an air of easy intimacy, he led Mark 
through the crowd, which even already bestowed 
very altered glances as thev passed. 

" Good-night, sir," said Mark, abruptly, as they 
arrived at the room by which he remembered to 
have entered; " I see my friend yonder, awaiting 
me." Travers returned the greeting, and half 
extended his hand, but Mark coollv bowed and 



turned away. The moment after he was at 
Talbot's side. 

" 'I'hank heaven, we are breathing the free air 
again!" he exclaimed, as they issued forth into 
the street; "a little longer would have suffocated 
me." 

" It was Travers you parted at the head of the 
stairs?" said Talbot, inquiringly. 

"Yes; he was polite enough to come up when 
you left me, and the company and myself have 
reason to be thankful to him, for assuredly we 
were, both of us, forgetting our good manners 
very much at the moment. They were pleased 
to look at me in a fashion of very questionable 
civility, and I, 1 greatly fear, was scarcely more 
polite. It would seem, Talbot, that some swind- 
lers or pickpockets had introduced themselves at 
the assembly, and we had the honor of being 
confounded with them — so much for the prudence 
of our first step." 

" Come, come, Mark, don't lose temper about 
trifles." 

" Would it have proved a trifle if I had thrown 
one of those gold-laced fops out of the window 
into the court? I promise you the temptation was 
devilish strong in me to act so at one moment. 
But what have we gained by all this? where were 
the friends you should havemet? whom have you 
seen? what have you learned?" 

Talbot made no reply, but walked on in silence. 

" Or have we exposed ourselves to the taunting 
insolence of these ]3eople for the mock pleasure 
of mixing wiih them? Is that our gain here?" 

Still Talbot made no reply, and Mark, as if his 
passion had expended itself, now became silent 
also, and in this wise they reached the hotel, 
each sunk in his own personal reflections. 

" Now, Mark," said Talbot, when they had 
gained their room, " now let us set ourselves to 
think over what is to be done, and not waste a 
thought on what is bygone. At seven to-morrow 
I am to meet Travers, before nine I must be on 
the way to France, that is, if he do not issue a 
leaden tie iweai against me. I shall certainly fire 
at him— your pretty cousin will never forgive me 
for it, that I know well"- — here he stole a side 
look at Mark, across whose features a flash of 
passion was thrown — " still, I am sorry this should 
have occurred, because 1 had many things lo 
settle here: aniongothers, some which more nearly 
concerned yourself.' 

" Me! — concerned me!" said Mark, in surprise. 

"Yes, I am deeper in your secrets than you are 
aware of — deeper than you are yourself, perhaps. 
What would you say, Mark, if I could ensure you 
the possession of your property and estate, as it 
was left to you by your grandfather, without 
debt or incumbrance of any kind, free from mort- 
gage?" 

" Free from Hemsworth?" cried Mark, passion- 
atelv. 

" Even so — I was just coming to that." 
" I know not what I should say, Talbot, but I 
know what I should do— throw every farthing of 
it into the scale where I have thrown life and hope 
— the cause of my country.' 

Talbot shook his head doubtfully for a second 
or two, then said, — 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



307 



" It is not money is wanting to the enterprise, it 
is rathjr what no money can buy — the reckless 
courage of men willing to devote themselves to a 
cause which they must never hope to live to see 
successful, but whose graves must be the ramparts 
over which others will achieve liberty. No, my 
hojjes for you point otherwise. I wish to see you 
as the head and representative of an ancient name 
and house, with the influence property and posi- 
tion would confer, taking your place in the 
movement, not as a soldier of fortune, but as a 
man of rank and weight." Talbot paused for a 
moment to enjoy, as it were, the delight this 
brilliant picture of coming greatness produced 
upon the youth, and then went on, " Such a place 
I can o!Ter you, Mark." 

" How, and on what terms?" cried Mark, burst- 
ing with impatience. 

" I make no conditions — I am your friend, and 
ask nothing but your friendship. A lucky chance 
has given me the opportunity to serve you — all I 
bargain for is, that you do not inquire further how 
that chance aro' ?." 

Murk stood in mute amazement, while Talbot, 
unlocking his writing-desk, drew forth a dark 
leather pocket-book, tied with a string, and laid 
it leisurely on the table before him. 

" There is a condition I will bargain for. Mark," 
said Talbot, after a panse, "although I'm sure it 
13 a weakness I scarcely ever thought to feel. 
We shall soon be separated; who knows when 
We shall meet again, if ever. Now, if men should 
speak of me in terms unworthy of one who has 
been your friend, laying to my charge acts of 
dishonor " 

" Who will dare to do so before me?" said 
Mark, indignantly. 

"It will happen, nevertheless, Mark; and I ask 
not your defence of me when absent, as much as 
that you will yourself reject all belief in those 
calumnies. I have told you enough of my 
life to let you know in what circumstances of 
difficulty and danger different parts have been 
forced upon me, and it may be that, while I have 
personated others, they in revenge have masquer- 
aded under my name. This is no mere suspicion. 
I know it has already happened; bear it well in 
mind, and when your friend Henry Talbot is as- 
hailed, remember the explanation and your own 
promise." 

Mark grasped Talbot's hand firmly, and shook 
it with the warmth of true friendship. 

" Sit down beside me, Mark," said he, placing 
the chairs at the table, " and read this." 

With these words he unfastened the string of 
the pocket-book, and took forth a small jiaper 
from an envelope, of which the seal was already 
broken. 

" This is addressed to your father, Mark," said 
he, showing him the su[)erscription. 

"I know that hand-writing," said Mark, gazing 
fixedly at it; "that is Father Rourke's." 

"Yes, that's the name," said Talbot, opening 
the letter. " Read this," and he handed the 
paper to Mark, while he himself read aloud; — 

"'Mark O'Donoghue, son of Miles O'Don- 
oghue, and Mary his wife, born 25th December, 



1774, and christened on the morning of the 27th 
of December, same year, by me, Nicholas Rourke, 
P.P., Ballyvouvney and Glengariff. Witnessed 
by us, .Simon Gaffney, steward, and Sam. Wylie, 
butler.' " 

"And what of all that?" said Mark, with a voice 
of evident disappointment. " Do you think I 
wanted this certificate of birth or baptism to 
claim my name or my kindred?" 

" No; but to claim your estate and fortune,' 
said Talbot, hurriedly. Do you not perceive the 
date of this document — 1774 — and that you 
only attained your majority on last Christmas. 
Day " 

'"' That cannot be," interrupted Mark. " I 
joined my father in a loan upon the estate two 
years ago; the sale to Htmsworth was made a't 
the same time, and I must have been of age to 
do so." 

"That does not follow," said Talbot, smiling. 
" It suited the objects of others to make you think 
so; but, you were little more than nineteen at the 
time. Here's the certificate of your mother's 
marriage, and the date is February, 1773." 

Mark's countenance became perfectly blood- 
less, his lips grew livid, while his nostrils weru 
alternatrly distended and contracted violently as 
he breathed with a heaving effort. 

" You have your choice, therefore," said Tal- 
bot, flippantly, "to believe your father a man o( 
honor, or your moihe " 

" Stop!" cried Maik, as he seized his arm and 
shook it in his strong grasp: "speak the word, 
and, by Heaven, you'll never leave this spot 
alive!" 

Talbot seemed to feel no anger at this savage 
threat, but calmly said, — 

" It was not my wish to hurt your feelings, 
Mark. Very little reflection on your part might 
convince you that I can have no object to serve 
here save my regard for you. You seemed to 
doubt what I said about your age, and 1 wished 
to satisfy you at once that I was correct. You 
were not of age till last December. A false cer- 
tificate of birth and baptism enabled your father 
to raise a considerable sum of money with yOur 
concurrence, and also peiniitted him to make a sale 
to Hemsworth of a jiroperty strictly entailed on' 
you and yours. Both these acts were illegal and' 
unjust. If Hems-\\orth be the rightful owner of 
that estate, your birth is illegitimate — nay, nay — 
I am but putting the alternative, which you can- 
not, dare not accept. You must hear me with' 
temper, Mark- — calmly and patiently. It is a 
sad lesson when one must learn to think disparag- 
ingly of those they have ever looked up to and 
revered. But remember, that when your father 
did this act, he was surrounded with difficulties 
on every hand. There seemed no escape from 
the dangers around him — inevitable ruin was his 
lot. He doubtless intended to apply a consider- 
able portion of this money to the repair of his 
shattered fortunes. Of his affection for you. 
there can be no question " 

"There, there," said Mark, interrupting him 
rudely; "there is no need to defend a father to 
his son. Tell me, rather, why you have revealed 



308 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



this secret to me at all, and to what end have you 
added this to the other calamities of my fortune?" 
He stood up as he said these words, and 
paced the room with slow steps, his head sunk 
upon his bosom, and his arms dropped listlessly 
at his side. Talbot looked upon the figure, 
marked with every trait of despondency, and for 
some moments lie seemed really to sorrow over 
the part he had taken; then, rallying with his 
accustomed energy, he said, — 

"If I had thought, Mark, that you had neither 
ambition for yourself, nor hatred for an enemy, 
I would never have told you these things. I did 
fancy, however, that you were one who struggled 
indignantly against an inglorious fortune, and, 
still more, believed that you were not of a race 
to repay injury with forgetfulness. Hemsworth, 
yon have often told me, has been the insult- 
ing enemy of your family. Not content with 
despoiling you of fortinie, he has done his utmost 
to rob you of fair fame — to reduce an honored 
liouse to the ignoble condition of peasants, and 
to break down the high and haughty spirit of a 
noble family by the humiliating ills of poverty. 
If you can forgive his injuries, can you forget his 
insults and his taunts?" 

" Would you iiave me repay either by arraign- 
ing my father as a criminal ?" 

"Not so, Mark; many other courses are open 
toyou. The knowledge of this fact by you places 
you in a position to make your own terms with 
Hemsworth. He who has spent thirty thousand 
pounds on the purchase without a title must 
needs yield to any conditions you think fit to 
impose. You have but to threaten 

"That I will expose my father in a court of 
justice," said Mark, between his teeth — " that I 
will put money in one scale, and the honor of 
my house in the other— that I will truck the 
name and credit of my race against the acres that 
were theirs. No, no; you mistake me much; you 
know little of the kind of vengeance that my 
heart yearns for, or you would never have tempted 
me with such a bait as this." 

" Be it so," said Talbot, coolly; " Hemsworth 
is only th2 luckier mm that has m;t such a tem- 
perament as yours to deal with; a vulgar spirit 
like mine would have turned the tables upon him. 
But I have done; keep the paper, Mark; there 
might come a time when it should prove useful 
to you. Hark! — what's tliat noise below? Don't 
you hear that fellow Lawler's voice in the court- 
yard ?" — and, as he spoke, the voice of the host, 
Billy Crossley, raised very high above its usual 
pitch, called out, — 

" I tell you, gentlemen, Mr. Talbot is not in 
the house, he dined out to-day, and has not re- 
turned smce dinner." 

A confused murmur followed this announce- 
ment; and again Crossley said, but in a still 
louder tone, — - 

" You have perfect liberty to look for him 
wherever you please; don't say that I gave you 
any impediment or hindrance; follow me — I'll 
show you the way " 

Talbot knew in a moment the intention of the 
speaker, and recognized in Crossley s vehemence 
an urgent warning to himself. 



"I'm tracked, Mark," cried he; "there, take 
that key — burn the papers in that desk — all of 
them. At seven to-moirow, meet me on the 
strand; if all be safe, I'll be true to time, if 
not " 

The remainder of the sentence was cut short 
by the hurrying sounds of feet upon the stairs, 
and Crossley 's voice, which in its loudest key 
continued to protest that Talbot was not in the 
house, nor had he seen him since dinner. 

Mark hastily unlocked the desk and took out 
the pa])ers, but when he turned round Talbot 
was gone; a tremulous motion of the tapestry on 
the wall seemed to indicate that his escape had 
been made through some secret door behind it. 
He had no time, however, to think further of the 
circumstance, for scarcely had he applied the 
lighted candle to the papers when the door was 
burst violently open, and three strange men, fol- 
lowed by Lanty Lawler, entered the room, while 
Crossley, whom he had pushed roughly aside, 
stood without, on the lobby, still talking as loudly 
as before. 

" Is that him?" said one of the fellows, who 
seemed like a constable in plain clothes. 

" No," whispered Lanty, as he skulked behind 
the shoulders of the speaker, " that's another 
gentleman.' 

" Were you alone in this apartment?' said the 
same man who spoke first, as he addressed Mark 
in the tone of authority. 

"It is rather for me to ask what business you 
have to come here?" rejjlied Mark, as he con- 
tinued to feed the flames with the letters and 
papers before him. 

"You shall see my warrant when you have 
answered my question. Meanwhile these may be 
of some consequence," said the other, as, ap- 
proaching the hearth, he stooped down to seize 
the burning papers. 

" They do not concern you," said Mark, as he 
placed his foot in the very middle of the blaze. 

"Stand back, sir," cried the constable, half 
raising his arm to enforce the command. 

" Lay but a finger on me," faid Mark, scorn- 
fully, " and I'll dash your head against the 
wall" 

The insolence of his threat might hare been 
followed by ill consequences, had not Lanty 
sprang hastily forward, and, catching the con- 
stable by the arm, cried out, — 

" It is the O'Donoghue of Glenflesk, a young 
gentleman of rank and fortune." 

" What do we care for his rank or fortune?" 
said the other, passionately. "If he obstruC ; 
the king's warrant for the arrest of a traitor or 
a felon, I value him no more than the meanest 
beggar in the street. Those papers there, for ail 
I know, might throw light on the whole plot." 

" They are at your service, now," said Mark, 
as with a kick of his foot he dashed the black- 
ened embers from him, and sent them in floating 
fragments through the room. 

Unwilling as he seemed to continue a contest 
in which his authority had met only defiance, th(: 
constable gave the order to his underlings to 
make a strict search of the apartment and ihe 
bedroom which opened into it, during which 



THE O'DONOGH UE, 



309 



Mark seated himself carelessly in an arm-chair, 
and taking a newspaper from the table, affected 
to read it. 

Lanty stood for a few seconds, irresolute what 
to do; then stealing softly behind Mark's chair, 
he m.ittered, in a broken voice, — 

" If I thought he was a friend of yours, Mas- 
ter Mark — —But it's no matter — I know he's 
off. I heard the gallop of a beast on the stones 
since we came in. Well, well, I never expected 
to see you here." 

M-irk made no other reply to this speech than 
a steady frown, whose contemptuous expression 
Lanty cowered under, as he said once more, — 

" It wasn't my fault at all, if I was obliged to 
come with the constables. There's more charges 
nor mine against him, the chap with the black 
Vvhiskers says " 

" It's quite clear," said the chief of the party, 
as he re-entered the room — "it's quite clear this 
man was here a few minutes since, and equally 
(io that you know of his place of concealment. I 
tell you plainly, sir, if you continue to refuse in- 
formation concerning him, I'll take you as my 
prisoner. I have two warrants against him — one 
for highway robbery, the other for treason." 

" Why the devil have you no information sworn 
against him for murder?" said Mark, insolently, 
for the language of the bailiff had completely 
aroused his passion. '" Whoever he is you are 
looking for seems to have a clear conscience." 

" Master Mark knows nothing at all about 
him, I'll go bail to any amount." 

" We don't want your bail, my good friend; we 
want the man who calls himself Harvey Middle- 
ton in Herts, Godfrey Middleton in Surrey, the 
Chevalier D.ichatel in France, Harry Talbot in 
Ireland, but wiio is better known in the police 
sheet;" and here he opened a printed paper, and 
pointed to the words, ''full description of John 
B.irrington, convicted at the M lidslone assizes, 
and sentenced to fifteen years' transportation.' 

The smile of insolent incredulity with which 
M irk listened to these imputations on the honor 
of his friend, if it did not assuage the anger of 
the constable, served to satisfy him that he was 
at least no practised colleague in crime, and 
turning to Lanty, he talked to him in a low 
whisper for several minutes. 

" I tell ye," said Lanty, eagerly, in reply to 
some remark of the other, " his worship will never 
forgive you if you arrest him; his time is not yet 
com;, and you'll get little thanks for interfering 
where ye had no business." 

Whether convinced by these arguments, or de- 
terred from making Mark liis prisoner by the con- 
scious illegality of the act, the man collected his 
party, and having given them his orders in a low 
voice, left the room, followed by the others. 

A gesture from Mark arrested Lanty as he was 
in the act of passing out. " A word with 
you, Lanty," said he, firmly. " What is the in- 
formation against Talbot ? — what is he accused 
of?" 

"Sure didn't you hear yourself,"replied Lanty, 
in a simpering, mock-bashful voice. " They say 
he's Harrington the robber, and faith, they've 
strong evidence that they're not far out. 'Tis 



about a horse I sold him that I came here. I 
didn't want to harm or hurt anybody, and if I 
thought he was a friend of yours " 

" He is a friend of mine," said Mark, " and 
therefore these stories are but one tissue of 
falsehoods. Are you aware, Lanty" — and here 
as the youth spoke, his voice became low and 
whispering — "are you aware that Talbot is an 
agent of the French Government — that he is over 
here to report on the condition of our party, and 
arrange for the rising?" 

" Is it in earnest you are?" cried Lanty, with 
an expression of admirably dissembled astonish- 
ment. " Are you telling me truth, Master Mark?" 

" Yes, and more still — the day is not far dis- 
tant now when we shall strike the blow." 

" I want you here, my worthy friend," said the 
constable, putting his head into the room, and 
touching Lanty 's shoulder. The horse-dealer 
looked confused, and for a second setnifd un- 
determined how to act; but suddenly recovering 
his composure, he smiled significantly at Mark, 
wished him a good-night, and departed. 



CHAPTER XXXIV. 

THE DAYBREAK ON THE STRAND. 

It was with an impatience almost amounting 
to madness that Mark O'Donoghue awaited the 
dawn of day; long before that hour had arrived 
he had made every preparation for joining his 
friend. A horse stood ready saddled awaiting 
him in the stable, and his pistols, — the weapons 
Talbot knew so well how to handle-^were care- 
fully packed in the heavy holsters. The time 
settled for the meeting was seven o'clock, but 
he was certain that Talbot would be near the 
place before that hour, if not already there. The 
scene which followed Talbot's escape also stim- 
ulated his anxiety to meet with him; not that 
any, even the faintest, suspicion of his friend's 
honor ever crossed Mark's mind, but he wished 
to warn him of the dangers that were gathering 
around him, for were he arrested on a suspicion, 
who was to say what material evidence might not 
arise against him in his real character of a 
French spy? Mark's was not of a character long 
to brood over doubtful circumstances, and seek 
an explanation tor difficulties which only assumed 
the guise of suspicions. Too prone always to be 
led by first impressions of everybody and every- 
thing, he hated and avoided whatever should 
disturb the opinions he thus hastily formed. 
When matters too complicated and knotty for his 
immediate comprehension crossed him, he turned 
from them without an effort, and rather satisfied 
himself that it was a point of honor to " go on 
believing," than harbor a doubt, even where the 
circumstances were calculated to suggest it. 
This frame of mind saved him fom all uneasi- 
ness on the score of Talbot's honor; he had often 
heard how many disguises and masks his friend 
had worn in the events of his wild and danger- 
ous career, and if he felt how incapable he him- 
self would have been to play so many different 



810 



THE O'DONOGH UE. 



parts, the same reason prevented his questioning 
llie necessity of such subterfuges. That Harry 
Talbot iiad personated any or all of the persons 
mentioned by the constable, he little doubted, 
and therefore he regarded their warrant after him 
as only another evidence of his skill and clever- 
ness; but that his character was in the least in- 
volved was a supposition that never once occurred 
to him. Amid all his anxieties of that weary 
night not one arose from this cause: no secret 
distrust of his friend lurked in any corner of his 
heart; his fear was solely for Talbot's safety, and 
for what he ranked as highly — the certainty of 
his keeping his appointment with Frederick 
Travers; and what a world of conflicting feelings 
were here! At one moment a sense of savage, 
unrelenting hatred to the man who had grossly 
insulted himself, at the next a dreadful thrill of 
agony that this same Travers might be the object 
of his cousin's love, and that on /lis (ate her whole 
happiness in life depended. Had the meeting 
been between himself and Travers — had the time 
come round to sett'e that old score of insult that 
lay between them — he thought that such feelings 
as these would have been merged in the gratified 
sense of vengeance, but now, how should he 
look on, and see him fall by another's pistol.'' — 
how see another expose his life in the place he 
felt to be his own? He could not forgive Talbot 
for this, and every painful thoLight the whole 
event suggested embittered him against his friend 
as the cause of his suffering. And yet, was it 
possible for him ever himself to have challenged 
Travers? Did not the discovery of Kate's 
secret, as he called it to her, on the road below 
the cliff, at once and forever prevent such a 
catastrophe? Such were some of the harassing 
reflections which distracted Mark's mind, and to 
whicti his own wayward temper and natural ex- 
citability gave additional poignancy; while 
jealousy, a passion that fed and ministered to his 
hate, lived through every sentiment and tinctured 
every thought. Such had been his waking and 
sleeping thoughts for many a day — thoughts 
which, though lurking, like a slow poison, within 
him, had never become so palpable to his 
mind before; his very patriotism, the attachment 
he thought he felt to his native country, his ar- 
dent desire for liberty, his aspirations for national 
greatness, all sprang from this one sentiment of 
hate to the Saxon, and jealousy of the man who 
was his rival, Frederick Travers was the em- 
bodiment of all those feelings he hiuiself believed 
» were enlisted in the cause of hij country. 

As these reflections crowded on him they sug- 
gested new sources of suffering, and in the be- 
wildered frame of mind to which he was now re- 
duced there seemed no possible issue to his diffi- 
culties. Mark was not, however, one of those 
who chalk out their line in life in moments of 
quiet reflection, and then pursue the career they 
have fixed upon. His course was rather to throw 
passion and impulse into the same scale with cir- 
cumstances, and take his chance of the result. 
He had little power of anticipation, nor was his 
a mind that could calmly array facts before it, 
and draw the inferences from them. No, he met 
the dangers of life, a.-, he would have done those 



of battle, with a heart undaunted and a spirit re- 
solved never to turn back. The sullen courage 
of his nature, if it did not suggest hope, at least 
supplied resolution — and how many go through 
life with no other star to guide themi 

At last the grey dawn of breaking day ap- 
peared above the house-tops, and the low distant 
sounds that prelude the movement of life in great 
cities, stirred faintly without. 

"Thank heaven, the night is over at last!" 
was Mark's exclamation, as he gazed upon the 
leaden streak of cloud that told of morning. 

All his preparations for departure were made, 
so that he had only to descend to the stable and 
mount his horse. The animal, he was told, had 
formerly belonged to Talbot, and nothing save 
the especial favor of Billy Crossley could have 
procured him so admirable a mount. 

" He has never left the stable, sir," said Billy, 
as he held the stirrup himself — " he has never 
left the stable for ten days, but he has wind 
enough to carry you two-andtwenty miles within 
the hour, if you were put to it." 

■■ And if I were, Billy," said Mark, for a sud- 
den thought just flashed across him — "if J were, 
and if I should not bring him back to you, his 

price is " 

" I wouldn't take a hundred guineas for him 
from any man living, save Mr. Talbot himself; 
but if it were a question ol saving him from 
danger, or any man he deems his friend, then, 
then, sir, I tell you fairly, Billy Crossley isn't so 
])oor a man but he can afford to do a generous 
thing. Take him. I see you know how to sit 
on him; use him well and tenderly, keep him 
until you find the time to give him back. And 
now a good journey to you wherever you go; and 
go quickly," whispered Billy, "for I see two fel- 
lows at the gate, who appear listening attentively 
to our conversation." 

" Take that, in any case, as a pledge," said 
Maik, as he pitched a purse, containing above a 
hundred jiounds in gold, towards Cjossley; and, 
before the other could interpose to restore it, 
Mark had dashed his spurs into the beast's flanks, 
and in another minute was hastening down 
Thomas street. 

Mark had not proceeded far, when he slack- 
ened his pace to a walk — he remembered that it 
was yet two hours before the time, and, with the 
old spirit of a horseman, he husbanded ihe 
qualities of the noble animal he bestrode. 
Whether it was that, as the moment approached 
which should solve some of the many difficulties 
that beset him, or that the free air of the morn- 
ing, and the pleasure he felt on being once more 
in the saddle, had rallied his mind and raised 
his courage, I know not, but so it was, Mark's 
spirits grew each instant lighter, and he rode 
along revolving other ones, if not happier thoughts, 
such as were at least in a frame more befitting his 
youth and the bold heart that beat within his bosom. 
The streets were deserted, the great city was 
sleeping; the thoroughfares he had seen crowded 
with brilliant equipages and hurrying masses of 
foot-passengers were still and vacant; and an 
Mark turned from side to side to gaze on ihu 
stately public edifices, now sleeping in their own 



THE O'DONOGH U E. 



311 



shadows, he thought of the dreadful conflict 
which, perciiance, it might be his own lot to lead 
in that same city — he thought of the wild shout 
of the insurgent masses, as with ■long-pent-up but 
now loosened fury they poured into the devoted 
streets — he fancied the swelling clangor which 
denoted the approach of troops, ringing through 
the various approaclies, and the clattering sounds 
of distant musketry as post after post in different 
parts of the town was assailed. He lialted be- 
fore the Castle gate, where a single dragoon sat 
motionless in his saddle, his carbine at rest be- 
neath his long cloak, the very emblem of peace- 
ful security; and as Mark gazed on him, his lip 
curled with an insolent sneer, as he thought over 
the false security of those within; and that proud 
banner, whose lazy folds scarce moved with the 
breath of morning. " How soon may we see a 
national flag replace it!" were tiie words he mut- 
tered, as he resumed his way as slowly as before. 
A few minutes after brouglit him in front of the 
college. All was still silent in that vast area, 
along which at noonday the wealth and the life 
of the city poured. A single figure here ap- 
peared — a poor miserable abject in tattered black, 
who was occupied in fi.icing a placard on the 
front of the post-office. Mark stopped to watch 
liim — there seemed something sad and miserable 
in the lot of this one poor creature, singled out, 
as it were, to labor while others were sunk in 
sleep. He drew near, and as the paper was un- 
folded before him, read, in large letters, the words 
"C.ipilal Felony — ^500 Reward;" and then fol- 
lowed a description of Jolin Harrington, which 
in every particular of height, age, look, and ges- 
ture, seemed perfectly applicable to Talbot. 

" Then, sorra one of me but would rather be 
tearing you down than putting you up," said the 
bill-sticker, as, with his arms folded leisurely on 
his breast, and his ragged hat set sideways on his 
head, he apostrophized his handiwork. 

"And whv so, my good fellow?" said Mark, 
replying to his words. 

He turned round rapidly, and pulling off his 
hat, exclaimed, in an accent of unfeigned delight, 
"Tear an' ages, captain, is it yourself? Och! 
och! no," added he, in a tone of great despond- 
ency; "it is the black horse that deceived me. 
I beg your honor's pardon." 

"And you know this horse?" said Mark, with 
some anxiety of manner. 

The bill-sticker made no answer, but carefully 
surveyed Mark for a few moments from head to 
foot, and then, as if not perfectly satisfied with 
the result of his scrutiny, he slowly resumed the 
implements of his trade, and prepared to move on. 

"Stop a moment," said Mark; "I know what 

you mean, this horse belonged to " and he 

pointed with his whip to the name on the placard. 
" Don't be afraid of me, then, for I am his friend 
— perhaps the nearest friend he has in the world." 

"Av you were his brother you don't like him 
better than I do myself. I'll never forget the 
night he got his head laid open for me on the 
bridge there beyant. The polis wanted to take 
me up for a bit of a ballad 1 was singing about 
Major Sirr, and they were hauling me along 
through the gutter, and kicking me at every step. 



when up comes the captain, and he sent one 
flying here, and the other flying there, and he 
tripped up the chief, calling out to me the whole 
time, 'Run for it, Dinny — run for it like a man! 
I'll give you five minutes' fair start of tliem any 
way.' And he kept his word, though one of them 
cut his forehead clean down to the bone; and 
here I am now sticking up a reward to take him, 
God pardon me!" And the poor fellow uttered 
the last words in a voice of self-reproach that 
actually brought the tears into his eyes. 

Mark threw him a crown, and pressed on once 
more; but somehow the convictions which he had 
resisted before were now shaken by this chance 
meeting. The recognition of the horse at once 
identified Talbot with Barrington, and although 
Mark rejected altogether any thought which im- 
pugned the honor of his friend, he felt obliged 
to believe that, for some object of intrigue, Talbot 
had assumed the name and character of this 
celebrated personage. The very fact of his res- 
cuing the bill-sticker strengthened this impres- 
sion. Such an act seemed far more in unison 
with the wayward recklessness of Talbot's cliarac- 
ter than with the bearing of a man who might 
thus expose himself to cajiture. A\ ith the subtle- 
ty which the will supplies to furnish arguments 
for its own conviction, Mark fancied how readily 
Talbot might have made (his personation of Bar- 
rington a master-stroke of policy; and while thus 
he ruminated, he reached the sea-shore, and could 
see before him that long bleak track of sand, 
which, uncovered save at high tide, is called 
" the Bull." This was the spot appointed for the 
meeting, and, although now within half an hour 
of the time, no figure was seen upon its bleak 
surface. Mark rode on, and crossing the narrow 
channel of water which separates " the Bull" from 
the mainland, reached the place over \\hich, for 
above two miles in extent, his eye could range 
freely. Still no one was to be seen; the light 
ripple of the ebbing tide was the only sound in 
the stillness of the morning; there was a calm- 
ness over the surface of the sea, on which the 
morning sunbeams were slanting faintly and glit- 
tering like freckled gold, wherever some passing 
breeze or shore-current stirred llie waters. One 
solitary vessel could be seen, and she, a small 
schooner, with all her can vas bent, seemed scarcely 
to move. 

Mark watched her, as one watches any object 
which relieves the dreariness of waiting. He 
gazed on her tall spars and white sails reflected 
in the sea, when suddenly a bright flash burst 
from her side; a light-blue smoke, followed by a 
booming sound, rolled fonli, and a shot was seen 
skimming the surface of the water for above a 
mile in her wake; the next moment a flag was 
run up to her peak, when it fluttered for a mo- 
ment and was then lowered again. Mark's ex- 
perience of a smuggling life taught him at once 
to recognize these signs as signals, and he turned 
his gaze towards the land to discover to wliom 
they were made; but although for miles long the 
coast lay beneath his view, lie could see nothing 
that corresponded with this suspicion. A single 
figure on horseback was all that he could detect, 
and he was too far off to observe minutely. Once 



312 



THE O DONOGH UE. 



more Mark turned towards the ship, which now 
was feeling a fresher breeze and beginning to 
bend beneath it. The white curl that broke from 
her bow, and rushed foaming along her sides, 
showed that she was making way through the 
water not as it seemed without tiie will of those 
on board, for as the wind freshened they shook 
out their mainsail more fully and continued at 
every moment to spread sail after sail. The 
hollow tramp of a horse's feet galloping on the 
strand made Mark turn quickly round, and he 
saw the rider, whom he had observed before, 
bending his course directly towards him. Sup- 
posing it must be Talbot, Mark turned to meet 
him, and the horseman, who never slackened his 
speed, came quickly within view, and discovered 
the features of Frederick Travers He was un- 
accompanied by friend or servant, and seemed, 
from the condition of his horse, to have ridden 
at the top of iiis spjed Before Mark could think 
of what apology he should make for or how ex- 
plain Talbot's absence, Travers addressed him: — 

" I half feared that it might not be you, Mr 
O'Donoghue,' said he, as he wiped tlie perspira- 
tion troni his brow, for he seemed no less ex- 
hausted than his horse. 

" I m alone, sir,'' said Mark, "and were you 
not unaccompanied by a friend, I should feel the 
difficulty of my present position more severely ' 

'' I know— I am aware," said Travers hur- 
riedly, "your friend is gone. I heard it but an 
hour since; you, in all likeliheod, were not aware 
ot the fact till you saw the signal yonder." 

" What! — Talbot's signal ! Was that his?" 

" Talbot, or Barrington," said Travers, smil- 
ing; " perhaps we should better call him by the 
name he is best known by." 

"And do you concur in the silly notion that 
confounds Harry Talbot with a highwayman?" 
said Mark, sternly 

" I fear," said Travers, " that in doing so, I 
but follow the impression of all the world. It 
was not the least clever thing he has ever done, 
his deception of you. Be assured, Mr. O'Don- 
oghue, that the matter admits of no doubt. The 
warrant for his apprehension, the informations 
sworn against him, are not only plain and pre- 
cise, but I have myself read certain facts of his 
intimacy with you, the places you have fre- 
quented, the objects for which, it is alleged, you 
were confederated — all these are at this moment 
in the hands of the secretary of state. Forgive 
me, sir, if I tell you that you appear to have 
trusted too implicitly to men who were not 
guided by your own principles of honor. This 
very day a warrant for your own arrest will be 
issued from the Privy Council, on the informa- 
tion of a man whom, I believe, you never sus- 
pected. He is a horse-dealer named Lavvler — 
Lanty Lawler." 

"And he has sworn informations against 
me?" 

■'He has done more; he has produced letters 
written by your hand, and addressed to different 
leaders of the United Irish party — letters whose 
treasonable contents do not admit of a doubt." 

"And the scoundrel has my letters?" said Mark, 
as his face grew purple with passion. 



' He has them no longer," said Travers. 
" Here they are, sir. They were shown in confi- 
dence to my father, by one who certainly is not 
your friend. Sir Marmaduke asked permission 
to let me see them, and I have taken on myself, 
without permission, to give them back to you." 
■'At whose suggestion," said Mark, proudly, 
"comes this act of grace? Is it your father, who 
extends his protection to a tenant, or is it your- 
self, whose wish is to humble me by an obliga- 
tion?" 

'There is none," said Travers, frankly ''I 
believe that scoundrels without heart or courage 
have laid a trap for a man who has both one and 
the other. I do not desire you should accept 
my conduct as a favor, still less as offering any 
bar to such a reckoning between us as two gen- 
tlemen of equal place and standing may demand 
or expect from one another " 

' Say you so, indeed !" cried Mark, as his 
eyes flashed with joy " Is that your meaning?" 
■ There s my hand on it,' said Travers, "as 
friend or foe! ' 

Mark grasped his hand, and wrung it with a 
convulsive pressure 

Then you are a\\<«re that you owe me such a 
reparation?' said he, in a voice tremulous with 
emotion. " You do not forget the day at 
CarrignacurrS — beside the hearth — before my 
brother?" 

" I remember it well," said Travers. " I ask 
your pardon for the insult. It was unworthy of 
me to have made the speech, nor have I been on 
good terms with myself since I uttered it." 

Mark dropped his head, and uttered not a 
word. He could better have looked on Travers 
wounded and bleeding than have seen him thus 
elevated above himself by temper and manly 
candor. The vengeance he had yearned after so 
long was not only snatched from his grasp, but 
in the bitterness of disappointment its sting was 
turned against himself. 

" This would be an unworthy cause of quar- 
rel," said Travers; "one of which I could not 
but feel ashamed, and wherein you could have 
no pride. If we are not to be friends — and I 
seek no man's friendship who is not as willing to 
accept of mine — if we are not to be friends, let 
our enmity be ratified in some better cause — we 
surely can have little difficulty in finding one." 
Mark nodded assentingly, and Travers re- 
sumed. — 

"There is something still more pressing than 
this. My father will be able to defer the issue of 
the warrant against you for three days, when the 
Privy Council will again be summoned together. 
Until that time you are safe. Make good use 
of it, therefore. Leave the capital — reach some 
place of security; and, after sometime, when the 

excitement of the affair has passed away " 

" By a due expression of sorrow and penitence 
I might be fortunate enough to obtam ihe king's 
pardon. You were about to say so much. Is'l 
not so?" 

" Not exactly," said Frederick, smiling, "but 
now that the government are in possession ct 
the secret details of this plot, and thoroughly 
aware of the men engaged in it, and wtiat ttieir 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



313 



objects are, to persist in it would be hopeless 
folly. Believe me, the chances were never in 
your favor, and at present you have not a single 
one left. For your sake, Mr. O'Doiiogluie, this 
is most fortunate. The courage that would seem 
madness in a hopeless cause will win you fame 
and honor where the prospects are fairer. There 
is a new world beyond the seas, where men of 
hardy minds and enterprising spirits achieve rank 
and fortune — in India, where war has all the 
features of chivalry, wiiere personal daring and 
heroism are surer roads to distinction than influ- 
ence and patronage, no prize will be too high 
for your aspirations." 

Mark was silent, and Travers, conjecturing 
that his words were sinking into his heart, with a 
persuasive power went on to repicture the adven- 
turous life which sliould open to him if he would 
consent to leave his country, and seek fortune 
beyond the seas As he continued to speak, they 
rode along side by side, and at last came to that 
part of the shore where a road branched off. 
Here Mark suddenly drew up and said, — 

I must say good-bye here, Mr. Travers. My 
path will lie this way for the present. Do not 
suspect me of want of feeling because I have not 
(hanked you for the part you have taken; but in 
truth you have averted the evil from one whose 
life has nothing worth living for. You have saved 
me from a danger, but I am without a hope. 
Betrayed and cheated by those I trusted, I have 
little care for the future, because I have no con- 
fidence in anything. Nay, nay — don't speak of 
that again. I will not go to India — I will not 
accept of favors from a country that has been the 
enemy of my own. The epaulette v/hichyou wear 
with honor would be a badge of disgrace upon 
my shoulder. Good-bye; I can afford to thank 
you, because you have not made a service take 
the form of an amende." 

Travers forbore to press him further. He 
wisely judged that enough had been done for 
the present, and that his safety being pro- 
vided for, time and opportunity would both pre- 
sent themselves for the remainder. He shook his 
proffered hand with cordiality, and they separ- 
ated, Frederick to return to Dublin, Mark to 
wander wherever chance might incline him. 

" He said truly," exclaimed Mark, as soon as 
he once more found himself separated from his 
companion — "he said truly, the chances were 
never in our favor, and at present we have not a 
single one left. The cause which depends upon 
such elements as these is worse .than hopeless." 
Such were the words that broke from him as, in sor- 
row and humiliation, he remembered the charac- 
ter of his associates, and felt, in deep shame, the 
companionship he had fallen into. " Had there 
been but one true to mel" exclaimed he, in ac- 
cents of misery, " I could have stood against the 
shock, stout-hearted; but to find all false — all!" 

Seeking out some of the least frequented lanes, 
he rode on for several miles, caring little which 
way, so long as he turned from the capital; for 
although as yet no personal danger threatened 
him, a nervous sense of shame made him dread 
the sight of his former acquaintances. Again 
and again did the thought recur to him — " How 



will Kate hear me spoken of? In what light will 
my actions be displayed to her? Is it as the 
miserable dupe of such a wretch as Lawler, oris 
it as the friend and chosen companion of Barr- 
ington, I would be known? And yet, what have 
I to fear, to whom no hope is left?" 

Among the many sources of his sorrow one re- • 
curred at every moment, and mingled itself \^ ilh 
every other thought; " What would their noble- 
hearted friends in France say of them?— how 
they would speak of aland whose struggle for free- 
dom is stained with treachery, or which cannot 
number in the ranks of its defenders but the felon 
or the outlaw?" 

For the deceit practised on the people he felt 
bitterly. He knew with what devotedness they 
followed the cause — the privations they had 
borne in silence, awaiting the time of retribution 
— how they had forborne all ebullitions of mo- 
mentary passion, in expectation of the day of a 
greater reckoning — with what trust they obeyed 
their leaders — how implicitly they confided in 
every direction given for their guidance. Can 
patriotism like this survive such a trial ? Will 
they ever believe in the words of their chief 
again? were questions which his heart answered 
despondingly. 

The day wore over in these sad musings, and 
by evening Mark, who had made a wide circuit 
of the country, arri\ed at the village of Lucan, 
where he passed the night. As day was break- 
ing, he was again on the road, directing his steps 
towards Wicklow, where, in the wild district near 
Blessington, he had acquaintance with several 
farmers, all sincerely devoted to the " United 
party." It was as much to rescue his own char- 
acter from any false imputations that might be 
cast on it, as from any hope of learning favor- 
able tidings, that he turned hither. The moun- 
tain country, too, premised security for the pres- 
ent, and left him tiriie to think what course he 
should follow. 

Mark did not miscalculate the good feeling of 
the people in this quarter. No success, however 
triumphant, would have made him one-half so 
popular as his disasters had done. Tiiat he had 
been betrayed, was an appeal stronger than all 
others to their best affections; and had the de- 
liverance of Ireland depended on his safety, 
there could not have been greater efforts to pro- 
vide for it, nor more heartfelt solicitude for his 
own comfort. He found, too, that the treachery 
of individuals did not shake general confidence 
in the success of the plot, so much hope hrid 
they of French assistance and co-operation. 
These expectations were often exaggerated, be- 
cause the victories of the French armies had been 
represented as triumphs against which no op- 
position availed; but they served to keep up 
national courage; and the theme of all their dis- 
courses and their ballads was the same — "The 
French will do us right." 

If Mark did not fully concur in the expecta- 
tions so confidently formed, he was equally far 
from feeling disposed to throw any damper on 
them; and at length, as by daily intercourse these 
1 hopes became familiarized to his mind, he ended 
I by a partial belief in that future to which all still 



314 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



looked, undismayed by past reverses. And in 
this way time rolled on, and the embers of 
rebellion died not out, but smouldered. 



CHAPTER XXXV. 



THE WANDERER S RETURN. 



It was about two months after the events de- 
tailed in the last chapter, on the evening of a 
bright day in midsummer, that a solitary travel- 
ler was seen descending one of the mountain 
passes which lead from Macroom to Glengariff, 
and which were only known to those well ac- 
quainted with the place. He led his horse by the 
bridle, for the ground did not admit of riding, 
but were it otherwise, the beast showed too many 
signs of a hard journey not to make the course 
advisable, and, in this respect, both horse and 
rider well agreed. The man, though young and 
athletic, was emaciated and weary-looking 
His clothes, once good, seemed neglected, and 
his beard, unshaven and uncared for, gave an air 
of savage ferocity to a face pale and care-worn, 
while his horse, with as many evidences of 
better days, exhibited unquestionable signs of 
fatigue and bad feeding. The path by which he 
descended was the cleft worn by a mountain tor- 
rent, a rough and rugged road, with many spots 
of difficulty and danger, but neither these nor 
the scene which unfolded itself in the glen be- 
neath, attracted any share of his attention; and 
yet few scenes were fairer to look upon. The 
sun was just setting, and its last glories were 
lighting up the purple tints upon the mountains, and 
shedding a flood of golden hue over lake and river. 
The bright yellow of the furze, and the gav 
colors of the fox-glove contrasted with the stern 
■grandeur of the dark rocks, while in the abun- 
dance of wild holly and arbutus which grew 
irom even the most precipitous places, the scene 
had a character of seeming cultivation to an eye 
unpractised to the foliage of this lovely valley 
The traveller, who, for above an hour, had pur- 
sued his way, treading with the skill of a moun- 
taineer over places where a false step might have 
perilled life, and guiding his horse with a caution • cousin 
that seemed an instinct, so little of his attention ' 
did It exact, at last halted, and leaning his arm 
over his saddle, stood for some time in contem- 
plation of the picture. From the spot on which 
he stood, one solitary cabin was discernible on 
the side of the road that wound through the 
valley, and from whose chimney a tliin blue 
smoke slowly curled, and floated along the 
mountain side On this little habitation the 
travellers eyes were fixedly bent, until their 
gaze was dimmed by a passing emotion. He 
drew his hand roughly over his face, as if angry 
at his own weakness, and was about to proceed 
on his way, when a shrill whistle from a cliff 
above his head arrested his step. It was a moun- 
tain recognition he well knew, and was about to 



legs and bare head, came springing towards him. 

" I knew you from the top of Goorhaun Dhub 
—I knew you well, Master Mark There's not 
many with a good coat on their back could ven- 
ture over the way you came, and 1 said to myself 
it was you," cried Terry the Woods, as, with his 
pale features lit up in smiles, he welcomed the 
young O'Donoghue to his native hills 

" How are they all yonder?" asked Mark, in 
a voice scarcely above a whisper, pointing witli 
his finger up the glen in the direction of Carrig 
nacurra, but which was not visible from where 
they were 

" I saw the master yesterday," replied Terry, 
who applied to the O'Donoghue the respectful 
title by which he was known in his own house- 
hold. "He was sitting on a big chair at the 
window, and the young girl with the black eyes 
was reading to him out of a book, but sorra 
much he was mindin' it, for when he seen me he 
beckoned this way, and says he, 'Terry, you vil- 
lain, why don't you ever come up here now and 
talk to me?' ' Faix,' says I, ' 1 haven't the heart 
to do it. Since Master Mark was gone, 1 didn't 
like the place;' and the master wiped his eyes, 
and the young girl made a sign to me not to 
speak about that any more." 

" And who is at the lodge now?" asked Mark, 
endeavoring to restrain any semblance of emo- 
tion, even before Terry 

" There's nobody but the agent The family 
is over in England till the house is ready for 
them. Oh, then, but you'll wonder to see the 
illigant place it is now, wid towers and .''pires all 
over it — the ground all gardens, with grass walks 
as fine as a carpet, and the beautifulkst flowers 
growin' against the walls and up against the 
windows, and a fountain, as they call it, of cool 
water spouting up in the air, and coming down 
like r..in.'' 

" And my brother — where is he?" 

" He's over in England with the family from 
the lodge; the black-eyed girl, Miss Kate, 
wouldn't go. They say — but there's no knowing 
if it's true — they say she likes Hemsworth better 
than the captain — and, truth, if she does, it's a 
dhroll choice." 

" Likes Hemsworth! Do they say that my 
likes Hemsworth?" said Mark, whose 
anger was only kept down by gazing on the 
tran quil features of the poor witless object be- 
fore him. 

" They do," said Terry, quietly "and it's ra- 
sonable, too, seein' that he's never out of the 
house from morning till night.' 

'' What house — where do you mean?" 

'' What house but Carrignacurra — your father's 
house." 

Mark passed his hand across his forehead, and 
over his closed eyelids, and for a second or two 
seemed trying to dispel some horrible vision, 
for, deep-rooted as was his jealousy of Frederick 
Travers, his most gloomy forebodings had never 
conjured up the thought of such a rival as Hems- 
worth, nor did he now credit it His indignation 
was, however, scarcely less to think tliat this 



reply to. when suddenly, with a bounding speed 

that seemed perilous in such a place, a creature i man should now be received on terms of inti- 

clad in the most tattered rags, but with naked I macy perhaps of friendship, by those he so long 



THE O'DONOGH U E, 



315 



pursued with insult and oppression. He paid 
no attention to Terry as he continued to narrate 
the changes effected in his absence, and the va- 
rious surmises current among the people to 
account for his long absence, when at length 
they approached the high road that led up the 
valley. Here Terry halted, and pointing in the 
direction of Mary's cabin, about half a mile dis- 
tant, said — 

" I can't go any farther with you. I daren't go 
there." 

" And why not, my poor fellow?" said Mark, 
compassionately, for the terror depicted in his 
face too plainly indicated the return of some 
hallucination. 

"They're there, now," said Terry, in a faint 
whisper, "watching for me. They're five weeks 
waiting to catch me, but if I keep in the moun- 
tains I needn't care." 

" And who are they, Terry?" 

" The soldiers," said Terry, trembling all over. 
"I ran away from them, and they want to shoot 
me for desarting." 

"And there are soldiers quartered at Mary's 
now?" 

"Ay, and at Macroom, and at Bantry, and 
Kinsale — they have them all round us; but divil 
a one o' me cares; so long as they keep to the 
towns, I'll never trouble them." 

" And how does poor Mary bear it?" said 
Mark. 

"Bad enough, I hear, for nobody ever goes 
into the house at all since she had the red-coats, 
and then she's pining away every day; but 
I must be going. I'll come down and see you 
soon, Master Mark, and I hope you won't lave 
us in a hurry again." Terry did not wait for 
any rejoinder to this speech, but with the agility 
of his wild life, sprang lightly up the mountain, 
from whence his voice was heard gayly carolling 
as he went, long afterwards. 

Mark looked after him for a few moments, and 
probably amid the compassionate feeHngs with 
which he regarded the poor creature, there were 
mingled others of actual envy, so light-hearted 
and happy did he seem amidst all his poverty. 

" I could even change with him,' said Mark, 
aloud; and then, as if he had unburdened his 
heart of its weary load, he resumed his way. 

The grey twilight was fast merging into night 
as he approached the little inn, nor was it with- 
out emotion that he watched the light that 
streamed from the windows across the road. 
Many an evening of his happy boyhood had 
been passed beside that humble hearth — many a 
thrilling tale and many a merry story had he list- 
ened to there. Beneath that roof it was he first 
imbibed the proud thoughts of his house and 
family, and learned to know the estimation in 
which men held his name. It was there he first 
felt the spirit of chieftainship, and there, too, he 
had first devoted himself to the cause of his 
country. Alas! these were but sad memories, 
how he had lived to find himself deceived, by 
everyone he had trusted; falsehood and treach- 
ery in so many shapes surrounded him, that it 
needed only the extinction of hope to make him 
feel his life a weary and unprofitable load. He 



stood for a few seconds before the door, and 
listened with an indignant spirit to the coarse 
revelry of the soldiers who caroused within. 
Their very laughter smote upon his ear like der- 
ision, and he turned away from the spot ani^ry 
and impatient. Some vague resolve to return 
home and take a last farewell of his father, was 
the only plan he could fix on; whither, after- 
wards, or how, he knew not, nor did he care. 
Like most men who attribute their failures in 
life to evil destinies that sway them, and not to 
their own faults and follies, his fatalism urged 
him to a recklessness of the future, and in place 
of hope there sprang up in his heart a strange 
feeling of wonder to think what trials and straits 
fortune might yet have in store for him. He 
often deliberated with himself how he should 
meet, and how part with his father — whether ac- 
knowledge that he knew the secret of the deceit 
that had been practised upon him, or whether he 
should conceal that knowledge within his own 
bosom. To do the latter was his final resolv.e. 
To spare the old man the added misery of know- 
ing that his son had detected his criminality, 
was the suggestion of his better and purer feel- 
ing, and even though his leaving him should thus 
be wanting in the only excuse he could proffer, 
he preferred this to the misery anoth.er course 
would entail. 

At last he reached the old gateway, and often 
as it had been his lot to biing beneath its shadow 
a heavy and sorrow-struck heart, never had he 
passed it so deeply depressed as now. 

"Come on, good beast," he said, patting the 
wearied horse, " you shall have rest here; and 
that," said he, with a iigh — " that is more tlian I 
can promise to myself." 

With these sad words he toiled up the steep 
ascent, and gained the terrace in front of the 
castle. There were lights burning in the old 
tower and in the hall, but all the rest of the 
building was in darkness. The door lay open, 
and, as Mark stood within it, he could hear the 
mellow sounds of a harp which came floating 
through the long vaulted corridor, blended with 
a voice that stirred the fibres of his strong heart, 
and made him tremble like a child. 

"Why should I not linger here?" thought he — 
" why not stay and listen to these sweet sounds? 
I shall never hear them more!" And he stood 
and bent his ear to drink them in, and stirred not 
until they ceased. The last chord had died away 
in silence, then, hastily fastening his horse to the 
door ring, he entered the long passage unnoticed 
by any, and reached the door The sound of 
voices, as of persons talking pleasantly together, 
struck harshly on his ear, and the loud laughter 
that burst forth grated strangely on his senses. 

"They have little sorrow for the outcast, that 
is certain," said he, as, with a swelling heart and 
proud step, he opened the door and entered. 

This part of the room lay in deep shadow, and 
while Mark could distinctly perceive the others, 
they could dimly discern the outline of his figure, 
without being able to recognize him. His father 
andSirArchy were seated, as of old, on either side 
of the chimney; Kate was leaning over her harp, 
which she had just ceased to play, while, seated 



316 



THE O'DONOGHUE, 



near her, and bending forward in an attitude of 
eager attention, was Hemsworth himself, the man 
of all others he least wished to see at such a 
moment. 

" Who is that?" cried the O'Donoghue — 'who 
is standing yonder?" And they all turned their 
eyes towards the door. 

" Why don't you speak?" continued the old 
man. " Have you any tidings from my son? — is 
it news of Mark you bring me?" 

" Even so, sir," responded the other, as he 
slowly advanced into the strong light, his arms 
folded upon his breast, and his brow stern and 
contracted. 

"Mark! — my boy! my child!" cried the old 
man, springing from his chair, and, with a strength 
that seemed at once to defy age and infirmity, 
rushed towards him, and threw his arms about 
him. " He's here — he's with us once more!" 
said he, in accents half choked with sobs — " my 
son! my hope! my pride!" And while the old 
man poured forth these words of happiness, the 
young one stood pale, cold and seemingly 
apathetic. His eyes bent on vacancy, and his 
features devoid of all e.xpression of passion, he 
turned from Sir Archy, who grasped one hand, 
and looked at Kate, who held tne otiier between 
hers, but in his gaze there was rather the look of 
one suddenly recalled to consciousness out of 
some long-fevered sleep than the healthful aspect 
of waking life. 

" You are not ill, Mark — you're only fatigued, " 
said Kate, as a tear slowly trickled down her 
cheek, and fell upon his hand. 

Mark started as he felt the drop, and looked 
at her with a searching glance; then turned his 
eyes toward Hemsworth, and back again to her, 
and, for the first time, a stern and scornful smile 
curled upon his lip. Kate seemed to read the 
glance, and returned it with a look proud and 
haughty as his own, while, dropping his hand, she 
Walked towards her chair without speaking. 

" We maun let him hae a bit supper as soon as 
may be," said Sir Archy, whose practical good 
sense saw how much bodily fatigue influenced 
the youth's demeanor. 

" Supper!" said the O'Donoghue. "Ay, faith, 
every bottle in the cellar would be too little to 
celebrate the boy's return! Ring that bell, 
Archy. Where is Kerry? What are the people 
doing not to know that their young master is 
here?" 

" At another moment, I sliould beg that l\Ir. 
O'Donoghue might remember me," said Hems- 
worth, with a deferential bow. " And I hope the 
time is coming when I may be permitted to re- 
new my acquaintance. For the present, I feel 
how unsuited the presence of a stranger is, on an 
occasion like this, and cannot better show how 
deeply I appreciate feeling than by taking my 
leave." 

So saying, he courteously saluted the O'Don- 
oghue, Sir Archy, and Kate, while., turning to 
Mark, he proffered his hand, as he said, — 

" Pray, sir, let the occasion excuse the liberty, 
and permit me to add my welcome also." 

" You do the honors of this house too early, 
sir,' was Mark's savage reply, while he folded his 



arms upon his breast, and measured Hemsworth 
with a glance of withering scorn. " I'm beneath 
my father's roof. It is not for a stranger to bid 
me welcome here." 

Hemsworth smiled and muttered some words 
in mild acquiescence; their tone and accent were 
apologetic, and the manner in which he spoke 
them humble even to humility. When they were 
uttered, he bowed deeply, and with a look towards 
the others that seemed to indicate the absence of 
any feeling of offence, withdrew. 

"You are unco severe on Mister Hemsworth, 
Mark," said Sir Archy, gravely. "If his polite- 
ness was na altogether correct, it was weel in- 
tended." 

"Mark was all right, whatever he said," cried 
the old man, exultingly. " Egad! I'll not dispute 
with the boy to-night, if he thought proper to 
throw the fellow out of the window." 

" I am sorry my rudeness should have offended 
others,'' said Mark, with a sidelong glance at 
Kate. "As for Mr. Hemsworth, we understand 
each other. He neither thinks better nor worse of 
me than he did befoie." 

" D — n Hemsworth!" said the O'Donoghue. 
" Why are we talking of him at all? Sit down 
beside nie, Mark. Let me see you again, my 
boy, in your old place. Give me your hand, and 
let me think that my three months of fretting have 
only been a dream." 

" Would it had been a dream to me!" said 
Mark, with a deep sigh, as he seated himself beside 
the old man. 

"Come, come, Mark," said Sir Archy; "ye 
hae often laughed at my Scotch adage about 
'byganes,' let me have my revenge now, by apply- 
ing it to your own fortunes." 

" So, you have come at last," cried the O'Dono- 
ghue, as Kerry O'Leary at length made his 
appearance at the door. " Is Master Mark to go 
supperless to bed?" 

" Master Mark!" shouted Kerry. "Oh, mur- 
ther alive! and is it himself that's in it? Oh, 
blessed hour! but I'm glad to see you home again, 
and your honor looking so well and hearty. Maybe 
we won't have bonfires over the hills, when the 
boys hear it." 

" The supper! the supper! Confound the 
fellow! the boy is famished, and the rascal stands 
prating there about bonfires." 

" My horse is far more in need of care than I 
am," said Mark, suddenly remembering the 
wearied animal he left fastened to the door. " I 
must look to the poor beast before I take anything 
myself." And so saying he left the room, none 
wishing to gainsay anything be desired to do." 

"Poor fellow!" said the O'Donoghue, " how 
pale and careworn he looks — he appears to have 
suffered heavily." 

" Depend upon it," said Sir Arch)', gravely, 
" the lad has learned much since we saw him 
last. I dinna mislike the look his features have, 
although it be one of sorrow. What says Kate?" 
No answer followed this appeal, but the young 
girl turned away her head, and affected to assist 
in arranging the table. 

" Mind, Archy," said the O'Donoghue, eagerly; 
" remember, not a word about his absence — no 



THE O'DONOG HUE, 



317 



questioning whatever; the boy has gone through 
too many troubles already to bear the penalty of 
relating them Take care, too, that there be no 
allusion to Hemsworth; Mark does not yet know 
the friendly part he has taken, and only knows 
him as we used to think and speak of him of old. 
But hush! here he comes." 

When Mark re-entered the room, beseemed at 
least easier, if not happier than before. The 
cloud that Herasworth's presence threw over him 
had passed away, and he felt anxious to show 
himself in more favorable colors than his first 
appearance had displayed. While, therefore, he 
did his utmost to repay to his father and uncle 
the kind and affectionate greetings by which they 
met him, to his cousin Kate he was either sternly 
distant, or totally indifferent in manner; and 
when at last, repulsed in many efforts to attract 
his notice, she arose to retire for the night, he 
took a formal leave of her, and seemed relieved 
by her departure. This was not remarked by the 
O'Donoghue; but Sir Archy was a shrewd 
observer, and noted the circumstance with dis- 
pleasure; still, too careful of consequences to 
show that he had observed it, he reserved his 
interference for another and more favorable 
moment, and soon afterwards wished them good- 
night, and left the room. 

" It is time for me to go also," said Mark, as 
after a silence of some moments, he arose, and 
lighted a candle. " I have not been accustomed 
to a good bed latterly, and I feel that one sound 
night's sleep is due to me." 

" But for that, Mark, I could not part with 
you just yet. I have so much to say — so much 
to hear from you. There have been many 
things during your absence I must tell you of." 

" And f^.rst of all," said Mark, rapidly, " how 
comes that man Hemsworth so intimate here? 
What claim has he to darken our door with his 
presence?" 

"The strong claim of true friendship," said 
the old man, firmly — "a claim I have not met 
so much of in life that I can afford to under- 
value it when it does present itself. But for him 
the ejectment would have been sued out last as- 
sizes — he saved us also from a foreclosure of 
Drake's mortgage — advanced me five thousand 
pounds upon my own bond, Archy being a co- 
surety, which you well know was a matter of 
form. This, besides saving us from any proceed- 
ings the Traverses might have taken, in revenge 
for their disappointment about Kate ' 

" Speak more plainly, I beg you, sir, and, 
above all, please to remember I am ignorant of 
everything you allude to. What of Kate?" 

" Oh, I forgot you were not with us then. It 
was a proposal of marriage. Young Travers made 
your cousin a brilliant offer as far as money was 
concerned, whicli Kate refused There was some 
negotiation about leaving the thing open Some- 
thing about the future — I forget exactly what — 
but I only know she wasperem]nory and decided, 
as she always is, and wrote to me to take her 
home. Archy went up for her to Dublin, and 
the Traverses soon after left Ireland in high in- 
dignation with us, and determined, as we soon 
found, to let us feel their enmity. Then it was 



that we learned to appreciate Hemsworth, whom 
all along we had so completely mistaken; and, 
indeed, but for him, we should never have heard 
of you." 

" Of me! What did he know of me?" 
" Everything, Mark — all," said the old man, 
in a low whisper, as he stole a prying glance 
through the room to satisfy himself that they were 
not overheard. 

" Once more, sir, speak out, and intelligibly 
— say what this man assumes to know of me." 

" He knew Talbot — Barrington, rather," said 
the O'Donoghue, in a low voice — "knew of your 
intercourse with him — knew of the plot that fel- 
low laid to entangle you in his schemes — knew 
all about the robbery at the Curragh, and saved 
you, without your knowing it, from being there. 
But for him, Mark, your name would have figured 
in the Hue and Cry. A reward for your appre- 
hension was actually deliberated at the Privy 
Council. Hemsworth rescued you from this " 

" The scoundrel — the base, blackhearted vil- 
lain," exclaimed Mark, " did he dare to speak 
thus of mef 

"You mistake, Mark, he never said you were 
culpable — he only deplored the fatal accident of 
your intimacy with Barrington — a man twice 
convicted and sentenced — that in company with 
this man you frequented certain houses of high 
play, where more than one large robbery was ef- 
fected. Then came the Castle ball — was it not 
true that you went there? Well, the diamond 
snuff-box stolen from Lord Clangoff, at the card- 
table " 

" Hell and confusion! you will drive me mad," 
cried Mark, stamping his foot with passion. 
"This infernal mixture of truth and falsehood — • 
this half-fact and all-lying statement — is more than 
my brain can bear. What does this scoundrel 
mean — is it that I am guilty of a robbery?" 

" Heaven forbid, boy, but that you lived on 
terms of closest friendship with one branded as 
a felon, and that information of your intimacy 
with him was obtained by the police, who for po- 
litical reasons — you are aware of what I mean — ■ 
would strain a point to have caught you within 
their grasp. There were letters, too, Mark, writ- 
ten by you, and of such a character as would, 
if proved against you, have cost your life: these 
Hemsworth, by some means, obtained and de- 
stroyed. ' 

" Ah! did he so?" cried Mark, eagerly, for now 
a sudden light broke in upon him of the game 
that Hemsworth had played; "and so, he burned 
my letters?" 

"You know now, then, something of the ser- 
vices he rendered you," said the old man, who 
began at last to be satisfied that conviction was 
coming home to Mark's mind. 

'' I do," replied he calmly, " I believe that I 
can appreciate his kindness, and I believe also I 
may promise that I shall not prove ungrateful. 
.A.nd Kate, sir, what said she to those revelations 
concerning me?" 

"What we all said, Mark — that nothing dis- 
honorable would ever lie at your door; there 
might be rashness, imprudence, and folly, but 
guilt or dishonor, never." 



318 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



"And my uncle, he is generally a shrewd and 
cautious judge — what was his opinion?" 

" Faith it is hard to say, Mark, but I think, 
Vvith all his affected freedom from prejudice, he 
nourishes his old notions about Hemsworth as 
strong as ever, and persists in thinking the Travers 
family everything amiable and high-minded; in- 
deed, he forced me to let Herbert accompany 
them to England — for I let him take the boy into 
his own hands — and so, as the invitation hud 
been made and accepted before Kate had refused 
the captain's offer, I thought it would look better 
even to suffer matters to take their course quietly, 
as if nothing had happened." 

"It was well done," said Mark, assentingly; 
"and now I have heard enough to dream over 
for one night at least, and so I'll to bed." 

"Remember, Mark," said the O'Donoghue, 
grasping his son's arm^" remember, I am sol- 
emnly pledged to Hemsworth never to tell you any- 
thing of these matters— it was a promise he ex- 
acted from me; I rely upon you Mark, not to 
betray me." 

" My discretion is above price, sir," said Mark, 
smiling dubiously, and left the room. 



CHAPTER XXXVI. 

SUSPICIONS ON EVERY SIDE. 

Early on the following morning Mark O'Don- 
oghue was on his way to the lodge. To see 
Hemsworth, and dare him to a proof of his as- 
sertions regarding him, or provoke him, if ]iossi- 
ble, to a quarrel, were his waking thoughts 
throughout the night, and not even all his weari- 
ness and exhaustion could induce sleep. He 
did not, indeed, know the full depth of the treach- 
ery practised against him; but in what he had 
discovered there were circumstances that por- 
tended a well-planned and systematic scheme of 
villany. The more Mark reflected on these things, 
the more he saw the importance of proceeding 
with a certain caution. Hemsworth's position at 
Carrignacurra, the advances he had made in his 
father's esteem, the place he seemed to occupy in 
Kate's good graces, were such that any altercation 
which should not succeed in unmasking the in- 
famy of his conduct would only be regarded as a 
burst of boyish intemperance and passion; and 
although Mark was still but too much under the 
influence of such motives, he was yet far less so 
than formerly; besides, to fix a duel on Hems- 
worth might be taken as the consequence of a 
sense of rivalry on his part, and anger that his 
cousin had preferred him to himself. This thought 
was intolerable; the great effort he proposed to 
his heart was to eradicate every sentiment of af- 
fection for his cousin, and every feeling of inter- 
est. To be able to regard her as one whose des- 
tiny had never crossed with his own — to do this 
was now become a question of self-esteem and 
pride. To return her indifference as haughtily 
as she bestowed it, was a duty he thought he 
owed to himself, and therefore he shrank from 



anything which would have the faintest sem- 
blance of avenging his own defeat. 

Such were some of the difficulties of his pres- 
ent position, and he thought them over long and 
patiently, weighing well the consequences each 
mode of acting might entail, and deliberating 
with himself as to wliat course he should follow. 
His first resolve, then, which was to fasten a hos- 
tile meeting upon Heresworth, was changed for 
what seemed a better line of procedure — which 
was simply to see that gentleman, to demand an 
explanation of the statements he had made con- 
cerning him, calling upon him to retract when- 
ever anything unfounded occurred, and requiring 
him to acknowledge that he had given a coloring 
and semblance to his conduct at total variance 
with fact. By this means, Mark calculated on 
tlie'low position to whiih Hems\\orih would be 
reduced in Kate's estimation, the subterfuges 
and excuses he would be forced to adopt — all 
the miserable expedients to gloss over his false- 
hood; and all the contemptible straits to con- 
ceal his true motives. To exhibit him in this 
light before Kate's eyes, she whose high sense of 
honor never brooked the slightest act that sa- 
vored of mere expediency, would be a far more 
ample revenge than any which should follow a 
personal rencontre. 

" She shall see him in his true colors," muttered 
he to himself as he went along; "she shall know 
something of the man to whom she would pledge 
honor and affection, and then, when his treacheiy 
is open as the noonday, and the blackness of his 
heart revealed, she shall be free to take him un- 
scathed and uninjured. I'll never touch a hair 
of his head." 

Mark had a certain pride in thus conducting 
himself on this occasion; to show that he pos- 
sessed other cpialities than those of rash and im- 
petuous courage, that he could reason calmly and 
act deliberately, was now the great object he had 
at heart. Nor was the least motive that prompted 
liim the desire he felt to exhibit himself to Kate 
in circumstances more favorable than any mere 
outbreak of indignant rage would display him. 

The more he meditated on these things, the 
more firm and resolute were his determinations 
not to suffer Hemsworth to escape his difficul- 
ties, by converting the demand for explanation 
into an immediate cause of quarrel. Such a 
tactique he thought it most probable Hemsworth 
would at once adoj)t as the readiest expedient in 
his power. 

"No," said Mark to himself, "he shall find 
that he has mistaken me; my patience and en- 
durance will stand the proof; he must and shall 
avow his own baseness, and then, if he wish for 
fighting " 

The clenched lip and flashing eye the words 
were accompanied by, plainly confessed that, if 
Mark had adopted a more pacific line of conduct, 
it certainly was not in obedience to any tempta- 
tions of his will. 

Immersed in his reveries, he found himself in 
front of the lodge before he was aware of it; and, 
although his thoughts were of a nature that left 
him little reom for other considerations, he could 
not help standing in surprise and admiration at 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



319 



the changes effected in his absence. The neat 
but unpretending cottage had now been con- 
verted into a building of Elizabethan style; the 
front extended along the lake side, to which it 
descended in two terraced gardens. The ample 
windows, thrown open to the ground, displayed 
a suite of apartments furnished with all that taste 
and luxury could suggest — the walls ornamented 
by pictures, and the panels of both doors and 
window-shutters formed of plate glass, reflecting 
the mountain scenery in every variety of light 
and shadow. The rarest flowers, the most costly 
shrubs, brought from long distances, at great risk 
and price, were here assembled to add their 
beauties to a scene where nature had already 
been so lavish. 

While Mark was yet looking about in quest of 
the entrance to the building, he saw a man a])- 
proach, with whose features he was well ac- 
quainted. This was no other than Sam Wylie, 
the sub-agent, the same he had treated so roughly 
when last they met. The fellow seemed to know 
that, though in certain respects the tables were 
now turned, yet, with such a foe as Mark 
O'Donoghue, any exhibition of triumph might be 
an unsafe game; so he touched his hat, and was 
about to move past in silence, when Mark cried 
out, — 

" I want to speak with your master — can I see 
him?" 

" Master!" said Wylie, and his sallow face grew 
sallower and sicklier. "If ye mean Mr. Hems- 
worth, sir — — " 

" Of course I do. If I spoke of Sir Marma- 
duke Travers, I should mean his master. Is he 
at home?" 

"No, sir; he has left the lodge." 

"Left it! — since when? I saw him last night 
at ten o'clock." 

" He left here before eleven," was Wylie's 
answer. 

" When is he expected back?" 

■' Not for a week, at soonest, sir. It may be 
even longer, if, as he said, it were necessary for 
him to go to England." 

"To England!" exclaimed Mark, in bitter dis- 
appointment, for in the distance the hope of 
speedy veng;eance seemed all but annihilated. 
"What is his address in Dublin?" said he, re- 
covering himself. 

"To the office of the upper secretary, sir, I 
am to address all his letters," said Wylie, for the 
first time venturing on a slight approach to a 
smile. 

" His hotel, I mean. Where does he stop in 
the city?" 

" He usually stays in the Lower Castle Yard, 
sir, when in town, and probably will be there now, 
as the privy council is sitting, and they may 
want to examine him." 

The slow, measured tone in which these few 
words were uttered gave them a direct applica- 
tion to Mark himself, which made him flush 
deeply. He stood for a few seconds, seemingly 
in doubt, and then turned his steps towards 
home. 

" Did you hear what the young O'Donoghue 
said, there, as he passed ?" said Wylie to a 



laboring man, who stood gazing after the youth. 

"I did, faix," replied the other; "I heerd it 
plain enough." 

"Tell me the words, Pat — I'd like to hear 
them " 

" 'Tis what he said — ' He's escaped me this 
time; but, by G — , he'll not have the same luck 
always.' " 

"It was Mr. Hemsworth he was after," said 
Wylie. " It was him he meant." 

"To be sure it was; didn't I hear him asking 
after him?" 

"All right — so you did," added Wylie, nod- 
ding. " Take care you don't forget the words, 
that's all, and here's the price of a glass to keep 
your memory fresh." 

And he chucked a sixpence to the man, who, 
as he caught it, gave a look of shrewd intelligence, 
that showed he felt there was a compact between 
them. 

Mark moved homewards in deep thought. 
There was a time when disappointment would 
have irritated him rather than have suggested 
any new expedient for success. Now he was 
changed in this respect. If baffled, he did not 
feel defeated. His first anger over, he began to 
think how best he should obtain a meeting with 
Hemsworth, and a retraction of his calumnies 
against himself. To venture back to Dublin 
would have been unsafe on every account. The 
informations sworn against him by Lanty La\\ler 
might be at any moment used for his capiuie. 
In Glenflesk alone was he safe; so long as he re- 
mained there, no force government would think 
of sending against him could avail; nor was it 
likely, for the sake of so humble an individual as 
himself, that they would take measures which 
would have the effect of disclosing their knowl- 
edge of the plot, and thus warn other and more 
imijortant persons of the approaching danger. 
.Mark's first determination to leave home at once 
was thus altered by these casual circumstances. 
He must await Hemsworth's return, since, with- 
out the explanation he looked for, he never could 
bring himself to take leave of his friends. As he 
pondered thus, a servant in Hemsworth's livery 
rode rapidly past him. Mark looked suddenly 
up, and perceived, with some surprise, from the 
train of dust upon the road, that the man was 
coming from Carrignacurra. Slight as the inci- 
dent was, he turned his thoughts from his own 
fortunes to fix them on those of his cousin Kate. 
By what magic this man Htmsworth had won 
favor in her eyes he could not conceive. That 
he should have overcome all the prejudices of his 
father was strange enough; butthat Kate, whose 
opinions of people seldom or ever underwent a 
change, and who of all others professed to dis- 
like that very plausibility of manner which Hems- 
worth possessed, that she could forgive and for- 
get the tyrannies with which his name was asso- 
ciated — she whose spirit no sordid bait could 
tempt, nor any mean object of personal ambition 
bias — this was, indeed, inexplicable. Twice or 
thrice a thought flashed across him, if it should 
not be true — if it was merely one of those rumors 
which the world builds on circumstances — that 
Hemsworth's intimacy was the sole foundation 



320 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



for the report, and the friendly interchange of 
visits the only reason for the story. 

"1 must know this," said Mark; "it may not 
be too late to save her. 1 may have come back 
in the very nick of time, and, if so, I shall deem 
this piece of fortune more than enough to requite 
all the mischances of my life." 

As he spoke thus he had reached the little 
flower-garden, which, in front of the tower, was 
the only spot of cultivation around the old build- 
ing. His eye wandered over the evidences of 
care, few and slight as they were, with pleasant 
thoughts of her who suggested the culture, when 
at the turn of a walk he beheld his cousin com- 
ing slowly towards him. 

"Good-morrow, Mark," said she, extending 
her hand, and with a smile that betokened no 
angry memory of the preceding night; ' you took 
but little sleep for one so much fatigued as you 
were." 

"And you, cousin, if I mistake not, even as 
little. I saw a light burning in your room when 
day was breaking." 

"An old convent habit," said she, smiling. 
"Our matins used to be as early." 

A low, soft sigh followed this speech. 

" Yes," said Mark, "you have reason to regret 
it; your life was happier there; you had the 
pleasure of thinking that, many a mile away in 
this remote land, there were relatives and friends 
to whom you were dear, and of whom you might 
feel proud. Sad experience has told you how 
unworthy we are of your affection, how much 
beneath your esteem. The cold realities that 
strip life of its ideal happiness are only endura- 
ble when age has blunted our affections and 
chilled our hearts. In youth their poignancy is 
agony itself. Yes, Kate, I can dare to say it, 
even to you — would that you had never come 
amongst us." 

"I will not misunderstand you, Mark; I will 
not affect to think that in your speech there is 
any want of affection for me; I will take it as 
you mean it, that it had been better for me; and, 
even on your own showing, I tell you, nay. If 
I have slied some tears within these old walls, 
yet have my brightest hours been passed within 
them. Never, until I came here, did I know 
what it was to minister to another's happiness; 
never did I feel before the ecstacy of being able 
to make joy more pleasurable, and sorrow less 
afflicting. The daughter feeling has filled up 
what was once a void in my poor heart; and 
when you pity me for this life of loneliness, 
my pulse has throbbed with delight to think 
how a duty, rendered by one as humble and 
insignificant as I am, can ennoble life, and 
make of this quiet valley a scene of active 
enjoyment." 

" So you are happy here, Kate," said he, tak- 
ing her hand, "and would not wish to leave 
it?" 

" No, Mark, never. There would be no end 
to my ambition were the great world open to me, 
and the prizes all glittering before me — ambitions 
which would take the shape, not of personal 
aggrandizement, but high hope for objects that 
come not within a woman's sphere. Here, af- 



fection sways me; there, it might be prejudice or 
passion." 

"Ambition!" muttered Mark, catching at the 
word — "ambition! The penalty you pay for it 
is far too high; and, were the gain certain, it is 
dearly bought by a heart dead to all purer emo- 
tions, cold to every affection of family and 
kindred, and a spirit made suspecting by treach- 
ery. No, Kate, no; the humblest peasant on 
that mountain, whose toil is for his daily bread, 
whose last hope at night is for the health that on 
the morrow shall sustain more labor, he has a 
nobler life than those who nourish high dtsires 
by trading on the crimes and faults of others. I 
had ambition once; God knows, it grew not in 
me from any unworthy hoi^e of personal advan- 
tage. I thought of myself then as meanly as I 
now do; but I dreamt that, by means humble 
and unworthy as mine, great events have been 
sometimes set in motion. The spark that ignites 
the train is insignificant enough in itself, though 
the explosion may rend the solid masonry that 
has endured for ages. Well, well, the dream is 
over now; let us speak of something else. Tell 
me of Herbert, Kate. What success has he met 
with in the University?" 

" He failed the first time, but the second trial 
made ample amends for that defeat. He carried 
away both prizes from his competitors, Mark, 
and stands now, confessedly, the most distin- 
guished youth of his day; disappointment only 
nerved his courage. There was a failure to 
avenge, as well as a goal to win, and he has ac- 
complished both." 

■' Happy fellow, that his career in life could 
depend on efforts of his own making — who 
needed but to trust his own firm resolve, and his 
own steady pursuit of success, and cared not 
how others might plot, and plan, and intrigue 
around him." 

"Very true, Mark; the prizes of intellectual 
ambition have this advantage, that they are self- 
won; but, bethink you, are not other objects 
equally noble — are not the efforts we make for 
others more worthy of fame than those which 
are dictated by purely personal desire of dis- 
tinction?" 

Mark almost started at the words, whose direct 
application to himself could not be doubted, and 
his cheek flushed, partly with pride, partly with 
shame. 

"Yes," said he, after a brief pause, "these 
are noble themes, and can stir a heart as 
sorrow-struck as mine; but the paths that lead 
upwards, Kate, are dark and crooked — the 
guides that traverse them are false and treacher- . 
ous." 

" You have, indeed, found them so," said Kate, 
with a deep sigh. 

" How do you mean, I have found them so?" 
cried Mark, in amazement at the words. 

" I mean what I have said, Mark, that betrayal 
and treachery have tracked you for many a dav. 
You would not trust me with your seciet, Mark, 
nor yet confide in me, when an accident left it 
in mv possession. Chance has revealed to me 
many circumstances of your fortune, and even 
now, Mark, I am only fearful lest your own pre)U- 



THE O'DONOGHU E, 



321 



dices should hazard your safety. Shall I go on? 
May I speak still more plainly?" 

Mark nodded, and she resumed: 

" One who never favored the cause you 
adopted, probably from the very confederates it 
necessitated, yet saw with sympathy how much 
truth and honor were involved in the struggle, 
has long watched over you, stretching out, un- 
seen, the hand to help, and the shield to pro- 
tect you He saw in you the generous boldness 
of one whose courage supplies the nerve, that 
mere plotters trade upon but never possess. He 
saw that, once in the current, you would be 
swept along, while they would watch you from 
the shore. He, I say, saw tliis, and with a gen- 
erosity the greater because no feelings of friend- 
ship swayed him, he came forward to save you." 

"And this unseen benefactor," said Mark, 
with a proud look of scornful meaning, "his 
name is " 

" I will not speak it, if you ask me thus," said 
Kate, blushing, for she read in his glance the im- 
putation his heart was full of. "Could you so 
far divest yourself of prejudice as to hear calmly, 
and speak dispassionately, I could tell you any- 
thing — everything, Mark." 

"No, Kate, no," said he, smiling dubiously; 
"I have no right to ask^perhaps not to accept 
of such a confidence." 

"Be it so, then," said she, proudly, "we will 
speak of this no more;" and, with a slight bow, 
and a motion of her hand, she turned into an- 
other alley of the garden, and left Mark silently 
musing over the scene. Scarcely, however, had 
she screened herself from his view by the inter- 
vening trees, than she hastened her steps, and 
soon gained the house. Without stopping to take 
breath, she ascended the stairs, and tapped at 
Sir Archy"s door. 

"Come in, my sweet Kate," said he, in his 
blandest voice; "I shoald know that gentle tap 
amid a thousand. But, my dear child, why so 
pale? what has agitated you? Sit down and tell 
me." 

" Read this, sir," said she, taking a letter from 
the folds of her handkerchief, "this will tell you 
all, shorter and more collectedly than I can. I 
want your advice and counsel, and quickly, too, 
for no time is to be lost." 

"This is Mr. Hemsworth's writing," said Sir 
Archy, as he adjusted his spectacles to read. 
" When did you receive it?" 

"About an hour ago," answered Kate, half 
impatient at the unhurried coolness of the old 
man's manner, who at last proceeded to examine 
the epistle, but without the slightest show of 
anxiety or eagerness. His apathy was, however, 
short-lived; short expressions of surprise broke 
from him, followed by exclamations of terror 
and dismay, till at length, laying down the letter, 
he said,— 

" Leave me, sweet Kate — leave me to read 
and reflect on this alone. Be assured I'll lose 
no time in making up my mind about it, for I 
see that hours are precious here." And as she 
glided from the room Sir Archy placed the open 
letter on a table before him, and sat down dili- 
gently to reconsider its contents. 



CHAPTER XXXVn. 
hemsworth's letter. 

The letter over which Sir Archy bent in deep 
thought was from Hemsworth. It was dated the 
night before, and addressed to Kate O'Don- 
oghue, and, although professing to have been 
hurriedly written, an observer as acute as Sir 
Archy could detect ample evidence of great care 
and consideration in its composition. State- 
ments seemingly clear and open, were in reality 
confused and vague; assertions were qualified, 
and, in lieu of direct and positive information, 
there were scattered throughout hopes and fears, 
wishes and expectations, all capable of being 
sustained, whatever the issue of the affair they 
referred to. 

The letter opened with a respectful apology 
for addressing Miss O'Doncghue, but pleading 
that the urgency of the case, and the motives of 
the writer, might be received as a suiificient ex- 
cuse. After stating, in sufficiently vague terms 
to make the explanation capable of a double 
meaning, the reasons for selecting her, and not 
either of her uncles, for the correspondence, it 
entered at once upon the matter of the commu- 
nication in these words: — 

" I have hesitated and doubted. Miss O'Don- 
oghue, how far my inteiference in the affairs of 
your family may be misconstrued, and whether 
the prejudices which were once entertained to 
my disdvantage might not now be evoked to give 
a false coloring to my actions. These doubts I 
have resolved, by reflecting that they are for the 
most part personal, and that if I succeed in ren- 
dering real service, the question is comparatively 
indifferent what light or shadow it may seem to 
throw on my conduct. A candid and impartial 
judgment I certainly look to from you, and I 
confess myself at liberty to lay less store by the 
opinions of others." 

Continuing for a brief space in this strain, the 
letter went on to mention that the sudden return 
of Mark had left the writer no alternative but to 
venture on this correi-pondence, whatever the 
consequences — consequences \\hich, the writer 
palpably inferred, might prove of the last mo- 
ment to himself. The explanation — and for the 
reader's sake it is better to spare him Hems- 
worth's involved narrative, and merely give its 
substance — was chiefly that information of Mark 
O'Donoghue's complicity in the plot of the 
United Irish party had been tendered to govern- 
ment, and supported by such evidence that a 
judge's warrant was issued for his apprehension 
and the seizure of all his papers; partly from 
friendly interference — this was dubiously and 
delicately put by Hemsworth — and partly fiom 
the fact that his extreme youth and ignorance of 
the real views of the insurgents were pleaded in 
his fa\or, the execution of this warrant was de- 
layed, and the young man suffered to go at large. 
So long as he withdrew hiiuself from the com- 
pany of the other conspirators, and avoided 
publicity, the government was willing to wink at 
the past It had been, however, determined on, 
that should he either be found mixed up with 



322 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



any of the leaders of the movement in future, 
or sliould he venture to return to Glenfiesk, 
where his influence amongst the peasantry was 
well known to, and apprehended by, the govern- 
ment, then there should no longer be any hesi- 
tation in the line to be followed. He was im- 
mediately to be apprehended, and sent up under 
a sufficient escort to Dublin, to take his trial, 
with five others, for high treason. The proofs 
of his guilt were unquestionable, consisting of 
letters 'written and received, conversations to 
which witnesses could depose, as well as an inti- 
macy, for months long, with Barrington, wliose 
active participation in the schemes of rebellion 
was as well known as the notorious fact of his 
being a convicted felon. To found a hope upon 
Ins innocence was thus shown to be perfectly 
impossible. His most trusted associates were 
the evidence against him; documents in his 
handwriting were also in the hands of the law 
officers of the crown, and, in fact, far more than 
enough to bring him to the scaffold. 

Hemsworth, who gently hinted all through how 
far his interference had been beneficial, was one 
of those entrusted with Mark's arrest, should he 
ever dare to reappear in his native country The 
orders of the privy council on this score were 
positive and clear, and admitted of no possible 
misconception. 

" You may judge, then," continued he, " what 
were my feelings on seeing him suddenly enter 
the house last night — to think that, while I was 
enjoying the pleasures of your society and the 
hospitable attentions of your home, I had actually 
in my pocket at the moment the official order to 
apprehend the eldest son of my entertainer — -the 
friend and companion of your childhood — to 
bring grief and mourning beneath the roof where 
I had passed so many happy hours — to dispel all 
the dreams I had begun to nourish of a neigh- 
borhood connected by ties of kindness and good 
will. I had to choose between the alternative of 
this, or else, by a palpable avoidance of my duty, 
criminate myself, and leave my conduct open to 
the most dangerous comments of myenemies. 
The latter involved only myself. I hive adopted 
it, and before this letter reaches your hands, I 
shall be on my way up to Dublin, nominally to 
attend the council, but in reality to escape the 
necessity my onerous position would impose. 
None save those beneath your roof know that I 
hive met Mr. Mark O'Donoghue, and I shall be 
half way to Dublin before his arrival in the 
country is suspected. So much, in brief, for the 
past and the present. Now for the future. There 
are two courses open to this young gentleman, or 
to those who would serve and befriend him. One 
is, by a free and unlimited confession to the gov- 
ernment of all the circumstances of the plot, so 
far as they have come to his knowledge, the 
parties interested, their several shares in the un- 
dertaking, with every detail of date and time, to 
sue for a pardon for himself — a grace which, I 
need scarcely say, I will use all my influence to J 
obtain. The other mode is, by a temporary ex- ' 
ile. to withdraw himself from the notice of thei 
government, until the danger having perfectly I 



passed over, political acrimony will have abated, 
and the necessity for making severe examples of 
guilt be no longer urgent. This latter course I 
opine to be preferable, on many grounds. It de- 
mands no sacrifice of private feeling — no surren- 
der of honor. It merely provides for safety, re- 
serving the future untrammelled by any pledge. 
Neither need the absence be long; a year or two 
at fa-thest; the probabilities are, that with their 
present' knowledge of the sclumes of the insur- 
gents, the government can either preci|)itate 
events, or retard and protract them at will; their 
policy, in this respect, depending on the rank 
and importance of those who, by either line of 
procedure, would be delivered into their hands. 
.-Arguing from what they have already done, I 
should pronounce it likely that their game will 
be to wait, to weaken the hopes and break the 
spirit of the United party, by frequent defections 
to sow distrust and suspicion amongst them, and 
thus, while avoiding the necessity of bloodshed, 
to wear out rebellion by a long and lingering 
fear. If, then, others, whose age and position 
involved a greater prominence in these schemes, 
would require a longer banishment to erase the 
memory of the acts, your young relative, who 
has both youth and its rashness to plead for him, 
need not reckon on so lengthened an absence 
from his native land. 

" Above all things, however, remember that not 
an hour is to be lost. Any moment may dis- 
close to the crown some new feature of the plot, 
and may call forth measures of stringent severity. 
The proclamation offering a reward for the ap- 
prehension of four persons, of whom your cousin 
is one, is already printed, and in the office of the 
secretary. An hour would see it all over the walls 
of the capital, in a day or two more it would 
reach every remote corner of the land. Then, 
all efforts on my part would be ineffectual, were 
they even possible. Reflect on this. It is not a 
mere question of fine or even imprisonment. It 
is life itself is on the issue, and life which, in 
surrendering, will blast a great name with dis- 
honor, and a great house with obloquy and shame; 
for there has been no struggle, no effort, no bold 
and generous exposure to danger, to palliate 
treason and gloss over its faults. All has been 
plotting and contriving for alien assistance and 
foreign help; no self-reliance, no patriotism, 
which, if mistaken, was still sincere and manly 
Reflect on all this, and think a life offered up in 
sucii a cause has no martyrdom to throw lustre 
on the grave shared with the felon and the high- 
wayman. Forgive me if, in the warmth of my 
zeal, I have said one word which may offend. If 
I had not spoken thus forcibly, I should be a 
traitor to my own heart. 

'■ I have written hurriedly, and I doubt not, in 
some respects, unadvisedly; but the sincerity of 
my purpose will plead for me, should the indis- 
cretion of my zeal require apology. You will, 
perhaps, ask why I should have imposed a task 
difficult as this upon you — ^why I should have 
loaded you with a responsibility so weighty? My 
answer is simply I dared not write to the O'Don- 
oghue on the subject of his son's indiscretion-^to 
impugn the acts of the young man, wovild be to 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



323 



forfeit all influence with the old one. You will 
tlien say, why not address Sir Archibald? For 
the simple reason, that the prejudices of his 
country are too strong in him to make due al- 
lowances for those who err from excitable or 
impetuous natures; not only would he judge too 
harshly of Mark, but he would be anxious to re- 
cord that judgment as a warning to Herbert, for 
whom alone he is interested. 1 therefore make 
it a strenuous request — nay, more, 1 esteem it as 
the term of a compact between us, that you do 
not show this letter either to the O'Donoghue 
or to his brother. I have expressed myself 
o|)enly and candidly to you, but with a tacit as- 
surance that my confidence is not to be extended 
to others. In the part I have taken, I already 
incur considerable risk. This is a period when 
loyalty cannot afford to be even suspected; yet 
liave I jeoparded mine in defending this youth. 
1 now conclude, dear madam, assuring you that 
any danger I incur, or any anxiety I feel, will be 
amply repaid if 1 only know that you think not 
unworthily of 

" William Hemsworth." 

Sir Archy studied this letter with the patient 
care a lawyer bestows upon a brief. He thought 
over each sentence, and weighed the expressions 
in his mind with deep thought. It had been liis 
fortune, in early life, to have been thrown into 
situations of no common difficulty, and his mind 
had, in consequence, acquired a habit of shrewd 
and piercing investigation, which, though long 
disused, was not altogether forgotten; by tlie 
aid of this faculty, Hemsworth's letter appeared 
to him in a very different light from that in 
which Kate viewed it. The knowledge of every 
circumstance concerning Mark evinced an anx- 
iety which he was very far from attributing to 
motives of friendship. Sir Arcliy well knew the 
feelings of dislike which subsisted between these 
two men — how then account for this sudden 
change on Hemsworth's part.' — to what attribute 
this wonderful interest concerning him? 

" Let us see," said the old man to himself — 
" Let us see the fruit, and then we may pro- 
nounce ujion the tree. Where and to what does 
Hemsworth's benevolence point? Dishonor or 
lianisiiment! Such are tiie terms he offers; such 
are the alternatives his kindness suggests. Might 
these have no other motive than friendship? — 
might they not be the offspring of feelings very 
different indeed? What benefit might he derive 
from Mark's expatriation? — that is the question. 
Does he anticipate easier terms with the old 
man for the little remnant of property that still 
pertains to him — or is it merely the leaven of the 
old hate that still rises in his nature? — or" — and 
here his eye flashed with lirilliancy as a new 
iliought crossed his brain — "or does he suspect 
Mark of occupying a place in his cousin's affec- 
iion, and is rivalry the source of this mysterious 
gor>d-nature?" 

This suspicion no sooner occurred to him 
than Sir Archy recalled to mind all the circum- 
stances of Hemsworth's recent behavior — the 
endeavors he had made to recommend himself to 
their favorable notice — all iiis acts to inirraliate 



himself with Kate — the ample views he affected 
in politics — the wide-spread generosity of his 
plans for the amelioration of the people. That 
his conduct was unreal, that his principles were' 
but assumed for the occasion, the shrewd Scotch- 
man had long suspected; and this letter, so far 
from dispelling the doubts, increased them 
tenfold. Besides this, there seemed some reason 
to fear that Kate was not quite indifferent to 
him. The disparity of years was so far in his 
favor, as she could not but feel flattered by the 
notice of one so conversant with the world and 
its ways, who had travelled and seen so much, 
and might in every respect be deemed a com- 
petent judge in matters of taste. Any compari- 
son of him with Mark must redound with great 
advantage to the former. The accomplished 
sc«holar, the agreeable and \yell-bred man of 
society, was a severe competitor for the half 
educated and slovenly youth, whose awkward 
and bashful manner seemed rather ill-temper 
than mere diffidence. Mark was himself con- 
scious of the disadvantages he labored under, 
and although Sir Archy had few fears that such 
an admirer was likely to win favor with the gay 
and capricious girl, whose foreign habits had 
taught her to value social qualities at the highest 
price, still there was a chance that Hemsworth 
might have thought differently, and that jealousy 
was the secret of the whole scheme. Kate, with 
her ten thousand pounds of a rent-charge, might 
be a very reasonable object of Hemsworth's am- 
bition; and when already he had absorbed so 
large a portion of the family estates, this addi- 
tional lien would nearly make him master of tlie 
entire. It was, then, perfectly possible that this 
was his game, and that in withdrawing Mark 
from the scene, he both calculated on the grati- 
tude his generosity would evoke, and more se- 
curely provided for his own success. 

While Sir Archy thus pondered over Hems- 
worth's motives, he did not neglect the more 
pressing consideration of Mark's danger. It was 
evident that he had taken an active part in the 
insurrectionary movement, and without the slight- 
est precautions for his personal safety. The first 
care, therefore, was to see and learn from him 
the full extent of his danger, what proofs tliere 
existed against him, and what evidence, either in 
writing or otherwise, might be adduced to his 
disadvantage. 

■'Tell me, frankly and freely, Mark," said he, 
aloud, as he rose and paced the room; "tell me 
openly how you stand, who are your betrayers, 
what your dangers, and I'll answer for it the 
peril may be a\erted." 

"I have come to do ^o, sir," said a voice behind 
him — and Mark O'Donoghue was standing at the 
door. 



CHAPTER XXXVIIL 

TAMPERING AND PLOTTING. 

While they who meditated tlie invasion of 
Ireland were thoroughly informed on the state 
of parties and the condition of public opinion 



324 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



in that kingdom, the English Government were 
satisfied with vague and insufficient rumors of 
those intentions, derived from sources of ques- 
tionable accuracy, or communicated by persons 
in the pay of their opponents. Cartain it is, 
neither the magnitude of the peril was appre- 
ciated, nor its nearness suspectet.'. Many in 
England regarded the whole in the light of a 
menace, and believed that the embarrassments of 
the French directory were quite sufficient to 
withdraw their thoughts from a foreign egression 
to troubles nearer home. Their great want of 
money, arms, and all the munitions of war was 
well known, and trusted to as a guarantee of se- 
curity. Others supposed that a rash attempt 
might be made, but were equally sure of its being 
defeated by our naval forces before a landing 
could be effected; and many more believed that 
the pretence of foreign aid was but a threat of 
the malcontents at home to enforce compliance 
with their demands. The event itself was to 
show how unfounded were all these calculations, 
and how little reason we had to regard our se- 
curity as derived from our own measures of fore- 
sight and precaution. 

Constituted as the French government of the 
day was, nothing would have been easier than to 
have ample knowledge of all the projects. The 
men in high situations were newly elevated to 
power from positions of very humble pretension, 
with no habits of public business, no experience 
of the mode of conducting difficult affairs, and 
many of them of very questionable character for 
integrity; and yet, with these opportunities at our 
disposal, a few scattered facts, ill-authenticated 
and vague, were all that our government at- 
tained to; and even these were unattended to, 
save when they implicated the conduct of some 
suspected character nearer home; then, indeed, 
party violence assumed an appearanceof states- 
manlike vigilance, and crown prosecutions and ex- 
officio informations seemed the safeguard of the 
empire. 

On occasions of this kind the activity of the 
government was most remarkable, and while the 
great question of national security was overlooked, 
no pains were spared to track out the narrow 
path where some insignificant treason was ])lod- 
ding, and bring the plotter to the scaffold. Large 
sums of money were spent in obtaining secret in- 
formation, and the whole science of government 
was reduced to a system of espionage. This 
little-minded and narrow policy was, in a great 
measure, the consequence of entrusting so much 
of the government to the influence of the lawyers, 
who, regarding everything through the light of 
their own profession, placed the safety of the 
empire on the success of a crown prosecution. 

It was at a moment when this favorite policy 
was in the ascendant that Hemsworth reached 
Dublin, little aware, indeed, how far events there 
were hastening forward the catastrophe for which 
he was interested. l,anty Lawler, who for a long 
time had never communicated, save to Hems- 
worth, his knowledge of the United Irish move- 
ment, had at length become alarmed for his own 
safety; and putting but slight trust in Hemsworth's 
good faith, sho.uld any calamity befall him, had 



come forward and revealed to Major Sirrall that 
he knew of the plot, the names of several parties 
implicated, and in particular the whole history of 
Mark O'Donoghue's complicity. The information 
came well timed. The crown lawyers were 
desirous of exhibiting the parade of a state pros- 
ecution, and all the ordinary measures were 
taken to secure its success. Lanty, now a pris- 
oner, in Newgate, but with the promise of a free 
pardon and a reward, had been repeatedly ex- 
amined by ihe attorney and solicitor-general, 
and his statement found perfectly accurate and 
consistent. He narrated the various interviews 
he had been present at among the delegates in 
Dublin — the messages he had conveyed from 
them to different individuals through the country 
— the depots where pikes and muskets were stored 
— and the several jjlaces of rendezvous agreed 
upon whenever the rising should take place. He 
also revealed many facts of the feeling prevalent 
among the people, and exemplified the conflicting 
state of opinion then in the country — how that 
many were worn out and discouraged by delay, 
and believed themselves betrayed by France — • 
while others were full of hope and confidence, 
eager for the time to come, and ready to incut 
any peril. While in all these disclosures he was 
most candid and explicit, he never once betrayed 
the name of Mary M'Kelly, nor even alluded in 
any way to her cabin as a resort of the French 
spies and the secret depot of arms and ammuni- 
tion. It might have been that, in the blackness 
of his treachery to others, this one spark of better 
feeling survived towards her— that some lurking 
affection lingered in a heart dead to every other 
noble sentiment, or perhajjs the lesser motive 
swayed him, that in excepting her from the gen- 
eral ruin, he was securing to himself one who, as 
a wife, would bring him no small share of worldly 
wealth. Either may be the explanation of his 
conduct, for, strange as it may seem, the vilest 
actions are sometimes conceived with a reserve 
of conscience that shows what casuistry guilt re- 
quires, and how much the spirit of evil lacks of 
courage, when it has to borrow the energy to act 
from even the semblance of something good. 

It was not without reluctance at first that 
Lanty ventured on the betrayal of Mark O'Don- 
oghue, nor did he even consent to do so until his 
own safety had been threatened by Hemsworth, 
and also a solemn promise given that he 
should never be brought forward to give evidence 
against him, nor exhibited before the world as 
an informer. This was the character he most 
dreaded — it was the only reproach that had any 
terror for his mind. Gradually, however, and by 
the frequency of his revelationsto Hemsworth, this 
dread diminished, and in proportion the fears for 
his own safety increased. Hemsworth's game was 
to make him believe that such dejiended solely on 
him — that at any moment he could give informa- 
tion of a character sufficient to convict him — and 
by this tie was he bound to a man he detested with 
all his hatred. After much vacillation and doubt it 
was that Lanty determined, whatever the conse- 
quences to his fame, to make a full disclosure to 
government, and only bargain for his own life. 
Hemsworth's absence from Dublin afforded the 



THE O'DONOGHUE, 



325 



opportunity, and he seized it at once. Such, 
then, was the position of affairs when Hemswortli 
reached the capital, and learned that !iis agent, 
Lanty, was no longer at his disposition, but at 
that very moment a prisoner in the gaol of New- 
gate, strict orders being given that nobody was 
to be admitted to converse with him without the 
special leave of the law officers of the crown. 
Now, although Hemsworth had personally little 
to fear from any disclosure Lanty might make, 
yet his information might thwart all the plans he 
had so artfully devised regarding the O'Don- 
oghues, the events impending that family being up 
to that moment perfectly at his own discretion 
and disposal, to delay or precipitate which con- 
stituted the essence of his policy. Mark could 
not be brought to trial, he well knew, without 
exhibiting himself in the light of an enemy and 
an accuser, he being the person to whom Lanty 
originally communicated his informations. This 
hostile part would form an impassable obstacle 
to any success with Kate, and consequently to 
his great plan of obtaining the Glenficsk estate. 
Hemsworth lost not a moment, after his arrival 
in town, in his endeavors to have an interview 
with Lanty; and, being on terms of old intimacy 
with the sheriff, at length persuaded him to grant 
liim a brief opportunity of speaking to him — a 
permission, under the circumstances, most reluct- 
antly acceded. It was near nine o'clock — the 
l.itest hour at which the visit to the goal was 
practicable — wlien Hemsworth presented himself 
with the sheriff's order at the gate. A brief de- 
lay ensued, for even on such an authority the 
gaoler scrupled to deviate from the directions 
given him, and he was admitted. Following the 
turnkey for some minutes, through passages and 
across courts, they reached an angle of the 
building dedicated to the reception of those who 
were lield over by the crown as "approvers" 
against their former friends and associates. Many 
of these had been in confinement several months, 
the time not having arrived when the evidence 
which they were to corroborate was perfected, 
and not a few preferring the security of a prison 
to the dangers the character of an informer would 
e.xpose them to without doors. A confused noise 
of voices and coarse i.iughter was heard as they 
I'ame near, and the turnkey, striking his buncli 
of keys against a heavy door, called, " Be silent 

there, b 'ye; there's more trouble with six of 

ye than we have with the whole condemned ward;" 
then, turning to Hemsworth, he added, in a 
lower voice, "Them chaps is awaitin' a passage 
over seas. They've given their evidence long 
ago, and they're not wanted now. That one 
with the cracked voice is Cope, the fellow that 
tracked Parson Jackson; but there, this is your 
man's cell — we cannot give you more than a 
quarter of an hour, and so don't lose any more 
time." 

Hemsworth laid iiis hand on the gaoler's arm 
as he extended it with the key. "One second — 
just wait one second," said he, as he pressed his 
finger across his lirow, and seemed to reflect; 
then added, '' Yes, that will do — open it now, and 
I shall lie ready to retire whenever vou please." 

Whether the sound without had drowned the 



noise, or that his attention was too much engaged 
to notice it, Lanty never stirred nor looked 
round, as the heavy door was unbarred and 
fastened again behind Hemsworth. Seated in a 
recess of the window, and with his face pressed 
against the iron bars, he was watching with in- 
terest the movement in the street below, where a 
considerable number of people went past, tlieir 
eyes directed upwards to the front of the building, 
but all view of which was impossible to him. 
Hemsworth stood and looked at him for some 
minutes without speaking — he was as if calculating 
the very thoughts of the other's brain — then, ad- 
vancing gently, he laid his hand on Lawler's 
shoulder, as he said, — 

" Ay, Lanty, that's the reward they get. Two 
of them are to be turned off to-morrow." 

" Two of whom, sir.?" asked Lanty, as, starting 
at the voice, his face became the color of death. 

" I thought yoa knew!"said he, affecting as- 
tonishment; "they are the approvers against 
Bond. The government has no use for the 
rascals now, and it saves expense to hang them 
and so they tried them for a murder at Sailing 
in March last. 1 hear they were not there; but, no 
matter, they've enough to answer for without 
that?" 

" But, sure, Mr. Hemsworth, they'll never 
treat their own friends lliat way?" 

"Wouldn't they, Lanty? You don't know 
them as well as I do. They keep little faith with 
scoundrels, and more fools the scoundrels for 
being caught; but 1 mustn't lose time; it was 
that very thing brought me here. I heard this 
evening the scrape you were in." 

" Me in a scrape?" exclaimed Lanty, his eyes 
growing wider with terror. 

" To be sure it is; and a devilish ugly scrape, 
too, my friend. Haven't you given informa- 
tion to the attorney-general against the young 
O'Donoghue?" 

Lanty nodded, and he went on. 

"Haven't you confessed the whole of the plot, 
and told them everything?" 

"Very nearly, faix!" said Lanty, dropping his 
head and sighing. 

"And what do you expect to gain by that, 
Master Lanty? Is it by showing that you are of 
no use to them — that you've nothing more left in 
you —that you hope for a reward ? Is it for tlio 
sake of your family and friends, or on account of 
your remarkable honesty, they're so fond of you?" 
Then, checking his sneering tone, he added in a 
slow and solemn voice, "Are you a fool, man? — 
or don't you see what you are bringing yourself 
to? What will be your claim when the trial of 
the young O'Donoghue is over? The crown 
lawyers will have you up in the witness-box till 
they've drained you dry. Devil a drop they'll 
leave in you; and when they say, 'Go down,' 
take my word for it, it's down you'll go in earnest, 
and all the world wouldn't lift you up afterwards." 

Hemsworth permitted the words to sink into 
his heart for a few seconds in silence, and then 
went on, — 

"So long as you trusted ;//r. you were safe. I'd 
never expose you in open i fiurt." 

"'N(;, bir, nor the attorney-general neither. lie 



326 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



said that all they wanted was my information on 
oath." 

"And you gave iti" exclaimed Hemsvvorth, in 
a voice of ill-dissembled anxiety. 

"Not all out, sir," said Lanty, with a shrewd 
glance of malicious intelligence. " I asked them 
for a copy, to read it over before I signed it, and 
they gave me one" — here he produced a roil of 
paper from his breast-pocket and showed it to 
Hemsworth — "and I'm to give it back to-morrow, 
with my name to it." 

" They've played you off well, Lanty," said 
Hemsworth, while carelessly opening the paper, 
he affected not to pay it any attentien. "The 
lawyers have got round you nicely; and, faith, I 
always thought you a clever fellow before. Your 
evidence, so long as it was your own, was worth 
five thousand pounds, and I wouldn't give five 
for your chance of escape, now that they know 
your secret." 

"What would you say if they didn't know 
it?" said Lanty, with a look of impudent famil- 
iarity he had never ventured on before. "What 
would you say, now, if the best of my evidence 
was to come out yet? — that I never told one word 
about the French clipper that landed the mus- 
kets in Glengariff Bay, and left two pipes of wine 
at your own house the same night?" 

"Ah! you'd try that game, would you?" said 
Hemsworth, with a smile of deadly malice; " but 
I've thought of that part, my honest Lanty. I've 
already given information on that very matter. 
You don't suppose that I afforded those fellows 
my protection for the sake of the bribe. No, 
faith; but I made them pay for the very evidence 
that can any day convict them — ay, them and 
you; you, a paid spy of France, a sworn United 
Irishman, who have administered the oaths to 
eighteen soldiers of the Roscommon militia, and 
are at this nininent under a signed and witnessed 
contract, bound to furnish horses for a French 
cavalry force on their landing here in Ireland. 
Are these truths, Mr. Lanty, or are they mere 
matters of fancy?" 

"I'm a crown witness," said Lawler sturdily, 
" and if I speak out all I know, they're bound to 
protect me." 

"Who is to hind them?" said Hemsworth, jeer- 
ingly, "is it your friends, the United Irishmen, 
that you betrayed — is it they are to watch over 
your precious life?— or do you think your claims 
are stronger with the other party, that you only 
swore to massacre? Where's the sympathy and 
protection to come from? Tell me that, for I'm 
curious on the point.' 

Lanty turned a fierce look upon him — his eye- 
balls glared, and his nether lip shook convul- 
sively, while his hands were firmly clenched to- 
gether. Hemsworth watched these evidences of 
growing anger, but without seeming to regard 
them, when the key grated roughly in the lock, 
the door opened, and the gaoler called out, with 
a savage attempt at laughter. — • 

" Time's up. I must turn you off, sir." 

"A short reprieve," said Hemsworth, humor- 
ing the ruffian jest, and he pitched his purse into 
the fellow's hand. 

"To settle family matters, I suppose," said 



the turnkey, with a grin, as he retired, and closed' 
the door once more. 

The interruption seemed to offer a favorable 
opportunity to Hemsworth of giving an amicable 
turn to the interview, for, with a changed voice, 
and a look of well-assumed friendship, he 
said, — 

" I have misspent my moments here sadly, 
Lanty. I came to befriend you, and not to in- 
terchange words of angry meaning. If I had 
been in Dublin, I'm certain you would never 
have fallen into this perilous position. Let us 
see how best to escape from it. This information 
— I see it is all confined to young O'Donoghue's 
business— is of no value whatever until signed 
by you. It is just as if it were never spoken. 
So that, if you steadily determine not to sign it, 
you need give no reason whatever, but simply 
refuse when asked. Do this, and all's safe." 

"Couldn't they transport me?" said Lanty in 
a feeble voice, but whose very accent betrayed 
the implicit trust he reposed in Hemsworth's 
answer. 

"They'll threaten that, and worse too; but 
never flinch; they've nothing against you, save 
your own evidence. When the time comes — 
mark me, I say, when the time comes — your 
evidence is worth five thousand pounds; but now, 
all it will do is to convict young O'Donoghue, and 
warn all the others not to go forward. I don't 
suppose you want that; the young fellow never 
did you any harm." 

"Never," said Lanty, dropping his head with 
shame, for even in such a presence his conscience 
smote him. 

"Very well — there's no use in bringing him to 
trouble. Keep your own counsel, and all will 
be well." 

" I'm just thinking of a plan I've a notion in 
my head will do well," said Lanty musingly. 
" I'm to see Father Kearney, the priest of Luke's 
Chapel, to-morrow morning — he's coming over 
to confess me. Well, when the attorney-general 
and the others come for me to write 
my name, I'll just say that I dar'n't do it. I'll 
not tell why nor wherefore — sorra word more, 
but this, 'I dar'n't do it.' They'll think at once 
it's the priest set me against it. I know well 
what they'll say — that Father Kearney put me 
under a vow; and so they may. They'll scarcely 
get him to say much about it, and I'll take care 
they won't make inc." 

"That thought was worthy of you, Lanty," 
said Hemsworth, laughing, " but take care that 
you don't swerve from your determination. Re- 
member that there is no accusation against you 
— not a word nor a syllable of testimony. Of 
course, they'll threaten you with the worst con- 
sequences. You'll be told of prosecutions for 
perjury, and all that. Never mind — wait pa- 
tiently your time. When the hour arrives, /'// 
make your bargain for you, and it will not be 
merely the evidence against ati individual, but 
the disclosure of a great plot of rebellion, they 
must pay you for. Cockayne got four thousand 
pounds and a free pardon. Ycur services will 
rank far higher." 

" If they won't bring me up in open court," 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



327 



said Lanty, timidly, " I'll do whatever they 
please." 

" For that very reason you must adhere to my 
advice. There, now, I perceive the fellow is 
about to lock up for the night, and I must leave 
this. You may want some money from time to 
time. I'll take means of sending whatever you 
stand in need of. For the ])resent ten pounds 
will, I suppose, be sufficient." 

Lanty took the money with a mixture of hu- 
mility and sullenness. He felt it as a bribe 
rather than a gift, and he measured the services 
expected of him by the consideration they were 
costing. The turnkey's presence did not admit 
of further colloquy, and they parted in mutual 
suspicion and distrust, eacli speculating how far 
self-interest might be worked upon as the guid- 
ing principle to sway the other's actions. 

" I'm scarcely sure of him yet," said Hems- 
worth, as he slowly returned to his hotel. 
" They'll stop at nothing to terrify him into sign- 
ing the informations, and if the prosecution goes 
on, and the young O'Donoghue is convicted, 
the plot is blown up. The others will escape, 
and all my long-projected disclosures to the 
government become useless. Besides, 1 fail 
where failure is of more consequence. It was 
to little moment that I prevented a marriage be- 
tween Travers and the girl if I cannot make her 
my own; but yet that alliance should have been 
thwarted on every ground of policy. It would 
have been to plant the Traverses here on the 
very spot I destine for myself. No, no. I must 
take care that they never see Ireland more. In- 
deed this breaking off the marriage will prove a 
strong obstacle to their returning." Thus did 
he review his plans, sometitnes congratulating 
himself on the success of the past, sometimes 
fearing for the future, but always relying with 
confidence on the skill of his own negotiations — 
an ingenuity that never yet had failed him in his 
difficulties. 

The next day was the time appointed for Lanty's 
final examination, and on which he was to affix 
his name to the informations, and Hemsworth 
loitered in one of the offices of the Castle, where 
the gossip of the morning was discussed, in no 
common anxiety to hear how his protcg^ had 
acquitted himself. As the clerks and underlings 
conversed among themselves on the dress or 
equipage of the officials who at intervals drove 
off towards the Park, Hemsworth, who affected 
to be engaged in reading a morning paper, over- 
heard one remark to another, — 

" There's the devil to pay at the council. That 
fellow thay have in Newgate against Coyle and 
M'Nevin, and the rest of them, it seems, now re- 
fuses to confirm his informations. They have 
good reason to believe all he said was true, but 
they can't go on without him." 

'' What's the meaning of that? He was willing 
enough yesterday." 

" They say a priest from Luke's Cliapel was 
with him this morning, and forbid him, under any 
number of curses and anathemas in case of dis- 
obedience, to reveal a syllable against the 'United 
party.' " 

" They can compel him, however. Don't you 



remember Cockayne did the same thing about 
Jackson's business, and they brought him over 
to Lord Clonmel's house, and made him sign 
there?" 

" That they did, but they'll not try the same 
game twice. Curran brought it out in the cross- 
examination, and made it appear that the witness 
was terrified by the crown by a threat of con- 
sequences to himself as an accomplice, and the 
point went very far with the jury in Jackson's 
favor." 

Hemsworth did not wait to hear more. The 
great fact that Lanty was firm, was all that he 
cared for, and, after a few casual remarks on the 
morning news, he strolled forth with all the lazy 
indifference of an idle man. 



CHAPTER XXXIX. 



THE BROTHERS. 



Among the unexplained phenomena of the 
period is one very remarkable and, doubtless, 
pregnant circumstance — the species of lull or 
calm in the movements of the United Irish party, 
which was conspicuous throughout the entire of 
the summer and autumn of 1796. The spring 
opened on them with hopes high and expectations 
confident. Tone's letters from Paris breathed 
encouragement; the embarrassments of England 
promised favorably for their cause; and many 
who wavered before were found now willing to 
embrace the enterprise. To this state of ardent 
feeling succeeded an interval of doubt and 
uneasiness; conflicting statements were circu- 
lated, and men's minds were shaken, without any 
apparent cause. A vague fear of betrayal and 
treachery gained ground; yet no one was able 
to trace this dread to any definite source. The 
result, however, was evident in the greater caution 
of all concerned in tlie scheme — a reserve which 
seemed to threaten a total abandonment of the 
undertaking; such, at least, it appeared to those 
who, like Mark O'Donoghue, having few or no 
opportunities of intercourse with the leaders, were 
disposed to take their impressions from the 
surface of events. As for him, his correspondence 
had ceased with Lanty's treachery. He neither 
knew the real names nor addresses of those to 
whom he had formerly written, and had not a 
single acquaintance to whom he could look for 
advice and assistance. 

All Sir Archy's endeavors to win his confidence 
had failed, not from any distrust either in his 
judgment or his good faith, but because Mark 
regarded his secret as a sacred depository, in 
which the honor of others was concerned; and 
however disposed to seek advice for himself, he 
would not compromise their safety for the sake of 
his own advantage. LInable to extort a confidence 
by entreaty, and well aware how little efficiency 
there lay in menace. Sir Archy abandoned the 
attempt, and satisfied himself by placing in 
Mark's hands Hemsworth's letter, signifi- 
cantly hinting his own doubts of the writer's integ- 
rity. 



828 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



Mark sat himself down in the garden to study 
the epistle, and however artfully conceived, the 
experience his own career opened displayed the 
dishonesty of the writer at every sentence. 

" I am the obstacle to his plans — my presence 
here is somehow a thwarting influence against 
him," said he, as he folded up the paper. " I 
must remain at every hazard; nor is there much, 
so long as I bound my wanderings by these great 
mountains — he will be a bolder than Hemsworth 
who captures me here." 

Guided by this one determination, and trust- 
ing that time might clear up some of the mysteries 
that surrounded him, Mark waited, as men 
Wait for an event that shall call upon their facul- 
ties or their courage for some unusual effort. 
The same reverses of fortune that had taught 
him distrust, had also inculcated the lesson of pa- 
tience; but it was the patience of the Indian 
warrior, who will lie crouching in concealment for 
days long, till the moment of his vengeance has 
arrived. And thus, while toothers he seemed an 
altered character, less swayed by rash impulses, 
and less carried away by anger, the curbed up 
passions became only more concentrated by re- 
pression. He mi.xed little with the others, rarely 
appearing save at meal times, and then seldom 
taking any part in the conversation around. He 
did not absent himself from home, as before, for 
whole days or weeks long, but spent his time 
mostly in his own chamber, where he read and 
wrote for hours — strange and unusual habits for 
one who had never sought or found amusement 
save in the fatigues of the hunting-field. His 
manner, too, was no longer the same. Calmer, 
and more self-possessed than before, he neither 
seemed to feel momentary bursts of high spirits 
nor depression. The tone of his mind was in- 
deed sad, but it was the sadness that indicated 
strength and constancy to endure, fully as much 
as it betrayed the pain of suffering. The altered 
features of his character impressed themselves 
on everything he did; and there was an air of 
quiet gentleness in his demeanor quite foreign to 
his former rough and abrupt manner. Upon 
none did these things make so great an impres- 
sion as on Kate: her woman's tact enabled her 
to see them differently and more correctly than 
the rest. She saw that a mighty change had 
come over him; that no mere check of disap- 
pointment, no baffled ambition could have done 
this; neither could she attribute it to any feeling 
towards herself, for he was never more coolly dis- 
tant than now. She guessed, then, rightly, that 
it was the first step towards freedom of a mind 
enthralled by its own strong passions. It was 
the struggling energy to be free of a bold and 
daring spirit, that learned at length to feel the 
lowering influences of ill-directed ambition. 
How ardently she wished that some career were 
open to him now — some great path in life; she 
did not fear its danger or its trials — his nature 
suggested anything save fear! How sad to think 
that energy like his should be suffered to wane, 
and flicker, and die out for want of the occasion 
to display its blaze. She could not avoid com- 
municating tliese thoughts to Sir Archy, who for 
some time past had watched the growing change 



in theyouth's manner. The old man listened atten- 
tively as she spoke, and his glistening eye and 
heightened color showed how her girlish enthu- 
siasm moved him; and while some reminiscence 
of the past seemed to float before him, his voice 
trembled, as he said, — 

"Alas! my sweet child, the world offers few 
opportunities like those you speak of, and our 
political condition rejects them totally. The 
country that would be safe must give little en- 
couragement to the darings of youthful energy. 
His rewards are higher here who seeks out some 
path well-trod and beaten, and tries by industry 
and superior skill to pass by those who follow it 
also. The talents men prize are those available 
for some purposes of every-day life. Gifts that 
make mankind wiser and happier, these bring 
fame and honor; while the meteor brilliancy of 
mere heroism can attract but passing wonder and 
astonishment." 

"You mistake Mark, my dear uncle — you un- 
dervalue the change that is worked in his char- 
acter. He is not deficient in ability, if he but 
suffer himself to rely upon it, rather than on 
the casual accidents of fortune. If Herbert 
were but here " 

" Herbert comes home to-night. I had thought 
to keep my secret for a surprise, but you have 
wrested it from me." 

" Herljert coming home! Oh, how happy you 
have made me! The brothers once more 
together, how much each may benefit the other! 
Nay, uncle, you must not smile thus. Superior 
as Herbert is in the advantages that training and 
study impart, Mark has gifts of determination 
and resolve as certain to win success. But here 
he comes — may I not tell him of Herbert's 
coming?" 

Sir Archy smiled and nodded, and the happy 
girl was the next moment at Mark's side, relat- 
ing with delight her pleasant news. 

Mark listened with pleasure to the intelli- 
gence. Any little jealousy he once felt foi 
acquirements and attainments above his own 
had long since given way to a better and more 
brotherly feeling; and he ardently desired to 
meet and converse with him again. 

" And yet, Kate, how altered may he be from 
what we knew him. Who is to say the changes 
time may not have wrought in him?" 

" Such are not always for the worse, Mark," 
said Kate, timidly, for she felt how the allusion 
might be taken. 

A slight tinge of red colored Mark's cheek, 
and his eye was lighted with a look of pleasure. 
He felt the flattery in all its force, but did not 
dare to trust himself with a reply. 

" I wonder," said he, after a lengthened pause 
— " I wonder how Herbert may feel on seeing 
once more our wild glen. Will these giant rocks 
and bold ravines appeal to his heart with the 
same sympathies as ever, or will the habits of the 
life he has left cling to him still, and make him 
think this grandeur only desolation?" 

" You did not feel so, surely, Mark?" said 
Kate, as she turned upon him a look of affec- 
tionate interest. 
" Me? — I think so? No"! This valley was to 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



329 



me a place of rest — a long-sought-for haven. I 
came not here from the gay and brilliant world, 
rich in fascinations and pleasures. I had not 
lived among the great and learned, to hear the 
humble estimate they have of our poor land. I 
came back here like the mariner whose bark 
puts back shattered by the storm and baffled 
bv the winds, unable to stem the tide that leads 
to fortune. Yes, shipwrecked in everything." 

"Herbert! Herbert!" cried Kate. 

" At the same moment a cliaise, advancing at 
full gallop, turned from the road into the avenue 
towards the house. The boy caught sight of 
the figures in the garden, flung open the door, 
and springing out, rushed towards them. 

"My dear, dear Kate!" was his first exclama- 
tion, as he kissed her affectionately; his next, in 
a tone of unqualified surprise, was, " What a 
fine fellow you have grown, Mark!" And 
the two brothers were locked in each other's 
arms. 

The sentiment whicli thus burst from him in 
the first moment of surprise was the very coun- 
terpart of Mark's own feeling on beholding Her- 
bert. Time had worked favorably for both. On 
the elder brother, the stamp of manhood more 
firmly impressed, had given an elevation to the 
expression of his features, and a character of 
composure to his air; while with Herbert, his 
career of study alternating with a life passed 
among cultivated and polished circles, had con- 
verted the unformed stripling into a youth of 
graceful and elegant demeanor. The change 
was even greater in him than in his brother. In 
the one case it was, as it were, but the growth 
and development of original traits of character; 
in the other new and very different features were 
distinguishable. His thoughts, his expressions, 
his very accent were changed; yet through this 
his old nature beamed forth, bright, joyous, and 
affectionate as ever. It was the same spirit, 
although its flights were bolder and more daring 
— the same mind, but its workings more power- 
ful and more free. The one had placed his 
ambition so high he scarcely dared to hope; the 
other had already tasted some of the enjoyments 
of success — life had even already shed around 
him some of its fasciaations and quickened the 
ardor of his temper. A winner in the race of 
intellect, he experienced that thrilling ecstasy 
which acknowledged superiority confers; he 
knew what it was to feel the mastery over oth- 
ers, and, even now, the flame of ambition was 
liglited in his heart, and its warm glow tingled 
in his veins and throbbed in every pulse. In 
vain should they who knew him once seek for 
the timid, bashful boy, that scarcely dared to 
make an effort from very dread of failure. His 
flashing eye and haughty brow told of victory; 
still around his handsome mouth tlie laughing 
smile of happy youth showed that no ungener- 
ous feeling, no unworthy pride, had yet mingled 
with his nature. 

"They tell me you have swept the university 
of its prizes, Herbert — is not this so?" said 
Mark, as he leaned his arm affectionately on his 
shoulder. 

" You would think but poorly of my triumphs, 



Mark," replied Herbert, with a smile. "The 
lists I fight in peril not life or limb." 

" Still, there is honor in the game," said Mark. 
"Wherever tliis is success on one side, and fail- 
ure on the other — wherever there is hope to win 
and dread to lose — there, the ambition is never 
unworthy." 

" But what of you, Mark? Tell me of your- 
self ? Have you left a buck in the glen, or is 
there a stray grouse on the mountain? What 
have you been doing since we met?" 

Mark colored and looked confused, when Kate, 
coming to the rescue, replied, — 

" How can you ask such a question, Herbert? 
What variety does life afford in this quiet valley? 
Is it not the very test of our happiness that we 
can take no note of time? But here comes my 
uncle." 

Herbert turned at the word, and rushed to 
meet the old man. 

" Have you won baith, Herbert," cried he — 
"baith premiums? Then I must gie you twa 
hands, my dear boy," said he, pressing him in a 
fond embrace. " Were the competitors able ones? 
Was the victory a hard one? Tell me all, every- 
thing about it." 

And the youth, with bent-down head and 
rapid utterance, related in a low voice the event 
of his examination. 

"Go on, go on," said Sir Archy M'Nab, aloud 
— " tell me what followed." 

And Herbert resumed in the same tone as be- 
fore. 

" Ha!" cried Sir Archy, in an accent of irre- 
pressible delight, " so they said your Latin 
smacked of Scotland. They scented Aberdeen 
in it. Well, boy, we beat them — they canna deny 
that. The prize is ours; the better that it was 
hardly fought for." 

And thus they continued for some time to talk, 
as they walked side by side through the garden, 
the old man's firm step and joyous look telling 
of the pride that filled his heart, while Herbert 
poured forth in happy confidence the long-treas- 
ured thoughts that crowded his brain; nor did 
they cease their converse till Kerry came to 
summon the youth to his father's room. 

" He's awake now," said Kerry, gazing with 
undisguised rapture on the tall and handsome 
youth; " and it's a proud man he ought to be this 
day, that has the pair like ye." 

The young men smiled at the flattery, and arm 
in arm took their way towards the house. 



CHAPTER XL. 

THE LULI BEFORE THE STORM. 

Once again assembled beneath that old roof, 
the various members of the family seemed more 
than ever disposed to make present happiness 
atone for any troubles of the past. Never was 
the old O'Donoghue so contented; never did Sir 
Archy feel a lighter heart. Herbert's spirits 
were buovant and high as present success and 
hope could make them; and Kate, whatever 



330 



THE O'DONOGMUE. 



doubts might secretly have weighed upon her 
mind, did her utmost to contibute to the general 
joy; while Mark, over whose temperament a 
calmer and less variable habit of thought pre- 
vailed, seemed at least more reconciled to his 
lortunes. 

The influences of tranquillity that prevailed 
over the land appeared to have breathed their 
soothin.^ sway over that humble dwelling, where 
life roiled on like an unrufiHed stream, each 
day happy with that monotony of enjoyment, so 
dehcious to all whose minds have ever been tor- 
tured by the conflicting cares of the world. 

For many a year long the O'Donoghue had 
not been so free from troubles. The loan he 
had contracted on Kate's fortune had relieved 
him from his most pressing embarrassments, and 
left him money enough to keep other creditors 
at bay. Sir Archy felt already he had received 
the earnest of that success he so ardently desired 
for Herbert, and in the calm of political life 
hoped that the rash scheme in which Mark had 
embarked was even now becoming forgotten, and 
that the time was not far remote when no memory 
of it would be treasured against him. His own 
experience taught him that sage lessons may be 
gathered from the failures and checks of youth- 
ful ambition and in the changed features of 
Mark's character he augured most favorably for 
the future. But of all those on whom happier 
prospects shone, none revelled in the enjoyment 
so much as Herbert. The fascinations of that 
new world, of which he had only caught a glimpse, 
hung over him like a dream. Life opened for 
him at a moment when he himself had won dis- 
tinction, while a new passion stirred his heart, 
and stimulated hope to the utmost. Kate, his 
companion throughout every day, was not slow 
to perceive the lurking secret of his thoughts, 
and soon led him to confide them to her. Her- 
bert had never heard of Frederick Travers's at- 
tachment to his cousin, still less suspected he had 
made a proposal of marriage to her. The studied 
avoidance of their names among his own family 
was a mystery he could not solve, and he referred 
to Kate for the explanation. 

" How strange, Kate," said he, one day, as 
they wandered along the glen somewhat farther 
than usual — " how singular is this silence respect- 
ing the Traverses! I can make nothing of it. 
If I speak of them, no one speaks again; if I 
allude to them, the conversation suddenly stops. 
Tell me, if you know it, the secret of all this." 

Kate blushed deeply, and muttered something 
about old and half remembered grudges, but he 
interrupted her quickly, saying, — 

"This can scarcely be the reason; at least 
their feelings show nothing of the kind towards 
us. Sybella talks of you as a sister nearest to 
her heart. Sir Marmaduke never spoke of you 
but with the warmest terms of affection, and if 
the gay guardsman did not express himself on 
the subject, perhaps it was because he felt the 
more deeply." 

Kate's cheek f;rew deeper scarlet, and her 
breathing more hurried, but she made no reply. 

"J/y explanation," continued Pierbert, more 
occupied with his own thoughts than attentive to 



his companion, "is this — and, to be sure, is it a 
very sorry explanation which elucidates nothing 
— that Hemsworth is somehow at the bottom of 
it all. Sybella told me what persuasions he cm- 
ployed to prevent her father reluming to Glen- 
flesk; and when everything like argument failed, 
that he actually, under pretence of enlarging the 
house, rendered the existing part uninhabitable." 

"But what object could he have in this?" said 
Kate, who felt that Herbert was merely nourish- 
ing the old prejudices of his family against Hems- 
worth. " He is anxious for the peace and wel- 
fare of this country — he grieves for the poverty 
and privations of the people — and, whether he 
be correct or not, deems the remedy the resid- 
ence among them of a cultivated and wealthy 
l^roprietary, with intelligence to perceive and 
ability to redress their grievances." 

"Very true, Kate," replied Herbert; "but 
don't you see that in these very requisites of a 
resident gentry he does not point at the Travers 
family, whose ignorance of Ireland he often ex- 
posed when affecting to eulogize their knowl- 
edge. The qualities he recommends he believes 
to be his own." 

'' No, Herbert, you wrong him there," said 
she, warmly; "he told me himself the unceasing 
regret he suffered, that, in his humble sphere, all 
efforts for the people's good were ineffectual; 
that, wanting the influence which property con- 
fers, benefits from his hands became susjiected, 
and measures of mere justice were regarded as 
acts of cruelty and oppression." 

" Well, I only know that such is Frederick 
Travers's opinion of him," said Herbert, not a 
little piqued at Kate's unexpected defence of 
their ancient enemy. "Frederick told me him- 
self that he would never cease until his father 
]Dromised to withdraw the agency from him. In- 
deed, he is only prevented from ])ressing the 
point because Hemsworth has got a long lease 
of part of the estate, which they desire to have 
back again on any terms. The land was let at 
a nominal rent, as being almost valueless. The 
best part of the valley it turns out to be! — the 
very approach to the lodge passes through it! — 
so that, as Frederick sayt they could not reach 
their hall door without a trespass, if Hemsworth 
pleased to turn sulky." 

Kate felt there might be another and more 
correct explanation of Frederick's dislike, but 
she did not dare to hint at it. 

" You are too favorable in your opinion of 
Hemsworth, Kate. Sybella said as much to me 
herself." 

" Sybella said so?" said Kate, as a flush, half 
of shame, half of displeasure, mantled her cheek. 

"Yes," cried Herbert, for he felt that he was 
in a difficulty, and that there was no way out 
save the bold one of right through it — "yes, she 
saw what you did not, that Hemsworth had dared 
to lift his eyes to you — that all his displays of 
patriotic sentiment were got up to attract your 
favorable notice, and that in his arguments with 
Frederick about Ireland, his whole aim was to 
expose the guardsman's ignorance, and throw 
ridicule upon it, neither seeking to convey sound 
notions, nor combat erroneous impressions." 



THE O'DONOGHU E. 



331 



"Captain Travers was but too easy a mark 
for sucli weapons,' said Kate, angrily "It 
was his pleasure to make Ireland the object of 
his sarcasm." 

"So Hemsworth contrived it," cried Herbert, 
eagerly, for it vvas a subject of which he had 
long been anxious to speak, and one he had 
heard much of from Sybella. " I know well 
the game he played, and how successfully, too." 

Kate blushed deeply. For a moment she 
believed that her own secret was known to Her- 
bert, but the next instant she was reassured that 
all was safe. 

■'Sybella told me how he actually lay in wait 
for opportunities to entice Frederick into dis- 
cussion before you, well knowing tiie theme that 
would irritate him, and calculating how far petty 
refutations and half suppressed sneers would 
embarrass and annoy him— the more because 
Frederick saw how much more favorably you 
regarded Hemsworth's sentim^'nts than his own; 
and, indeed, sometimes I fancied, Kate, it was 
a point the guardsman was very tender about; — 
nay, sweet cousin, 1 would not say a word to 
offend you.' 

"Then do not speak of this again, Herbert," 
said she, in a low voice. 

" It is a luckless land," said Herbert, sighing. 
'■ They who know it well are satisfied with the 
cheap patriotism of declaiming on its wrongs. 
They who feel most acutely for its sorrows are, 
for the most part, too ignorant to alleviate them. 
I begin to think my uncle is quite right — that 
jthe best thing we could do would be to make a 
'truce — -to draw the game — for some twenty or 
thirty years, and try if the new generation 
might not prove wiser in expedients than their 
fathers. ■ 

"A luckless land, indeed!' said Mark, who, 
coming up at the moment, had overheard the 
last words. "You were righ to call it so — 
where the son of an O'Donoghue sees no more 
glorious path to follow than that of a hollow 
compromise'" 

Kate and Herbert started as he spoke, and 
while her face flashed with an emotion of min- 
gled pride and shame, Herbert looked abashed, 
and almost angry at the reproach. 

" Forgive me, Herbert," said Mark, in a voice 
of deep melancholy. "Not even this theme 
should sow a difference between us. I came to 
bid you good-bye." 

" Good-bye, Mark!'' cried Kate, starting with 
terrified surprise. 

" Going to leave us, Mark!" exclaimed Her- 
bert, in an accent of true sorrow. 

" It is but for a few days — at least I hope that 
it will be no more," said Mark. " But I have 
received intelligence that makes it necessary for 
me to remain in concealment for a short time. 
You see, Herbert," said he, laughing, "that your 
theory has the advantage on the ^core of prudence. 
Had I followed it, the chances are I should not 
have occupied the attention of his majesty's 
piivy council." 

'The privy council! I don't understand this, 
Mark." 

" Perhaps, this is the easiest mode of explaining 



it," said Mark, as he unfolded a printed paper, 
headed ' Treason — Reward for the a[)prehension 
of Mark O'Donoghue, Esq., or such information 
as may lead to his capture." ' Is that enough? 
Come, come — I have no time for long stories 
just now. If you want to hear mine about the 
matter, you must visit me at my retreat — the low 
shealing at the west of Hungry Mountain. At 
least, for the present I shall remain there." 

■'But is this necessary, Mark? Are you certain 
that anything more is meant than to threaten?" 
said Kate. 

■' I believe that Carrignacurra will be searched 
by a military force to-night, or to-morrow at 
farthest — that the bribe has tempted three or four 
— none of our people- — don't mistake me — to set 
on my track. If my remaining would spare my 
father's house the indignity of a search — or if 
the country had any better cause at heart than 
that of one so valueless as I am, I would stay, 

Kate " 

" No, no, Mark. This were but madness, un- 
worthy of you, unjust to all who love you.' 

The last few words were utteied so faintly, as 
only to be heard by him alone, and, as she spoke 
them, a heavy tear rolled down her cheek, now 
pale as marLle. 

" But surely Mark," said Herbert, who never 
suspected anything of his brother's intrigues, 
" this must proceed on mere falsehood. There 
is no charge against you — you whose life of 
quiet retirement here can defy any calumny." 

" But not deny the truth. " said Mark, with a 
sorrowful smile. " Once for all, I cannot speak 
of these things now. My time is running fast; 
and already my guide yonder looks impatient at 
my delay. Remember the shealing at 'he foot 
of the mountain. If there be any mist about, you 
have but to whistle. " 

"Is poor Terry your guide then?" said Ka'e, 
affecting to smile, with some semblance of tran- 
quillity. 

" My guide and my host both," said Mark, 
gayly. "It's the only invitation I have received 
for Christmas, and I accept it most willingly, I 
assure you." 

An impatient gesture of Terry's hand, as he 
stood on a small pinnacle cf rock, about fifty feet 
above the road, attracted Mark's attention, and 
he called out,— 

"Well!— what is it?" 

" The dragoons!" shouted Terry, in a terrified 
voice. " They re crossing the ford at Caher- 
mohill, two miles off — eight, nine, ten — ay, there's 
twelve now, over, and the fellow in the dark 
coat, he's another. Wait! they're asking the way; 
that's it, I'm sure Well done! — my bless- 
ing be an ye this day, whoever ye are. May 
I never! if he's no. sending them wrong! They're 
down the glen towards Killarney:" and as he 
finished speaking he sprang from the height, and 
hastened down the precipice ai a rate that seemed 
to threaten destruction at every step. 

"Even so, Terry, we have no more time than 
we need. It's a long journey to the west of the 
mountain; and so, good-bye, my dear cousin — 
good-bye, Herbert — a short absence it will be, I 
trust;" and tearing hinaself away hurriedly, lest 



332 



THE O'DONOGIIUE, 



any evidence of emotion might be seen, the young 
man ascended the steep pathway after Terry; nor 
did he turn his head round until distance en- 
abled him to look down unnoticed, when again 
he cried out, "Farewell! Remember the west 
side of Hungry!" and waving his cap, disappeared, 
while Herbert and his cousm wended their sor- 
rowful way homeward. 



CHAPTER XLI. 



A DISCOVERY. 



When Kate arrived 5t home, she found a note 
awaiting her, in Hemsrforth's handwriting, and 
marked "Haste." Guessing at once to what it 
must refer, she broke the seal with an an.xious 
heart, and read: — 

" My de.\r Madam, — I have been unable to 
retard any longer the course of proceedings against 
your cousin. It would seem that the charges 
against him are far more grave and menacing 
than either of usranticipated, at least,so far as I 
can collect from the information before me. 
The privy council was determined on arresting 
him at once. Orders to support tlie warrant by 
a military force have been transmitted to officers 
rommandmg parties in different towns of the 
south, and there is no longer a question of the 
intentions of the crown regarding him. But one 
of two chances is now open to him; to surrender 
oJid take his trial, or, should he, as he may, with- 
out any imputation on his courage, dread this, 
to make his escape to the coast, near Kenmare, 
where a lugger will lie off on Wednesday night. 
By this means he will be able to reach some port 
in France or Flanders; or, probably, should the 
wind change, obtain protection from some of the 
American vessels, which are reported as cruising 
to the westward. 

" In making this communication to you I need 
scarcely observe the implicit faith I repose in 
the use you make of it. It is intended to be the 
means of providing for your cousin's safety— but 
should it, by any accident, fall under other eyes 
than yours, it would prove the inevitable ruin of 
your very devoted servant, 

" Wm. Hemsworth." 

" And they will not believe this man's in- 
tegrity!" exclaimed Kate, as she finished reading 
the note. "He who jeopardies his own station 
and character for the sake of one actually his 
enemy! Well, their injustice shall not involve 
my honor — Was it you brought this letter ?" 
said she to Wylie, who stood, hat in hand, at the 
door. 

" Yes, my lady, and I was told there might, 
perhaps, be an answer." 

"No — there is none; say, ' Very well — that I 
have read it.' Where is Mr. Hemsworth?" 

" At Macroom. There was a meeting of 
magistrates there, which delayed him, and he 
wrote this note, and sent me on, instead of com- 
ing himself." 



" Say that I shall be happy to see him — that's 
enough," said Kate, hurriedly, and turned back 
again into the house. 

'I'hrough all the difficulties that beset her path 
hitiierto, she had found Sir Archy an able and a 
willing adviser; but now the time was come when 
not only must she act independently of his aid, 
but, perhaps, in actual opposition to his views — 
taking for her guidance one distrusted by almost 
every member of her family. Yet what alterna- 
tive remained? — how betray Hemsworth's conduct 
in a case which, if known, must exhibit him as 
false to the government, and acting secretly 
against the very orders that were given to him? 
This she could not think of; and thus, by the 
force of circumstances, was constrained to accept 
of Hemsworth as an ally. Her an.xious delib- 
erations on this score were suddenly interrupted 
by the sound of horses galloping on the road, and 
as she looked out the individual in question 
rode up the causeway, followed by his groom. 

The O'Donoghue was alone in the drawing- 
room, musing over the sad events which necessi- 
tated Mark's concealment, when Hemsworth en- 
tered, heated by a long and fast ride. 

" Is your son at heme, sir — your eldest son ?" 
said he, as soon as a brief greeting was over. 

"If you'll kindly ring that bell, which my gout 
won't permit me to reach, we'll inquire," said the 
old man, with a well-affected indiflerence. 

" I must not create any suspicion among the 
servants," said Hemsworth, cautiously; "1 have 
reason to believe that some danger is impending 
over him, and that he had better leave this house 
for a day or two." 

The apparent frankness of the tone in which 
he spoke, threw the O'Donoghue completely off 
his guard, and taking Hemsworth's hand he 
said, — 

" Thank you sincerely for this, the poor boy 
got wind of it this morning, and I trust before 
now has reached some place of safety for the 
present. But what steps can we take? Is there 
anything you can advise us to do? I'm really so 
bewildered by all I hear, and so doubtful of what 
is true and what false, that I'm incapable of an 
opinion. Here comes the only clear head 
amongst us. Kate, my sweet child, Mr. Hems- 
worth, like a kind friend, has come over about 
this affair of Mark's — will you and Sir Archy 
talk it over with him?" 

" I beg your pardon for the interruption, sir, 
but I must recall to your memory that I am a 
magistrate, charged with your son's arrest, and 
if by an unguarded expression," here he smiled 
significantly, " I have betrayed my instructions, 
I rely on your honor not to expose me to the 
consequences." 

The O'Donoghue listened without thoroughly 
comprehending the distinction the other aimed 
at, and then, as if disliking the trouble of a 
thought that puzzled him, he shook his head and 
muttered, "Ay, very well — be it so — my niece 
knows these matters better than I do." 

" I agree with that opinion perfectly," said 
Hemsworth, in an undertone, "and if Miss 
O'Donoghue will favor me with her company for 
a few minutes in the garden, I may be able to 



THE O ' D O N O G M U E . 



333 



assist her to a clear understanding of the case." 
Kate smiled assentingly, and Henisworth moved 
towards the door and opened it; and then, as if 
after a momentary struggle with his own diffi- 
dence, he offered lier his arm; this Kale declined 
and they walked along side by side. 

They had nearly reached the middle of the 
garden before Hemsworth broke silence. At last 
he said, with a deep sigh, "I fear we are too 
late. Miss O'Donoghue. The zeal, real or af- 
fected, of the country magistrates, has stinuilated 
them to the utmost. There are si>ies over the 
whole country — he will inevitably be taken." 

Kate re-echoed the last words in an accent of 
deep anguish, and was silent. 

" Yes,' resumed he, " escape is all but impos- 
sible — for even if he should get to sea, there are 
two cruisers on the look-out for any suspicious 
sail." 

"And what if he were to surrender and stand 
his trial ?" said Kate, boldly. 

Hemsworth shook his head sorrowfully, but 
never spoke. 

''What cbjict can it be with any government 
to hunt down a rash, inexperienced youth, whose 
unguarded boldness has led him to ruin? On 
whom would such an example tell, or where 
would the lesson spread terror, save beneath that 
old roof yonder, where sorrows are rife enough 
already?" 

"The correspondence with France, that's his 
danger. The intercourse with the disturbed 
party at home might be palliated by his youth — 
the foreign conspiracy admits of little apology." 

"And what evidence have they of this?" 

"Alas! but too much- — the table of the privy 
council was actually covered with copies of let- 
ters and documents — some written by himself — 
almost all referring to him as a confidential and 
trusty agent of the cause. This cannot be for- 
given him! When I heard a member of the 
council say, 'Jackson's blood is dried up al- 
ready, I guessed the dreadful result of this young 
man's capture." 

Kate shuddered at these words, which were 
uttered in a faint tone, tremulous through emo- 
tion. "O God!" she cried, "do not let this 
calamity fall upon us. Poverty, destitution, 
banishment, anything save the death of a felon!" 

Hemsworth pressed his handkerchief to his 
eyes, and looked away, as the young girl, with 
upturned face, muttered a brief but fervent 
prayer to Heaven. 

" But you, so gifted and experienced in the 
world's ways," cried she, turning on him a glance 
of imploring meaning, "can you not think of 
anything? Is there no means, however difficult 
and dangerous, by which he might be saved ? 
Could not the honor of an ancient house plead 
for him? Is there no pledge for the future could 
avail him?" 

" There is but one such pledge — and that " — 
here he stopped and blushed deeply, and then, 
as if by an effort, resumed — "do not, I beseech 
you, tempt me to utter what, if once spoken, de- 
cides the destiny of my life!" 

He ceased, and she bent on him a look of 
wondering astonishment. She thought that she 



had not heard him aright, and amid her fears of 
some vague kind, a faint hope struggled that a 
chance of saving Mark yet remained. Perhaps, 
the mere expression of doubt her features as- 
sumed, was more chilling than even a look of 
displeasure, for Hemsworth's self-possession, for 
several minutes, seemed to have deserted him; 
when, at last, recovering himself, he said, — 

" Pray, think no more of my words. I spoke 
them rashly. I know of no means of befriend- 
ing this young man. He rejected my counsels 
when they might have served him. 1 find how 
impossible it is to win confidence from those 
whose prejudices have been fostered in adverse 
circumstances. No, I am too late — my humble 
task is merely to offer you some advice, which 
the day of calamity may "recall to your memory. 
The government intends to make a severe ex- 
ample of his case. I heard so much, by accident, 
from the under secretary. They will proceed, 
in the event of his conviction — of which there 
cannot be a doubt — to measures of confiscation 
regarding his property; timely intervention might 
be of service here." 

This additional threat of misfortune did not 
seem to present so many terrors to Kate's mind 
as he calculated on its producing. She stood 
silent and motionless, and appeared scarcely to 
notice his words. 

" I feel how barbarous such cruelty is to an 
old and inoffensive parent," said Hemsworth, 
" whose heart is rent by the recent loss of a son."' 

"He must not die," said Kate, with a hollow 
voice; and her pale cheek trembled with a con- 
vulsive motion. " JVIark must be saved. What 
was the pledge you hinted at?" 

Hemsworth's eyes flashed, and his lip curled 
with an expression of triumph. The moment, 
long sought, long hoped for, had at length ar- 
rived, which should gratify both his vengeance 
and his ambition. The emotion passed rapidly 
away, and his features assumed a look of sub- 
dued sorrow. 

"I fear. Miss O'Donoghue," said he, "that my 
hope was but like the straw which the drowning 
hand will grasp at; but, tortured as my mind 
has been by expedients, which more mature 
thought has ever discovered to be impracticable, 
I suffered myself to believe that possible which 
my own heart forbids me to hope for." 

He waited a few seconds to give her an op- 
portunity of speaking, but she was silent, and he 
went on: — 

" The guarantee I alluded to would be the 
pledge of one whose loyalty to the government 
stands above suspicion; one, whose services have 
met no requital, but whose reward only awaits 
the moment of demanding it; such a one as this 
might make his own character and fortune the 
recognizance of this young man's conduct, and 
truck the payment of his own services for a free 
pardon." 

" And who is there thus highly placed and 
willing to befriend us?" 

Hemsworth laid his hand upon his heart, and 
bowing with deep humility, uttered, in a low, 
faint voire, — 

"He who now stands before you!" 



334 



THE O'DONOGH UE. 



"You!" cried Kate, as clasping her hands in 
an ecstasy, she fixed her tearful eyes upon him — 
"you would do that?" Then growing suddenly 
pale, as a sick shudder came over her. she said, 
in a deep and broken voice, " At what price, sir?" 

The steady gaze she fixed upon him seemed 
to awe and abash nini, and it was with unfeigned 
agitation that he now spoke. 

" A price which the devotion of a lifelong could 
not repay. Alas! a price I dare no more aspire 
to than hope for." 

"Speak plainly, sir," said Kate, in a firm, col- 
lected tone, " this is not a moment for miscon- 
ception. What part have I to play in this com- 
pact, for by your manner I suppose you include 
me in it?" 

" Forgive me, young lady, I have not courage 
to place the whole fortunes of my life upon one 
cast; already I feel the lieaviness of heart that 
heralds in misfortune. I would rather live on 
with even this faint glimmer of hope than with 
the darkness of despair forever." His hands 
dropped powerless at his side, his head fell for- 
ward on his bosom, and as if without an effort 
of his will, almost unconsciously his lips mut- 
tered the words, "I love you." 

Had the accents been the sting of an adder, 
they could not have called up an expression of 
more painful meaning than flashed over Kate's 
features. 

"And this, then, is the price you hinted at — 
this was to be the compact." 

The proud look of scorn she threw upon him 
evoked no angry feeling in his breast; he seemed 
overwhelmed by sorrow, and did not dare even 
to look up. 

"You judge me hardly, unfairly too; I never 
wieant my intercession should be purchased. 
Humble as I am, I should be still more unworthy, 
had I harbored such a thought. My hope was 
this: to make my intervention available, I should 
show myself linked with the fortunes of that 
house I tried to save — it should be a case where, 
personally, my own interest was at stake, and 
where my fortune — all I possessed in the world — 
was in the scale, if you consented." Here he 
hesitated, faltered, and finally became silent; 
then, passing his hands across his eyes, resumed 
more rapidly. "But I must not speak of this; 
alas, that my tongue should have ever betrayed 
it! You have forced my secret from me, and 
with it my happiness forever. Forget this, I be- 
seech you — forget that, even in a moment so un- 
guarded, I dared to lift my eyes to the shrine my 
heart has worshipped. I ask no pledge, no com- 
pact; I will do my utmost to save this youth; I 
will spare no exertion or influence I possess with 
the government; I will make his pardon the 
recompense due to myself, but, if that be impos- 
sible, I will endeavor to obtain connivance at 
his escape, and all the price I ask for this is your 
forgiveness of my presumption." 

Kate held out her hand towards him, while a 
smile of bewitching loveliness played over her 
features. 

" This is to be a friend indeed," said she. 
Hemsworth bent down his head till his lips 
rested on her fingers, and, as he did so, the hot 



tears trickled on her hand; then, suddenly start- 
ing up, he said, — 

" I must lose no time. Where shall I find 
your cousin.' — in what part of the country has he 
sought shelter?" 

" The shealing at the foot of Hungry Moun- 
tain, he mentioned to Herbert as the rendezvous 
for the present." 

" Is he alone — has he no companion?" 
" None; save, perhaps, the idiot boy who acts 
as his guide in the mountains." 

"Farewell, then," said Hemsworth; "you 
shall soon hear what success attends my effort — 
farewell;" and, without waiting for more, he 
hastened from the spot, and was soon heard des- 
cending the causeway at a rapid pace. 

Kate stood for a few moments lost in thought, 
and as the sound of the retreating hoofs aroused 
her, she looked up, and muttering to herself, 
"It was nobly done!" returned with slow steps to 
the house. 

As Hemsworth spurred his horse, and urged 
him to his fastest speed, expressions of mingled 
triumph and vengeance burst from him at inter- 
vals. " Mine at last!" cried he — "mine, in spite 
of every obstacle! Fortune is seldom so kind as 
this — vengeance and ambition both gratified to- 
gether- — me, whom they despised for my poverty 
and my low birth — that it should be my destiny 
to crush them to the dust." These words were 
scarcely uttered, when his horse, pressed beyond 
his strength, stumbled over a rut in the road, and 
fell heavily to the ground, throwing his rider 
under him. 

For a long time no semblance of conscious- 
ness returned, and the groom, fearing to leave 
him, had to wait for hours until a country car 
should pass, in which his wounded master might 
be laid. There came one by at last, and on this 
Hemsw^orth was laid, and brought back to the 
lodge. Before he reached home, however, sense 
had so far returned as that he felt his accident 
w-as attended with no serious injury; the shock 
of the fall was the only circumstance of any 
gravity. 

The medical man of Macroom was soon with 
him, and partly confirmed his own first impres- 
sions, but strictly enjoining rest and quiet, as, in 
the event of any unusual excitement, the worst 
consequences might ensue. Hemsworth bore up 
under the injunction with all the seeming forti- 
tude he could muster, but in his heart he cursed 
the misfortune that thus delayed the hour of his 
long-sought vengeance. 

" This may continue a week, then?" cried he, 
impatiently. 

The doctor nodded an assent. 

" Two — three weeks, perhaps?" 

" It will be a month at least, before lean pro- 
nounce you out of danger," said the physician, 
gravely. 

"A month! Great Heaven! — a month! And 
what are the dangers you apprehend, in the 
event of my not submitting?" 

"There are several, and very serious ones — in- 
flammation of the brain, fever, derangement even. 

"Yes, and are you sure this confinement will 
not drive me mad?" cried he, passionately. "Will 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



335 



you engage that my brain will hold out against 
the agonizing thoughts that will not cease to tor- 
ture me all this while? — or can you promise that 
events will stand still for the moment when I can 
resume my place once more among men?" 

The hurried and excited tone in which he spoke 
was only a more certain evidence of the truth of 
tlie medical fears; and, without venturing on any 
direct reply, the doctor gave some directions for 
his treatment, and withdrew. 

The physician's apprehensions were well found- 
ed. The first few hours after the accident seemed 
to threaten nothing serious, but, as night fell, 
violent headache and fever set in, and before 
daybreak he was quite delirious. 

Sfo sooner did the news reach Carrignacurra, 
than Kerry was despatched to bring back tidings 
of his state; for, however different the estima- 
tion in which he was held by each, one universal 
feeling pervaded all — of sorrow for his disaster. 
Day after day Sir Archy or Herbert went over to 
inquire after him; but some chronic feature of 
his malady seemed to have succeeded, and he lay 
in one unvarying condition of lethargic uncon- 
sciousness. 

In this way week after week glided over, and 
the condition of the country seemed like that of 
the sick man — one of slumbering apathy. The 
pursuit of Mark, so eagerly begun, had, as it were, 
died out. The proclamations of reward, torn 
down by the country people on their first ap- 
pearance, were never renewed, and the military 
party, after an ineffectual search through Kil- 
larney, directed their steps northwards towards 
Tralee, and soon after returned to head-quarters. 
Still, with all these signs of security, Mark, whose 
short experience of life taught him caution, rarely 
ventured near Carrignacurra, and never passed 
more than a few moments beneath his father's 
roof. 

While each had a foreboding that this calm was 
but the lull that preludes a storm, their appre- 
hensions took very different and opposing courses. 
Kate's anxieties increased with each day of Hems- 
worth's illness. She saw the time gliding past in 
which escape seemed practicable, and yet knew 
not how to profit by the opportunity. Sir Archy, 
coupling the activity with which Mark's pursuit 
was first undertaken with the sudden visit of 
Hemsworth to the country, and the abandonment 
of all endeavors to capture him which followed 
on Hemsworth's accident, felt strong sii'^picion 
that the agent was the prime mover in ihe whole 
affair, and that his former doubts were well 
founded regarding him; while Herbert, less in- 
formed than either on the true state of matters, 
formed opinions which changed and vacillated 
with each days' experience. 

In this condition of events, Sir Archy had gone 
over one morning alone, to inquire after Hems- 
worth, whose case, for some days preceding, was 
more than usually threatening, symptoms of vio- 
lent delirium having succeeded to the dead leth- 
argy in which he was sunk. Buried deeply in 
his conjectures as to the real nature of the part 
he was acting, and how far his motives tallied 
with honorable intentions, the old man plodded 
wearily on, weighing every word he could re- 



member that bore upon events, and carefully en- 
deavoring to divest his mind of everything like a 
prejudice. Musing thus, he accidentally diverged 
from the regular a])proach, and turned off into a 
narrow path which led to the back of the lodge; 
nor was he aware of his mistake till he saw, at 
the end of the walk, the large window of a room 
he remembered as belonging to the former build- 
ing. The sash was open, but the curtains were 
drawn closely, so as to intercept any view from 
within or without. He observed these things as, 
fatigued by an unaccustomed exertion, he seated 
himself for some moments" rest on a bencli be- 
neath the trees. 

A continuous low moaning sound soon cauglit 
his ear. He listened, and could distinctly hear 
the heavy breathing of a sick man, accompanied 
as it was by long-drawn sighs. There were voices, 
also, of persons speaking cautiously together, and 
the words, " He is asleep at last," were ])lainly 
audible, after which the door closed, and all was 
still. 

The solemn awe which great illness inspires 
was felt in all its force by the old man, as he sat 
lil e one spell-bound, and unable to depart. The 
laboring respiration that seemed to bode the ebb 
of life made his own strong heart tremble, for he 
thought how, in his last hours, he might have 
wronged him. "Oh! if I have been unjust — if I 
have followed him to the last with ungenerous 
doubt — forgive me, Heaven; even now, my own 
heart is half my accuser;" and his lips murmurtd 
a deep and fervent prayer for that merciful 
benevolence which, in his frail nature, he denied 
to another. He arose from his knees with a spi) it 
calmed, and a courage stronger, and was about to 
retire, when a sudden cry from the sick-room 
arrested his steps. It was followed by another 
more shrill and piercing still, and then a horrid 
burst of frantic laughter. Dreadful as are the 
anguish-wrung notes of suffering, how little do 
they seem in comparison with the sounds of mirth 
from the lips of madness! 

"There — there," cried a voice he at once knew 
as Hemsworth's — "that's him, that's your pris- 
oner — make sure of him now; remember your 
orders, men! — do you hear? If they attempt a 
re«cue, load with ball, and fire low — mind that, 
fire low. Ah! you are pale enough now;" and 
again the savage laughter rang out. "Yes, 
madam," continued he, in a tone of insolent 
sarcasm, "every respect shall be shown him — a 
chair in the dock— a carpet on the gallows. You 
shall wear mourning for him — all the honey- 
moon, if you fancy it. Yes," screamed he, in a 
wild and frantic voice, "this is like revenge! 
You struck me once — you called me coarse 
plebeian, too! We shall be able to see the blood 
you are proud of — ay, the blood! the blood!" 
And then, as if worn out by exhaustion, he 
heaved a heavy sigh, and fell into deep moaning 
as before. 

Sir Archy, who felt in the scene a direct ac- 
knowledgment of his appeal to Heaven, drew 
closer to the window, and listened. Gradually, 
and like one awaking from a heavy slumber, the 
sick man stretched his limbs, and drew a long 
sigh, whose groaning accent spoke of great de- 



336 



THE O ' D O N O G n U E . 



bility, and tlien, starting up in bed, sboiited,^ — 
''It is, it is the king's warrant — wlio dares to 
oppose it? Ride in faster, men — faster; keep 
together here, the west side of the mountain. 
'J'here, there, yonder, near the beach. Who was 
that spoke of pardon? Never, if he resists, cut 
him down. Ride for it, men, ride!" and in his 
mad excitement he arose from his bed and 
gained the floor. "There — that's him yonder; 
he has taken to the mountains; five hundred 
guineas to the hand that grasps him first!" And 
he tottered to the window, and tearing aside tlie 
curtain, looked out. 

Worn and wasted, with beard unsliaven for 
weeks long, and eyes glistening with the lustre 
of insanity, the expression of his features ac- 
tually chilled the heart's blood of the old man, 
as he stood almost at his side, and unable to 
move away. For a second or two Hemsworth 
gazed on the other, as if some struggling effort 
of recognition was laboring in his brain; and 
then, with a mad struggle, lie exclaimed, — 

" They were too late; the council gave but 
eight days. I suppressed the jiroclamation in 
the south. Eight days — after that, no pardon 
— in this world at least" — and a fearful grin of 
malice convulsed liis features; then, with an al- 
tered accent, and a faint smile, from which sick- 
ness tore its oft-assumed dissimulation, he said, 
"I did everything to persuade him to surrender 
—to accept the gracious favor of the crown; but 
he would not — no, he would not'" — and, with 
another burst of laughter, he staggered back into 
tlie room, and fell helpless on the floor. Sir 
Arciiy was in no compassionate mood at the 
moment, and without bestowing a thought on the 
sufferer, he hastened down the path, and with 
all the speed of which he was capable, returned 
io Carrignacurra 



:hapter xlii. 



THE SHEALING. 



Sir Archv's manner, so precise and measured 
in every occasion of life, had undergone a very 
marked change before he had arrived at Carrig- 
nacurra; exclamations broke from him at every 
moment, mingled with fervently expressed hopes 
that he might not be yet too late to resiuie Mark 
from his peril. The agitation of his mind and 
the fatigue of his exertions completely overcame 
him; and when he reached the house, he threw 
himself down upon a seat, utterly exhausted. 

" Are you unwell, my dear uncle?" broke from 
Kate and Herbert together, as they stood at 
either side of his chair. 

" Tired, wearied, heated, my dear children; 
nothing more. Send me Kerry here, I want to 
speak to him." 

Kerry soon entered, and Sir Archy, beckoning 
liim to his side, whispered a few words rapidly 
into his ear. Kerry made no reply, but hastened 
from the room, and was soon after seen hurrying 
down the causeway. 



" I see, my dear uncle," whispered Kate, with 
a tremulous accent — "I see you have bad tid 
ings for us this morning — he is worse." 

" Waur he cannabe," muttered Sir Archy, with 
a significance that gave the words a very equi- 
vocal meaning. 

"But there is still hope. They told us yes- 
terday that to-morrow would be the crisis of the ' 
malady — the twentieth day since his relapse." 

" Yes, yes'" said the old man, who, not notic- 
ing her remark, pursued aloud the track of his 
own reflections. " Entrapped— ensnared — I see 
it all now. And only eight days given! — and 
even of these to be kept in ignorance. Poor fel- 
low! how you have been duped." 

" But this delirium may pass away, uncle," said 
Kate, who, puzzled at his vague expressioiTS, 
sought to bring him again to the theme of Hems- 
worth's illness. 

"Then comes tlie penalty, lassie," cried he, 
energetically. "Tlie government canna forgiea 
rebel, as parents do naugliiy children, by the 
promise of doing better next time. When a dar- 
ing scheme — - — But mail a bit, here's Kerry. 
Come lo the window, man — come over here;" 
and he called him towards him. 

Whatever were the tidings Kerry brought, Sir 
Arciiy seemed overjoyed by thtni; and taking 
Herbert's arm, he hurried from the room, leaving 
the O'Donoghue and Kate in a state of uiter be- 
wilderment. 

" I'm afraid, my sweet niece, that Hemsworth's 
disease is a catching one. Archy has a devilish 
wild, queer look about him to-day," said the 
O'Donoghue, laughing. 

" 1 hope he has heard no bad news, sir He 
is seldom so agitated as this. Butwliat can this 
mc;in? Here comes a chaise up the road. See, 
it has stop]ied at the gate, and there is Kerry 
hastening down vith a portmanteau." 

Sir Archy entered as she spoke, dressed for 
the road, and ajiproaching his brother-in-law's 
chair, whispered a few voids in his ear. 

"Great Heaven protect us!" exclaimed the 
O'Donoghue, falling back, half unconscious, into 
his seat. While, turning to Kate, Sir Archy took 
her hand in both of his, and said, — 

"My ain dear bairn, I have no secrets f re m 
you, but time is too short to say much now. 
Enough, if I tell you Maik is in danger — the 
greatest and most in niinmt. I must hasten up 
lo Dublin and see the secretary, and, if possible, 
the lord-lieutenant. It ni.ny be necessary, per- 
haps, for me to proceed to London. Herbert is 
nlready off lo the mountains, to warn Mark of 
his iieril. If he can escape till I return, all may 
go well yet. Above all things, however, let no 
rumor of my journey escape. I'm only poirglo 
Macroom, or Cork, mind that, and to be back 
to-morrow evening, or next day." 

A gesture from Kerry, who stood on the rock 
above the road, warned him that all was ready, 
and, with an affectionate but hurried adieu, hi! 
left the room, and gaining the high road, wri 
soon proceeding towards Dublin, at the fastest 
speed of the posters. 

"Them's the bastes can do it," said Kerry. a« 
he watched them, with the admiration of a con- 



THE O'DONOGHUE, 



337 



noisseur; "and the little one widthe rat-tail isn't 
the worst either." 

" Where did that chaise come from, Kerry?" 
cried the O'Donoghue, who could not account 
for the promptitude of Sir Archy's movements. 

" 'Twas with Dr. Dillon from Mncroom it 
came, sir; and it was to bring him back there 
a;.;ain; but Sir Archibald told me to give the boy 
a pound note to make a mistake, and come over 
here for himself. That's the way of it." 

While we leave the O'Donoghue and his 
niece to the interchange of their fears and con- 
jectures regarding the danger which they both 
concurred in believing liad been communicated 
to Sir Archy by Hemswortli, we must follow 
Herbert, who was now on his way to the moun- 
tains, to apprise Mark that his place of conceal- 
ment was already discovered, and that measures 
for his capture were taken in a spirit that indi- 
cated a purpose of personal animosity. 

Herbert knew little more than this, for it was 
no part of Sir Archy's plan to impart to any one 
his discovery of Hemsworth's treachery, lest, in 
the event of his recovery, their manner towards 
him would lead him to a change of tactique. 
Hemsworth was too cunning an adversary to con- 
cede any advantage to. Indeed, the only chance 
of success against him lay in taking the oppor- 
tunity of his present illness to anticipate his 
movements Sir Archy therefore, left the family 
at Carrignacurra in ignorance of this man's 
villany, as a means of lulling him into security. 
The expressions that fell from him half uncon- 
sciously in the drawing-room, fortunately con- 
tributed to this end, and induced both the 
O'Donoghue and Kate to believe that, whatever 
the nature of the tidings Sir Archy had learned, 
their source was no other than Hemsworth him- 
self, of whose good intentions towards Mark no 
sus|)icion existed. 

Herbert's part was limited to the mere warning 
of Mark, that he should seek some more secure 
resting-place; but what kmd the danger was, 
from whom or whence it came, the youtli knew 
nothing. He was not, indeed, unaware of Mark's 
political feelings, nor did he undervalue the 
effect his principles might produce upon his ac- 
tions. He knew him to be intrepid, fearless, and 
determined; and he also knew how the want of 
some regular pursuit or object in life had served 
further to unsettle his notions and increase the 
discontent he felt with his condition. If Herbert 
did not look up to Mark with respect for his 
superior qualities of mind, there were traits in his 
nature that inspired the sentiment fullv as strongly 
The bold rapidity with which he anticipated and 
met a danger, the fertile resources he evinced at 
moments when most men stand appalled and 
terror-struck, the calmness of his spirit when 
great peril was at hand, showed that the pas- 
sionate and wayward nUure was the struggle 
which petty events create, and not the real germ 
of his disposition. 

Herbert foresaw that such a character had but 
to find the fitting sphere for its exercise, to win 
an upward way, but he was well aware of the risks 
to which it exposed its possessor. On this theme 
his thoughts dwelt the entire day, as he trod the 



solitary path among the mountains; nor did he 
meet with one human thing along that lonely 
road. At last, as evening was falling, he drew 
near the glen which wound along the base of the 
mountain, and as he was endeavoring to decide 
on the path, a low whistle attracted him. This, 
remembering it was the signal, he replied to, and 
the moment after Terry crept from a thick cover 
of brushwood, and came towards him. 

" I thought I'd make sure cif you before I let 
you pass. Master Herbert," cried he, 'for I 
couldn't see your face, the way your head was 
hangmg down. Take the little path to the left, 
and never turn till you come to the white-thorn 
tree — then straight up the mountain for a quarter 
of a mile or so, till you reach three stones, one 
over another. P'roni that spot you'll see the 
shealing down beneath you," 

"My brother is there now?" said Herbert, in- 
quiringly. 

" Yes, he never leaves it long now; and he got 
a bit of a fright the other evening, when the 
French schooner crnie into the bay ' 

" A French schooner here, in the bay?" 

"Ay, just so; but with an English flag flying. 
She landed ten men at the point, and then got 
out to sea as fast as she could. She was out of 
sight before daik." 

" And the men — what became of them?" 

" They stayed an hour or more with Master 
Mark. One of them was an old friend, 1 ihink; 
for I never saw such delight as he was in to see 
your brother. He gave him two books, and seme 
paper, and a bundle — I don't know what was in 
it — and then they struck off towaids Kci.inaie 
Bay, by a road very few know in these parts. ' 

All these particulars surprised and interested 
Herbert not a little; for although far fum im- 
plicitly believing the correctress of Teny s tid- 
ings as to the vessel being a French one, yet the 
event seemed not insignificant, as showing that 
Mark had friends who were aware of his present 
place of concealment. Without wasting further 
time, however, he bade Terry good bye, and started 
along the path down the glen. 

Following Terry's directions, Herbert found 
the ])ath, which, in many places, was concealed 
by loose furze bushes, evidthtly to prevent detec- 
tion by strangers, and at last, having gained the 
ridge of the mountain, perceived the little shealing 
at the distance of some hundred feet beneath 
him. It w^as merely a few young trees, covered 
over with loose Pods, which, abutting against the 
slope of the hill, opened towards the sea, from 
whence the view extended along thirty miles of 
coast on either hand. 

At anv other moment the glorious landscrpe 
before him would have engrossed Herbert's entire 
attention. The clam sea, over which night was 
slowly stealing — the jutting promontories of rock, 
over whose sides the white foam was splashing — the 
tall dark cliffs, pierced by many a cave, through 
whicli the searoared like thunder — all these caught 
hfs thoughts but for a second, and already with 
bounding steps he hurried down thestee]3, where 
the next moment a scene revealed itself of tar 
deeper interest to his heart. 

Through the roof of the shealing, from which, 



33S 



THE ODONOGHUE. 



in many places, the dry sods had fallen, he dis- 
covered his brother stretched upon the earthen 
floor of the hut, intently i;azmg on a large map 
which lay wide-spread before Inm. The figure 
was indeed Mark's. The massive head, on either 
side of which, in flowing waves, the long and 
locky hair descended, there was no mistaking. 
But the costume was one Herbert saw for the 
first time. It was a simple uniform of blue and 
white, with a single silver epauleite, and a sword, 
hiked with the same metal. The shako was of 
dark fur, and ornamented with a large boquet 
of tri-colored ribbons, whose gay and flaunting 
colors streamed with a strange contrast along the 
dark earthen floor Amid all his terror for what 
these emblems might portend, his heart bounded 
with pride at the martial and handsome figure, 
as leaning on one elbow he traced with the other 
hand tlie lines upon the map. Unable to control 
his impatience longer, he cried out, — 

" Mark, my brother!" and the next moment 
they were in each other's arms. 

■' You passed Terry on the mountain? He was 
at his post, I trust?'' said Mark, anxiously. 

" Yes; but for liis directions I could never have 
discovered the path." 

" All's well, then Until I hear a certain signal 
from him, I fear nothing. The fellow beems 
neither to eat nor to sleep. At least, since I've 
been here, he has kept watch night and day in 
the mountains." 

" He always loved you, Mark." 

" He did so; but now it is not me he thinks of. 
His whole heart is in the cause — higher and 
nobler than a mere worthless life like mine." 

" Poor fellow! he is but half-witted at best," 
said Herbert. 

"The more reason for his fidelity now, "said 
Mark, bitterly " The men of sense are traitors 
to their oaths, and false to their friends The 
enterprise cannot reckon save on the fool or 
the madman. I know the taunt you hint at, 
as " 

" My dearest brother," cl-ied Herbert, with 
streaming eye?. 

" My own dear Herbert, forgive me," said 
Mark, as he flung his arm round his neck. 
" These bursts of passion come over me after 
long and weary thoughts. I am tired to-day 
Tell me, how are they all at Carrignacurra? 

'■ Well, and I would say hap]iy, Mark, were it 
not for their anxieties about you. My uncle 
heard some news to-day so threatening in its 
nature that he has set out for Dublin post haste, 
and m-rely wrote these, few lines, which he gave 
me for vou before he started. ' 

Mark read the paper twice over, and then tear- 
ing it, threw the fragments at his feet, while he 
muttered, — 

" I cannot, I must not leave this." 

" But your safety depends on it, Mark — so my 
uncle pressed upon me. The danger is immin- 
ent, and, he said, fatal." 

"So would it be were I to leave my post.* I 
cannot tell you, Herbert — I dare not reveal to 
you what our oath forbids me— but here I must 
remain." 

" And this dress, Mark — why increase the risk 



you run by a uniform which actually designates 
treason?" 

"Who w'ill dare tell me so?" cried Mark, im- 
petuously. " The uniform is that of a French 
grenadier, the service whose toil is glory, and 
whose cause is liberty It is enough that I do 
not wear it without authority. You can satisfy 
yourself on that head soon. Read this;" and he ' 
unfolded a paper which, bearing the arms and 
seal of the French Republic, piirported to be a 
commission as lieutenant in Hoche's own regi- 
ment of Grenadiers, conferred on Mark O'Don- 
oghue in testimony of esteem for his fidelity to 
the cause of Irish independence. " You are sur- 
prised that I can read the language, Herbert," 
said he, smiling; "but 1 Ijave labored hard this 
summer, and, with Kate's good aid, have made 
some ])rogress." 

'■ And is your dream of Irish independence 
brought so low as this, Mark, that the freedom 
you speak pf must be won by an alien s valor?" 

" They are no aliens whose hearts beat alike 
for liberty. Language, country, seas may divide 
us, but we are brothers in the glorious cause of 
humanity. Their swords are with us now, as 
would be ours fori hem, did the occasion demand 
them. Besides, we must teach the traitors, boy, 
that we can do without them ; that if her own 
sons are false, Ireland has friends as true; and 
then, woe to them who have betrayed her. Oh, 
my brother, the brother of my heart, how would 
I kneel in thankfulness to Heaven if the same 
hopes that stirred within me were yours also; if 
the genius you possess were enlisted in the dear | 
cause of your own country ; if we could go forth 
together, hand in hand, and meet danger side by 
side, as now we stand." 

" My love for you would make the sacrifice, 
Mark," said Herbert, as the tears rolled heavily 
along his cheek, " but my convictions, my reason, 
my religion, alike forbid ii." 

"Your religion, Flerbert? Did I hear you 
aright?" 

" You did. I am a Protestant." 

Mark fell back as his brother spoke; a cold 
leaden tinge spread over his features, and he 
seemed like one laboring against the sickness of 
an ague. 

"Oh, is it not time, ' cried he, as he clasped 
his hands above his head, and shook them in an 
agony of emotion — " is it not time to strike the 
blow ere every tie that bound us to the land 
should be rent asunder! Rank, place, wealth, 
and power they have despoiled us of, our faith 
degraded, our lineage scofled; and now the very 
links of blood divided — we have not brothers 
left us!" 

Herbert bent down his head upon his knees 
and wept bitterly. 

" Who will tell me I have not been tried now?" 
continued Mark, in a strain of impassioned sor- 
row; "deceived on every hand — robbed of my 
heritage — my friends all false — my father — — " 
He stopped short, for at the moment Herbert 
looked uji, and their eyes met. 

" What of our father, Mark?" 

" Mv brain was wandering then," said Mark, 
in a broken voice. "Once more I ask forgive- 



THE O'DONOGHUE 



339 



ness: we are brothers still; if we be but true of 
heart to Him who knows all hearts, He will not 
suffer us to be divided. Can you remain awhile 
with me, Herbert? 1 know you don't mind a 
rough bivouac." 

" Yes, Mark, I'll not leave you. All is well 
at home, and they will guess what cause detained 
me." So saying, the two brothers sat down side 
by side, and with hands clasped firmly in each 
other, remained sunk in silent thought. 

The whole night through they talked together. 
It was the first moment for many a year since 
they had onburdened their hearts like brothers, 
and in the fulness of their affection the most 
secret thoughts were revealed, save one topic 
only, of which neither dared to speak, and while 
each incident of the past was recalled, and friends 
were mentioned, Mark never once alluded to 
Kate, nor did Herbert utter the name of Sybella 
Travers. 

Of his plans for the future Mark made no secret; 
he had accepted a commission in the French 
army, on the understanding that an invasion of 
Ireland was determined on, in the event of which 
his services would be of some value. He hoped 
to reach France by the schooner, which, after 
landing her cargo near the mouth of the Shannon, 
was to return at once to Cherbourg; once there, 
he was to enter the service and learn its discipline. 

"I have made my bargain with them; my face 
is never to turn from England till Ireland be 
free; after that I am theirs, to march on the 
Rhine or the Danube — where they will. Personal 
ambition I have none; to serve as a simple 
grenadier in the ranks of that army that shall 
first plant the standard of liberty here, such is 
my only compact. Speak to me of defeat or 
disaster if you will, but do not endeavor to per- 
suade me against an enterprise I have resolved 
to go through with, nor try to argue with me where 
my impulses are stronger than my reason." 

In this strain Mark spoke, and while Herbert 
listened in sorrow, he knew too well his brother's 
nature to offer a word of remonstrance in opposi- 
tion to his determination. 

Mark, on his side, led his brother to talk of 
many of his own plans for the future, where 
another and a very different ambition was dis- 
played. Herbert had entered the lists where in- 
tellect and genius are the weapons, and in his 
early triumphs had conceived that passion for 
success which, once indulged, only dies with life 
itself. The day broke upon them thus convers- 
ing, and already the sunlight was streaming over 
the western ocean, as they lay down side by side, 
and slept. 



CHAPTER XLIII. 

THE C O N F E D E R .\ T E S. 

The paroxysm which Sir Archibald had wit- 
nessed formed the crisis of Hemsworth's malady; 
and on the evening of the same day his disease had 
so far abated of its violence, that his delirium had 
left him, and excessive debility was now the only 
symptom of grea.t danger remaining. With the 



return of his faculties came back his memory, 
clear and unclouded, of every incident up to the 
very moment of his accident; and as he lay, weak 
and wasted on his bed, his mind reverted to the 
plans and projects of which his illness had inter- 
rupted the accomplishment. The excitement of 
the theme seemed rather to serve than be hurtful to 
him; and the consciousness of returning health 
gave a spring to his recovery; fatigue of thought 
induced deep sleep, and he awoke on the following 
day refreshed and recruited. 

The lapse of time in illness is, probably, one 
of the most painful thoughts that await upon 
recovery. The lethargy in which we have been 
steeped simulates death; while the march of 
events around us shows how insignificant our 
existence is, and how independently of us the 
work of life goes on. 

When Wylie was summoned to his master's 
bedside, the first question put to him was, what 
day of the month it was? and his astorisliment 
was indeed great, as he heard it was the i6th of 
December, and that he had been above two 
months on a sick-bed. 

" TvTO months here!" cried he; 'and what has 
happened since?" 

'■ Scarcely anything, sir," said Wylie, well 
knowing the meaning of the question. '"The 
country is quiet — the people tranquil. Too 
much so, perhaps, to last. The young O'Don- 
oghue has not been seen up the glen for several 
weeks past; but his brother passes frequently 
from Carrignacurra to the coast, and back again, 
so that there is little doubt of his still being in his 
old hiding-place. Talbot — Barrington, I mean — 
has been here again, too." 

" Barrington — what brings him back? I 
thought he was in France." 

" "The story goes that he landed at Bantry with 
a French agent. One thing is certain, the fellow 
had the impudence to call here and leave his 
card for you, one day I was at Macroom." 

" That piece of boldness bodes us no good," 
said Hemsworth. "-What of the others? Who 
has called here from Carrignacurra?" 

" A messenger every day; sometimes twice in 
the same day." 

" A messenger! — not one of the family?" 

" For several weeks they have had no one 
to come. Sir Archy and the younger brother are 
both from home." 

" Where, then, is Sir Archy?" said Hems- 
worth, anxiously. 

" That would seem a secret to every one. He 
left this one morning at a moment's notice, taking 
the chaise that brought the doctor here. The 
])ostboy pretended lie was discharged; but I say 
that the excuse was made up and that the fellow- 
was bribed. On reaching Macroom, the old 
man got fresh horses, and started for Cork." 

" And what's the report in the country, 
Wylie?" 

"There are two stories. One, that he heard 
some rumors of an accusation against himself, for 
intriguing with the United people, and thought 
best to go over to Scotland for a while." 

'"That's folly; what is tiie other rumor?" 

" A more likely one," said Wylie, as he threw 



840 



THE O'DONOGIIUE, 



a shrewd glance beneath his half-closed eyelids. 
"They say that he determined to go up to 
Dubhn, and see the lord-lieutenant, and ask him 
for a free pardon tor Mark." 

Hemsworth sprang up in the bed at these words 
as if he had been stung. 

" And who says this, Wylie?" 

" I believe I was the first that said so mvself," 
said Wylie, affecting modesty, '' when Kerry told 
me that the old man packed up a court dress 
and a sword." 

" You're right, Sam; there's not a doubt of it. 
How long is this ago?" 

" Five weeks on Tuesday last." 

"Five weeks;— five weeks lost already! And 
you heard what has been done by him.' — what 
success he's met with?' 

■ No, sir; but you can soon know something 
about it yourself." 

" How do vou mean? I don't understand 
you." 

" These are the only two letters he has written as 
yet. This one came on Saturday. I always 
went down in the mornings to Mary M'Kelly's 
before the bag came in, and as she could not 
read over well, I sorted the letters for her myself, 
and slipped in these among your own." 

Hemsworth and his companion exchanged 
looks. Probably never did glances more rapidly 
reveal the sentiments of two hearts. Each well 
knew the viilany of the other; but Hemsworth, 
for the first time, saw himself in another's power, 
and hesitated how far the advantage of the dis- 
covery was worth the heavy price he should pay 
for it; besides that, the habits of his life made 
him regard tlie breach of confidence, incurred 
in reading another man's letter, in a very dif- 
ferent light from his under-bred associate, and 
he made no gesture to take them from his hand. 

"This has an English post-mark," said Wylie, 
purposely occupying iiimself with the letter to 
avoid noticing Hemsworth's hesitation. 

" You have not broken the seals, I hope," said 
Hemsworth, faintly. 

" No, sir; I knew better than that," replied 
Wylie, with well-assumed caution. "I 'knew 
your honor had a right to it if you suspected the 
correspondence was treasonable, because you're 
in the commission and itsyourduty, but I couldn't 
venture it of myself." 

'■ I'm afraid your law is not very correct, 
Master Wylie," said Hemsworth. who felt by no 
means certain as to the sincerity of the opinion. 

"It's good enough for Glenflesk, anyhow," 
said the fellow, boldly; for he saw that in Hems- 
worth's present nervous condition audacity might 
succeed where subserviency would not. 

" By which you mean that we have the case 
in our own hands, Wylie; well, you're not far 
wrong in that; still I cannot break open a letter." 

" Well, then, I'm not so scrupulous when my 
master's interests are concerned;" and, so saying, 
he tore open each in turn, and threw them on the 
bed. "There, sir, you can transport me for the 
offence whenever you like." 

"You are a strange fellow, Sam " said Hems- 
worth, whose nerves were too much shaken bv ill- 
ness to enable him to act with hj<: ordinary de- 



cision; and he took up one of the letters and per- 
used it slowly. " This is merely an announce- 
ment of his arrival in Dublin; he has waited upon, 
but not seen, the secretary — finds it difiicult to 
obtain an audience — press of parliament business 
for the new session — no excitement about the 
United party. What tidings has the other' Ha' 
what's this?" and his thin and haggard face 
flushed scarlet. " Leave me, S.im; I must hare 
a little time to consider this. Come back to me 
in an hour." 

Wylie said not a word, but moved towards the 
door, wliile in his sallo«- features a savage smile 
of malicious triumph shone. 

As Hemsworth flattened out the letter before 
him on the bed. his eyes glistened and sparkltd 
with the fire of aroused intelligence; the faculties 
which, during his long illness, had lain in abeyance, 
as if refreshed and invigorated by rest, were once 
more excited to their accustomed exercise: and 
over that face, pale and haggard by sickness, a 
flush of conscious power stole, lighting ii]) every 
lineament and feature, and displaying the ascen- 
dency of mental effort over mere bodily infirmity. 

"And so this Scotchman dares to enter the list 
with vie," said he, with a smile of contemptuous 
feeling; "let him try it." 



CHAPTER XLIV. 

THE MOCNT.^IN .\T SUNRISE. 

A LITTLE lower down the valley than the post 
occupied by Terry as his look-out, was a small 
stream, passable by stepping-stones; this was 
the usual parting-place of the two brothers when- 
ever Herbert returned home for a day or .so. and 
this limit Mark rarely or never transgressed, re- 
garding it as the frontier of his little dominion. 
Beside this rivulet, as night was falling, Mark sat, 
awaiting with some impatience his brother's com- 
ing, for already the third evening had passed in 
which Herbert promised to be back, and yet he 
had not come. 

Alternately stopping to listen, or straining his 
eyes to see, he waited anxiously; and while can- 
vassing in his mind every possible casuality he 
could think of to account for his absence, he 
half resolved on pushing forward down the glen, 
and, if necessary, venturing even the whole way 
to Carrignacurra. Just then a sound caught his 
ear — he listened, and at once recognized Terry's 
voice, as, singing some rude verse, he came has- 
tening down the glen at his full speed. 

" Hal I thought you'd be here," cried he, with 
delight in his countenance; "I knew you'd be 
just sitting there on that rock." 

"What has happened, then, Terry, that you 
wanted me?" 

" It was a message a man in sailor's clothes 
gave me for your honor this morning, and some- 
how I foigot to tell you of it when you passed, 
though he charged me not to forget it." 

" What is it, Terry'" 

' .^h then, that's what I misremerober, and T 



THE O'DONOGMUE. 



341 



had it all right this morning. Let me think a 
bit." 

Mark repelled every symptom of impatience, 
for he well knew how the slighte.st evidences of 
dissatisfaction on his part would destroy every 
chance of the poor fellow regaining his memory, 
and he waited silently for several minutes. At 
last, thinking to aid his recollection, he said, — 

"The man was a smuggler, Terry?" 

" He was, but I never saw him before. He 
came across I'rom Kinsale over the mountains. 
Botheration to him, why didn't he say more, and 
I wouldn't forget it now?" 

" Have patience, you'll think of it all by-and- 
bye." 

" Maybe so. He was a droll-looking fellow, 
with a short cutlash at his side, and a hairy cap 
on his head, and he seemed to know your honor 
well, for he said — 

" ' How is the O'Donoghues — don't they live 
iiereabouts?' 

"' Yes,' says I, 'a few miles down that way.' 

" ' Is the eldest boy at home?' says he. 

" ' Maybe he is, and maybe he isn't,' says I, 
for I wouldn't tell him where you were. 

"'Could you give him a message,' says he, 
' from a friend?' 

" ' Av it was a friend,' says I. 

" ' A real friend,' says he. ' Tell him — just 

tell him ' There it is now — divil a one o' 

me knows what he said." 

Mark suffered no sign of anger to escape him, 
but sat without speaking a word, while Terry 
recapitulated every sentence in a muttering 
voice, to assist him in remembering what fol- 
lowed. 

"I have it now," said he, at last; and clapping 
his hands with glee, he cried out, '' Them's the 
very words he said: — 

"'Tell Mr. Mark it's a fine sight to see the 
sun rising from the top of Hungry Mountain; 
and if the wind last, it will be worth seeing to- 
morrow ' " 

" Were those his words ?" asked Mark, 
eagerly. 

" Them and no other — I have it all in my head 
now." 

"Which way did he take when he left you?" 

"He turned up the glen, towards Googawn 
Barra, and I seen him crossing the mountain af- 
terwards. But here comes Master Herbert.' .\nd 
at the same instant he was seen coming up the 
valley at a fast pace. 

When the first greetings were over, Herbert 
informed Mark that a certain stir and movement 
in the glen and its neighborhood for the last few 
days had obliged him to greater caution; that 
several strangers had been seen lurking about 
Carrignacurra; and that, in addition to the mil- 
itary posted at Maiv's, a sergeant's guard had 
that morning air'.ed at the lodge, and taken up 
their quarters iIhtc. .-Ml these signs of vigilance 
combined to niike Herbert more guarded, and 
induced him to delay for a day or two his return 
to the -ihealing. 

" Hemsworth has been twice over to our 
house," continued Herbert, "and seems most 
anxious about you; he cannot understand why 



we have not heard from my uncle. It appears 
to me, Mark, as if difficulties were thickening 
around us; and yet this fear may only be the 
apprehension which springs from mystery. I 
cannot see my way through this dark and clouded 
atmosphere." 

" Never fret about the dangers that come like 
shadows, Herbert. Come up the mountain with 
me to-morrow at sunrise, and let us take counsel 
from the free and bracing air of the peak of old 
Hungry." 

Herbert was but too happy to find his own 
gloomy thoughts so well conibatted, and in mu- 
tual converse they each grew lighter in heart; 
and when at last, wearied out, they lay down 
upon the heather of the shealing, they slept 
without a dream. 

It was still dark as midnight when Mark awoke 
and looked at his watch — it wanted a quarter to 
four. The night was a wild and gusty one, with 
occasional showers of thin sleet, and along the 
shore tlie sea beat heavily, as though a storm 
was brewing at a distance off. 

The message of the smuggler was his first 
thought on waking, but could he venture suffi- 
cient trust in Terry's version to draw any infer- 
ence from it? Still, he resolved to ascend the 
mountain, little favorable as the weather prem- 
ised for such an undertaking. It was not without 
reluctance that Heibert found himself called 
upon to accompany his brother. The black and 
drearv night, the swooping wind, the wet spray, 
drifting up to the very shealing, were but sorry 
inducements to stir abroad, and he did his ut- 
most to persuade him to defer the excursion to 
a more favorable mcmtnt. 

'■ We shall be wet through, and see nothing for 
our pains, Mark," said he, half sulkily, as the 
other overruled each objection in turn. 

' Wet we may possibly be," said Mark; "but 
with the wind, northing by west, the mist will 
clear away, and by sunrise the coast will be glo- 
rious, it is a spring tide, too, and there will be 
a sea running mountains high.' 

'"I know well we shall find ourselves in a cloud 
on the top of the mountain; it is but one day in 
a whole year ai-ything can be seen favorably." 

" And who is to say this is not that day? It 
is my birthday, Herbert— a most auspicious 
eventj when we talk of fortunate occurrences." 

The lone of sarcasm he spoke these words 
in silenced Herbert's scruples, and without 
further objection he prepared to follow Mark's 
guidance. 

The drifting rain, and the spongy, heavy ground 
in which at each moment the feet sank to the 
very instep, made the way toilsome and weary, 
and the two brothers seldom spoke as they 
plodded along the steep ascent. 

Mark's deep preoccupation of mind took away 
all thought of the dreary road; but Herbert fol- 
lowed with reluctant steps, half angry with him- 
self for compliance with what he regarded as an 
absurd caprice. The way was not without its 
perils, and Mark halted from time to tiiine to 
warn his brother of the danger of some precipice, 
or the necessity to guard against the slippery 
surface cf the heather Except at these limi- ht- 



342 



THE O'DONOGH U E. 



rarely spoke, but strode on with firm step, lost 
in his own reflections. 

"We are now twelve hundred feet above the 
lake, Herbert," said he, after a long silence on 
both sides, "and the mountain at tliis side is 
like a wall. This same island of ours has noble 
bulwarks for defence." 

Herbert made no reply; the swooping clouds 
that hurried past, heavily charged with vapor, 
shut out every object: and to him the rugged 
path was a dark and cheerless way. Once more 
they continued their ascent, which here became 
steeper and more difificult at every step; and al- 
though Mark was familiar with each turn and 
winding of the narrow track, more than once he 
was obliged to stop and consider the course be- 
fore him. Herbert, to whom these interruptions 
were fresh sources of irritation, at length ex- 
claimed, — 

"My dear Mark, have we not gone far enough 
yet, to convince you that there is no use in going 
farther.' It is dark as midnight this moment-^ 
you yourself are scarcely certain of the way — 
there are precipices and gullies on every side — 
and grant that we do reach the top for sunrise, 
what shall we be able to see amid the immei>se 
masses of cloud around us?" 

" No, Herbert, the same turning-back policy 
it is which thwarts success in life. Had you your- 
self followed such an impulse, you had not gained 
the honors that are yours. Onward, is the word 
of hope to all. And what if the day should not 
break clearly, it is a fine thing to sit on the peak 
of old Hungry, with the circling clouds wheel- 
ing madly below you, to hear the deep thunder- 
ing of the sea, far, far away, and the cry of the 
curlew mingling with the wailing wind — to feel 
yourself high above the busy world, in the dreary 
region of mist and shadow. If at such times as 
this the eye ranges not over the leagues of coast 
and sea, long winding valleys and wide plains, 
the prophetic spirit fostered by such agencies 
looks out in life, and images of the future flit 
past in cloudy shapes and changing forms. 
There, see that black mass that slowly moves 
along, and seems to beckon us with giant arms. 
You'd not reject an augury so plain." 

" I see nothing, and if I go on much farther 
this way, I shall feel nothing either, I am so be- 
numbed with cold and rain already." 

" Here, then, taste this — I had determined to 
give you nothing until we reached the summit." 
Herbert drained the little measure of whisky, 
and resumed his way more cheerily. 

" There is a bay down here beneath where we 
stand — a lovely little nook in summer, with a 
:.hore like gold, and waves bright as the greenest 
emerald. It is a wild and stormy s])ot to-day- 
no boat could live a moment there; and so 
steep is the clifi", this stone will find its way to 
the bottom within a minute." 

■'And as Mark spoke he det.';ched a fragment 
<if rock from the mountain, and sent it bound- 
ing over the edge of the precipice, while Herbert, 
;uve-strurk at the nearness of the peril, recoiled 
instinctively from the brink of the cliff. 

■'There was a ship of the Spanish Armada 
wrecked in that little bay they show you still 



some mounds of earth upon the shore they call 
the Spaniards' graves," said Mark, as he stood 
peering through the misty darkness into the 
depth below. "The peasantry had lighted a fire 
on this rock, and the vessel, a three-decker, de- 
coyed by the signal, held on her course, inshore, 
and was lost. Good Heavens!" cried he, altera 
brief pause, " why has this fatality ever been our 
lot? Why have we welcomed our foes with 
smiles, and our friends with hatred and destruc- 
tion? These sanie Sjjaniards were our brethren 
and our kindred and the bitter enemies of our 
enslavers; and even yet we can perpetuate the 
n emory of their ruin, as a thing of pride and 
triumph. Are we forefer to be thus, or is a 
better day to dawn upon us?" 

Herbert, who by experience knew how much 
more excited Mark became by even the slightest 
opposition, forbore to speak, and again they pur- 
sued their way. 

They had continued for some time thus, v hen 
Mark, taking Herbert's arm, pointed to a dark 
mass, which seemed to locm straight above iheif 
heads, where, lowering to a considerable height, 
it terminated in a sharp pinnacle. 

"Yonder is the summit, Herbert — courage for 
a quarter of an hour, more, and the breath i% 
won." 

The youth heaved a sigh and muttered, — 
" Would it were so." 

If Herbert became dispirited and worn out by 
the dark and dreary wav, \\htre no sight not 
sound relieved the dull nicnotony of fatigue. 
Mark's spirit seemed to grow lighter with every 
step he went. As if he had left his load of care 
with the nether world, his light and bciirding 
movement, and his joyous voice, sj)oke of a heart, 
which, throwing off its weight of sorrow, revelled 
once more in youthful ecstas)'. 

" You are a poet, Herbert — tell me if you have 
faith in those instinctive fancies which seem to 
shadow forth events?" 

" If you mean to ask me whether, from my 
present sensations, I anticipate a heavy cold, or 
a fit of rheumatism, I say, most certainly," re- 
plied Herbert, half doggedly. 
Maik smiled, and continued, — 
"No, those are among the common course of 
events. What I asked for was an explanation of 
my own feelings at this moment. Why, here 
upon this lone and gloomy mountain, a secret 
whispering at my heart tells me to hope — that 
my days and nights of disaster are nigh over — • 
and that the turning point of my life is at hand, 
even as that bold peak above us." 

" I must confess, Mark, this is a strange time 
and place for such rose-colored visions," said 
Herbert, as he shook the rain from his soaked 
garments: " ;«v iniagination cannot carry me to 
such a lofty flight." 

Mark was too intent u]ion his own thoughts 
to bestow much attention on the tone and spirit 
of Herbert's remark, and he pressed forward 
towards the summit with every effort of hi.; 
strength. After a brief but toilsome exertion he 
reached the top, and seated himself on a liltla 
pile of stones that marked the point of the moiin- 
tain. The darkness was still great; faint out- 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



343 



lines of the lesser mountains beneath could only 
be traced through the masses of heavy cloud that 
hun", as it were, suspended above the earth; 
while over the sea an unusual blackness was 
spread. The wind blew with terrific force around 
the lofty peak where Mark sat, and in the distant 
valleys he could hear the sound of crashing 
branches as the storm swept through the woods; 
from the sea itself, too, a low booming noise 
arose, as the caves along the shore re-echoed to 
the swelling clangor of the waves. 

Herbert at last reached the spot, but so ex- 
hausted by the unaccustomed fatigue, that he 
threw himself down at Mark's feet, and with a 
wearied sigh exclaimed, — 

" Thank heaven! there is no more of it." 

" Day will not break for half an hour yet," 
said Mark, pointing westward; "the grey dawn 
always shows over the sea. I have seen the whole 
surface like gold, before the dull mountains had 
one touch of light." 

The heavy breathing of the youth, as he lay 
with his head on Mark's knees, attracted him; 
he looked down, and perceived tliat Herbert had 
fallen into a calm afid tranquil sleep. 

"Poor fellow!" cried Mark, as he smoothed 
the hair upon his brow, "this toil has been too 
much for him." 

Placing himself in such a position as best to 
shelter his brother from the storm, Mark sat 
awaiting the breaking dawn. The hopes that in 
the active ascent of the mountain were high in 
his heart, already began to fail; exertion had 
called them forth, and now, as he sat silently 
amid the dreary waste of darkness, his spirit fell 
with every moment. One by on^ the bright 
visions he had conjured up faded away, his head 
fell heavily on his bosom, and thoughts gloomy 
and dark as the dreary morning crowded on his 
brain. 

As he remained thus deep sunk in sad mus- 
ings, the grey dawn broke over the sea, and 
gradually a pinkish hue stained the sky eastward. 
The rain, which up to this time drifted in heavy 
masses, ceased to fall; and instead of the gusty 
storm, blowing in fitful blasts, a gentle breeze 
rolled the mists along the valleys, as if taking 
away the drapery of Night at the call of Morn- 
ing. At first the mountain peaks appeared 
through the dense clouds, and then, by degrees, 
their steep sides, begirt with rock, and fissured 
with many a torrent. At length the deep valleys 
and glens began to open to the eye, and the rude 
cabins of the peasants, marked out by the thin 
blue wreath of smoke that rose into the air ere it 
was scattered by the fresh breeze of morning. 
Over the sea the sunlight glittered, tipping the 
glad waves that danced and sported towards the 
shore, and making the white foam upon the 
breakers look fairer than snow itself. Mark 
looked upon the scene thus suddenly changed, 
and shaking his brother's arm, he called out, — 
"Awake, Herbert! see what a glorious day is 
breaking. Look, that is Sugarloaf, piercing the 
white cloud; and yonder is Castletown. See 
how the shore is marked out in every jutting 
point and cliff. I can see the Kenmare river as 
it opens to the sea." 



"It is indeed beautiful !" exclaimed Herbert, 
all fatigue forgotten in the ecstasy of the mo- 
ment. " Is not that Garran Thual, Mark, that 
rears its head above the others.''" 

But Mark's eyes were turned in a different 
direction, and he paid no attention to the ques- 
tion. 

"Yes," cried Herbert, still gazing intently to- 
wards the land, "and that must be Mangerton. 
Am 1 right, Mark?" 

"What can that mean?" said Mark, seizing 
Herbert's arm, and pointing to a distant point 
across Bantry Bay. " There, you saw it then." 

" Yes, a bright flash of flame. See, it burns 
steadily now." 

"Ay, and there's another below Beerhaven, and 
another yonder at the Smuggler's Rock. 

And while he was yet speaking, the three fires 
blazed out, and continued to burn brilliantly in 
the grey light of the morning. The dark mist, 
that moved over the sea gave way before (he 
strong breeze, and the tall spars of a large ship 
were seen as a vessel rounded the point, and held 
on her course up Bantry Bay. E\en at the dis- 
tance Mark's experienced eye could detect that 
she was a ship of war; her ports, on which the 
sun threw a passing gleam, bristled with guns, 
and her whole trim and hearing bespoke a frigate. 

"She's a king's ship, Mark, in pursuit of seme 
smuggler," said Herbert; "and the fires we have 
seen were signals to the other. How beautifully 
she sails along! and see, is not that another?" 

Mark made no reply, but pointed straight out 
to sea, where now seven sail could be distinctly 
reckoned, standing towards the bay with all 
their canvas set. The report of a cannon 
turned their eyes towards the frigate, and they 
perceived that already she was abreast of Whitty 
Island, where she was about to anchor. 

" That gun was fired by her; and see, there 
goes her ensign. What does that mean, Mark?" 

"It means Liberty, my boy!" screamed Mark, 
with a yell that sounded like madness. "France 
has come to the rescue! See, there they are- 
eight — nine of them! — and the glorious tricolor 
floating at every mast! Oh, great Heaven! in 
whose keeping the destinies of men and king- 
doms lie, look favorably upon our struggle now! 
Yes, my brother, I was right — a brighter hour is 
about to shine upon our country! Look there- — 
think of those gallant fellows that have left home 
and country to bring freedom across the seas, 
and sav if you will be less warm in the cause 
than the alien and the stranger. How nobly 
they come along! Herbert, be with us — be of 
us now!" 

" Whatever be our ills here," said Herbert, 
sternly, " I know of no sympathy to bind us to 
France; nor would I accept a boon at such 
hands, infidel and blood-stained as she is." 

" Stop, Herbert, let us not here, where we may 
meet for the last time, interchange aught that 
should darken memory hereafter. My course is 
yonder." 

"Farewell, then, Mark; I will not vainly en- 
deavor to turn you from your rash project. The 
reasons that seemed cold and valueless in the 
hour of tranquil thought, have few chances of 



344 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



success in the moment of your seeming triumph." 

" S.;e:iiing triumph!" exclaimed Mark, as a slight 
change colored his cheek. " And will you not 
iredit what your eyes reveal before you? Are 
these visions? Was that loud shot a trick of the 
imagination? Oh! Herbert, if the loyalty you 
boast of have no better foundation than these 
fancies, be with your country — stand by her in 
the day of her peril." 

" I will do so, Mark, and with no failing spirit 
either," said Herbert, as he turned away, sad 
and sorrow-struck. 

" You would not betray us?" cried Mark, as he 
saw his brother preparing to descend the moun- 
tain. 

'■ Oh, Mark, you should not have said this." 

And in a torrent of tears he threw himself 
upon his brother's bosom. For some minutes 
they remained close locked in each other's arms, 
.and then Herbert, tearing himself away, clasped 
Mark'.s hand in both of his, and kissed it. 'I'he 
last " Good-bye" broke from each lip together, 
and they parted. 

Mark remained on the spot where his brother 
had left him, his eyes fixedly directed towards 
the bay, where already a second ship had ar- 
rived — a large three-decker, with an admiral's 
pennon flying from the mast-head. The first 
burst of wild enthusiasm over, he began to reflect 
on what was next to be done. Of course, he 
should lose no time in presenting himself to the 
officers in command of the expedition, and mak- 
ing known to them his name, and the place he oc- 
cupied in the confidence of his countrymen. His 
great doubt was, whether he should not precede 
this act by measures for assembling and rallying 
thepaople, who evidently would be as much taken 
by surprise as himself at the sudden arrival of 
the French. 

The embarrassment of the position was great; 
for, although deeply implicated in the danger of 
the plot, he never had enjoyed intimacy or inter- 
course with its leaders. How, then, should he 
satisfy the French that his position was such as 
entitled him to their confidence? The only pos- 
sible escape to this difficulty was by marshalling 
around him a considerable body of the peasantry, 
ready and willing to join the arms and follow the 
fortunes of the invaders. 

"They cannot long distrust me with a force of 
three hundred men at my back," exclaimed Mark, 
aloud, as he descended the mountain with rapid 
strides. " I know every road through these 
valleys — every place where a stand could be 
made, or an escape effected. We will surprise 
the party of soldiers at Mary M'Kellv's, and 
there there are arms enough for all the peasantry 
of the country." 

Thus saying, and repeating to himself the 
names of the different farmers whom he remem- 
bered as true to the cause, and on whose courage 
and readiness he depended at this moment, he 
hastened on. 

" Holt at the cross-roads promised eighteen, 
all armed with firelocks. M'Sweeny hassix sons, 
and stout fellows they are, every man of them 
ready. Then, there are the O'Learys, but there's 
a split amongst them — confound their petty 



feuds, this is no time to indulge them — they 
shall come out, and they must — ah! hand in 
hand, too, though they have been enemies this 
twelvemonth. Black 0'.Sullivan numbers nigh 
eighty — pikemen every one of them. Our 
French friends may smile at their ragged gar- 
ments, but our enemies will scarce join in the 
laugh. Carrignacurra must be occupied — it is 
the key of the glen. The lodge we'll burn to 
the ground — but no, we must not visit the sin of 
the servant on the master. Young Travers be- 
haved nobly to me. There is a wild time com- 
ing, and let us, at least, begin our work in a 
better spirit, for bloodshed soon teaches cruelty." 
Now, muttering these short and broken sen- 
tences, now, wondering what strength the French 
force might be — how armed — how disposed for 
the enterprise^what spirit prevailed among the 
officers, and what hopes of success animated the 
chiefs — Mark moved along, eager for the hour 
to come when the green flag should be displayed 
and the war-cry of Ireland ring in her native 
valleys. 



CHAPTER XL'V. 

THE PROGRESS OF TREACHERY. 

Leaving, for the present, MarT< O'Doiioghue 
to the duties he imposed on himself of rallying 
the people around the French standard, we shall 
turn to the old castle of Carrignacurra, where 
life seemed to move on in the same unbroken 
tranquillity. For several days past, Henisworth, 
still weak from his recent illness, had been a fre- 
quent visitor, and although professing that the 
great object of his solicitude was the safety of 
young O'Donoghue, he found time and oppor- 
tunity to suggest to Kate that a more tender 
feeling influenced him. So artfully had he played 
his part, and so blended were his attentions with 
traits of deference and respect, that, however 
little she might be disposed to encourage his 
addresses, the difficulty of repelling them with- 
out offence was great indeed. This delicacy on 
her part was either mistaken by Hemsworth, or 
taken as a ground of advantage. All his experi- 
ences in life pointed to the fact, that success is 
ever attainable by him who plays well his game; 
that the accidents of fortune, instead of being 
obstacles and interruptions, are, in realit), to one 
of quick intelligence, but so many aids and 
allies. His illness alone had disconcerted his 
plans; but now, once more well, and able to con- 
duct his schemes, he had no feais for the result. 
Up to this moment, everything ])roniised success. 
It was more than doubtful that the Traverses 
would ever return to Ireland Frederick would 
be unwilling to visit the neighborhood where his 
affections had met so severe a shock. Tlie dis- 
turbed state of the country, and tl.e i vents 
which Hemsworth well knew must Foon cccur, 
would in all likelihood deter Sir Marnuir'uke 
from any wish to revisit his Irish propert\. This 
was one step gained. Already he viras in posses- 
sion of a large portion of the Glenflesk estate, of 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



345 



which he was well aware the title was defective, 
for he had made it a ground of considerable 
abatement in the purchase-money to the O'Dono- 
ghue, that his son was in reality under age at 
the time of sale. Mark's fate was, liowever, in 
his hands, and he had little fear that the secret 
was known to any other. Nothing, then, re- 
mained incomplete to the accomplishment of his 
wishes, except his views regarding Kate. Were 
she to become his wife, the small remnant of the 
property that pertained to them would fall into 
his hands, and he become the lord of the soil. 
His ambitions were higher than this. Through 
the instrumentality of Lanty Lawler, he had 
made himself master of the conspiracy in all its 
details. He knew the names of the several 
chiefs, the parts assigned them, the places of 
rendezvous, their hopes, their fears, and their 
difficulties. He was aware of the views of France, 
and had in his possession copies of several 
letters which passed between members of the 
French executive and the leaders of the United 
party in Ireland. Far from communicating this 
information to the government, he treasured it 
as the source of his own future elevation. Froin 
time to time, it is true, he made known certain 
facts regarding individuals whom he either dreaded 
for their power, or suspected that they might 
themselves prove false to their party and betray 
the plot; but, save in these few instances, he re- 
vealed nothing of what he knew, determining, 
at the proper moment, to make this knowledge 
the groundwork of his fortune. 

"Twenty-four hours of rebellion," said he— 
"one d.iy and night of massacre and bloodshed, 
will make me a peer of the realm. I know well 
what terror will pervade the land when the first 
rumor of a French landing gains currency. 1 
can picture to myself the affrighted looks of the 
council; the alarm de])icted in every face, when 
the post brings the intelligence that a force is on 
its march towards the capital; and then — then, 
when I can lay my hand on each rebel of them 
all, and say, this man is a traitor, and that a 
rebel — when I can show where arms are collected 
and ammunition stored — when I can tell the \>\an 
of their operation, their numbers, their organiza- 
tion, and their means — I have but to name the 
price of my reward." 

Such were the speculations that occupied the 
slow hours of his recovery, and such were the 
thoughts which engrossed the first days of his 
returning health. 

The latest letters he had seen from France an- 
nounced that the expedition would not sail till 
January, and then, in the event of escaping the 
English force in the channel, would ]iroceed to 
land fifteen thousand men on the banks of the 
Shannon. The causes which accelerated the sail- 
ing of the French fleet before the time originally 
determined on were unknown toHemsworth, and 
on the very morning when the vessels anchored 
in Bantry Bay, he was himself a visitor beneath 
the roof of Carrignacurra, where he had passed 
the ]3receding night, the severity of the weather 
having detained him there. He, therefore, knew 
nothing of what had happened, and was calmly 
deliberating on the progress of his own plans, 



when events were occurring which were destined 

to disconcert and destroy them. 

The family were seated at breakfast, and 
Hemsworth, whose letters had been brought 
over from tiie lodge, was reading aloud such por- 
tions of news as could interest or amuse the 
O'Donoghue and Kate, when he was informed 
that VVylie was without, and most anxious to see 
him for a few minutes. I'here was no communi- 
cation which, at the moment, he deemed could 
be of much imjjortance, and he desired him to 
wait. Wylie again requested a brief interview- 
one minute would be enough — that his tidings 
were of the deepest consequence. 

" This is his way ever," said Hemsworth, ris- 
ing from the table. "If a tenant has broken 
down a neighbor's ditch, or a heifer is impounded, 
he always ccnies with this same pressing ur- 
gency;" and, angry at the interruption, he left 
the room to hear the intelligence. 

"Still no-letter from Archy, Kate," said the 
O'Donoghue, Mhen they were alone; "once more 
the post is come, and nothing for us. I am 
growing more and more uneasy about Maik. 
These delays will harass the poor boy snd drive 
him perhaps to some rash step." 

"Mr. Hemsworth is doing everything, how- 
ever, in his power," said Kate, far more desirous 
of offering consolation to her uncle than satisfied 
in her own mind as to the state of matters. "He 
is in constant correspondence with government. 
The only difF.culty is, they demand disclosures 
my cousin neither can, nor ought to make. A 
jiardon is no grace, when it ccn. mutes death for 
dishonor. 1 his will, 1 hope, be got over toon." 

While she was yet speaking, the door softly 
opened, and Kerry, with a noiseless step, 
sli|5ped in, and, approaching the table unseen 
and unheard, was beside the O'Donoghue's chair 
before he was perceived. 

"Whisht, master dear — whisht. Miss Kate," 
said be, with a gesture of warning tow aids the 
door. "There's great news without. The French 
is landed- — twenty-eight ships is down in Bantry 
Bay. Bony himself is with them. I heard it 
all, as Sam \\y]\e was telling Hemsworth; 1 was 
inside the pantry door." 

"The French landed!'' cried the O'Donoghue, 
in whom amazement overcame all sensation of 
joy or sorrow 

" The French herein Ireland!'' cried Kate, 
her eyes sparkling with enthusiastic delight; but 
before she could add a word, Htmsworth re-en- 
tered. Whether his efforts to seem calm and un- 
moved were in reality well devised, or that, as is 
more probable, Hemsworth's own preoccupation 
prevented his strict observance of the others, he 
never remarked that the O'Donoghue and his 
niece exhibited any traits of anxiety or impa- 
tience; while Kerry, after performing a variety 
of very unnecessary acts and attentions about 
the table, at last left the room, with a sigh over 
his inability to protract his departure. • 

Hemsworth's eye wandered to the door to see 
if it was closed before he spoke; and then lean- 
ing foiward, said, in a low, cautious voice, — 

"I have just heard some news that may prove 
very important. A number of the people have 



346 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



assembled in arms in the glen, your son Mark at 
tlieir head. \Vhat tlicir ])recise intentions, or 
whither they are about to direct their steps, I 
know not; but I see clearly that young Mr. 
O'Donoghue will fatally compromise himself, if 
this rash step become known. The government 
never could forgive such a proceeding on his 
part. I need not tell you that this darmg must 
be a mere hopeless exploit; such enterprises 
have but one termination — the scaffold." 

The old man and liis niece exchanged glances 
— rapid, but full of intelligence. Each seemed 
to ask the other, " Is this man false.-" Is he sup- 
pressing a part of the truth at this moment, or is 
this all invention' Why has he not spoken of 
the great event — the arrival of the French?" 

Kate was the first to venture to sound him, as 
she asked, — 

"And is the rising some mere sudden ebulli- 
tion of discontent, or iiave they concerted any 
movement with others at a distance?" 

" A mere, isolated outbreak — the rash folly of 
hair-brained boys, without plan or project." 

" What is to become of poor Mark?" cried the 
O'Donoghue, all suspicions of treachery forgotten 
in the anxiety of his son's safety. 

"I have thought of that." said Hemsworth, 
hastily. "The movement must be put down at 
once. As a magistrate, and in the full confi- 
dence of the government, I have no second course 
open to me, and therefore I have ordered up ihe 
military from Macroom. There are four troops 
of cavalry and an infantry regiment there. With 
them in front, this ill-disciplined rabble will 
never dare to advance, but soon scatter and dis- 
band themselves in the mountains — the leaders 
only will incur any danger. But, as regards your 
son, you have only to write a few lines to him, 
and despatch them by some trusty messenger, 
saying that you are aware of what has happened 
■ — -know everything — and without wishing to in- 
terfere or thwart his designs, you desire to see 
and speak with him, here, at once. This he will 
not refuse. Once here safe, and within these 
walls, I'll hasten the pursuit of these foolish 
country fellows; and even should any of them 
be taken, your son will not be of the number. 
You must take care, however, when he is here, 
that he does not leave this till I return." 

"And are these brave fellows, misguided 
though they be, to be kidnapped thus, and by 
our contrivance, too?" said Kate, on whom, for 
the first time, a dread of Hemsworth's duplicity 
was fast breaking. 

"I did not know Miss O'Donoghue's interest 
took so wide a range, or that her sympathies 
were so catholic," said Hemsworth, with a smile 
of double meaning. " If she would save her 
cousin, however, she must adopt my plan, or at 
least suggest a better one." 

"Yes, yes, Kate. Mr. Hemsworth is right," 
said the O'Donoghue, in whom selfishness was 
always predominant; "we must contrive to get 
Mark here, and to keep him when we have him." 
" And yon may rely ujion it, Miss O'Donoghue," 
said Hemsworth, in a whisper, "that my pursuit 
of the others will not boast of any excessive zeal 
in the cause of loyalty. Such fellows may be suf- 



fered to escape, and neither king nor constitu- 
tion have any ground of complamt for it." 

Kate smiled gratefully in return, and felt 
angry with herself for even a momentary injus- 
tice to the honorable nature of Hemsworth's 
motives. 

"Mr. Hemsworth's horse is at the door," said 
Kerry, at the same moment. 

"It is, then, agreed upon that you will write 
this letter at once," said Hemsworth. leaning over 
the old man's chair, as he whispered the words 
into his ear. 

The O'Donoghue nodded an assent. 

"Without knowing that," continued Hems- 
worth, " I should be uncertain how to ])roceed. 
I must not let the government suppose me either 
ignorant or lukewarm. Lose no time, therefore; 
send off the letter, and leave ilie rest to me." 

"You are not going to ride, I hope," said 
Kate, as she looked out of the window down the 
glen, where already the rain was falling in tor- 
rents, and the wind blowing a perfect hurricane. 
Hemsworth muttered a few words in a low tone, 
at which Kate colored and walked away 

"Nay, Miss O'Donoghue," said he, still whis- 
pering, ■' I am not one of those who make a bar- 
gain for esteem; if I cannot win regard, I will 
never buy it." 

There was a sadness in his words, and an air 
of self-respect about him, as he spoke them, that 
touched Kate far more than ever she had been 
before by any expression of his feelings. When 
she saw him leave the room, her fiist thought 
was, " It is downright meanness to suspect hmi." 

" Is it not strange, Kate," said the O'Don- 
oghue, as he took her liand in his, "he never 
mentioned the French landing to us? What can 
this mean?" 

" I believe I can understand it, sir," said Kate, 
musingly; for already she had settled in her 
mind, that while Hemsworth would neglect no 
measures for the safety of Carrignacurra, he 
scrupled to announce tidings which might over- 
whelm them with alarm and terror. "But let 
us think of the letter; Kerry, I suppose, is the 
best person to send with it." 

" Yes, Kerry can take it; and as the way does 
not lead past Mary's door, there's a cliance of his 
delivering it without a delay of three hours on 
the road." 

" There, sir, will that do?" said Kate, as she 
handed him a paper, on which hastily a few lines 
were written. 

" Perfectl) — nothing better; only, my sweet 
Kate, when a note begins 'My dear son,' it should 
scarcely be signed 'Your own affectionate Kate 
O'Donoghue.' " 

Kate blushed deeply, as she tore the paper in 
fragments, and without a word reseated herself at 
the table. 

" I have done better this time," said she, as she 
folded the note and sealed it; while the old man, 
with an energv quite unusual for him, arose and 
rang the bell for Kerry. 

"Did I ever think I could have done this?" 
said Kate to herself, as a tear slowly coursed 
along her cheek and fell on the letter; "that I 
could dare to recall him, when both honor and 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



847 



country demand his services? that I could jilot for 
lite, when all tii.it makes life worth having is in 
tlie opposite scale?" 

"You must find out Master Mark, Kerry," said 
the O'Donoghue, "and give him this letter; 
there's no time to be lost about it." 

" Sorra fear; I'll put it into his hand this day." 

"This day!" cried Kate, impatiently. "It 
must reach him witliin three hours' time. Away 
at once — -the foot of Hungry Mountain — the sheal- 
ing — Bantry Bay — you cannot have any Uifticulty 
in finding him now." 

Kerry waited not for furtlier bidding, and 
though not by any means determined to make any 
unusual e.\ertion, left the room with such rapidity 
as augured well for the future. 

"VVell," said Mrs. Branaghan, whose anxiety 
for news had led her to the head of the kitchen 
stairs, an excursion which, at no previous moment 
of her life, had she been known to take — " Well, 
Kerry, what's going on now?" 

" Fai.K, then, I'll tell ye, ma'am," said he, 
sighing; " 'tis myself they're wanting to kill. 
Here am I setting out wid a letter, and where to, 
do you think? tiie top of Hungry Mountain, in the 
Bay of Bantry, that's the address — divil a lie in 
it." 

"And who is it for?" said Mrs. Branaghan, 
who, affecting to bestow a critical examination 
on the document, was inspecting the superscrip- 
tion wrong side up. 

" 'Tis for .Mister Mark; I heard it all outside 
the door; they don't want him to go with the 
boys, now that the French is landed, and we're 
going to have the country to ourselves. 'Tis a 
dhroll day when an O'D jnoghue wouldn't have a 
fight for ills fathers' acres." 

" Bad cess to the weak-hearted, wherever they 
are," exclaimed Mrs. Branaghan; "don't give 
him the letter, Kerry, avick; lie quiet in the glen 
till evening, and say you couldn't find him by 
any manner of means. Do that, now, and it will 
be a good sarvice to your country this day." 

" I was just thinking that same myself," said 
Kerry, whose resolution wanted little prompting; 
"after I cross the river, I'll turn into the Priest's 
Glen, and never stir out till evening." 

With these honest intentions regarding his 
mission, Kerry set out, and if any apology could 
be made for his breach of faith, the storm might 
plead for him, it had now reached its greatest 
violence; the wind, blowing in short and frequent 
gusts, snapped the large branches like mere twigs, 
and covered the road with fragments of timber; 
the mountain rivulets, too, were swollen, and 
dashed madly down the rocky cliffs with a deafen- 
ing cl inior, wliil.' the rain, swooping past in 
torrents, concealed the sky, and covered the earth 
with darkness. Mattering in no favorable spirit 
over the waywardness of that sex, to whose 
peculiar interposition he ascribed his present ex- 
cursion, Kerry [jlodded along, turning, as he went, 
a despairing look at the barren and bleak pros- 
pect around liini To seek for shelter in the 
glen he knew was out of the question, and so he 
at once determined to gain the priest's cottage, 
where a comfortable turf fire and a rasher of bacon 
were certain to welcome hira. 



Dreadful as the weather was Kerry wondered 
that he met no one on the r(jad. He expected to 
have seen groups of people, and all the signs of 
that excitement the arrival of the French might 
be supposed to call lorth; but, on the contrary, 
everything was desolate as usual, not a human 
being appeared, nor could he hear a signal nor a 
sound that betokened a gathering. 

" I wouldn't wonder, now, if it was a lie of Sam 
Wylie's, and the French wasn't here at all," said 
he to himself; " 'tis often I heerd that Hemsworth 
could have the rebellion break out whenever he 
liked it, and sorra bit but that may be it now, 
just to pretend the French was here, to get the 
boys out, and let the army at them." 

This reflection of Kerry's was scarcely con- 
ceived, when it was strengthened by a boy who 
was coming from Glenganff with a turf car, and 
who told him that the ships which came in with 
the morning's tide had all weighed anchor, and 
sailed out of the bay before twelve o'clock, and 
that nobody knew anything about them, what 
they were, and whence from. " We thought they 
were the French," said the boy, "till we seen 
them sailing away; but then we knew it wasn't 
them, and some said it was the king's ships com- 
ing in to guard Bantry." 

"And they are not there now?" said Kerry. 

"Not one of them; "they're out to say, and 
out of sight, this hour back." 

Kerry hesitated for a second or two whether 
this intelligence might not entitle him to turn 
homeward; but a second thought, the priest's 
kitchen, seemed to have the advantage, and thither 
he bent his steps accordingly. 



CHAPTER XLVI. 



THE PRIEST S COTTAGE. 



When Mark and Herbert separated on the 
mountain, each took a different path downward. 
Mark, bent on assembling the people at once, and 
proclaiming the arrival of their friends, held his 
course towards Glengariff and the coast, where 
the fisherman were, to a man, engaged in the 
plot. Herbert, uncertain how to j.roceed, was 
yet equally anxious to lose no time, but could 
form no definite resolve what course to adopt 
amid his difficulties. To give notice of the French 
landing, to apprise the magistrates of the ap- 
proaching outbreak, was, of course, his duty; 
but, in doing this, might he not be the means of 
Mark's ruin? while, on the other hand to con- 
ceal his knowledge would be an act of disloyalty 
to his sovereign, a forfeiture of the principles he 
held dear, .^nd the source, peihaps, of the most 
dreadful evils to his country. Where, too, should 
he seek for counsel or advice? His father, he 
well knew, would onlv regard the means of his 
brother's safety, reckless of all other conse- 
quences; Kate's opinions, vague and undefined 
as they were, would be in direct opposition to 
his own; Hemsworth he dared not confide in. 
What, then, remained ? There was but one for 
miles round in whose judgment and honor to- 



348 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



gether he had trust; but from him latterly he had 
kept studiously aloof. This was his old tutor, 
Father Rourke. Unwilling to inflict pain ii]Jon 
the old man, and still unable to reconcile him- 
self to anything like duplicity in the matter, Her- 
bert had avoided the occasion of meeting him, 
and of avowing that change in his religious be- 
lief wiiich, althougli secretly working for many a 
year, had only reached its accom])lishment when 
absent from home. He was aware how such a 
disclosure would afflict his old friend — how im- 
possible would be the effort to persuade him that 
such a change had its origin in conviction, and 
not in schemes of worldly ambition, and to save 
himself the indignity of defence from such an 
accusation, and the pain of an interview, where 
the ui-itter should be discussed, he had preferred 
leaving to time and accident the disclosure, which 
from his own li[)s would have been a painful 
sacrifice to both parties. These considerations, 
important enough as they regarded his own hap- 
piness, had little weight with him now. The 
graver questions had swallowed up all others — the 
safety of the country — his brother's late. It was 
true the priest's sympathies would be exclusively 
with one party; he would not view with Herbert's 
eye the coming struggle; but still, niigiit he not 
regard with him the results? Might lie not, and 
with prescience stronger from his age, anticipate 
the dreadful miseries of a land devastated by 
civil war.? Was it not possible that he might 
judge unfavorably of success, and jMefer to en- 
dure what he regarded as evils rather than incur 
the horrors of a rebellion, and the re-enactment 
of penalties it would call down? 

The hopes such calculations suggested were 
higher, because Mark had himself often avowed 
that the French woaki only consent t> the enter- 
prise on the strict understanding of being sec- 
onded by the almost unanimous voice of the 
nation. Their e.xpression was, " We are ready 
and willing to meet England in arras, provided 
not one Irishman be in the ranks." Slioidd 
Father Rourke, then, either from motives of pol- 
icy or prudence, think unfavorably of the 
scheme, his influence, unbounded over the 
people, would throw a damper on the rising, and 
either deter the French from any forward move- 
ment, or at least delay it, and afford time for 
the government to take measures of defence. 
This alone might have its effect on Mark, and 
perhaps be the means of saving him. 

Whether because he caught at this one chance 
of succor, when all around seemed hojjeless, or 
that the mind fertilizes the fields of its own dis- 
covery, Herbert grew more confident each mo- 
ment that this plan would prove successful, and 
turned with an eager heart towards the valley 
where the priest lived. In his eagerness to press 
forward, however, he diverged from the path, 
and at last reached a part of the mountain where 
a tremendous precipice intervened, and stopped 
all further progress. The storm, increasing every 
minute, made the way slow and perilous, for 
around the different peaks the wind swept with 
a force that carried all before it. Ve.xed at his 
mistake, he resolved, if possible, to discover 
some new way down the mountain; but, in the 



endeavor, he only wandered still farther from 
his course, and finally found himself in front of 
the sea once more. ]M 

The heavy rain and the dense drift shut out ■ 
for some minutes the view; but when, at last, he 
saw the bay, what was his surprise to jierceive 
that the French fleet was no longer there. He 
turned his eyes on every side, but the storm- 
lashed water bore no vessel on its surface, and, 
save some fishing craft at anchor in the little 
nooks and bays of the coast, not a mast could be 
seen. 

Scarcely able to credit the evidence of his 
senses, he knelt down on the cliff, and bent his 
gaze steadily on the bay: and when, at length, 
reassured and certain that no deception existed, 
he began to doubt whether the whole had not 
been unreal, and that the excitement of his in- 
terview with Mark had conjurtd the images 
his wislies suggested. The faint, flickering tm- 
bers of an almost extinguished fire on the Smug- 
gler's Rock decided the question, and he knew 
at once that all had actually happentd. 

He did not wait long to speculate on the rea- 
sons of this sudden flight — enough for liim that 
the most pressing danger was past, and time 
aftordcdlo rescue Mark from ])eril; and, without 
a thought upon that armament ■whose menace 
had already filled l.im with apprehension, he i])ed 
down the mountain in reckless hasle, and iie\er 
halted till he reached the glen btncaih. The 
violence of the stoini, the beating rain, seemed 
to excite him to higher efforts of strength and 
endurance, and his courage appealed lo rise as 
difficulties thickened aicimd h.ni. It vas late 
in the day, however, before he came in sight of 
the priest's cottage, and where, as the gloom was 
falling, a twinkling light now shone. 

It was with a last effort of strtnplh, almost 
exhausted by fatigue and hunger, that Herbert 
gained the door; this lay, as usual, wide open, 
and entering, he fell o\ertomeupon a seat. The 
energy that had sustained him hitherto seemed 
suddenly to have given way, and he lay back 
scarcely conscious, and unable to stir. The con- 
fusion of sense, so general after se\ere fatigue, 
])revented him tor seme time frcm hearing voices 
in the little parlor beside him; but, after a brief 
.tpace, he became aware of this vicinity, when 
suddenly the well-known accents of Maik struck 
upon his ear. He was speaking Icur'er tlian was 
his wont, and evidently with an effoit to control 
his rising temper, while the priest, in a lew, calm 
voice, seemed endea\oring to dissuade and turn 
him from some purjiose. 

A brief silence ensued, during which Mark 
paced the room with slow and heavy steps; tiien, 
ceasing suddenly, he said, — 

" Why was it, then, that we never heard of 
these scruples, before, sir? — why were we not 
told that unbelieving France was no filling ally 
for saintly Ireland? But why do I ask? Had 
the whole fleet arrived in safety — were tliere not 
thirteen missing vessels — we should hear less of 
such Christian doubts." 

" You are unjust, Mark," said the priest calmly. 
"You know me too well and too long to init any 
faith in your reproaches. I refuse to address the 



THE O'DONOGHUE 



349 



people, because I would not see them fall, or 
even conquer, in an unjust cause. Raise tlie 
banner of the Church " 

"The banner of the Church!" said Mark, 
with a mocking laugh. 

"What does he say?" whispered a tliird voice, 
in French, as a new speaker mingled in the 
dialogue. 

"He talks of the banner of the Church!" said 
Mark, scofifingly. 

"Oui, parbleu, if he likes it," replied the 
Frenchman laughingly; " it smacks somewhat of 
the middle ages; but the old ])roverb is right, 'a 
bad etiquette never spoiled good wine.'" 
. "Is it then in full canonicals, and with the 
smoke of censers, we are to march against the 
Saxon?" said Mark, with a taunting sneer. 

" Hear me out, Mark," interrupted the priest; 
" I didn't say that we were yet pre])ared even 
for this; there is much to be done — far more, 
indeed, than you wot of. Every e.Kpedition in- 
sufficiently planned and badly supported must be 
a failure; every failure retards the accomplisli- 
ment of our hopes; such must this enterprise be, 
if now " 

"Now, or never!" interposed Mark, as he 
struck the table violently with his clenched hand; 
"now, or never — for me, at least. You have 
shown me to these Frenchmen as a fool, or worse 
— one with influence, and yet without a man to 
back me — with courage, and you tell me to de- 
sert them — with the confidence of my country- 
men, and I come alone, unaccompanied, unac- 
credited, to tell my own tale amongst them. 
What other indignities have you in store for nie, 
or in what other light am I next to figure? But 
for that, and perhaps you would dare to go 
farther, and say I am not an O'Donoghue;" and 
in his passion Mark tore open a pocket-book, 
and held before the old man's eyes the certificate 
of his baptism, written in the priest's hand. 
" Yes, you have forced me to speak of what I 
ever meant to have buried in my own heart. 
There it is, read it, and bethink you how it be- 
comes him who helped to rob me of my inheri- 
tance to despoil me of my honor also." 

" You must unsay these words, sir," said the 
priest, in an accent as stern and commanding as 
Mark's own. "I was never a party to any fraud, 
nor was I in this country when your father sold 
his estates." 

" I care not how it happened," cried Mark, 
passionately. " When mv own father could do 
this thin<5, it matters little to me who were his 
accomplices;" and he tore the paper in frag- 
ments, and scattered them over the floor. "An- 
other and a very different cause brought me here. 
The French fleet has arrived." 

The priest here muttered something in a low 
tone, to which Mark quietly replied, — 

" And if they have, it is because their anchors 
were dragging; you would not have the vessels 
go ashore on the rocks; the next tide they'll 
stand up the bay again. The peo|)le that should 
have been ready to welcome them hold hack. 
The whole countrv round is become suddenly 
craven; of the hundreds that rallied round me a 
month since, seventeen appeared this morning, 



and they were wretches more eager for pillage 
than the field of honorable warfare. It is come 
then to this: you either come at once to harangue 
the people and recall them to their sworn alle- 
giance, or the expedition goes on without you — 
go on it shall." 

Here he turned sharply round, and said a few 
words in French, to which the person addressed 
replied, — 

" Certainly; the French republic does not 
send a force like this for the benefit of a sea 
voyage." 

" Desert the cause, then," continued Mark, in 
a tone of denunciation; " desert us, and, b) G — d, 
your fate will be worse than that of our more 
open enemies. To-night the force \\ill L.nd; to- 
morrow we march all day, ay, and all night, too: 
the blazing chapels shall light the wa) !" 

" Take care, rash boy, take care; the ven- 
geance of outraged Heaven is more terrible than 
you think of. Whatever be the ciime ard guilt of 
others, remember that you are sn Irisl.nian; that 
wliat the alien may do in retklessres-s, is sacri- 
lege in him who is the son of the soil." 

'■ Save me, then, from this guilt — save nie from 
myself," cried Mark, in an accent of tender 
emotion. "I cannot desert this cause, and oh! 
do not make it one of dislionor to me." 

The old man seemed o\ertcme byihissuddtn 
appeal to his affections, and made no rfi-ly, ar.d 
the deep breathing of Maik, as his chest heavtd 
in strong emotion, was the only sound in the 
stillness. Herbert, who had hitl;eiio listentd 
with that vague half conscicusness of reality ex- 
cessive fatigue inflicts, became suddenly aware 
that the eventful moment was ccnic, when, should 
the priest falter or hesitate, Maik might succeed 
in his request, and all lioj e of reseuirg him be 
lost forever. With the energy of a dc^] crate re- 
solve he sprang forwaid, ai.d tnieied the rccm 
just as the priest was about to reply. 

"No, father, no," cried he, wildly; "be firm, 
be resolute; if this unhap]iy land is to be the 
scene of bloodshed, let not her sens be found in 
opposing ranks." 

■' This from you, Herbert!" said Mark, re- 
proachfully, as he fixed a cold, stern gaze upon 
his brother. 

" And why not from him ?" said the priest, 
hastily. "Is he not an Irishman in heart and 
spirit? Is not the land as dear to him as to us?" 

" I give you joy upon the alliance, father," said 
Mark, with a scornful laugh. " Heibert is a 
Protestant." 

"What! — did I hear aright?" said the old 
man, as, with a face pale as death, he tottered 
forward, and caught the youth by either arm. 
" Is this true, Herbert? Tell me, boy, this in- 
stant, that it is not so." 

" It is true, sir, most true; and if I have 
hitherto spared you the pain it might occasion 
you, believe me it was not from any shame the 
avowal might co.st me." 

The priest staggered back, and fell heavily into 
a chair; a livid hue spread itself over his fea- 
tures, and his eyes grew glassy and lustreless. 

"We may well be wretched and miserable," 
exclaimed he, with a faint sigh. " When false 



350 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



to Heaven, who is to wonder that we are traitors 
to each other?" 

The French officer — for such he was — muttered 
some words into Mark's ear, who replied, — 

' I cannot blame you for feeling impatient. 
This is no time for fooling. Now for the glen. 
Farewell, father. Herbert, well meet again 
soon," and, without wailing to hear more, he 
hastened from the room with his companion. 

Herbert stood for a second or two undecided. 
He wished to say something, yet knew not what, 
or how. At last, approaching the old man's 
chair, he said, — 

" There is yet time to avert the danger. The 
people are irresolute — many actually averse to 
the rising. My brother will fall by his rash- 
ness," 

"Better to do so than survive in dishonor," 
said the priest, snatching rudely away his hand 
from Herbert's grasp. " Leave me, young man — • 
go; this is a poor and an humble roof, but never 
till now has it sheltered the apostate. ' 

"I never thought I should hear these words 
here," said Herbert, mildly, "but I cannot part 
with you in anger " 

" There was a time when you never left me 
without my blessing, Herbert," said the priest, 
his eves swimming in tears as he spoke; " kneel 
now, my child." 

Herbert knelt at the priest's feet, when, plac- 
ing his hand on the young man's head, he mut- 
tered a fervent prayer over him, saying, as he 
concluded, — 

''And may He wlio knows all hearts, direct 
and guide yours, and bring you back from your 
wanderings, if you have strayed from truth." 

He kissed the voung man's forehead, and then, 
covering his eyes with his hands, sat lost in his 
own sorrowfid thoughts. 

At this moment Herbert heard his name whis- 
pered by a voice without, he stole silently from 
the room, and, on reaching the little porch, fotind 
Kerry O'Leary, who, wet tlirough and wearied, 
had reached the cottage, after several hours' en- 
deavor to cross the watercourses, swollen into 
torrents by the rain. 

"A letter from Carrignacurra, sir,' said Kerry; 
for, heartily sick of his excursion, he adopted 
the expedient of pretending to mistake to which 
brother the letter was addressed, and thus at 
once terminate his unpleasant mission. 

The note began, " My dear son." and, without 
the mention of a name, simply entreated his im- 
mediate return home. Thither Herbert felt both 
duty and inclination called him, and, without a 
moment's delay, left the cottage, and, accom- 
panied by Kerry, set out for Carrignacurra. 

The night was dark and starless as they 
plodded onward, and as the rain ceased, the wind 
grew stronger, while for miles inland the roaring 
of the sea could be heard like deep, continuous 
thunder. Herbert, too much occupied with his 
own thoughts, seldom spoke, nor did Kerry ex- 
hausted as he felt iiimself, often break silence as 
they went. As they drew near the castle how- 
ever, a figure crossed the road, and, advancing 
towards them, said, — 

'" Good-night." 



"Who could that be, Kerry?" said Herbert, as 
the stranger passed on 

" I know tlie voice well," said Kerry, "though 
he thought to disguise it. 'J'hat's Sam Wylie, 
and it's not for anything good lie's here." 

Scarcely were the words siJoken, when four 
fellows sprang down upon and seized them. 

"This is our man," said one of the party, as 
he held Herbert by the collar, with a grasp there 
was no resisting; "but secure the other also." 

Herbert's resistance was vain, alllioiigh spirit- 
edly made, and, stifling his cries for aid, they 
carried him along for some litile distance to a spot 
where a chaise was standing wiih four mounted 
dragoons on either side Into this lie was forced, 
and, seated between two men in plain clothes, 
the word was given to start. 

" You know your orders if a rescue be at- 
tempted," said a voice Herbert at once knew to 
be Hemsworth's. 

The answer was lost in the noise of the wheels, 
for already the horses were away at the top of 
their speed, giving the escort all they could do 
to keep up beside them. 



CHAPTER XLVH. 

THE DAY OF RECKONING. 

Never had the O'Donoghue and Kate passed 
a day of more painful anxiety, walking from 
window to window, whenever a view of the glen 
might be obtained, or listening to catch among 
the sounds of the storm for something that sliould 
announce Mark's return, their fears increased as 
the hours stole by, and yet no sign of his coming 
appeared. 

The old castle shook to its very foundations 
as the terrific gale tore along tiie glen, and the 
occasional crash of some old fragment of masonry 
would be heard high above the roaring wind — 
while in the road beneath were scattered branches 
of trees, slates, and tiles, all evidencing the vio- 
lence of the hurricane. Under shelter of the 
great rock a shivering flock of mountain sheep 
were gathered, with here and there amidst them 
a heifer or a wild pony, all differences of habit 
merged in the common instinct of safety Within 
doors everything looked sad and gloomy, the 
kitchen, where several country people, returning 
from the market, had assembled waiting in the 
vain hope of a favorable moment to proceed 
homeward, did not present any of its ordinary 
signs of gayety There was no pleasant sound 
of happy voices, no laughter, no indulgence in 
the hundred little narratives of personal adven- 
ture by which the peasant can beguile the weary 
time They all sat around the turf fire, eitiier 
silent or conversing in low, cautious whispers, 
while Mrs. Branaghan herself smoked her pipe 
in a state of moody dignity that added its shade 
of awe to the solemnity of the scene. 

It was a strange feature of the converse, nor 
would it be worth mentioning here, save as typi- 
fying the wonderful caution and reserve of the 
people in times of difficulty but no one spoke of 



THE ODONOGHUE. 



351 



the " rising," nor did any allude, except distantly 
to the important military pre[)arations going for- 
(vard at Macroom The fear of treachery was 
at the moment universal the dread that inform- 
ers were scattered widely through the land pre- 
vailed everywhere, and the appearance of a 
stranger or of a man from a distant part of the 
country, was always enough to silence all free 
and confidential intercourse. So it was now — 
none spoke of anything but the dreadful storm — 
the injury it might do the country — how the 
floods would carry away a bridge here, or a mill 
there — what roads would be impassable — what 
rivers would no longer be fordable — some had 
not yet drawn home their turf from the bog, and 
were now in despair of ever reaching it — an- 
other had left his hay in a low callow and never 
expected to see it again — while a few, whose 
speculations took a wider field, ventured to ex 
patiate on the terrible consequences of the gale 
at sea, a tojjjc which, when suggested, led to 
many a sorrowful tale of shipwreck on the 
coast. 

It was while they were thus, in low and mut- 
tering voices, talking over these sad themes, that 
Kate, unable any longer to endure the suspense 
of silent watching, descended the stairs and en- 
tered the kitchen, to try and learn there some 
tidings of events. The people stood up respect- 
fully as she came forward, and while each made 
his or her humble obeisance, a muttered sound 
ran through them, in Irish, of wonder and aston- 
ishment at her grace and beauty; for, whatever 
be the privations of the Irish peasant, however 
])oor and humble his lot in life, two faculties 
pertain to him like instincts — a relish for drollery, 
and an admiration for beauty; these are claims 
that ever find acknowledgment for him, and, in 
his enjovment of either, he can forget himself 
and all the miseries of his condition. The men 
gazed on her as something more than mortal; the 
character of her features, heightened by costume 
strange to their eves, seemed to astonish almost 
as much as it captivated them — while the women, 
witli more critical discernment, examined her 
more composedly, but, perhaps, with not less 
admiration; Mrs. Branaghan, at the same time, 
throwing a proud glance around, as though to 
.say, "You didn't think to see the likes of that 
in these parts." 

Kate happened on this occasion to look more 
than usually handsome With a coquetry it is 
not necessary to explain, she had dressed herself 
most becomingly, and in that style which dis- 
tinctly marks a Frenchwoman. The onlv time 
in his life iMark had ever remarked her costume 
was when she wore this dress, and she had not 
forgotten the criticism. 

'■ I didn't mean to disturb you," said Kate, 
with her slightly foreign accent; "pray sit down 
again. Well, then, I must leave you, if you 
won't. Every one lets me have my own way — is 
it not true, Mrs. Branaghan'" 

Mrs. Branaghan's reply was quite lost in the 
general chorus of the others, as she said, — 

'' And why wouldn't you, God bless you for a 
raal beauty!" while a powerful-looking fellow, 
with dark beard and whiskers, struck his- stick 



violently against the ground, and cried out in his 
enthusiasm, — 

Let me see the man that would say agin it — ■ 
that's all " 

Kate smiled at the speaker, not at ail ungrate- 
ful for such rude chivalry, and went on: "I 
wanted to know if you have any news from the 
town — was there any stir among the troops, or 
anything extraordinary going forward there?" 

Each looked at the other as if unwilling to 
take the reply upon himself, when at last an old 
man. with a head as white as snow, answered, — 
Yes, my lady, the soldiers is all under arms 
since nine o clock, then came news that the 
French was in the bay, and the army was sent 
for to Cork. ' 

■ No, 'tis Limerick, I heerd say, " cried an- 
other 

■ Limerick, indeed! sorra bit, 'tis from Dublin 
they're comin , wid cannons but it's no use, for 
the French is sailed off again as quick as they 
come. 

' The French fleet gone? — left the bay' Surely 
you must mistake, said Kate eagerly 

" Faix. I wont be sure, my lady, but here's 
Tom M Carthy seen them going away, a little 
after twelve o clock.' 

The man thus appealed to seemed in no wise 
satisfied with the allusion to him, and threw a 
quick, distrustful look around, as though far from 
feeling content with the party before whom he 
should explain — a feeling that increased con- 
siderably, as every eye was now turned towards 
him. 

Kate, with a ready tact that never failed her 
saw his difficulty, and approaching close to 
where he stood, said in a voice only audible by 
himself, — 

" Tell me what you saw in the bay — do not 
have any fear of me.' 

M'Carthy, who was dressed in the coarse blue 
jacket of a fisherman, possessed that sliarp in- 
telligence so often found among those of his 
calling, and seemed at once to have his mind 
relieved by this mark of confidence. 

■ I was in 'ihe boat, my lady,' said he, " that 
rowed Master Mark out to the Fiench frigate, 
and waited for him alongside to bring him back. 
He was more than an hour on board talking with 
the officers sometimes down in the cabin, and 
more times up on the quarter-deck, \\here there 
was a fierce-looking man, with a blue unifoim 
lying on a white skin — a white bear, Master Mark 
tould me it was. The officer was wounded in 
the leg before he left France, and the sea voy- 
age made it bad again, but, for all that, he 
laughed and joked away like the others " 

" And they were laughing, then, and in good 
spirits?" said Kate 

'' 'Tis that you may call it I never heerd 
such pleasant gentlemen before, and thes.nilors. 
too, were just the same — sorra bit would sarA e 
them, but making us drink a bottle of rum 
apiece, for luck, I suppose. Devil a one had a 
sorrowful face on him but Master Mark, what- 
ever was the matter with him. He wouldn't eat 
anything either, and the only glass of wine lie 
drank you'd think it was poison, the (arc iie 



352 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



made at it — more by token, lie flung the glass 
overboard when he finished it. And to be sure 
the Frenchmen weren't in fault — they treated 
him like a brother. One would be shaking hands 
wid him — another wid his arm round his should- 
ers, and " Here Tom blushed and stam- 
mered, and at last stopped dead short. 

" Well, go on, what were you going to say?" 

" Faix, I'm ashamed then — but 'tis true 
enough — saving your presence, I saw two of 
them kiss him." 

Kate could not help laughing at Tom's aston ■ 
ishment at this specimen of French greeting; 
while for the first time, perhaps, did the feeling 
of the peasant occur to herself, and the prac- 
tice she had often witnessed abroad without 
remark, became suddenly repugnant to her 
delicacy 

"And did Master Mark come back alone?" 
asked she, after a minute's hesitation. 

" No, my lady: there was a little dark man, 
with goold epaulettes, and a sword on him, that 
came too. I heerd them call him Mr. Morris, 
but sorra a word of English or Irish he had." 

" And where did they land, and which way did 
they take afterwards?" 

" I pu*; them ashore at Glengariff, and they 
had horses there to take them up the country. I 
heard they were going first to Father Rourke's, 
in the glen." 

"And then, after that?" 

" Sorra a one of me knows. I never set eyes 
on them smce. I was trying to get a warp out 
for one of the French ships, for the anchors 
was dragging. They came to the wrong side of 
the island, and got into the north channel, and 
that was the reason they had to cut their cables 
and stand out to sea till the gale is over but 
there s not much chance of that for some 
time.' 

Kate did not speak for several minutes, and at 
length said, — 

" The people — tell me of them. Were they 
in great numbers along the coast? — were there a 
great many of them with Mr. Mark when he 
came down to the shore?" 

'" I 11 tell you no lie my lady, there was not. 
There was some boys from Castletown, and down 
thereabouts, but the O'Learys and the SuUivans, 
the M'Carthys — my own people — and the Neals 
wasn't there- and sure enough it was no wonder 
if Master Mark was angry, when he looked about 
and saw the fellows was following him. ' Be 
off says he: away wid ye; 'tis for pillage and 
robbery the likes of ye comes down here. If 
the men that should have heart and courage in 
the cause won t come forward, I'll never head 
ruffians like you to replace them Them's the 
words he said, and hard words they were.* 

Poor fellow!" said Kate, as she wiped away 
a tear from her eye, "none stand by him, not 
one And why is this the case?' asked she, 
eagerly, "have the people grown faint-hearted? 
— are there cowards amongst them?" 

There s as bad, ' said M'Carthy, in a low. 
cautious whisper — "there's traitors, that would 
rather earn blood-money than live honestly 
there's many a one among them scheming to 



catch Master Mark himself, and he's lucky if he 
escapes at last." 

" There's horses now coming up the road, 
and fast they're coming, too," said one of the 
country people; and the quick clattering of a 
gallop could be heard along the plashy road. 

Kate's heart beat almost audibly, and she 
bounded from the spot, and up the stairs. The 
noise of the approaching horses came nearer, 
and at last stopped before the door. 

"It is him — it is Mark," said she to herself, 
in an ecstasy of delight; and with trembling 
fingers withdrew the heavy bolt, and undid the 
chain, while, with an effort of strength the emer- 
gency alone conferred, she threw wide the mass- 
ive door, clasped and framed with iron. 

'Oh, how I have watched for you!" ex- 
claimed she, as a figure, dismounting hastily, 
advanced towards her, and the same instant the 
voice revealed Hemsworth, as he said, — 

'■ If I could think this greeting were indeed 
meant for me, Miss O'Donoghue, 1 should call 
this moment the happiest of my life." 

" I thought it was my cousin," said Kate, as, 
almost fainting, she fell back into a seat; "but 
you may have tidings of him — can you tell if he 
is safe?" 

" I expected to have heard this intelligence 
from you,' said he, as recovering from the 
chagrin of his disappointment, he resumed his 
habitual deference of tone; "has he not 
returned ?" 

■'No, vi'e have not seen him, nor has the mes- 
senger yet come back. Herbert also is away 
and we are here alone. ' 

As Hemsworth offered her his arm to return 
to the drawing room, he endeavored to reassure 
her on the score of Mark's safety while he 
hinted that the French, who that morning had 
entered Bantry Bay with eleven vessels unpre- 
pared for the active reception his measures had 
provided, had set sail again, either to await the 
remainder of the fleet, or perhaps return to 
France ' I would not wish to throw blame on 
those whose misfortune is already heavy but I 
must tell you. Miss O Donoghtie, that every step 
of this business has been marked by duplicity and 
cowardice. I, of course, need not say that in 
either of these your friends stand guiltless but 
your cousin has been a dupe throughout- — trie 
dupe of every one who thought it worth his 
while to trick and deceive him; he believed him- 
self in the confidence of the leaders of the ex- 
pedition — they actually never heard of his name 
he thought himself in a position of trust and 
influence — he is rot recognized by any; unno- 
ticed by his own party, and unacknowledged by 
the French, his only notoriety will be the equiv- 
ocal one of martyrdom.' 

Every word of this speech, uttered in a voice 
of sad, resjretful meaning, as though the speaker 
were sorrowing over the mistaken opinions of a 
dear friend- cut deeply into Kate's heart she 
knew not well, at the instant, whether she should 
not better have faced actual danger for her 
cousin, than have seen him thus deceived and 
played upon. Hemsworth saw the effect his 
words had created, and went on. — 



THE ODONOGHUE. 



353 



"Would thnt the danger rested here, and that 
the fate of one rasli but high-spirited boy was 
all that hung on the crisis." As he spoke, he 
threw a cautious look around the roomy apart- 
ment, to see that they were, indeed, alone. 

'Great Heaven! there is not surely worse than 
this in store for us," cried Kate, in a voice of 
heart-rending affliction 

'There is far worse, Miss O'Donoghue; the 
ruin that threatens is that of a wliole house — a 
noble and honored name. Your uncle is, un- 
happily no stranger to these mischievous inten- 
tions. I was slow to put faith in the assertion." 

■ It is false — I know it is false! ' said Kate, 
passionately. ' My poor dear uncle, over- 
whelmed with many calamities, has borne up 
patiently and nobly, but of any participation in 
schemes of danger or enterprise he is incapable; 
think of his age — his infirmity " 

" I am aware of both, young lady, but I am 
also aware that for years past his pecuniary dif- 
ficulties have been such that he would hesitate 
at nothing which should promise the chance of 
extrication. Many have imagined, like him, that 
even a temporary triumph over England would 
lead to some new settlement between the two 
countries — concessions of one kind or other 
laws revoked and repealed, and confiscations 
withdrawn, nor were the expectations, perhaps, 
altogether unfounded. Little has ever been ac- 
corded to Ireland as a grace — much has been 
obtained by her by menace. " 

" He never rnlculated on such an issue to the 
struggle, sir; depend upon it, no unworthy pros- 
pect of personal gain ever induced an O'Don- 
oghue to adopt a cause like this. You have con- 
vinced me, now, that he is unconnected with this 
plot." 

"I sincerely wisli my own convictions could 
follow yours, madam; but it is an ungrateful 
office I have undertaken. Would to Heaven I 
knew how to discharge it more fittingly. To be 
plain, Miss O'Dinoghue, the statute of high 
treason, which will involve the confiscation ot 
your uncle's estate, will, if measures be not 
speedily taken, rob you of your fortune; to pre- 
vent this " 

'■ Stay, sir, I may save you some trouble on my 
account. I h.ave no fortune, nor any claim upon 
itiy uncle's estate." 

" Pardon me, young lady, but the circumstance 
of my position has made me acquainted with 
matters connected with your family, your claim 
extends to a very considerable, and a very valua 
ble property." 

" Once mere, sir, I must interrupt you — I have 
none." 

■' If I dare contradict you, I would say ' 

" Nay, nay, sir," cried she, blushing, partly from 
shame, and partly from anger — " this must cease: 
I know not what right you have to press the 
avowal from me. The property you speak of is 
no longer mine; my uncle did me the honor to 
accept it from me. Would that the gift could 
express the thousandth part of the love I bear 
him." 

" You gave over your claim to your uncle!" 
said Hemsworih, leaving a pause between every 



word of the sentence, while a look of malignant 
anger settled on his brow. 

" Who dares to question me on such a subject?" 
said Kate, for the insulting expression so sud- 
denly assumed by Henisworth roused all her in- 
dignation. 

"Is this, then, really so?" said Hemsworth, 
who, so unaccustomed as he ever was to be 
overreached, felt all the poignancy of a decep- 
tion in his disappointment. 

Kate made no answer, but moved towards the 
door, while Hemsworth sprang forward before 
her, and placed his back against it. 

" What means this, or how comes it, that you 
dare treat me thus beneath my uncle's roof?" 

One word only. Miss O'Donoghue," said 
Hemsworth, with an effort to assume his habitual 
tone of deference. "May I ask, was ihis trans- 
fer of ])roperty made legally and formally?" 

" Sir'' said Kale, as, drawing herself up, 
she stared full at him, without another ^\ord of 
reply. 

'' I see it all," said Hemsworth, rapidly, and as 
if thinking aloud "1 his was thenoney that paid 
off Hickbon — in this way the moitgage was re- 
deemed, and the bond for two thousand also re- 
covered — duped and cheated at every step. And 
so, madam" — here he turned a Icok of insulting 
menace towards her — ' I have been the fool in 
your hands all this time; and not content Viih 
thwarting my views, you have endeavored to sap 
the jource of my fortune. Yes, ycu r.ecd not 
affect ignorance, I know of Sir Archibald's kind 
interference in my behalf. Sir Maimrdukc 
Travers has withdrawn his agency from nie; he 
might have paused lo inquire ■where was ihe 
property from which he has removed me — how 
much of it owns him the master or me. This 
was your uncle's doings. I have it under his 
own hand, and the letter addressed to yourself." 

"And you dared sir, to break the seal of my 
letter!" 

' I did more, madani^ — I sent a copy of it to 
the secretary ot state, whose warrant I possess. 
The young officials of the heme office will, 
doubtless thank me for the amusement I have 
afforded them in its contents. I'he match-making 
talents of Sir Archy, and his niece's fascinations, 
have, however failed for once. The guards- 
man seems to have got over his short-lived pas- 
sion.' 

'' Stand back, sir, and let me pass." 
■ One moment more, madam. If I have suf- 
fered some injuries from your family, I have at 
least one debt of gratitude to acknowledge. But 
for your note, written by your own hand, I should 
scarcely have succeeded in capturing a rebel, 
whose treason will not long await its penalty; but 
for your able assistance, your cousin might have 
escaped. Indeed, it may be worth while to in- 
form you that Sir Archibald had good hopes of 
obtaining his pardon — a circumstance which will, 
doubtless, be satisfactory to the surviving mem- 
bers of his family. 

" My cousin Mark taken!" cried Kate, as she 
clasped her hands to either side of her head in a 
paroxysm of agony. 

"Take:-', and on his way to Di;blin under a 



354 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



military escort. On Wednesday he will be tried 
by court-martial. I hope and trust on Thurs- 
day . But, perhaps, it would be cruel to tell 

you of Thursday's proceedings. 

Kate reeled, and endeavored to support herself 
by a chair; but a sickness like death crept over 
her, and with a faint, low sigh, she sank lifeless 
on the floor; at the same instant the door was 
burst open by a tremendous effort, and Hems- 
worth sent forward into the room. It was Mark, 
splashed and dripping, his face flushed with 
violent e.xertion, that entered. With one glance 
at Hemsu'orth, and another at the fainting form 
before him, he seemed to divine all. 

"Our day of reckoning is come at last, sir," 
said he, in a low, distinct voice; " it lias been 
somewhat tardy, however." 

" If you have any claim on me, Mr. O'Don- 
oghue," said Hemsvvorth, with a forced calmness, 
" I am ready, at a proper time and place, to offer 
you every satisfaction." 

" That time and place is here, sir," said Mark, 
as, without the slightest sign of passion, he bolted 
the door, and drew a heavy table across it. 
"Here, in this room, from which both of us shall 
never walk forth alive." 

" Take care, sir,, what you do; I am armed," 
said Hemsworth, as he threw a quick glance 
around, to see if any hope of escape should 
present itself. 

" And so am t," said Mark, coolly, who still 
busied himself in removing every object from the 
middle of the room, while gently lifting Kate, he 
laid her, still unconscious as she was, upon a sofa. 
"We have neither of us much time to throw 
away, I fancy," said he, with a bitter laugh. 
"Choose your place, now, sir, and fire when you 
please — mine is yonder!" and, as he spoke, he 
turned half round to walk towards the spot indi- 
cated. With the quickness of lightning. Hems- 
worth seized the moment, and, drawing a pistol 
from his bosom, aimed and fired The ball 
grazed Mark's shoulder, and made him stagger 
forwards; but in a moment he recovered himself. 
The casualty saved him, for, while falling, a 
second bullet whizzed after the first With a cry 
of vengeance that made the old walls ring again, 
Mark sprang at him. It was the deadly leap of 
a tiger on his prey. The impulse was such, that, 
as he caught him in his arms, both rolled over 
together on the floor. The struggle was but brief. 
Mark, superior in youth, strength, and activity, 
soon got liim under, and, with his knee upon his 
cliest, pinioned him down to the ground There 
was a pause, the only sounds being the ijuick- 
drawn breathings of both, as with looks of hate, 
they gazed at each other While with one hand 
lie grasjjed Hemsworth by the throat, with the 
other he felt for his pistol. Slowly he drew forth 
the weapon, and cocked it. then, laying the cold 
muzzle upon the other's forehead, he pressed the 
trigger, the cock snapped, but the priming 
t)unied. He flung the weapon from him in 
])assion, and drew another; but, eie he could 
adjust it, Hemsworth ceased to breathe; a cold, 
livid color spread over his features, and a clammy 
sweat bedewed his forehead — he had fainted 

Mark dropped the uplifted weapon as he mut- 



tered, " It was a fitting fate — the death of a 
cowaid.'' Then, standing up he approached the 
window that overlooked the road, and threw it 
wide open. The storm still blew with all its 
torce, and in a second extinguished the lights in 
the room, leaving all in darkness. With cautious 
steps, Mark moved towards where the body lay, 
and, lifting it in his powerful arms, carried it 
towards the window; with one vigorous effort he 
hurled the lifeless form from him, and the heavy 
mass was heard as it fell crashing among the 
brushwood that covered the precipice. 

Mark gazed for a few seconds inlo the black 
abyss beneath, and then withdrawing, he closed 
the window, and barred it. By tlie aid of his 
pistol lie struck a light and relighted the candles, 
and then approached the sofa wh.ere Kale lay. 

"Have 1 been ill, Mark?" said she, as she 
touched his hand — " have I been ill, and dream- 
ing a horrid dream? I thought Htmsttorth was 
here, and that — that-^But he was hert — 1 know 
it now — you met him here. Oh, Maik! dearest 
Mark! what has happened — where is he?" 

Mark pointed to the window, but never spoke. 

"Is he killed — did you kill him?" cried she 
as her eyes grew wild with the e.\|)reBsion of 
terror. "Oh, merciful Heaven! who has visited 
us so heavily, why will reason remain when 
madness would be mercy! You have killed 
him!" 

" He did not die by my hand, though he well 
deserved to have done so," said Mark, sternly; 
" but are our hours to be so many now, that we 
can waste them on such a theme? The French 
are in the bay — as least a portion of the fleet. 
Sixteen vessels, nine of which are sliips of the 
line, are holding by their anchors beneath our 
cliffs; twenty more are at sea, or wrecked, or 
captured by the English, for who can tell the 
extent of our disasters? All is against us; but 
against all we might succeed if we had not trait- 
ors amongst us." 

" The government is aware of the plot, Mark — 
knows every man engaged in it, and is fully pre- 
pared to meet your advance." 

" Such is the rumor; but there's no truth in 
it. The people hold back, and give this as the 
excuse for their cowardice. The priests will not 
harangue them, and the panic spreads every mo- 
ment wider, of treachery and betrayal. Lanty 
Lawler, the fellow who should have supplied 
horses for the artillery, is an informer; so are 
half the others There's nothing for it but a 
bold plunge — something to put every neck in 
the halter, and then will come the spirit to meet 
all difficulties So thinks Tone, and he's a 
noble-hearted fellow, and ready for any peril." 

A loud knocking at the door of the tower now 
broke in u]ion the converse and Kerry O'Leary 
called aloud, — 

"Open the door. Master Mark: be quick, the 
soldiers is comin 

Mark speedily withdrew the heavy table from 
its place across the door, and opened it. Kerry, 
his clothes reduced to rags, and his face and 
hands bleeding, stood before him, terror in every 
feature. " They took me prisoner at the gate 
there, but I contrived to slip away, and took to 




rfr//r>/fr/ifa 



THE O DONOGH U E. 



355 



the mountain, and a fine chase they gave me for 
the last hour." 

" But the soldiers — where are they, and in 
what place?" 

" There's two troops of horse about a mile 
below Mary's in the glen, waiting for Hems- 
worth's orders to advance.' 

"Go on," said Mark, with a stern smile; 
" they're not likely to move for some time." 

" I do not know that, then,'' said Kerry, " for 
I saw Hemsworth pass up the road, with two 
men holding him on his horse. He seemed to 
have got a bad fall, for the blood was running 
down his face, and his cheeks was as pale as a 
corpse." 

" You saw Hemsworth, a-nd he was living!" 

''Fai.x he was, and no doubt of it; there never 
was the man in these parts could curse and 
swear the way he does, barrin' himself, and I 
heerd him blasphaming away as he went along 
what he wouldn't do down here." 

"Oh, fly. Mark; don't lose a second, for 
Heaven's sake " 

" And leave you here to the mercy of this 
scoundrel and his bloodhounds!" 

" No no; we are safe here; he dare not wreak 
his vengeance on us, but you are his greatest 
enemy." 

" "i'is thrue she's sayin'," cried Kerry, eagerly; 
" I heerd Hemsworth say to Sam Wylie that 
Captain Travers is up at Macroom with his regi- 
ment, and was coming down to guard the castle 
here; but that there was plenty of time to take 
vou before he came, and there was a tree stand- 
ing to hang you, besides " 

" I leave you, then, in safe keeping," said 
Mark, with a touch of sarcasm in his voice, 
" one word of good-bye to my father, and I am 
gone." 

It was some moments before the O'Donogluie 
could rally from the deep stupor grief and anx- 
iety induced, and recognize Mark as he leaned 
over his chair; and then, as he felt his hands and 
clutched his arms, he seemed endeavoring to per- 
suade himself that it was not some passing 
dream he labored under. 

" The pursuit is too hot, father," said Mark, 
after two or three efforts to arouse his mind to what 
was going forward, " and I must be off. Hems- 
worth has a strong party in the glen; but fear 
notliing, he cannot molest you; and, besides, his 
time is brief now." 

" And will you leave me, Mark — will you de- 
sert me, now?" said the old man, with all the 
selfishness of age, forgetting everything save his 
own feelings. 

"Not if you wish me to remain; if you think 
there is more honor in my being taken prisoner 
under your own roof, I'm just as willing ' 

"Oh, no, uncle," cried Kate, rushing forward. 
" do not keep him. Sav good-bve, and speedily, 
the dragoons are advancing alreadv." 

" There goes a shot! that was a cannon," cried 
Mark, in ecstasy, as he lifted his hand to catch 
the sound. "Another! another! they're landing 
— they're coming. You'll see me again before 
daybreak, father," said he, embracing the old 
man tenderly, while he turned to bid Kate adieu. 



She stood with her hands before her eyes, her 
bosom heaving violently. Mark gazed at her 
for a moment, and, pressing his lips to her cheek, 
merely whispered one word, and was gone. 

Hemsworth's horse, which Kerry had found 
in the stable, stood ready awaiting Mark, and 
without a moment's loss of time he sprang on the 
animal's back, and dashed down the road at full 
speed. INIeanwhile the loud firing of cannon 
continued at intervals towards the bay, and more 
than one rocket was seen to throw its bright glare 
through the blackness of the night. 

" They're landing at last," cried Mark, as every 
report set his heart bounding with eager hope, 
and forward he rode through the storm 



CHAPTER XLVIII. 

THE GLEN AND THE BAY. 

Kerry O'Leary's intelligence was correct in 
every particular Hemsworth was not only liv- 
ing, but save some bruises and a cut upon his 
forehead, was little the worse for his adventure. 
The brushwood had caught him in his descent, 
and broken the fall; and although the height was 
considerable, when he reached the ground he was 
merely stunned, and not seriously injured. Af- 
ter a little time he was able to walk, and had suc- 
ceeded in advancing about half a mile up the 
glen when he was met by Wylie and a party of 
his followers, returning after escorting the chaise 
some miles on the road. 

Neither our space nor our inclination permit 
us to dwell on the scene that followed where 
Hemsworth, outwitted and duped as he believed 
himself, gave way to the most \-iolent passion, ac- 
cusing every one in turn of treachery, and vow- 
ing a deep and bloody vengeance on the whole 
house of O'Donoghue. 

Seated on Wylie's horse, and supported on each 
side by two men — for at ftrst his weakness in- 
creased as he found himself in the saddle-^he went 
along at a foot's pace. He would not listen to 
Wylie's proposal of returning to the lodge, but 
constantly called out — " To Keim-an-eigh as fast 
as possible — to the dragoons!' And at last pas- 
sion had so far supplied energy that he was able 
to ]iress on faster, when suddenly a twinkling 
light through the gloom apprised him that he was 
near the little wayside inn. 

" Get me some wine, Wylie, and be quick'" 
cried he, as they reached the door. 

" You had better get off and rest a few mo- 
ments, sir,*' said the other 

"Rest! — I'll never rest," shouted he, with an 
infamous oath, '•' till I see that fellow waving 
from the gallows! Some wine this instant!" 

To the loud summons of Wylie no answer was 
returned, and the light that shone so brightly a 
moment before was now extinguished. 

" Break open the door' B — t you! what do 
vou delay about'" shouted Hemsworth. 'There 
are some rebel tricks at work here." 

At the same instant the light reappeared, and 
Mary's voice was heard from withni. 



356 



THE ODONOGHUE. 



" Wha s that, at this hour of the night, making 
such a noise?" 

■'Open the door, and be d — d to you I" cried 
Hemsworth, who liaviiig got off his horse, was 
now endeavoring witli his foot to force the strong 
door. 

'■ It will take a better man than you to stave 
that panel in,' said Mary who. although recog- 
nizing the voice, affected not to know the speaker 
And she said truly the door once made part of 
the rudder of an Indianian, and was strong oak 
Le'ted with iron 

■' Put a light in the thatch! Snap your pistol, 
Wylie, and set fire to it! ' cried Hemsworth, 
savagely, for any opposition to him at this 
moment called forth all the malignity of his 
nature. 

''Oh, is it you, captain?'" said Mary, with a 
voice of well-affected respect: ' the Lord pardon 
me for keeping you out in the cold!" And with 
that she opened the door, and with many a low 
curtsey, saluted her guest. 

Rudely pushing her aside, and muttering an 
oath, Hemsworth entered the cabin, followed by 
the others 

'' Why was the light put out," said he, "when 
you heard us knocking at the door?" 

" I did not hear the knocking," said Mary. 
I was in the little room there, and goin' to bed. 
The saints be good to nie! since the soldiers 
were here, the hearing is knocked out of me — 
the noise and the ballyragging they went on with, 
from mornin till night! And now that they are 
gone — ^thanks to your honor, that ordered them 
away two days ago up to the lodge — I do be think- 
ing they are here still." 

'' Bring us some wine," said Hemsworth, " and 
the best in your house. You need not spare the 
tap tonight, for it's the last you will ever draw- 
beneath tills roof. There — don't look surprised 
and innocent — you know well what I mean. This 
is a rebel den, but I will leave it a heap of ashes 
before I quit the spot." 

'You'll not burn , my little place down, cap- 
tain'" said Mary, with a look in which a shrewd 
observer might have read a very different e.xpresr 
sion than that of fear " You'll not take away 
the means I have of earning my bread?" 

"Bring the wine, woman; and, if you don't 
wish to wait for the bonfire, be off with you up 
to the glen. I'll leave a mark on this spot as a 
good warning to traitors. People shall talk of 
it hereafter, and point to it as the place where 
rebellion met its first lesson." 

" And_ who dares to say that there was any 
treason in this house?" 

"If my oath,' said Wylie, "Won't satisfy you, 
Mrs. M'Kelly- 



Mary ■ 



yours! — a 



"Yours!" interrupted 
transported felon's oath!" 

" What do you think of your old sweetheart, 
Lanty Lawler?" said Hemsworth, as he drank off 
goblet after goblet of the strong wine. " Wouldn t 
you think twice about refusing him now, il you 
knew the price it was to cost you'" 

" I would rather see my bones as black as his 
own traitor's heart," cried Mary, with flashing 
eyes, '' than I would take a villain like tliat! 



There, captain, there's the best of the cellar, 
and there's the house for you; and there," said 
she, throwing herself on her knees, "and tliere's 
the curse of the lone woman that you turn out 
this night upon the road, without a roof to shel- 
ter her, and may it light on you now, and fol- 
low you hereafter!" 

"Clear your throat, and cool it, after your hot 
wishes," said Hemsworth, with a brutal laugh;, 
for in this ebullition of the woman's passion was 
the first moment of his enjoyment. 

With a gesture of menace, and a denunciation 
uttered in Irish, with all the energy the native 
language possesses, Mary turned into the road, 
and left her home forever. 

'* What was that she said ?" said Hemsworth, 
turning to one of the men that stood behind the; 
chair 

"It was a saying they do have in Irish, sir," 
said the fellow, with a simper, "and the mean- 
ing of it is, that it isn't them that lights a bonfiri; 
that waits to dance round the ashes." 

" Ha! that was a threat, then! She will brir;; 
the rebels on us, but I have taken good caie li • 
that. I have sent a strong party by the other roaij 
to cut off their advance from the bay, and we'll 
hear the firing time enough to wain us. An(| 
that party," said Hemswonli, muttering to him- 
self, "should be at their post by this time" — hen; 
he looked at his watch — " it is now eleven o'clock. 
You took the order, Wylie. for Captain Travels 
to go round by Googawn Barra, and occujjy the 
pass between Carrignacurra and 'Bantry Bay?" 

"I did, sir, and he set off the moment 1 gave 
the letter." 

"Then the fellow Mark cannot escape me." 
said Hemsworth. "If he leave the castle before 
I come, he falls into the hands of the others. 
Still, I would rather be judge and jury m\self, 
and you shall be the hangman, Sam. There's 
little love between you: it is an office you'll like 
well." 

" If I don't do it nate," said Wylie, "the vount; 
gentleman must forgive me, as it is my first time." 
And they both laughed heartily at the ruffian jest. 
"But what are we staying for?" said Hems- 
worth, while he drained his glass. "Let us get 
up the dragoons, and make sure of him at once. 
I am strong now, and ready for any exertion." 

" 'Tis a pity to burn the little place, captain." 
said one of the fellows of the party. "There's 
many a dacent boy would think himself well eft 
to get the likes of it for his reward.'' 

" Make yourself at home,'' said Hemsworth, 
"for I'll give you a lease for three lives of ii-- 
your's, Wylie's, and mine own — will that satisfy 
you?" 

The fellow stared at the speaker, and then 
looked at Wylie, as if not knowing whether to place 
any faith in the words he heard. 

" I didn t say you were to get the premises in 
good repair, however," said Hemsworth \Mih n 
bitter laugh— " I didn't boast much about tl i; 
roof-' and at the same moment he took a lighted 
turf from the hearth, and thrust it into the thatch, 
while Wylie, to curry tavor with his patron, imi- 
tated his examjjle. 

"Where does that door lead to?" said Hems- 



THE O'DONOGHUE. 



357 



worth, pointing to the small portal which led into 
the rock towards the stable. 

" That's the way to the stable," said Wylie, as 
he opened it, and looked down the passage; " and 
liere's another door that I never saw before." 

"Tliat's where she do keep the spirits, sir," 
said one of the men; "'tis there she do have all 
tiie liquor." 

" There's nothing like whisky for a blaze," said 
Hemsu-orth, with a half-drunken laugh. " Burst 
open that door!" But all their efforts were vain: 
it was made with every precaution of strength, 
and studded over with strong nails. 

"Stop!" said Hemsworth, as he pushed the 
others rudely away, "there's a readier plan than 
yours to force it. I'll blow the lock to pieces!" 
And, so saying, he took the pistol from Wylie's 
hand, and having leisurely examined the priming 
and the flint, placed the muzzle in the lock. 

"Be quick, sir, be quick!" said Wylie; "the 
place is filling with smoke!" 

And so it was: the crackling of the thatch, and 
the dense masses of black smoke that filled the 
cabin, showed that the work of destruction was 
begun. 

"Here, then: this is to put the seal to your 
lease, Peter," said Hemsworth, as he pulled the 
trigger. 

A quick report followed, and then a crashing 
sound, as of splintered timber, and sudden as the 
lightning flash itself, a noise burst forth louder 
than thunder, and at the same moment the house, 
and all that were in it, were blown into the air, while 
the massive rock was shattered from its base full 
lifty feet up above the road. Report after report 
followed, each accompanied by some new and 
fearful explosion, until at length a great portion 
of the cliff was rent asunder, and scattered in 
huge fragments across the road, where, amid the 
crumbling masonry and the charred rafters, lay 
four black and lifeless bodies, without a trait 
which should distinguish one from the other. 

All was silent on the spot, but through every 
glen in the mountains the echoing sounds sent 
back in redoubled peals the thunder of that dread- 
ful explosion, and through many a far-off valley 
rung out that last requiem over the dead. 

For some time the timbers and the thatch con- 
tinued to burn, emitting at intervals luiid bursts 
of flame, as more combustible matter met the 
fire, while now and then a great report, and a 
sudden explosion, would announce that some 
hitherto untouched store of powder became 
ignited, until, as day was breaking, the flames 
waned and died out, leaving the rent rocks and 
the ruined cabin the sad memorials of the event. 

Nor were these the only occurrences of which 
the glen was that night the witness. Mark, his 
brain burning for the moment when the fray 
should commence-, rode on amid the storm, the 
crashing branches and the loud brawling torrents 
seeming to arouse the wild spirit within him, and 
lash his enthusiasm even to madness. The 
deafening clamor of the hurricane increased as 
he came nearer to the bay, where the sea, storm- 
lashed and swollen, beat on the rocks with c din 
like artillery. 

But louder far than all other sounds were the 



minute peals of cannon from the bay, making 
the deep valleys ring with their clangor, and 
sending their solemn din into many a far-off glen. 

" They are coming — they are coming!" cried 
Mark, as he bounded madly in his saddle. 
"What glorious music have they for their march!" 

"Stop! — pull in! — hould hard, Master Mark!" 
screamed a voice from the side of the road, as a 
fellow jumped from a cliff, and made towards 
the rider. 

" Don't delay me now, Terry — I cannot stay," 
said Mark, as he recognized the youth; "the 
French are landing!" 

" They 'are not!" cried Terry with a yell of 
despair; " they are going off, leaving us forever, 
and the glen is full of soldiers. The dragoons 
is there; ay, not half a mile from you," as he 
pointed through the gloom in the direction of 
the glen. 

" the dragoons there! — what treachery is this?" 

" I saw them coming round the head of the 
lake this evening, and I thought it was after me 
Ihey were coming; but they never turned off the 
road, but went on to the gap of the glen, and 
there they are now, waiting, 1 suppose, for the 
French to go." 

"The French are not going, fool! — they are 
landing! Don't you hear the guns — there! and 
there again! There is but one way now, but a 
bold heart needs no more. Let go the bridle, 
Terry." 

" I can't — I won't let go. 'Tis cut to pieces 
you'll be. I seen them looking at their swords 
a while ago. Och, don't twist my hand that 
way!" 

"Leave me free! There is no such armor of 
proof as recklessness!" 

As he spoke, he reined in his horse, and, dash- 
ing the spurs into his flanks, sprang beyond 
Terry, and the next moment was out of sight. 
A very few minutes showed that Terry was but 
too accurate. Around a blazing fire beneath the 
rock a party of dragoons were dismounted, 
vainly seeking to dry their»soaked clothes, while 
in front two mounted men could be seen with 
their carbines unslung, ready for action. 

A bold dash to force his way through was the 
only chance remaining. To depend on his 
horse's s]jeed, and his own dexterous hand to 
guide him, was all his hope. He resolved, there- 
fore, neither to draw sword nor pistol, but at- 
tempt to pass by sheer horsemanship. Few men 
were either better suited for a venture so daring, 
or better equipped at the moment. '1 he animal 
he rode was a powerful thoroui,,'h-I)red, trained 
and managed to perfection. 

Without the slightest noise Mark dismonntecB, 
and ungirthing his saddle, readjusted and fastened 
it further back. He then looked carefully to 
his bridle, to see all was safe there, and loosened 
I the curb, to give the horse free play of his head. 
This done, and with his cap pressed firmly down 
upon his brow, he sprang into his saddle once 
more. 

Tiie bright blaze enabled him to see the party 
in front, and, while he himself escaped all ob- 
servation, to devise his plans at leisure. He ad- 
vanced, therefore, at a slow walk, keeping the 



358 



THE O'DONOGH UE, 



horse's feet in the deep ground, where no noise 
was made. He counted seven ligiires around the 
fire, and two as sentinels, and suspected at once 
that the whole party was not there. Still there 
was no other chance. To attempt the mountain 
would delay him a day at least, and a day now 
was a lifetime. Creeping noiselessly forward, he 
came within a few yards of the outposts, and 
could distinctly hear the voices as they talked to- 
gether. He halted for a second or two, and 
looked back down the glen. It was an involun- 
tary action, for even had all not been dark 
around him, his home, to which he wished to bid 
a last adieu, was out of sight. 

A cannon-shot rang out at the instant, and, 
taking it for a signal, Mark reined in his horse 
sharply, and then, dashing the spurs to his sides, 
niade him plunge madly forward, and, with the 
bound, shot thrt>ugh the space between the two 
sentinels each of whom presented, but feared to 
fire, lest he should injure his comrade. 

''Come on — follow me!" cried Mark, waving 
his hand as if encouraging others on; and the 
action turned every look down the glen in the 
direction from whence he came, and whence now 
came a wild, shrill yell, the most savage and 
ai)palling. 

"Fire! — down with him! — fire!" shouted the 
soldiers to one another as Mark, leaning flat on 
his horse's mane, rode on; and tlie balls whistled 
quick, above and around, but not one struck him. 
'■ After him, Jack — after him!" cried one of the 
sentinels, who, perceiving that Mark was not 
followetl, turned his horse to the pursuit; but 
another yell, wilder than the first, arrested him, 
and he heard a voice screaming, " This way, 
boys, this way — we have them here!" and Terry, 
waving his cap, bounded forward, and called out 
unceasingly for others to come on. In an instant 
the whole attention was turned to the front, 
while with the stroke of a sabre poor Terry was 
stretched upon the ground, bleeding and senseless. 
"It is only that cursed fool we used to see at 
Macroom about the barrack gates," said one of 
the dragoons, as he held a piece of lighted wood 
beside his face, "and tne other fellow cannot 
have had much more sense, or he would never 
have tried to ride through a squadron of horse. 
But there! — he's down now! Did you hear that 
crash? — that was a horse that fell." 

So it was; Mark had but passed the first party 
to fall on a much more formidable body farther 
on, and his horse, twice wounded, was at last 
struck in the shoulder, and fell headlong to the 
ground, pinioning the rider beneath him. With 
a dexterity that seemed magical, Mark disengaged 
himself from the wounded animal, and drawing 
his pistols, prepared to sell his life dearly. 

"You are a jirisoner, sir," called out the ser- 
geant, as with fearless step he marched towards 
him. 

"Another pace nearer, and I'll send a bullet 
through you," said Mark; "you may have my 
corpse for your booty, but you'll never lay hands 
on me living." 

" Don't fire, don't fire, men!" cried a voice, as 
the officer rode up at the speed of his horse, and 
then throwing himself from the saddle, com- 



manded the men to fall back. With looks of 
astonishment, and even of anger, the dragoons 
retired, while the captain, sheathing his sword, 
approached Mark. 

" Thank heaven, Mr, O'Donoghue, you have 
not fired at my men.'' 

"Am I your prisoner. Captain Travers?" said 
Mark, replacing his weapon. 

"No, far from it; it was to serve you I ac- 
cepted the command of this party. 1 knew of 
the plot by which you were threatened. Kems- 
worth " 

" He is gone to his reckoning now," said Mark, 
who never gave credit to Kerry's story. 

"Not dead — you do not mean that?" 

" Even so, sir, but not as I see you suspect." 

" No matter now," cried Travers, wildly, for a 
thousand dreadful fears came crowding on his 
mind; "you must escape at once: this will be 
worse than the charge of treason itself. Was 
there any witness to his death?" 

"None," said Mark, for he remembered that 
Kate was still fainting during the struggle he 
believed fatal. 

" You must escape at once," repeated Travers, 
for without directly attributing guilt to Mark, he 
feared the consequence of this areadful event. 
"Keep in the mountain for some little time, 
and when this mad enterprise has blown 
over " 

" The country then will be in other hands,'' 
interrui)ted Mark; "ay, sir, you may look and 
feel incredulous, but the time is, perhaps, not 
distant when I may be able to return your pres- 
ent courtesy. The French are landing " 

"They are putting out to sea — flying — not ad- 
vancing," said Travers, proudly. 

" No, no, you mistake them," said Mark, with 
a smile of incredulity. "I heard the guns not a 
quarter of an hour since — would I had never left 
them." 

"There, take my horse, mount quickly, and 
make for the bay, and turn him loose on the 
shore. Reach the fleet if you can — in any case, 
escajie; there is no time to lose." 

" And you — how are you to account for this?" 
said Mark. "Will your loyalty stand so severe 
a trial as that of having assisted a rebel's es- 
cape?" 

" Leavs me to meet mv difficulties my own 
way; turn your thoughts to your own — Heaven 
knows they are enough." 

The tone he spoke in appealed to Mark's 
feelings more strongly than all he said before, 
and grasping Travers's hand, he said, — 

" Oh, if I had but had vour friendship once, 
how different I might be thisday; and my father, 
too — what is to become of him?" 

" Spare him at least the sorrow of seeing his 
son arraigned on a charge of treason, if not of 
worse." 

Fortunately Mark heard not the last few 
words, which rather fell from Travers inad- 
vertentlv, and were uttered in a low voice. 

" There!" cried Mark, as the loud report of 
several guns pealed fprlh — "'they have landed — - 
thev will soon be here." 

As he spoke, a mounted dragoon rode up to 



THE O'DONOGH UE. 



359 



Travers, and whispered a few words in his ear. 
Frederick motioned the man to fall back, and 
then, approaching Mark, said, — 

" I was correct, sir — the French fleet is vmdej- 
weigh — the expedition is abandoned. Away, 
then, before your chance is lost — down to the 
bay, and get on board; you will at least find a 
path where there is glory as well as peril; there 
— away." 

" They cannot have done this, "cried Mark, 
in an agony of passion; "they would not desert 
the cause they have fostered, and leave us to our 
fate here." 

Mark vaulted on Travers's horse as he said 
this, all feeling for his own safety merged in his 
anxiety for the issue of the plot. 

" Treachery we have had enough of — we may 
be well spared the curse of cowardice. Good- 
bye; farewell. Few, either friends or foes, have 
done me the services that you have. If we are 
to meet again, Travers " 

"Farewell — farewell!" cried Travers; "we 
shall never meet as enemies." And he hastened 
from the spot, while Mark, bending forward in 
the saddle, pressed the spurs to his horse, and 
started. 

With the speed of one who cares for nothing 
less than his own safety, Mark urged liis horse 
onward, and, deserting the ordinary road, he di- 
rected his course to the shore along the base of 
the mountain — a rough and dangerous path, be- 
set with obstacles, and frequently on the very 
edge of the cliff. At last he reached the bay, 
over which the dark storm was raging in all its 
violence; the wind, blowing with short and sud- 
den gusts, sent the great waves thundering 
against the rocks, and with fearful roar through 
the caves and crevices of the coast. Riding 
madly on till the white foam dashed over him, 
he turned on every side, expecting to see the 
boats of the fleet making for the land; but all was 
dreary and desolate. He shouted aloud, but his 
voice was drowned in the uproar of the elements; 
and then, but not till then, came over him the 
afflicting dread of desertion. The vivid lightning 
shot to and fro over the bleak expanse of sea, 
but not a sail was there — all, all were gone. 

There was a projecting promontory of rock 
wliich, running out to a considerable distance in 
the bay, shut out all view beyond it. The last 
hope he cherished was, that they might have 
sought shelter in the bay beneath this, and, 
plunging into the boiling surf, he urged his horse 
forward; now madly rearing as the strong sea 
struck him, now, bulTeting the white waves with 
vigorous chest, the noble beast braved the 
storm-lashed water, and bore him, alternately 
bounding and swimming, as the tide advanced or 
receded. 

The struggle, with all its peril to life, brought 
back the failing courage to Mark's heart, and he 
cheered his horse with a cry of triumphant de- 
liglit as each great wave passed over them, and 
still they went on undaunted. It was a short but 
desperate achieveinent to round the point of the 
promontory, where the sea beat with redoubled 
fury; but the same daring intrepidity seemed to 
animate both horse and rider, and, after a mo- 



ment of extreme danger, both gained the beach 
in safety. At the very same instant that the animal 
touched the strand, a quick fiash broke over 
the sea, and then came the thundering report of 
a cannon. This was answered by another farther 
out to sea, and then a blue light burst forth on 
high, and threw its lurid glare over tiie spars 
and canvas of a large ship — every rope and 
block, every man and every gun, were displayed 
in the spectral light. It was a grand, but still 
ah appalling sight, to see the huge mass laboring 
in the sea, and then the next moment to strain 
the eyes through the black canopy of cloud that 
closed around her; for so it was, as the light 
went out, no trace of the vessel remained, nor 
was there aught to Mark the spot she had occu- 
pied. 

From time to time the flash and the report of 
a gun would show where some ship ktruggled 
with the raging sea; but to Mark all was mys- 
tery. He knew not what it might portend, and 
hesitated between hope and despair, whether these 
might prove the preparations for disembarking, 
or the last signal before sailing. 

In the low hut of a fisherman, not far from 
where he was, a light still twinkled, and thither 
he hastened. It belonged to the man that rowed 
him on l)oard of the frigate, and with whom Kate 
had spoken in the kitchen. As Mark reached 
the door, he heard the sound of several voices 
talking in a low, half-suppressed tone; pushing 
open the door, he entered, and found about a 
dozen fislieimcn standing over the lifeless body 
of a tnan in a Frencli unitorm. 

" Who is this?— what has happened ?" said 
Mark, hurriedly. 

" It's one of the French officers, sir," said Tom 
M'Carthy; "he (ame ashore with us this morn- 
ing, and to night, when it came on to blow, and 
he saw the signals to sail, he insisted on going on 
board again, and we did our best for him. We 
twice i)ut out, and twice were sent back again; 
but the last time we tried the craft was upset, 
and the poor fellow could not swmi, and we 
never Saw him more till ve found his body on 
the strand, about an hour ngo." 

Mark held the light beside the pale features, 
and saw that he was a youth of no more than 
eighteen years. There was no distortion what- 
ever, and the features were calm and tranquil, as 
if in sleep. 

" Let us lay him in the earth, boys," said Mark, 
as his voice trembled with emotion; "it is the 
least we can do to let him sleep in the land he 
came to save." 

The men lifted the body without a word, and, 
preceded by Mark, who carried a lantern, issued 
from the hut. A few paces brought them to a 
little grassy mound, where the cliff, descending 
between the rocks, preserved its rich verdure un- 
trodden and untouched. 

"Here, this will do, boys," said Mark; "this 
rock will mark the spot." 

The work was soon over, and, as the last turf 
was laid over him, a deafening peal of artillery 
thundered over the sea, and suddenly lights 
shone here and there through the dark atmos- 
phere. 



360 



THE O'DONOGH U E. 



" He has had a soldier's burial," said Mark; 
" may his rest be tranquil. And now" — and his 
voice assumed a firm and determined tone at the 
moment — "and now who will put me on board 
of any ship in that fleet? I have neither gold to 
offer, nor silver to bribe you. I am poor and 
powerless; but if the broad lands that were once 
our own were mine now, I'd give them all for 
that one service." 

" No boat could live ten minutes in that surf. 
There's a sea running there would swamp a 
schooner," said an old man with white hair. 

" We'd never get ouside the breakers yonder," 
said another. 

"I think we've had enough of it for one 
niglit," muttered a third, with a sidelong glance 
towards the recent grave. 

"And you," said Mark, turning fixedly round 
to- Tom M'Carthy, "what words of comfort have 
you for me?" 

" Faix, that I'm ready and willin' to go with 
you, divil may care who the other is," said the 
stout-hearted fellow. " I seen the day you jumped 
into a boat yourself to take the crew off a wreck 
below the point there, and I took an oath that 
night I'd never see you wanting for two hands at 
an oar as long as 1 could pull one. The waves 
that isn't too high for you is not a bit too big for 
me either." 

"Well done, Tom," said a powerful-looking 
young fellow beside him, "and I'll be the bow 
oar for you, an you'll take me " 

"And here's two more of us," said another, 
as he held a comrade by the hand, " that will 
never gee his honor at a loss, no matter how 
it blows." 

The doubt and hesitation which prevailed but 
a moment before were at once changed for con- 
fidence and resolution, and eight men now hur- 
ried to the beach to launch the boat, and make 
ready for the enterprise. 

" If we could only see a flash, or hear a shot 
now, we'd know which way to bear down," said 
Tom, as he stood on the shore, with his eyes 
turned seaward. 

" There — -there goes one!" cried Mark, as a 
red flame shot forth and glittered for a second 
over the dark water. 

■'There's the frigate — she's holding on still by 
her anchors." 

'■ I knew they would not desert us, boys,' cried 
Mark, with wild enthusiasm, for hope gained on 
him every moment as peril increased. 

" Now for it, and altogether!" said Tom, as 
he bent forward against the whistling storm, and 
the craft, as if instinct with life, bounded over 
the wave, and cleft her way through the boiling 
surf, while the hardy fishermen strained every 
nerve, and toiled with all their energy. Mark, 
kneeling in the bow, his eyes strained to catch 
any signal, seemed perfectly delirious in the 
transport of his Joy. 

" Luff her — luff her — here comes a large wave! 
Nobly done, lads! — how she mounts the sea! — 
here's another." But the warning was this time 
too late, for the wave broke over the boat, and 
fell in torrents over the crew. With redoubled 
t'igor the stout fellows bent to their work, and 



once more the boat sped on her course, while 
Mark cheered them with a shout heard even 
above the storm, and, with a deep, mellow voice, 
chanted out the rude verses of a song: — 

" The fisherman loves ihe rippled .stream, 
And the lover the moonlight sea. 

But the darkening squall, 

And the sea-bird's call. 
Are dearer far to nie. 

" To see on the white and crested wave 

The stormy petrel float, 
And then to look back 
On the stormy tiack 

That glitters behind our boat." 

"Avast, there. Master Mark; there's wind 
enough without singing for more," cried one of 
the fishermen, who, with the superstition of his 
craft, felt by no means pleased at Mark's ditty; 
" and there comes a sea to poop a line-of-battle 
ship!" And as he said the -words, a wave, moun- 
tains high, rolled past, and left them laboring 
in the deep trough of the sea, while the lurid 
glare of sheet lightning showed all the ships of 
the fleet, as, with topsails bent, they stood out 
to sea. 

"There they go," said one of the fishermen; 
" and that's all the good they've done us." 

" Pull hard, boys!" cried Mark, passionately, 
" it may not be yet too late; strain every arm — 
the fate of our country may rest upon those bend- 
ing spars; together, men, together! it is not for 
life now, it is Ireland is on the struggle!" 
Thus cheering the drooping courage of the men, 
and eagerly bending his glance towards the sea, 
his own heart glowed with enthusiasm that made 
every danger forgotten; and, at last, after an 
hour of desperate exertion, with strength all but 
exhausted, and nearly overcome by fatigue, they 
beheld the dark hull of a large ship looming 
above them. By firing hu pistol, Mark attracted 
the notice of the watch on deck; his signal was 
replied to, and the next moment the boat was 
alongside, and Mark, clambering up the steep 
side, stood on the quarter-deck. 

" Will the troops not land?" said Mark, as the 
officers crowded eagerly around him — •" is the 
ex])edition abandoned?" 

" Don't you think the hurricane might ans-vver 
the question, young man?" said a weather-beaten 
officer, who appeared in command, " or are 
you so ignorant of naval matters as to suppose 
that a force could disembark in a gale like 
this?" 

" It might scare a pleasure party," said Mark, 
rudely, " but for men who have come to give and 
get hard knocks, methinks this need not discon- 
cert them." 

"And who is to aid us if we land?" said the 
first speaker; "what forces are in arms to join 
us? — what preparations for ourselves? — Have you 
a musket? have you a horse? or do vou yourself, 
in vour own person, represent the alliance we 
seek for?" 

Mark hung down his head, abashed and 
ashamed. Too well he knew how treacherv had 
sapped the foundation 6f the plot; that, betrayed 
and abandoned by their chiefs, the people had 



THE O'DONOGH U E. 



361 



become either apathetic or terror-stricken, and 
that, if a blow were to be struck for Irish 
independence, it must be by the arm of the 
stranger. 

" It is needless to waste words, sir," said the 
French captain, for such he was; " the admiral 
had twice made the signal to stand out to sea. 
The French republic will have suffered loss 
enough in some of the finest ships of her navy, 
wifiiout hazarding fifteen thousand brave fellows 
upon an exploit so hopeless " 

"The captain says truly," interposed another; 
' Ireland is not ripe for such an enterprise. 
There may be courage enough among your 
countrymen, but they know not how to act 
together There's no slavery like dissension." 

" That boat will be swamped, said the officer 
of the watch, as he pointed to the fishing craft, 
which still held on to the leeward of the ship " If 
you are going back to shore, sir, let me advise 
you, for your own sake, and your comrades' too, 
to lose no time about it." 

■' Far better to come with us," said a powerful- 
looking man in the uniform of an infantry regi- 
ment; "th>. young gentleman seems inclined to 
see service. Ma foi, we seldom lack an oppor- 
tunity of showing it. ' 

'■ I will never go back, ' said Mark, ''I have 
looked at my country for the last time." 

With many a welcome speech the officers 
pressed round and grasped his hands, and for a 
moment all their misfortunes were forgotten in 
the joy with which they received their new com- 
rade. 

" Who will be my banker for some gold?" said 
Mark. "Those brave fellows have risked their 
lives for me, and I have nothing but thanks to 
give them." 

"Let this go to expenses of the expedition," 
said the captain, laughing, as he threw his purse 
to Mark. The young man leaned over the 
bulwark and hailed the boat, and, after a moment 
of great difficulty, one of the fishermen reached 
the deck. 

" I wish to bid you good-bye, Tom," said Mark, 
as he grasped the rough hand in his. " You are 
the last thing I shall see of my country. Fare- 
well, tlien; but remember, that however deeply 
wrongs may gall, and injuries oppress you, the 
glory of resistance is too dearly bought at the 
cost of companionship with the traitor and the 
coward. Good-bye forever!" He pressed the 
purse into the poor fellow's hand: nor was it 
without a struggle he could compel him to accept 
it A few minutes after, the boat was cleaving 
her way through the dark water, her prow turned 
to the land which Mark had left forever. 

Seated on the deck, silent and thoughtful, 
Mark seemed indifferent to the terrible storm, 
whose violence increased with every moment, and 
as the vessel tacked beneath the tall cliffs, when 
every heart beat anxiously, and every eye was 
fixed on the stern rocks above them, liis glance 
Was calm, and his pulse was tranquil; he telt 
as though fate had done her worst, and that 
the future had no heavier blow in store for 
hira. 



CHAPTER XLIX. 



THE END. 



The storm of that eventful night is treasured 
among the memories of the peasantry of the 
south. None living had ever witnessed a gale 
of such violence — none since have seen a hurri- 
cane so dreadful and enduring. For miles along 
the coast the scattered spars and massive tim- 
bers told of shipwreck and disasters, while in- 
land, uptorn trees and fallen rocks attested its 
power. 

The old castle of Carrignacurra did not escape 
the general calamity. 'I'he massive walls that 
had resisted for centuries the assaults of war and 
time, were shaken to their foundations; and one 
strong, square tower, the ancient keep, was rent 
by lightning from the battlements to the base, 
while far and near might be seen fragments of 
timber, and even of masonry, hurled from their 
])laces by the storm For whole days after the 
gale abated the air resounded with an unceasing 
din — the sound of the distant sea, and the roar 
of the mountain torrents, as, swollen and impetu- 
ous, they tore along. 

The devastation thus wide-spread, seemed not 
to have been limited to the mere material world, 
but to have extended its traces over man. The 
hurricane was recognized as the interposition of 
Heaven, and the disaster of the French fleet 
looked on as the vengeance of the Almighty It 
did not need the superstitious character of the 
southern peasants' mind to induce this belief; 
the circumstances in all their detail were too 
strongly corroborative not to enforce conviction 
on sterner imaginations, and the very escape of 
the French ships from every portion of our 
Channel fleet, which at first was deemed a favor 
of fortune, was now regarded as pointing out the 
more signal vengeance of Heaven. Dismay and 
terror were depicted in every face; the awful 
signs of the gale which were seen on every side 
suggested gloom and dread, and each speculated 
how far the anger of God might fall upon a guilty 
nation. 

There was no reason to doubt the fact that, 
whatever the ultimate issue of the struggle, the 
immediate fate of the country was decided on 
that night. Had the French fleet arrived in full 
force, and landed the troops, there was neither 
preparation for resistance, nor means of defence, 
undertaken by the government. 

How far the peasantry might or might not 
have associated themselves with a cause to which 
the Romish clergy were then manifestly averse, 
may be a matter of uncertainty; but there are a 
sufficient number in every land, and every age, 
who will join the ranks of battle with no other 
prospect than the day of pillage and rapine. 
Such would have flocked around the tricolor in 
thousands, and meet companions such would 
have been to that portion of the invading army 
called the " Legion des Francs" — a battalion 
consisting of liberated felons and galley-slaves — 
the murderers and robbers of France, drilled, 
armed, and disciplined to carry liberty to Ireland' 
With this force, and a company of the " Artillerie 



J362 



THE O'DONOGIIUE. 



Ldgere," Wolfe Tone proposed to land; and, as 
the expedition had manifestly failed, any further 
loss would be inconsiderable; and, as for the 
"Legion," he naively remarked, " The republic 
would be well rid of them." 

Let us, however, turn from this theme to the 
characters of our tale, of which a few words only 
remain to be told. By Terry, who made his 
escape after being wounded by the dragoons, 
was the first news brought to Carrignacurra of 
Mark's rencontre with the dragoons; and while 
the O'Donoghue and Kate were yet speculating 
in terror as to the result, a small party of cavalry 
were seen coming up the causeway at a brisk 
trot, among whom rode a person in colored 
clothes. 

'' It is Mark^my boy is taken!" cried the old 
man, in a burst of agony; and he buried his 
head in his hands, and sobbed aloud. Kate 
never spoke, but a sick, cold faintness crept over 
her, and she stood almost breathless with an.xiety. 
She heard the horses as they drew up at the 
door, but had not strength to reach the window 
and look out. The bell was riing violently — 
every clang sent a pang to her bosom. The door 
was opened, and now she heard Kerry's voice, 
but could not distinguish the words. Then there 
was a noise as of some one dismounting, and the 
clatter of a sabre was heard along the flagged 
liall. This ceased, and she could recognize 
Kerry's step as he came up the corridor to the 
door of the tower. 

" Come in," cried she to his summons, but her 
utmost effort could not make the words audible. 
"Come in," said she again. 

Kerry heard it not, but, opening the door 
cautiously, he entered. 

" 'Tis the captain, Miss Kate, wants to know 
if he could see the master." 

"Yes," said slie, in a voice scarcely above a 
whisper. " Who is it with him.' Is there a pris- 
oner there?" 

" Faix, there is then; but Captain Travers will 
tell you all himself." 

"Captain Travers!" cried Kate, a deep fjush 
covering her face. 

" Yes, madam," said Frederick, as he entered 
at the same moment. " I am but too happy to 
bear pleasant tidings, to think of my want of 
courtesy in intruding unannounced." 

"Leave the room — shut the door, Kerry," said 
Kate, as, with eyes fixed on Travers, she waited 
for him to continue. 

" Your cousin is safe. Miss O'Donoghue — he 
has reached the fleet, and is already on his way 
to France." 

"Thank God!" cried Kate, fervently, as she 
fell upon her uncle's shoulders, and whispered 
the tidings into his ear. 

The old man looked up, and stared wildly 
around him. 

" Where's Mark, my love — where did you say 
he was?" 

"He's safe, uncle — he's on board of a French 
ship, and bound for France, beyond the reach 
of danger." 

"For France! And has he left me — has he 
deserted his old father?" 



"His life was in peril, sir," whispered Kate, 
who, stung by the old man's selfishness, spoke 
almost angrily. 

" My boy has abandoned me," nnitlered the 
O'Donoghue. The one idea, absorbing all others, 
occupied his mind, and left him deaf to every 
explanation or remonstrance. 

'You are right, Miss O'Donoghue," said 
Travers, gently; "his danger was most immin- 
ent The evidence against him was conclusive 
and complete; and although one of the princi- 
pal witnesses could not have appeared, Lanty 

Lawler " 

" And was he an informer?" 
" He was, madam; but amid the mass of treach- 
ery he has met a just fate. Barrington, deter 
mined to punish the fellow, has come forward 
and given himself up, but with such evidence of 
the horse dealer's guilt that his conviction is 
certain. The sums he received from France are 
all proved under his own hand, and now that 
Hemsworth is no more, and Lawler's treachery 
has no patron, his case has little hope. He is at 
this moment my prisoner; we took him on the 
mountain where he had gone with a party to 
secure Mr. Mark O'Donoghue, for whose capture 
a large reward was offered." 

As Kate listened to this recital, delivered in a 
tone which showed the contempt the speaker en- 
tertained for an enterprise undertaken by such 
actors, her own indignant pride revolted at the 
baseness of those with whom her cousin was 
associated. 

"Yes," said she, at length, and speaking un- 
consciously aloud, "no cause could prosper with 
supporters like these. There must be rottenness 
in tlie confederacy that links such agencies as 
these together. And had my cousin not one 
friend ? — was there not one to wring his hand at 
parting?" said she, hurriedly, changing the 
theme of her thoughts. 

" Tliere was one," said Travers, modestly. 
" Mr. O'Donoghue was noble-hearted enough, 
even in the hour of calamity, to forget an ancient 
grudge, and to call me his friend. He did more 
— he wished we had been friends for many a day 
before." 

"Would that you had," said Kate, as the tears 
burst forth, and ran down her clieeks. 

"And we might have been such," continued 
Travers, "had not deceit and malevolence sowed 
discord between our families. You know not. 
Miss O'Donoghue, how deeply this treachery 
worked, and how artfully its plans were con- 
ceived. The very hopes whose disappointment 
has darkened my life, were fed and fostered by 
him who knew how little reason I had to indulge 
them — forgive me, I pray, if I allude to a sub- 
ject I ought never to recall. It was Hemsworth 
persuaded me that my suit would not piove un- 
successful; it was by his advice and counsel I 
risked the avowal which has cost me the happi- 
ness of my future life. I will speak of this no 
more," said Travers, who saw in the deep blush 
that covered Kate's features the distress the 
theme occasioned her. "It was a selfish thought 
that prompted me to excuse my hardihood at the 
cost of your feelings." 



THE O'DONOGHU E, 



303 



" I will not let you speak thus, sir," said Kate, 
in a voice faint from excessive emotion. " There 
was no such hardihood in one favored by every 
gift of fortune stooping to one humble as I am; 
but there were disparities wider than those of 
rank between us, and if I can now see how greatly 
these were exaggerated by the falsehood and 
treachery of others, yet I know that our opinions 
are too wide apart to make agreement aught else 
than a compromise between us." 

" Might not time soften, if not obliterate, such 
differences?" whispered Travers, timidly. 

" It could not with me," said Kate, resolutely; 
" this is the losing side ever, and my nature is a 
stubborn one — it has no sympathies save with 
those in misfortune. But we can be friends," 
said she, extending her hand frankly towards 
him — "friends firm and true, not the less strong 
in regard because our affections have not over- 
come our convictions." 

"Do not speak so decisively, Miss O'Don- 
oghue," said Travers, as his lip trembled with 
strong emotion ; " even at this moment how much 
has misrepresentation clouded our knowledge of 
each otlier. Let time, I entreat of you, dissipate 
these false impres-sions, or give me, at least, the 
C'pportunity of becoming more worthy of your 
esteem." 

"While I should become less so," interrupted 
Kate, rapidly. "No, no; my duties are here;" 
and she pointed to the old man, who, with an 
expression of stupid fatuity, sat with his hands 
L'lasped, and his eyes fixed on vacancy. " Do 
not make me less equal to my task by calling on 
me for such a pledge. Besides," added she, with 
a smile, "you are too truly English to suggest a 
divided allegiance; we are friends, but we can 
ner-er be more." 

Travers pressed the white hand to his lips 
without a word, and the moment after his horse 
was heard descending the causeway, as with des- 
perate speed he hurried from the spot so fatal to 
all his hopes. 

Scarcely had Frederick left the castle, when a 
chaise ami four, urged to the utmost speed, dashed 
up to the door, and Sir Archy, followed by Her- 
bert, jumped out. The old man, travel-stained 
and splashed, held an open paper in his hand, and 
cried aloud, as he entered the drawing-room, — 

" He's pardoned, he's pardoned — a free pardon 
to Mark!" 

" He's gone, he's away to France," said Kate, 
as, fearing to awaken the O'Donoghue to any ex- 
ertion of intelligence, she pointed cautiously 
towards him. 

" All the better, my sweet lassie," cried M'Nab, 
folding her in his arms; " his arm will not be the 
less bold in battle because no unforgiven treason 
weighs upon his heart. But my brother, what 
ails him? — he does not seem to notice me." 

"He is ill — my father is ill," said Herbert, 
with a terrified accent. 

" He is worse," whispered M'Nab to himself, 
as passing his hand within the waistcoat, he laid 
it on his heart. 

It was so. The courage that withstood every 
assault of evil fortune — every calamity which 
poverty and distress can bring down — failed at 



last. The strong heart was broken — the O'Don- 
oghue was dead. 



We will once more ask our readers to accom- 
pany us to the glen, the scene of our story. It 
was -of an evening, calm and tranquil as that on 
which our tale opened, on a day in August, in 
the year 1815, that two travellers, leaving the 
postilion of their carriage to refresh his horses, 
advanced alone and on foot for above a mile 
into this tranquil valley. The air had all that 
deathlike stillness so characteristic of autumn, 
while over the mountains and the lake the same 
rich mellow light was shed. As the travellers 
proceeded slowly, they stopped from time to 
time, and gazed on the scene; and although 
their looks met, and glance seemed to answer 
glance, they neither of llicm spoke. From their 
appearance, it might have been conjectured that 
they were foreigners. The man, bronzed by 
weather and exposure, possessed features, which, 
in all their sternness, were yet eminently hand- 
some. He wore a short, thick moustache, but 
the armless sleeve of his coat, fastened on the 
bosom, was a sign still more indisputable than 
even his port or bearing that he was a soldier. 
His companion was a lady in the very pride and 
bloom of beauty, but her dress more remarkably 
than his betrayed the foreigner. In the rapid 
look she turned frcm the bold scenery around 
them to the face of him at whose side she 
walked, one might read either a direct appeal to 
memory, or the expression of wonder and ad- 
miration of the spot. Too much engrossed by 
his own thoughts, or too deeply occupied by the 
scene before him, the man moved on, until at 
last he came in front of a low ruined wall, be- 
neath -a tall and overhanging cliff. He stopped 
for some seconds, and gazed at this with such in- 
tentness as prevented him from noticing the fig- 
ure of a beggar, who, in all the semblance of 
extreme poverty, sat crouching among the 
ruins. She was an old, or at least seemed a very 
old woman. Her hair, uncovered by cap or 
hood, was white as snow, but her features still 
preserved an expression of quick intelligence, 
as, lifting her head from the attitude of moping 
thought, she fixed her eyes steadfastly on the 
travellers. 

" Give her something, iiW7t chcr" said the lady 
to her companion in French; but the request was 
twice made before he seemed conscious of it. 
The woman, meanwhile, sat still, and neither made 
any demand for charity nor appeal to their 
compassion. 

" This is Glenficsk, my good woman?" said he 
at length, with the intonation of a foreign accent 
on the words. 

The woman nodded assentingly, but made no 
reply. 

"Whose estate is all this here?" said he, 
pointing with his hand to either side of the 
vallev. 

" Sorra one o' me knows whose it is," said the 
woman, in a voice of evident displeasure. " When 
I was a child it was the O'Donoghue's, but they 



364 



THE O'DONOGH U E. 



are dead and gone now — I don't know whose it 
is." 

" And the O'Donoghues are dead and gone, 
you say? What became of the last of them? — 
What was his fate?" 

" Is it the one that turned Protestant, you 
mean?" said the woman, as an expression of 
fiendish malignity shot beneath her dark brows. 
'■ He was the only one that ever prospered, 
because he was a heretic, maybe." 

" But how did he prosper?" said the stranger. 

" Didn't he marry the daughter of the rich 
Englishman, that lived there beyant? and wasn't 
he a member of Parlimint? and sure they tell me 
that he went out beyond the savs to be a judge, 
somewhere in foreign parts — in India, I believe." 

" And who lives m the old castle of the family." 

" The crows and the owls lives in it now, "said 
the woman with a grating laugh — " the same way 
the weasels and the rats burrow in my own little 
place here. Ay, you may stare and wonder, but 
here, where you see me sit, among these old 
stones and black timbers, was my own comifort- 
able home — the house I was born and reared in 
— and the hearth I sat by when I was a child." 

The man whispered a few words to his com- 
panion in a deep, low voice. Slie started, and 
was about to speak, when he stopped her, saying, 
" Nay, nay, it is better not;" then turning to the 
woman, asked, '" and were there, then, no others 
whose fortunes you remember?" 

" It is little worth while remembering them," 
said the crone, whose own misfortunes shed bitter- 
ness over all the memory of others. " There was 
an old Scotchman that lived there long after the 
others were gone, and when the niece went back to 
the nunnery in France he stayed there still, alone by 
himself. The people used to see him settling the 
room, and putting books here and papers there, 
and making all rendy agin she came back — and 
that's the way he spent his time till the day of his 
death. Don't cry, my lady; he was a hard- 
hearted old man, and it isn't eyes like yours should 
weep tears for him; if you want to pity any one, 
'pity the poor, that's houseless and friendless.'" 



" And the lodge," said the stranger — " is not 
that the name they gave the pretty house beside 
the lake?" 

" 'Tisn't a pretty house now, then," said the 
hag, laughing. " It's a ruin like the rest." 

"How is that? — does the Englishman never 
come to it?" 

" Why should he come to it? Sure it's in law 
ever since that black-hearted villain Hemsworth 
was killed. Nobody knows who owns it, and 
they say it will never be found out; but," said 
she, rising and gathering her cloak around her, 
as she prepared to move away, " there's neither 
luck nor grace upon the spot. God almighty 
made it beautiful and lovely to look upon, but 
man and man's wickedness brought a curse down 
upon it." 

The man drew his purse forth, and while en- 
deavoring to take some pieces of money from it by 
the aid of his single remaining hand, she turned 
abruptly about, and staring him steadfastly in the 
face said, — 

" I'll not take your money — 'tisn't money will 
serve me now — them that's poor themselves will 
never see me in want." 

" Stop a moment," said the stranger, " I have 
a claim on you." 

"That you haven't," said the woman, sternly. 
" I know you well, Mark O'Donoghue — ay, and 
your wife. Miss Kate, there, but it isn't by a 
purse full of gold you'll ever make up for de- 
sarting the cause of ould Ireland." 

"Don't be angry with her," whispered a low, 
mild voice behind. He turned, and saw a very 
old man dressed in black, and with all the sem- 
blance of a priest. "Don't be angry with her, 
sir; poor Mary's senses are often wandering; 
and," added he, with a sigh, " she has met sore 
trials and may well be pardoned if, in the bit- 
terness of her grief, she looks at the world with 
little favor or forgiveness. She has mistaken 
you for another, and hence the source of her 
anger." 

THE END. 



ROLAND CASHEL 



PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION. 

Somewhat sore on the subject of those criticisms which 
attributed to my writings endless scenes of recklessness- 
wild oruies of dissipation— and impossible achievements— 
I endeavored to write a book in which, however extrava- 
eant and eccentric the hero, the incidents themselves might 
be more ordinary and familiar. To be certain that I 
should not be "out of drauing" I began by taking my 
studies "from the life," and thus many of the characters 
in the present storv were after nature. ,-. i . 

Of the story itself and its short-comings I have little to 
say My attempt was to picture the conflict of a young 
fellow accustomed to the freedom of a semi-civilized life, 
its wayward impulses and its venturesome accidents, ^vllh a 
world of whose more regulated discipline he knew nothing 
1 imagined him to be the mark for match-making mothers. 
inlri'^Sing daughters, fashionable sharpers, and all those 
who°e scheming faculties find their prey amongst the 
unwary and unsuspecting. No machinery is too simple to 
exhibit the work and play of human nature; and although 
the reader accustomed to look in my writings tor scenes 
of riotous gayety or national drollery, may be disappointed 
in the quieter tone of my present tale. I would beg him to 
believe that I have endeavored to replace the features 
which once won me his favor by more carefully weighed 
opinions, keener views of life, and more subtle discnmm 
ations of character t .„ „ 

There are many things in this story which, were 1 to re- 
write it. I should change: there ismuch m the general con- 
duct of the narrative that I cannot defend: but I prefer to 
leave it quite unaltered rather than assume the task ot up- 
holding . corrected version as conveying all that 1 had 
originally meant and intended „ .■, t 

If there is anvthing in 'ROLAND Cashel worthy of 
the reader's suffrage, no intimations of mine will be needed 
to direa attention to it; and if its faults outbalance us 
merits, my apologies will be all in vain; but not so my 
appeal to that indulgence which the public has never 
hitherto withheld from my most devoted attempts to in- 
terest and amuse them. . . 

Of the deep value I attach to that good opinion and 
that indulgence, I can give no stronger assurance than to 
declare I have no higher aim or ambition than to preserve 
them. CHARLES LEVER. 

Casa Capponi. 

Florence. October 185S. 



PREFACE TO THE REVISED EDITION 

I FIRST thought of this story— I should say I planned it, 
if the expression weie not misleading— when living at the 
Lake of Como There, in a lovely little villa— the Cima 
—on the border of the lake, with that glorious blending o 
Alpine scenery and garden-like luxuriance around me, and 
little or none of interruption or intercourse. I had abun- 
dant lime to make acquaintance with my characters and 
follow them into innumerable situations, and through ad- 
ventures far more extraordinary and exciting than 1 dared 
afterwards to recount 

1 do not know how it may be with other storytellers^ 
but 1 have to own for myself that the personages of a novel 
gam over at times a degree of interest very Uttle mlenorto 



that inspired by real and living people, and that this is es_ 
pecially the case when I have found myself in some secluded 
Lot and seeing little of the world To such an ascendancy 
has this deception attained that more than once I have 
found myself trying to explain why this person should have 
done that, and by what impulse that other was led into 
something else. In fact, I have found that there are condi- 
tions of the mmd in which purely imaginary creations as- 
sume the characters of actual people, and act positively 
as though they were independent of the «ill that invented 

'of the strange manner in which imagination can thus 
assume the mastery and for awhile at least have command 
over the mind, I cannot give a stronger instance wilhm my 
own experience than the mode in which this story was hrst 

conceived. , ■ , u 1 ,,. 

When I began I intended that the action should be cai- 
ried on m the land where the tale opct,ed. The scene on 
every side of me had shed Us influence, the air was weighty 
with the perfume or the lime and the orange. 1 o days ot 
dazzling brilliancy there succeeded nights of tropical splen- 
dor with stars of almost preternatural magnitude streaking 
the 'calm lake with long lines of light. '1° P™!''^//""^ 
like this with the sort of characters that might beht it was 
rather a matter of necessity with me than choice, and it was 
then that IVlaritafia revealed herself to me with a charm of 
loveliness I have never been able to repiclure. It was theie 
I bethought me of those passionate natures m which climate, 
and soil and vegetation reproduce themselves glowing, 
ardent, and voluptuous as they are. It was tliere my fancy 
loved to stray among the changeful incidents ot lives of wild 
adventure and wildei passion ; and to imagine the strange 
discords that could be evoked between the t.au. of a land 
that recalled Paradise and the natures thai were only 
angelic in the fall. , 

I cannot trust to my memory to remind me of the sort ot 
tale I meant to write I know there was to have been a 
perfect avalanche of adventure on land and on sea 1 know 
that through a stormy period of daily peril and excUemen 
the traits of the Northern temperament in Roland himselt 
were t have asserted their superiority over his more im- 
pulsive comrades ; I know he was to have won that girl s 
love against a rivalry tha' set life in the issue ; and I have 
a vague impression of how such a character might come by 
action -.nd experience to develop such traits as make men 
1 the rulers of their fellows 

Several of the situations occur to me but not a smgle clue 
' to the story There are even now scenes before me of 
prairie life and lonely rides in passes of the Pampas , of 
homes where the civilized man had never seen ^^ 1;™^^*=; "°J 
heard a native tongue. It is m-vain I endeavor to reca 1 
any hi,^ like a connected narrative All that I can >v^ll 
remember is the great hold the characters had taken m my 
mhid ; how they peopled the landscape around me, and fol- 
lowed me wherever I went. . „„vpd 
This was in autumn. As winter drew nigh we moved 
into an Italian city much frequented bV f°-;f-- jf J^j 
esoecially the resort of our countrymen. The neu lile 01 
Z place and the interest they excited, so totally unlike 
U tlfat 1 had left at my little villa, effected a competerevo^ 
lution in my thoughts, utterly routing ^e belief ^ had 
indulged in as to the characters o my tory. and the n 
cidents in which they displayed themse ves^ n-.v'^n md as 
all mv efforts had been, as it were, to refresh my ""nd as 
to a variety of events and people I had once known, and 
{o^r^ if I could not recall certain situations M had 



366 



ROLAND CASH EL. 



interested me. Now the spell was broken, all the charm 
of the illusion gone and I awoke to the dreary consciousness 
of my creatures bciiif; mere shadows, and their actions as 
unreal as themselves. 

There is a sort of intellectual bankruptcy in such awak- 
enings : and I know of few tilings so discouraging as this 
sudden revulsion from dream-land to the cold t^rni Jiriiia 
of uiiadorne^l fact. 

There was little in the city we now lived in to harmonize 
with romance." It was in fact all that realism could 
accomplish with the aids of every taste and passion of 
modern society That this life ol present-day dissipation 
should be enacted in scenes where every palace, and every 
street, every monument and, indeed every name recalled 
a glorious past, may not imp:)siii>ly have heightened the 
enjoyment of the drama, but most unquestionably it 
vulgarized the acior.-. 

Instead of the Orinoco and its lands of feathery palms, 
I had now before me the Arno and its gay crowds of 
loungers the endless tide of equipages, and the strong 
pulse-beat of an existence that, even in the higlnvays of 
life, denotes passion and emotion. 

What I had of a plan was lost to me from that hcur. I 
was again in the whirlpool of active existence and the 
world around mc was deep — triple deep — in all cases of lov- 
ing and hating, and plotting and gambling of intriguing 
countermining and betraying, as very polite people would 
know how to do : occupations to watch which, inspire an 
intensity of interest unknown in any other condition of 
existence. 

Out of the impressions thus enforced came all the charac- 
ters of my story Not one was a portrait, though in each 
and all were traits taken from life. If I suffered myself on 
one single occaiion to ama->s too many of the characteristics 
of an individual into a sketch, it was in the picture ol the 
beau of Drumcondera; but there I was drawing irom recol- 
lection, and not able to correct, as I should otherwise have 
done what might seem too close adherence to a model I 
have been told that in the character of Linton I have exag 
gerated wickedness beyond all belief. I am sorry to reply 
that I made but a faint copy of htm who suggested that pel- 
sonage, and who lives and walks the stage of life as I write. 
One or two persons — not more — who know him whose 
traits furnished the picture, are well aware that i have 
neith.r overdrawn my sketch, nor exaggerated my drawing 

The Kennyfeck young ladies — I am anxious to say — ate 
not from life nor is Lady Kilgoff, though I have heard 
surmises to the contrary 

These are all the explanations and excuses that occui to 
me I have to make of this story Its graver faults are not 
within the pale ol apology ; and for these I only ask indul 
gence, the same indulgence that has never been denied me. 

CHARLES LEVER 
Trieste, 1872. 



CHAPTER I. 



DON PEDRO S GUESTS. 



"And thus they lived ye merrie yeare, 
For they were a iollie crewe 
Of pleasante laddes that knewe no feare. 
And — as little of honestie too.' 

■ Ballade of Capt Pike. 

Our tale opens on a gorgeous night of mid- 
summer — at an era so little remote, that to name 
the precise year could have no interest for t'he 
reader, and in a region whicli seemed to combine 
all that is delightful in climate with whatever is 
lu.xuriant and s])lendid in vegetation. It was 
upon the bank of a small river, a tributarj' of the 
Oronoco, not very distant from the picturesque 
city of Barcelonetta, that a beautiful villa stood, 
the elegance of whose architecture, and the lavish 
magnificence of vi^hose decorations, were alike 



evidence that neither taste nor wealth were want- 
ing to its proprietor 

iw this land where nature had been so prodigal 
of her gifts, the luxurious appointments of this 
princely abode seemed to partake of the charac- 
ter of a fairy palace, and the adnti.xture of objects 
of high art. the treasures 01 Italian galleries and 
Spanish collections, with the more vivid realities 
of 'he scene, favored this illusion. The fortunate 
ownei of this paradise was a certain Pedro Rica, 
who for something like fourteen years, had been 
a resident of Columbia. A widower, with an only 
child, then an infant of scarce a year old, he liad 
arrived in that country seeking, as he said, by 
new scenes, and new associates, to erase, so lar 
as might be, the painful memory of his late 
bereavement. 

While he gave it to be understood that he was 
a Spaniard by birtli some averred that he was -a 
Mexican, others, that he was a Texan and one 
or two alleged that he was an American of the 
States, an assumption that the ease and fluency 
ot his English went far to corroborate Ol w hat- 
ever nation lie came, certain it is that a mystery 
nung over both his native land and his hisiory, 
and as he showed little disposition to enlighten 
the world on these subjects, as is usual in such 
cases his neighbors took theii revenge by invent 
ing a hundred stories about him, each one only 
worse than the other At one time it was said 
that his wealth was acquired by piracy, at another 
that he absconded from a Texan city, with a large 
sum belonging to the government; forgery — ■ 
breach of trust, were among the commonest tifle- 
gations, and the most charitable only averred that 
he made his.money in the slave-trade. 

It is but lair to say that the sole foundation for 
these various rumors lay in the stern distance of 
hi^ mannei, and the cold, almost repulsive. aus» 
terity with which he declined all acquaintance 
with the neighborhood These traits, added to the 
voluptuous splendor of a retinue and a style of 
living infinitely above all around, gradually es- 
tranged from him the few who attempted to form 
an intimacy, and left him to live — as it seemed 
he preferred — a life of solitary magnificence: an 
object of affected pity to many, but of real envy 
to all. 

As his daughter grew up, he was accustomed 
to visit the sea coast each summer for some weeks, 
and from these absences he, now, usually re- 
turned with one or two acquaintances, for the 
most part officers of the Columbian navy, with 
whom he had formed an intimacy at the sea-side. 
Such acquaintanceship seemed to increase from 
year to year, till at last each autumn saw the 
"Villa de las Noches Entretenidas " 'of the 
pleasant nights, ' crowded with guests, whose wild 
orgies were in strange contrast to the former still- 
ness and quietude within those walls. 

A more motley and discordant assemblage it 
would be hard to conceive, consisting as they did 
of adventurers from every land of Europe. The 
wild and reckless outcast of every clime and 
country, the beggared speculator, the ruined 
gambler, the duellist with blood upon his hand, 
the defaulter with shame upon his forehead. All 
that good morals reject, and the law pursues, 










'^ 



•ROLAND CAS H EL, 



367 



mingled with others whose faults went no further 
than waste or improvidence, or the more venial 
sin, that they came poor into the world, and were 
stamped " Adventurers" from the cradle 

A service that never exercised too nice a scru- 
tiny into the habits of its followers, and whose 
buccaneer life had all the freedom of piracy, with 
the assumption of a recognized class, offered no 
mean attraction to the lover of enterprise: and 
certainly, if the standard of morals was low, 
that of daring, reckless adventure was the very 
opposite. 

Amid this pleasant company we must now ask 
pardon for introducing our reader, with this 
saving assurance, that he shall not have long to 
commune with such companionship. It was, as 
we have said, a summer's night." A sky, all glit- 
tering with stars, spread its dark blue canopy 
over a scene where, amid the banana, the manioc, 
and the plantain, flowers of every bright hue were 
blooming, and fountains gushing; while, through 
an atmosphere, tremulous with the song of the 
mocking-bird, fire-flies were glancing and glit- 
tering. 

In the deep piazza before the villa was now 
assembled a numerous party of men disposed in 
every attitude of lounging, ease, and abandon- 
ment; they seemed, thougli perhaps after very 
different estimates, to be enjoying the delicious 
balm and freshness of the night air They were 
of various ages, and although the greater number 
showed by their dress that they belonged to 
the naval service, other signs, not less distinctive, 
pronounced that they were drawn from classes 
of life as varied as they were numerous, while, 
here and there, a caballero might be seen attired 
in the picturesque costume of the Caraccas, his 
many-colored scarf and plumed hat aiding, in no 
inconsiderable degree, the picturesque effect of 
a scene Salvator might have painted. 

Not only beneath the piazza itself, but on the 
marble steps, and even beneath them again, on 
the close-shaven turf, the party lay, sated as it 
were with splendor, and recruiting strength for 
new dissipations. Some sat talking in low and 
whispering voices, as if unwilling, even by a sound, 
to break the stilly calm. Others, in jierfect silence, 
seemed to drink in the soqthing influence of that 
tranquil moment, or smoked the cigarettos in 
dreamy idolence; while at intervals, from the 
leafy groves, a merry laugh, or the tinkling of a 
guitar, would mingle with the bubbling murmur 
of the fountains, making the very stillness yet 
more still as they ceased. Behind the piazza, 
and opening by several large windows upon it, 
could be seen a splendid saloon, resplendent with 
wax-lights, and still displaying on the loaded 
table the remnants of a sumptuous repast, amid 
which vessels of gold and vases of flowers ap 
peared. Here yet lingered two or three guests 
— spirits who set no store on an entertainment if 
it did not degenerate into debauch. 

A broad alley, flanked by tall hedges of the 
prickly pear, led from the villa to a little mound 
on which a chestnut-tree stood, the patri.-irch of 
the wood a splendid tree it was, and worlhv of 
a better destiny than it now fulfilled, as, lighted 
up by several lanterns suspended from the 



branches, it spread its shade over a large table 
where a party were playing at " Monte." 

Even without the suggestive aid of the large 
heaps of gold beside each player, and piled in 
the middle of the table, the grave and ste-.dfast 
faces of some, the excited look of others, and the 
painful intensity of interest in all, showed that 
the play was high. Still, although such was the 
case, and while the players were men whose hot 
blood and reckless lives did but litlle dispose 
them to put the curb upon their tempers, not a 
word was spoken aloud; nor did a gesture or a 
look betray the terrible vacillations of hope and 
fear the changeful fortune of the game engen 
dered. Standing near the table, but not mingling 
in the play, stood Don Pedro himself, his 
sallow and melancholy features fixed upon the 
game, with an expression that might mean 
sorrow or deep anxiety, it were difficult to say 
which. Beside him, at a small table littered with 
papers and writing materials, sat his steward, or 
intendant, a German named Geizheimer, a beetle- 
browed, white-cheeked, thick-lipped fellow 
whose aquiline features and guttural accents told 
that lending money at enormous interest was no 
uncongenial occupation. Such was his jiresent 
and indeed almost his only duty; for, while Don 
Pedro seldom or never played, gaming was llie 
invariable occupation of the guests, whose means 
to support it were freely supplied by the steward, 
the borrowers either passing a simple note for 
repayment, or, when the sum was a heavy one. 
mortgaging their share in the next prize they 
should capture. Other contracts, it was rumored, 
were occasionally resorted to, but of such we 
shall speak anon. 

At a short distance from the table, but suffi- 
ciently near to observe the game, stood one on 
whom nothing short of the passion of play could 
have prevented every eye being bent. But so it 
was, she stood alone and unmarked, while all 
the interest was concentrated upon the game. 
Diessed in a white tunic or chtmise fastened 
round the waist by a gold girdle, stood Maritafia 
Rica, her large and "lustrous black eyes eagerly 
turned to where twoyouths were standing intensely 
occupied by the play. Her neck, arms, and 
shoulders were bare, in Mexican fashion, and 
even the mantilla she wore over her head was 
less as a protection than as a necessary accom- 
paniment of a costume, which certainly is of the 
simplest kind. Except the chemise, she had no 
other garment save a jupe of thin lama-wool, 
beautifully embroidered and studded with precious 
stones, this terminaled below the n'.iddle of 
the leg, dirplaving an ankle and foot no Grecian 
statue ever surpa>scd in beauty 

If the deep brown of her skin almost conveyed 
the reproach — and such it is — of Indian blood, 
a passing glance at the delicate outline of her 
features.and, in particular, of her moulh, at once 
contradicted the suspicion. 'I'he li]is were beau- 
tifully arched, and, although plump and rounded, 
had none of that fulness of- the degraded race 
These were now slightly parted, dis])laying teeth 
of surprising whiteness, and imparting to the 
whole expression a char.acter of sjjcaking anima 
tion. Although not yet sixteen, her figure had 



368 



ROLAND CASH EL. 



all the graceful development of womanhood, 
without havuTg entirely lost a certain air of fawn- 
like elasticity, which, from time to time her ges- 
tures of impatience displayed. 

The two young men, on whom her interest 
seemed fixed, were playing in partnership, and, 
in their highly-wrought passion, never once looked 
up from the board. One, somewhat taller and 
older by a few years, appeared to exercise the 
guidance of their play; and it was easy to see, in 
the swollen and knotted veins of his forehead, 
in the clenched hands, and in the tremulous lip, 
the passionate nature of a confirmed gambler. 
The younger, whose dress of green velvet, slashed 
and braided in Mexican taste, and whose wide- 
leaved sombrero was decorated with a long sash of 
light blue silk, whose deep gold fringe hung upon 
his shoulder, was evidently one less enamored of 
play, and more than once busied himself in ar- 
ranging the details of his costume, of which he 
seemed somewhat vain. It was in one of these 
moments that his eyes met those of Maritaha 
fixed steadfastly upon him, and, fascinated by 
her unmoved stare, he felt his cheek grow hot, and, 
whether from a sense of shame or a still more 
tender motive, the blush spread over his face and 
forehead. Maritana looked steadily, almost 
sternly at him, and then, with a slight toss of 
her head, so slight that none save he who had 
watched her intently could read its scornful im- 
port, she turned away. The youth did not wait 
a moment, but, slipping from his place, followed 
along the alley he had seen her take. 

He who remained, unconscious of his friend's 
departure, continued to mutter about the chances 
of the game, and speculate on the amount he 
would dare to hazard. " She is against us every 
time, Roland!" said he, in a low, half whispering 
voice. " Fortune will not smile, woo her how we 
may! Speak, amigo mio, shall we risk all?" As 
he spoke, he began counting the piles of glitter- 
ing gold before him, but his hand trembled, and 
the pieces clung to his moist fingers, so that be 
was too late for the deal. 

"Sixteen hundred," muttered he to himself, 
ten — twenty — thirty." 

" The bank loses!" cried the croupier, an- 
nouncing the game. 

"Loses!" screamed the young man, in an 
accent whose piercing agony startled the whole 
board — -"loses! because it was the only time I 
had no wager. See, Roland, see how true it is; 
there is a curse upon us." He seized the arm 
of the person at his side, and clenched it with a 
convulsive energy as he spoke. 

"Saperlote! my young friend; you'll never 
change luck by tearing my old uniform," growled 
out a rugged-looking German skipper, who, c-om- 
nianding a small privateer, affected the rank and 
style of a naval officer. 

" Oh, is it you, Hans?" said the youth, care- 
lessly; "I thought it had been one of our own 
fellows. Only think the bank should lose, be- 
cause I made no .stake; see now, watch this. 
Halt!" cried he to the dealer, in a voice that at 
once arrested his hand. "You give one no time, 
sir, to decide upon his game," said he, with a 
savage irascibility, which continued bad luck had 



carried to the highest pitch. " Players who risk 
their two or three crowns may not object; but, 
if a man desires to make a heavy stake, it is but 
common courtesy to wait a moment. A tlious- 
and doubloons, the red queen — fifteen hundred," 
added he quickly, "fifteen, and thirty-five — or 
eight." So saying, he pushed with both hands 
the great heap of gold pieces into the middle of 
the table; and then, with eyes bloodshot and 
glaring, he watched each card that fell from the 
banker's fingers. When the first row of cards 
were dealt, all was in his favor, and, as the banker 
took up the second pack, a long suppressed sigh 
broke from the gambler's bosom. It seemed at 
length, as if fortune had grown weary of perse- 
cuting him. 

" Come, Enrique," said a handsomely-dressed 
and fine-looking man, who stood opposite to him, 
"luck has turned at last, there is nothing but the 
queen of spades against you!" 

As if by some magic spell he had called the 
card, the words were not out when it dropped 
upon the table. A cry of mingled amazement 
and horror burst from the players, whose natures 
would seem to recognize some superstitious influ- 
ence in such marked casualties. As for Enrique, 
he stood perfectly still and silent; a horrible smile, 
the ghastly evidence of an hysterical effort, sat 
upon his rigid features, and at length two or three 
heavy drops of blood trickled from his nostril, 
and fell upon his shirt. 

"Where's Roland?" said he, in a faint whisper, 
to a young man behind him, 

" I saw him with Maritana, walking towards 
the three fountains." 

Enrique's pallid cheek grew scarlet, and rudely 
pushing his way through the crowd, he disap- 
peared from view. 

"There goes a man in a good humor to board 
a prize," said one of the bystanders, coolly, and 
the play proceeded without a moment's inter- 
ruption. 

With his broad-leaved hat drawn down upon 
his brows, and his head sunk upon his bosom, he 
traversed the winding walks with the step of one 
who knew their every turning; at last he reached a 
lonely and unfrequented part of the garden, 
where the path, leading for some distance along 
the margin of a small lake, suddenly turned off 
towards a flower terrace, in the midst of which 
"the three fountains" stood. 

Instead of taking the shortest way to the spot, 
Enrique left the walk and entered a grove of trees, 
through whose thick shade he proceeded silently 
and cautiously. The air was calm and motion- 
less, and none save one who had received the 
education of a prairie hunter, could have followed 
that track so noiselessly. By degrees the wood 
became open, and his progress more circumspect, 
when he suddenly halted. 

Directly in front of him, not twenty paces 
from where he stood, was the terrace, over whicli, 
in the stilly night air, the fountain threw a light 
spray-like shower, rustling, as it fell upon the 
leaves, with a murmuring sound. Lower down, 
was a little basin surrounded by a border of 
white marble, and beside this two figures were 
now standing, whom, by the clear starlight, he 



ROLAND CASH EL. 



369 



could easily recognize to be Roland and Maritana. 

The former, with folded arms, and head bent 
down, as if in thought, leaned against a tree, while 
Maritana stood beside the fountain, moving her 
foot to and fro in the clear water, and, as tliough 
entirely engrossed by her childish pastime, never 
bestowed a look upon her companion. At last, 
she ceased suddenly, and turning abruptly round, 
so as to stand full in front of him, said, "Well, 
senhor, am I to hope your pleasant interview is 
ended, or have I still to hear more of your com- 
plaints, those gentle remonstrances that sound, 
to my ears at least, more wearisome than words 
of downriglit anger?" 

'"You have not heard me patiently," said the 
youth, advancing towards her, while the slightly 
shaken tones of his voice contrasted strangely 
with the assured and haughty accents in which 
he spoke. 

" Patiently!" echoed she, with a scornful laugh. 
" And where was this same goodly gift to be 
learned? Among the pleasant company we have 
quitted, senhor? whose friendships of a night are 
celebrated by a brawl on the morrow! From the 
most exemplary crew of the Esmeralda, and, in 
particular, the worthy lieutenant, Don Roland da 
Castel, who, if report speaks truly, husbands the 
virtue so rigidly that he cannot spare the smallest 
portion to expend upon his friends!" 

" If my thrift had extended to other matters," 
said the youth, bitterly, " mayhap I should not 
have to listen to language like this!" 

" What say you, sir?" cried the girl, passion- 
ately, as she stamped upon the ground with a 
gesture of violent anger. " Do you affect to 
say, that it matters to me whether you stood 
there as loaded with gold as on the morning you 
brought back that Mexican prize, and played the 
hero with such martial modesty; or as poor — as 
poor — as bad luck at cards can make you? If I 
loved you, I'd have as little care for one event 
as the other!" 

" You certainly thought more favorably of me 
then, than now, Maritana!" said Roland, diffi- 
dently. 

" 1 know not why you say so!" 

" At least you accepted my hand in be- 
trothal " 

"Stay!" cried she, impetuously. "Did I not 
tell you, then, before the assembled witnesses — 
before my father — what a mockery this same 
ceremony was — that its whole aim and object 
was to take advantage of that disgraceful law 
that can make an unmarried girl a widow, to in- 
herit the fortune of one she never would liave 
accepted as her husband ? Speak, sir! — and say, 
did I not tell you this, and more too, that such 
a bridal ceremony brought little fortune to tiie 
bridegroom, for that already I had been thrice 
a widowed bride? N:iv, more, you heard me 
swear as solemnly, that wliile I regarded the 
act as one of deep profanation, I felt in no wise 
bound bv it. It is idle, then, to speak of our 
betrothal!" 

" It is true, Maritaiia, you said all this; al- 
thougli, perhaps, you had not now remembered 
it, had not some other succeeded to that place 
in your regard " 



"There, there!" cried she, stopping him, im- 
patiently. " I will not listen again to the bead-roll 
of your jealousies. People must have loved very 
little, or too much, to endure that kind of tor- 
ture. Besides, why tell me of these things? Y'ou 
are, they say, a most accomplished hunter, and 
can answer me — if, when in chase of an antelope, 
a jaguar joins the sport, you do not turn upon 
him at once, the worthier and nobler enemy, and 
thus, as it were, protect what had been your 
prey?" 

The youth seemed stung to the quick by this 
pitiless sarcasm; and, although he made no 
reply, his hands, convulsively clutched, bespoke 
the torrent of agitation within him. "You are 
right, Maritana!" said he, after a pause. "It is 
idle to talk of our betrothal- — I release you." 

" Release me!" said she, laughing contemptu- 
ously; "this is a task I always perform for my- 
self, senhor, and by the shortest of methods, as 
thus." As she spoke, she struggled to tear from 
her finger a ring, which resisltd all her efforts; 
at last, by a violent wrench, she succeeded, and 
holding it up for a second, till the large diamond 
glittered like a star, she threw it inio the still 
fountain at her feet. "There, amigo mio, I yt- 
lease _)'6'// — never was freedom more willingly ac- 
corded!" 

" Never was there a slave more weary of his 
servitude!" said the youth, bitterly. " If Don 
Pedro Rica but tear his accursed bond, I should 
feel myself my own again." 

" He will scarce refuse you, sir, if the rumor 
be correct that says you have lost eleven thousand 
doubloons at play. The wealthy ccnquerer stands 
on very different ground from the ruined gam- 
bler. Go to him at once! As-kback the paper! 
Tell him you have neither a heart nor a fortune 
to bestow upon his daughter! That, as a gam- 
bler, fettered by the lust for play, you have lost 
all soul for those hazardous enterprises that win 
a girl's love, and a father's consent." 

She waited for a moment, that he might re- 
ply; and then, impatient, perhaps, at his silence, 
added — "I did not think, senhor, you esteemed 
yourself so rich a prize! Beofgocd cheer, how- 
ever! They who are less cognizant of your de- 
serts will be more eager to secure them." 

With these sligghting words she turned away. 
Roland .advanced as if to follow her, but with a 
contemptuous gesture of the hand she waved him 
back, and he stood like one spell-bound, gazing 
after her, till she disappeared in the dark distance. 



CHAPTER II. 



A CH.A.LLENGE — AND HOW IT ENDED. 

" La Diche viene quando no pe rgnarcla. " 

— Si'ANiGH Proverb. 

(Good luck comes when it is not looked for.) 

Roland looked for some minutes in the direc- 
tion by which Maritafia had gone, nnd then, with 
a sudden start, as if of some newly taken re- 
solve, took the path towards the villa. He had 



370 



ROLAND CASHEL, 



not gone far, when, at the turn of the way, he 
came in front of Enrique, who, with husty steps, 
was advancing towards him. 

" Lost, everything lost!" exclaimed the latter, 
with a mournful gesture of his hands. 

"All gone?" cried Roland. 

'' Every crown in the world!" 

"Be it so; there is an end of gambling, at 
least!" 

" You bear your losses nobly, senhor!" said 
Enrique, sneeringly; " and, before a fitting au- 
dience, might claim the merit of an accomplished 
gamester. I am, however, most unworthy to 
witness such fine philosophy. I recognize in 
beggary nothing but disgrace!" 

"Bear it, then, and the whole load, too!" said 
Roland, sneeringly. " To your solicitations only 
I yielded in taking my place at that accursed 
table. I had neither a passion for play, nor the 
lust for money-getting; you thought to teach me 
both, and, peradventure, you have made me de- 
spise them more than ever." 

" What a moralist!" cried Enrique, laughing in- 
solently, "who discovers that he has cared neither 
for his mistress nor his money till he has lost 
both." 

" What do you mean?" said Roland, trembling 
with passion. 

" I never speak in riddles," was the cool reply. 

" This, then, is meant as insult,'' said Roland, 
approaching closer, and speaking in a still lower 
voice, "oris it merely the passion of a disap- 
pointed gambler?" 

" And if it were, amigo mio," retorted the 
other, " what more fitting stake to set against the 
anger of a rejected lover?" 

" Be it so!" cried Roland, fiercely, "you never 
caught up a man more disposed to indulge your 
humor Shall it be now?" 

" Could not so much courage keep warm till 
daylight?" said Enrique, calmly. " Below the 
fountains there is a very quiet spot." 

" At sunrise?" 

" At sunrise," echoed Enrique, bowing with 
affected courtesy, till the streamers from his hat 
touched the ground. 

" Now for my worthy father-in-law elect," said 
Roland, " and to see him before he may hear of 
this business, or I may find it difficult to obtain 
my divorce." When the youth arrived at the 
villa, the party were assenibled at supper. The 
great saloon, crowded with guests and hurrying 
menials, was a scene of joyous but reckless con- 
viviality, the loud laughter and the louder voices 
of the company striking on Roland's ear with a 
grating discordance he had never experienced 
before. The sounds of that festivity he had been 
wont to recognize, as the pleasant evidence of free 
and high-souled enjoyment, now jarred heavily on 
his senses, and he wondered within himself how 
long he had lived in such companionship. 

Well knowing that the supper party would not 
remain long at table, while high play continued 
to have its hold npon the guests, he strolled into 
one of the shady alleys, watching from time to 
time for the breaking up of the entertainment. 
At last some two or three arose, and preceded by 
servants with lighted flambeaux, took the way 



towards the gaming-table. They were speedily 
followed by others, so that in a brief space — ex- 
cept by the usual group of hard-drinking souls, 
who ventured upon no stake save that of health — • 
the room was deserted. 

He looked eagerly for Don Pedro, but could 
not see him, as it was occasionally his practice lo 
retire to his library, long before his guests sought 
tlieir repose. Roland made a circuit of the 
villa, and soon came to the door of this apart- 
ment, which led into a small flower-garden. 
Tapping gently here, he received a summons to 
enter, and found himself before Don Pedro, who, 
seated before a table, appeared deeply immersed 
in matters of business. 

Roland did not need the cold and almost stern 
reception of his host to make him feel his in- 
trusion very painfully; and he hastened to ex- 
press his extreme regret that he should be com- 
pelled by any circumstances to trespass on leisure 
so evidently destined for privacy. " But a few 
moments' patient hearing," continued he, " will 
show that to me at least the object of the visit 
did not admit of delay." 

" Be seated, senhor, and, if I may ask it 
without incivility, be brief, for I have weighty 
matters before me." 

" I will endeavor to be so," said Roland, 
civilly, and resumed: " This evening, Don Pedro, 
has seen the last of twenty-eight thousand Span- 
ish dollars, which, five weeks smce, I carried 
here along with me. They were my share, as 
commander of the £smera/i/a, whet) she captured 
a Mexican bark in May last. They were won 
with, hard blows and. some danger — they were 
squandered in disgrace at the gaming-table." 

" Forgive me," said Don Pedro, " you can 
scarcely adhere to your pledge of brevity if you 
permit yourself to be led away by moralizing; 
just say how this event concerns me, and where- 
fore the present visit." 

Roland became red with anger and shame, and 
when he resumed it was in a voice tremulous 
with ill-suppressed passion. "I did not come 
here for your sympathy, senhor If tlie circum- 
stance I have mentioned had no relation to your- 
self, you had not seen me here. I say that I 
have now lost all that I was possessed of in the 
world." 

''Again I must interrupt you, Senhor Roland, 
by saying that these are details for Geizheimer, 
not for me He, as you well know, transacts all 
matters of money and if you desire a loan, or are 
in want of any immediate assistance, I'm sure 
you'll find him in every way disposed to meet 
your wishes. 

" Thanks, senhor, but I am not inclined for 
such aid. I will neither mortgage my blood nor 
my courage, nor promise three hundred per 
cent, for the means of a night at the gambling- 
table." 

"Then pray, sir, how am I to understand 
your visit? Is it intended for the sake of retail- 
ing to me your want of fortune at play, and 
charging me with the results of your want of 
skill or luck?" 

"' Far from it, senhor. It is simply to mnko 
known that I am ruined, that I have nothin)^ left 



ROLAND CASH EL. 



•371 



me in the world; and that, as one whose for- 
tune has deserted him, I have come to ask back 
that bond by which I accepted )Our daughter's 
liand in betrothal." 

.A. burst of laughter from Don Pedro here 
stopped the speaker, who, with llushed cheek and 
glaring eyeballs, stared at this sudden outbreak. 
'■ Do you know for what you ask me, senhor?" 
said Rica, smiling insolently 

" Yes, I ask for what you never could tliink to 
enforce — to make me, a beggar, the husband of 
your daughter." 

" iMost true — I never thought of such an alli- 
ance. I believe you were told that Columbian 
law gives these contracts the force of a legal 
claiai, in the event of survivorship; and you 
tlattered yourself perhaps too hastily, that other 
ties more binding still might grow from it. If 
fortune was as fickle with you here as at the 
card-table, the fault is not in me." 

" But of what avail is it now?" sild Roland, 
passionately. " If I died to-morrow, there is not 
sufficient substance left to buy a suit of mourn- 
ing for my poor widow." 

" She could, perhaps, dispense with outward 
grief," said Pedro, sneeringly. 

" I say again," cried Roland, with increased 
agitation, "this bond is not worth the paper it is 
written on. I leave the service — I sail into an- 
other latitude, and it is invalid — a mere mock- 
ery!" 

" Not so fast, Sir," said Pedro, slowly, "there 
is a redeeming clause, by which you, on paying 
seventy thousand doubloons, are released of 
your contract, with my concurrence. Mark that 
well — with my concurrence It must be. Now, I 
have the opinion of learned counsel, in countries 
where mayhap your adventurous fancy has al- 
ready carried you, that this clause embraces the 
option which side of the contract I should desire 
to enforce." 

"Such may be your law here; I can have 
little doubt that any infamy may pass for justice 
in this favored region," said Roland, "but I'll 
never believe that so base a judgment could be 
uttered where civilization prevails. At all 
events, I'll try the case. I now tell you frankly, 
that, to-morrow, I mean to resign my rank and 
commission in this service; I mean to quit this 
country, with no intention ever to revisit it. If 
you still choose to retain a contract whose ille- 
gality needs no stronger proof than that it af- 
fects to bind one partv only, I'll not waste fur- 
ther time by thinking of it." 

" I will keep it, senhor," interrupted Pedro, 
calmly. " I knew a youth, once, who had as 
humble an opinion of his fortunes as you have 
now; and yet he died — not in this service, in- 
deed, but in these seas — and his fortune well re- 
quited the trouble of its claimant." 

" I have no right to trespass longer on you, 
sir," said Roland, bowing. " I wish I could 
thank you for all your hospitality to me with a 
more fitting courtesy; I must confess myself your 
debtor without hope of repayment." 

"Have you signified to Don Gomez Noronja 
your intention to resign?" 

" I shall do it within half an hour.". 



"You forget that your resignation must be ac'- 
cepted by the minister; that no jieremptory per- 
mission can be accorded b) a captain in com- 
mission, save under a guarantee of ten thousand 
crowns for a captain, and seven for a lieutenant, 
the sum to be estreated if the individual quit the 
service without leave. 'I'liis, at least, is law you 
cannot dispute!" 

Roland hung down his head, thunderstruck by 
an announcement which, at ons. swoop, dashed 
away all his hopes. As he stood silent and over- 
w helmed, Don Pedro contmued: "You see, sir, 
that the service knows how to value its officers, 
even when they set little store by the service. 
Knowing that young men are fickle and fanciful, 
witli caprices that tarry them faster tl an sound 
judgment, they have made the enactment I speak 
of. And, even were you to give the preliminary 
notice, where will you be when the time expires ? 
In what ])arallel south of Cape Horn? Among 
the islands of the Southern Pacific ; perhaps 
upon the coast of Africa? No, no; take my ad- 
vice ; do not abandon your career; it is one in 
which you have already won distinction. Losses 
at play are easily repaired in these seas. Our 
nav) " 

" Is nothing better than a system cf piracy!" 
broke in Roland, savagely. "So long as in ig- 
norance of its real character, I walked beneath 
your flag, the heaviest crime which could be im- 
puted to me was but the folly of a rash-brained 
boy. I feel that I know better now; I'll serve 
under it no more." 

" Dangerous words, these, senhor, if reported 
in the quarter where they would be noticed." 

Roland turned an indignant glance at him as 
he uttered this threat, and with an expression so 
full of passion, that Rica, for a few seconds, 
seemed to feel that he had gone too far. "I 
did but suggest caution, senhor," said he, 
timidly. 

"Take care that you practice as well as preach 
the habit," muttered Roland, "or you'll find that 
you have exploded your ov\n mine." 

This, which he uttered as he left the rocm, was 
in reality nothing more than a vague menace; 
but it was understood in a very different sense 
by Pedro, who stood pale and trembling with 
agitation, gazing at the door by which the youth 
departed. At last he moved forward, and open- 
ing it, called out— "Senhor Roland! Roland, 
come back! Let me speak to you again." But; 
already he was far beyond hearing, as with all; 
his speed he hastened down the alley. 

Don Pedro's resolves were soon formed; he 
rang his bell at once, and summoning a servant, 
asked if Don Gomez Noronja was still st 
table? 

" He has retired to his room, senhor," was the, 
reply. 

A few moments after Rica entered the chamber- 
of his guest, where he remained in close conver-' 
sation fill nigh daybreak. As he reached his own 
apartment, the sound of horses' feet and carriage- 
wheels was heard upon the gravel, and throwing 
U]i the window, Rica called out — 

"Is that Don Enrique?" 

"Yes, senhor, taking French leave, as you 



372 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



would call it. A bad return for a Spanish wel 
come but duty leaves no alternative.'' 
Are you for the coast, then' 

'With all speed Our captain received ini 
portant despatches in the night. We shall be 
afloat before forty hours Adios!' 

The farewell was cordially re echoed by Rica, 
who closed the window, muttering to himself — 
' So! all will go well at last 

Wliile Enrique was making all tlie speed 
towards the sea-shore a light caleche and four 
horses could accomplish. Roland was pacing with 
impatient steps the little plot of grass where so 
soon he expected to find himself in deadly con- 
flict with his enemy 

Never was a man s mind more suited to the 
purpose for which he waited Dejected, insulted, 
and ruined ,in one night he had little to live for 
and felt far less eager to be revenged of his ad- 
versary, than to rid himself ot a hated existence 
It was to no purpose that he could say, and say 
truly, that he had never cared for any of these 
things, of which he now saw himself stripped 
His liking fot Maritaha had never gone beyond 
great admiration for her beauty and a certain 
spiteful pleasure in exciting those bursts of pas- 
sion over which she exercised not the slightest 
control. It was caprice, not love the delight of 
a schoolboy in the power to torment, without the 
wish to retain. His self-love, then, it was. was 
wounded on finding that she, with whose temper 
he had sported, could turn so terribly upon him- 
self. The same feeling was outraged by Enrique, 
who seemed to know and exult over his de- 
feat. These sources of bitterness, being all 
aggravated by the insulting manner of Don Pedro, 
made up a mass of indignant and angry feel- 
ings which warred and goaded him almost to 
madness. 

The long-expected dawn broke slowly and 
although, a few moments after sunrise, the whole 
sky became of a rich rose color these few mo- 
ments seemed like an age to the impatient 
thoughts of him who thirsted for his vengeance. 

He walked hastily up and down the space, 
waiting now and again to listen, and then, disap- 
pointed, resumed his path, with some gesture of 
impatience. At last he heard footsteps approach- 
ing. They came nearer and nearer; and now 
he could hear the branches and the trees bend 
and crack, as some one forced a passage through 
them. A swelling feeling about the heart bespoke 
the anxiety with which he listened, when a 
figure appeared, which even at a glance he knew 
to be not Enritpie s As the man approaclied he 
took off his hat respectfully and presented a 
letter 

From Don Enrique?" said Roland, and then 
tearing open the paper, he read/ — 

"'Amigo Mio — Not mine the fault that I do 
not stand before you now instead of these few 
lines, but Noronja has received news of these 
Chilian fellows, and sent me to get the craft ready 
for sea at once. We shall meet then in a few- 
hours, and, if so, let it be as comrades. The 
service and our own rules forbid a duel so long as 
we are afloat and on duly. Whatever be your 



humor when next we touch shore again, rely 
upon finding me ready to meet it, either as an 
enemy or as 

"* Your friend, 

•'Enrique da Cordova.'' 

A single exclamation of disappointment broke 
from Roland but the moment after all former 
anger was gone. The old spirit of comrade-affec- 
tion began to seek its accustomed channels, 
and he left the s|]ot, happy to think how 
different had been his feeling than if he were 
quitting it with the blood of his shipmate on his 
hands. 

.'Mthough he now saw that his continuance in 
the service for the present was inevitable, he had 
fully made up his mind to lea\ e it and, with it, 
habits of life whose low excesses liad now become 
intolerable. So long as the spirit of adventure 
and daring sustained him so 'ong the respite of 
a few months' shore life was a season of pleasure 
and delight; but as by degrees the real character 
of his associates became clearer and he saw in 
them men who cared for enterprise no furilir 
than for its gain, and calculated each hazardous 
exploit by its profits, he telt that he «a£ ntw 
following the career of a bravo, who hires out. 
his arm and sells his courage. 'Ihis levolttd 
every sentiment of his mind, and come what 
would, he resolved to abandon it. In these day- 
dreams of a new existence the memory of two 
years passed m the Pampas constantly mingled, 
and he could not help contrasting the ha]ipy and 
healthful contentment of the simple hunter with 
the volui)tuous but cankered pleasures of llie 
wealthy buccaneer. Once more beneath tie 
wooded shades of the tall banana, he thought how 
free and peaceful his days would glide bv. fite 
from the rude conflicts he now witnessed, and the 
miserable jealousies of these illassoited ccni 
panionships For some hours he wandered, re- 
volving thoughts like these, and at length turned 
his stejis towards ihe villa, determined, so long 
as his captain remained, that he would take up 
his quarters at Barcelonetta, nor in future acc<pt 
ot the hospitality ot Don Rica s house With 
this intention he was returning tc arrange fortiie 
removal of his luggage, when his attention 
was excited by the loud cracking of whips, and, 
the shrill cries that accompanied the sounds of 
' The Post' the Post'" 

In a moment every window of the villa was 
thrown open and heads in every species (if 
night-gear and every stage of sleepy astonishment, 
tlirust out. for the post be it observed was hut 
a monthly phenomenon, and the arrival of letters 
was very often the signal for a 'otal break-u]i of 
the whole household. 

The long wagon drawn by four black mules, 
and driven by a fellow whose wide-tasstlled 
sombrero and long moustachfs seemed to savor 
more of the character of a melodrama than real 
lite stopped before the chief entrance of tlie 
villa, and was immediately surrounded by the 
guests, whose hurried wardrobe could only be 
excused in so mild a climate. 

" .\nything for me, Truxillo?" cried one, l.cld 



ROLAND CASH EL. 



373 



ing up 3 dollar temptingly between finger and 
thumb 

'■ W'lieie are my cigarettes?" 

" And my nianlle'" 

'' And my gun?' 

"And the aenhora'sembroiderd slippers?'' cried 
a maid, as she ransacked every corner where the 
packages lay 

I'he driver, however, paid little attention to 
these various deuiands, but loosening the bridles 
of his beasts, he proceeded to wash their mouths 
with some water fetched from the fountain, coolly 
telling the applicants that they might help them- 
selves, only to S[)are something for the people ot 
Barcelonetta, for he knew there was a letter or 
two for that place. 

" What have we here?" cried one of the guests, 
as a mass of something enveloped in ahorse sheet 
lay rolled up in the foot of the caleche, where the 
driver sat. 

"Ahl par Diosl" cried the man, laughing, ' I 
had nearly forgotton that fellow. He is asleep, 
poordevil! He nearly died of cold in the night!" 

" Who IS he — what is he?" 

" A traveller from beyond San Luis in search of 
Don Pedro. 

Of me?" said Don Pedro, whose agitation 
became, in spite of all his efforts, visible to every 
one at the same instant that, pul.ing back the 
the cloak rudely, he gazed at the sleeping stranger 
— ' I never saw him before." 

"Come, awake — stir up, senhor!" said the 
driver, poking the passenger very unceremoni- 
ously with his whip " We are arrived — this is 
the Villa de his Noches Entretenidas — here is 
Don Pedro himself' 

The Lord be praised!'' said a short, round- 
faced little man, who witli a nightcap drawn 
over his ears, and a huge cravat enveloping his 
chin, now struggled to look around him. 'At 
last!" sighed he- I'm sure I almost gave up all 
hope of it. ' These words were spoken in English, 
but even that evidence was not necessary to show 
that the little ])himp figure in drab gaiters and 
shorts was not a Spaniard. 

" Are you Don Peter sir — are you really Don 
Peter?" said he, rulibing his eyes, and looking 
hurriedly around to assure himself he was not 
dreaming. 

" What is your business with me — or have you 
any?" said Rica, in a voice barely above a 
whisper. 

" Have I ? — Did I come six thousand miles in 
search of you? Oh dear, oh dear I can scarcely 
think it all over, even now But still there may 
be nothing done if he isn t here." 

"What do you mean?" said Rica, impatiently 

''Mr. Roland Cashel; Roland Cashel, Esq., I 
should call him now, sir." 

■ That's my name!" said the youth, forcing his 
way through the crowd, and standing in front of 
the traveller 

The little man put his hand into a breast- 
pocket, and drew out a little book, opening which 
he began to read, comparing the detail as he 
went on, with the oljject before hmi. 

Six foot and an inch in height, at least, olive- 
brown complexion, dark eyes and hair, straight 



nose, short upper lip, frowns slightly when he 
speaks, — just talk a little, will you?' 

Cashel could not help smiling at the request, 
when the other added, '' Shows his teeth greatly 
when he laughs ' 

'Am I a runaway negro from New Orleans, 
that you have taken my portrait so accurately 
sir?" 

Got that at Demerara, said the little man 
putting up the book, 'and must say it was very 
near indeed!' 

■ I have been a* Demerara,' said Cashel hop- 
ing by the admission to obtain some lurtliei in 
sight into the travellers intentions 

' I know that,' said the little man I tracked 
you thence to St Kitts then to Antigua I lor-t 
you there, but I got up the scent again in Hon 
diiras, but only for a short time, and had to tiy 
Demerara again, then I dodged down tlie coast 
by Pernambuco, but lost you entirely in June 
some damned Indian expedition I believe. Tut 
I met a fellow at New Orleans who had seen 
you at St. Louis, and so I tracked away south- 

'' And in one word, having found n.e, what was 
the cause of so much solicitude sir?" said Casliel 
who felt by no means comfortable at such a hot 
and unwearied pursuit. 

" This can all be better said in the house ' in 
terposed Don Rica, who, relieved of any uneasi 
ness on his own account, had suddenly resumed 
his habitual quiet demeanor. 

"So Im thinking, too!" said the traveller 
"but let me first land my portmanteau . all the 
papers are there, I have not lost sight of it since 
1 started 

The parcels were carefully removed under his 
own inspection, and, accompanied by Don Pedro 
Rica and Roland, the little man entered the 
villa 

There could be no greater contrast than that 
between the calm and placid bearing Don Pedro 
had now assumed and the agitated and anxious 
appearance which Cashel exhibited Tlie veiy 
last interview he had sustained in that same spot 
still dwelt upon his mind, and when he declined 
Don Pedro's polite request to be seated and 
stood with folded arms before the table which' 
the travel'ler had now covered with his papers 
a jirisoner awaiting the words of his judgmeni 
could not have endured a more intense leelini;' 
of anxiety 

"'Roland Cashel, born in York, ad i8— 
son of Godfrey Cashel and Sarah his wife, ' read 
the little man, then murmured to himself, ' Cer- 
tificate of baptism, signed by Joshua Gorgeous, 
prebendary of the Cathedral all right so far 
Now we come to the wanderings Your father 
was quartered at Port-au-Prince, in the year i8 — 
I believe?' 

■ He was. I was then nine years old, ' s.^id 
Cashel. 

Quite correct he died there, I understand?' 

Cashel assented by a ncd. 

' Upon which event you joined, or was sup- 
posed to join, the Brorcri Ax, a sloop in the 
African trade, wrecked off Fernando Po. same 
winter?" 

"Yes; she was scuttled by the second mate, 



374 



ROLAND CASHEL 



in a mutiny But what has all this secret his- 
tory of me to mean? Did you come here, sir, 
to glean particulars to wriie my life and adven- 
tures?" 

'' I crave your pardon, most humbly, Mr. 
Cashel,"' said the little man, in a perfect agony 
of humiliation "I was only recapitulating a 
few collateral circumstances, by way of proof. 
I was, so to say, testing — that is, I was " 

"Satisfying yourself as to this gentleman's 
identity," added Don Pedro. 

" Exactly so, sir; the very words upon the tip 
of my tongue — satisfying myself that you were 
the individual alluded to here" — as he spoke, 
he drew forth a copy of the Times news])aper, 
whose well-worn and much-thumbed edges be- 
spoke frequent reference — "in this advertise- 
ment," said he, handing the paper to Don Pedro, 
who at once read aloud, — 

Reward of 500/. — .\wy person giving such 
information as may lead to the discovery of a 
young gentleman named Roland Cashel, who 
served for some years on board of various mer- 
chant vessels in the Levant, the African, and the 
West India trade, and was seen in New Orleans 
in the autumn of 18 — , will receive the above re- 
ward. He was last heard of in Mexico, but it 
is believed that he has since entered the Chilian 
or Columbian service. H? is well known in tlie 
Spanish Main, and in many of the cities on the 
coast, as the caballero. " 

Cashel's face was one burning surface of 
scarlet, as he heard the words of an advertise- 
ment, which, in his ideas, a; once associated him 
with runaway negroes and escaped felons; and 
it was with something like suffocation that he 
restrained his temper as lie asked why. and by 
whose authority lie fvas thus described.' 

The little man looked amazed and confounded 
at a question which, it would seem, he believed 
his information had long since anticipated. 

' Mr Cashel wishes to know the object of 
this inquiry — who sent you hither, in fact," said 
Don Rica, beginning himself to lose patience at 
the slowness of the stranger's apprehension. 

" Mr. Kennyfeck, of Dublin, the law agent. 
Sent me " 

'■ Upon what grounds— with Avhat purpose?" 

"To tell him that the suit is gained; that he 
is now tile rigiitful owner of the whole of the 
Godfrey and Godfrey Browne estates, and lands 
of Ben Currig, Tulough Callaghan, Knock 
Swinery, Kildallooran. Tullimeoran, Ballycan- 
djrigan, with all the manorial rights, privileges and 
perquisites appertaining to — in a word, sir, for I 
see your impatience, to something, a mere trifle, 
under seventeen thousand per annum, not to 
speak of a sum, at present not exactly known, in 
bank, besides foreign bonds and securities to a 
large amount." 

While Mr. Simms recited this, with the prac- 
tised volubility of one who had often gone over 
the same catalogue before, Cashel stood amazed, 
and almost stupefied, unable to grasp in his mind 
the full extent of his good fortune, but catch- 
ing, here and there, glimpses of the truth, in the 
few circumstances of family history alluded to. 
Not so, Don Rica; neither confusion nor hesita- 



tion troubled the free working of his acute facul- 
ties, but he sat still, patiently watching the eflect 
of this intelligence on the youth before him 
.•\t length, perceiving that he did not sjieak, he 
himself turned towards the stranger, and said — 

" You are, doubtless, a man of the world, sir 
and need no apologies for my remarking that 
good news demands a scrutiny not less searching 
than its opposite As the friend of Senhor 
Cashel'' — here he turned a glance heneath his 
heavy brows at the youth, who, however, seemed 
not to notice the word— "as his friend, I repeat, 
deeply interested in whatever affects him, 1 may, 
perhaps, be permitted to ask the details of this 
very remarkable event." 

" If you mean the trial, sir, or rather the 
trials, for there were three at bar, not to men- 
tion a suit in equity and a bill of discovery " 

'■ No, I should be sorry to tresjjass so far 
upon you," intcirupted Rica. "Wliat I meant 
was something in tiie shape of an assurance — 
somethirig like satisfactory proof that this narra- 
tive, so agrtt-able to believe, should have all the 
foundation we wish it." 

" Nothing easier," said Mr. Siiiims, producing 
an enormous black leather pocket-book fiom the 
breast of his coat, and opening it leisurely on 
the table before him. "Here are, I fancy, docu- 
ments quite sufficient to answer all your in- 
quiries. This is the menorandum of 'he verdict 
taken at Bath, with the note of the attorney- 
general, and the point reserved, in which motion 
for a new trial was made." 

" What is this?" asked Cashel, now speaking 
for the first time, as he took up a small book of 
strange shape, and looked curiously at it. 

"Cheque-book of the bank of Fordyce and 
Grange, Lombard street," replied Simms; "and 
here, the authority by which you are at liberty 
to draw on the firm for the balance already in 
their hands, amounting to — let me see"- — here he 
rapidly set down certain figures on the coiner of 
a piece of pa|ier, and with the speed of lightning 
performed a sum in arithmetic — "the sum of one 
hundred and twenty-three thousand pounds 
seven and elevenpence, errors expected." 

" This sum is mine! " cried Cashel, as his eyes 
flashed fire, and his dark cheek grew darker 
with excitement. 

"It is only a moiety of your funded property," 
said Simms. " Castellan and Biggen, the nota- 
ries, certify to a much larger amount in the Three 
])er cents." 

"And I am at liberty to draw at once for 
whatever amount I require?" 

" Within that sum. certainly. Though, if you 
desire more, I'm sure they'll not refuse your 
order." 

"Leave us for a moment, sir," said Cashel, in 
an accent whose trembling eagerness bespoke 
the agitation he labored under. " I have some- 
thing of importance to tell this gentleman." 

"If you will step this way, sir," said Don 
Rica, politely. " I have ordered some refresh- 
msnt in this room, and I believe you will find it 
awaiting you." 

Mr. Simms gladly accepted the ofi'ered hospi- 
tality, and retired. The door was not well closed, 



ROLAND CASH EL. 



375 



when Don Rica advanced with extended hands 
towards Cashel, and said, — - 

" Wall all niy heart I give you joy — such good 
fortune as this may, indeed, obliterate every 
little cloud that has passed between us and 
make us once more the friends we have ever 
been." 

Cashel crossed his arms on his breast, and 
coldly replied, "I thank you. But a few hours 
back, and one-half as much kindness would have 
made a child of me in feeling. Now it serves 
only to arouse my indignation and my anger." 

"Are you indeed so unjust — so ungenerous as 
this?" exclaimed Rica, in a tone whose anguish 
seemed wrung from the very heart, 

"Unjust — Liii^'enerous! how.'" cried Cashel, 
passionately. 

" Both, sir," said Rica, in a voice of almost 
comm.mJing severity. '" Unjust to suppose, that 
in tiiwarting your last resolve to leave a service 
in which you have already won fame and honor, 
I was not your best and truest J^riend; that in 
offering every opposition in my power to such a 
hot-headed resolution, I was not consulting your 
best interests; ungenerous to imagine that I 
could feel any other sentiment than delight at 
your altered fortunes; I, who gave you all that 
was dearest and nearest to me on earth, my 
child — my Maritaiia." 

Had it not been for the passionate emotion of 
the last few words, Cashel's anger would have 
sugixested a reply not less indignant than his 
question, but the sight of the hard, the stern, 
the unflinching Pedro Rica, as he now stood — • 
his face covered by his hands, while his strong 
chest heaved and throbbed with convulsive 
energy — this was more than he felt prepared to 
look on. It was then only by a great effort he 
could say, "You seem to forget, Senhor Rica, 
how dilferently you interpreted this same con- 
tract but a few hours ago. You told me then — 
I think I hear the words still ringing in my ears — 
that you never thought of such an alliance, that 
your calculation took a less flattering estimate of 
my relationship." 

"I spoke in anger, Roland; anger caused by 
your passionate resolve. Remember, too, that I 
preferred holding you to your contract, in 
preference to allowing you to redeem it by pay- 
ing the penalty." 

" Easy alternative," said Cashel. with a scorn- 
ful laugh, "you scarcely expected a beggar, a 
ruined gambler could pay seventy thousand doub- 
loons. But times are changed, sir. I am 
rich now! rich enough to double the sum you 
stipulated for. Although I well know the con- 
tract is not worth the pen that wrote it, I am 
willing to recongnize it, at least so far as the 
forfeit is concerned." 

" My poor child, my darling Maritaiia," said 
Pedro, but in a voice barely audible. The words 
seemed the feeble utterance of a breaking heart. 

"Sorrow not for her, senhor," said Cashel, 
hastily. ." Slie has no griefs herself on such a 
score. It is but a few hours since she told me so." 

Don Pedro was silent, but a mournful shake 
of the head, and a slil'i more mournful sr.iile 
seemed to iiuimate his dissent. 



"I tell you, sir, that your own scorn of my 
alliance was inferior to hers! ' cried Cashel, in 
a voice of deep exasperation. " She even went 
so far as to say that she was a party to the con- 
tract only on the condition of its utter worth- 
lessness. Do uot, then, let me hear of regrets 
for her." 

" And you believe this?" 

"I believe what I have myself witnessed." 

" What, then, if you be a witness to the very 
opposite? What if your ears reveal to you the 
evidence as strongly against, as now you deem 
it in favor of your opinion?" 

" I do not catch your meaning." 

" I would say, what if from Maritana's own 
lips you heard an avowal of her affection, would 
you conceive yourself at liberty to redeem aeon- 
tract to which you were only one party, and by 
mere money — I care not how large you call the 
sum — to reject the heart you have made your 
own?" 

" No, no, this cannot be," cried Cashel, strug- 
gling in a conflict of uncertainty and fear. 

"I know my daughter, sir," said Pedro, with 
an air of pride he well knew whep and how to 
assume. 

" If I but thought so," muttered Cashel to 
himself, and low as the words were, Rica heard 
them. 

" I ask you for nothing short of your own 
conviction- — ^the conviction of your own ears and 
eyes. You shall, if you please, remain concealed 
in her apartment while I question her on the 
subject of this attachment. If you ever sup- 
posed me base enough to coerce her judgment, 
vou know her too well to believe it to be possible. 
But I will not insult myself by either supposition. 
I offer you this test of what I have said ; accept 
it if you will, and with this condition, that you 
shall then be free to tear this contract, if you 
like, but never believe that I can barter the ac- 
knowledged affection of my child, and take 
money for her misery." 

Cashel was moved by the truth-like energy of 
the words he heard; the very aspect of emotion 
in one he had never seen save calm, cold, and 
self-possessed, had its influence on him, and lie 
replied, "I consent." So faintly, howertr, were 
the words uttered, that he was obliged to repeat 
them ere they reached Don Pedro's ears. 

" I will come for you after sujiper this evening," 
said Rica. " Let me find you in the arbor at the 
end of the 'Hacienda.' Till then, adios." So 
saying, he motioned to Cashel to follow the 
stranger. Roland obeyed the suggestion, and 
they parted. 



CHAPTER MI. 



MR. SIMMS ON LIFE AT THE VIIXA. 

He told them of men lliat cared not .id — n 

Fnr the law or tlie new Police. 
And h.id very few scruples for killing a l.nmb, 

If they fancied they wanted the fleece. 

— SiK Tetkr's I^ament. 

When Roland Cashel rejoined Mr. Simms, he 



376 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



found that worthy individual solacing himself for 
the privations of prairie travel, by such a break- 
fast as only Don Pedro's larder would produce. 
Surrounded by various dishes whose ajjpetizing 
qualities miglit have suffered some impairment 
from a more accurate knowledge of their contents 
— sucking monkeys and young squirrels among 
the number — he tasted and sqjped, and sipped 
again, till between the seductions of Sangaree 
and Curagoa punch he had produced that pleas- 
ing frame of mind when even a less gorgeous 
scene than the windows of the villa displayed 
before him, would have appeared delightful. 

Whether poor Mr. Simms's excess- — and such 
we are compelled to confess it was — could be ex- 
cused on the score of long fasting, or the con- 
sciousness that he had a right to some indulgence 
in the hour of victory, he assuredly revel. ed in 
the fullest enjoyment of this luxurious banquet, 
and as Cashel entered the room had reached the 
delicious dream-land of misty consciousness 
where his late adventures and his former life 
became most pleasingly commingled, and jaguars, 
alligators, gambusinos and rancheros, danced 
through his bram in company with barons of the 
exchequer and masters in chancery. 

Elevated by the scenes of danger he had passed 
through — some real, the far greater number imag- 
inary — into the dignity of a hero, he preferred 
rather to discuss prairie life and scenes in the 
Havannah to dwelling on the topics so nearly 
interesting to Cashel. Nor was Roland a very 
patient listener to digressions which, at every 
moment left the high-road, and waiwiered into 
every absurd by-path of personal history. 

"I always thought, sir," said Simms, "and 
used to say it everywhere, too, what a splendid 
change for you this piece of good fortune would 
be, springing at a bound, as a body might say, 
from a powder-monkey into the wealth of a peer 
of the realm; but egad, when I see the glorious 
life you lead hereabouts, such grog, such tipple, 
capital house, magnificent country, and, if I may 
pronounce from the view beneath my window, 
no lack of company, too! I begin to feel doubts 
about it." 

If Cashel was scarcely pleased at the allusions 
to himself in this speech, he speedily forgave 
them in his amusement at the commentary Simms 
passed on lile at the villa; but yet would willing- 
ingly have turned from eitlier theme to that most 
engrossing one, the circumstances of his altered 
fortune. Simms, however, was above such 
grovelling subjects; and, as he sat, glass in hand, 
gazing out upon the garden, where strolling 
l)arties came and went, and loitering groups lin- 
gered in the shade, he really fancied the scene a 
])erfect paradise. 

"Very hard to leave this, you'll find it!" ex- 
claimed Simms. " I can well imagine life here 
must be rare fun. How jolly they do seem down 
there," said he, with a half longing look at the 
strange figures, who now and then favored him 
with a salute or a gesture of the hand, as they 
passed. 

" Come, let us join them," said Cashel, who, de- 
spairing of recalling him to the wished-for topic 
Was fain toconsent toindulge thestraniitr's humor. 



" All naval men.>" asked Simms, as they issued 
forth into the lawn. 

"Most of them are sailors," said Cashel, 
equivocating. 

'■ That's a fine looking old fellow, beneath the 
beech tree, with the long Turkish pipe in his 
mouth. He's captain of a seventy-four, I 
take it.'" 

'■ He's a Greek merchantman," whispered 
Cashel " don't look so hard at him, for he ob- 
serves you, and is somewhat irascible in temper, 
if stared at." 

" Indeed I shouldn't have thought " 

"No matter, do as I tell )ou; he stabbed a 
travelling artist the other day who fancied he 
was a fine study, and wished to make a drawing 
of his head." 

Simms's jaw dropped suddenly, and a sickly 
faininess stole over him, that even all his late 
potations could not supply courage enough to hear 
such a story unmoved. 

" And «ho is he, sir, yonder?" asked he, as a 
youth, witli iTo other clothing than a shirt and 
trousers, was fencing against a tree, practising, 
by bounds and springs, every imagmable species 
of attack and assault. 

" A young Spaniard from the Basque," said 
Cashel, coolly; "he has a duel tomorrow with 
sonie fellow in Barcelonetta, and he's getting his 
wrist into play." Then calling out he said, "Ah, 
Jose, you mean to let blood, I see." 

" He's only a student," said the youth, with an 
insolent toss of his head. "But who have we 
here?" 

"A friend and countryman of mine, Mr. 
Simms," said Casliel, introducing the little man, 
who performed a whole circuit round the young 
Spaniard in sanitations. 

"Come to join us?" asked the youth, surveying 
him with cool impertinence. " What in the 
devil's name hast thou done that thou shouldst 
leave the Old World, at thy time of life? Virtuous 
living or hypocrisy ought to have become a habit 
with thee ere now, old boy! eh?" 

" He's only on a visit," said Cashel, laughing, 
" he can return to good society, not like all of us 
here." 

" Would you infer from that, sir " 

" Keep your temper, Jose," said Cashel, with an 
indescribable assumption of insolent suj)eriority, 
" or if you cannot, keep your courage for the 
students, whose broils best suit you." 

"You presume somewhat too far on your skill 
with the rapier, Senhor Cashel," said the other, 
but in a voice far less elevated than before. 

"You can test the presumption at any mo- 
ment," said Cashel, insolently; "now, if you 
like it." 

" Oh, Mr. Cashel ! oh, Mr Roland! for mercy's 
sake, don't!" exclaimed Simms. 

"Never fear," interposed Cashel; "that ex- 
cellent young man has better iirinciples than you 
fancy, and never neglects, thougli he sometimes 
forgets himself." 

So saying, he leisurely passed his arm beneath 
Simms's, and led him forward. 

"Good-day, Senhor Cashel," said a tall and 
well-dressed man, who made his salutations with 



ROLAND CASH EL. 



377 



a certain air of distinction, tliat induced Simms 
to inquire who and wiiat lie was. 

'* A general in the service of one of the minor 
states of Germany," said Cashel; " a man of great 
professional skill; and, it is said of great per- 
sonal bravery." 

'■ And in what capacity is he here?' 

"A refugee. His sentence to be shot was com- 
muted to imprisonment for life. He made his 
escape from Spandaii, and came here." 

" What was his crime?" 

" Treachery, the very basest one can well con- 
ceive; he commanded the fort of Bergstein, which 
the French attacked on their advance in the 
second Austrian campaign. The assailants had 
no heavy artillery, nor any material for esclade; 
but they had money, and gold proved a better 
battering-train than lead Plittersdorf — that's 
the general's name — -fired over their heads till 
he had expended all his ammunition, and then 
surrendered, with the garrison, as prisoners of 
war. The French, however exchanged him after- 
wards, and he very nearly paid the penalty of his 
false faith." 

" And now is he shunned — do people avoid 
him?" 

■' How should tliey — how many here are priv- 
ileged to look down on a traitor? Is it the run- 
away merchant, the defaulting bank clerk, the 
filching commissary, that can say shame to 
one whose crime stands higlier in the scale of 
offence; the best we can know of any one here is, 
that his rascality took an aspring turn; and yet 
there are some fellows one would not like to 
think ill of. Here comes one such; and as I 
have something like business to treat of with him, 
I'll ask you to wait for me, on this bench, till I 
join you." 

Without waiting for any reply, Cashel hastened 
forward, and taking off liis hat, saluted a sallow- 
looking man of some eight-and-forty or fifty vears 
of age, wno, in a loose morning-gown, and with a 
book in his hand, was strolling along in one of 
the alleys. 

"Ha, lieutenant," said the other, as lifting up 
his eyes he recognised Cashel — " making the most 
of these short hours of pleasure, eh? You've 
heard the news, I suppose; we shall be soon 
afloat again." 

" So I've heard, captain'" replied Cashel; "but 
I believe we have taken our last cruise together." 

" How so, lad? i"« look well, and in spirits; 
and as for myself, I never felt in better humor to 
try a bout with our friends on the western coast." 

■'You have no friend, captain, can better 
like to hear you say so; and as for me, the 
chances of fortune have changed. I have dis- 
covered that I need neither risk head nor limbs 
for gold; a worthy man has arrived here to-day 
with tidings that I am the owner of a large es- 
tate, and more money than I shall well know how 
to squander, and so " 

"And so you'll leave us for the land where men 
have learned that art? Quite right, Cashel. At 
your age a man can accustom himself to any and 
everything; at mine — a little later — at mine, for in- 
stance, the task is harder. I remember myself 
some yeajs ago fancying that I should enjoy 



prodigiously that life of voluptuous civilzation 
they possess in the 'Old World,' where men's wants 
are met ere they are well felt, and lumdit.ds, aye 
thousands are toiling and thinking to minister to 
the rich man's pleasures. It so chanced that I took 
a prize a few weeks after; she ^^ as a I'oiluguese 
barque with specie, broad doubloons and gold bars 
for the mint at Lisbon, and so I ihitw up my 
command and went over to France ard to Paris. 
The first dash was glorious; all was new. glit- 
tering, and splendid; every stnse steeped in a 
voluptuous entraiicement; thought vas out of 
the question, and one only could wcr.c'er at the 
barbarism that before stcnnd to re])itstnt life 
and sorrow for years lost and wasted in grosser 
enjoyment. Then came a reaction, at first 
slight, but each day stronger, th.e head- 
ache of the debauch, the doubt of )cur mis- 
tress's fidelity, jour friend's truih, )our own 
enduring good fortune, all these lie in wait 
together, and spring cut en )cu in Hire glccmy 
hour like Malays boarding a vessel at night, and 
crowding down from maintop and niizztn! There 
is no withstanding; you niust stnke cr fly. I 
took the last alternative, and leaving my splen- 
did quarters one morning at ca)Lre;k, hasler.td 
to Havre. Not a thought of regret cicsfed me; 
so quiet a life seemed to sap my very courage, 
and prey upon my vitals; that t;n,e night I 
swung once more in a hanincek, with the lush- 
ing water beside my ear, and never again tried 
those dissipations that pall frcm iheir very ex- 
cess; for, after all, no pleasure is lasting which 
is not dashed with the sense of danger." 

While he was yet speaking, a female figure, 
closely veiled, passed close to where ihey stood, 
and, without attracting any notice, slipped into 
Cashel's hand a slip of paper. Few as the words 
it contained were, they seemed to excite his very 
deepest emotion, and it was ^\ith a faltering 
voice he asked the captain by what step he could 
most speedily obtain his release frcm the ser- 
vice? 

A tiresome statement of official forms was the 
answer, but Roland's impatience did not hear 
it out, as he said, — 

"And is there no other way — by gold, for 
instance?" 

A cold shrug of the shoulders met this sally, 
and the captain said, 

■'To corrupt the officials of the government 
is called treason by our laws, and is punishable 
by death, just like desertion." 

"Therefore is desertion the better course, as 
it involves none but one," said Cashel, laughing, 
as he turned away. 



CHAPTER IV. 

THE KENNVFECK HOUSEHOLD. 

Man beint; reason.ilile, imi'.t dine out; 
The best ot life is but .i dinner-parly. 

^Avu-riYTRlON. Canto IV. 

It was about half-past six of an autumn even- 
ing, just as the grey twilight was darkening into 



378 



ROLAND CAS II EL. 



the gloom that precedes night, that a servant, 
dressed in the most decorous black, drew down 
the window-blinds of a large and splendidly 
■furnished drawing-room of a house in Merrion 
square, Dublin. 

Having arranged certain portly deep-cushioned 
chairs into the orderly disorder that invites social 
groupings, and having disposed various other 
articles of furniture according to those notions 
of domestic landscape so popular at the present 
day, he stirred the fire and withdrew; — all these 
motions being performed with the noiseless de- 
corum of a church. 

A glance at the apartment, even by the fitful 
light of the coal-fire, showed that it was richly, 
even magnificently furnished. The looking-glasses 
were immense in size, and framed with all that 
the most lavish art of the carver could display 
The hangings were costly Lyons silk, the sofas 
tables, and cabinets were all e.\quisite specimens 
of modern skill and elegance, while the carjjet 
almost rose above the foot in the delicate softness 
of its velvet pile. A, harp, a grand pianoforte, 
and several richly-bound and gilded volumes 
strewed about ga-ve evidence of tastes above the 
mere volujituous enjoyment of ease, and in one 
window stood an embroidery-frame, with its un- 
: finished labor, from which the threads depended 
in that fashion, that showed it had lately occu- 
pied the fair hands of the artist. 

This very enviable apartment belonged to Mr. 
Mountjoy Kennyfeck, the leading solicitor of 
Dublin, a man, who, for something more than 
thirty years, had stood at the head of his walk 
in the capital and was reputed to be one of its 
most respected and richest citizens Mrs Mount 
3oy Ivennyfeck — neither for our own nor our 
reader s convenience dare we omit the " prenom' 
— was of a western family considerably above 
that of her liege lord and master in matter of 
genealogy, but whose quarterings had so far 
survived the family acres, that she was fain to ac- 
cept the hand of a wealthy attorney after having 
for some years been the belle of her county, and 
the admired beauty of Castle balls and drawing- 
rooms. 

It had been at first, indeed, a very hard strug- 
gle for the O'Haras to adopt the style and title 
o/ Kennyfeck, and poor Matilda was pitied in all 
the moods and tenses for exchanging the riotous 
feudalism of Mayo for the decorous quietude 
and wealthy " insouciance' of a Dublin mansion; 
and the various scions of the house did not 
.scruple to express very unqualified opinions on 
the subject of her faU, but Time — that heals 
so much — Time and Mr. Kennyferks claret, of 
which they all drank most liberally during the 
visits to town, assuaged the rancor of these 
prejudices, and " Matty," it was hinted, might 
have done worse; while some hardy spirit averred 
that "Kennyfeck, though not one of ourselves, 
lias a great deal of the gentleman about him, 
notwithstanding." 

A word of Mr. Kennyfeck himself, and even 
a word will almost suffice. He was a very tall, 
))ompous-looking personage^ with a retiring fore- 
head, and a large prominent nose- he wore a 
profusion of powder, and always dressed in the 



most scruinilous black, he spoke little and that 
slowly, he laughed never It was not that he 
was melancholy or depressed, it seemed rather 
that his nature had been fashioned in conformity 
with the onerous responsibilities of hispursuit, and 
that he would have deemed any exhibition of 
mirthful emotion unseemly and unbecoming one 
who, so to say, was a kind of high priest in the 
temple of equity. Next to the chancellor's he 
venerated the decisions of Mrs Kennyfeck, after 
Mrs Kennyfeck came the master of the rolls. 
This was his brief and simple faith, and it is as- 
tonishing in what simple ruks cf guidance men 
amass vast fortunes, and obtain the highest 
suffrages of civic honor and respect! 

Mr. Kennyfeck's family consisted of two 
daughters • the eldest had been a beauty for seme 
years and even at the period our tale c].tns, 
had lost few of her attractions. She was tall, 
dark haired, and dark-eyed, with an air cf what 
in the Irish capital is called "decided fashion" 
about her, but in less competent ciicles might 
have been called almost effrontery. She looked 
strangers very steadily in the face, sjcke with a 
voice full, firm, and unabashed- — no matter what 
the subject, or who the audience — and gave her 
opinions on people and events with a careless in 
difference to consequences, that n any mistook 
for high genius, rebellious against ctnliol. 

Olivia, three years jounger than her sister, had 
just come out ; and whether that her beaut)- — 
and she was very handsome — required a different 
style, or that she saw more clearly "the mistake" 
in Miss Kennyfeck's manner, but she took a path 
perfectly her own. She was tenderness itself a 
delicacy, too susceptible for this woik-a-day world, 
pervaded all she said and did — a retiring sensi 
liveness that she knew, as she pleinli^ely said, 
would never " let her be loved," oveilaid her na- 
ture, and made her the victim of her own feelings. 
Her sketches — everlasting Madcnnas dissolved 
in tears — her music, the most n^ournful of the 
melodies — her reading, the most disastrously end- 
ing of modern poems- — all accoided with this 
tone, which, after all, scarcely consoi ted well with 
a very blooming cheek, bright hazel ty.es, and an 
air and carriage that showed a full consciousness 
of her captivations, and no imall reliance on her 
capacity to exercise them. 

A brief interval after the servant left the room 
the door opened, and Mrs. Kennyfeck entered. 
She was dressed for dinner, and if not exactly 
attired for the reception of a large company ex- 
hibited, in various details of her cosiume, un- 
equivocal signs of more than common care A 
massive diamond brooch fastened the front of 
her dark velvet dress, and on her fin_t'e»rs several 
rings of great value glittered. Miss Kennyfeck 
too, who followed her, was, though sin ply, most 
becomingly dressed ; the light and floating mate- 
rial of her robe contrasted well will) the niore 
stately folds of the matronly costime of her 
mother. 

' I am surprised they are not here before this," 
said Mrs. Kennyfeck, lying back in the deep 
recess of a luxurious chair and placing a screen 
between herself and the fire. "Your father said 
positively on the 5th, and as the weather has been 



ROLAND CASH EL. 



379 



most favorable, I cannot understand the delay. 
The packets arrive at four, I think?" 

'■ Yes, at four, and the carriage left this at three 
to fetch tliem." 

" Read the note again — he writes so very 
briefly al\va\s. I'm sure I wish the dear man 
would understand that I am not a client, and 
tiiat a letter is not exactly all it niiglit be, be- 
cause It can be charged its thirteen and fourpence, 
or six and eightpence, or whatever it is." 

Miss Kennyfcck took an open note from the 
chimney, and read : 

'' ' Dear Mrs. Kennvfeck, — We have made all 
the necessary arrangnments in London, and shall 
leave on the 2nd, so as to arrive at Merrion 

square by tlie 5th. Mr. C would, I believe, 

rather have remained another day in town, but 
there was no possibility of doing so, as the 
"Chancellor" will sit on Tuesda;. . Love to the 
girls, and believe me, yours very truly, 

" ' M. Kennvfeck. 

" ' Invite Jones and Softly to meet us at din- 
ner.' " 

The clock on the mantelpiece now struck seven, 
and scarcely had the last chime died away as a 
carriage drove up to the door. 

"Here they come, I suppose," said Mrs. 
Kennyfeck, with a half sigh. 

" No, mamma ; it is a hackney-coach. Mr. 
Jones, or Mr. Softly, perhaps." 

"Oh dear! I had forgotten them. How absurd 
it was to ask these people, and your father not 
here!" 

The door opened, and the servant' announced 
the Rev Mr. Knox Softly. A very tall, hand- 
some young man entered, and made a most re- 
spectful but cordial salutation to the ladies. He 
was in look and mien the beau ideal of health, 
strength, and activity, with bright, full, blue eyes, 
and cheeks rosy as the May. His voice, however, 
was subdued to the dulcet accent of a low 
■whisper, and his step, as he crossed the room, had 
the stealthy noiselessness of a cat's approach 

"Mr. Kennyfeck quite restored, I hope, from 
the fatigue of his journey?" 

"We've not seen him yet," replied his lady, 
almost tartly. "He ought to have bi.jn here at 
four o'clock, and yet it's past seven!" 

" I think I hear a carriage." 

" .Another " hackney, Miss Kennyfeck was 

about to say, when she stopped herself, and, at 
the instant. Counsellor Clare Jones was an- 
nounced. 

This gentleman was a rising light of the Irish 
bar, who had the good fortune to attract Mr 
Kennyfeck's attention, and was suddenly trans 
ferred from the dull duties of civil bills and dec- 
larations to business of a more profitable kind. 
He had been somewhat successful in his college 
career — carried off some minor honors ; was a 
noisy member of a debaiing society, wrote leaders 
for some provincial papers, and with overbear- 
ing powers of impudence, and a good memorv; 
was a very likely candidate for high forensic 
honor 

Unlike the first arrival, the counsellor had few. 



if any, of the forms of good society in his man 
ner or address. His costume, too, was singu- 
larly negligent, and as he ran a very dubious 
hand through a mass of thick and tangled 
hair on entering, it was easy to see that the 
greatest part of his toilet was then and there 
performed. The splashed appearance of his 
nether garments, and of shoes that might lia\ e 
done honor to snipe-shooting,,also sliowed that the 
carri:ige which brought him was a mere cere- 
monial observance, and, as he would himself 
say, "the act of conveyance was a surplus- 
age." 

Those who saw him in court pronounced him 
the most unabashed and cool of men; but there 
was certainly a somewhat of haste and impetu- 
osity in his drawing-room manner, that even a 
weak observer would have ascribed to awkward- 
ness. 

"How do you do, Mrs. Kennyfeck? — how do 
you do Miss Kennyfeck? — glad to see you. Ah! 
Mr. Softly, well, I hope?. Is he come — has he 
arrived' A shake of the head replied in the 
negative. "Very strange — 1 cant understand 
it. We have a consultation with the solicitor 
general to-morrow, and a meeting in chambers 
at four." 

''I shouldn't wonder if Mr. Cashel detained 
papa; he is very young, you know, and London 
must be so knew and strange to him, jjoor 
lad!" 

"Yes; but your father would scarce pemiit 
it," said Mrs. Kennyfeck, smartly. "1 rather 
think it must have been some accidental circum- 
stance — coaches are constantly up-setting, and 
post-horses cannot always be had." 

Mr. Knox Softly smiled benignly, as though 
to say in these suggestions Mrs. Kennyfei k was 
displaying a very laudable spirit of uncertainty 
as to the course of human events. 

" Here's Olivia," said Mrs. Kennyfeck, as her 
younger daughter entered. ' Let us hear 
her impressions — full of forebodings, I don t 
doubt." 

Miss Olivia Kennyfeck performed her saluta- 
tions to the guests with the most faultless grace, 
throwing into her curtsey to the curate a certain 
ail of filial reverence very pretty to behold, and 
only a little objectionable on the score of the 
gentleman s youth and personal attracticns; and 
then, turning to her mother, said, 

' You are not uneasy, mamma, I hope? though, 
after all, this is about the period of the equi 
nox ' 

' Nonsense, child! packets are never lost now- 
a days in the Irish Channel. It's merely some 
sudden freak of gayety — some London distrac- 
tion detains thein. Will you touch that bell, 
Mr. Clare Jones? It is better to order din- 
ner.'' 

There was something peremptory in the l.ndy's 
tone and manner that rather damped the efforts 
at Smalltalk — never very vigorous or well-sus- 
tained at these ante-dinner moments — nor were 
any of the party very sorry when the servant 
announced that the soup was served. 



380 



ROLAND CASHEL 



CHAPTER V 

HOW ROLAND BECAME ENTITLED TO THE GOD- 
FREY BROWNE PROPERTY 

The bherry iced — the company still colder 

— Bell's Images. 

The party, who now took their seats at table, 
were not made of those ingredients whose ad 
mixture accompHshes a social meeting Their 
natures, pursuits, and tastes were only sufficiently 
unlike to suggest want of agreement without pos- 
sessing the broad contrasts that invite conversation 
by their own contrariety. Besides this, there was 
a sense of constraint over every one, from ihe ab 
sence of the iiost and his expected guest and 
lastly, the very aspect of a gorgeously-decorated 
table, with vacant places, has always a chilling 
influence over those who sit around. A certain 
amount of propinquity is as essential to conver- 
sation, as good roads and easy distances are a 
necessary condition to a visiting neighborhood. 

If you cannot address him or her who sits be- 
side you without attracting the attention of the 
whole table to your remark, you are equally de- 
barred from the commonplaces that induce 
table-talk, or the smart thing that cannot well 
be said too publicly. 

The dinner here proceeded in very stately 
quietude, nor were the efforts of Mr. Jones to 
introduce a conversational spirit at all success- 
ful; indeed, that gifted gentleman would have 
willingly exchanged the unexceptionable cook- 
ery, and admirably-conditioned wine before him, 
for the riotous freedom of a bar-mess — where 
sour sherry and nisi-])iius jokes abounded, and 
Father Somebody's song was sure to give the 
scene a conviviality that only yielded its fascina- 
tion to blind hookey, or spoiled five. 

Far otherwise the curate. The angelic smile 
that sat upon his features mechanically; his low, 
soft, liquid voice; his gentle gestures, and even 
his liitle sallies of pleasantry, were in perfect ac- 
cordance with the decorous solemnity of a scene 
where the chink of a cut decanter, or the tin- 
gling sound of a silver dish-cover, were heard 
above the stillness of the company. 

If, then, Mr. Knox Softly accompanied the 
ladies to the door, and followed them out with 
his eyes, with an expression beaming regretful- 
ness at their departure, the counsellor, very dif- 
ferently-minded, surrounded himself with an array 
of the dessert-dishes and decanters, and prepared 
to discuss his wine and walnuts to his perfect 
contentment. 

" You have never met this Mr. Roland Cashel, 
I believe.'" said Mr. Softly, as he filled a very 
large claret glass and tasted it enjovably 

" Never," replied Jones, whose teeth were busily 
engaged in smashing almonds and filberts, in open 
defiance of a tray of silvernutcrackers before him. 
" 1 don't think he has been in Ireland since a 
mere child, and very little in England." 

''Then his recovery of the estate was auite un- 
expected f' 

■'Mere accident. Kennyfeck came upon the 
proofs when makmg soine searches for a collateral 
claim. The story IS very short. This lad s father. 



whose name was Godfrey Cashel, was a poor 
lieutenant in the 8rst, and quartered at Bath, 
when he chanced to discover that a rich old 
bachelor there, a certain Godfrey Browne, was a 
distant relation of his mother. He lost no time 
in making his acquaintance and exjjlaining the 
relationship, which, however, brought him no 
more substantial benefit than certain invitations 
to dinner, and whist parties, where the unfortu- 
nate lieutenant lost his half-crowns. 

At length a note came one morning inviting 
him to breakfast, and to 'transact a little matter 
of busine'-s Poor Godfrey read the words with 
every commentary that could flatter his hopes, 
and set out in better spirits than he had known 
for many a year before What then was his dis- 
may to discover that he was only wanted to wit- 
ness the old gentleman s will! — a very significant 
proof that he was not to benefit by its ])rovisions. 

"With a very ill-repressed sigh, the poor lieu- 
tenant threw a glance over the lialf-opened leaves, 
where leasehold, and copyhold, and freehold, and 
every other ' hold' figured among funded property, 
consols, and reduced annuities — with money lent 
on mortgages, shares in various companies, and 
what not — a list only to be equalled by the long 
catalogue of those ' next of kin," who, to the num- 
ber of seventeen, were mentioned as reversionary 
heirs. 

"'You are to sign your name heie Mr Cashel,' 
said the solicitor, pointing to a carefully-scratched 
[)ortion of the parchment, were already the initials 
were pencilled for his guidance. 

" ' Faith! and it's at the other side of the book 
I'd rather see it, said the lieutenant v ith a sigh 

"'Not, surely, after seventeen others?' ex* 
claimed the astonished attorney 

"'Even so— a chance is better than nothing. 

'"What's that he's saying?' interposed the old 
man, who sat reading his newspaper at the fire. 
The matter was soon explained by the attorney, 
and when he finished, Cashel added — 'That's 
just it; and I'm to sail for the Cape on the 4th 
of next month, and if you'll put me down among 
the rest of the fellows, I'll send you the best pipe 
of Constantia you ever tasted, as sure as my name 
is Godfrey Cashel.' 

" The old man threw his spectacles up on his 
forehead, v iped his eyes, and then replacing his 
glasses, took a deliberate survey of the poor lieu- 
tenant who had proposed such a very 'soft bar- 
gain. 'Eh! Clinchet,' said he to the attorney 
'can we do this for him?' 

'■'Nothing easier, sir, — let the gentleman come 
in last, as residuary legatee, and it alters nothing." 

"'I suppose you count on your good luck, 
said old Browne, grinning 

■''Oh, then, it's not from any great experience 
that way ' said Cashel ' I've been on the Duke^ 
list for promotion seventeen years already, and, 
for all I see, not a bit nearer it than the first day, 
but there's no reason my poor boy should be such 
an unfortunate devil. Who knows but fortune 
may make amends to him one of these days.' 
Come, sir — is it a bargain?' 

"'To be sure I'm quite willing^ — only don't 
forget the Constantia. It's a wine I like a glass 
of very well indeed, after my dinner/ 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



381 



" The remainder is easily told, the lieutenant 
sailed for the Cape, and kept his word, even 
though it cost him a debt that mortgaged his 
commission Old Browne gave a great dinner 
when the wine arrived, and the very first name 
on the list of legatees, his nephew, caught a fever 
on his way home from it, and died in three 
weeks. 

" Kennyfeck could tell us, if he were here, what 
became of eacli of them in succession; iour were 
lost, out yatching, at once; but, singular as it 
may seem, in nineteen years from tlie day of that 
will, every life lai)sed — and stranger still, without 
heirs, and the fortune has now descended to poor 
Godfrey Cashel's boy, the lieutenant .himself 
having died in the West Indies, when he ex- 
changed nito a native regiment. That is the 
whole story, and probably in a romance one 
would say that the thing was exaggerated, so 
much more strange is trutn tiian fiction." 

" And what kind of education did the young 
man get?" 

"I suppose very little, if any. So long as his 
father lived, he of course held the position of an 
officer's son — poor, but in the rank of gentleman. 
After that, without parents — his mother died when 
he was an infant — he was thrown upon the world, 
and after various vicissitudes, became a cabin- 
boy on board of a merchantman; then, he was 
said to be a mate of a vessel in the African trade, 
employed on the Gold Coast; just as probably a 
slaver — and last of all, he was lieutenant in the 
Columbian navy, which, I take it, is a very good 
name for piracy. It was in the Havannah we 
got a trace of him, and I assure you, strange as 
it may sound, Kennyfeck's agent had no small 
difficulty in persuading him to abandon that very 
free and easy service, to assume the rights and 
immunities of a very large property. 

" Kennyfeck was to meet him on his arrival in 
England, about ten days ago, and they spent a 

few days in London, and were But hark! 

there comes a carriage now — yes, I know the 
step of his horses — here they are!" 



CHAPTER VL 

A FRACAS IN THE BETTING-RING. 

Ne'er mind his torn, ill-fashioned doublet, 
Beshrew me! if he's not a pretty man. 

— Don Lopez. 

The movement and bustle in the hall showed 
that Mr. Jones's surmise was correct, for scarcely 
had the carriage stopped than the street-door 
was flung wide open and Mr. Pearse, the butler, fol- 
lowed by a strong detachment of bright-liveried 
menials, stood bowing their respectful compli- 
ments to their master and his guest As Mr. Ken- 
nyfeck entered the house, he walked slowly and 
with difficulty, endeavoring at the same time to 
avoicP all scrutiny of his appearance as he passed 
through the crowded hall but altliough his hat 
was pressed firmly over his brows it could not 
entirely conceal a very suspiciously-tinted margin 
around one eye, while the care with which he 



defended his left arm, and which he carriid in 
his waistcoat, looked like injury there, also. 

He, however, made an atttmpt at a little 
sprightliness of manner, as, shaking his compan- 
ion's hand with cordial warmth, he said,- — 

'Welcome to Ireland, Mr. Cashel. I hope I 
shall very often experience the happiness of see- 
ing you under this roof." 

The person addressed was a remarkably hand- 
some young man, whose air and carriage besj;oke, 
however, much more the confidence that itsults 
from a sense of personal gifts, and a bold, dar- 
ing temperament, than that more temjiered ease 
which is the consequence of fashionable breeding. 

Mr. Kennyfeck's felicitations on their arrival 
were scarce uttered, ere Cashel had sufficiently 
recovered from his surprise at the unexpected 
magnificence of the house, to make any reply, 
for, although as yet advanced no further than the 
hall, a marble group by Canova — a centre lamp 
of costly Sevres — and some chairs of carved 
ebony, served to indicate the expensive style of 
the remainder of the mansion. 

While Cashel, then, muttered his acknowledg- 
ments, he added to himself, but in a voice scarcely 
less aloud. — 

" Devilish good crib this. Master Kennyfeck. ' 

"Pearse," said the host, "is dinner ready?" 

" My mistress and the young ladies have dined, 
sir; but Mr. Jones and Mr. Softly are in the 
parlor." 

"Well, let us have something at once; — or, 
would you perfer, Mr. Cashel, making any change 
in your dress first?" 

"I say dinner above all things," said 'he 
youth, disencumbering himself of a great Mexi- 
can mantle. 

" Perfectly right; quite agree with you," said 
Kennyfeck, endeavoring to assume a little of his 
guest's dash; " and here we are. Ah, Jones, how 
d'ye do? Mr. Cashel, this is my friend Mr. Jones. 
Mr. Softly, very glad to see you. Mr. Softly — 
Mr. Cashel. Don't stir, I beg, keep your places, 
we'll have a bit of dinner here, and join you at 
your wine afterwards. Meanwhile, I'll just step 
up-stairs, and be back again in a moment — you'll 
excuse me, I'm sure?" 

" Oh, certainly," cried Cashel, who ajipeared 
as if he could excuse anything with a better grace 
than the ceremonious slowness of the butler's ar- 
rangements. 

There was a pause of a few seconds as Mr. 
Kennyfeck left the room, broken, at last, by Mr. 
Jones asking if they had not been detained by 
contrary winds. 

" No, I think not; I fancy the weather was 
pretty average kind of weather. Had we been 
expected here earlier?" 

" Yes, Mrs. Kennyfeck mentioned to me Mon- 
day, and afterwards Tuesday, as the very latest 
day for your arrival.' 

Cashel made no remark, and, soon after, Mr. 
Pearse's entrance with the soup put an end to 
the conversation. " Mr. Kennyfeck desired me 
to say, sir. not to wait for him — he'll be down 
presently." 

'■ What do you call this soup?" 

"Mock-turtle, sir." 



382 



ROLAND CAS II EL, 



"Rather too much Madeira in it for my taste, 
but that sha'n't prevent ray havint; a glass of wine. 
Will you permit roe, i^entlemen?" 

The parties bowed politely; but still the inter- 
course did not progress; and in the exchanged 
glances of those at the large table, and the side- 
loni; looks Cashel occasionally threw towards 
them, it was easy to see that neither party had 
made way with the other. 

" I fear Kennyteck is not going to make his 
appearance," said Cashel, as he seemed to hesi- 
tate about proceeding with his dinner 

"I shouldn't advise you waiting, 'cried Jones; 
"the fish is growing cold.' 

"I suspect M-r Kennyfeck is fatigued by his 
journey, sir,'' said Mr Softly, in his most bland 
of voices, ' I thought I remarked it by his face." 

'' Oh, did you?" said Cashel, with a very pecul- 
iar look of knowingness. 

' Yes. you are aware, Mr. Cashel," interrupted 
Jones, "our friend isn't much used to that kind 
of thing, I suppose it's some years since he has 
had so much knocking about as in these last few 
days." 

"I fancy so," said Cashel, with a significant 
smile that puzzled the lawyer exceedingly, and 
he ate on without making a further remark. 

Tile two or three efforts made by Jones and 
Softly to converse together were, like nearly all 
similar attempts at perfect ease and self-posses- 
sion, complete failures, and gradually slided 
down into monosyllables, and then to silence, 
when Cashel, wlio seemed to be enjoying his 
venison and Bordeaux with perfect zest, leaned 
back in his chair and said, " What kind of i)Iace 
is this same good city of Dublin? What goes 
forward here?" 

As this question was more directly addressed 
to Jones, that gentleman prepared himself, not 
unwilhngly, for an elaborate replv. 

"Dublin, Mr. Cashel," said lie, prettv much in 
the same tone he would have used in opening an 
address to a ]ury — "Dublin is a city which, 
from a great variety of causes, will alwavs be ex- 
posed to very variable and opposing criticism. 
To begin: it is provincial — - — " 

" Is it slow?" interrupted Cashel, who li.id list- 
ened to this exordium with palpable signs of im- 
patience. 

"If you mean, has it its share of those habits 
of dissipation, those excesses so detrimental alike 
to health and fortune ' 

"No, no, I merely ask what goes on here — 
how do people amuse themselves?' said Cashel, 
fencing to avoid any very lengthened exposure of 
the other's views. 

"Tliey dine, dance, drink tea, talk politics and 
scandal, like other folk, but if you ask, what are 
the distinguishing features of the society " 

"What kind of snort does the country afford?" 
interrupted Roland, somewhat unceremoniously. 

* Hunting, shooting, fishing, coursing " 

"What do you mean by hunting— a fox, is it? 

"Yes, fox-hunting, and hare-hunting, too." 

A very insolent laugh was Cashel's answer, as, 
turning to Mr Softly, he said, "Well, I own, all 
this does strike me as a verv tiresome kind of 
life. Do you like Ireland, sir?" 



"I feel a deep interest in it," said the curate, 
with a most solemn manner. 

"Yes, that s all very well; but do you like 
it?" 

'Were it not for its darkness," said Mr. 
Softly, sighing, I should say I liked it." 

"Darkness," echoed Cashel, "darkness; why, 
hang it, you are pretty far north here. What is 
the darkness you speak of?" 

"I alluded to popery, sir — to the obscuring 
mists of superstition and ignorance," replied Mr. 
Softly, with a kind of energetic timidity that 
made himself blush. 

" Oh — I perceive — yes — I understand," mut- 
tered Cashel, who certainly felt all the awkw ard- 
ness of a man caught in a lie. 

" We have a very agreeable society among the 
bar men," said Jones, reluming to the charge in 
a new direction; "a great deal of pleasantry and 
fun goes on at our messes." 

" Droll fellows, I suppose," said Cashel, care- 
lessly. " I remember 1 knew a lawyer once, lie 
was mate of a small clipper in the African trade 
— mischievous kind of devil he vas, tro— alwajs 
setting the slaves by ihe ears, and getting money 
for settling the differences They played him a 
good trick at last.' Here he laughed heartily p^f 
the recollection for several minutes. 

"What was it?" asked Jones, in some curios- 
ity to learn how the bar was respected on the 
banks of the Niger. 

"They yiainttd him black and sold him at 
Cuba," said Cashel, who once more broke out 
into laughter at the excellence of the jest. 

Jones's and Softly's eyes met, with a most com- 
plete accordance in the glances exchanged. 
Meanwhile, Cashel, drawing his chair towards the 
larger table, filled his glass and proceeded to 
smash his walnuts with all the easy contentment 
of a man who had dined well. 

'"I jierceive Mr. Kennyfeck is not likely to 
join us," said Softly, with a half suggestive look 
towards the door. 

"Tired, perhaps," said Jones, affecting \\hat 
he opined to be the cool indifference of the 
higl-e^t fashion. 

" More than that, I suspect," said Cashel, with 
a most unfeigned carelessness. "Did you re- 
mark his eye?" 

"Yes!" exclaimed both together. "What could 
that mean?" 

"A slight bit of a scrimmage we had on the 
way from town — a — • — " 

" Mr. Kennyfeck engaged in a row!" cried 
Softly, almost incredible at the tidings. 

" Yes. I fancy that is about the best word for 
it." said Cashel, sipping his wine. "1 suppose 
one ought not to mention these kind of things, 
but of course they are safe wilh you. They'll 
never go further, I am certain." 

"Oh, never — not a syllable," chimed in the 
two. 

"Well, then, on our way here, I learned that 
there were to be races a few miles from Coventry, 
and as I saw our friend Kennyfeck had no fancy 
for the sight, I just slipped a few half-crowns 
into the postboy's hand and told him to drive 
there instead of taking the Liverpool road. 



ROLAND Cy\SIIEL 



383 



Away we went at a good pace, and in less than an 
hour reached the course. 1 wish you saw the old 
getleman's face when he awoke from a sound nap, 
and saw the grand stand with its thousand faces, 
all in a row, and the cords, the betting ring, and 
the whole circumstance of a race-ground. By 
good luck, too, the sharp jerk of our pull-up 
smashed a spring, and so we had nothing for it 
but to leave the chaise and wait till it could be 
repaired. While my servant was away in search of 
some kind of a drag or other, to go about tlie 
field — there was no walking, what with the crowd 
and the press of horses, not to speak of the mud 
that rose over the ankles — we pushed on, that is, 
1 did, with a stout grip of Kennyfeck's arm, lest 
he should escape— we pushed on, into the ring. 
Here there was rare fun going forwaid, every 
fellow screaming out his bets, and booking tlicm 
as fast as he could. At first, of course, the whole 
was all ancient Cireek to me. I neither knew 
what they meant by the 'favorite' or " the odds,' 
or ' the field,' but one somehow always can pick 
up a thing quickly, if it be but 'game,' and so, 
by watching here, and listening there, I managed 
to get a kind ot inkling of the whole affair, and 
by dint of some pushmg and elbowing, I reached 
the very centre of the ring where the great dons 
of the course were betting together. 

' ' Taurus even against the field, cried one. 

''' Taurus against the field, shouted another 
'And this same cry was heard on every side 

" Give it in fifties — hundreds if you like bet- 
ter, said a j'oung fellow, mounted on a smart- 
looking pony', to his friend, who appeared to re- 
I fleet on the offer Come, hurry on man. Lets 
have a bet. j ist to give one an interest in the race ' 
The other shook his head, and the first went on 
■ What a slew set. to be sure. — Is no one willing 
to back the field, even Come then, here's a 
hundred pound to any pan who'll take the field 
against Taurus, for two thousand. 

■ ' Let me have your cob, said, I ' and I'll take 
the bet. 

■' He t irned round in his saddle,. and stared at 
me, as if I were something more or less than 
luiinan, while a very general roar of laughing ran 
arinind the entire circle. 

'■ 'Come away, come away at once, whispered 
Kennyfeck, trembling with fright 

' Yes. you had better move off, my friend,' 
said a thick-set, rough looking fellow, in a white 
coat. 

"'What say you to five tliousand, sir, does 
that suit your book?' cried the young fellow to 
me, in a most insolent tone. 

" 'Oh, let him alone, my lord,' said another. 
Take no notice of him." 

' ' I say, Grindle,' cried a tall thin man with 

1^ moustaches, 'who let these people inside the ringi"' 

. ' They forces their way, my hid, said a 

little knocker-kneed creature, in a coat four times 

too big fo"- hiin, 'and I says to Bill, de — pend 

upon it. Bill, them s the swell mob ' 

''The words were scarcely out of the tellow s 
mouth, when a general cry of the ' swell mob re- 
sounded on every side, and at once they closed 
upon us — some pushing — others elbowing — driv- 
ing — and forcmg, so that what with the dense 



crowd, 'and the tight hold Kennyfeck now kept 
of me, I was pinioned, and could do nothing. 
At last, by a vigorous twist, I shook them off from 
me, and laid two of the foremost at my feet. 
This I did with a Mexican trick I saw they knew 
nothing about you first make a feint at the face, 
and then, dropping on tiie knee, seize the fellow 
by both legs, and hurl him back on his head — 
just stand up, I'll not hurt you." 

" Thank you — I understand the description 
perfectly. ' said Mr Softly, pale with terror at the 
proposed experiment. 

''Well, the remainder is soon told. They now 
got in upon us, and of course I needn't say we 
got confoundedly thrashed— Kennyfeck was 
tumbled about like a football, every one that had 
nothing else to do had a kick at him, and there's 
no saying how it might have ended had not a 
certain Sir George Somebody recognized our poor 
friend, and rescued him. I'm not quite sure ihat I 
was quite myself about this time^Kennyfeck has 
some story of my getting on some one's horse, 
and riding about the course in search of the 
originators of the fray, the end of it, however, was, 
we reached Liverpool with sorer bones than was 
altogether pleasant, and although, when Kenny- 
feck went to bed, I went to the theatre, the noise 
only increased my headache and it needed a 
good night s sleep to set rne all right again." 

"Mr. Kennyfeck taken for one of ihe swell 
mob''' exclaimed Softly with a sort ofholy hor- 
or that seemed to sum up his whole opinion of 
the narrative 

'' Very bad, wasn I it?"' said Cashel, pushing 
the wine past, "but he's a capital fellow took 
the whole thing in such good part and seems 
only anxious that the story shouldn t get abroad. 
Of course I needn t repeat my caution on that 
subject?" 

"Oh, certainly not! Shall we join the ladies?" 
said Mr. Jones, as he surveyed his whiskers, 
and arranged the tie of his cravat before the 
glass. 

" I'm quite ready.' said Cashel, who had 
quietly set down in his own mind that the ladies 
of the Kennyfeck family were a kind of female 
facsimile of the stiff-looking old attorney, and, 
therefore, felt very few qualms on the subject 
of his disordered and slovenly appearance. 

Scarcely had Cashel entered the drawing-room 
than he found his hand grasped in Mr Kenny- 
feck's, when, with a most dulcet accent, he 
said, — 

■'I knew you'd forgive me — I told Mrs. Kenny- 
feck you'd excuse me for not joining you at 
dinner, but I was really so fatigued. Mrs. Ken- 
nyfeck — Mr Cashel. My daughter, Mr. Cashel. 
My daughter Olivia. Well, now have you dined 
heartily — I hope my friends here took care of 
you?" 

" I thank you. I never dined better — only 
sorry not to have had vour company We have 
our apologies to make, Mrs. Kennyfeck, for not 
being earlier; but, of course, you ve heard that 
we did our very utmost,' 

"Oh! ves, yes, I explained everthing," inter- 
rupted Kennyfeck, most eager to stop a possibla 
exposure. "Mrs. Kennyfeck knows it all." 



384 



ROLAND CASH EL, 



Although Cashel's manner and address were 
of a kind to subject liim to the most severe criti- 
cism of the ladies of tlie Kennyfeck family, they 
evinced the most laudable spirit in their hospita- 
ble and even cordial reception of him, Mrs. 
Kennyfeck making room for him to sit on tlie 
sofa beside her — a post of honor that even the 
Castle aides-de-camp only enjoyed by great 
favor — wiiile the daughters listened with an at- 
tention as flattering to him as it was galling to 
the other two guests. 

Mr. Softly, however, resigned himself to this 
neglect as to a passing cloud of forgetfulness, 
and betook liimself to the columns of the Morn- 
ni^ Post for consolation, occasionally glancing 
over the margin to watch the laughing groups 
around the fire. As for Jones, Mr. Kennyfeck 
had witiidrawn with that gentleman into a win- 
dow, where the tactics of some bill in equity en- 
gaged their attention, manifestly, however, to 
the young barrister's discontent, as his frequent 
stolen looks towards the ladies evidenced. 

It was the first time that the Kennyfecks had 
ever deigned to listen to any one, whose claims 
to a hearing rested on higher grounds than the 
light gossip and small talk of the capital, the 
small fashionable chit-chat of a provincial city, 
and which bears the same resemblance to the 
table-talk of the greater metropolis as do larks 
to ortolans, when disguised in the same kind of 
sauce, only those accustomed to the higher 
flavor being able to detect tlie difference. It 
was, then, with as much surprise as pleasure that 
they found themselves listening to the narratives 
in which not a single noble or lordly personage 
figured, nor one single incident occurred reflect- 
ing on the taste, the wealth, or the morals of 
their acquaintance. It was no less a novelty, 
too, for Cashel, to find any one a listener to 
descriptions of scenes and habits in whose fami- 
liarity he saw nothing strange or remarkable; so 
tliat when the ynung ladies, at first, attracted by 
mere curiosity, became gradually more and more 
interested in his stories, his flattered vanity gave 
new warmth to an enthusiasm always ardent, and 
he spoke of prairie life and adventure with a de- 
gree of eloquence and power that might have 
captivated even less indulgent auditors. 

It was, besides, the first time that they ever 
had seen great wealth unallied with immense pre- 
tension. Cashel, perhaps from character, or that 
his accession to fortune was too recent, and his 
consequent ignorance of all that money can do, 
whichever of these the cause, was certainly the 
most unassuming young man they had ever met. 
In comparison with him, the aides-de-camp were 
princes of the blood; even Mr. Jones put forth a 
degree of pretension on the score of his abilities, 
which stood in strong contrast with the unaffected 
and simple modesty of Roland Cashel. 

It is but fair to all parlies to add, that dark 
and flashing eyes, shaded by long and drooping 
lashes; a high and massive forehead; a brown, 
almost Spanish complexion, whose character was 
increased by a pair of short, coal-black mous- 
taches, did not detract from the merit of tales, 
which, as they chiefly related to feats of personal 
daring and address, were well corroborated by 



the admirable symmetry and handsome propor- 
tions of tlie relater. 

Story followed story: now the scene lay in the 
low and misty swamps of the Niger, where night 
resounds with the dull roar of the beasts of prev, 
and the hea\y j^lash of the sluggi.sh alligator on 
the muddy shore; now, it was in the green wood 
of the Spice Islands, amid an atmosphere scented 
with peilunie, and glittering with every gorgeous 
hue of plumage and verdure. At one me ment 
he would describe a chase at sea, with all its high 
and maddening excittnient, as each new vicissi- 
tude of success or failure arose; and then he 
would present seme little quiet picture of shore 
life in a land, where the boundless resources of 
nature Mipjily, even anticipate, the wants and 
lu.wiries of man. 

Whatever the interest, and occasionally it rose 
to a high pitch, that attended his narratives of 
danger and daring, the little skt-tclies he ga\e 
from time to time of the domestic life of these 
far-away people, seemed to attract the most de- 
lighted attention of his fair hearers, particularly 
when his narrative touched upon the trails, 
whether of beauty, dress, or demeanor, that dis- 
tinguish the belles of New Spain. 

"How difficult," said Miss Kennyfeck, "I 
could almost say, how impossible, to leave a land 
so abounding in the romance of life, for all tl c 
dull and commonplace realities of European 
existence " 

"How hard to do so without leaving behind 
the heart that could feel such ecstasies," nur- 
mured Olivia, with a half-iaised ejelid, and a 
glance that made Cash.el flush v\ith delight. 

" How shall we ever make Ireland com]iensale 
you for quitting so lovely a country,' said Mrs. 
Kennyfeck, with a smile rarely accorded to any- 
thing lower than a viscount. 

" \\'e have a Mexican pioverb, madam," said 
Cashel, gayly, "which says, '\\herever the sun 
shines bright eyes shine also;' but enough of 
these tiresome memories, in which my egotism 
will always involve me. Shall we have a fr.n- 
dango?" 

" I don't know it; I never saw it danced." 

"^^'ell, the manolo, then." 

"Nor that either," said both girls, laughing. 

"Well, will you learn? I'll teach you the 
manolo. It's very simple. If you'll play the 
air. Miss Kennyfeck, it runs thus." Here he 
o]jened the pianoforte, and after a few chords, 
struck with a masteily finger, he i)layed a little 
Spanish dance; but with a spirit of execution, 
and in such an exciting character of time and 
measure, that a general exclamation of delight 
broke from the whole room; Mr. Jones liim- 
self forgetting all rivalry, and Mr. Softly laying 
down his newspaper to listen, and for a moment 
carried away by the fascination of the sjiiril- * 
stirring melody. 

"That is the manolo; come, now, and let me 
teach you, first the air, and then the dance." 

" oil, I never could succeed to give it that 
character of bold and haughty defiance it breathes 
from you," said Miss Kennyfeck. 

"Nay, nay, a man's hand is always sr> rrde 
and heavy, it needs the taper finger of a lady,"— 



• THE O'DONOGHUE, 



385 



here Casliel bent and kissed tlie hand lie held, 
but with such a deference and respect in the 
salute, that deprived the action, so novel, to our 
e\'es, of any appearance of liberty—" of a lady," 
he resumed, " to impart the ringing brilliancy of 
the saucy manolo." 

" Then play it over once more, and I'll try it," 
said Miss Kennyfeck, who was a most accom- 
plished musician, and had even already caught 
up the greater part of the air. 

Cashel obeyed, and again the plaudits followed 
even more enthusiastically than the first time. 
\Vith a precision that called forth many a hearty 
'"bravo" from Roland, Miss Kennyfeck played 
over the air, catching up all the spirit of its tran- 
sitions from gay to plaintive, and from tender to 
a strain bold, daring, and energetic. 

" Now for the dance," exclaimed Cashel, eager- 
ly, as he busied himself in removing chairs and 
pushing back sofas. " Will you be kind enough 
to assist me with this table?" 

Mr. Softly, the gentleman thus addressed, rose 
to comply, his face exhibiting a very amusing 
struggle between shame and astonishment at the 
position he occupied. 

The space cleared, Roland took Olivia's hand, 
and led her forward with an air of exceeding 
deference. 

"Now, Miss Kennyfeck, the step is the easiest 
thing in the world. It goes so, one, two, one, 
two, three, and then change — exactly, quite right, 
you have it perfectly. This is, as it were, an in- 
troduction to the dance, but the same step is pre- 
served throughout, merely changing its time with 
the measure." 

It would be as impossible to follow, as it would 
be unfair to weary the reader with the lesson, 
which now began, and yet we would like to 
linger on the theme, as our memory brings up 
every graceful gesture, and every proud attitude 
of the fascinating manolo. Representing, as it 
does, by pantomimic action, a little episode of 
devotion, in which pursuit and flight, entreaty, 
rejection, seductive softness, haughty defiance, 
timid fear,' and even an insolent boldness, alter- 
nate and succeed each other, all the movements 
which expressive action can command, whether 
of figure or feature, are called forth. Now, it is 
the retiring delicacy of shrinking, timid loveli- 
ness, half hoping, half fearing, to be pursued — 
now the stately defiance of haughty beauty, de- 
manding homage as its due. At one moment, 
the winning seductiveness that invites pursuit, 
and then, sudden as the lightning, the disdain 
that repels advance. 

Not the least interesting part of the present 
scene was to watch how Olivia, who, at first, 
made each step and gesture with diffidence and 
fear, as she went on, became, as it were, seized 
with the characteristic spi.'it of the measure; her 
features varying with each motive of the music; 
her eyes, at one instant half closed in dreamy 
languor, and at the next flashing in all the bril- 
liancy of conscious beauty. As for Roland, for- 
getting, as well he might, all his functions as 
teacher, lie moved with the enthusiastic spirit of 
the d.ince — his rapturous gaze displaying the 
admiration that fettered him, and when at last, 



as it were yielding to long-proved devotion, she 
gave her hand, it needed the explanation of its 
being a Mexican fashion, to excuse the ardor 
with which he pressed it to his lips. 

Mrs. Kennyfeck's applause, however, was none 
the less warm; and, if any of the company dis- 
api)roved, they prudently said nothing; even Mr. 
Sottly, who only evidenced his feeling by a some- 
what hasty resumption of the AJoii:i/ii^ Post, 
while the elder sister, rising from the piano, 
whispered as she passed her sister, "Bad jockey- 
ship, Livy, dear, to make fast running so early." 

"And that is the — what d'ye call it, Mr. 
Cashel," said Mrs. Kennyfeck. 

"The manolo, niadam. It is of Italian origin, 
rather than Spanish: Calabrian, 1 fancy; but in 
Mexico it has become national, and well suits 
the changeful temper of our Spanish belles, and 
the style of their light and floating costume." 

"Yes, I suspect it has a better effect wiih 
short drapery than with the sweeping folds of 
our less picturesque dress," said Miss Kenny- 
feck, who, for reasons we must not inquire, took 
a pleasure in qualifying her appro\'al. 

" I never saw it appear more graceful," said 
Cashel, with a blunt abruptness, far more flatter- 
ing than a studied compliment. Olivia blushed; 
Mrs. Kennyfeck looked ha])py, and the elder 
sister bit her lip, and threw up her eyebrows 
with an expression we cannot attempt to render 
in words. 

" May I not have the honor of introducing you 
to the manolo?" said Cashel, presenting himself 
before her with a deep bow. 

"Thank you, I prefer being a spectator; be- 
sides, we could have no music — my sister does 
not play." 

OHvia blushed; and, in her hasty look, there 
was an expression of gently conveyed reproach, 
as though to say, "This is unfair." 

" Do you like music, Mr. Cashel ?" continued 

friss Kennyfeck, who saw the slight cloud of 
isappointment that crossed Roland's features. 
"Oh, I'm certain you do, and I know you sing!" 

"Yes," said Cashel, carelessly; "as every oi.e 
sings in that merry land I come from; but I fear 
the ft'ild carollings of a ranchero would scarce 
find acceptance in the polished ears of Europe." 

"What are the melodies like, then?" asked 
Miss Kennyfeck, throwing into the question a 
most eager interest. 

"You shall hear, if you like," said Roland, 
taking up a guitar, and striking a few full chords 
with a yiractised hand. "This is one of the war 
songs;" and without further preface he began. 
Had he e\'en been less gifted than he was as to 
voice and musical taste, there was enough in the 
bold and manlv energy of his manner, in the 
fiery daring of his dark eyes, and the expressive 
earnestness of his whole bearing, to attract the 
admiration of his hearers. But besides these 
advantages, he was not unskilled in the science 
of music, and even made so poor an instrument 
a full and masterly accompaniment, imitating, as 
few but Spaniards can do, the distant sound of 
drurn=, the dropping fire of cannon, the wild 
abrupt changes of Ijatlle, and the low, plainlivo 
sounds of sufferipg and defeat; so that, as hu 



386 



ROLAND C A S 1 1 E L . 



concluded, tlie whole character of the per- 
formance had ceased to be regarded as a mere 
imisical display, but had the absolute effect of a 
powerfully-told story. 

The Kennyfecks had often been called on in 
society to award their praises to amateur perfor- 
mances, in whose applause, be it said en passant, 
a grateful sense of their being concluded always 
contributes the enthusiasm; but real admiration 
and pleasure now made them silent, and as their 
eyes first turned on the singer and then met, there 
was a world of intelligence in that one quiet, 
fleeting glance, that revealed more of secret 
thouglit and feeling than we, as mere chroniclers 
of events, dare inquire into. 

Whether it was that this silence, prolonged for 
some seconds, suggested the move, or that Mr. 
Jones began to feel how ignoble a part he had 
been cast for in the whole evening's entertain- 
ment, but he rose to take his leave at once, 
throwing into his manner a certain air of easy 
self-sufficiency, with which in the " Courts" he 
had often dismissed a witness under cross-ex- 
amination, and by a mere look and gesture con- 
trived to disparage his testimony. 

None, save Miss Kennyfeck, perceived his 
tactic. She saw it, however, and with a readiness 
all hir own, replied by a slight elevation of the 
eye-brow. Jones saw his " signal acknowledged," 
and went home contented. Poor man, he was 
not the first who has been taken into partnershiji 
because his smill resources were all " ready," and 
who is ejectL'd from the firm when wider and 
grander speculations are entered on. I am not 
certain either that he will be the last! 

Mr. Softly next withdrew, his leave-taking 
having all the blended humility and cordiality of 
his first arrival; and now Mr. Kennyfeck was 
awakened out of a very sound nap by his wife 
saying in his ear, " Will you ask Mr. Cashel if 
he'll take a biscuit and a glass of wine before he 
retires?" « 

This proposition was politely declined, and 
after a very cordial hand-shaking with all the 
members of tlie family, Cashel said his good- 
night, and retired. 



CHAPTER VII. 

PEEPS BEHIND THE CURT.\IN. 

Ich mochte ihn im Sclibfrock sehen, 

— Der Rf.isende Teuff.l. 

I'd like to see him in his robe-de-chanibre, 
— The Travelli.ng Devil- 

There has always appeared to us sometliing 
of treachery, not to speak of indelicacy, in the 
privileges authors are wont to assume in follow- 
ing their characters into their most secret retire- 
ment, watching there their every movement and 
gesture, overhearing their confidential whisper- 
ings, nay, sometimes sapping their very thoughts, 
for the mere indulgence of a prying, intrusive 
curiosity 

■For this reason, highly appreciating, as we 



must do, the admirable wit of the " Diable 
Boiteux," and the pleasant familiar humor of the 
"Hermitede la Cliaussee d'Antin," we never 
could scarcely reconcile oursehes to the means 
by which such amusing views of life were ob- 
tained, while we entertain grave doubts if we, 
that is, the world at large, have any right to form 
our judgments of people from any other evi- 
dence than what is before the public. It appears 
to us somewhat as if, that following Romeo or 
Desdemona into the " Green-rocm," we should 
be severe upon the want of kee])ing which sug- 
gested the indulgence of a cigar or a pot of por- 
ter, and angry at the high-fio«n illusions ;o 
grossly routed and dispelled. 

" Act well your part — there all the honor lies," 
said the poet moralist; but it's rather hard lo 
say, that you are to "act" it off, as well as on 
the stage, and if it be true that no man is a hero 
to his valet, the valet should say nothing about 
it; and this is the very offence we think novel 
writers commit, everlastingly stri|'piiig off the 
decorations and destroying the illusions thty 
take such trouble to create, for little else than 
the vain boastfulness of saying: — See, upon what 
flimsy materials I can move you to sentiments of 
grief, laughter, pity, or contempt. Eehold of 
what vulgar ingredients are made up the high- 
est aspirations of genius- — the most graceful fas- 
cinations of beauty. 

Having denounced, by this recorded protest, 
the practice, and disclaiming, as \\e must do, all 
desire to benefit by its enjo}nient, we desire cur 
reader, particularly if he be of the less worthy 
gender, to feel a due sense of the obligation he 
owes us, if we claim his company for half an 
hour on such a voyage of discovery. Step softly, 
there is no excuse for noise, as the stair-carpet 
is thick, and not a sound need be heard. Gently, 
as you pass that green door- — that is the bedroom 
of Mr and Mrs. Kennyfeck. We will not linger 
there, nor invade the sanctity of those precincts, 
within which the monotonous tones of Mrs. K. 
are heard, revelling in that siiecies of domestic 
eloquence which, like the liberty of the ]uess, is 
oftener pleasant to those who employ, than to 
those who receive its judgments. Here, for a 
few minutes, let us stay. This is Roland Cashel's 
apartment; and, strange enough, instead of 
sleeping, he is up at his table, writing too, he, 
of all men, the least epistolary. There may be 
no great indication of character in mere hand- 
writing, but the manner, the gesture, the degree 
of rapidity of the writer, as seen at the moment, 
are all full of individuality. Mark, then, witli 
what speed his pen moves; not the daisy cutting 
sling of the accomplished rider, but the slashing 
gallop of the heavy charger. Many a blot, never 
an erasure — so, there it goes — "Yours ever, 
Roland Cashel," and now, he begins another 
Come, these are no times for squeamishness. Let 
us anticipate "'Sir James," and read before he 
seals it. 

" Dun.iN 
" Mv DE.\R CoMR.ADE, — We are neither of 
us very gifted letter-writers, but events are al- 
ways enough to tell, even when style be wanting: 
and here am I, so overwhelmed by the rush of 



ROLAND C A S H E L . 



387 



new sensations, tliaT I know not where to begin, 
or liow to tell what has really happened since we 
p.irtcd, nor distingnish actual stubborn facts 
Irom my own fancies. My brief note from 
Porto Giaconio told you that I had succeeded to 
sometliing like fifteen thousand pounds a year 
I believe it is rather more, with a good round 
sum, I don't know how much, in bank, and 
now, here I am, just arrived, but marvellously 
at iiome, in the house of the worthy fellow that 
has established my claim. 

If I only knew so nuicii of my good luck, 
I'd s ly it was no bad thing to be pleasantly do- 
mesticated in a capital mansion, with every re- 
finement and luxury at hand, and two such girls, 
the daughters.' Oh, amigo mio, you'd think 
wondrous little of the Barcelonetta belles, if I 
could show you these damsels! Such tempting 
shyness — such shrinking, playful modesty, and 
then so frank, without that slap-dash abruptness 
— Never mind — -I own freel)' that Maritaiia is 
lovely — there is not such a mowth — .'\s to afoot 
— well, well. I wish I could take a peep at you 
all again, just as night closes, and she comes out 
to take her walk upon the grass, and hear her 
singing as she went, or watch her as she danced 
the nianolo, which — by the way — one of the girls 
here caught up wonderfully, and in almost an 
instant, too. But the manolo, with a long, 
sweeping, flounced, and furbelowed petticoat! 
Only think of the absurdity. Not but she 
looked exceedingly pretty the while, but how 
much better had she, if one could only have cut 
half a yard off her drapery! 

'■ Have you received the pistols I sent from 
London? I hope you'll think them handsome — 
I know they are true, having tried them at 
thirty-five, and even fifty paces. The yataghan 
I'm certain you'll admire, it has the peculiar 
handle and hilt you're fond of. Pray let our 
friends on the Chilian side learn something of 
the qualities of the blade itself. I have been 
thinking sinceabout the emeralds — -and, i)erSaps, 
Maritana may refuse them. If so, do what you 
will with them, so that I hear no more of the 
matter. And now for the bond; — release from 
me that tie by all means. It is not that I really 
feel it in the light of a contract — Maritaiia never 
did — but I have it ever on my mind like a debt. 
I give you full powers; draw upon nie for the 
sum you please, and I promise not to dishonor 
tlie cheque. Pedro likes a good bargain, and 
don't balk him! 

" I don't know what your own views are in 
that quarter, but I tell you frankly that Maritana 
has higher and bolder aspirations than either 
you or I were likely to aid her in attaining. She 
is a proud girl, Enrique, and will never care for 
any man that is not able and willing to elevate 
her into a very different sphere from that she 
moves in. I never actually loved her — I cer- 
tainly do not do so now — and yet I cannot get 
her out of my head. 

" Before I forget it, let me ask you to pay Ruy 
Dias two hundred doubloons for me. Tlie horse 
I killed was not worth forty, but these are not 
times for barg, lining, and the fellow didn't want 
to part with the beast. Alconetti— the Italian 



in the Plaza — has something against me, pay it 
too; and now that I am on the subject of debts, 
whenever you ne.xt cruise off Ventillano.s, send 
a ]Kirly on shore to catch the dean, and gi\e 
hiui twiii-and-twenty with a rope's-end, say it is 
from uie, he'll know why, and so shall 3'ou, 
when you inform me that it has been cleverly 
effected. 

"Above all, my dear boy, write, I so long to 
hear about you all, and to know all that has hap- 
pened since I left you. Send the old trunks 
with my unifoim to the agents in theHavannah, 
I'd like to see them once more. Francois may 
keep anything else of mine, except what you 
would like to select as a 'souvenir,' Don't let 
Rica write to me. I feel I should have no chance 
in a correspondence with him; nor need I have 
any, because whatever you say, I agree ic- — re- 
member that. 

"If you can manage about the emeralds, it 
would be the most gratifying news to me. You 
might tell her that we are so certain of never 
meeting again, and that all is now o^'cr forever, 
and so on, — It would have an air of unkindness 
to reject them. Besides, 1 see no reason why 
she should! No matter; I needn't multiply 
reasons, where if one will not suffice, a thousand 
must fail, and chances are, if she suspect niy 
an.\iety on the subject, it will decide her against 
me. Do it, then, all in your own way. 

" Have I said all I wanted? Heaven knows, 
my head is full; my heart, too, is not without 
its load. I wish you were here. I wish it for 
many reasons. I already begin to suspect you 
are right about the sudden effect a spring into 
wealth may produce, but I hope that all you 
said on that score may not be true. If 1 thought 

so, I'd No matter, I'll endeavor to show that 

you are unjust, and that is better. — Yours ever, 

" Roland Cashel. 

" Don Enrique dn Cordova, 

" Lieutenant of the Columbian frigate F.smeraUa. 
" Caie of Messrs. Eustathe et Ee Moine, meichant.., 
Havannah. " 

The next epistle which followed was far more 
brief It was thus 

" Messrs. V.-^nderhaeghen und Droek, Ant- 
werp.- -Enclosed is an order on Hamerton for 
seventeen thousand four hundred and forty-eight 
gulden, principal and interest for three years, of an 
unjust demand made by you on me before the 
tribunal of Bruges. 

'' You failed even with all the aid of your 
knavish laws, and more knavish countrymen, to 
establish this inicpiitous claim, and only suc- 
ceeded in exhibiting yourselves as rogues and 
swindlers, good burgher-like qualities in your 
commercial city. 

'I have now paid what I never owed, but 
there still remains between us an unsettled score. 
Let mv present punctuality guarantee the hon- 
orable intentions I entertain of settling it one 
day, till when, as you have shown yourselves my 
enemy, " Believe me to yours, 

" Roland Cashel. 

The order on the banker ran as follows- 



388 



ROLAND CASHEL, 



"Pay to Vandeihaeglien uiid Droek, two of 
the greatest knaves, alive seventeen thousand 
four hundred and foriy-eight gulden, being the 

Erincij)al and interest for three years of a dis- 
onest claim made upon 

■' Roland Cashel. 
"To Hamerton and Co., Cheapside. " 

With all that soothing consciousness we hear 
is the result of good actions, Cashel lay down on 
his bed immediately on concluding this last 
epistle, and was fast asleep almost before the 
superscription was dried. 

And now, worthy reader, another peep, and 
we have done. Ascending cautiously the stairs 
you pass through a little conservatory, at the end 
of which a heavy cloth curtain conceals a door. It 
is that of a dressing-room — off which, at opposite 
sides, two bedrooms he. This same dressing- 
room, with its rose-colored curtains and otto- 
man, its little toilet-tables of satinwood,its mirrors 
framed in alabaster, its cabinets of Buhl, and the 
book-shelves so coquettishly curtained with Ma- 
lines lace, is the common property of the two 
sisters whom we so lately introduced to your 
notice. 

There were they wont to sit for hours after the 
return from a ball, discussing the people they 
had met, their dress, their manner, their foibles 
and flirtations; criticizing with no mean acute- 
ness all the varied games of match-making 
mammas and intriguing aunts, and canvassirg the 
scliemes and snares so rife around them. And, 
oh, ye simple wor,shippers of muslin-robed inno- 
cence! oh, ye devoted slaves of ringleted loveli- 
ness and blooming freshness' bethink ye what 
wily projects lie crouching in hearts tliat would 
seem the very liomes of careless happiness — 
what calculations — what devices — how many 
subtleties that only beauty wields or simple man 
is vanquished by' 

It was considerably past midnight as the two 
girls sat at tlie fire, their dressing-gowns and 
slippered feet showing that they had prepared for 
bed; but the long luxuriant hair, as yet uncurled, 
flowed in heavy masses on their neck and 
shoulders. They did not, as usual, converse 
freely together, a silence and a kind of constraint 
sat upon each, and although Olivia held a book 
before her, it was less for the purpose of reading 
than as a screen against the fire, while her sister 
sat with folded arms and gently drooping head, 
apparently lost in thought. It was after a very 
lengthened silence, and in a voice which showed 
that the speaker was following up some train of 
thought. Miss Kennyfeck said, — 

"And do you really think him handsome, 
Olivia?" 

"Of whom are you speaking, dear?" said Olivia, 
with the very softest accent. 

Miss Kennyfeck started, her pale cheeks be- 
came slightly red, as. with a most keen irony, she 
replied; ' Could you not guess! Can I mean 
any one but Mr. Clare Tonus?" 

"Oh, he's a downright fright," answered the 
other; ''but what could have make you think of 
him?" 

" I was not thinking of him, nor were you 



either, sister, dear," said Mks Kennyfeck, fixing 
her eyes full upon her; " we were both thinking 
of the same person. Come, what use in such sub- 
terfuges? Honesty, Livy, may nc4 be the ' best 
policy,' but it has one great advantage, it saves 
a deal of time; and so I repeat my question, do 
you think him handsome?" 

"If you mean Mr. Cashel, dearest," said the 
younger, half bashfully, " I rather incline to say 
he is. His eyes are very good; his forehead and 
brow " 

"There — no inventory, I beg — the man is 
very well-looking, I dare say, but I own he strikes 
me as ''tant soil peu saitvage.' Don't you think so?" 

" True, his manners " 

" Why, he has none; the man has a certain 
rakish free-and-easy demeanor, that, with some- 
what more breeding, would rise as high as' tiger- 
ism,' but now is detestable vulgarity." 

''Oh, dearest, you are severe." 

'' I rather suspect that you are partial." 

"I, my dear' not I, in the least. He is not, 
by any means, the style of person I like. He 
can be very amusing, perhaps; he certainly is 
very odd — very original." 

" He is very rich, Livy," said the elder sister, 
with a most dry gravity. 

'' That can scarcely be called a fault, still less 
a misfortune," replied Olivia, slyly. 

" Well, well, let us have done with aphorisms, 
and speak openly. If you are really pleased 
with his manner and address, say so at once, and 
I'll promise never to criticize too closely a de- 
meanor which, I vow, does not impress me highly 
— only be candid." 

" But 1 do not see any occasion for : uoh 
candor, my dear. He is no more to mc than he 
is \o you. I ask no protestations from jc^w about 
this Mr. Roland Cashel." 

Miss Kenn5feck bit her lip and seemed to re- 
press a rising temptation to reply, but was silent 
for a moment, when she said, in a careless, easy 
tone, — 

" Do you know, Livy, dearest, that this same 
manolo you danced this evening is not by any 
means a graceful performance to look at, at least 
when danced with long, sweeping drapery, flap- 
ping here and flouncing there. It may suit 
those half-dressed Mexican damsels who want to 
display a high arched instep and a rounded ankle, 
and who know that they are not transgressing the 
ordinary limits of decorum in the disi)lay; but 
certainly your friend Mr. Softly did not accord 
all his approval. Did you remark him?" 

" I did not, I was too much engaged in learn- 
ing the figure, but Mr. Softly disapproves of 
all dancing 

" Oh, I know he does," yawned Miss Kenny- 
feck, as if the very mention of his name sug- 
gested sleep, " the dear man has own notions of 
pleasantry — little holy jokes about Adam and Eye. 
There is nothing so intolerable to me as the in- 
sipid playfulness of your young parson, except, 
perhaps, the coarse fun of your rising barrister. 
How I hate Mr. Clare Jones." 

" He is very under-bred." 

" He is worse — the rudest person I ever met 
— so familiar." 



ROLAND C A S H E L . 



389 



" Wliy will he always insist on shaking hands?" 

" Why will he not at least wash his own oc- 
casionally?'' 

" And then his jests from the Queen's IJench 
• — the last mol — I'm sure I often wished it were 
so literally, of some stupid chief justice. Well, 
really, in comparison, your savage friend is a 
mirror of good looks and good manners." 

" Good-niglit, my dear,'' said Olivia, rising as 
though to decline a renewel of the combat. 

" Good-night," echoed her sister, bluntly, 
"and pleasant dreams of ' Roland the brave — 
Roland the true,' the latter quality being the one 
more in request at this moment." And so, hum- 
ming the well-known air, she took her candle, 
and retired. 



CHAPTER VIII. 

LOVE V. LAW. 

Ay! marry — they have wiles. 
Compared to which, our schemes are honesty. 
— The Lawyer's Daughter. 

NoTwiTHSTAXDixG all that we hear said against 
castle-building, how few among the unbought 
pleasures of life are so amusing, nor are we 
certain that these shadowy speculations — these 
''white lies" that we tell to our own conscience 
- — are not so many incentives to noble deeds and 
generous actions These " imaginary conversa- 
tions'' lift us out of the jog-trot ]jath of daily inter- 
course, and call up hopes and aspirations that lie 
buried under the heavy load of wearisome com- 
monplaces of which life is made up, and thus 
permit a man, immersed as he may be in the 
fatigues of a profession, or a counting-house, 
harassed by law, or worried by the three jier 
cents., to be a hero to his own heart at least for 
a few minutes once a week. 

But if "castle-building" be so pleasurable when 
a mere visonary scheme, what is it when it comes 
associated with all the necessary conditions for 
accomplishment — when not alone the plan and 
elevation of the edifice are there, but all the 
materials and every appliance to realize the con- 
ception? 

Just fancy yourself " two or three and twenty," 
waking out of a sound and dreamless sleep, to 
see the mellow sun of an autumnal morning 
straining its rays through the curtains of your 
bedroom. Conceive the short and easy struggle 
by which, banishing all load of cares and duties 
in which you were once immei'sed, you spring, as 
by a bound, to the joyous fact that you are the 
owner of a princely fortune, with health and 
ardent spirit, a temper capable of, nay, eager, 
for engagement, a fearless courage, and a heart 
unchilled. Think of this, and say, is not the 
first-waking half hour of such thoughts the 
brightest spot of a whole existence? 

Such was the frame of mind in which our hero 
awoke, and lay for some time to re\'el in' We 
could not, if we would, follow the complex tissue 
of day-dreams that wandered over every clime, 
and in the luxuriant rapture of power, created 
scenes of pleasure, of ingredients the niost far- 



fetclied and remote. The "actual" demands our 
attention more urgently than tlie "ideal," so that 
we are constrained to tollow the unjioetical steps 
of so ignoble a personage as Mr. Phillis — Cashel's 
new valet — who now broke in upon his master's 
reveries, as he entered with hot water, and the 
morning pspe:s. 

" What have you got there?" cried Cashel, not 
altogether pleased at the intrusion. 

" Themorningijapers! Lord Ettlecombe" — his 
former master, and his univeisal type — "always 
read the Post, sir, before he got out of bed." 

" Well, let me see it," said Cashel, who, already 
impressed with the necessity of conforming to a 
new code, was satisfied to take the law even from 
so humble an authority as his own man. 

"Yes, sir Our arrival is announced very 
handsomely among the fashionable intelligence, 
and the Dublui Mail has copied the paragraph 
stating that we are speedily about to visit our 
Irish estates," 

" Ah, indeed," said Cashel, somewhat flattered 
at his new-born notoriety; " where is all this?" 

"Here, sir, under ' Movements in high life:' 
'The duke of Uxoter to Lord Debbington's 
beautiful villa at Maulish — Sir Harry and Lady 
Emeline Morpas, &c., — Rosenorris — Loid Fetch- 

erton ' No, here we have it, sir- — ' Mr. 

Roland Cashel and suite'— Kennyfeck and self, 
sir — 'from Mivart's, for Ireland. We understand 
that this millionaire proprietor is now about to 
visit his estates in this country, preparatory to 
taking up a residence finally amongst us. If 
report speak truly, he is as accomplished as 
wealthy, and will be a very welcome accession to 
the ranks of our country gentry.' " 

" How strange that these worthy people should 
affect to know or care anything about me or my 
future intentions," taid Cashel, innocently. 

"Oh, sir, they really know nothing — that little 
thing is mine." 

"Yours! how yours?" 

" Why, I wrote it, sir When I lived with Sir 
Giles Heathcote, we always fired off a certain 
number of these signal-guns when we came to a 
new place. Once the thing was set a-going, the 
newspaper fellows followed up the lead them- 
selves. They look upon a well-known name as 
of the same value as a fire, or a case of larceny. 
I have known a case of seduction by a msrquis 
to take the 'pas' of the last murder in the Edge^ 
ware-road." 

" I have no fancy for this species of publicity,'' 
said Cashel, seriously. 

" Believe me, sir, there is nothing to be done 
without it. The press, sir, is the fourth estate. 
They can ignore anything now-a-dayS; from a 
speech in Parliament to the last new novel' — from 
the young beauty just come out, to the newly- 
launched line-of-battle-ship, A friend of mine, 
some time back, tried the thmg to his cost, sir. 
He invented an admirable moustache-paste; he 
even paid a guinea to an Oxfoid man for a 
Greek name for it; well, sir, he would not adver- 
tise in the dailies, but only in bills. Mark the 
consequence. One of the morning journals, in 
announcing the arrival of the Prince of Koem- 
undkuttingen on a visit to Colonel Sibthorp, 



ROLAND CASH EL. 



mentioned, that in the fraternal embrace of these 
two distinguished personages, their moustaches, 
anointed with the new patent adhesive Eukan- 
therostickostecon, became actually so fastened 
together (as the fellow said, like two clothes- 
brushes}, that after a quarter of an hour's vain 
struggle they had to be cut asunder. From that 
moment, sir, the paste was done up; he sold it as 
harness stuff the week after, and left the hair and 
beard line altogether." 

As Cashel's dressing proceeded, Mr. Phillis 
continued to impose ujjon him those various hints 
and suggestions respecting costume, for which 
that accomplished gentleman's gentleman was 
renowned. 

" E.'icuse me, but you are not going to wear 
that coat, I hope. A morning dress should al- 
ways incline to what artists call ' neutral tints;' 
there should also be nothing striking, nothing 
that would particularly catch the eye, except in 
those peculiar cases, where the wearer, adopting 
a certain color, not usually seen, adheres strictly 
to it, just as we see my Lord Blenneville with 
his old. coffee-colored cut-away, and Sir Francis 
Heming with his light-blue frock; Colonel Mor- 
daunt's Hessians are the same kind of thing." 

"This is all mere trifling," said Cashel, impa- 
tiently; "I don't intend to dress like the show- 
figure in a tailor's shop to be stared at." 

"E.xactly so, sir; that is what I have been 
saying; any notoriety is to be avoided where a 
gentleman has a real position Now, with a 
dark frock, grey trousers, and this plain, single- 
breasted vest, your costume is correct." 

If Cashel appeared to submit to these dicta- 
tions with impatience, he, really, received them 
us laws to which he was, in virtue of his station, 
to be bound. He had taken Mr. Phillis, exactly 
as he had engaged the services of a celebrated 
French cook, as a person to whom a '' depart- 
ment" was to be entrusted, and feeling that he 
was about to enter on a world whose habits of 
thinking and prejudices were all strange, he re- 
solved to accept of guidance, with the implicit 
ness that he would have shown in taking a pilot 
to navigate him through a newly-visited channel. 
Between this sense of submission, and a certain 
feeling of sliame at the mock importance of these 
considerations, Cashel exhibited many svmptoms 
of impatience, as Mr. Phillis continued his reve- 
lations on dress, and was sincerely ha])py when 
that refined individual, having slowly surveyed 
him, pronounced a faint " Yes, very near it," and 
withdrew. 

There was a half-glimmering suspicion, like a 
struggling ray of sunlight stealing through a 
torn and ragged cloud, breaking on Roland's 
mind, that if wealth were to entail a great many 
requirements, no matter how small each, of obe- 
dience to the world's prescription, that he, for 
one, would prefer his untramelled freedom to 
any amount of riches. This was but a fleeting 
doubt, which he had no time to dwell upon, for 
already he was informed by the butler that Mrs. 
Kennyfeck was waiting breakfast for him. 

Descending the stairs rapidly, he had just 
reached the landing opposite the drawing-room, 
when he heard the sounds of a guitar accompani- 



ment, and the sweet silvery tones of a female 
voice. He listened, and to his amazement 
heard that the singer was endeavoring, and with 
considerable success, too, to remember his own 
Mexican air, that he had sung the preceding 
evening. 

Somehow, it struck him he had never thought 
the melody so pretty before; there was a 
tenderness in the plaintive parts he could not 
have conceived. Not so the singer, for after a 
few efforts to imitate one of Roland's bolder 
passages, she drew her finger impatiently across 
the chords, and exclaimed, '"It is of no use, it is 
only the caballero himself can do it." 

"Let him teach you, then!" cried Cashel, as 
he sprang into the room, wild with delight. 

" Oh, Mr. Cashel, what a start you've given 
me!" said Olivia Kennyfeck, as, covered with 
blushes, and trembling with agitation, she leaned 
on the back of a chair. 

"Oh, pray forgive nie," said he, eagerly; "but 
I was so surprised, so delighted to hear you le- 
calling that little song, I really forgot everything 
else. Have 1 startled you, then?" 

"Oh, no; it's nothing. I was trying a few 
chords. 1 thought I was quite alone." 

" But you'll permit me to teach you some of 
our Mexican songs, won't you? 1 should be ;o 
charmed to hear them sung as you could sing 
them." 

"It is too kind of you," said she,- tiniidiv; 
"but I am no musician. My sister is a most 
skilful performer; but / really know nothing — a 
simple ballad — and a canzonette — are the extent 
of niv efforts." 

"For our prairie songs, it is the feeling sup- 
])lies all the character. They are wild, fandful 
things, with no higher pretensions than to recall 
some trait of the land they belong to, and I should 
be so flattered if you would take an interest in 
the F:ir ^^'est." 

" How \ou must love it! How you must long 
to return to it!" said Olivia, raising her long, 
drooping lashes, and letting her eyes rest, with 
an expression of tender melancholy, on Cashel. 

What he might have said there is no guessing, 
— nay, for his sake, and for hers too, it is better 
not even to speculate on it; but ere he could 
reply another speaker joined in the colloquy, 
say in;',— 

"Good-morning, Mr. Cashel. Pray don't 
forget, when the lesson is over, that we are 
waiting breakfast." So saying, and with a laugh 
of saucy raillery. Miss Kennyfeck passed down 
the stairs, not remaining to hear his answer. 

"Oh, Mr. Cashel!" exclaimed Olivia, with a 
tone half reproachful, half shy, "we shall .be 
scolded — at least, I shall," added she. "It is 
the unforgivable offence in this house to be late 
at breakfast." 

Cashel would very willingly have risked all 
the consequences of delay for a few minutes 
longer of their interview, but already she had 
tripped on down-stairs, and with such speed as 
to enter the breakfast-parlor a few seconds be- 
fore him. Roland was welcomed by the family 
without the slightest shade of dissatisfaction at his 
late appearance, cordial greetings and friendly 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



391 



inquiries as to how he had rested pouring in on 
every side. 

" \Vhat's to be done with Mr. Casliel to-day.' 
I hope he is not to be tea.sed by business people 
and red-tapery," said Mrs. Kennyfeck to her 
husband. 

" I am afraid," said the silky attorney — " I am 
very much afraid, I must trespass on his kind- 
ness to accompany me to tlie master's office. 
There are some little matters which will not wait." 

"Oh, they must," said Mrs. Kennyfeck, per- 
emjitorily. "Who is the master — Liddard — isn't 
it? Well, tell him to put it off: Mr Cashel must 
really have a little peace and quietness after all 
his fatigues." 

"It will only take an hour at most, Mrs. 
Kennyfeck," remonstrated her submissive mate. 

"Well, that is nothing," cried Cashel. "I'm 
not in the least tired, and the day is long enough 
for everything." 

"Then we have a little affair which we can 
manage at home here about the mortgages. I 
told you " 

"I believe you did," replied Cashel, laughing; 
"but I don't remember a word of it. It's about 
paying some money, isn't it.'" 

"Yes, it's the redemjition of two very heavy 
claims," exclaimed Kennyfeck, perfectly shocked 
at the indiffeience displayed by the young man, 
— " claims for which we are paying five and a 
half per cent." 

"yVnd it would be better to clear them off?" 
said Cashel, assuming a show of interest in the 
matter he was far from feeling. 

"Of course it would. There is a very large 
sum laying to your credit at Falkner's, for which 
you receive only three per cent." 

" Don't you perceive how tiresome you are, 
dear Mr. Kennyfeck?" said his wife. "Mr. 
Cashel is bored to death with all this." 

" Oh, no! not in the least, madam. It ought 
to interest me immensely; and so all these things 
will, I'm sure; but I was just thinking at what 
hour that fellow we met on the packet was to 
show us those horses he spoke of?" 

"At four," said Mr. Kennyfeck, with a half 
sigh of resignation; "but you'll have ample time 
for that. 1 shall only ask you to attend at the 
judges' chambers after our consultation." 

"Well you are really intolerable!" cried his 
wife. " Why cannot you and Jones, and the 
rest of you, do all this tiresome nonsense, and 
leave Mr. Cashel to us? I want to bring him 
out to visit two or three people; and the girls 
have been planning a canter in the Park." 

"The canter, by all means," said Cashel. 
"I'm sure, my dear Mr. Kennyfeck, you'll do 
everything far better without me. I have no 
head for anything like business; and so pray, let 
me accompany the riding party." 

"The attendance at the master's is peremp- 
tory," sighed the attorney, "'there is no defer- 
ring that; and as to the mortgages, the funds 
are falling every hour. I should seriously advise 
selling out at once." 

"Well, sell out, in Heaven's name. Do all 
and anything you like, and I promise my most 
unqualified satisfaction at the result." 



"There, now,' interposed Mrs. Kennyfeck, 
authoritatively; "don't worry any more, you see 
how tiresome you are!" 

And poor Mr. Kennyfeck seemed to see and 
feel it too; for he hung his head, and sipped 
his tea in silence. 

" To-day we dine alone, Mr. Cashel," said 
Mrs. Kennyfeck; "but to-morrow I will try to 
show you some of the Dublin notorieties; at 
least, such as are to be had in the season. On 
Friday we jjlan a little country party into Wick- 
low; and I have promised to keep Saturday 
free, if the Blackenburgs want us." 

" What shall we say, then, about Tubber-beg, 
Mr. Cashel?" said Kennyfeck, withdrawing hini 
into a window-recess. " Wc ought to give the 
answer at once. ' 

" Faith ! I forgot all about it." said Cashel. ' Is 
that the fishery you told me of?" 

" Oh, no!" sighed the disconsolate man of law. 
" It's the farm on the terminable lease, at present 
held by Hugh Corrigan; he asks for a renewal.' 

" Well, let him have it," said Cashel, bluntly, 
while his eyes were turned towards the fire, where 
the two sisters, with arms entwined, stood in the 
most graceful of attitudes. 

"Yes, but have you considered the matter 
maturely?" rejoined Kennyfeck, laying his hand 
on Cashel's arm. " Have you taken into account 
that he only pays eight and sevenpence per acre 
—the Irish acre, too; and that a considerable 
part of that land adjoining the Boat Quay is let, 
as building plots, for two and sixpence a foot?" 

"A devilish pretty foot it is, too," murmured 
Cashel, musingly. 

"Eh! what?" exclaitned Kennyfeck, perfectly 
mystified at this response. 

" Oh! I meant that I agreed with you," rejoined 
the young man, reddening, and endeavoring to 
appear deeply interested. "I quite concide with 
your views, sir." 

Kennyfeck seemed surprised at this, for he had 
not, to his knowledge, ventured on any opinion. 

" Perhaps," said he, taking breath for a last 
effort, " if you'd kindly look at the map of the 
estate, and just see where this farm trenches on 
your own limits, you could judge better about 
the propriety of the renewal." 

"Oh, with pleasure!" examined Cashel, while 
he suffered himself to be led into the study, his 
face exhibiting very indifferent signs of satis- 
faction. 

"Shall we assist in the consultation, Mr. 
Cashel?" said Mrs. Kennyfeck, smiling in reply 
to his reluctant look at leaving. 

"Oh, by all means!" cried he, enthusiastically; 
" do come, and give me your advice. Pray, come." 

"Come, girls," said the mother, "although I 
perceive Mr. Kennyfeck is terribly shocked at 
the bare thought of our intention; but be of good 
courage, we only accompany Mr. Cashel to save 
him from any long imprisonment." And so she 
moved majestically forward, her daughters fol- 
lowing her. 

An alchemist would probably have received 
company in his laboratory, or a hermit admitted 
a jovial party in his cell, with less of constraint 
and dissatisfaction than did Mr. Kennyfeck watch 



392 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



the approach of his wife and daughters to the 
sanctum of his study. 

Save at raie intervals, when a disconsolate 
widow had come to resolve a question of adminis- 
tration, or a no less forlorn damsel had entered 
to consult upon an action for " breach of promise," 
St Kevin himself had never been less exposed to 
female intervention. It needed then all his rev- 
erence and fear of Mrs. Kennyfeck to sustain the 
shock to his feelings, as he saw her seat herself 
in his office-chair, and look around with the air 
of command that he alone used to exhibit in these 
regions. 

"Now for this same map, Mr. Kennyfeck, and 
let us hear the question for which this privy 
council has been convened." 

"This is the map," said Mr. Kennyfeck, un- 
folding a large Scroll, "and I believe a single 
glance will enable Mr. Cashel to perceive that 
some little deliberation would be advisable before 
continuing in possession a tenant whose holding 
completely destroys the best feature of the 
demesne. This red line herfe is your boundary 
towards the Limerick road; here stands the house, 
which, from the first, was a great mistake. It is 
built in a hollow without a particle of view; 
■whereas, huid it been placed here, where this cross 
is marked, the prospect would have extended 
over the whole of Scariff Bay, and by the west, 
down to Killaloe." 

" Well, what's to prevent or.r building it there 
yet?" interrupted Cashel. " I think it would be 
rare fun building a house, at least if I may judge 
from all the amusement I've had in constructing 
one of leaves and buffalo-hides, in the prairies." 

Mrs. Kennyfeck and her eldest daughter smiled 
their blandest approbation, while Olivia mur- 
mered in her sister's ear, "Oh dear, he is so very 
natural, isn't he?" 

"That will be a point for ulterior considera- 
tion," said Mr. Kennyfeck, who saw the danger 
of at all wandering from the topic in hand. " Give 
me your attention now for one moment, Mr. 
Cashel. Another inconvenience in the situation 
of the present house is, that it stands scarcely a 
thousand yards from this red and yellow line 
here." 

'"Well, what is that?" inquired Cashel, who 
already began to feel interested in the localities. 

"This — and pray observe it well, sir — this red 
and yellow line, enclosing a tract which borders 
on the Shannon, and runs, as you may remark, 
into the very heart of the demesne, this is Tubber- 
beg, the farm in question; not only encroaching 
upon your limits, but actually cutting you off 
from the river, at least, your access is limited to 
a very circuitous road, and which opens upon a 
very shallow part of the stream " 

"And who or what is this tenant''' asked 
Cashel. 

"His name is Corrigan, a gentleman by birth, 
but of a very limited fortune; he is now an old 
man, upwards of seventy, I understand." 

"And how came it that he ever obtained pos- 
session of a tract so circumstanced, marring, as 
you most justly observe, the whole character of 
the demesne?" 

" That would be a long story, sir— enough, if 



I mention that his ancestors ivere the ancient 
owners of the entire estate, which was lost by an 
act of confiscation in the year forty-five; some 
c.\tenuating circumstances, however, induced the 
government to confer upon a younger branch of 
the family, a lease of this small tract called 
Tubber-beg, to distinguish it fromTubber-more, 
the larger portion, and this lease it is whose ex- 
piration, in a few years, induces the present 
query." 

" Has Mr. Corrigan children?" 

"No; his only child, a daughter, is dead, but 
a grandaughter lives now with the old man." 

" Then what is it he asks? Is it a renewal of 
the lease, on the former terms?" 

" Why, not precisely. I believe he would be 
willing to pay more." 

" That's not what I mean," replied Cashel, 
reddening; " I ask what terms as to time, he 
seeks for. Would it content him to have the 
land for his own life?" 

" Mr. Kennyfeck, you are really very culpable 
to leave Mr. Cashel to the decision of matters of 
this kind — matters in which his kindliness of 
heart and inexperience will always betray him 
into a forgetfulness of his own interest. What has 
Mr. Cashel to think about this old creature's 
ancestors, who were rebels, it appears, or his 
daughter, or his granddaughter? Here is a sim- 
ple question of a farm, which actually makes the 
demesne w-orthless, and which, by a smgular 
piece of good fortune, is in Mr. Cashel's power 
to secure." 

" This is a very correct view, doubtless," said 
her meek husband, submissively, "but we should 
also remember " 

" We have nothing to remember," interrupted 
Mrs. Kennyfeck, stoutly; " nothing, save his 
interests, who, as I have observed, is of too 
generous a nature to be trusted with such matters." 

" Is there no other farm — have we nothing on 
the property he'd like as well as this?" asked 
Cashel. 

"I fear not. The attachment to a place in- 
habited for centuries by his ancestry " 

" By his fiddlestick," struck in Mrs. Kenny- 
feck; "two and sixpence an acre difference 
would be all the necessary compensation. Mr 
Fennyfeck, how can you trifle in this manner, 
when you see how it will injure the demesne?" 

" Oh, ruin it utterlyl" exclaimed Miss Kenny- 
feck. 

" It completely cuts off the beautiful river and 
those dear islands," said Olivia. 

"So it does," said Cashel, musing. 

"I wonder are they wooded? I declare I 
believe they are. Papa are these little scrubby 
things meant to represent trees?" 

"Oaks and chestnut-trees," responded Mr. 
Kennyfeck, gravely. 

" Oh, how I should love a cottage on that 
island— a real Swiss cottage, with its carved 
galleries, and deep-eaved roof. Who owns these 
delicious islands?" 

" Mr. Cashel, my dear," said papa, still bent on 
examining the map. 

" Do I, indeed ?" cried Roland, in an ecstacy; 
" then you shall have your wish. Miss Kennyfeck. 



ROLAND CASHEL, 



393 



I promise you the prettiest Swiss cottage that 
your own taste can devise." 

" Oh dear, oh pray forgive me." 

"Oh, Mr. Roland Cashel, don't think of such 
a thing! Olivia was merely speaking at random. 
How silly, child, you are to talk that wa)." 

" Really, mamma, I had not the slightest sus- 
picion — I wouldn't for the world have said any- 
thing if I thougln " 

"Of course not, dear, but pray be guarded. 
Indeed, I own I never did hear you make a lapse 
of the kind before; but you see, Mr. Cashel, you 
have really made us forget that we were strangers 
but yesterday, and you are paying the penalty of 
your own exceeding kindness. Forget, then, I 
1)eseech you, this fust transgression." 

" I shall assuredly keep my promise, madam," 
said Cashel, proudly; "and I have only to hope 
Miss Kenny feck will not offend me by declining 
so very humble a present. Now, sir, for our 
worthy friend, Mr. (3orrigan." 

"Too fast, a great deal too fast, love," whis- 
pered the elder sister in the ear of the younger, 
and who, to the credit of her tact and ingenuity 
be it spoken, only gave the most heavenlv smile 
in reply. 

" 1 really am puzzled, sir, what advice to give," 
said the attorney, musing. 

"I have no difficuUies of this sentimental 
kind,"' said Mrs. Kennyfeck, with a glance of 
profound depreciation towards her husband; 
" and 1 beg Mr. Cashel to remember that the 
opportunity now offered will possibly never occur 
again. If the old man is to retain his farm, of 
course Mr. Cashel would not think of building a 
new mansion,- which must be ill-circumstanced 
from what I can hear of the present house. It 
is equally certain that he would not reside in 
that." 

" Is it so very bad.'" asked Cashel, smiling. 

" It was ill-planned originally, added to in, if 
possible, worse taste, and then suffered to fall 
iiUo ruin It is now something more than eighty 
years since it saw any other inhabitant than a 
care-taker." 

"Well, the picture is certainly not seductive. 
I rather opine that the best thing we can do, is 
to throw this old rumbling concern down, at all 
events; and now once more — what shall we do 
with Mr. Corrigan?" 

" I should advise you not giving any reply be- 
fore you visit the property yourself. All busi- 
ness matters will he completed here, I trust, by 
Saturday. What, then, if we go over on Monday 
to Tubbcr-more?" 

"Agreed. I have a kind of anxiety to look at 
the place; indeed, a mere glance would decide 
me if I ever care to return to it again." 

" Then, I perceive, our counsel is of no avail 
here," said Mrs. Kennyfeck rising, with a very 
ill-concealed rhagrin. 

" Nay, madam, don't say so. Vou never got 
so far as to give it," cried Cashel. 

"Oh, yes, you forget that I said it would be 
absurd to hesitate about resuming possession." 

"Unquestionably," echoed Miss Kennyfeck. 
"It is merely to indulge an oid man's caprice at 
the cost of your own comfort and convenience." 



" But he may cling to the spot, sister, dear," 
said Olivia, in an accent only loud enough to be 
audible by Cashel. 

" You are right," said Roland ill her ear, with 
a look that spoke his approval far more elo- 
quently. 

Although Miss Kennyfeck had heard nothing 
that passed, her quickness detected the looks of 
intelligence that were so speedily interchanged, 
and as she left the room, she took occasion to 
whisper, " Do take advice, dear; theteis no keep- 
ing up a pace like that.' 



CHAPTER IX. 

AN EXCITING ADVENTURE, 
tlravo, Toro. 

As it chanced that many of Mr. tCennyfeck's 
clinents were western gentlemen, whose tastes 
have an unequivocal tendency to all matters re- 
lating to horse-flesh, his stable tvas not less 
choicely furnished than his cellar; for besides be- 
ing always able to command the shrewdest 
judgments when he derided to make a purchase, 
many an outstanding balance of long duration, 
many a debt s'gnificantly pencilled ''doubtful" 
or " bad" in his note-book, was cleared off by 
some tall, sinewy steeplechaser froln Galway, or 
some redoubted performer with the " Blazers. '* 
So well-known was this fact that several 
needed no other standard of a neighbor's circutn- 
stances, than whether he had contributed Or not 
to the Kennyfeck stud. This brief explanation 
we have been induced to make, to account for 
the sporting character of a stable whose propri- 
etor never was once in the saddle. Far other 
wise the ladies of the house; the mother and 
daughters, but in parti<ulrr the elder, rode with 
all the native grace of G.^lway; and as they 
were invariably well mounted, and their groohis 
the smartest and best appointed, their "ttjrn-out" 
was the admiration of the capital. 

It was in vain the English officials at the Castle, 
whose superlative tastes were wont to overshadow 
mere Irish pretension, endeavored to compete 
with these Tioted equestrians. Secretaries' wives 
and chamberlains' daughters, however they 
might domineer in other matters, were here, at 
least, surpassed, and it was a conceded fact, that 
the Kennyfecks rode better, dressed better, and 
looked better on horseback, than any other girls 
in the country. If all critics as to horsemanship 
pronounced the elder unequivo'"ally the superior 
rider, mere admirers of gracefulness preferred 
the younger sister, who, less courageous and self- 
possessed, invested her skill with a certain char- 
acter of timidity that increased the interest her 
appearance excited. 

They neve rode out without an immense cor- 
fr'ge of followers, evc-y well-looking ahd Well- 
mounted man about town deeming it \\\l, devoir \.o 
join this party, just as the box of the reigning belle 
at the Opera is besieged by assiduous visitors. 
The very being seen in this train wis a kind of 



3^4 



ROLAND CASH EL. 



brevet promotion in fashionable esteem, to which 
each newly-anived cornet aspired, and thus the 
party usually presented a group of brilliant uni- 
forms and dancing plumes, that rivalled in bril- 
liancy, and far excelled in amusement, the staff 
of the viceroy himself. 

It would be unfair to suppose that, with all 
their natural innocence and artlessness, they were 
entirely ignorant of tlie sway they thus exercised; 
indeed, such a degree of modesty would have 
trenched upon the incredulous, for how could 
they doubt what commanders of the forces and 
deputy-assistant-adjiitants assured them, still less 
question the veracity of a prince royal, who posi- 
tively asserted that they " rode bettter than 
Quentin's daughter." 

It was thus a source of no small excitement 
among the mounted loungers of the capital, when 
the Kennyfecks issued forth on horseback, and 
not, as usual, making the tour of the " square" 
to collect their forces, they rode at once down 
Grafton street, accompanied by a single cavalier. 
"Who have the Kennyfeck girls got with them?" 
said a thin-waisted looking aide-de-camp to a 
lanky, well-whiskered fellow in a dragoon undress 
at the Castle gate. 

" He is new to me — never saw him before. — I 
say, Lucas, who is that tall fellow on Kennyfeck's 
brown horse — do you know him?" 

" Don't know — can't say," drawled out a very 
diminutive hussar cornet. 

" He has a look of Merrington," said another, 
joining the party. 

" Not a bit of it; he's much larger. I shouldn't 
wonder if he's one of the Esterhazys they've 
caught. There is one of them over here — a Paul 
era Nicholas, of the younger branch; — but here's 
Linton, he'll tell us, if any man can." 

This speech was addressed to a very dapper, 
well-dressed man of about thirty, mounted on a 
small thorough-bred pony, whose splashed and 
heaving flanks bespoke a hasty ride. 

"I say, Tom, you met the Kennyfecks — who 
was that with them?" 

" Don't you know him, my lord?" said a sharp 
ringing voice, "that's our newly-arrived million- 
naire — Roland Cashel, our Tipperary Croesus; — 
the man with I won't say how many hundred 
thousands a year, and millions in bank besides." 
"The devil it is — a good-looking fellow, too." 
" Spooney, I should say," drawled out the 
hussar, caressing his moustache. 

"One needn't be as smart a fellow as yon, 
Wheeler, with forty thousand a year," said Linton, 
with a sly glance at the others. 

"You don't suppose, Tom," said the former 
speaker, " that the Kennyfecks have any designs 
in that quarter — egad! that would be rather as- 
piring, eh?" 

" Very unwise in us to permit it, my lord," 

said Linton, in a low tone. " That's a dish will 

bear carving, and let every one have his share." 

My lord laughed with a low cunning laugh at 

the suggestion, and nodded an easy assent. 

Meanwhile the Kennyfecks rode slowly on, 
and crossing Essex bridge continued their way 
at a foot pace towards the park, passing in front 
of the Four Courts, where a very laige knot of 



idlers uncovered their heads in polite salutation 
as they went. 

"That's Kennyfeck's newly-discovered client," 
cried one; " a great card, if they can only secure 
him for one of the girls." 

"I say, did you remark how the eldest had 
him engaged? She never noticed any of us." 

"I back Olivia," said another: "she's a quiet 
one, but devilish sly for all that." 

" Depend upon it," interposed an older 
speaker, " the fellow is up to all that sort of 
thing." 

" Jones met him at dinner yesterday at Kenny- 
fecks, and says he is a regular soft one, and if 
the girls don't run an opposition to each other, 
one is sure to win." 

" Why not toss up for him, then? that would 
be fairer." 

"Ay, and more sisterly, too," said the elder 
speaker. "Jones would be right glad to claim 
the beaten horse." 

"Jones, indeed — I can tell you they detest 
Jcnes," said a young fellow. 

" They told you so, eh, Hammond ?" said 
another; while a very hearty laugh at the discom- 
fited youth broke from the remainder. 

And now to follow our mounted friends, who, 
having reached the Park, continued still at a 
walkmg pace to thread the grassy paths that led 
through that pleasant tract; now, hid amid the 
shade of ancient thorn-trees, now, gaining the 
open expanse of plain with its bold background 
of blue mountains. 

From the evident attention bestowed by the 
two sisters, it was clear that Cashel was narrating 
something of interest, for he spoke of an event 
which had happened to himself in his prairie 
life; and this alone, independent of all else, was 
enough to make the theme amusing. 

" Does this convey any idea of a prairie, Mr. 
Cashel?" said Miss Kennyfeck, as they emerged 
from a grove of beech-trees, and came upon the 
wide and stretching plain, so well known to Dub- 
liners as the Fifteen Acres, but which is, in reality, 
much greater in extent. " I have alwa}'s fancied 
this great grassy expanse must be like a prairie." 
"About as like as yonder cattle to a herd of 
wild buffaloes," replied Roland, smiling. 

"Then what is a prairie like? Do tell us," 
said Olivia, eagerly. 

" I can scarcely do so, nor, if I were a painter, 
do I suppose that I could make a picture of one, 
because it is less the presence than the total ab- 
sence of all features of landscape that constitutes 
the wild and lonely solitude of a prairie. But 
fancy a great plain — gentl} — very gently undu- 
lating — not a tree, not a shrub, not a stream to 
break tli* dreary uniformity — sometimes, but 
even that rarely, a little muddy pond of rain- 
water, stagnant and yellow, is met with, but only 
seen soon after heavy showers, for the hot sun 
rapidly absorbs it. The only vegetation, a short 
yellowed burnt-up grass — not a wild flower or a 
daisy, if you travelled hundreds of hundreds of 
miles. On you go, days and days, but the scene 
never changes. Large cloud shadows rest ujjon 
the barren expanse, and move slowly and slug- 
gishly away, or sometimes a sharp and pelting 



ROLA ND C AS HEL, 



305 



shower is borne along, traversing hundreds of 
miles in its course, but these are the only traits 
of motion in the death-lilie stiihiess. At last, 
perhaps after weeks of wandering, you descry, a 
long way off, some dark objects dotting the sur- 
face; these are buffaloes; or at sunset, when tiie 
thin atmosphere makes everything sharp and dis- 
tinct, some black spectral shapes seem to glide 
between you and the red twilight; tliese are 
Indian hunters, seen miles off, and by some 
strange law of nature they are presented to the 
vision when far, far beyond the range of sight. 
Such strange a|)paritions, the consequence of re- 
fraction, have led to the most absurd supersti- 
tions, and all the stories the Germans tell you of 
their wild huntsmen are nothing to the tales 
every trapper can recount of war parties seen in 
the air, and tribes of red men in pursuit of deer 
and buffaloes, through the clear sky of an 
autumn evening." 

" And have you yourself met with these wild 
children of the desert?" said Olivia; " have you 
ever been amongst them.'" 

" Somewhat longer than I fancied," replied 
Roland, smiling. "I was a prisoner once with 
the Camanches." 

" Oh, let us hear all about it — how did it hap- 
pen?" cried both together. 

" It happened absurdly enough, at least you 
will say so, when I tell you; but to a prairie- 
hunter the adventure would seem nothing sin- 
gular. It clianced that some years ago I made 
one of a hunting party into the Rocky Moun- 
tains, and finally as tar as Pueblo Santo, the last 
station before entering the hunting-grounds of 
the Camanches, a very fierce tribe, and one with 
whom all the American traders have failed to 
establish any relations of friendship or commerce. 
They care nothing for the inventions of civiliza- 
tion, and, unlike all other Indians, prefer their 
bows and arrows to fire-arms. 

" We had been now four days within their 
boundary, and yet never met one of the tribe. 
Some averred that they always learned by the 
scouts whenever any invasion took place, and 
retired till they were in sufficient force to pour 
down and crush the intruders. Others, who 
proved better informed, said that they were 
hunting in a remote tract, several days' journey 
distant. We were doubly disappointed, for be- 
sides not seeing the Camanches, for which we 
had a great curiosity, we did not discover any 
game. The two or three trails we followed led 
to nothing, nor could a hoof-track be seen for 
miles and miles of prairie. In this state of dis- 
comfiture, we were sitting one evening around 
our fires, and debating with ourselves whether to 
turn back or go on, when, the dispute wa.xing 
warm between those of different opinions, I, who 
hated all disagreements of the kind, slipped 
quietly away, and throwing the bridle on my 
horse, I set out for a solitary ramble over the 
prairie. 

" I have the v,-hole scene before me this in- 
stant, the solemn desolation of that dreary track! 
for .scarcely had I gone a mile over what seemed 
a perfectly level plain, when the swelling inequali- 
ties of the ground shut out the watch fires of my 



companions, and now there was nothing to be 
seen but the vast expanse of land and sky, each 
colored with the same dull leaden tint of com- 
ing night; no horizon was visible, not a star ap- 
peared, and in the midst of this gray monotony, 
a stillness prevailed that smote the heart with 
something more appalling than mere fear. No 
storm that ever I listened to at sea, not the loud- 
est thunder that ever crashed, or the heaviest 
sea that ever broke upon a leeward shore at mid- 
night, e\er chilled my blood like that terrible 
stillness. I thought that the dreadful roll of an 
avalanche, or the heaving ground-swell of an 
earthquake had been easier to bear. I believe 
I actually prayed for something like sound to re- 
lieve the horrible tension of my nerves, when, 
just as if my wish was heard, a low bocming 
sound, like the sea within a rocky cavern, came 
borne along on the night wind. Then it lulled 
again, and after a time grew louder. This hap- 
pened two or three times, so that, half suspect- 
ing some self delusion, I stopped my ears, and 
then on removing my hands, I lieaid the noise 
increasing till it swelled into one dull roaring 
sound, that made the very air vibrate. I thought 
it must be an earthquake, of which it is said 
many occur in these regions, but from the dreary 
uniformity, leave no trace behind them 

" 1 resolved to regain my companions at once; 
danger is always easier to confront in company, 
so I turned my horse's head to go back. The 
noise was now deafening, and so stunning that 
the very ground seemed to give it forth. My 
poor horse became terrified, his flanks heaved, 
and he labored in his stride as if overcome by 
fatigue, This again induced me to suspect 
an earthquake, for I knew by what singular 
instincts animals are apprised of its apjnoach. 
I therefore gave him the spur, and urged him 
on with every effort, when suddenly he made 
a tremendous bound to one side, and set off 
with the .^jeed of a racer. Stretched to his 
fullest stride, I was perfectly powerless to re- 
strain him; meanwhile, the loud thundering 
sounds filled the entire air — more deafening than 
the greatest artillery; the crashing uproar smote 
my ears, and made my brain ring with the vibra- 
tion, and then suddenly the -whole plain grew 
dark behind and at either side of me; the shad- 
ow swept on and on, nearer and nearer, as the 
sounds increased, till the black surface seemed, 
as it were, about to close around me; and now I 
perceived that the great prairie, far as my e)es 
could stretch, was covered by a herd of wild buf 
faloes; struck by some sudden terror, they had 
taken what is called ' the stampedo,' and set out 
at full speed. In an instant they were around 
me on every side — a great moving sea of dark- 
backed monsters — roaring in terrible uproar, and 
tossing their savage heads wildly to and fro, m 
all the paroxysm of terror. To return, or even 
to extricate mvself, was impossible; the dense 
mass pressed like a wall at either side of me, and 
I was borne along in the midst of the heaving 
herd, without the slightest hope of rescue. I 
cannot — you would not ask me, if even I could 
— recall the terrors of that dreadful night, which 
in its dark hours compassed the agonies of years. 



396 



ROLAND CASHEL, 



Until the moon got up, I hoped that the herd 
might pass on, and at last leave me at liberty be- 
hind; but when she rose, and 1 looked back, I 
saw the dark sea of hides, as if covering tlie 
whole wide prairie, while the deep thunder from 
afar mingled with tlie louder bellowing of the 
herd around me. 

" I suppose my reeling brain became maddened 
by the excitement; for even yet, when by any 
accident I suffer slight illness, terrible fancies of 
that dreadful scene come back, and I have been 
told that, in my wild cries and shouts, I seem 
encouragingand urging on the infuriate herd, and 
by my gestures appearing to control and direct 
their headlong course Had it been possible, I 
believe I should have thrown myself to the earth 
and sought death at once, even in this dreadful 
form, than live to die the thousand deaths of 
agony that night inflicted; but this could not be, 
and so, as day broke, I was still carried on, not, 
indeed, with the same speed as before, weariness 
weighed on the vast moving mass, but the pres- 
sure of those behind still drove them onward. 
I thought the long iiours of darkness were ter- 
rible; and the appalling gloom of night added 
tortures to my sufferings, but the glare of day- 
light, the burning sun, and the clouds of dust, 
were still worse-. I remember, too, when ex 
haustion had nearly spent my last frail energy 
and when my powerless hands, letting fall the 
bridle, dropped heavily to my side that the 
herd suddenly halted — halted, as if arrested by 
some gigantic hand; and then the pressure became 
so dreadful that my bones seemed almost burst- 
ing from my flesh, and I screamed aloud in my 
agony. After this, I remember little else The 
other events of that terrible ride are like the 
shadowy spectres of a magic lantern vague 
memories of sufferings, pangs that even yet chill 
my blood, steal over me, but unconnected and 
incoherent, so that when, as I afterwards heard, 
the herd dashed into the Camanche encampment, 
I have no recollection of anything, except the 
terror-struck faces of the red men, as they bent 
before me, and seemed to worship me as a deity 
Yes, this terrible tribe, who had scarcely ever 
been known to spare a white man, not only did 
not injure, but they treated me with the tender 
est care and attention. A singular incident had 
favored me, one of the wise men had foretold 
some days before that a herd of wild buffaloes, sent 
by their god, Anadongu, would speedily appear, 
and rescue the tribe from the horrors of impend- 
ing starvation. The prediction was possibly 
based upon some optical delusion, like that I 
have mentioned. Whatever its origin, the accom- 
plishment was hailed with ecstasy; and I myself, 
a poor, almost dying creature, stained with bloodj 
crushed and speechless, was regarded as their 
deliverer and preserver." 

_" How long did you remain amongst themi"'- 
cried Miss Kennyfeck. 

"And how did you escape?" asked Olivia. 
"Were they always equally kind ?" 
"Were you sorry to leave them?' were the 
questions rapidly poured in ere Cashel could re- 
ply to any one of them. 

" I have often heard, said Miss Kennyfeck 



"that the greater mental ability of the white man 
is certain to secure him an ascendancy over the 
minds of savage tribes, and that, if he be spared 
at first, he is sure in the end to become their 
chief 

"I believe they actually worship any display 
of intelligence above their own," said Olivia. 

" These are exaggerated accounts," said Cashel, 
smiling ' Marriage is among savage as among 
civilized nations, a great stepping-stone to emi- 
nence. When a white man is allied with a 

princess ' 

Oh, how shocking!" cried both together. 
" I'm sure no person, anything akin to a gentle- 
man, could dream of such a thing," said Miss 
Kennyfeck. 

It happens now and then, notwithstanding," 
said Cashel, with a most provoking gravity. 

While the sisters would have been well pleased 
had Cashel's personal revelations continued on 
this theme they did not venture to expose so 
dangerous a path, and were both silent. Roland, 
too, appeared buried in some recollection of the 
past, for he rode on for some time without speak- 
ing — a preoccupation on his part which seemed 
in no wise agreeable to his fair companions. 

'There are the MacFarlines. Livy ' said Miss 
Kennyfeck- ''and Lmton, and Lord Charles, 
and the rest of them. I declare, I believe they 
see us and are coming this way 

What a bore! Is there no means of escape? 
Mr Cashel, pray invent one. ' 

I beg pardon. What was it you said? I 

have been dreaming for the last three minutes." 

' Pleasant dreams, Lm certain they were,' 

said Miss Kennyfeck, with a very significant smile, 

evokedj doubtless, by some little memory of 

your life among the Camanches ' 

Cashel started and grew red, while his aston- 
ishment rendered him speechless. 

" Here they come, how provoking,'' exclaimed 
Livy. 

'Who are coming?' 

'' Some friends of ours, who, strange to say, 
have the misfortune to be peculiarly disagreea- 
ble to my sister Liv/ to-day, although 1 have 
certainly seen Lord Charles contrive to make his 
company less distasteful at other times. 

' Oh, my dear Caroline, you know perfectly 
well ■ broke in Olivia, with a tone of un- 
feigned reproach 

''Let us ride for it, then," said Miss Kenny- 
feck, without permitting her to finish. Now 
Mr. Cashel, a canter — a gallop, if you will 

"Quite ready." said Cashel, his animation at 
once returning at the bare mention; and away 
they set, down a gentle slope with wooded sides, 
then they gained another grassy plain, skirled 
with trees, at the end of which a small pic- 
turesque cottage stood, the residence of a ranger, 
passing this, they arrived at a thick wood, and 
then slackened their pace, as all pursuit might 
be deemed fruitless. This portion of the park, 
unlike the rest, seemed devoted to various ex 
periments in agriculture and gardening. Here 
were little enclosed plots of Indian corn and 
.Swedish turnips here, small plantations of fruit- 
trees. Each succeeding secretary seemed to have 



ROLAND CASH EL, 



::97 



left behind him some trace of his own favorite 
system for tlie improvement of Ireland, and one 
might recall the names of long departed officials in 
little experimental specimens of drainage, or fenc- 
ing, or drill culture around. Less interested by 
these patchwork devices, Cashel stood gazing on 
a beautiful white bull, who grazed in a little pad- 
dock carefully fenced by a strong oak paling. 
Although of a small breed, he was a perfect 
specimen of strength and proportion, his massive 
and muscular neck and powerful loins contrast- 
ing witii the lanky and tendonous form of the 
wild animal of the prairies. 

I'he girls had not remarked that Roland, beck- 
oning to his servant, despatched him at fidl 
speeil on an errand, for each was loitering 
about, amusing herself with some object of the 
scene. 

' What has fascinated you, yonder?" said Miss 
Kennyfeck, riding up to where Roland still 
stood in wondering admiration at the noble 
anunal. 

" The handsomest bull I ever saw!" cried he, 
in all the ecstasy of a 'torero,' "who ever be- 
held such a magnificent fellow? Mark the breadth 
of nis chest, and the immense fore-arm. See 
how he lashes his tail about. No need of bandil- 
leros to rouse your temper.'' 

" Is there no danger of the creature springing 
over the jialing?" said Olivia, drawing closer to 
Cashel, and looking at him with a most trustful 
de|)endence. . 

Alas for Roland's gallantry, he answered the 
words and not the glance that accompanied 
them. 

"No; he'd never think of it, if not excited to 
some excess of passion. I'd not answer for his 
jiatience, or our safety either, if really provoked. 
See! is not that glorious?" This burst of en- 
thusiasm was called forth by the bull, seized 
with some sudden caprice, taking a circuit of the 
paddock at full speed, his head now raised 
m.ijestically aloft, and now bent to the ground; 
he snatched some tufts of the grass as he went, 
and flung them from him in wild sport. 

"Bravo, toro!" cried Cashel, in all the excite- 
ment of delight and admiration. '' Viva el toro!" 
shouted he; "not a 'corrida' of the Old World 
or the New ever saw a braver beast " 

Whether in compliance with his humor, or that 
she really caught up the enthusiasm from Cashel, 
Miss Ivennyfeck joined in all his admiration, and 
seemed to watch the playful pranks of the great 
animal with delight. 

" How you would enjoy a real ' toro niachia, ' 
said Cashel, as he turned towards her. and felt 
that she was far handsomer than he had ever be- 
lieved before. Indeed, the heightened color of 
exercise, and the (lashing brilliancy of her eyes, 
made her seem so without the additional charm 
derived from sympathy with his humor 

" I should delight in it," cried she, with enthu- 
siasm. " Oh, if I could but see one!' 

Cashel drew nearer as he spoke, his dark and 
piercing eyes fixed with a look of steadfast ad- 
miration, when in a low half whisper he said, 
'Would you teally like il? Have these wild and 
desperate games an attraction foi you?" 



"Ch, do not ask me," said she, in the same low 
voice. "Why should 1 conless a wish lor that 
which never can be." 

" How can you say that? Have not far gieoter 
and less likely things happened to almost all of 
us? Think of me, for instance. Tra\elling 
with the Gambusinos a few months back, and 
now — now jour companion here." 

If there was not a great deal in the mere words 
themselves, there was enough in the look of the 
sjjeaker to make them deeply felt. How much 
further Cashel might have adventured, and with 
what additional speculations invested the future 
is not for us to say., for. just then, his groom rode 
up at speed, holding in his hand a guat coil of 
rope, to one end of uhich a small round ball of 
wood was fastened 

" What is that for Mr Cashel ?" inquired both 
the girls together, as they saw him adiust the 
coils lightly on his left arm, and poise the ball 
in his right hand. 

"Cannot you guess what it means?'' said Ro- 
land, smiling. "Have you never heard of a 
lasso?" 

"A lasso''' exclaimed both, in amazement. 
"You surely could never intend 

'' You shall see," cried he, as he made three or 
four casts with the rope m the air, and caught up 
the loops again with astonishing dexterity " Now 
only promise me not to be afraid, nor if possi- 
ble, let a cry escape, and I 11 show you some rare 
sport. Just take your places here the horses 
will stand perfectly quiet." AVithout waiting for 
a reply, he ordered the grooms to remain at 
either side of the young ladies, and then dis- 
mounting, he forced open the lock and led his 
horse into the paddock. This done, he leisurely 
closed the gate and mounted, ever)' motion be- 
ing as free from hasle and excitement as if made 
upon the high road. As for the bull, at the 
noise of the gate on its hinges he lifted up his 
head, but as it were indifferent to the cause, he 
resumed his grazing attitude the moment 
after 

Cashel's first care seemed to be to reconnoitre 
the ground, for at a slow walk he traversed the 
space in various directions, carefully examining 
the footing and watching for any accidental < ir- 
cumstance that might vary the surface. He then 
rode up to the paling, vhere in unfeigned terror 
the two girls sat, silently following him in every 
motion. 

' Now, remember,'' said he, smiling, 'no fears, 
no terrors. If } ou were to make me ner\ous, I 
should probably miss my cast, and the disgrace, 
not to speak of anything else, would be dread- 
fuL' 

"Oh! we'll behave very well," said Miss Kenny- 
feck. trying to assume a composure that her pale 
cheek and compressed lips very ill con obo rated. 
As for Olivia, too terrified for words, she merely 
looked at him, while the tears rolled heavily down 
her cheeks, 

'Now, to see if my hand has not forgot its 
cunning!" said Roland, as he pressed his horse's 
flanks, and pushing into a l.alf gallop, made a 
circuit ar'iund the bull The scene was a pictu- 
restpie as well as an exciting one. The mettle 



398 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



some horse, on w'nich tlie rider sat witli consum- 
mate ease, in his right hand the loose coils of tlie 
lasso, with which to accustom his horse he flour- 
ished and shook around the liead and ears of the 
animal as he went; while, with head bent down, 
and the strong neck slightly retracted, the bull 
seemed to watch him as he passed, and at length, 
slowly turning, continued to fix his eyes upon tlie 
daring intruder. Gradually narrowing his circle, 
Cashel .was cautiously approaching within a 
suitable distance for the cast, when the bull, as 
it were losing patience, gave one short hoarse cry 
and made at him, so sudden the sjjring, and so 
infuriate the action, that a scream, from both the 
sisters together, showed how near the danger 
must have appeared. Roland, however, had fore- 
seen from the attitude of the beast what was 
coming, and by a rapid wheel escaped the 
charge, and passed close beside the creature's 
flank unharmed. Twice or thrice the same 
manoeuvre occurred with tlie same result, and al- 
thougii the horse was terrified to that degree that 
his sides were one sheet of foam, the control of 
tlie rider was perfect, and his every gesture be- 
spoke ease and confidence. 

Suddenly the bull stopped, and retiring till his 
haunches touched the paling, he seemed survey- 
ing the field, and contemplating another and 
more successful mode of attack. The concen- 
trated passion of the creature's attitude at this 
moment was very fine, as with red eyeballs and 
frothed lips he stood, slowly and in heavy strokes 
lashing his flanks with his long tail. 

"Is he tired?" said Miss Kennyfeck, as Cashel 
stood close to the paling, and breathed his horse, 
for what he foresaw might be a sharj) en- 
counter 

"No! far from it," answered Roland, "the 
fellow has the cunning of an old 'corridor;' 
you'll soon see him attack." 

The words were not well uttered, when, with 
a low deep roar, the bull bounded forward, not 
in a straight line, however, but zig-zagging from 
left to right, and right to left, as if with the in- 
tention of pinning the horseman into a corner. 
The terrific spring of the great beast, and his 
still more terrific cries, appeared to paral3ze the 
horse, who stood immovable, nor was it till the 
savage animal had approached within a few yards 
of liim, that at last he reared up straight, and 
then, as if overcome by terror, dashed off at 
speed, the bull following. 

Tlie scene was now one of almost maddening 
excitement, for, although the speed of the horse 
far exceeded that of his pursuer, the bull, by 
taking a small circle, was rapidly gaining on him, 
and, before the third circuit of the field was made, 
was actually almost side by side. Roland saw all 
his danger; he knew well that the slightest swerve, 
a "single mistake," would be fatal, but he had 
been trained to peril, and this was not the first 
time he had played for life and won. It was 
then, just at the instant when the bull, narrow- 
ing his distance, was ready, by one bound, to 
drive his horns into the horse's flank, that the 
yout'i suddenly reined up, and throwing the 
horse nearly on his haunches, suffered his pur- 
suer to shoot ahead. The same instant, at least 



so it seemed, he rose in his stirrups, and winding 
the rope three or four times above his head, 
hurled it forth. Away went the floating coils 
through the air, and with a sharp snap, they 
cauglit the animal's forelegs in their fast embrace. 
Maddened by the restraint, he plunged forward, 
but ere he gained the ground, a de,\ierous pull of 
the lasso jerked the legs backwards^, and the 
huge beast fell floundering to the earth. The 
stunning force seemed enough to have extm- 
guished life, and he lay indeed motionless for a 
few seconds, when, by a mighty effort, he strove 
to burst his bonds. Roland, meanwhile, after 
a severe struggle to induce his horse to apjjroacli, 
abandoning the effort, sprang to the ground, and 
by three or four adroit turns of the lasso over 
the head and between the horns, completely 
fettered him, and at each fresh struggle passing 
new turns of the rope, he so bound him that the 
creature lay panting and powerless, his quivering 
sides and distended nostrils breathing the deep 
rage that possessed him. 

"Ah! mosquito niio" — the torridor's usual 
pet name for a young bull — " you were an easy 
victory after all, though I believe with a little 
more practice of the game I should only get off 
second best." 

There was, if we must confess it, a certain 
little bit of boastfulness in the speech, the truth 
being, that the struggle, though brief, had been a 
sharp one, and so Cashel's air and look bespoke it, 
as he led his horse out of the paddock. 

It would be a somewhat nice point — happily, 
it is not requisite to decide it — whether Roland 
was more flattered by the enthusiastic praise 
of the elder sister, or touched by the silent, but 
eloquent, look with which Oliva received 
him. 

" What a splended sight, what a noble achieve- 
ment!" said Miss Kennyfeck; "how I thank you 
for thus giving me, as it were, a peep into Spain, 
and letting me feel the glorious enthjisiasm a 
deed of heroism can inspire!" 

" Are you certain you are not hurt?" whispered 
Olivia; " the creature's horns certainly grazed 
you. Oh dear! how terrible it was at one mo- 
ment." 

"Are you going to leave him in his toils?" said 
Miss Kenn)feck. 

" Oh, certainly," replied Cashel, laughing; " I 
commit the pleasant office of liberating him to 
other hands." And so saying, he carelessly 
mounted his horse, while they pressed him with a 
hundred questions and inquiries about the late 
combat. 

" I shall be amused to hear the reports that will 
be current to-morrow," said Miss Kennyfeck, 
"about this affair. I'm certain the truth will he 
the last to ooze out. My groom says that the 
creature belongs to the lord lieutenant, and if 
so, there will be no end to the stories." 

Cashel did not seem as much impressed as the 
sisters expected at this announcement, nor at all 
aware that he had been constructively affronting 
the vice-majesty of the land, and so he chatted 
away in pleasant indifference while they con- 
tinued their ride towards home. 



ROLAND C A S H E L , 



399 



CHAPTER X. 

THE COMING DINNER PARTY DISCUSSED. 

How kindness all its spirit lends, 
When we discuss our dearest friends, 
Not meanly faults and follies hiding. 
But franlily owning eacli baelvslidt::g, 
Confessing with polite compassion, 
" They're very t>ad, but still, the fashion." 

— The Mode. 

The Kennyfecks were without strangers that 
day, and Caslicl, who was now, as it were by 
unaniiiiotis election, received into the bosom of 
the family, enjoyed for the first time in his life a 
peep into the science of dinner-giving, in the dis- 
ctissions occasioned by the approaching banquet. 

No sooner were they assembled around the 
drawing-room fire, than Mrs. Kennyfeck, whose 
whole soul was occupied by the one event, took 
occasion, as it were, by pure accident, to remem- 
ber that they " were to have some people to- 
morrow " Now, the easy nonchalance of the rem- 
iniscence and the shortness of the invitation 
would seem to imply that it was merely one of 
those slight deviations from daily routine which 
adds two or three gtiests to the family table, and 
so, indeed, did it impress Cashel, who little knew 
that the dinner in question had been devised, 
jjlanned, and arranged full three weeks before, 
and the com|)any packed with a degree of care 
and selection that evinced all the inportance of 
the evi-nt. 

Time was wlien the Irish capital enjoyed, and 
justly, the highest reputation for all that con- 
stitutes social success, when around the dinner- 
tables of the city were met men of the highest 
order of intelligence, men pleased to exercise, 
without effort or display, all the charm of wit 
and eloquence, and to make society a brilliant 
reunion of those gifts which, in the wider sphere 
of active life, won fame and honors. 

Ai the race of these bright conversers died out 
— for, alas! they belonged to a past era — their 
places were assumed by others of very dissimilar 
tastes. Many educated at English universities 
brought back with them to Ireland the more re- 
served and cautious demeanor of the other coun- 
try, and thus, if not by their influence, by their 
mere presence, threw a degree of constraint over 
the tone of society, which, in destroying its free- 
do ii, despoiled it of all its charm. 

Fashion, that idol of an Englishman's heart, 
soon became an Irish deity too, and it now grew 
the " ton" to be English, or at least what was sup- 
posed to be such, in dress and manner, in hours, 
accent, and demeanor. The attempt was never 
successful; the reserve and placiditv which sit 
with gracefidness on the high-bred Englishman, 
was a stiff, uncourteous manner in the more 
cordial and volatile Irishman. His own de- 
meanor was a tree that would not bear grafting, 
and the fruit lost all its raciness by the admixture. 

The English officials at the Castle, the little 
staff of a commander of the forces, the newly- 
made bishop, fresh from Oxford, even the offi- 
cers of the last arrived dragoon regiment, be- 
came, by right of "accent," the types of manner 



and breeding in circles where, in the actual en- 
joyment of social qualities, they were manifestly 
beneath those over whom they held swa} ; how- 
ever, they were stamped at the metropolitan 
mint, and the coinpetitors were deemed a mere 
depreciated currency which a few years more 
would cancel forever. 

Mrs. Kennyfeck, as a fashionable dinner-giver, 
of course selected her company from this more 
choice section; a fact which deserves lo be re- 
corded, to the credit of her hospitality; for it was 
a very rare occurrence, indeed, when she fotmd 
herself invited by any of those distinguished per- 
sonages who figured the oftenest at her own table. 
They thought, perhaps justly, that their conde- 
scension was sufficiently great to demand no 
further acknowledgment ; and that, as virtue is said 
to be its own reward, theirs was abundantly ex- 
hibited in the frankness with which they ate 
Kcnnyfeck's venison, and drank his Burgundy, 
both of wdiich were excellent. 

Every one dined there, because they knew 
" they'd meet every one." A pretender in the 
world of fashion, unlike a pretender to monarchy, 
is sure to have the best company in his ialvn; 
and so, although you might have met many at 
the tables of the first men of the country, who 
were there by virtue of their talents or abilities, 
at Kennyfeck's the company was sure to be 
" select." They could not afford dilution, lest 
they should find themselves at ease! 

" Olivia, pray take that newsjiaper from Mr. 
Kennyfeck, and let us hear who he has asked to 
dinner to-morrow," said Mrs. Kennyfeck grace- 
fully imitating an attitude of Lady Londonderry 
in the " Book of beauty." 

Mr. Kennyfeck heard the request, and started; 
his surprise had not been greater if the chancellor 
had addressed him as "Tom." It was the first 
time in his life that an allusion had ever been 
made to the bare possibility of his inviting the 
company of a grand dinner: a prerogative he had 
never so much as dreamt of, and now he actually 
heard his wife refer to him, as if he were even a 
party to the deed. 

" Invite! Mrs. Kennyfeck. I'm sure I never 
thought- " 

" No matter what you thought," said his 
spouse, reddening at his stupidity. " I wanted 
to remember who are coming, that we may let 
Mr. Cashel learn something of our Dublin 
folk." 

"Here's a list, mamma," said Olivia; "and I 
believe there are no apologies. Sh-all I read 
it?" 

" Do so, child," said she, but evidently out of 
humor that the delightful little display of indif- 
ference and ignorance should not have succeeded 
better. 

"Sir Andrew and Lady Janet MacFarline, of 
course!" cried Miss Kennyfeck; " aren't they 
first?" 

"They are," replied her sister. 

"Sir Andrew, Mr. Cashel," said Mrs. Kenny- 
feck, " is a very distinguised officer, a K. C. B., 
and something else besides. He was in all the 
duke's battles in Spain; a most gallant officer, 
but a little rough in manner — Scotch, you know. 



400 



ROLAND CASH EL. 



Lady Janet was sister to Lord What is that 

Lord, Caroline? 1 always forget." 

" Dunikeeran, mamma." 

" Yes, that's It. She is a charming person, but 
very proud, very proud, indeed — will not visit 
with the Dublin people; with us, I must say, I 
have never seen anything like her kindness; we 
are absolutely like sisters. Go on, Olivia." 

" Lord Charles Frobisher." 

" And the Honorable Elliot St. John," chimed 
in her sister; " Damon and Pythias, where a 
dinner is concerned." This was said in a whisper. 

"They are the aides-de-camp to the lord 
lieutenant. Lord Charles is younger brother to 
the duke of Derwent; quite the man of fashion, 
and so amusing! Oh, he's delightful!" 
'Charming!' duetted the two sisters. 

"Mr. St. John is a very nice person, too; but 
one never knows him like Lord Charles; he is 
more reserved. Olivia, however, says he has a 
great deal in him. ' 

"Oh, mamma! I'm sure I don't know; I only 
thought liim much more conversable than he gets 
credit for." 

" Well, I meant no more," said her mother, 
who did not fancy the gathering gloom on Cashel's 
face at this allusion- '" read on again, child." 

" Lord Chief Justice Malone." 

'' Oh, Mr. Kennyfeck," said she, playfully. 
' this Kyaiir doing; I suspected, from your con- 
fusion a while ago, what you were at." Then 
turning to Roland, she said: "He is always 
playing us this trick, Mr. Cashel; whenever we 
liave a few friends together, he will insist upon 
inviting some of his old bar cronies!" 

A deep groan from Mr. Kennyfeck at the terri- 
ble profanity of thus styling the chief of the 
Common Pleas, made every one start, but even 
this, like a skilful tactician, Mrs. Kennyfeck 
turned to her own advantage. 

■' Pray don't sigh that way He is a most ex- 
cellent person, a great lawyer, and, they say, 
must eventually have the peerage." She nodded 
to Olivia to proceed, who read on. 

"The attorney-general and Mrs. Knivett." 

"Oh, really, Mr. Kennyfeck, this is pushing 
prerogative; don't you think so, Mr. Cashel ? 
Not but, you know, the attorney-general is a great 
personage in this poor country; he is member 
for — where is it?" 

" Baldoyle, mamma." 

" Yes, member for Baldoyle, and she was a 
Miss Gamett, of Red Gamett, in Antrim; a most 
respectable connection; so P think we may for- 
give him. Yes, Mr. Kennyfeck, you are, at least, 
reprieved." 

" Here come the Whites, mamma. I suppose 
we may reckon on both, though she, as usual, 
sends her hopes and fears about being with us 
at dinner, but will be delighted to come in the 
evening." 

" That apology is stereotyped," broke in Miss 
Kennyfeck, "as well as the little simpering 
speech she makes on entering the drawing-room. 
'So you see, my dear Mrs. Kennyfeck, there is 
no resisting you. Colonel White assured me that 
your pleasant dinners always set him up for a 
month — he, he, he.' " 



If Cashel had not laughed heartily at the lisp- 
ing imitation, it is possible Mrs. Kennyfeck 
might have been displeased, but as the quiz 
"took," she showed no umbrage whatever. 

" The Honorable Downie Meek, under secre- 
tary of state," read Olivia, with a little more of 
emphasis than on the last mentioned names. 

"A person you'll be charmed with, Mr. Cashel 
— so highly informed, so well-bred, so perfectly 
habituated to move in the very highest circles." 
said Mrs. Kennyfeck, giving herself, as she 
spoke, certain graces of gesture, which she 
deemed illustrative of distinguished fashion. 

"A cucumber dressed in oil," whispered Miss 
Kennyfeck, who showed more than once a de- 
gree of impatience at these eulogistic descrip- 
tions. 

" The dean of Drumcondera, your great fav- 
orite, mamma." 

" So he is, my dear. Now, Mr. Cashel, I shall 
insist ujjon you liking my dean. I call tiim my 
dean, because one day last spring- " 

" Mrs. Biles wants to speak to you, ma'am, for 
a minute," said the butler, from behind the 
chair; and, although the interruption was any- 
thing but pleasant, yet the summons must be 
obeyed, for Mrs. Biles was the housekeejjer, and 
any approach to treating her with indifference 
or contempt on the eve of a great dinner would 
be about as impolitic as insulting a general who 
was about to command in a great battle; so that 
Mrs. Kennyfeck rose to comply, not even ven- 
turing a word of complaint, lest the formidable 
functionary should hear of it, and take her re- 
venge on the made dishes. 

" Now for the dean. Is mamma out of hear- 
n^?" said Miss Kennyfeck, who rejoiced at the 
casual opportunity of a little portrait-painting in 
a different style. "Conceive a tall, ponqjous 
man, with large white features, and a high bald 
head with a conical top; a sharp, clear, but un- 
pleasant voice, always' uttering grave nonsense, 
or sublime absurdity. He was a brilliant light 
at Oxford, and came over to illumine our dark- 
ness, and if pedantry could only supply the de- 
ficiency in the potato crop, he would be a provi- 
dence to the land. His affectation is to know 
everything, from chuck-fartliing to conic sec- 
tions, and so to diffuse his information as always 
to talk science to young ladies, and discuss the 
royal game of goose with lords of the treasury. 
His failures in these attempts at Admirable 
Crichtonism, would abash even confidence great 
as his, but that he is surrounded by a little staff 
of admirers, who fend off the sneers of the audi- 
ence, and like buffers, they break the rude shocks 
of worldly collision. Socially, he is the tyrant 
of this capital; from having learning enough to 
be more than a match for those he encounters, 
and skill enough to give his paradoxes a mock air 
of authority, he usurps a degree of dictation and 
rule that makes society mere slavery. You'll 
meet him to-morrow evening, and you'll see if 
he does not know more of Mexico and Savannah 
life than you do. Take care, I say, that you 
venture not into the wilds of the Pampas, for 
you'll have his companionship, not as a fellow- 
traveller, but as guide and instructor. As for 



I 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



401 



myself, \ylienever I read in the papers of ne-t- 
ings to petition Parliament to repeal this or re- 
dress that, in the name of 'Justice to Ireland, 
I ask, why does nobody pray for the recall of the 
dean of Drumcondera?" 

'' liere's mamma," whispered Olivia, as the 
drawing-room door opened. 

"We've done the dean, mamma," said Miss 
Kennyfeck, with calm composure. 

"Well, don't you feel that you love him al- 
ready? Mr Cashel, confess that you participate 
in all my raptures. Oh dear! I do so admire 
talent and genius," exclaiuied Mrs. Kennyfeck, 
thcc^trically. 

Cashel smiled, and muttered sonn tiling unin- 
telligible, and Olivia read on, but wiih a rapid- 
ity that showed the names required no special 
notice. " The Craufurds, the Smythes, Mrs. 
Felix Brown, Lady Euimeline Grove," 

" Oh, that dear Lady Emmeline! a most gifted 
(•reatin"e, she's the authoress of some sweet 
poems She wrote that touching sonnet in the 
' Nobility's Gallery of Loveliness," beginning 
'Twin Sister of the Evening Star.' — I'm sure you 
know it,' 

'' I'm unfortunate enough never to have seen 
it,' said Cashel. 

" Well, you shall see the vvriter to-morrow 
evening; I must really take care that you are 
acquainted. People will tell you that she is 
affected, and takes airs of authorship; but re- 
member her literary success — think of her con- 
tributions to the Court Journal.' 

"Those svveet flatteries of the nobility that Lin- 
Ion calls court-plaister, mamma," said Miss 
Kennyfeck, laughing maliciously 

"Linton is very abusive," said her mother, 
tartly; "he never has a good word for any one.'' 

" He used to be a pet of yours, mamma," 
insinuated Olivia. 

" So he was, till he became so intimate with 
those atrocious Fothergills.'' 

" Who is he?" said Cashel. 

" He's a son of a Sir George Linton." 

"That's one story, mamma, but as nobody 
ever saw the aforesaid Sir George, the presump- 
tion is it may be incorrect The last version is 
that he was found like . Moses, the discoverer 
being Lady Harriet Dropmore, who, with a 
humanity never to be forgotten — or forgiven," 
whispered Olivia, " for she has been often taunted 
with it — took care of the creature, and had it 
reared — nay, better again, she sent it to Rugby 
and to Cambridge, got it into Parliament for 
pjlmwood. and has now made it master of the 
horse in Leland.' 

" He is the most sarcastic person I ever met." 

" It is such an easy talent," said Miss Ken- 
nyfeck; ■' the worst of wine makes capital 
vinpgar," 

"Then here follow a set of soldier people,' 
said Olivia; " Hussars and Queen's Bays and a 
Captain Tanker of the Royal Navy — oh, I re- 
member, he has but one arm — and then the Pel- 
crtons and the Cuffes." 

Well, are we at the end of our muster-roll?" 

Yes, we have nearly reached the dregs of the 

cup I see Mr. Knox Softly, and the Townleys!" 



" Oh, the Townleys' Poor Mrs. Townley, 
with her yellow turban and red feathers, that 
Lord Duiibrock mistook for a vol-iui-vent garn- 
ished with shrimps." 

" Caroline!" cried Mrs. Kennyfeck, reprov- 
ingly, for her daughter's sallies had more than 
once verged upon the e.xhaustion of her patience. 

"We shall not weary you with any description 
of the ' refreshers,' Mr. Cashel." 

"Pray who and what are they?" inquired 
Cashel. 

'■ The ' refreshers' are that amiable but under- 
valued class in society who are always asked for 
the evening when the other members of the 
family are invited to dine. They are the young 
lady and young gentleman class the household 
with ten daughters, and a governess that sings 
like, anything but, Persiani They are briefless 
barristers, with smart whiskeis and young men 
reading for the Church, with moustaches; infan- 
try officers, old maids, fellows of college, and the 
gentlemen who tells Irish stories," 

" Caroline, 1 really must request— — " 

" But, mamma, Mr. Cashel surely ought to learn 
the map of the country he is to live in.'' 

" I am delighted to acquire my geography so 
pleasantly," cried Cashel. " Pray go on." 

"I am bound over," saidshe, smiling; " Mam- 
ma is looking penknives at me, so I suppose I 
must stop. But as to these same ' refreshers,' 
you will easily distinguish them from the dinner 
company. The young ladies are always fresher 
in their white muslin; they walk about in gangs, 
and eat a prodigious deal of bread-and-butter at 
tea. Well, I have done, mamma, though I m 
sure I was not aware of my transgressings " 

"I declare, Mr. Kennyfeck is asleep again. — 
Mr. Kennyfeck, have the goodness to wake up 
and say who is to make the whist-table for Lady 
Blennerboie " 

" Yes, my lord," said Mr. Kennyfeck, waking 
up and rubbing his eyes, "we'll take a verdict for 
the plaintiff, leaving the points rcerved. ' 

A very general laugh here recalled him to him- 
self, as with extreme confusion he continued, " I 
was so fatigued in the rolls to-day. It was an 
argument relative to a trust, Mr. Cashel, which 
it is of great moment you should be relieved 
of" 

"Oh, never trouble your head about it now, 
sir," said Cashel, good-naturedly "lam quite 
grieved at the weariness and fatigue my affairs 
are costing you." 

" I was asking about Lady Blennerbore's whist," 
interposed Mrs. Kennyfeck. " Who have you 
for her party besides the chief justice?" 

" Major M'Cartney says he can't afford it, 
mamma," said the eldest daughter, slyly. 'She 
is so very lucky with the honors!" 

"Where is Thorpe," cried Mrs. Kennyfeck, 
not deigning to notice this speech — " he used to 
like his rubber?" 

" He told me," said Miss Kennyfeck, ' that he 
wouldn't play with her ladyship any more, that 
one had some chance formerly, but that since she 
has had that touch of the palsy, she does what 
she likes with the kings and aces.'' 

" This is atrocious; never let me hear it again," 



402 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



said the mamma, indignantly; "'at all events, 
old Mr. Moore Hacket will do." 

" Poor old man, he is so blind that he has to 
thumb the cards all over to try and know them 
by the feel, and then he always washes the king 
and queen's faces with a snuffy hankerchief, so 
that the others are sneezing at every trick they 
play." 

" Caroline, you permit yourself to take the most 
improper freedoms; I desire that we may have 
no more of this." 

''I rather like old Mr. Hacket," said the in- 
corrigible assailant; '"he mistook Mr. Pottinger's 
bald and polished head for a silver salver, and 
laid his teacup on it, the last evening he was 
here." 

If Cashel could not help smiling at Miss Kenny- 
feck's sallies, he felt it was in rather a strange 
spirit of hospitality the approaching entertain- 
ment was given, since few of the guests were 
spared the most slighting sarcasms, and scarcely 
for any was there professed the least friendship 
or atfection. He was, however, very new to " the 
world.'' and the strange understanding on which 
Its daily intercourse, its social life of dinners, 
visits, and dejeitiiers subsists, was perfectly un- 
known to him He had much to learn; but as 
his nature was of an inquiring character, he was 
as equal as he was well inclined to its task. It 
was then, with less enjoyment of the scene for its 
absurdity, than actually as an occasion to acquire 
knowledge of people and modes of living hitherto 
unknown, he listened gravely to the present dis- 
cussion, and sat with attentive ears to hear who 
was to take in Lady Janet, and whether Sir Archy 
should precede the chief justice or not; if a 
dragoon colonel should take the pas of an at- 
torney-general, and whether it made the same 
difference in an individual's rank that it did in 
Ills comfort, that he was on the half-pay list. 
When real rank is concerned, few things are 
easier than the arrangement of such details; the 
rules are simple, the exceptions few, if any; but 
in a society where the distinctions are inappreci- 
able, where the designations are purely profes- 
sional, an algebraic equation is simpler of solution 
than such difficulties. 

Then came a very animated debate as to the 
places at table, wherein lay the extreme difficulty 
of having every one away from the fire and 
nobody in a draught, except of course those little 
valued guests who really appeared to play the 
ignoble part of mortar in a great edifice, being 
merely the cohesive ingredient that averted fric- 
tion between more important materials. Next 
came the oft-disputed question as to whether the 
champagne should be served with the petits pities. 
after the fish, or at a remote stage of the second 
course, the young ladies being eager advocates of 
the former, Mrs. Kennyfeck as firmly denounc- 
ing the practice as a new-fangled thing, that " the 
dean" himself said he had never seen at Christ- 
church, but the really great debate arose on a 
still more knotty point, and one on which it ap- 
peared the family had brought in various bills, 
without ever discovering the real remedy: it was 
by what means — of course, moral force means — 
it were possible to induce old Lady Blennerbore 



to rise from table whenever Mrs. Kennyfeck had 
decreed that move to be necessary. 

It was really moving to listen to Mrs. Kenny- 
feck's narratives of signals unnoticed and signs 
unattended to; that even on the very last day her 
ladyship had dined there, Mrs. Kennyfeck had 
done little else for three-quarters of an hour than 
half stand and sit down again, to the misery of 
herself and the discomfort of her neighbors. 

" Poor dear old thing," said Olivia, " she is so 
very near-sighted." 

"Not a bit of it," said her sister; "don't tell 
me of bad sight, that can distinguish the decanter 
of port from the claret, which 1 have seen her do 
some half-dozen times without one blunder." 

" I'd certainly stop the supplies," said Cashel; 
" wouldn't that do?" 

"Impossible!" said Miss Kennyfeck; "you 
couldn't starve the whole garrison for one refrac- 
tory subject." 

" Mr. Linton's plan was a perfect failufe, too," 
said Mrs. Kennyfeck. "He thought by the in- 
troduction of some topic ladies do not usually 
discuss, that she would certainly withdraw; on 
the contrary, her ladyship called out to me, ' I 
see your impatience, my dear, but I must hear 
the end of this naughty story.' We tried the 
French plan, too, and made the gentlemen rise 
with us; but really they were so rude and ill- 
tempered the entire evening after, I'll never ven- 
ture on it again." 

Here the whole party sighed and were silent, 
as if the wishtd-for mode of relief were as dis- 
tant as ever. 

" Must we really ask those Claridge girls to 
sing, mamma?" said Miss Kennyfeck, after a long 
pause. 

" Of course you must. They were taught by 
Costa, and they are always asked wherever they 

go." 

"Asa matter of curiosity, Mr. Cashel, the thing 
is worth hearing. Paganini's monocorde was 
nothing to it, for they'll go through a whole scena 
of Donizetti with only one note on their voice. 
Oh, dear! how very tiresome it all is: the same 
little scene of pressing, and refusals, and entrea- 
ties, and rejections, and the oft-repeated dispute 
of the sisters between ' Notte divina' and ' Non 
vedro mai,' ending in that Tyrolese thing, which 
is on every organ in the streets, and has not the 
merit of the little shaved dog with the hat in his 
mouth, to make it droll. And then" — here Miss 
Kennyfeck caught a side glance of a most rebuk- 
ing frown on her mother's face, so that adroitly 
addressing herself to Cashel, she seemed unaware 
of it— "and then, when the singing is over, and 
those who detest music are taking their revenge 
by abusing the singers, and people are endeavor- 
ing to patch up the interrupted chattings — then, 
I suppose, we are, quite suddenly, without the 
slightest premeditation, to suggest a quadrille or 
carpet-dance. This is to be proposed as a most 
new and original idea that never occurred to any 
one before, and is certain to be hailed with a 
warm enthusiasm: all the young Indies smiling 
and smirking, and the gentlemen fumbling for 
their soiled kid gloves — clean ones would destroy 
the merit of the impromptu." 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



403 



"I'm certain Mr. Cashel's impression of our 
society here will scarcely be flattering, from what 
he has heard this evening," said Mrs. Kennyfeck, 
rising. 

" He'll see with his own eyes to-morrow 
night, "said Miss Kennyfeck, coolly. 

" Will you favor me with a little of your time 
in the morning?" said Mi'. Kennyfeck to Cashel. 
"I find that I cannot avoid troubling you; there 
are several documents for signature, and if you 
could devote an hour, or, if possible, two " 

"I am perfectly at your orders," said Cashel ; 
"the ladies say that tliey will not ride, and there- 
fore dispose of me as you like." 

A hearty good-night followed, and the party 
broke up. 



CHAPTER XL 

■ A DRIVE WITH THE LADIES. 

"Geld kann vieles in der Welt." — Wiener Lied. 
(Money can do much in this world ) 

When Cashel descended the stairs to breakfast, 
he took a peep into the drawing-room as he went, 
some slight hope of seeing Olivia, perhaps, sug- 
gesting the step. He was disappointed, however ; 
except a servant arranging candles in the lustres, 
the room was empty. The same fate awaited him 
ill the breakfast-room, where a small table, most 
significantly laid for two, showed that a tcte-a-tHe 
with his host was in store for him. No wonder, 
then, if Mr. Kennyfeck saw something of im- 
patience in the air of his young guest, whose 
eyes turned to the door each time it opened, or 
were as hastily directed to the garden at each 
stir without — evident signs of thoughts directed 
in channels different from the worthy solicitor's. 

Confess, my dear reader — if you be of the se,x 
to judge of these matters — confess it is excessively 
provoking, when you have prepared your mind, 
sharpened your wit — perhaps, too, curled your 
whiskers — with a latent hope that you are to meet 
and converse with two very handsome, and 
sprightly girls, that the interview is converted into 
a scene with " Papa." For ourselves, who ac- 
knowledge to have a kind of Catholicism in these 
affairs, who like the dear creatures in all the 
flaunting dash of a riding-hat and habit, canter- 
ing away of a breezy day, with laugliing voice and 
half uncurled hair; who delight to see them 
lounging in a britschka or lolling in a phaeton; 
who gaze with rapture on charms heightened by 
the blaze of full dress, and splendid in all the 
brilliancy of jewels and flowers; we own that we 
have a kind fondness, almost amounting to a 
preference, to the prim coquettishness of a morn- 
ing dress — some light muslin thing, floating and 
gauzy — showing the figure to perfection, and in its 
simplicity suiting well the two braids of hair, so 
innocently banded on the cheeks. There is some- 
thing of conscious power in the quiet garb, a 
sense of trustfulness; it is like the warrior ad- 
vancing without his wea])ons to a conference that 
is exceedingly pleasing, seeming to say. You see 
that I am not a being of tulle and gauze, and 



point de Bruxelles, of white satin, and torquoise, 
and pink camelias, but a creature whose duties 
may be in the daily round of life, meant to sit 
beside on a grassy slope as much as on a velvet 
ottoman, to talk with as well as flirt with. 

We have no means of knowing if Cashel was of 
our mind, and wliether these deini- toilette visions - 
were as suggestive to his as they are to our 
imagination, but that he bore his disappointment 
with a very bad grace we can perfectly answer 
for, and showed, by his distracted manner and 
inattentive air, that the papa's coni[)anionship 
was a very poor substitute for the daughters'. 

It must be owned, too, that Mr. Kennyfeck was 
scarcely a brilliant converser, nor, had he been 
so, was the matter under consideration of a kind 
to develop and display his abilities. The worthy 
solicitor had often promised himself the pleasure 
he now enjoyed of recounting the whole story of 
the law proceedings. It was the great event of 
his own life, " his Waterloo," and he dwelt on 
every detail with a prosy dalliance that was 
death to the listener. Legal subtleties, shrewd 
and cunning devices of crafty counsellors, all the 
artful dodges of the profession, Cashel heard 
with a scornful indifference or a downright 
apathy, and it demanded all Mr. Kennyfeck's 
own enthusiasm in the case to make him persist 
in a narrative so uninteresting to its only auditor. 

" I fear I weary you, Mr. Cashel," said the' 
solicitor, " with these details, but I really sup- 
posed that you must feel desirous of knowing not;, 
only the exact circumstances of your estate, but 
of learning the very singular history by whicht^ 
your claimwas substantiated." 

" If I am to be frank," said Cashel, boldly, "I 
must tell you that these things possess not the 
slightest interest for me. When I was a gam- 
bler — which, unfortunately, I was at one time — 
w hether I won or lost, 1 never could endure to 
discuss the game after it was over. So long as- 
there was a goal to reach, few men could feel 
more ardor in the pursuit. I believe I have the 
passion for success as strong as my neighbors,, 
but the struggle over, the prize won, whether by 
myself or another, it mattered not, it ceased to- 
have any hold upon me. I could address myself 
to a new contest, but never look back on the old 
one." 

"So that," said Kennyfeck, drawing a long 
breath to conceal a sigh, " I am to conclude thai 
this is a topic you would not desire to renew. 
Well, I yield, of course, only jiray how am I to 
obtain your opinion on questions concerning your 
property?" 

"My opinions," said Cashel, "must be meret 
arbitrary decisions, come to without any knowl-. 
edge; that you are well aware of. I know noth-^, 
ing of this country — neither its interests, its fecl-J 
ings, nor its tastes. I know just as little of whatt' 
wealrii will do, and what it will not do. Tell 
me, therefore, in a few words, what other men, 
situated as I am, would pursue, what habits they 
would adopt, how live, and with whom. If I can 
conform, without any great sscrifice of personal 
freedom, I'll do so, because I know of no slavery 
so bad as notoriety. Just, then, give me your 
couns»l, and I ask, intending to follow it." 



404 



ROLAND CASHEL, 



Few men were less able than Mr. Kennyfeck 
to offer a valuable opinion on these difficult sub- 
jects, but the daily routine of his professional life 
had made him acquainted vvith a certain detail 
that seemed, to himself at least, an undeviating 
rule of procedure. He knew that, to the heir of 
a large estate, coining of age, a wife and a seat 
in Parliament were the two first objects. He 
had so often been engaged in drawing up settle- 
ments for the one, and raising money for the 
other contingency, that they became as associated 
in his mind with one-and-twenty years of age as 
though intended by nature to denote it. 

With some reserve, which we must not scru- 
tinize, he began with the political object. 

"1 suppose, sir," said he, ''you will desire to 
to enter Parliament?" 

"I should like it," said Cashel, earnestly if 
a sense of inferiority would not weigh too heavily 
on me to compensate for the pleasure. With an 
education so neglected as mine, I should run the 
liazard of either unjustly depreciating my own 
judgment, or, what is worse, esteeming it at more 
than its worth. Now, though I suspect that the 
interest of politics would have a great attraction 
for me. I should always occupy too humble a sta- 
tion regarding them, to make that interest a liigh 
one. Omit Parliament, then, and what next?' 

"The duties of a country gentlem:in are vari- 
ous and important — the management of your 
estates " 

" This I must leave in your hands," said 
Cashel, abruptly. ''Suggest something else." 

"Well, of course, these come in a far less im- 
portant category, but the style of your living, 
the maintenance of a house befitting your rank 
and property the reception of your country 
neighbors — all these are duties." 

'I am very ignoraiit of forms," said Cashel, 
ihaughtily; "but I opine that if a man spare 
no monev, with a good cook, a good cellar, a 
good stable, and 'carte lilauche irom the owner 
to make free with everything, these duties are not 
very difficult to perform." 

Had Mr. Kennyfeck known more of such mat- 
:ters, he might have told him that something was 
still wanting — that something which can throw 
its perfume of good-breeding and elegance over 
ithe humble dinner-party in a cottage, and yet be 
absent from the gorgeous splendor of a banquet 
'in a palace. Mr. Kennyfeck did not know this, 
so he accorded his fullest assent to Cashel's 
■opinion. 

'What comes ne.vt? ' said Roland, impatiently, 

" for as I am neither politician nor country gen- 

itleman, nor can I make a pursuit of mere hospi- 

• tality, I really do not see what career is open 

to me " 

Mr. Kennyfeck had been on the eve of intro- 
ducing tlie topic of marri.ige. when this sally 
suddenly routed the attempt The man- who 
saw nothing to occupy him in politics, property, 
or social intercourse, would scarcely deem a 
wife an all-sufficient ambition. Mr Kennyfeck 
was posed. 

"I see, sir, your task is a hard one; it is no 
less than to try and conform my savage tastes 
and habits to civilized usages — a difficult thing, 



I am certain; however, I promise compliance 
with any ritual for awhile. I have often been 
told that the possession of fortune in these coun- 
tries imposes more restraints in the sliape of 
duties, than does poverty elsewhere. Let nie 
try the problem for myself. Now, dictate, and 
I obey." 

"After all," said Mr. Kennyfeck, taking cour- 
age, "few men would deem it a hard condition 
in which to find themselves ma^ter of above 
16,000/. a year, to enter Parliament, to keep a 
good house, and marry — as every man in your 
ciicumstances may — the person of his choice." 

*0h! Is matrimony another article of the 
code?" said Cashel, smiling "Well, that is the 
greatest feature, because the others are things to 
abandon, if not found to suit your temper or in- 
clination — but a wife — tliat does look soiiievvhat 
more permanent. No matter, I'll adventure all 
and everything — of course depending on your 
guidance for the path '' 

Mr Kennyfeck was too happy at these signs 
of confidence to neglect an opportunity for 
strengthening the ties, and commenced a very 
prudent harangue upon the necessity of Cashel's 
using great caution in his first stepS; and not 
committing himself by anything like political 
])ledges. till he had firmly decided whith side to 
adopt. 'As to society," said he, of couise you 
will select those who please you most for your 
intimates, but in ])oliiics there are manyconsid 
erations very different from mere liking. Be 
only guarded, however, in the beginning, and you 
risk notliing by wailing." 

"And as to the other count in the indict- 
ment," said Cashel, .interrupting a rather ])rosy 
dissertation about political jiarties- — "as to the 
other count — matrimony I mean. I conclude, 
as the world is so exceedingly kind as to take a 
profound interest in all the sayings and doings 
of a nian with money, that perhaps it is not in- 
different regarding so eventful a step as his mar- 
riage. Now, pray, Mr. Kennyfeck, having en- 
tered Parliament, kept open house, hunted, shot, 
raced, dined, gambled, duelled, and the rest, to 
please society, how must I satisfy its exigencies 
in this last particular? 1 mean, is there any 
peculiar style of lady — tall, short, brunette or 
fair, dark-eyed or blue-eyed, or what, in short, 
is the person I must marry if I would avoid 
transgressing any of those formidable rules which 
seem to regulate every action of your lives, and, 
if I believe Mr Phillis, superintend the very 
color of your cravat and the shape of your hat,'" 

"Oh, believe me,' replied Mr Kennyfe<k, 
with a bland persuasiveness, '"fashion is only 
exigeant in small matters; the really momentous 
affairs of life are always at a man's own disposal. 
Whoever is fortunate enough to be Mr. Cashel's 
choice, becomes, by the fact, as elevated above 
envious criticisms, as she will be above the sphere 
where they alone prevail." 

"So far that it is very flattering. Now for an- 
other point. There is an old shipmate of mine 
— a young Spanish officer — who has lived rather 
a rakish kind of life. Lm not quite sure he has 
not had a brush or two vvith our flag, for he 
dealt a little in ebonj — you understand— the 



ROLAND CASH EL, 



405 



slave-trade, I mean. How would these fine gen- 
tlemen, I should like to know, receive him? 
Would they look coldly and distantly at him' I 
should naturally wish to see him at my iiouse, 
but not that he might be offered anything like 
slight or insult." 

'■ I should defer it, certainly. I would recom- 
mend you not pressing this visit, till you have sur- 
rounded yourself with a certain set, a party by 
whom vou will be known and upheld." 

" So then, if I understand you aright, I must ob- 
tain a kind of security for my social good con- 
duct before the world will trust me? Now, this 
does seem rather hard, particularly as no man is 
guilty till he has been convicted." 

" i'he bail-bond is little else than a matter of 
form," said Mr. Kennyfeck, smiling, and glad to 
cap an allusion which his professional pursuits 
made easy of comprehension. 

" Well'" sighed Cashel, "I'm not quite certain 
that this same world of yours and I shall be long 
friends, if even we begin as such I have all my 
life been somewhat of a rebel, except where au- 
thority was lax enough to make resistance un- 
necessarv. How am I to get on here, hemned 
in and fenced by a hundred restrictions?" 

Mr Kennyfeck could not explain to him that 
these barriers were less restrictions against per- 
sonal liberty than defences against aggression; 
so he only murmured some commonplaces about 
"getting habituated," and "time," and so on, 
and apologized for what he, in reality, might 
have expatiated on as privileges. 

" My mistress wishes to know, sir," said a foot- 
man, at this juncture, "if Mr. Cashel will drive 
out with her? the carriage is at the door." 

" Delighted!" cried Cashel, looking at the same 
time most uncourteously pleased to get away 
from his tiresome companion 

Cashel found Mrs. Kennyfeck and her daugh- 
ters seated in a handsome barouche, whose ap- 
pointments, bating, perhaps, some little exuber- 
ance in display, were all perfect. The ladies, 
too, were most becomingly attired, and the transi- 
tion from the little cobvvebbed den of the solici- 
tor to the free air and pleasant companionship, 
excited his spirits to the utmost. 

" How bored you must have been by that in- 
terview!" said Mrs. Kennyfeck, as they drove 
away. 

" Why do you say so?" said Cashel, smiling. 

" You looked so weary, so thoroughly tired 
out, when you joined us. I'm certain Mr. Ken- 
nyfeck has been reading aloud all the deeds and 
documents of the trial, and reciting the hundred- 
and-one difficulties which his surpassing acute- 
ness, poor dear man! could alone overcome." 

"No, indeed you wrong him," said Roland, 
with a laugh; "he scarcely alluded to what he 
might have reasonably dwelt upon with pride, 
and what demands all my gratitude. He was 
rather giving me, what I so much stand in need 
of, a little lecture on my duties and devoirs as a 
possessor of fortune; a code, I shame to confess, 
perfectly strange to me." 

A very significant glance from Mrs. Kennyfeck 
towards the girls revealed the full measure of 
her contempt for the hardihood of poor Mr. 



Kennyfeck's daring, but quickly assuming a smile, 
she said, "And are we to be permitted to hear 
what these excellent counsels were, or are these 
what the admiralty calls ' secret instructions?' " 

" Not in the least. Mr. Kennyfeck sees plainly 
enough — it is but too palpable — that I am as 
ignorant of this new world as he himself would 
be, if dropped down suddenly in an Indian en- 
campment, and that as the thing I detest most 
in this life is any unnecessary notoriety, I want 
to do, as far as in me lies, like my neighbors. I own 
to you, that the little sketch with which he fav- 
ored me is not too fascinating, but he assures me 
that with time, and patience, and zeal, I'll get 
over my difficulties, and make a very tolerable 
country gentleman." 

''But, my dear Mr. Cashel," said Mrs. Kenny- 
feck, with a great emphasis on tiie epithet, " why 
do you think of listening to Mr. Kennyfeck on 
sucli a subject? Poor man, he takes all his no- 
tions of men and manners from the Exchequer 
and Common Pleas." 

" Papa's models are all in horse-hair wigs — 
fat mummies in ermine!" said Miss Kennjfeck. 

" When Mr. Cashel knows Lord Charles," said 
Olivia. 

"Or Mr. Linton " 

"Or the dean," broke in Mrs. Kennyfeck; 
"for although a Churchman, his information on 
every subject is boundless." 

Miss Kennyfeck gave a sly look towards Cashel, 
which very probably entered a dissent to her 
mamma's opinion. 

" If I were you," resumed she, tenderly, '[ 
know what I should do; coolly rejecting all 
their counsels, I should fashion ni)' life as it 
pleased myself to live, well assured that in fol- 
lowing my bent, I should find plenty of people 
only too happy to lend me their companionship 
Just reflect, for a moment, how very agreeable 
you can make your house; without in tlie least 
compromising any taste or inclinaticn of your 
own; without, in fact, occupying your mind on 
the subject." 

"But the world, ' remarked Mrs. Kennyfeck, 
" must be cared for! It would not do for one 
in Mr. Cashel's station to form his associates 
only among those whose agreeability is thei: rec- 
ommendation.' 

"Then let him know the dean, mamma," said 
Miss Kennyfeck, slyly. 

" Yes, my dear," rejoined Mrs. Kennyfeck, 
not detecting the sarcasm, " I cannot fancy one 
more capable of affording judicious counsel. 
You spoke about ordering plate, Mr. Cashel; 
but of course you will apjjly to Storr and Morti- 
mer. Everything is so much better in London; 
otherwise, here we are at Leonard's." 

The carriage drove up, as she spoke, to the 
door of a very splendid-looking shop, where in 
all the attractive display modern taste has in- 
vented, plate and jewelry glittered and daz- 
zled. 

" It was part of Mr. Kennyfeck's counsel, this 
morning," said C'ashel, "that I should purchase 
anything I want in Ireland, so far, at least, as 
practicable; so, if you will aid me in choosing, 
we'll take the present opportunity." 



406 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



Mrs Kennyfeck was overjoyed at the bare 
mention of such an occasion of display, and 
sailed into the shop with an air that sooke plain 
as words themselves, " I'm come to make your 
fortune. " So palpable, indeed, was the manner 
of her approach, that the shopman hastily re- 
tired to seek the jjroprietor of the establishment 
—a. little pompous man, with a bald head — who, 
having a great number of " bad debts" among 
his high clients, liad taken to treating great folk 
with a very cool assumption of equality. 

'' Mr. Cashel is come to look about some plate, 
Mr. Leonard. Let us see your book of draw- 
ings; and have you those models you made for 
Lord Keliorane'" 

"We have better, ma'am,'' said Leonard. 
" We have the plate itself. If you will step up- 
stairs. It is all laid out on the tables. The fact 
is" — here he dropped his voice — "his lordship's 
marriage with Miss Fenchurch is broken off, 
and he will not want the plate, and we have his 
orders to sell it at once." 

"And is that beautiful pony-phaeton, with the 
two black Arabians, to be sold?" asked Miss 
Kennyfeck, eagerly. "He only drove them 
once, I think." 

" Yes, madam, everything: they are all to be 
auctioned at Dycer's to-day." 

"At what hour.'" inquired Cashel. 

" At three, precisely, sir." 

" Then it wants but five minutes of the time," 
said Cashel, looking at his vi-atch. 

"But the plate, sir? Such an opportunity may 
never occur again," broke in Leonard, fearful of 
seeing his customer depirt unprofitably. 

"Oh, to be sure. Let us see it," said Cashel, 
as he handed Mrs. Kennyfeck up-stairs. 

An exclamation of surprise and delight burst 
from the party at the magnificent display which 
greeted them on entering the room. How splen- 
did — what laste — how very beautiful — so elegant 
— so massive — so chaste! and fifty other encom- 
iastic phrases. 

" Very fine, indeed, ma'am," chimed in 
■Leonard; "cost fifteen and sevenpence an ounce 
throughout, and now to be sold for thirteen 
shillings." 

"What is the price?" said Cashel, in a low 
whisper. 

" There are, if I remember right, sir, but 
I'll ascertain in a moment, eight thousand 
ounces." 

" I want to know the sum in one word," re- 
joined Cashel, hastily. 

" It will be something like three thousand 
seven hundred and " 

"Well, say three thousand seven hundred, it 
i3 mine." 

"These ice-pails are not included, sir." 

" Well, send them also, and let me know the 
price. How handsome that. brooch is! Let me 
see it on your velvet dress, Mrs. Kennyfeck. 
Yes, that really looks well. Pray let it remain 
there." 

"Oh, I could- not think of such a thing! It is 
f;ir too costly. It is the most splendid " 

"You'll not refuse me, I hope, a first request, 
madam," said he, with a half offended air. 



Mrs. Kennyfeck, really overwhelmed by the 
splendor of the gift, complied with a reluctant 
shame. 

"These are the diamonds that were ordered 
for the bride," said Leonard, opening a jewel- 
casket, and exhibiting a most magnificent suite. 

"Oh, how sorry she must be'" cried Miss 
Kennyfeck, as she surveyed the glittering mass, 

" If she loved him," murmured Olivia, in a 
low whisper, as if to herself, but overheard by 
Cashel, who kept his eyes towards her with an 
expression of deep interest 

" If the gentleman stood in need of such a set," 
said Leonard, "I am empowered to dispose of them 
at the actual cost. It is old Mr. Fenchurch 
who suffers all the loss, and he can very well 
afford it. As a wedding present, sii " 

" But I am not going to be married, that I 
know of," said Cashel, smiling. 

" Perhaps not this week, sir, or the next," re- 
joined the self-sufificient jeweler; " but, of course, 
that time will come. Two thousand pounds for 
such a suite is postively getting them a present, 
to break them up and reset them." 

" How shocking!" cried Miss Kennyfeck. 

"Yes. madam; but what is to be done? they 
only suit large fortunes in their present form; 
these, unfortunately, are very rare with us." 

"A quarter past three!" exclaimed Cashel; 
" we shall be too late." 

' .'^nd the diamonds, sir?'' said Leonard, follow- 
ing him down-stairs. 

" Do you think them so handsome?" said Cashel 
to Olivia, as she walked at his side. 

" Oh, they are most beautiful," replied she, 
with a bashful falling of her eyelids. 

"I'll take them also," whispered Cashel to 
Leonard, who, for perhaps the only time for 
years past, accompanied the party, bare-headed, 
to their carriage, and continued bowing till they 
drove away. 

"Dycer's," said Mrs. Kennyfeck; "and as 
fast as you can." 

With all their speed they came too late. The 
beautiful e(iuipage had been already disposed of, 
and was driving from the gate as they drew up. 

" How provoking! — how terribly provoking!" 
exclaimed Mrs. Kennyfeck. 

" I declare, I think them handsomer than ever," 
said Miss Kennyfeck, as she surveyed the two 
well-matched and highly-bred ponies. 

"Who bought them?" asked Mrs. Kennyfeck. 

" I am the fortunate individual, or rather the 
unhappy one, who excites such warm regrets," 
said Mr. Linton, as he lounged on the door of 
the carriage. " I would I were Rothschild, or his 
son, or his godson, to beg your acceptance of 
them." 

" What did you give for them, Mr Linton?" 
asked Mrs. Kennyfeck. 

" How unfair to ask; and you, too, who under- 
stand these things so well." 

"I want to purchase them," said she, laughing; 
''that was my reason." 

"To you, then, the price is what I have just paid 
— a hundred and fifty." 

" How cheap!" 

"Absolutely for nothing. I bought them on 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



407 



no other account. I really do not want such an 
equipage." 

"To be serious, then," resumed Mrs. Kenny- 
feck, "we came here with Mr. Cashel to pur- 
chase them, and just arrived a few minutes too 
late." 

"Quite early enough to allow of my being 
able to render you a slight service; without, how- 
ever, the satisfaction of its having demanded any 
effort from nie. Will )oii present nie to Mr, 
Cashel.'" The gentlemen bowed and smiled, and 
Linton resumed. "If you care for the ponies, 
Mr. Cashel, I am deliglued to say they are at 
your service. I really bought them, as I say, 
because they were going for nothing." Cashel did 
not know how to return the generosity, but 
accepted the offer, trusting that time would open 
an occasion to repay the favor. 

" Shall I send them home to you, or will you 
drive them.'" 

" Win you venture to accompany me?" said 
Cashel, turning to Olivia Kennyfeck; who, seeing 
at once the impropriety of a proposal, which 
Roland's ignorance of tlie world alone could have 
committed, was silent and confused. 

"Are you afraid, my dear?" inquired Mrs. 
Kennyfeck, to show that all other objections 
might be waived. 

"Oh no, mamma, if you are not." 

"The ponies are perfectly quiet," said Linton 

" I'm certain, notliing will happen," said Miss 
Kennyfeck, with a most significant glance at her 
sister. 

"Take care of her, Mr Cashel,'' said the 
mamma, as Roland handed the blusi.ing girl to 
her place "I have never trusted her in any 
one's charge before, and if I had not such im- 
plicit confidence " Before the sentence was 

finished, the ponies sprang forward in a trot, the 
equipage in a moment fled and disappeared from 
view. 

"A fine young fellow, he seems to be,' said 
Linton, as he raised his hat in adieu; "and so 
frank, too!" There was a something in his smile 
that looked too intelligent, but Mrs. Kennyfeck 
affected not to notice it, as she said ' Good-by." 



CHAPTER XII. 

THE GREAT KENNYFECK DINNER. 

There were lords and ladies — I saw myself — 

A diike with his Garter, a knight with his Guelph. 

" Orders" — as bright as the eye could see. 

The "Golden Fleece." and tiie "Saint Esprit," 

Black Eagles, and Ivions. and even a Lamb, 

Such an odd-looking thing — from the great "Nizam;" 

Shamrocks and Thistles there were in a heap, 

And the I.egion of Honor from " Louis Philippe," 

So I asked myself — Docs it not seem queer, 

What can bring this goodly company here? 

— Mrs. Thorpe's Ffij e at Twickenham 

Although Mrs. Kennyfeck's company were 
invited for seven o'clock, it was already some- 
thing more than half-past ere the first guest made 
his appearance, and he found himself alone in the 
drawing-roon-, Mrs Kennyfeck, who was a very 



shrewd observer of everything in high life, hav- 
ing remembered, that it twice occurred to herself 
and Mr. K. to have arrived the first at the 
secretary's " Lodge," in the Park, and that thfe 
noble hostess did not descend till at least some 
two or three others had joined them. 

The "first man" to a dinner is the next most 
miserable thing to the " last man" at leaving it. 
The cold air of solitude, the awkwardness of 
seeming too eager to be punctual, the certainty, 
almost inevitable, that the next person who 
arrives is perfectly odious to you, and that you 
will have to sustain a tete-a-tete with the man of 
all others you dislike, all these are the agree- 
ables of the first man; but he who now had to sus- 
tain them was, happily, indifferent to their tortures. 
He was an old, very deaf gentleman, who had 
figured at the dinner-tables of the capital for 
half a century, on no one plea that any one could 
discover, save that he was a " Right Honorable." 
The privilege of sitting at the council had con- 
feri^d the far pleasanter one of assisting at din- 
neis, and liis political career, if not very ambitious, 
had been, what few men can say, unruffled. 

He seated him.self, then, in a very well- 
cushioned chair, and with that easy smile of 
benevolent meaning which certain deaf people 
assume as a counterpoise for the want of colloquial 
gifts, prepared to be, or a least to look, a very 
agreeable old gentleman to the next arrival. A 
full quarter of an liour passed over, without any- 
thing to break the decorous stillness of the house; 
when suddenly the door was thrown wide, and 
tlie butler announced Sir Harvey Upton and 
Captain Jennings. These were two hussar 
officers, vvho entered with that admirable accom- 
paniment of clinking sabres, sabretasches, and 
spurs so essential to a cavalry appearance. 

"Early by Jove!" cried one, ajiproaching the 
mirror over the chimney-piece, and arranging his 
moustaches, perfectly unmindful of the presence 
of the right honorable who sat near it. 

"They are growing worse and worse in this 
House, I think," cried the other. "The last timt 
I dined here, we sat down at a quarter to 
nine." 

"It's all Linton's fault," drawled out the first 
speaker, " he told a story about Long Wellesley 
asking some one for ' ten,' and apologizing for an 
early dinner, as he had to speak in the house 
afterwards Who is here? neat steppers, these 
horses'" 

" It is Kilgoff, and his new wife, — do you know 
her?' 

" I'Jo; she's not one of those pale girls we used 
to ride with ac Leamington?" 

There was no time for reply, when the names 
were announced, "Lord and Lady Kilgoff!" and 
a very weakly-looking old man, with a blue inside 
vest, and enormous diamond studs in his shirt, 
entered, supporting a very beautiful young 
woman, whose proud step, and glancing eye, 
were strange contrasts to his feeble and vacant 
expression. Tlie hussars exchanged significant 
but hasty glances, and fell back while the others 
advanced up the room. 

" Our exv,ellent hostess," said my lord, in a 
low, but distinct voice, " will soon shame Wilton- 



408 



ROLAND CASHEL 



crescent itself in late hoursi I fancy it's nigh 
eight o'clock." 

"It's not their fault, poor things," said she, 
■ lying back in a chair and disposing her magnifi- 
cent dress into the most becoming folds; "peo- 
ple will come late, do what one may." 

"They may do so, that's very true; but I would 
beg to observe you need not wait for them." 
This was said with a smile toward the hussars, 
as though to imply — " There is no reason why 
you should not express an opinion, if it agree 
with mine." 

The baronet immediately bowed, and smiling, 
so as to show a very white range of teeth beneath 
his dark moustache, said: "In part, I agree with 
your lordship; but it requires the high hand of 
fashion to reform the abuse." Here a most in- 
sidious glance at her ladyship most effectually 
conveyed the point of his meaning. 

Just then, in all the majesty of crimson velvet, 
Mrs. Kennyfeck appeared, her comely person 
heaving under the accumulated splendor of lace, 
flowers, and jewelry. Her daughters, more 
simply, but still handsomely dressed, followed, 
Mr. Kennyfeck bringing up the rear, in very 
evident confusion at having torn his kid gloves, 
a misfortune which he was -not clear should be 
buried in silence, or made the subject of public 
apology. 

Lady Kilgoff received Mrs. Kennyfeck's ex- 
cuses for being late with a very quiet, gentle 
smile, but my lord, less given to forgiveness, 
held his watch towards Mr. Kennyfeck, and said: 
" There's always an excuse for a man of business, 
sir, or this would be very reprehensible." For- 
tunately for all parties the company now poured 
in faster, every instant saw some two or three 
arrive: indeed, with such speed did they appear, 
it seemed as if they had all waited for a move- 
ment en masse: Judges and generals, with nieces 
and daughters manifold, country gentlemen, 
clients, the (•'//> of Dublin diners-out, the Whites, 
the Rigbys, with their ringleted girls, the young 
member for Macturk, the solicitor-general and 
Mrs. Knivett, and, at last, escorted by his staff of 
curates and small vicars, came " the dean" him- 
self conducting a very learned dissertation on 
the musical properties of the " Chickgankazoo," 
a three-stringed instrument of an African tribe, 
and which he professed to think "admirably 
adapted for country congregations too poor to 
buy an organ!" "Any one could play it, Softly 
could play it, Mrs. Kennyfeck could " 

" How do you do, Mr. Dean.'" said that lady, 
in her sweetest of voices. 

The dean accepted the offered hand, but, 
without attending to tlie salutation, went on with 
a very curious argument respecting the vocal 
chords in the human throat, which he promised 
to demonstrate on any thin lady in the company. 

The chief secretary's fortunate arrival, however, 
rescued the devoted fair one from the dean's 
scientific ardor, for Mr. Meek was a great per- 
sonage in the chief circles of Dublin. Any 
ordinary manner, in com.parison with Mr. Downie 
Meek's, would be as linsey-wolsey to three pile 
velvet! There was a yielding softness, a delicious 
compliance about him, which won him the world's 



esteem, and pointed him out to the Cabinet as the 
very man to be "Secretary for Ireland." Con- 
ciliation would be a weak word to express the 
suave but winning gentleness of his official deal- 
ings. The most frank of men, he was unbounded 
in professions, and if so elegant a person could 
have taken a hint from so humble a source, we 
should say, that he had made his zoological 
studies available and imitated thecuttle-fish, since 
when close penned by an enemy he could always 
escape, by muddying the water. In this great 
dialectic of the Castlereagh school he was per- 
fect, and could becOme totally unintelligible at 
the shortest notice. 

After a few almost whispered words to his 
hostess, Mr. Meek humbly requested to be pre- 
sented to Mr. Cashel. Roland, who was then 
standing beside Miss Kennyfeck, and listening 
to a rather amusing catalogue of the guests, 
advanced to make the secretary's acquaintance. 
Mr. Downie Meek's approaches were perfect, and 
in the few words he spoke, most favorably 
impressed Cashel with his unpretentious, un- 
affected demeanor. 

" Are we waiting for any one, Mr. Kennyfeck?" 
said his spouse, with a delicious simplicity of voice. 

"Oh, certainly!" exclaimed her less accom- 
plished husband, "Sir Andrew and Lady Janet 
MacFarline, and Lord Charles Frobisher, have 
not arrived." 

" It appears to mc" — a favorite expression of 
his lordship, with a strong emphasis on the pro- 
noun — " it appears to i/it\" said Lord Kilgoff, 
" that Sir Andrew MacFarline waits for the tattoo 
at the Royal Barrack to dress for dinner;" and 
he added, somewhat lower, " I made a vow, 
which I regret to have broken to-day, never to 
dine wherever he is invited." 

"Here they come! here they come at last," 
cried out several voices together, as the heavy 
tread of carriage-horses was heard advancing, 
and the loud summons of the footman resounded 
through the square. 

Sir Andrew and Lady Janet MacFarline were 
announced in Mr. Pearse's most impressive 
manner; and then, after a slight pause, as if to 
enable the company to recover themselves from 
the shock of such august names, Lord Charles 
Frobisher and Captain Foster. 

Sir Andrew was a tall, raw-boned, high-cheeked 
old man, with white head, red nose and a very 
Scotch accent, whose manners, after forty years' 
training, still spoke of the time that he carried a 
halbert in the " Black Watch." Lady Janet was 
a little, grim-faced, grey-eyed old lady, with a 
hunch, who with a most inveterate peevishness 
of voice, and a most decided tendency to make 
people unhappy, was the terror of the garrison. 

" We hae na kept ye waitin, Mrs. Kennyfeck, 
I humbly hope.'" said Sir Andrew. 

" A good forty minutes, Sir Andrew," broke in 
Lord Kilgoff, showing his watch; "but you are 
always the last." 

" He was not recorded as such in the official 
despatch from ' Maida,' my lord," said Lady 
Janet, fiercely; "but with some people there is 
more virtue in being early at dinner than first up 
the breach in an assault!" 



ROLAND CASHEL, 



409 



"The siege will always keep hot, my lady," 
interposed a very well wliiskered gentleman in a 
blue coat and two inside-waistcoats "the soup 
will not." 

"Ah! Mr. Linton," said she, holding out two 
fingers. " Why weren't you at our picnic?" 
Then she added, lower: " Give me your arm 
in to dinner. I can't bear that tiresome old man." 
Linton bowed and seemed delighted, while a 
scarcely perceptible motion of the brows conveyed 
an apology to Miss Kennvfeck. 

Dinner was at length announced, and after a 
little of what Sir Andrew called "clubbing the 
battalions" they descended in a long procession. 
Cashel, after vainly essaying to secure either of 
the Kennyfeck girls as his companion, being ob- 
liged to pair off with Mrs. White, the lady who 
always declined, but never failed to come. 

It is a singular fact in the physiology of 
Aniphytrionism, that second-class people can al- 
ways suceed in a " great dinner," though they 
fail egregiously in all attempts at a small party. 
We reserve the reason for another time, to record 
the fact, that Mrs. Kennyfeck's table was both 
costly and splendid: the soups were admirable, 
the Madeira perfect in flavor, the pates as hot, 
and the champagne as cold, the fish as fresh, 
and the venison as long kept, the curry as high 
seasoned, and the pine-apple ice as delicately 
simple, as the most refined taste could demand. 
The material enjoyments were provided with 
elegance and abundance, and the guests — the lit- 
tle chagrin of the long waiting over — all disposed 
to be chatty and agreeable. 

Like a tide first breaking on a low strand, in 
small and tiny ripples, then gradually coming 
bolder in, with courage more assured, and 
greater force, the conversation of a dinner usually 
runs; till at last, at the high flood, the great 
waves tumble madly one upon another, and the 
wild chorus of the clashing water wakes up " the 
spirit of the storm." 

Even without the aid of the " Physiologie du 
GoQt," people will talk of eating while they eat, 
and so the chit-chat was cuisine in all its moods 
and tenses, each bringing to the common stock 
some new device in cookery, and some anecdotes 
of his travelled experience in " gourmandise," 
and while Mr. Linton and Lord Charles celebrated 
the skill of the "Cadran," or the "Schwan', at 
Vienna, the " dean" was critically e.xj^laining to 
poor Mrs. Kennyfeck, that Homer's heroes had 
proliably the most perfect, rati that ever was 
served, the juices of the meat being preserved in 
such large masses. 

"Soles, with a ' gratin' of fine gingerbread, I 
saw at Metternich's," said Mr. Linton, "and 
they were excellent." 

"I like old Jules Perregaux's idea better, 
what he calls his cotelettes a la financiers." 

"What are they? I never tasted them." 

■' Very good mutton cutlets en papi/lolte, the 
envelopes being billets de banque of a thousand 
francs each." , 

" Is it permitted to help one's self twice, my 
lord?" 

" I called for the dish again, but found it had 
been too successful. De Brigues did a neat 



thing that way^ in a little supper he gave to the 
artistes of the Opera-comique; the jellies were 
all served with rings in them — turquoise, diamond, 
emerald, pearl, and so on — so that the fair 
guests had all the excitement of a lottery as the 
plat came round to him." 

"The kick-shaws required something o' that 
kind to make them endurable," said Sir Andrew, 
grufily; " gie me a haggis, or a cockieleekie." 

" VVhat is that?" said Miss Kennyfeck, who 
saw with a sharp malice how angrily Lady Janet 
looked at the notion of tlie coming ex|)lanation. 

" I II tell ye wi' pleasure, Miss Kannyfack, hoc 
to mak' a cockie-leekie." 

" Cockie-leekie, undc dcrivaiur cockie-leekie?" 
cried the dean, who having taken a breathing 
canter through Homer and Horace, was quite 
ready for the moderns. 

" What, sir?" asked Sir Andrew, not under- 
standing the question. 

" I say, what's the derivation of your cockie- 
leekie — the etymology of the phrase?" 

" I dinna ken, an' I dinna care. It's mair 
needfu' that one kens hoo to mak' it, than to speer 
wha gave it the name of cockie-leekie. 

" More properly pronounced, coq a lecher," said 
the inexorable dean. " The dish is a French 
one." 

" Did ever any one hear the like?" exclaimed 
Sir Andrew, utterly confounded by the assertion. 

"I confess, Sir Andrew," said Linton, "it's 
rather hard on Scotland. They say you stole all 
vour ballad-music from Italy, and now they claim 
your cookery from France!" 

" The record," said the attorney-general across 
the table, " was tried at Trim. Your lordships 
sat with the chief baron." 

" I remember perfectly; we agreed that the 
king's bench ruled right, and that the minor's 
claim was substantiated." Then turning to Mrs. 
Kennyfeck, who, out of politeness, had affected 
to take interest in what she could not even under- 
stand a syllable of, he entered into a very learned 
dissertation on " heritable property," and the great 
difficulties that lay in the way of defining its 
limits. 

Meanwhile "Pipeclay," as is not unsuitably 
styled mess-table talk, passed among the military, 
with the usual quizzing about regimental oddities. 
Brovvnrigg's cob — Hanshaw's wiiiskers — Talbot's 
buggy — and Carey's inimitable recipe for punch, 
the dean throwing in his negatives here and there, 
to show that nothing was " too hot or too heavy" 
for his intellectual fingers. 

" Bad law! Mr. Chief Justice," said he, in an 
authoritative tone. " Doves in a cot, and coneys 
in a warren, go to the heir. With respect to 
deer " 



"Oh, dear, how tiresome!" whispered Mrs. 
White to Cashel, who most heartily assented to 
the exclamation. 

" What's the name o' that beastie, young gen- 
tleman?" said Sir Andrew, who overheard Cashel 
recounting some circumstances of Mexican life. 

" The chiguire — the wild iiog of the Caraccas," 
said Cashel. "They are a harmless »ort of ani- 
mal, and lead somewhat an unhappy life of it: 
for when they escape the crocodile in the river. 



410 



ROLAND CASHEL, 



they are certain to fall into the jaws of tlie jaguar 
on land." 

"Pretty much like a member o' the Scotch 
Kirk m Ireland," said Sir Andrew, "wi' Episco- 
paalians on the tae haun, and papishes on the 
tither. Are thae creatures gude to eat, sir?' 

"The flesh is excellent, ' broke in the dean 
" They are the Cavia-Capybaia of Linnceus, and far 
superior to our European swine." 

"1 only know," said Cashel. abruptly, "that 
we nevei eat them, except when nothmg else 
was to be had. They are rancid and fishy " 

''A mere prejudice, sir," responded the dean. 
" If you taste the chiguire, to use the vulgar 
name, and let him lie in steep in a white-wine 
vinegar, en marinade, as the French say " 

"Where are you to find the white-wine vine- 
gar in the Savannahs'" said Cashel. " You 
forget, sir, that we are speaking of a country 
where a fowl roasted in his own feathers is a 
delicacy.'' 

" On, how very singular! Do you mean that 
you eat it, feathers and all.'" said Mrs. White. 

"No, madam It's a prairie dish, which I 
assure you, after all, is not to be despised. The 
plat is made this way. You lake a fowl — the 
wild turkey, when lucky enough to find one — 
and cover him all over with soft red clay the 
river clay is the best. You envelop him com- 
pletely; in fact, you make a great ball, somewhat 
the size of a man's head. This done, you light 
a fire, and bake the mass. It requires, probabl)-, 
five or six hours to make the clay perfectly hard 
and dry. When it cracks, the aish is done. 
You then break open the shell, to the outside 
of which the feathers adhere, and the fowl, deli- 
ciously roasted, stands before you." 

" How very excellent — le poulet braise of the 
French, exactly," said Lord Kilu'rff. 

"How cruel!" "How droll!" "How very 
shocking!" resounded through the table; the 
dean the only one silent, for it was a theme on 
which, most singular to say, he could neither 
record a denial nor a correction. 

" I vote for a pic-nic," cried Mrs. White, "and 
that Mr. Cashel shall cook us his dinde a la 
Mexicaine." 

"An excellent thought," said several of the 
younger part of the company. 

"A very bad one, in my notion," said Lord 
Kilgoff, who had no fancy for seeing her lady- 
ship scaling cliffs, and descending steep paths, 
when his own frail limbs did not permit of ac- 
companying her. " Pic-nics are about as vulgar 
a pastime as one can imagine Your dinner is 
ever a failure, your wine detestable; your table 

equipage arrives, smashed, or topsy-turvy " 

Undi topsy-turvy? — unde topsy-turvy, Softly?' 
said the dean, turning fiercely on the curate 
Whence topsy-turvy? Do you give it up? Do 
you, Mr Attorney? Do you, my lord? do you 
give it up, eh.' 1 thought so! Topsy-turvy, quasi, 
top side t other way." 

"It's vera ingenious," said Sir Andrew; ''but 1 
maun say I see no necessity to be always looking 
back to whare a word gat his birth, parentage, o\ 
eddication ' 

It suggests unpleasant associations," said 



Lord Kilgoff, looking maliciously towards Linton, 
who \yas playing too agreeable to her ladyship. 
' The etymology is the key to the true meaning. 
Sir, many of those expressions popularly terintd 

bulls- " 

' Oh, a propos of bulls," said Mr. Meek, in his 
sweetest accent, 'did you hear of a very singu- 
lar outrage committed yesterday upon the lord 
lieutenant's beautiful Swiss bull?" 

"' Did the dean pass an hour with liini?" whis- 
pered Linton to Lady Janet, who hated the 
dignitary. 

It must have been done by mesmerism, I 
fancy.' rejoined Mr. Meek. "The animal, a 
most fierce one, was discovered lying in his pad- 
dock, so perfectly fettered, head, horns, and 
feet, that he could not stir. There is every 
reason to connect the outrage with a political mean- 
ing, for in this morning's ])a|>er, 7 lie Green Isle, 
there is a letter from Mr. O'Kleallier, with a most 
significant allusion to the occurrence. 'The 
time is not distant, says he, 'when John Bull'— 
mark the phrase — ' tied, fettered, and trammelled, 
shall lie prostrate at the feet of the once victim 
of his tyranny ' " 

The sedition is most completely proven by 
the significance of the act," cried out the chief 
justice 

'We hr.ve, consequently, offered a reward for 
the discovery of the perpetrators of this insolent 
offence, alike a crime against property, as an act 
subversive of the respectful feeling due to the 
representative of the sovereign." 

" What IS the amount offered?" said Casliel. 

"One hundred pounds, for such information 
as may lead to the conviction of the person or 
persons transgressing," replied the attorney- 
general. 

" I feel it would be very unfair to suffer the 
government to proceed in an error as to the af- 
fair in question, so that I shall claim the reward, 
and deliver up the offender,'' replied Cashel, 
smiling. 

"Who can it be?" cried Mr. Meek, in aston- 
ishment. 

" Myself, sir," said Cashel. "If you should 
proceed by indictment, as )ou speak of, I hope 
the Misses Kennyfeck may not have to figure as 
■ aiding and abetting,' for they were present 
when I lasso'd the animal." 

" Lasso'd the Swisb bull!" exclaimed several 
together. 

"Nothing more simple," said the dean, hold- 
ing up his napkin over Mrs. Kennyfeck's head, 
to the manifest terror of that lady for her yelloiy 
turban. "You take the loop of a long light 
rope, and measuring the distance wiih your eye, 
you mike the cast, in this manner " 

" Oh dear! oh, Mr. Dean, my bird-of-paradise 
plume!' 

" When you represent a bull, ma'am, you should 
not have feathers," rejoined the implacable 
dean with a very rough endeavor to restore the 
broken plume. " Had you held your head lower 
down in the attitude of a bull's attack, I should 
have lasso'd you at once, and without difficulty." 

' L.i'^'io is part of the verb ' to weary,' ' to fa- 
tigue,' ' to eituuje/ , in fact," said Mr. Linton, 



ROLAN D CASH EL. 



411 



with an admirably-put-on simplicity, and a very 
general smile ran through the company. 

' When did you see Gosford?" said Meek, ad- 
dressing one of the hussar ofificers. eager to re- 
lieve the momentary embarrassment. 

' Not for six months: he's in Paris now " 

■ Does he mention iiie in his letter to you'" 

'' He does," said the other, but with an evi- 
dent constraint, and a side-look as he ended. 

" Yes, faith, he forgets liane of us, said Sir 
Andrew, with a grin. ' He asks after Kanny- 
fack — ould sax-and-eightpence, hecasyou — and 
says he wished you were at Paris, to gie him a 
dinner at the — what d'ye ca' it? — the Roshy de 
something. I see he has a word for ye, my Lord 
Kilgoff He wants to know whether my leddie 
is like to gie ye an heir to the ancient house o' 
Kilgoff in whilk case he'll no be so fond of play- 
ing ecarte wi' George Lushington, wha has 
naething to pay wi' except post-obits on yer 
lordship, he, he, he! Ay, and Charlie, my man," 
continued he, turning to the aide-de-camp, Lord 
Charles Frobisher.. he asks if ye hauld four by 
honors as often as ye used formerly, he says 
there s a fellow at Paris ye couldn't hold a can- 
dle to — he never deals the adversary a card 
higher than the nine.'' 

The whole company, probably in relief to the 
evident dismay created by the allusion to Lord 
Kilgoff, laughed heartily at this sally, and none 
more than the good-looking fellow the object 
of it. 

' But what of Meek, sir? — what does he say 
of Downie?'' 

''He says vera little about Mister Meek ava 
he only inquires what changes we have in the 
poleetical world, and where is that d — d humbug, 
Downie Meek?" 

Another and a heartier laugh now ran through 
the room, in which Mr Downie Meek cast the 
most imploring looks around him. 

'■ Well, cried he, at last, "^ that's not fair it 
is really not fair of Gosford, I appeal to this 
excellent company if I deserve the title.' 

A chorus of negatives went the round, with 
most energetic assurances of dissenting from the 
censure of the letter. 

" Come now, Sir Andrew, said Meek, who, for 
once, losing his balance, would not even omit him 
in the number of approving voices — "come now, 
Sir Andrew I ask you frankly — am I a humbug?'' 

' I canna tell,'' said the cautious old general, 
with a sly shake of the head, ' I can only say. 
sir be ma saul, ye never humbugged vie!'' 

This time the laugh was sincere, and actually 
shook the table Mrs. Kennyfeck, who now 
saw that Sir Andrew, to use the phrase employed 
by his acquaintances, "was up,' determined to 
withdraw, and made her telegraphic signals, 
which soon were answered along the line, save 
by Lady Janet, who stubbornly adhered to her 
glass of claret, with some faint hope that the lag- 
ging decanter might arrive in her neighborhood 
time enough for another 

Poor Mrs. Kennyfeck's devices to catch her 
eye were all in vain, as well might some bore 
of the ' house" hope for the speaker's when he 
was fixedly exchanging glances with " Sir Rob- 



ert.' She ogled and smiled, but to no pur- 
pose. 

" My Leddy — Leddy Janet," said Sir An- 
drew. 

' I hear you, sir 1 heard you twice already 
If you please, my lord, a very little — Mr. Linton, 
I beg for the water I believe. Sir Andrew, you 
have forgotten Mr. Gosford's kind remembrances 
to the dean, 

' Faith, and so 1 did, my leddy He asks 
after ye, Mr Dean, wi' muckle kindness and af- 
fection, and says he never had a hearty laugh 
syne the day ye tried to teach Lady Caroline 
Jedyard to catch a sheep' ' 

The dean looked stern, and Linton asked for 
the secret. 

" It was by handing the beast atween yer 
knees, and so when the dean pit himself i' the 
proper position, wi" his legs out, and the shep- 
herd drove the flock towards him, by fair ill- 
luck it was a ram cam first, and he hoisted his 
reverence up i' the air, and then laid him flat on 
his back, maist dead. Ech, sirs' but it was a 
sair fa no to speak of the damage done to his 
black breeches!" 

This was too much for Lady Janet's endurance, 
and, amid the loud laughter of some, and the 
more difficultly-suppressed mirth of others, the 
ladies arose. 

" Yer na going, leddies! 1 ho])e that naething 
I said — Leddy Kilgoff. Leddy Janet, ech. We 
mun e'en console ourselves wi' the claret,' This 
was said sotto^ as the door closed and the party 
reseated themselves at the table. 

My Jo Janet does like to bide a wee,' mut- 
tered he, half aloud. 

Jo! " cried the Dean, '' is derived from the 
Italian, it s a term of endearment in both lan- 
guages. It s a corruption of Gtoia iiiia.' 

' What may that mean .' 
My joy' my lite' 

■ Eh, that's It is it? Ah, sir these derivatives 
gat mony a twist and turn in the way from one 
land to the tither'* And with this profound 
bit of moralizing, he sipped his glass in reverie. 

The conversation now became more general, 
fewer personalities arose, and as the dean, after 
a few efforts to correct statements respecting the 
'' pedigrees of race-horses, " the odds at hazard," 
" the soundings upon the coral reefs," "the best 
harpoons for the sulphur-bottomed whales, ' only 
made new failures, he sulked and sat silent, per- 
mitting talk to take its course uninterrupted. 
The hussar baronet paid marked attention to 
Cashel, and invited him to the mess for the day 
following. Lord Charles overheard the invitation, 
and said, 'I'll join the party.' while Mr Meek, 
leaning over the table, in a low whisper begged 
Cashel to preserve the whole bull adventure a 
secret, as the press was really a most malevolent 
thing in Ireland! 

During the while the chief justice slept pro- 
foundly, only waking as the bottle came before 
him, and then dropping off again. The attorney- 
general, an overworked man of business, si)oke 
little and guardedly so that the conversation, 
principally left to the younger members of the 
party, ranged over the accustomed topics of hunt- 



412 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



ing, shooting, and deer-stalking, varied by allu- 
sion, on Cashel's part, to sports of far higher, be- 
cause more dangerous, excitement. 

In the pleasant flurry of being attentively lis- 
tened to — a new sensation for Roland — he arose 
and ascended to the drawing-room, where al- 
ready a numerous party of refreshers had arrived. 
Here again Cashel discovered that he was a per- 
son of notoriety; and as, notwithstanding all Mr. 
Downie Meek's precaution, tlie " Lasso'' story 
had got abroad, the most wonderful versions of 
the incident were repeated on every side. 

" How did you say he effected it, Mr. Linton?" 
said the old deaf countess of Dumdram, making 
an ear-trumpet of her hand. 

" By doing what Mr. Meek won't do with the 
Catholics, my lady, taking tlie bull by tiie horns." 

" Don't you think he found conciliation of ser- 
vice besides?" suggested Mr. Meek, with an an- 
gelic simplicity. 

"Isn't he handsome! how graceful! So like a 
Corsair — one of Byron's heroes. I'm dying to 
know him. Dear me, how those Kennyfeck girls 
eat him up. Olivia never takes her eyes ofi him. 
He looks so bored, poor fellow! he's longing to 
be let alone." Such were the muttered com- 
ments on the new object of Dublin curiosity, wiio 
himself was very far from suspecting that his 
personal distinction had less share in his popu- 
larity than his rent-roll and his parchments. 

As we are more desirous of recording the im- 
pression he himself created, than of tracing how 
others appeared to him, we shall make a noise- 
less turn of the salons, and, spy-fashion, listen 
behind the chairs. 

"So you don't think him even good-looking, 
"Lady Kilgoff?'' said Mr. Linton, as he stood 
half behind her seat. 

"Certainly not more than good-looking, and 
not so much as nice-looking — very awkward, and 
ill at ease he seems." 

"That will wear off, when he has the good 
taste to give up talking to young ladies, and de- 
vote himself to the married ones." 

" Enchanting, positively enchanting, my dear, ' 
exclaimed Mrs. Leicester White to a young friend 
beside her. " That description of the forest, 
over which the lianas formed an actual roof, the 
golden fruit hanging a hundred feet above the 
head, was the most gorgeous picture I ever be- 
held " 

" [ wisli you could persuade him,' lisped a 
young lady with large blue eyes, and a profusion 
of yellow hair in ringlets, " to write that little 
story of the Zambo for Lady Blumter's Annual.' 

" I say. Charlie," whispered the baronet to the 
aide-de-camp, "but he's wide-awake that Master 
Cashel; he's a very shrewd fellow, you'll see." 

'■ Do you mean to couch his eyes, Tom?" said 
Lord Charles, with his usual slow, lazy intona- 
tion; "what does he say about the races, will he 
come?" 

Oh, he can't promise; old Kennyfeck has a 
hold upon him just now about law business." 

" You will impress upon him, my dear Mr. 
Kennyfeck," said Mr. Meek, who held the lappet 
of the other's coat, " that there are positively — 
so to say — but two parties in the country — the 



Gentleman and the Jacobin. Whig and Tory, 
orange and green, have had their day; and the 
question is now between those who have some- 
thing to lose, and those who have everything to 
gain." 

" I really could wish that you, who are so far 
better qualified than I am to explain " 

"So I will — I intend, my dear sir. Now, when 
can you dine with me? You must come this 
week, next I shall be obliged to be in London. 
Shall we say Wednesday? Wednesday be it. 
Above all, take care that he doesn't even meet 
any of that dangerous faction — those Morgans. 
They are the very people to try a game of ascen- 
dancy over a young man of great prospects and 
large fortune. O'Growl wants a few men of 
standing to give an air of substance and respect- 
ability to the movement. Lord Witherton will 
be most kind to your young friend, but you must 
press upon him the necessity of being presented 
at once — we want to make him a D.L., and if he 
enters Parliament, to give him the lieutenancy of 
the county." 

While all these various criticisms were circu- 
lating, and amid an atmosphere, as it were, im- 
liregnated by plots and schemes of every kind, 
Cashel stood a very amused spectator of a scene 
wherein he never knew he was the chief actor. 
It would indeed have seemed incredible to him 
that he could, by any change of fortune, become 
an object of interested speculation to lords, 
ladies, members of the government, church dig- 
nitaries, and others He was unaware that the 
man of fortune, with a hand to offer, a consider- 
able share of the influence property always gives, 
livings to bestow, and money to lose, may be a 
very legitimate mark for the enterprising schemes 
of mammas and ministers, suggesting hopes alike 
to black-coats and black-legs. 

Perhaps, among the pleasant bits of credulity 
which we enjoy through life, there is none 
sweeter than that implicit faith we repose in the 
cordial expressions and flattering opinions be- 
stowed upon us, when starting in the race, by 
many who merely, in the jockey phrase, "stand- 
ing to win" upon us, have their own, andnotijwr 
interest before them in the encouragement they 
bestow. 

The discovery of the cheat is soon made, and 
and we are too prone to revenge our own over- 
confidence by a general distrust, from which, again, 
experience, later on, rallies us. So that a young 
man's course is usually from over-simplicity to 
over-shrewdness, and then again to that negligent 
half faith which either, according to the calibre 
of the wearer, conceals deep knowledge of life, 
or hides a mistaken notion of it. Let us return to 
Cashel, who now stood at a table, aiound which 
a considerable number of the party were grouped, 
examining a number of drawings, wliich Mr. 
Pepystell, the fashionable architect, had that day 
sent for Roland's inspection: — Houses, villas, 
castles, cottages, abbeys, shooting-boxes, gate- 
lodges, Tudor and Saxon, Norman and Saracenic, 
— everthing that the morbid imagination of 
architecture run mad could devise and amalgamate 
between the chaste elegance of the Greek and 
the tinkling absurdity of the Chinese. 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



418 



"I do so love a cottage ornee," said Mrs. White, 
taking up a very beautiful representation of one, 
where rose-cv -ed curtains, and a group on a 
grass-plot, with gay dresses and parasols, entered 
into the composite architecture. ''To my fancy, 
that would be a very paradise." 

"Oh, mamma! isn't that so like dear old 
Kilgoran!" said a tall, thin young lady, handing 
an abbey, as large as Westminster, to another in 
widow's black. 

"Oh, Maria! I wonder at your showing me 
what must bring up such sad memories!" said the 
mamma, affectedly, while she pressed her hand- 
kerchief to her eyes. 

" If she means her father's house,' said Lady 
Janet to Linton, "it's about as like a like as — 
Lord Kilgoff to the Farnese Hercules; or his wife 
to any other lady in the peerage." 

"You remember Kilgoran, my lord, said the 
lady in black to the chief justice; " does that re- 
mind you of it?" 

" Very like — very like, indeed, madam," said 
the old jugde, looking at a rock-work grotto in a 
fish-pond. 

" What's this.'" cried another, taking up a great 
Saxon fortress, with bastions, and gate-towers, 
and curtains, as gloomy and sombre as Indian- 
ink could make it. 

"As a residence, I think that is far too solemn- 
looking and sad." 

" What did you say it was, sir," asked the judge. 

" The elevation for the new gaol at Naas, my 
lord," replied Linton, gravely, 

" I'm very glad to hear it. We have been 
sadly crippled for room there latterly ' 

" Do you approve of the Panopticon plan, my 
lord," said Mrs. White, who never omitted a 
question when a hard word could be introduced. 

" It is, madam — you are perfectly correct," 
said the obsequious old judge — "very much the 
same kind of thing as the Pantechnicon," 

"Talking of Panopticon, where 's Kilgoff?" 
whispered Linton to one of the hussars. 

" Don't you see him yonder, behind the harp? 
How that poor woman must be bored by such 
f.spionnage!" 

" If you mean to build a house, sir," said Lady 
Janet, addressing Cashel with a tone of au- 
thority, "don't, I entreat of you, adopt any of 
these absurd outrages upon taste and conveni- 
ence, but have a good square stone edifice " 

" Four, or even five stories high," broke in 
Linton, gravely. 

" Four quite enough," resumed she, '' with a 
roomy hall, and all the reception-rooms leading 
off it. Let your bedrooms " 

"Be numerous enough, at all events," said 
Linton again. 

" Of course; and so arranged that you can de- 
vote one story to families exclusively " 

"Yes; \\'\^ gardens should have their dens as 
remote as possible from the quieter regions." 

"Have amass of small sitting-rooms beside 
the larger salons. In a country-house there's 
nothing like letting people form their own little 
coteries." 

" Wouldn't you have a theatre?" asked Mrs. 
White. 



"There miglit be, if the circumstances ad- 
mitted. But with a billiard-room and a ball- 
room— " 

"And a snug crib for smoking," whispered 
one of the military. 

"I don't see any better style of house," said 
Linton, gravely, "than those great hotels one 
finds on the Rhine, and in Germany ge-nerally: 
they have ample accommodation, and are so di- 
vided that you can have your own suite of rooms 
to yourself." 

" Mathews used to keep house after that fash- 
ion," said Lord Kilgoff, approaching the table. 
" Every one ordered his own dinner, and eat it 
either in his own apartment or in the dining- 
room. You were invited for four days, never 
more." 

" That was a great error; except in that par- 
ticular, I should reccommend the plan to Mr. 
Roland Cashel's consideration." 

" I never heard of it before," said Cashel; 
" pray enlighten me on tie subject." 

"A very respectable country gentleman, sir," 
said Lord Kilgoff, "who had the whim to see 
his company without paying what he deemed 
the heaviest penalty — the fatigue of playing 
host. He therefore invited his friends to come 
and do what they pleased — eat, drink, drive, 
ride, play — exactly as they fancied; only never 
to notice him otherwise than as one of the 
guests " 

" I like his notion prodigiously," cried Cashel; 
" I should be delighted to imitate him." 

"Nothing easier, sir," said my lord, "with 
Mr. Linton for your prime minister; the admin- 
istration is perfectly practicable." 

" Might I venture on such a liberty?" 

"Too happy to be president of your council," 
said Linton, gayly. 

A very entreating kind of look from Olivia 
Kennyfeck here met Cashel's eyes, and he re- 
marked that she left the place beside the table 
and walked into the other room; he himself, al- 
though dying to follow her, had no alternative 
but to remain and continue the conversation. 

" The first point, then," resumed Linton, "is 
the house. In what state is your present man- 
sion?'' 

"A ruin, I believe," said Cashel. 

"How picturesque!" exclaimed Mrs. Leices- 
ter White. 

" I fancy not, madam," rejoined Cashel. " I 
understand it is about the least prepossessing 
bit of stone and mortar the country can exhibit." 

" No matter, let us see it, we'll improvise 
something, and get it ready for the Christmas 
holidays," said Linton. "We have — let us see 
— we have about two months for our preparation, 
and, therefore, no time to lose. We must pre- 
mise to the honorable company that our accom- 
modation is of the simplest; 'roughing' shall be 
the order of the day. Ladies are not to look 
for Lyons silk ottomans in their dressing-rooms, 
nor shall we promise that our conservatory fur- 
nish a fresh bouquet for each fair guest at break- 
fast." 

" Two months are four centuries!" said Mrs. 
White; "we shall accept of no apologies for any 



414 



ROLAND CASHEL, 



short-comings, after such an age of time to pre- 
pare." 

" You can have your fish from Limerick every 
day," said an old bluff-looking gentleman in a 
brown wig. 

" There's a capital fellow, called Tom Cox, by 
the way, somewhere down in that country, who 
used to paint our scenes for the Garrison 'J'hea- 
iricals. Could you make him out, he'd be so 
useful," said one of the military. 

" By all means get up some hurdle-racing," 
cried another. 

Meanwhile, Roland Cashel approached Olivia 
Kennyfeck, who was affecting to seek for some 
piece of music on the pianoforte. 

"Why do you look so sad?" said he, in a low 
tone, and seeming to assist her in the search. 

"Do I?" said she, with the most graceful 
look of artlessness. " I'm sure I didn't know it." 

''There again, wiiat a deep sigli that was; 
come, pray tell me, if I dare to know what has 
grieved you?" 

" Oil, nothing, nothing whatever. Fm sure 1 
never felt in belter spirits. Dear me! Mr. Cashel, 
how terrified I am; there's that dreadful Lady 
Janet has seen us talking together." 

" Well, and what then?" 

"Oh, she is so mischievous, and says such 
horrid, spiteful things, it was she that said 
it " 

" Said what — what did she say?" cried he, 
eagerly. 

"Oh, what have I done!" exclaimed she, cov- 
ering her face with her hands. " Not for the 
world would I have said the words. Oh, Mr. 
Cashel, you, who are so good and so generous, 
do not ask me more." 

"I really comprehend nothing of all this," 
said Cashel, who now began to suspect that she 
had overheard some speech reflecting ujjon 
him, and had, without intending, revealed it; " at 
the same time, I must say, if I had the right, I 
should insist on knowing what you heard." 

"Perhaps he has the right," muttered she, half 
aloud, as if speaking unconsciously; " I believe 
he has." 

"Yes, yes, be assured of it;— what were the 
words?" 

" Oh, I shall die of shaine. Lll never be able 
to speak to you again; but don't look angrv, 
promise that you'll forget them, swear you'll 
never think of my having told them, and 111 
try-" 

" Yes, anything, everythmg; let me hear them." 

"Well," — here she hung her head till the long 
ringlets fell straight from her fair forehead, and 
half concealed the blushing cheek, which each 
moment grew redder — " I am so terrifed, but 
you'll forgive it — I know you will — well, she said, 
looking towards you, ' I am not acquainted with 
this young gentleman yet, but if I should have 
that honor soon, I'll take the liberty to tell liim 
that the worthy father's zeal in his service is ill- 
requited' by his stealing the affections of his 
youngest daughter.'" Scarcely were the words 
uttered, when, as if the strength that sustained 
her up to that moment suddenly failed, she 
reeled back and sank fainting on a sofa. 



" Happily for Cashel's character for propriety, 
a very general rush of ladies, old and )oung, lo 
the spot, prevented him taking her in his arms 
and carrying her to the balcony for air; but a 
universal demand for sal volatile, aromatic vincr 
gar, open windows, and all the usual restora- 
tives, concealed his agitation, which really was 
extreme. 

" You are quite well now, dearest," said her 
mamma, bathing her temples, and so artistically, 
as to make her pale face seem even more beauti- 
ful in the slight dishevelment of her hair. " It 
was the heat." 

" Yes, mamma," muttered she, quite low. 

"Hem! I thought so," whispered Lady Janet 
to a neighbor. " She was too warm." 

" I really wish young ladies would reserve these 
scenes for fitting limes and places. That open 
window has brought back my lumbago," said 
Lord Kilgoff 

"The true treatment for syncope," broke in 
the dean, " is not by stimulants. The want of 
blood on the brain is produced by mechanical 
causes, and you have merly to hold the person 
up by the legs " 

"Oh, Mr. Dean! Oh, fie!" cried twenty voices 
together. 

" I'he dean is only exemplifying his etymology 
on 'top side t'other way,' cried Linton. 

" Lord Kilgoff's carriage stops the w-ay," said 
a servant. And now, the first announcement 
given, a very general air of leave-taking pervaded 
the company. 

" Won't you have some more niufning.' — noth- 
ing round your throat? — a little negus, my lord, 
before venturing into the night air." — ''How 
early!" — '" How late!" — " What a pleasant even- 
ing!"—" What a fine night!'' — " May I offer you 
my arm? — mind that step — good-bye, good-bye— 
don't forget to-morrow." — ''Your shawl is blue — 
that's Lady Janet's." — "Which is your hat?" — 
" That's not mine. Thanks — don't take so much 
trouble." — " Not your carriage, it is the next but 
one — mind the draught." — A hundred good- 
nights, and they are gone! So ends a dinner- 
party, and of ail the company not a vestige is 
seen, save the blaze of the low-burned wax- 
lights, the faded flowers, the deranged furniture, 
and the jaded looks of those, whose faces wreathed 
in smiles for six mortal hours, seek at last the 
hard-bought and well-earned indulgence of a 
hearty yawn! 



CHAPTER Xin. 

TUBBER-EEG. 

He was, the world said, a jovial fellow. 

Who ne'er was known ill Fortune to repine; 

Increasing years had rendered him more mellow. 
And age improved him — as it did his wine. 

—Sir Gavin Gwvnne. 

The Shannon, after expanding into that noble 
sheet of water called Lough Dcrg, suddenly 
turns to the southward, and enters the valley of 
Killaloe, one of the most beautiful tracts of 



ROLAND CASH EL. 



415 



country which Ireland, so rich in river scenery, 
can boast. The transition from the wide lake 
with its sombre backgrounds of grey mountain 
and rocky islands, bleak and bare, to the culti- 
vated aspect of this favored spot, is like that ex- 
perienced in passing from beneath the gloom of 
lowering thunder-clouds into light and joyous 
sunshine. Rich waving woods of every tint and 
hue of foliage, with here and there some spreading 
lawns of deepest green, clothe the mountains on 
cither side, while in bright eddies the rapid river 
glides in between, circling and winding as in 
playful wantonness, till on the far distance it is 
seen passing beneath the ancient bridge of 
Killaloe, whose cathedral towers stand out against 
the sky. 

On first emerging from the lake, the river takes 
an abrupt bend, round a rocky point, and then 
sweeping back again, in a bold curve, forms a 
little bay of deep and tranquil water, descending 
towards which the rich meadows are seen, dotted 
with groups of ancient forest trees, and backed 
by a dense skirting of timber. At one spot, where 
the steep declivity of the ground scarce affords 
footing for the tall ash-trees, stands a little cot- 
tage, at the extremity of which is an old square 
tower; this is Tubber-beg. 

As you sail down the river you catch but one 
fleeting glance at the cottage, and when you look 
again it is gone! The projecting headlands, with 
the tall trees, have hidden it, and you almost 
fancy that you had not seen it. If you enter the 
little bay, however, and leaving the strong cur- 
rent, run into the deep water under shore, you 
arrive at a spot which your memory will retain 
for many a day after. 

In front of the cottage, and descending by a 
series of terraces, to which art has but little con- 
tributed, are a number of flower-plots, whose 
delicious odors float over the still water, while in 
every gorgeous hue are seen the camelia, the 
oleander, and the cactus, with the tulip, the ran- 
unculus, and the carnation; all flourishing in a 
luxuriance, which care, and the favored aspect 
of this sheltered nook, combine to effect. Be- 
hind and around, on either side, the dark-leaved 
holly, the laurustinus, and the arbutus, are seen 
in ail the profusion of leaf and blossom a mild, 
moist air secures, and forming a framework, in 
which stands the cottage itself, its deep thatched 
eave, and porch of rustic-work trellised and fes- 
tooned with creeping plants, almost blending its 
color with the surrounding foliage. Through the 
open windows a paep within displays the hand- 
somely disposed rooms, abounding in all the 
evidences of cultivated taste and refinement. 
Books, in several of the modern languages, are 
scattered on the table, music, drawings of the 
surrounding scenery, in water-color or pencil, all 
that can betoken minds carefully trained and 
exercised, and by their very diversity showing in 
what a world of self-stored resources their pos- 
sessors must live; the easel, the embroidery-frame, 
the chess-board, the half-finished manuscript, the 
newly-copied music, the very sprig of fern which 
marks the page in the little volume on Botany, 
slight things in themselves, but revealing so much 
of daily life! 



If the cottage be an almost ideal represent-a- 
tion of rustic elegance and simplicity, its situa- 
tion is still more remarkable for beauty, for while 
art has developed all the resources of the ground, 
nature, in her own boundless profusion, has as- 
sembled here almost every ingredient of the 
picturesque, and as if to impart a sense of life 
and motion to the stilly calm, a tumbling sheet of 
water gushes down between the rocks, and in 
bounding leaps descends towards the Shannon, of 
which it is a tributary. 

A narrow path, defended by a little railing of 
rustic-work, separates the end of the cottage from 
the deep gorge of the waterfall, but through tiie 
open window the eye can peer down into the 
boiling abyss of spray and foam beneath, and 
catch a glimpse of the biidge, which, foimed of 
a fallen ash-tree, spans the torrent. 

Traversed in every direction by paths, some 
galleried along the face, others cut in the sub- 
stance of the rock, you can pass hours in ramb- 
ling among these wild and leafy solitudes, now, 
lost in shade, now, emerging again, to see the great 
river gliding along, the white sails dotting its 
calm surface. 

Well did Mr. Kenny feck observe to Roland 
Cashel, that it was the most beautiful feature of 
his whole demesne, and that its possession by 
another not only cut him off from the Shannon 
in its handsomest part, but actually deprived the 
place of all pretension to extent and grandeur. 
The spreading woods of Tubbermore were, as it 
seemed, the background to the cottage scene, and 
possessed no character to show that they were 
the property of the greater proprietor. 

The house itself was not likely to vindicate the 
claim the locality denied. It was built with a 
total disregard to aspect or architecture. It was 
a large four-storied edifice, to which, by way of 
taking off from the unpicturesque height, two 
wings had been planned; one of these onlv was 
finished, the other, half-built, had been suffered 
to fall into ruin. At the back, a high brick wall 
enclosed a space intended for a garden, but never 
put into cultivation, and now a mere nursery of 
tall docks and thistles, whose gigantic size almost 
overtopped the wall. All the dirt and slovenli- 
ness of a cottier habitant — for the house was 
occupied by what is misnamed "a care-taker," 
were seen on every hand. One of the great rooms 
held the family; its fellow, on the opposite side 
of the hall, contained a cow and two pigs; cab- 
bage-stalks and half-rotting potato-tops steamed 
their pestilential vapors beneath the windows; 
while half-naked children added the discord, the 
only thing wantmg to complete the sum of mis- 
erable, squalid discomfort, so sadly general among 
the peasantry. 

If one needed an illustration of the evils of 
absenteeism, a better could not be found than in 
the ruinous, damp, discolored building, with its 
falling roof and broken windows. The wide and 
spreading lawn, thick grown with thistles; the 
trees broken or barked by cattle; the gates that 
hung by a single hinge, or were broken up piece- 
meal for firing, all evidenced the sad state of neg- 
lectful indifference by which property is wrecked 
and a country ruined! Nor was the figure then 



416 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



seated on the broken door-step an unfitting ac- 
companiment to sucii a scene; — a man somewhat 
past tiie middle period of life, whose ragged, tat- 
tered dress bespoke great poverty, his worn hat 
drawn down over his eyes so as partly to conceal 
a countenance by no means prepossessing, be- 
side him lay a long, old-fashioned musket, the 
stock mended by some rude country hand. This 
was Tom Keane, the "care-taker," who, in all 
the indolent enjoyment of office, sat smoking his 
" dudeen, and ca[mly surveying the process by 
which a young heifer was cropping the yearling 
shoots of an ash-tree. 

Twice was his name called by a woman's voice 
from within the house before he took any notice 
of it. 

"Arrah, Tom, are ye asleep?' said she, com- 
ing to the door, and showing a figure whose 
wretchedness was even greater than his own, 
while a certain delicacy of feature, and expres 
sion of a mild and pleasing character still 
lingered on a face where want and privation had 
set many a mark. ''Tom, alanah''' said she, in 
a tone of coaxing softness, ''sure it's time to go 
down to the post-office Ye know how anxious 
the ould man is for a letter" 

" Ay, and he has rayson, too," said Tom, with 
out stirring 

"And Miss Mary herself was up here yester- 
day evening to bid you go early, and, it there 
was a letter to bring it in all haste 

And what for need I make haste?'' said the 
man, sulkily. '' Is it any matther to me, 
whether he gets one or no Will / be richer oi 
poorer? Poorer!'' added he, with a savage laugh, 
"be gorra! that wud be hard, anyhow That s 
a comfort old Corrigan hasn't. If they turn him 
out of the place, then he'll know what it is to be 
poor!" 

"Oh, Tom, acushir! don t say thai, and he so 
good to us, and the young lady that was so kind 
when the childer had the measles, comin* twice 
— no, but three times a day, v ;th everything she 
could think of." 

" Wasn't it to plense herself ? Who axed her?" 
said Tom, savagely 

'* Oh, dear! oh. dear!" sighed the woman. 
•"Them's the hard words — ' to please herself! " 
'*Ay, just so! When ye know them people as 
well as me, you'll say the same That's what 
they like— to make themselves great among the 
poor, giving a trifle here, and a penny there, 
making gruel for this one, and tay for that, mar- 
chin' in as if they owned the house, and turning 
up their noses at everything they see. ' Why 
don't you sweep before the door, Nancy? — ' Has 
the pig any right to be eating there out of the 
kish with the childer?'—' Ye ought to send that 
child to school'— and, ' What's your husband do 
ing?'— that's the cry with them. ' What s your 
husband doing?— Is he getting the wheat in, or 
is he at the potatoes?' Tear and ages!'' cried he, 
with a wild energy, "what does anyone of them- 
selves do from morning till night, that they're to 
come spyin' after a poorman, to ax ' Is he workin' 
like anaygur?' But, we'll teach them something 
yet — a lesson they're long wanting. Listen to 
this." 



He took, as he spoke, a soiled and ragged news- 
paper from his pocket, .ind after seeking some 
minutes for the place, he read, in a broken voice: 

"'The days to come' — ay, here' it is — 'The 
days to come. — Let the poor man remember that 
there is a future before him, that, if he have but 
courage and boldness, will pay for the past. 
Turn about's fair play, my lords and gentlemen! 
You ve had the pack in your own hands long 
enough, and dealt yourselves all the trumps. 
Now, give us the cards for awhile. You say our 
fingers are dirty, so they are, with work and toil, 
black and dirty! but not as black as vour own 
hearts Hurrah! for a new deal on a bran-new 
lable, Ireland the stakes, and the players her 
own stout sons!' Them's fine sintinients," said 
he, putting up the paper. — " P^ine sintiments! and 
the sooner we thry them the better. That's the 
real song, ' said he, reciting with energy — 

''Oh' the d.iys to come, the days to come, 

When Erin .shall have her own, boys! 

When we'll pay the debts our fathers owed, 

And reap what they have sown, boys!" 

He sprang to his feet as he concluded, should- 
ering his musket, strode out, as if in a mai thing 
step ix\A repeating to himself, as he went, the 
last line of the song. About hal.f an hour's brisk 
walking hrougl't him to a low wicket, which 
opened on the high road, a little distance from 
which stood the small village of Derraheeny, the 
post-town of the neighborhood The little crowd 
which usually assembled at the passing of the 
coach had already dispersed, when Tom Keane 
presented himself at the window, and asked, in 
a tone of voice subdued almost to softness, — 

Have you anything for Mr. Corrigan this 
morning, ma am? ' 

^ Yes there are two letters and a newspaper," 
replied S sharp voice from within. " One-and- 
fourpence to pay " 

'■ She didn't give me any money, ma'am, but 
Miss Mary said " 

"You can take them," interrupted the post- 
mistress, hastily handing them out, and slam- 
ming the little window to at the same instant. 

" There's more of it!" muttered Tom; "and if 
it was for me the letters was, I might sell nry cow 
before I'd get trust for the price of them!" And 
with this reflection he plodded moodily homeward. 
Scarcely, however, had he entered the thick plan- 
tation, than he seated himself beneath a tree, and 
proceeded to take a careful and strict scrutiny of 
the two letters; carefully spellmg over each ad- 
dress, and poising them in his hands, as if the 
weight could assist his guesses as to the contents. 
That's Mr. Kennyfeck's big seal. I know it 
well," said he, gazing on the pretentious coat of 
arms which emblazoned the attorney's letter. "I 
can inake nothing of the other at all. 'Cor- 
nelius Corrigan. Esq., Tubber-beg, Derraheeny' 
— sorra more!" It was in vain that he held it 
open, lozenge fashion, to peep within — but one 
page only was written, and he could not see that. 
Kennyfeck's letter was enclosed in an envelope, 
so that here, too, he was bnlked. and at last was 
fain to slip the newspaper from its cover — a last 
resource to learn something under- liand' The 



ROLAND CASH EL. 



417 



newspaper did not contain anything peculiarly 
interesting, save in a single paragraph, wliich an-- 
nounced the intention of Roland Cashel, Esq., 
of Tubbermore Castle, to contest the County at 
at tlie approaching general election. "We are 
informed," said the writer, "on competent au- 
thority, that this gentleman intends to make the 
ancestral seat his chief residence in future; and 
that already preparations are nuiking to render 
this princely mansion in every respect worthy of 
the vast fortune of its proprietor." 

"Faith, and the 'princely mansion' requires 
a thing or two to make it ail perfect," said Tom, 
with a sardonic laugh, while in <i lower tone he 
muttered — " maybe, for all the time he'll stay 
there, it's not worth his while to spend the money 
on it." Having re-read the paragraph, he care- 
fully replaced the paper in its cover and con- 
tinued liis way, not, however, towards his own 
home, but entering a little woodland path that 
led direct towards the Shannon. After passing 
a short distance he came to a little low hedge of 
beech and birch, through which a neat rustic 
gate led and opened upon a closely-shaven lawn. 
The neatly-gravelled walk, the flower-beds, the 
delicious perfume that was diffused on every side, 
the occasional peeps at the eddying river, and 
the cottage itself, seen at intervals between 
the evergreens that studded the lawn, were wide 
contrasts to the ruinous desolation of the " great 
house," and as if unwilling to feel their influence, 
Tom pulled his hat deeper over his brows, and 
never looked at either side as he advanced. The 
part of the cbttage towards which he was ap- 
proaching contained a long verandah, supported 
by pillars of rustic-work, within which, opening 
by tliree large windows, was the principal draw- 
ing-room. Here, now, at a small writing-table, 
sat a young girl, whose white dress admirably 
set off the graceful outline of lier figure, seen 
within the half darkened room; her features were 
pale, but beautifully regular, and the masses of 
her hair, black as night, which she wore twisted 
on the back of the head, like a cameo, gave a 
character of classic elegance and simplicity to 
the whole. 

Without, and under the verandah, an old man, 
tall, and slightly bowed in the shoulders, walked 
slowly up and down. It needed not the careful 
nicety of his long queue, the spotless whiteness 
of his cambric shirt and vest, nor the perfection 
of his nicely-fitting nankeen pantaloons, to be- 
speak him a gentlemin of the past day. There 
was a certain suave gentleness in his bland look, 
an air of easy courtesy in his every motion, a 
kind of well-bred mannerism in the very carriage 
of his gold-l<eaded cane, that told of a time when 
the graces of deportment were a study, and when 
our modern careless freedom had been deemed 
the very acme of rudeness. He was dictating, 
as was his wont each morning, some reminiscence 
of his early life, when he had served in the body- 
guard of Louis XVI., and where he had borne 
his part in the stormy scenes of that eventful 
era. The memory of that most benevolent mon- 
arch, the fascinations of that queen whom to 
serve was to idolize, had sufficei^ to soften the 
hardships of a life, which from year to year 



pressed more heavily, and were at last, after 
many a struggle, impressing their lines upon a 
brow where age alone had never written grief. 

On the morning in question, instead of rapidly 
pouring forth his recollections, which usually 
came in groups, pressing one upon the other, he 
hesitated often, sometimes forgetting " where he 
was," in his narrative, and more than once ceas- 
ing to speak altogether; he walked in reverie, 
and seeming deeply preoccupied. 

His granddaughter had noticed this change, 
but cautiously abstaining from anything that 
might betray her consciousness, she sat, pen in 
hand, waiting, her lustrous eyes watching each 
gesture with an intensity of interest that amounted 
to actual suffering. 

" I fear, Mary," said he, with an effort to 
smile, "we must give it up for to-day. The 
present is too strong for the past, just as sorrow 
is always an oveimatch for joy. Watching for 
the post has routed all my thoughts, and 1 can 
think of nothing but what tidings may reach nie 
from Dublin." 

" You have no fears, sir," said she, rising and 
drawing her arm -Hithin his, "that your applica- 
tion could be rejected, you aSk notliing unusual 
or unreasonable — a brief renewal of a lease 
where you have expended a fortune." 

" True, true, dear child. Let us, however, not 
look on the case with our eyes alone, but see it 
as others may. But here comes Tom. — Well, 
what news, Tom; are there letters?" 

"Yes, sir, here's two; there's one-and-fcur- 
pence to be paid." 

" Let me see them," cried the old man, im- 
patiently, as he snatched them, and hastily re- 
entered the house. 

" Is Cathleen better to-day?" said the young 
lady, addressing the peasant. 

" Yes, miss, glory be to God, she's betther. 
Thanks to yourself and Him. ' Oh, then, it's of 
yer beautiful face she does be dramin' every 
night. Says she, ' It's Miss Mary, I think, is 
singing to me, when I hear the birds in my 
sleep.' " 

" Poor child, give her this little book for me 
and say I'll come up and see her this evening, if 
I can. Mrs. Moore will send her the broth; I 
hope she'll soon be able to eat something. Good- 
bye, Tom." 

A deep-drawn heavy sigh from within the 
cottage here made her abruptly conclude the 
interview and hasten in. The door of her 
grandfather's little dressing-room was, however, 
locked, and after a noiseless effort to turn the 
handle, she withdrew to the drawing-rocm, to 
wait in deep anxiety for his coming. 

The old man sat with his head supported on 
both hands, gazing steadfastly at two open letters, 
which lay on the table before him; had they 
contained a sentence of death his aspect could 
scarce have been more sad and sorrow-struck. 
One was from Mr. Kennyfeck, and ran thus : 

" Dkar Mr. Corrio.an.— I have had a brief 
conversation with Mr.Roland Cashel on the sub- 
ject of your renewal, and I am grieved to say that 
he does not seem disposed to accede to your 



418 



ROLAND CASHEL, 



wislies. Entertaining, as he does, the intention to 
make, Tubbermore his chief residence in Ireland, 
his desire is, 1 believe, to connect the farm in 
your holding with the demesne. 'I'his will at 
once explain that it is not a question of demand- 
ing a higher rent from you. but simply of carrying 
out a plan for the enlargement and improvement 
of the grounds pertaining to the ' Hall." 

" The matter is, however, by no means de- 
cided upon; nor will it be, in all probability, 
before you have an opportunity of meeting Mr. 
Cashel personally. His present intention is to 
visit your neighborhood next week. 

" I am, dear sir, truly yours, 

" M. Kennvfeck. 

"Cornelius Corrigan, Tubber-beg Cottage." 

The second letter was as follows: 

" Simpkins and Green have the honor to for- 
ward for acceptance the enclosed bill for two 
liundred and seventeen pounds, at three months, 
Mr. Heneage, Leicester, of New Orleans, on 
Mr. Corrigan. 

"They are authorized also to state that Mr. 
Leicester's affairs have suffered considerably 
from the consequences of the commercial distress 
at N. O., and his personal property has been to- 
tally lost by the earthquake which took place on 
tlie nth and 12th ultimo. He therefore trusts to 

Mr. C 's efforts to contribute to his aid by a 

greater exertion tha'.i usual, and will draw upon 
him for two sums of one hundred, at dates of 
six and nine months, which he hopes may suit 
his convenience, and be duly honored. Mr. 
Leicester continues to hope that he may be able 
to visit Europe in the spring, where his great 
anxiety to see his daughter will call him." 

"The ruin is now complete," said the old man. 
" I have struggled for years with poverty and pri- 
vation to ward off this hour — but, like destiny, it 
will not be averted! Despoiled of fortune — 
turned from the home where I have lived from 
my childhood — bereft of all! I could bear up still 
if she were but left to me — but now, he threatens 
to take her, my cliild, my hope, )ny life! And 
the world will stand by him, and say, ' He is 
her father!' He, that broke the mother's heart 
—my own darling girl — and now comes to rob 
me — a poor helpless old man, of all my compan- 
ionship and my pride. Alas alas! the pride, 
perhaps, deserves the chastisement. Poor Mary 
— how will she ever learn to look on him .with a 
dausrhter's affection? — What a hfe will hers be? 
And this deception — how will it, how can it ever 
be explained? I have always said that he was 
dead." 

Such, in broken half-sentences, were the words 
he spoke, while thick-coming sobs almost choked 
his utterance. 

" This cannot not be helped," said he, taking 
up the pen and writing I. is na.me across the bill. 
"So much I can meet, by selling our little fur- 
niture here; we shall need it no more, for we 
have no longer a home. Where to, then?" 

He shook his hands in mournful despair, and 
walked toward the window. Mary was standing 



outside, in the little flower-garden, assisting the 
old gardener to fasten some stray tendrils of a 
japonica between two trees. 

■' We must try and shelter this window, Ned," 
said she '" from the morning sun. It conies in 
too strongly here in papa's library. By next 
summer, 1 hope to see a thick trellis of leaves 
across the whole casement." 

"By next summer," repeated the old man, 
from within, with a trembling voice; " and who 
will be here to see it?" 

" This little hedge, too, must be overgrown with 
that creeping plant we got from America, the white 
liana. I want the beech to be completely hid 
beneath the blossoms, and they come out in May." 
"In May!" said the poor old man, with an 
accent of inexpressible sadness, as though the 
very promise of spring had unfolded a deep vista 
of years of suffering. "Rut why care for the 
home, if she, who made its sunshine, is taken 
from me? What matters it where I linger on, or 
how, the last few hours of a life, bereft of its only 
enjoyment? — she, that in my old age, renewed all 
the memories of my early and my happy days." 

He sat down and covered his face with his 
hands; and when he withdrew them, the whole 
character and expression of the countenance had 
changed; a dull, meaningless look had replaced 
the mild and cheerfid beam of his soft blue 
eyes; the cheeks were flattened, and the moulh, 
so ready with its gentle smile, now remained 
partly open, and slightly drawn to one side. He 
made an effort to speak, but a thiclicned guttural 
utterance rendered the words scarcely intelligi- 
ble. He approached the window and beckoned 
with his hand. The next instant, pale with ter- 
ror, but still composed and seeming calm, Mary 
was beside him. 

" You are not well, dear papa," she said, with 
a great effort to appear at ease. "You must lie 
down — here will do — on this sofa; I'll close the 
curtain, and send over for Tiernay; he said he 
should be back from Limerick this morning." 

A gentle pressure of her hand to his lips, and 
a faint smile, seemed to assent. 

She opened the window, and whispered a few 
words to the gardener, and then closing it, noi.se- 
lessly, drew the curtain, and sat down on a low 
stool beside the sofa where he lay. 

So still and motionless did he remain, that she 
thought he slept; indeed, the long-drawn breath- 
ing, and the repose of his attitude, betokened 
sleep. 

Mary did not venture to move, but snt, one 
hand clasped in his, the other resting on his 
forehead, still and silent. 

The darkened room, the unbroken silence, the 
figure of him in whom was centred her every 
thought and hope, lying sick before her, sank 
with a dreary weight upon lur heart; and in the 
gloom of her sorrow dark forebodings of future 
evil arose, vague terrors of trials, new and hard 
to bear! That strange prescience, wliich never 
is wanting iii gre.nt afflictions, and seems itself a 
Heaven-sent warning to prepare for the coming 
blow, revealed a time of sore trouble and 
calamity before her. "Let him be but spared 
to me," she cried, in her heart-uttered prayer, 



ROLAND CASH EL, 



419 



"and let me be so fashioned in spirit and temper 
that I may minister to him through every hour — 
cheering, consoling, and encouraging. Giving 
of jny youth its gift of hopefulness and trust, and 
borrowing of kis age its serenity and resignation. 
But oh, that I may not be left solitary and alone, 
unfriended and unsupported !" A gush of tears, 
the first she shed, here burst forth, and, in the 
transport of her grief, brought calm to her mind 
once more. 

A low tap at the window, and a voice in 
whisper aroused her. " It is the doctor, miss — 
Dr. Tiernay," said the gardener. 

A motion to admit him was all her reply, and 
with noiseless step the physician entered and ap- 
proached the sofa. He felt the pulse, and 
listened to the respiration of the sick man, and 
then, withdrawing the curtain so as to let the 
light fall upon his features, steadily contemplated 
tlieir expression. As he looked, his own coun- 
tenance grew graver and sadder; and it was 
with an air of deep solemnity that he took Mary's 
hand, and led her from the room. 

With a weight like lead upon her heart Mary 
moved away. " When did it happen?" whispered 
he, when he had closed the door behind them. 

■'Happen!" gasped she, in agony; "what do 
you mean?" 

" I meant when — this — occurred," replied he, 
faftering; "was he in his usual health this 
morning?" 

" Y^s, perfectly — a little less composed — anx- 
ious about his letters — uneasy at the delay — but 
no more." 

"You do not know if he received any unpleas- 
ant tidings, or heard anything to distress him?" 

" He may have done so," answered she, sadly, 
"for he locked his door and read over his let- 
ters by himself. When I saw him next, he was 
standing at the window, and beckoning to me." 

A gentle tap at the door here interrupted the 
colloquy, and the old housekeeper whispered, 
" The master, miss, wants to spake with the doc- 
tor; he's better now." 

"Oh, let me see him," cried Mary, springing 
towards the door. But Dr. Tiernay interposed 
gently, and said, " No, this might prove danger- 
ous; remain here till I have seen and spoken 
with him." Mary assented by a gesture, and sat 
down without speaking. 

"Sit down, Tiernay," said the sick man, as the 
doctor came to the bedside — ■" sit down, and let 
me speak while I have strength. Everything is 
against us, Tiernay. We are not to get the re- 
newal; this young Mr. Cashe! wants the cottage 
—we must turn out. I'll have to do so, even be- 
fore the gale-day; but what matter about me! 

It's that poor child I'm thinking of " Here 

he stopped, and was some minutes before he 
could resume. "There — read that; that will 
tell you all." 

Tiernay took the crumpled letter, whicli the 
old mnn had all this while held firmly in his 
closed grasp, and read it. 

" Well, that's bad news, isn't it?" said Corri- 
gan; "not the bill — I don't mean that; but /i^'s 
coming back; do you see the threat? — he's com- 
ing back again." 



" How can he?'" said the doctor. "The man 
committed a forgery; how will he dare to return 
here and place his neck in a halter?" 

" You forgot whose evidence alone can con- 
vict him — mine; the name he forged was mine, 
the sum he took was mine — nearly all 1 had in 
the world — but he has nothing to fear from me, 
whatever I may have to dread from Aim." 

" How can he have any terror lor you?" 

"He can take Jier away; not from »:c, for 
she'll soon be separated by a stronger liand tlian 
his, but I can't bear to think that she'll be in his 
powerr Tiernay, this is what is cutting into my 
heart now as I lie here, and leaves me no rest to 
think of the brief minutes before me. Tell mc, 
is there no way to avoid this? Think of some- 
thing, my old friend — take this weight off my 
dying heart, and my last breath will bless you." 

".^re there any relations, or friends?" 

" None, not one; I'm the last of the tree^the 
one old rotten branch left. I was thinking of a 
nunnery, Tiernay, one of these convents in i ranee 
or the Low Countries; but even there, if he foimd 
her out, he could legally demand her to be re- 
stored to him, and he would find her, ay, that he 
would! There never was a thing yet that man 
couldn't do when he set his heart on it; and, 
the more the obstacles, the greater his wish. I 
heard him say with his own lips, that he never 
had any fancy for my poor Lucy, till he over- 
heard her one day saying, that 'she never hated 
any one till she knew him.' From that hour he 
swore to himself she should be his wife! Heaven 
knows if the hate was not better bestowed than 
the love, and yet, she did love him to the last, 
ay, even after cruelty and desertion — ay, after 
his supposed death; when she heard that he 
married another, and was living in splendor at 
Cadiz, ay, Tiernay! after all that, she told me, 
on her death-bed, she loved him still!" 

" I think the nunnery is the best resource," said 
the doctor, recalling the sick man from a theme 
where his emotions were already too powerfully 
excited. 

"I believe it is," said the old man, with more 
of energy than before: " and I feel almost as if 
Providence would give me strength and health to 
take her there myself, and see her safe before I 
die. Feel that pulse now — isn't it stronger?" 

"You are better, much better alread}," said 
tlie doctor, " and now, keep quiet and composed. 
Don't speak— if it was possible, I'd say don't 
think — for a few hours. The worst is nigh over." 

" I thought so, Tiernay. I felt it was what old 
Joe Henchy used to call ' a run-away knock.' " 
And, with a faint smile, the old man pressed his 
hand and said, " Good-bye." 

Scarcely, however, had the doctor reached the 
door, when he called him back. 

"Tiernay," said he, "it's of no use telling me 
to lie still, and keep quiet, and the rest of it. I 
continue, asleep or awake, to think over what's 
coming. There is but one way to give me peace 
— give me some hope. I'll tell you now how 
that is to be done; but, first of all, can you spare 
three days from home?" 

" To be sure I can; a week, if it would serve 
you. Where am I to go? ' 



420 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



"To Dublin! Tiernay. You'll have to go up 
there, and see this young man, Cashel, yourself, 
and speak to him for me. Tell him nothing of 
our present distress or poverty, but just let him 
see who it is that he is turning out of the lands 
where their fathers hved for hundreds of years. 
Tell him that the Corrigans is the oldest stock 
in the whole country; that the time was, from 
the old square tower on Garraguin, you couldn't 
see a spot of ground that wasn't our own! Tell 
him" — and as he spoke, his flashing eye and 
heightened color showed how the theme agita- 
ted and excited him — "tell him, that if he turns 
us from hearth and home, it is not as if it was 

like some poor cotter " He paused, his lip 

trembled, and the big tears burst from his eyes 
and rolled heavily down his face. "Oh! God 
forgive me for saying the words!" cried he, in an 
nccent of deep agony. " Why wouldn't the 
humblest peasant that ever crouched to his meal 
of potatoes, beside the little turf fire of his cabin, 
love his home as well as the best blood in the 
land? No, no. Mat, it's little kindness we'd de- 
serve on such a plea as that." 
' "There, there, don't agitate yourself. I know 
I what you mean, and what you'd like me to say." 
' "You do not," rejoined the old man, queru- 
lously, "for I haven't said it yet. Nor 1 can't 
think of it now. Ah, Mat" — here his voice soft- 
ened once more into its habitual key — " that was 
a cruel thought of me, a while agof and faith, 
Mr. Cashel might well suspect, if he heard it, that 
I wasn't one of the old good blood of the Cor- 
rigans, that could talk that way of the poor; but 
so it is. There isn't a bad trait in a man's heart 
that is not the twin-brother of his selfishness. 
And now, I'll say no more; do the best you can 
for us, that's all. I was going to bid you tell 
him that we have an old claim on the whole 
estate, that some of the lawyers say is good — 
that the crown have taken off the confiscation 
in the time of my great father, Phil Corrigan — 
but sure he wouldn't mind that; besides, that's 
not the way to ask a favor." 

" You mustn't go on talking this way; see how 
hot your hand is." 

"Well, maybe it will be cold enough soon! 
There is another thing, Mat. You must call on 
Murphy, with the bill of sale of the furniture and 
the books, and get money to meet tliese bills. 
There they are; I endorsed them this morning. 
Tell Green it's no use sending me the other bills; 
I'll not have means to take them up, and it would 
be only disgracing my name for nothing to write 
it on them. I'll be longing to see you back again. 
Mat, and hear your tidings; so God bless you, 
and send you safe home to us." 

"I'll set off to-night," said the doctor, rising 
and shaking his hand; "your attack is passed 
over, and there's no more danger, if you'll keep 
quiet." 

"There's another thing. Mat," said the sick 
man, smiling faintly, and with a strange meaning. 
"Call at 28, Drogheda street, and ask the peo- 
ple to show you the room Con Corrigan fought 
the duel in with Colonel Battley. It was only 
twelve feet long, and ten wide, a little place off 
the drawing-room, and the colonel wouldn't 



even consent that we should stand in the corners. 
Look and see if the bullet is in the wall still. 
The old marquis used to have it fresh painted 
red every year, on the anniversary of the day. 
Oh, dear, oh, dear, but they were the strange 
times, then! ay, and pleasant times tod." And 
with such reflections on the past, he fell off into 
a dreamy half consciousness, during which Tier- 
nay stole from the room and left him alone. 

Faint and trembling with agitation, Mary 
Leicester was standing all this while at the door 
of the sick chamber. " Did I hear aright, doc- 
tor?" said she; "was that his voice that sounded 
so cheerfully?" 

" Yes, my dear Miss Mary, the peril is by, but 
be cautious. Let him not speak so much, even 
with you. This is a sweet, quiet spot. Heaven 
grant he may long enjoy it." 

Mary's lips muttered some words inaudibly, 
and they parted. She sat down alone, in the 
little porch under the eave; the day was a de- 
licious one in autumn, calm, mellow, and peace- 
ful; a breeze, too faint to ripple the river, stirred 
the flowers and shook forth their odor. The 
cottage, the leafy shade, through which the tem- 
pered sunlight fell in fanciful sh^ipes upon the 
gravel — the many-colored blossoms of the rich 
garden — the clear and tranquil river — the hum of 
the distant waterfall — they were all such sights 
and sounds as breathe of home and home's happ'i- 
ness, and so had she felt them to be till an unknown 
fear found entrance into her heart, and spread 
its darkness there. What a terrible sensation 
comes with a first sorrow. 



CHAPTER XIV. 

MR. LINTON REVEALS HIS DESIGNS. 

With fame and fortune on the cast, 

He never rose a winner • 
And learned to know himself at last, 
"A miserable sinner." 

— Bell. 

It was about ten days or a fortnight after the 
great Kennyfeck dinner, when all the gossip 
about its pretension, dulness, and bad taste 
had died away, and the worthy guests so bored 
by the festivity began to wonder "when they 
would give another," that a gentleman sat at 
breakfast in one of those large, dingy-looking, 
low-ceilinged apartments which are the choice 
abodes of the vice-regal staff in the Castle of 
Dublin. The tawdry and time-discolored gild- 
ings, the worn and faded silk hangings, the por- 
traits of bygone state-councillors and ccnmand- 
ers-in-chief, grievously riddled by rapier-points 
and pistol-shots, were not without an emblematic 
meaning of the past glories of that seat of gov- 
ernment, now so sadly fallen from its once 
high and palmy state. 

Although still a young man, the present occu- 
pant of the chamber appeared middle-aged, so 
much had dissipation and excess done the work 
of time on his constitution. A jaded, wearied 
look, a sleepy, indolent expressior» of the eye, 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



421 



certain hard lines about the angles of the mouth, 
betokened one who played a high game with life, 
and rarely arose a winner. Although his whole 
appearance bespoke birth and blood rather than 
intellect" or ability, there was enough in his 
high and squarely-shaped head, his deep dark 
eye, and his firm, sharply-cut mouth, to augur 
that incapacity could not be reckoned among the 
causes of any failures he incurred in his career. 
He was in every respect the beau ideal of that 
strange solecism in our social code, " the younger 
son." His brother, the duke of Derwent, had 
eighty thousand a year. He had e.xactly three 
hundred. His grace owned three houses, which 
might well be called palaces, besides a grouse 
lodge in the Highlands, a yachting station at 
Cowes, and a villa at Hyeres in France. My 
lord was but too happy to be the possessor of the 
the three cobwebbed chambers of a vice-regal 
aide-de-camp, and enjoy the pay of his troop 
without joining his regiment. 

Yet these two men were reared exactly alike! 
As much habituated to every requirement and 
luxury of wealth as his elder brother, the younger 
suddenly discovered that once beyond the shadow 
of his father's house, all his worldly resources were 
something more than what the cook, and some- 
thing less than the valet, received. He had 
been taught one valuable lesson, however, which 
was, that as the State loves a rich aristocracy, it 
burdens itself with the maintenance of all those 
who might prove a drain on its resources, and 
that it is ever careful to provide for the Lord 
Georges and Lord Charleses of its noble houses. 
To this provision he believed he had a legal 
claim: at all events, he knew it to be a right un- 
contested by those less highly born. 

The system which excludes men from the 
career of commerce, in compensation opens the 
billiard-room, the whist-table, and the betting- 
ring, and many a high capacity has been exer- 
cised in such spheres as these, whose resources 
might have won honor and distinction in very 
different fields of enterprise. Whether Lord 
Charles Frobisher knew this, and felt that there 
was better in him, or whether his successes were 
below his hopes, certain is it, he was a depressed, 
dejected man, who lounged through life in a 
languid indolence, caring for nothing, not even 
himself. 

There was some story of an unfortunate attach- 
ment, some love affair, with a very beautiful 
but portionless cousin, who married a marquis, 
to which many ascribed the prevailing melan- 
choly of his character, but they who remembered 
him as a schoolboy said he was always shy and 
reserved, and saw nothing strange in his bearing 
as a man. The breakfast-table, covered with all 
that could stimulate appetite, and yet, with all 
untasted, was not a bad emblem of one who with 
many a gift to win an upward way, yet lived on 
in all the tawdry insignificance of a court aide- 
de-camp. A very weak glass of claret and water, 
with a piece of dry toast, formed his meal, and 
even these stood on the corner of a writing-table, 
at which he sat, rising sometimes to look out of 
the window, or pace the room with slow, uncer- 
tain steps. Before him lay an unfinished letter, 



which, to judge from the slow progress it made, 
and the frequent interruptions to its course, 
seemed to occasion some difticultiy in the com- 
position, and yet the same tpistle began "My 
dear Sydney," and was addressed to his brother. 
Here it is: 

" My dear Sydney, — I suppose, from not 
hearing from you some weeks back, that my last, 
which I addressed to the Clarendon, has never 
reached you, nor is it of any consequence. It 
would be too late now to ask you about Scott's 
horses. Cobham told us how you stood your- 
self, and that was enough to guide the poor devils 
here with their poneys and fifties. We all got a 
squeeze on the 'Mare.' I hear you won seven 
thousand besides the stakes. I hope the report 
mav be true. Is Raucus in training for the 
spring meeting or not? If so, let me have some 
trifle on him in your own book. 

"I perceive you voted on Brougham's amend- 
ment against our people; I conclude you were 
right, but it will make them very stubborn with 
me about the exchange. N has already re- 
marked upon what he calls the ' intolerable 
independence of some noble lords.' I wish I 
knew the clue to your proceeding — are you at 
libertyto giye it? I did not answer the question 
in your last letter. — Of course I am tired of Ire- 
land, but as the alternatives are a 'Compound 
in Calcutta, or the government house, Quebec,' 
I may as well remain where I am. I don't know 
that a staff-officer, like Madeira, improves by a 
sea voyage. 

"You say nothing of Georgina, so that I hope 
her chest is better, and that Nice may not be 
necessary. I believe, if climate were needed, 
you would find Lisbon, or rather Cintra, better 
than any part of Italy, and possessed of one great 
advantage — few of our rambling countrymen. 

N commended your haunch so highly, and 

took such pains to record his praises, that I 
suspect he looks for a repetition of the favor. If 
you are shooting bucks, perhaps you would send 
him a quarter." 

Two sentences, half finished and erased, here 
showed that the writer experienced a difficulty 
in continuing. Indeed, his flurried manner as 
he resumed the letter proved it. At last he 
went on. 

" I hate asking favors, my dear Sydney, but 
there is one which, if not positively repugnant to 
you to grant, will much oblige me. There is a 
young millioiuraire here, a Mr. Cashel, wishes to 
be a member of your yacht club, and as I have 
given a promise to make interest in his behalf 
with you, it would be conferring a great obliga- 
tion on me were I to make the request success- 
fully. So far as I can learn, there is no reason 
against his admission, and as regards property, 
many reasons in his favor. If you can do this for 
me, then, you will render me a considerable ser- 
vice. 

"Of course I do not intend to fix any acquaint- 
anceship upon you, nor in any other way, sa-\ e 
the bean in the ballot-box, and a civil word in 
proposing, inflict you with what Rigby calls 'Pro- 
tective Duties.' I should have been spared in 



422 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



giving you this trouble but for Tom Linton, who, 
^vith his accustomed good nature, at other men's 
cost, suggested the step to Cashel, and told him, 
besides,'^that my brother was vice-admiral of the 
yacht fleet. 

" If Emily wants a match for the chestnut pony. 
I know of one here perfect in every respect, and 
to be had very cheap. Let me know about this 
soon; and also the club matter, as I have promised 
to visit Cashel at his country-house; and in case 
of refusal on your part, this would be unpleasant. 
Thanks for your invitation for Christmas, which 
I cannot accept of. Hope and Eversham are 
both on leave, so that I must remain here. 

N continues to ask you here; but my advice 

is, as it has ever been, not to come. The climate 
detestable — the houses dull and dirty; no shoot- 
ing, nor any hunting, at least with such horses as 
you are accustomed to ride. 

"I am glad you took my counsel about the 
mortgage. There is no property here worth 
seventeen years' purchase, in the present aspect 
of politics. Love to Jane and the girls, and be- 
lieve me ever yours, 

"Charles Frobisher." 

This task completed, he turned to the morning 
papers; which, with a mass of tradesmen's bills, 
notes, and cards of invitation, littered the table. 
He had not read long, when a deep-drawn yawn 
from the further end of the room aroused, him, 
and Frobisher arose and walked towards a sofa, 
on which was stretched a man, somewhat about 
the middle of life, but whose bright eye and fresh 
comple,\ion showed little touch of time. His 
dress, slightly disordered, was a dinner costume, 
and rather inclined towards over-particularity; at 
least, the jewelled buttons of his vest and shirt 
evinced a taste for display that seemed not ill 
to consort with the easy effrontery of his look. 

Taking his watch from his pocket he held it to 
his ear, saying, " There is an accomplishment, 
Charley, I've never been able to acquire — to 
wind my watch at supper-time. What hour is it?" 

"Two," said the other, laconically. 

" By Jove! how I must have slept. Have you 
been to bed ?" 

"Of course. But, I'd swear, with less success 
than you have had on that old sofa. I scarcely 
closed my eyes for ten minutes together." 

" That downy sleep only comes of a good con- 
science and a heart at ease with itself," said the 
otiier. "You young gentlemen, who lead bad 
lives; know very little about the balmy repose of 
the tranquil mind." 

" Have you forgotten that you were to ride 
out with Lady Cecilia this morning?" said Fro- 
bisher, abruptly. 

" Not a bit of it. I even dreamed we were 
cantering together along the sands, where 1 was 
amusing her ladyship with some choice morceau.x 
of scandal from that set in society she professes 
to hold in such horror that she will not receive 
them at court, but for whose daily sayings and 
doings she has the keenest zest." 

Foster is gone with her," rejoined Lord 
Charles, " and I suspect she is just as well 
pleased. Before this he has told her everything 



about our late sitting, and the play, and the rest 
of it!" 

"Of course he has; and she is dying to ask 
Mr. Softlv, the young chaplain's advice, whetlier 
rooting us all out would not be a 'good work.'" 

" Since when have you become so squeamish 
about card-playing, Mr. Linton?" 

"I? Not in the least! I'm only afraid that 
some of my friends may turn to be so, when they 
hear of my successes. You know what hap- 
pened to VVycherley, when he. got that knack of 
always turning up a king? Some one asked 
Ruxton what was to be done about it. 'Is it 
certain?' said he. 'Perfectly certain; we have 
seen him do it a hundred times!' ' Then back 
him,' said old Ruxton; ' that's my advice to you.' " 
As he said this, he drew a chair towards the 
table, and proceeded to fill out a cup of choco- 
late. "Where do you get these anchovies, 
Charley? Burke has got some, but not half the 
size." 

" They are ordered for the household. Law- 
son can tell you all about 'em," said the other, 
carelessly. "But, I say, what bets did you book 
on Laplander?" 

" Took him against the field for seven hundred 
even." 

" A bad bet, then — I call it a very bad bet." 

"So should I, if I didn't know Erebus is dead 
lame." 

" I've seen a horse run to win with a con- 
tracted heel before now," said Lord Charles, 
with a most knowing look. 

"So have I! but not on stony ground. No! 
no! you may depend upon it!" 

" I don't want to depend upon it," said the 
other, snappishly. " I shall not venture five 
pounds on the race. I remember once some- 
thing of an implicit reliance on a piece of in- 
formation of the kind." 

"Well! you know how that happened. I gave 
Hilyard's valet fifty pounds on the race to get a 
peep at his master's betting-book, and the fellow 
told Hilyard, vi'ho immediately made up a book 
express, and let us all in for a smart sum. I am 
sure I was the heaviest loser in the affair." 

" So you ought, too. The contrivance was a 
very rascally one; and deserved its penalty." 

"The expression is not parliamentary, my 
lord," said Linton, with a slight flushing of the 
cheek, "and so I must call you to order." 

"Is Turcoman to run?" asked Lord Charles, 
negligently. 

" No! I have persuaded Cashel to buy him, 
and he has taken him out of training." 

"Well, you really go straightforward in your 
work, Linton. I must say, you are as plucky a 
rogue as I've ever heard of. Pray, now, how 
do you manage to keep up your influence over 
that youth? he always appears to me to be a rash- 
headed, wilful kind of fellow there would be no 
guiding." 

"Simply, by always keeping him in occupa- 
tion. There are people like spavined horses, 
and one must always get them warm in their 
work, and they never show the blemish. Now, I 
have been eternally alongside of Cashel. One 
day, buying horses — another, pictures — another 



ROLAND CASH EL. 



423 



itme, it was furniture — carriages — saddler) till 
we have filled that great old house of the ex- 
chancellor's with an assemblage of objects, liv- 
ing and inanimate, it would take a month to 
chronicle." 

"Some kind friend may open his eye to all 
this one of these days, Master Linton — and 
then " 

'■ By that time," said Linton, " his clairvoy- 
ance will be too late. Like many a man Lve 
known, he'll be a capital judge of claret when 
his cellar has been emptied." 

" You were a large winner last night, Linton?" 

" Twelve hundred and fifty. It might have been 
double the amount, but I've taken a hint from 
Splasher's Physiology. He says nothing encour- 
ages a plethora like small bleedings. And you 
Charley; what did jw// do?" 

"Sixty pounds!" replied he, shortly. "I never 
venture out of my depth." 

"And you mean to infer / do, my lord," said 
Linton, trying to smile, while evidently piqued 
by the remark. "Well, I plead guilty to the 
charge. I have a notion in my head that seven 
feet of water drowns a man just as effectually as 
seven hundred fathoms in the blue Atlantic. 
Now you know, as well as /, that neither of us 
could afford to lose si.xty pounds thrice running, 
so let us not talk of venturing out of our depth; 
which, I take it, would be to paddle in very 
shallow water indeed." 

For an instant it seemed as if Lord Charles 
would have given an angry reply to this sally; 
but, as hastily checking the eniotion, he walked 
to the window, and appeared to be lost in thought; 
while Linton continued his breakfast, with all 
the zest of a hungry man. 

" I'll give up play altogether," said Frobisher. 
" That I've resolved upon. This will go abroad, 
rely upon it. Some of the papers will get hold 
of it, and we shall see some startling paragraphs 
about — 'Recent Discoveries in the Vice-Regal 
Household' — 'Nefarious System of High Play at 
the Castle,' and so on. Now, it's all very well 
for you, who neither care who's in or out, or 
hold any appointment here; but, remember, 
there are others — myself, for instance — who have 
no fancy for this kind of publicity." 

" In the first place," interrupted Linton, "there 
is no danger; and, in the second, if there were, 
it's right welt remunerated. Your appointment 
here, with all its contingent advantages, of which, 
not to excite your blushes, we shall say nothing, 
is some three or four hundred a year. Now, a 
lucky evening, and courage to back the luck — a 
quality, by the way, I never yet found in one 
Englishman in a hundred — is worth this twice or 
thrice told. Besides, remember, that this wild 
bull of the prairies has come of himself into our 
hunting-grounds. If zi'<r don't harpoon him, some- 
body else will. A beast of such fat on the 
haunches is not going to escape scot free; and 
lastly, by falling into good hands, he shall have 
the advantage of being cut up artistically, and 
not mauled and mangled by the rude fingers of 
the ignorant. Faith, as for myself, I think I 
richly merit all the spoils I shall obtain!" 

"As how, pray?" asked Lord Charles, languidly. 



" In the first place, to speak of the present — I 
have ridden out with him — sat beside him on the 
box of his drag — he is seen with me in public, 
and has been heard to call me 'Linton,' on the 
ride at Dycer's. My tradespeople have beccm.e 
his tradespeople. The tailor who reserved his 
masterstroke of genius for nie, now shares his 
favors with him. In fact, Charley, we are one. 
Secondly, as regards the future, see from what 
perils I shall rescue him. He shall not marry 
Livy Kennyfeck- — he shall not go into Parliament 
for the liberal interest — nor for any interest, if 
I can help it — he shall not muddle away a fine 
fortune in fattenmg Durham bulls, and Berk- 
shire boars; neither shall he excel in rearing 
mangel-wurzel or beetroot. I'll teach him to 
have a soul above sub-soiling, and a spirit 
above green crops. He shall not fall into the 
hands of Downie Meek, and barter his birthright 
for a Whig baronetcy; neither shall he be the 
victim of right honorable artifices, and marry a 
Lady Juliana, or Cecilia. In fine, I'll secure 
him from public meetings, and agricultuial socie- 
ties, twaddling dinners, horticultural breakfasts, 
the Irish Academy, and Mrs. White." 

"These are great deservings indeed," said 
Lord Charles, affectedly. 

"So they are," said the other; "nor do I be- 
lieve there is another man about town could 
pilot the channel but myself. It is only reason- 
able, then, if I save the craft, that I should claim 
the salvage. Now, the next point is, will you be 
one of the crew? I'll take you with pleasure, but 
there's no impressment. All I ask is secrecy, 
whether you say yea or nay." 

"Let me hear what the service is to be like." 

" Well, we shall first of all -cruise — confound 
metaphors — let us talk plainly. Cashel has given 
me a carte bla/iche to fill his house with guests 
and good things. The comi)any and the cuisine 
are both to be among my attributions, and I 
intend that we should do the thing right royally. 
Selection and exclusiveness are, of course, out 
of the question. There are so many cock-tails 
to run — there can be no disqualification. Our sav- 
age friend, in fact, insists on asking everybody he 
sees, and we are lucky if we escape the infantry 
and the junior bar. Here's the list — a goodly 
catalogue, truly, and such a mace'doiiie of incon- 
gruities has been rarely assembled, even at old 
Kennyfeck's dinner-table." 

" Why I see few others than the people we met 
there t'other day." 

" Not many; but please to remember that even 
a country-house has limits, and that some of the 
guests, at least, must have separate rooms. To 
be serious, Charley, I have misused the king's 
press damnably; we have such a party as few 
have ever witnessed. There are the Kilgoffs, the 
Whites, the Hamiltons, along with the Clan 
Kennvfeck, the Ridleys, and Mathew Hannigan, 
Esquire, of Bally-Hannigan, the new member of 
Parliament for Dunrone, and the last convert to 
the soothing doctrines of Downie Meek." 

"Is Downie coming?" lisped the aide-de- 
camp. 

" \y, and his daughter, too. He wrote one of 
his velvety epistles, setting forth the prayer of his 



424 



ROLAND CASH EL. 



petition, in favor of 'a little girl, yet only in the 
nursery,' " 

"Yes, yes; I know all that. "AVell, I'm not 
sorry. I like Jemmy. She is a confounded deal 
better than her father, and is a capital weight to 
put on a young horse, and a very neat hand too. 
Who i;ext? Not the dean, I hope." 

" No, we divided on the dean, and carried his 
exclusion by a large majority. Mrs. Kennyfeck 
was, I believe, alone in the lobby." 

"Glad of that! No one can expect an Irish 
visit in the country without rain, and he's an 
awful fellow to be caged with, when out-o'-door 
work is impracticable." 

"Then there are the Latrobes and the Heather- 
bys, in fact, the old set, with a Polish fellow, of 
course a count — Deuroominski; a literary tourist, 
brought by Mrs. White, called Howie, and a 
small little dark man, one used to see two seasons 
ago, that sings the melodies and tells Irish legends 
— 1 forget the name." 

" Promiscuous and varied, certainly; and what 
is the order of the course.'' Are there to be games, 
rural sports, fireworks, soaped pigs, and other 
like intellectualities?" 

"Precisely, a kind of coming-of-age thing on 
a grand scale. I have engaged Somerton's chef; 
he has just left his place. Gunter sends over 
one of his people; and Dubos, of the Cadran 
Bleu, is to forward two hampers per week from 
Paris. Hicksley is also to provide all requisites 
for private theatricals. In fact, nearly every- 
thing has been attended to, save the horse de- 
partment, I wish you'd take that under your pro- 
tectorate; we shall want any number of screws, 
for saddle and harness, with drags, breaks, and 
machines of all .kinds, to drive about in. Do, 
pray, be master of the horse.'' 

_ "Thanks, but I hate and detest trouble of all 
kinds. So far as selling you two of my own — a 
wall-eye and a bone-spavin included — 1 consent." 

"Agreed, everything in your stable carries a 
side-saddle, that I know, so name your figure." 

"A hundred; they'd bring close on fifty at 
Dycer's any day, so, I am not exorbitant, as these 
are election times." 

"There's the ticket, then," said Linton, taking 
out a cheque-book and filling up a leaf for the 
sum, which he tore out and presented to Lord 
Charles. 

"What! has he really so far installed you as 
to " 

"As to give blank cheques," said the other, 
holding up the book in evidence, where " Roland 
Cashel" was written on a vast number of pages. 
"I never knew the glorious sense of generosity 
before, Charley. I have heard a great deal about 
liberal sentmients,and all that kind o' thing; but 
now, for the first time, do I feel the real 'enjoy- 
ment of mdulgence. To understand this liberty 
aright, however, a man must have a squeeze- 
such a squeeze as I have experienced myself once 
or twice in life; and then, my bov, as the song 
says,"— here, with a bold rattling air, he sang to 
a popular melody — 

When of luck you've no card up. 
And feel yourself 'hard-up,' 



And cannot imagine a method to win; 

When ' friends' take to shy you, 

And Jews to deny you, 
How pleasant to dip in another man's tin. 

**Not seeking or craving, 

Some pettyiul saving. 
You draw as you like upon Drummond or Gwynne; 

And while pleasure pursuing, 

You know there's no ruing 
The cost that comes out of another man's tin.' 

Eh, Charley! that's tlie toast we 'Chevaliers 
Modernes' should drink before the health of the 
royal family." 

"The royal family!" sneered Frobisher; "I 
never observed that loyalty was a very remarkable 
trait in your cliaracter." 

"The greater injustice yours, then," said Lin- 
ton. "I conceived a very early attachment to 
monarchy, on learning the importance of the 
king at ecarte." 

" I should have thought the knave had more 
of your sympathy," said the other. 

" Inasmuch as he follows the queen, I sup- 
pose," said Linton, good humoredly, laughing; 
"but come, don't look so grave, old fellow! had 
I been a political ' intriguant' and devoted these 
goodly talents of mine to small state rogueries in 
committees and adjourned debates, I'd have 
been somebody in these dull times of aspiring 
mediocrity, but as my ambitions have never 
soared beyond the possession of what may carry 
on the war of life, irrespective of its graver 
honors, you moralists — Heaven bless the mark! 
— rather regard me distrustfully. Now let me 
tell you a secret, and it's one worth the knowing. 
There's nothing so fatal to a man's success in life 
as 'a little character;' a really great one may 
dispense with every kind of ability and acquire- 
ment: get your name once up in our English 
public, and you may talk, preach and write the 
most rank nonsense with a very long impunity; 
but a little character, like a small swimming 
bladder, only buoys you up long enough to reach 
deep water, and be drowned. To journey the 
road of life with this, is to ' carry weight.' Take 
my advice — I give it in all sincerity- — you are as 
poor a man as myself; there are thousands of 
luxuries you can afford yourself, but this is too 
costly an indulgence for a small fortune. Your 
' little character' is a kind of cankering conscience, 
not strong enough to keep you out of wickedness, 
but sufficiently active to make you miserable 
afterwards. An everlasting suggester of small 
scruples, it leaves a man no time for anything 
but petty expedients and devices, and you hang 
suspended all j'our life between desire and denial, 
without the comfort of the one or the credit of 
the other." 

" Is the sermon over?" said Lord Charles, 
rather affectedly than really feeling tired of the 
"'tirade," " or are you only rehearsing the homily 
before you preach it to Roland Cashel?" 

"Quite wrong there, my lord," said Linton, 
with the same imperturbable temper. "Cashel 
is rich enough to afford himself any caprice, even 
a good name, if he like it. You and I must take 
ours as we do railway tickets, any number that's 
given us!" And with this speech, delivered in 



ROLAND CASH EL, 



425 



an air of perfect quietude, but still emphatically 
slow, he settled his hat on before the glass, 
arranged his whiskers, and walked away. 

Lord Cliarles, for a second, seemed disposed 
to make an angry reply, but correcting the im- 
pulse, he walked to the window in silence. "'I 
have half a mind to spoil your game, my worthy 
friend," muttered he, as the other passed across 
the court-yard; " one word lo Cashel would do it. 
To be sure it is exploding the mine with one's 
own hand to the fusee; that's to be thought 
of." And, so saying, he lay down on the sofa to 
ruminate. 

CHAPTER XV. 

AT THE GAMING TABLE. 

Not half so skilled in means and ways, 
Tile " hungry Greek" of classic days, 
His cards with far less cunning plays, 

Than eke, our modern sharper! 

When Linton had determined within himself to 
make Cashel " his own," his first care was to 
withdraw him from the daily society of the 
Kennyfecks, by whose familiar intercourse agreat 
share of influence was already enjoyed over their 
young guest. This was not so easy a task as he 
had at first imagined. Cashel had tasted of the 
pleasant fascination of easy intimacy with two 
young and pretty girls, eagerly bent on being 
agreeable to him. He was in all the full enjoy- 
ment of that rare union, the pleasure of being at 
home and yet an honored guest; and it was only 
when Linton suggested that late hours and irregular 
habits were but little in accordance with the 
decorouspropriety of a family, that Cashel yielded, 
and consented to remove his residence to agreat 
furnished house in "Stephen's green," where 
some bygone chancellor once held his state 

Linton well knew that if "Necessity" be the 
mother of invention, "Propinquity" is the father 
of love; that there is nothing so suggestive of the 
tender passion as that lackadaisical state to 
which lounging at home contributes, and the 
chance meetings with a pretty girl. The little 
intercourse on the stairs going down to break- 
fast, the dalliance in the conservatory, the chit- 
chat before dinner, are far more formidable than 
all the formal meetings under the blaze of wax- 
lights, and amid the crush of white satin. 

" If I leave him much longer among them," 
said he to himself, " he'll marry one of these girls; 
and then adieu to all influence over him! No 
more ^carte — no more indiscriminate purchases 
of everything I propose — no more giving 'the 
odds against the field.' A wife and a wife's 
family are heavy recognizances against a bachelor 
friend's counsels." 

Cashel was really sorry to leave the house where 
his time had passed so pleasantly. The very 
alternation of his interest regarding the two 
sisters had kept his mind in a state of pleasant 
incertitude, now, seeing something to prefer in 
this, now in that, while, at the same time, sug- 
gesting on their part greater efforts to please and 
amuse him. If Mr. Kennyfeck deemed Cashel's 



removal a very natural step, and one which his 
position in some sort demanded, not so his wife. 
She inveighed powerfully against the dangerous 
intimacy of Linton, and the ruinous consequences 
such an ascendancy would lead to. " You should 
tell Mr. Cashel who this man is,' said she, im- 
periously. 

" But that is exactly what nobody knows," 
meekly responded Mr. Kennyfeck. 

"Pshaw, every one knows all al)out him! 
You can tell him how he ruined young Rushbrook, 
and in less than two years left him without 
a shilling." 

Mr Kennyfeck shook his head, as though to 
say that the evidence was by'no means conclusive 
on that count. 

" Yes, you may affect not to believe it," said 
she. angrily, "but didn't George Lawson seethe 
cheque for eight thousand paid to Linton at 
Latouche's bank, and that was one eyening's 
work." 

"There was a great deal of high play, I've 
heard, among them." 

"Oh, indeed! you've heard that much," said 
she, scornfully; " probably, too, you heard how 
Linton paid seventy thousand pounds for part of 
the Dangwood estate — he, that had not sixpence 
three months previous. I tell you, Mr. Ken- 
nyfeck, that you have labored to very little 
purpose to establish this young rean's claim, if 
you are to stand by and see his property por- 
tioned among sharpers. There! don't start and 
look so frightened; there's nobody listening, and 
if there were, too, I don't care. I tell you, Mr. 
Kennyfeck, that if it weren't for your foolish in- 
sufficiency, Cashel would propose for Olivia. 
Yes! the thing is plain as possible. He fell in 
love with her the very night he arrived. Every 
• one saw it. Jane Lyons told me how it was re- 
marked the day the company dined here. Leon- 
ard told all over Dublin how she chose the 
diamonds, and that Cashel distinctly referred to 
her before buying them. Then, they were seen 
together driving through the streets. What more 
would you hcTve? And now you suffer all this 
to be undone for the selfish objects of Mr. Lin- 
ton, but I tell you, Mr. Kennyfeck, if you're a 
fool I am not." 

" But really, I don't see—" 

"Y'ou don't see! I'm sure you do not. You'd 
see, however, if it were a case for an action in the 
courts — a vulgar appeal to twelve greasy jurors 
— you'd see then. There is quite enough for 
a shabby verdict! But I regard the affair very 
differently, and I tell you frankly, if I see 
Cashel draw off in his attentions, I'll send for 
my cousin O'Gorman. I believe you can assure 
your young client that he'll find there's no joking 
with him." 

Now this was the "most unkindest cut of all;" 
for if report spoke truly, Mr. Kennyfeck had 
himself experienced from that genteleman a 
species of moral force impulsion which left the 
most unpleasant reminiscences behind. 

" I beseech you to remember, Mrs. Kennyfeck. 
that this agency is one of the best in Ireland." 

■' So much the more reason to have the prin- 
cipal your son-in-law " 



426 



ROLAND CASHEL, 



" I'd have you to reflect how little success 
coercion is iikt" to have with a person of Mr. 
Cashel's temper." 

"Peter is the best shot in Ballinasloe," re- 
joined Mrs. Kennyfeck, sententiously. 

Mr. Kennyfeck nodded a full assent; but 
seemed to hazard a doubt as to the efficiency of 
such skill. 

"I repeat, sir, I'll send for him. Peter knows 
pretty well what ought to be done in such matters, 
and it's a comfort to think there is some spirit 
on one side of the family, at least." Whether to 
afford a practical illustration, albeit negatively, 
or that he dreaded a continuance of the con 
troversy, Mr. Kennyfeck feigned a business 
appointment, and retired, leaving his spouse to 
ponder over her threat, and resolve with herself 
as to the advantage of Peter's alliance. 

While this conjugal discussion engaged papa 
and mamma, Cashel was endeavoring to explain 
to the fair daughters the reasons for his depart- 
ure, affecting to see that the multiplicity of 
his engagements and duties required a step 
which he owned was far from agreeable to his 
feelings. 

" I suspected how soon you would weary of us," 
said Olivia, in a half whisper. 

"We ought to have remembered, Livy," said 
the elder sister, "how little would our claims 
upon Mr. Cashel appear, when confronted with 
those of a higher station in the world." 

" I assure you, you wrong both yourselves 
and me. I never " 

" Oh, I'm certain you never imagined this step. 
I can well believe, that if it were not for advice 
— not very disinterested, perhaps — you would 
have still condescended to regard this as your 
home." 

" If I suspected that this removal would in 
the least affect the sentiments I entertain for my 
kind friends here, or in any way alter those I 
trust they feel for me I'd never have adopted, or 
having adopted, never execute it." 

" We are really very much to blame, Mr. 
Cashel," said Olivia, bashfully, " in suffering 
our feelings to sway you on a inatter like this. 
It was only too kind of you to come here at first, 
and perhaps even yet you will come occasionally 
to see us." 

"Yes, Mr. Cashel, Livy is right; we are very 
selfish in our wishes, and very inconsiderate be- 
sides. Your position in the world requires a 
certain mode of living, a certain class of acquaint- 
ances, which is not ours. It is far better, then, 
that we should resign ourselves to an inter- 
ruption, than wait for an actual breach of inti- 
macy." 

Cashel was totally at a loss to see how his 
mere change of residence could possibly imply a 
whole train of altered feelings and relations, and 
was about to express his astonishment on that 
score, when Linton's phaeton drove up to the 
door, according to an appointment they had 
made the day before, to breakfast with the of- 
ficers of a regiment quartered a short distance 
from town. 

" There is yowx friev', Mr. Cashel," said Miss 
Kennyfeck, with a marked emphasis on the word. 



Cashel muttered something about a rendezvous, 
and took up his hat, when a servant entered to 
request he would favor Mr. Kennyfeck with a 
brief interview before going out. 

" Are we to see you at dinner to-day?" said 
Olivia, languidly. 

"I hope so. Mrs. Kennyfeck has been kind 
enough to ask me, and I hope to have the pleas- 
ure." 

" Will Mr. Linton give leave?" said Miss Ken- 
nyfeck, kiighing; and then, seeing a cloud on 
Cashel's brow, added, " 1 meant, if you had made 
no appointment with him." 

"I'm self-willed enough to follow my own 
bent generally," said he, abruptly, and left the 
room. 

" You owe that gentleman a heavy grudge, 
Livy," said Miss Kennyfeck, as she approached 
the window and looked out. 

" Who do you mean, dear?" 

" Mr. Linton. Were it not for him, I half 
think you might have succeeded." 

"I really tai-not comprehend you," cried the 
younger, with well-assumed astonishment. 

" Of course not, my dear. Still, it was a dif- 
ficult game, even if left all to yourself. He was 
always likely to smash the tackle at the moment 
when almost caught. There, don't look so puz- 
zled, dear; I was only following out a little rev- 
erie — that's all." 

Meanwhile Cashel hastily descended the stairs, 
not over good-hunioredly commenting on Mr. 
Kennyfeck's ill-chosen moment for a business 
conversation. " I can only stay a few minutes, 
or rather seconds," cried he, as he opened the 
door of the study; and then checked himself as 
he perceived a short, stout, elderly man, of ven- 
erable appearance, who rose respectfully from 
his chair as he came in. 

"Doctor Tiernay — Mr. Cashel," said Kenny- 
feck, presenting the stranger. "I have taken 
the liberty to delay you, sir, since it would be a 
great convenience if you could accord this gen- 
tleman a brief hearing at present; he has come 
above a hundred miles to crave it, and must leave 
Dublin by the afternoon mail." 

"Without it be Mr. Cashel's pleasure to detain 
me," said the doctor, submissively. 

" He is a tenant of your Tubbermore estate, 
sir," resumed Kennyfeck, " a very near neigh- 
bor." 

" I regret that I am pressed for time at this 
moment, sir," said Cashel, drawing on his gloves 
impatiently; " but I believe it is the less conse- 
quence, inasmuch as I really know nothing — ab- 
solutely notiiing — and you, Mr. Kennyfeck, 
know everything about that property, and 
are by far the best person to hear and decide 
upon this gentleman's proposition, whatever 
it be." 

" It is a case that must be decided by your- 
self, sir," said the doctor. "It is neither a matter 
of law nor right, but a simple question of whether 
you will do an act of great kindness to the oldest 
tenant on your property, a man who, now over- 
taken by years and sickness, may not, jierhaps, 
be alive at my return, to hear of your benevo- 
lence." 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



427 



"It is about this renewal, sir," interposed Ken- 
nyfeck, who saw Cashel's increasing impatience 
to be away. " Mr. Corrigaii's lease expires on 
the 25th." 

" He is now struck by paralysis," interrupted 
the doctor; " and his only prayer is to be suf- 
fered to die beneath the roof where he has lived 
for fifty years." 

" A tenant at will," interposed Kennyfeck. 

" Gracious heaven! liovv could he suppose I 
should dream of dispossessing him?" cried 
Cashel. " Of coarse, sir, the house is his own 
so long as he pleases to hold it. Tell him so. 
Mr. Kennyfeck will tell him from me, that he 
need not give the matter another thought. I am 
sincerely grieved that it should have already 
caused him so much an.xiety." 

"Ah, sir," cried the doctor, while two very 
dubious drops twinkled in his eyes, "you are, 
rndeed, worthy of the good fortune that has be- 
fallen you. My poor old friend will bless you, 
with a prouder heart in his belief in human na- 
ture, than even his gratitude could suggest. 
Farewell, sir, and may you long live to be as 
happy as you know how to make others." 

With an impulse of irrepressible warmth the 
old man seized Cashel's liand in both his own, 
and pressed it cordially, when the door suddenly 
opened, and Linton, dressed in a riding costume, 
appeared. 

" What, Roland, at business so early. Do you 
know you're an hour behind time?" 

" I do; but I couldn't help it — in fact, this was 
unexpected " 

" It was an act of benevolence, sir, detained 
Mr. Cashel," interrupted the doctor. "I be- 
lieve no appointment can be broken with a safer 
apology." 

" Ho! ho!" said Linton, throwing up his eye- 
brows, as if he suspected a snare to his friend's 
simplicity. " Which of the missions to convert 
the blacks, or what family of continuous twins 
are you patronizing?" 

"Good-bye, sir," said the doctor, turning 
towards Cashel. "I'd ask your pardon for the 
liberty I have already taken with you, if I were 
not about to transgress again." Here he looked 
Linton fully in the face. " Mr. Cashel has done 
a kind and worthy action this morning, sir; but 
if he does many more such, and keep your com- 
pany, he is not only a good man, but the strong- 
est principled one I ever met with." 

As the last word was uttered, the door closed 
after him, and he was gone. 

*' So, then, I'm the Mephistopheles to your 
Faust," said Linton, laughing heartily; "but 
what piece of credulous benevolence has cost 
you this panegyric and me this censure?" 

"Oh, a mere trifle," said Cashel, preparing to 
leave — "a simple grant of renewal to an old ten- 
ant on my estate." 

" Only that," said Linton, affecting the cool- 
est indifference, .while by a keen glance at Ken- 
nyfeck he revealed a profound consciousness of 
his friend's simplicity. 

"Nothing more, upon my honor; that little 
cottage of Tubber-beg." 

" Not that fishing-lodge beside the river, in an 



angle of your own demesne?" asked Linton, 
eagerly. 

" The same — why, what of it?" 

"Nothing, save that your magnanimity is but 
one-sided, since only so late as Thursday last, 
when we looked over the map together, you gave 
me that cottage until such time as you should 
include the farm within the demesne." 

"By Jupiter, and so I did!" exclaimed Cashel, 
while a flush of shame covered his face and fore- 
head; "what a confounded memory I have. 
What is to be done?" 

"Oh, never fret about it," said Linton, taking 
his arm, and leading him away. "The thing is 
easily settled. What do I want with a cottage? 
The old gentleman, is, doubtless, a far more 
rural personage than I should prove. Let us 
not forget Aubrey's breakfast, which, if we wait 
much longer, will be a luncheon. The ladies 
well, Mr. Kennyfeck?" This was the first time 
he had noticed that gentleman. 

"Quite well, Mr. Linton," said he, bowing 
politely. 

" Pray, present my respects. By the way, you 
don't want a side-saddle horse, do you?" 

"I thank you, we are supplied." 

" What a pity! I've got such a grey, with that 
swinging, low, cantering action Miss Kennyfeck 
likes; she rides so well! I wish she'd try him." 

A shake of the head and a bland smile inti- 
mated a mild refusal. 

" Inexorable father! Come, Cashel, you shall 
make the a7iicnde for having given away my cot- 
tage; you must buy Reginald, and make him a 
present to the lady." 

" Agreed," said Cashel, " send him over to-day; 
he's mine, or rather Miss Kennyfeck's. Nay, 
sir, really I will not be opposed. Mr. Kennyfeck, 
I insist." 

The worthy attorney yielded, but not without 
reluctance, and saw them depart, with grave mis- 
givings that the old doctor's sentiment was truly 
spoken, and that Linton's companionship was a 
most unhappy accident. 

" I must get into Parliament," said Linton, as 
he seated himself beside Cashel in the phaeton, 
" if it were only to quote you as one ef that 
much-belied class, the Irish landlord. The man 
who grants renewals of his best land on terms 
contracted three hundred years ago, is very 
much wanting just now. What a sensation it 
will create in the House, when they cry ' Name, 
name,' and I reply that I am under a positive 
personal injunction not to name, and then Shar- 
man Crawford, or one of that set, rises and avers 
that he believed the honorable and learned gen- 
tleman's statement to be perfectly unfounded. 
Amid a deluge of 'Ohs!' I stand up and boldly 
declare that further reserve is no longer possi- 
ble, and that the gentleman whom I am so proud 
to call my friend i-s Roland Cashel, Esq., of Tub- 
bermore. There's immortality for you, for that 
evening at any rate. You'll be toasted at Bel- 
lamy's, at supper, and by the white-headed old 
gentlemen who sit in the window at the Carlton." 

"You'll not hint that I had already made a 
present of the lands when I displayed so much 
munificence," said Cashel, smiling. 



428 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



" Not a syllable; but I'll tell the secret to the 
opposition, if you ever grow restive," said Lin- 
ton, with a laugh, in which, if Roland had studied 
Lavater, lie might have read a valuable lesson. 

"A propos of Parliament, Kennyfeck persists 
in boring me about it, and that Mr. Dovvnie 
Meek seems to have it at heart that I am to rep- 
lesent something or somebody, well knowing, the 
while, that I cannot possibly be supposed to 
understand anything of the interests whereon I 
should be called to vote and legislate." 

" That's not so much consequence," said Lin- 
ton; "you'd find a very strong section of the 
house very like yourself, but the thing would 
bore you; you would neither like the fatigue nor 
the slavery of it; and, positively, there is no ex- 
citement, iave for the half-dozen who really con- 
test the race. Meek, and others of the same 
stamp, will tell you that property should be rep- 
resented in the legislature. I agree fully with 
the sentiment, so it should. So also should a 
a man's rents be collected, but that's no reason 
he should be his own agent, when he can find 
another, far more capable, ready for office. — 
Touch that off-side horse, he'll skulk his collar 
when he can. — Now, if you have any county or 
borougli influence going a-begging, send in your 
nominee, any fellow who'll suit your views, and 
express your opinions— myself, for instance," 
said he, laughing, " for want of a better. — Those 
manes don't lie right; that near-sider's falls on 
the wrong side of the neck. — The great secret 
for -any man, situated as you are, is to avoid all 
complications, political, social, and matrimonial. 
You have a glorious open country before you, if 
there be no cross-riding to spoil vour run." 

" Well, I am not above taking advice," said 
Cashel but really I must own that, from the little 
I've seen of the matter, it seems harder to go 
through life with a good fortune than without a 
shilling. I know that, as a poor man, very 
lately " 

" Come, come, you know very little what 
Ijoverty means; you've been leading a gav life in 
a land where men do, by one bold enterprise, 
the work which costs years of slow toil in our 
tamer regions. Now, I should have liked that 
kind of thing myself. Ay, you may smile, that 
a man who devotes a large share of each day to 
the tie of his cravat, and the immaculate elegance 
ot his boots, should venture to talk of prairie life 
and adventure. Take care — by Jove! I thought 
you were into that apple-stall." 

" Never say it twice," cried Cashel, gayly. 
" I'm beginning to feel confoundedly tired of 
this life here; and, if I don't find that it improves 
on acquaintance, I'll take a run down west, just 
to refresh my spirits. Will you come with me?" 

'•With my whole heart I join the proposal; but 
you are not serious; I know you are merely jest- 
ing in all this." 

" Perfectly serious. I am decidedly weary of 
seven o'clock dinners and morning calls. But 
here we are." 

As he spoke, they drove into the barrack-yard, 
where groups of lounging officers, in every variety 
of undress, were seen in all the insipid enjoyment 
of that cigar-smoking existence, which forms the 



first article in our military code of education. 
The gallant — th Light Dragoons were a "fast 
regiment," and the inventors of the new locomo- 
tive on the road to ruin, called a "mess-break- 
fast" — a meal where champagne flows with a 
profusion rarely seen at dinner, and by which 
men begin the day in a frame of mind that would 
not be very decorous even when concluding it. 
Cashel, being an honored guest, drank wine with 
every one, not to speak of participating in various 
little bibatory trios and quartets, so that when 
the entertainment drew to a close, he was very 
far from that self-possession and command 
which, with all his high spirits, seldom deserted 
him. 

A tremendous fall of rain, that showed no 
prospect of ceasing, had just set in, so that the 
party agreed to repair to the major's rooms, and 
make a pool at ecarte. After some talkingabout 
play in general, and some quizzing about not 
being able to bet a sum such as Cashel would 
care to play for, the game began. 

Notwithstanding the apologies, the play was 
high, so much so, that Cashel, never a very shrewd 
observer, could not help remarking that several 
of the players could not conceal the anxiety the 
game inspired. 

Roland himself joined less from inclination 
than fellowship, and far better pleased to be at 
liberty to chat with some of the others, than to 
be seated at the table, he arose each time he lost, 
well content to pay for freedom by his gold. 
His natural indifference, added to a perfect care- 
lessness about money induced him to accept any 
bet that was offered, and these were freely pro- 
posed, since, in play parlance, " the run was 
against him;" so that, ere the trumpet-call an- 
nounced the time to dress for the mess, he had 
lost heavily. 

" You have no idea how much you have lost," 
said Linton, in a low voice, and with a gravity 
of manner almost leproachful. 

" Not the slightest," said Cashel, laughing. 
"I can tell you, then, for I have totted it up. 
This morning's work has cost you seven thousand 
some hundred pounds." 

" Indeed!" said Cashel, a flush rather of shame 
than displeasure mantling on his features. "I'll 
give it up, in future." 

" No, no! not till you've had your revenge," 
whispered Linton. "We'll stay for the mess, 
and have at them again. The night is terrific, 
and no possibility of leaving." 

The mess followed, and although play was to 
succeed it, the party drank freely, and sat long 
over their wine, even Linton himself seeming to 
linger at the table, and leave it with regret. 

As for Cashel, for the first time in his life he 
wished to play. No desire for money-getting, no 
mean passion for gain suggested the wish, it was 
it was si.m]ily a piqued vanity at being beaten; a 
sense of indignity that his inferiority should seem 
to be implied, even in so trifling a matter, urged 
him on, and he was one of the first to vote for a 
return to ecarte. 

Except Linton, there was not probably one 
who could be called a good player in the party — 
but luck, which has more than the mastery over 



ROLAND CASHEL, 



429 



skill, supplied the place of knowledge, and Casliel 
was the only heavy loser of the whole assembly. 
Stung by continued failure, too, he betted madly 
and foolishly, so that as the day was breaking, 
and the stir in the barrack-yard announced the 
approaching parade, his losses reached more than 
double what they had been in the morning. 

" I say, lads!" said the major, as they all arose 
from the table, " one word before you go." So 
saying, he turned the key in the door, and stood 
with his back against it. " Before any one 
leaves the room, each must promise on his 
honor not to mention a syllable of this night's 
business. We all know that we have been play- 
ing for higher stakes than ever we've been in the 
habit of. The report, if it get abroad, would 
ruin the regiment." 

" Oh, we all promise not a word shall be said 
about it," cried out several voices together. 
"There's the second trumpet!" So saying, they 
hastened pell-mell to dress for the parade, while 
Cashel, taking Linton's arm, set out homewards. 

"I say, Tom!" said Roland, after they had 
walked on for some time in silence, " I am some- 
what ashamed of this exploit of mine, and would 
not for a great deal that Kennyfeck should know 
it. Is there no way of getting this money by 
loan — for if I draw now " 

"Make your mind quite easy; I'll arrange 
that for you. Don't worry yourself about it. 
It's a bore, of course, to lose a round sum like 
that, but you can afford it, my boy, that's one 
comfort. If it had been me, by Jove, the half 
of it would have drained the well!" This said, 
he hastily changed the topic, and they walked 
along chatting of everything save the late party. 



CHAPTER XVI. 



what roland overheard at the money 
lender's. 

The money that " at play" is spent, 
Must oft be raised at " cent, per cent." 

— The Mode. 

" Good-night, or rather good-morrow," said 
Linton, as he stood with Cashel on the steps of 
his newly-taken residence. 

Cashel made no reply; his thoughts were re- 
curring to the scene of the late debauch, and in 
some pangs of self-reproach he was recalling the 
heavy sum he had lost. " You spoke of my being 
able to raise this money, Linton, without Kenny- 
feck's knowing; for I am really ashamed of the 
affair. Tell me how can it be done?" 

" Nothing easier." 

" Nay, but when? for if I must confess it, I 
can think of nothing else till it be arranged." 

" What a timid conscience yours must be," 
said Linton, laughing, " that cannot sleep lest 
the ghosts of his I. O.'s should haunt him." 

" The fact is so, nevertheles. The very gloomy 
moments of my life have been associated with 
plav transactions. This shall be the last." 

" What folly! You suffer mere passing im- 
pressions to wear deep into your nature; you that 



should be a man of nerve and vigor. What can 
it possibly signify that you have thrown away a 
few hundreds, or a few thousands either?". 

"Very little as regards the money, I own; but 
I'm not certain how long my indifference re- 
specting play might last. I am not sure how long 
I could endure being beaten — for that is the 
sense losing suggests- — without a desire to con- 
quer in turn. Now up to this I have played to 
oblige others, without interest or excitement of 
any kind. What if I should change and become 
a gambler from choice?" 

"Why, if you propound the question with that 
solemn air, you'll almost frighten me into believing 
it would be something very terrible; but if you 
ask me simply w^hat would be the result of your 
growing fond of play, I'll tell you fairly, it's a 
pleasure gained, one of the few resources which 
only a rich man can afford with impunity, so 
much the more fascinating, that it can be in- 
dulged in such perfect accordance with every 
humor of a man's mind. If you are so inclined, 
you play low, and coquet with fortune, or it 
lavishly given, you throw the reins loose and go 
free. Now it seems to me that nothing could 
better suit the careless, open-handed freedom of 
your habits than the vacillations of high play. 
It's the only way that even for a moment you can 
taste the sensation of being hard pressed, while 
in the high flood of kick you can feel that gushing 
sense ot power that somehow seems to be the 
secret soul of gold!" 

" Men must lose with a very different look upon 
their features before I can win with the ecstacy 
you speak of," cried Cashel. " But where are we 
straying to — what part of the town have we got 
into?" 

"This is the cattle-market," said Linton, "and 
I have brought you here because I saw you'd 
not close your eyes till that silly affair was 
settled, and here we are now at Dan Hoare's 
counting-house, the man of all others to aid us. 
Follow me; I ought to know the stairs well, in 
daylight or dark." 

Cautiously following his guide, Cashel mounted 
a half-rotten, creaky stair, which passed up be- 
tween two damp and mildewed walls, and entered 
a small chamber whose one window looked out 
in a dirty court. The only furniture consisted of 
two deal chairs and a table, on which various in- 
scriptions made by penknives betoken the 
patience and zeal of former visitors. 

Linton passed on to the end of the chamber, 
where was a narrow door, but suddenly halted as 
his eye caught a little slip of paper attached to a 
slidingpanel, and which bore the vord 'Engaged.'' 
"Ha!" cried he, "one here already! You see, 
early as it is, Dan is at work, discounting and 
protesting as usual. By the way, I have forgot 
one essential: he never gives a stamp and so I 
must provide one. Wait for me here; there is a 
place in the neighborhood where they can be 
had, and I'll be back presently." 

Casiiel sat himself down in the cheerless little 
den, thinking of the many who might have waited 
there before, in so many frames of anxiety and 
torturing suspense. His own memory could 
recall a somewhat similar character in Geiz- 



430 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



heimer, and while he was thus remembering 
some features of the past, he fell into a reverie, 
forgetting time and place together, the sound of 
voices from the adjoining room serving rather to 
lull than arouse his attention. At last a word 
caught his ear He started suddenly, and looking 
about him for a second, experienced almost a 
difficulty to remember where he was. Could it be 
possible, or was it mere fancy? but he believed 
he heard his name mentioned by some one within 
that room. Less caring to know how or by 
whom the name was spoken than if the fact were 
actually so, he leaned forward on his chair, and 
bent his ear to listen, when he heard, in a voice 
louder than had been used before, the following 
words; 

" It may be all as you say, sir; I won't pre- 
tend to throw a doubt upon your words; but, as 
a mere man of business, I may be permitted to 
say that this promise, however satisfactory to 
your friend's feelings, is not worth a si.xpence in 
law. Corrigan asks for a renewal of his lease, 
and the other says, ' Keep your holding — don't 
disturb yourself,' and there he is, a tenant at will. 
Now, for the purposes you have in view towards 
me, that pledge goes for nothing. I cannot re- 
new these bills upon such frail security If the 
old man cannot find means to meet them, Leices- 
ter must, that's all.'' 

"Leicester is a villain!" cried another and a 
deeper voice, whose tones seemed not quite 
strange to Roland's ears. " He has ruined my 
poor old friend; he will soon leave him house- 
less, and he threatens to leave him almost friend- 
less too." 

" He told me," said the other, " he should cer- 
tainly claim his daughter, and means to return 
next summer for that purpose." 

" I almost hope poor Con will never live to see 
that day," said the former, with a heavy sigh. 

"Well, to return to our own affair, sir, I tell 
you, frankly, I don't consider Cashel's promise 
deserving of any consideration. He, doubtless, 
means to keep it; that's the very most anybody 
can say about it. But remember what a life he 
is leading: he has drawn above thirty thousand 
out of Latrobe's hands in three months — no one 
knows for what. He has got among a set of men 
who play high, and cannot pay if they lose. 
Now, his estate is a good one; but it can't last 
forever. My notion is that the young fellow 
will end as he began, and become a buccaneer 
once more." 

" He has a long course to run ere that comes," 
said the other. 

" Not so long as you fancy. There are de- 
mands upon him from quarters you little suspect, 
or that, for the moment, he little suspects him- 
self. It would surprise you to hear that he is in 
Leicester's hands too." 

" Roland Cashel— Mr. Cashel, in Leicester's 
hands? How do you mean?" 

Just at this instant Linton's foot was heard as- 
cending the stairs, and Cashel, whose eagerness 
to hear the remainder became a perfect torture 
of anxiety, was forced to lose the opportunity. 

"What a hunt I have had," said Linton, as he 
entered, flushed and weary-looking. *' Our amount 



is rather above the ordinary mark, and I found it 
almost impossible to procure the stamps. Are 
you tired waiting?" 

" No — nothing to speak of," said Cashel, con- 
fusedly. 

" Well, I fancy our friend here has had much 
more than his share of an audience. I'll see and 
unearth him." 

And so saying, Linton knocked with his cane 
at the door. A low murmuring of voices suc- 
ceeded, the sound of feet followed, and soon 
after the door was opened, and a small, thin, pale- 
faced man in black appeared. 

" Good-morning, Mr. Hoare. Here have w^e 
been playing ante-chamber to your serene high- 
ness for full an hour. This is Mr. Roland 
Cashel, Mr. Hoare, who wishes to make your 
acquaintance." 

'i'he little man turned his quick gray eyes 
towards Cashel with a most scrutinizing keen- 
ness; but, as suddenly withdrawing them, invited 
both to enter. 

'• Be seated, gentlemen. Pardon the humble 
accommodation of this place. Take a chair, Mr. 
Linton." 

" We want tin, Mr. Hoare," said Linton, slap- 
ping his boot with his cane: "that most universal 
and vulgar want. My friend here desires to raise 
a sum, without having recourse to his agent, and 
I believe no man can aid in a little secret-service 
transaction like yourself." 

'■ Is the sum a large one, sir?" said Hoare ad- 
dressing Cashel. 

" I cannot tell you exactly,' said Cashel, in 
some confusion at the confession of his ignor- 
ance. I fancy it must be close on ten or twelve 
thousand pounds."' 

"More like twenty'" cried Linton, coolly. 
Then turning to Hoare, he went on: " My friend 
here is, happily for him, very little skilled in af- 
fairs of this kind; and as his security is about the 
best that can be offered, he need not buy his ex- 
perience very dearly. Now just tell us, frankly, 
how, when, and on what terms he can have this 
money." 

" Money is scarce just now, sir," said Hoare; 
"but as to securities, Mr. Cashel's bills are quite 
sufficient. There is no necessity for any legal 
expenses whatever. I need not say that the 
transaction shall be perfectly secret; in fact, 
I'll keep the bills in my own hands till due." 

" There, that's the man I told you he was,'" 
cried Linton " A Croesus in generosity as in 
gold. I would I were your son, or your son-in- 
law, Hoare." 

" Too much honor, Mr Linton," said the 
money-lender, whose slight flush did not betoken 
a concurrence in his own words. "Now to busi- 
ness," continued he, addressing Cashel. " If you 
favor me with your name on four bills for five 
thousand each, and the accompanying charges 
for interest, discount, commission, and so on, 
I'll engage that you have this money within the 
week." 

■ Could it not be to-morrow? I should like 
greatly to have the whole off my mind; and as I 
mean not to play again " 

" Pooh, pooh," said Linton, stopping an ex- 



ROLAND CASH EL. 



431 



planation he was by no means pleased Hoare 
should hear; "time enough for resolutions, and 
time enough for payment too. By the end of the 
week, Hoare, will do perfectly. You can bring 
the bills with you to my quarters, say on Saturday 
morning, and we'll drive over to Mr Cashel's." 

" Very well. I'll be punctual. At eleven on 
.Saturday expect me. May I bring that little 
thing of yours for 200/. with it, Mr. Linton?" 

" Of course you may not. Where do you ex- 
pect me to find money for the debts of last year.? 
My dear Hoare, I have no more memory for such 
things than I have for the sorrows of childhood." 

"Ah, very well, sir, we'll keep it over, ' said 
Hoare, smiling. 

" Let him bring it," whispered Cashel, '' and 
include it in one of my bills. There's nothing 
so worrying as an overhanging debt.' 

" Do you think so?" replied Linton. "Bless 
me, I never felt that. A life without duns is like 
a sky without a cloud, very agreeable for a short 
time, but soon becoming wearisome from very 
monotony. You grow as sick of uninterrupted 
blue as ever you did of impending rain and storm. 
Let me have the landscape effect of light and 
shadow over existence. The brilliant bits are 
then ten times as glorious in color, and the dark 
shadows of one's mortgages only heighten the 
warmth of the picture. Ask Hoare there, /ic'W tell 
you. I actually cherish my debts." 

"Very true, sir; you cannot bear to part with 
them either." 

"Well said, old Moses: the 'interest' tliey in- 
spire is too strong for one's feelings. But hark! 
I hear some fresh arrivals without. Another boat 
load of the d d has crossed the Styx." 

"Thanks for the simile, sir," said Hoare, 
smiling faintly — " on Saturday." 

"On Saturday," repeated Linton. 

Cashel lingered as he left the room; a longing 
desire to speak one word, to ask one question of 
Hoare — who was this Leicester of whom he spoke? 
— was uppermost in his mind, and yet he did not 
dare to own he had heard the words. He could 
have wished, too, to communicate his thoaghts to 
Linton, but a secret fear told him that perhaps 
the mystery might be one he would not wish 
revealed. 

"Why so thoughtful, Roland? ' said Linton, after 
traversing some streets in silence. " My friend 
Hoare has not terrified you?" 

" No, I was not thinking of him," said Cashel. 
" What kind of character does he bear?" 

" Pretty much that of all his class. Sharp 
enough, when sharpness is called for, and seem- 
ingly liberal if liberality pays better. To me he 
has been ever generous. Why, Heaven knows; 
I suppose the secret will out one of these days. 
I'm sure I don't ask for it," 

Linton's flippancy, for the first time, was dis- 
tasteful to Cashel. If the school in which he 
was bred taught little remorse about the sin of 
incurring debt, it inculcated, however a manly 
self-reliance, to clear off the incumbrance by some 
personal effort, and he by no means sympathized 
with the cool indifference of Linton s philosophy. 
Linton, always shrewd enough to know when he 
had not " made a hit," at once turned the con- 



versation into another channel, by asking at 
what time Cashel proposed to receive his visit- 
ors at Tubbermore. 

"Is the honor seriously intended me?" said 
Cashel, "'or is it merely a piece of fashionable 
quizzing, this promised visit, for I own I scarcely 
supposed so many fine people would like to en- 
counter the hard usage of such an old ruin as I 
hear this must be." 

" You'll have them to a certainty. I doubt if 
there wdl be a single apology. 1 IJnow at this 
instant the most urgent solicitations have been 
employed to procure invitations." 

"With all my heart, then," cried Cashel; "only 
remember the order of the course depends on 
you. I know nothing of how they ought to be 
entertained or amused. Take the whole affair 
into your own hands, and I shall concur in every- 
thing. ' 

" Originality is always better than imitation, 
but still if one cannot strike out a totally new 
line, what do you think of taking old Mathews 
of Johnstown for our model, and invite all our 
guests with free permission to dine, breakfast, 
and sup at what hour, and in what parties they 
please? This combines the unbridled freedom 
of an inn with the hospitality of a country-house. 
Groups form as fancy dictates. New combina- 
tions spring up each day — no fatigue, no ennui 
can ensue with such endless changes in compan- 
ionship, and you yourself, instead of the fatiguing 
duties of a host, are at liberty, like any of your 
guests, to join this party or that." 

"I like the notion immensely — how would our 
friends take it, for that is the point?" 

" It would be popular with every one, for it 
will suit your people who know and like to mix 
with every set in society, and at the same time 
gratify your ' exclusives,' who can form their own 
little coteries with all the jealous selection they 
love. Besides, it avoids another and great dif- 
ficulty. Had you received in ordinary fashion, 
you must have asked some lady-friend to have 
done the honors for you. This would have been 
a matter of the greatest embarrassment. The 
Kennyfecks have not rank enough — old Lady 
Janet would have frightened every one away — 
Mrs. White would have filled the house with her 
own ' blues,' and banished everyone else — and 
as for Lady Kilgoff — who besides being a very 
pretty woman and well-mannered, has an ex- 
ceedingly fascinating way with strangers — 'My 
lord' is so jealous, so absurdly, madly jealous, 
that she dare not ask after the success of a shoot- 
ing-party without his suspecting an allegorical 
allusion to Cupid and his shafts." 

"Well, then, let us resolve to receive 'en 
Mathews;' and now, when shall we name the 
day?" 

" Let us wait till the result of the division be 
known in Parliament. A change of ministers is 
hinted at, and if it were to occur, you'll have 
every one hastening away to his county for the 
new election; by Saturday we shall learn every- 
thing, and that will be time enough." 

"In any case, I had better set off and see 
what can be done to put the house m a fit state 
to receive them." 



432 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



" Leave all that to me. I'll take Popham, the 
architect, down with me, and you need never 
trouble your head about the matter It's quite 
clear people who accept an invitation like tlie 
present, must put up with a hundred small pen- 
alties on convenience. The liberty of such a 
house always repays whatever is wanting on the 
score of ceremonial and order, and your fine 
guests, who would perhaps give themselves airs 
towards the JCennyfecks and their set — if meet- 
ing them elsewhere — will here affect, at least, a 
tone of good-natured equality, just as in revo- 
lutionary times people shake hands with their 
hairdresser." 

"But how to amuse or even occupy them! 
that is a great puzzle to me." 

" Leave them perfectly to their own devices. 
In fun there should always be free trade. Pro- 
tection ruins it. But all this is Egyptian to yo;i, 
so go to bed and sleep soundly, and leave the 
cares of state to me. 

"On me the glory or disgrace, 
The pride of triumpli, or the shame of fall." 

" Then I'll think no more of the matter," said 
Cashel: " and so good-bye." 

"Now for a twenty-four hours' sleep," said 
Linton, "and then, once more, to roll the stone 
of life, which, by the way. gives the lie to the 
old adage, for unquestionably it does ' gather 
moss' as we grow older." 



CHAPTER XVIL 

SC.\NNING THE POLITICAL HORIZON. 
Confound their politics! — NATIONAL Anthem. 

Linton was very far from indulging that 
dreamy inactivity of which he spoke. Plans and 
schemes of various kinds occupied his thoughts 
too intently to admit of slumber. Indeed his 
theory was, that if a man could not dream of 
some happy mode of advancing his fortune, sleep 
was a fearful inroad upon his worldly career. 

He at once hastened home to read his letters 
and newspapers, and so important did their in- 
telligence seem, that he only delaved to change 
his dress and eat a hurried breakfast, wlien he 
repaired to the Castle, where a few minutes pre- 
viously the secretary, Mr. Downie Meek, had 
arrived from his lodge in the Park. 

" Safe once more. Meek," said he, entering fhe 
official chamber, where, immersed in printed re- 
turns, petitions, and remonstrances, sat the busy 
secretary. 

"Ah, Linton! you are the hien vcnii. We are 
to have another heat for the race, though I own 
it scarcely looks promising." 

" Particularly as you are going to carry weiijht," 
said Linton, laughing. " It's true. I suppose, 
that the Irish party have joined you?" 

" There was no help for it," said the secretarv 
with a despondent gesture of the eyebrows; "we 
had no alternative save accepting the greasy 



voices, or go out. Some deemed the former the 
better course, but others remembered the story 
of the Brahmin, who engaged to teach the ass 
to speak in ten years, or else forfeit his own 
head." 

" And perfectly right," interrupted Linton. 
"The Brahmin had only three chances in his 
favor. Now, your king may die too, and you 
have any nuinber of asses to be got rid of. ' 

" Let us be serious, Tom. What are our pros- 
pects at a general election' Are the landed 
gentry growing afraid of the O Ciorman party, or 
art tiiey still hanging back, resentful of Peel's 
desertion?" 

" They are very conservative — that is, they 
want to keep their properties, and pay the least 
possible taxation. Be cautious, however, and 
you have them all your own. The Irish party 
being now with you, begin by some marked favor 
to the Protestant Church. Hear me out. This 
will alarm the Romanists, and cause a kind of 
split amongst them. Such as have, or e\pect to 
have place, w-ill stand by you; the others will 
show fight. You have then an- opportunity of 
proclaiming yourselves a strong Protestant cabi- 
net, and the ultras, who hate Peel, will at least 
affect to believe you. While the country is thus 
agitated, go to the elections. Your friends amid 
so inany unsettled opinions, cannot be expected 
to take pledges, or, better still, they cannot ac- 
cept any, subject to various contingencies never 
to arise. ' 

"I am sorely afraid of this splitting up the 
forces," said Meek, doubtfully. 

"It's your true game, depend upon it," said 
Linton. "The Irish allies are unwieldy — when 
numerous. I remember once calling on Tom 
Scott, the trainer, one day, and while he went 
through the stables, I could not held remarking 
the fine family of boys he had. 'Yes, sir,' said 
Tom, modestly, 'they're good-looking c-haps, and 
smart ones. God Almighty keep 'em little, sir!' " 

" Ah, very true," sighed Meek; "God Almighty 
keep 'em liitle!" 

"Then," resumed Linton, "you have never 
played out that golden game of Irish legislation, 
which consists in enacting a law, and always 
ruling against it. Decide for the education 
system, but prcmote the men wl o opjjose it. 
Condemn the public conduct of ctrtain parties, 
and then let iliim figure as baronets, or lieuten- 
ants of counties, in the next Gazette, and to crown 
all, seek out every now and then some red-hot 
supjiorter of government, and degrade him frcm 
the bench of magistrates for maladministration! 
This which in England would seem rather cha- 
otic legislation, will, to Irish intelligence, smack 
like even-handed justice." 

"We have a bad press," said Meek, peevishly. 

" No matter, it has the less influence. Believe 
me, it will be an evil day for you Downing street 
gentlemen when Ireland possesses a really able 
and independent press — when, avoiding to])ics 
of mere irritating tendency, men address them- 
selves to the actual wants of the country, exem- 
plifying, as they disclose them, the inaptitude 
and folly of English legislation. Don't wait for 
that day, Meek. In all likelihood it is distant 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



433 



enough, but in any case don't hasten its coming 
by your prayers." 

" You mustn't broach these doctrines out of 
doors, Tom," said Meek, in a soft, caressing 
tone; "there is a horrid cant getting up just now 
against English rule, and in favor of native manu- 
factures." 

" Which be they. Meek? I never heard of 
them. Maynooth is the only factory I know of 
in the land, and a brisk trade it has, home and 
colonial." 

" You know as well as any man the benefits 
we have conferred on this country." 

" Yes, it demands no great tax on memory to 
repeat them. You found a starving peasantry of 
a couple of millions, and being unable or incom- 
petent to aid them, you ruined the gentry to keep 
them company You saw a mangv miserable dog, 
'with famine in his flank and death in his eye, 
and answering his appeal to your compassion, you 
cut an inch off his tail and told him to eat it." 

"You are too bad, Tom — a great deal too bad. 
What are you looking for?" 

" Nothing at present," was the cool reply. 

"What in prospective, then?" 

" I should like to be the secretary for Ireland, 
Meek, whenever they shelve you among the other 
unredeemed pledges in that pawn-office, the 
Board of Trade." 

Meek affected a laugh, but not over success- 
fully, while to turn the conversation, he said, 
^'A p?-op(!s to your friend Cashel, I have not been 
able to show him any attentions, so occupied 
have I been with one thing and another. Let us 
make a dinner for him." 

"No, no, he doesn't care for such tilings. 
Come and join his house-warming on the Shan- 
non, that will be far better." 

" I mean it, but I should like, also, to see him 
here. He knows the Kilgoffs, doesn't he?" 

" Slightly. By the way, what are you going 
to do with my lord? He wants, like Sancho, to 
be governor of an island." 

" What an old bore! without brains, fortune, or 
influence." 

" He has a very pretty wife. Meek. Don't you 
think the foreign office would recognize (hat 
claim?" 

" So they send him out of this, I am content. 
But to return to what we were talking about. 
Shall we say Friday? or will Saturday suit you? 
and we'll make up a small party " 

" I fear not. I mean to leave town by the end 
of the week '' 

" Not for any time?" 

" A few days only, and then I shall be at yoirr 
orders — meanwhile, leave Cashel to himself; he 
has got some suspicions — Heaven knows whence 
or how — that his borough influence makes hin.i ^ 
very important card just now; therefore don't 
notice him — strave him out, and you'll have him 
come forth with a white flag one of these days. 
I know him well, and the chances are, that if he 
were to attribute any of his civilities to the score 
of your calculation respecting his political in- 
fluence, he would at once become your most 
determined opponent." 

"But his borough '' 



" Let him represent it himself, Meek, and it's 
the next best thing to disfranchisement." 

"He would not be likely to accept any advice 
from us?" asked Meek, half timidly. 

"To a certainty he would not, although prof- 
fered in your own most insinuating manner. 
Come, Meek, no nonsense; you must look out for 
a seat for your proft'ge, Clare Jones, elsewhere; 
though I tell you frankly he is not worth the 
trouble.'' 

"I declare you are all wrong, Linton — quite 
wrong; I was thinking whether from motives of 
delicacy you would not lil:e to press your own 
claim, which 7ve might, with so much propriety." 

"Thanks," said Linton; while a sly twinkle of 
his eye showed that he did not care to disguise 
the spirit of mistrust with which he heard the 
speech. "Thanks; you are too generous, and I 
am too modest, so let us not think more of the 
matter." 

"What is Cashel's real fortune?" said Meek, 
not sorry to turn the conversation into a less 
dangerous channel; "one hears so many absurd 
and extravagant reports, it is hard to know what 
to believe." 

" Kennyfeck calls it fourteen thousand a year 
above all charges and costs of collection." 

" And your own opinion?" 

Linton shrugged his shoulders carelessly, and 
said, " There or thereabouts. I fancy that his 
ready money has been greatly overrated. But 
why do you ask? Your people wouldn't give him 
a peerage, would they?" 

" Not now, of course," said Meek, hesitating. 

" Nor at any time, I trust," said Linton, au- 
thoritatively. "The man does not know how to 
behave as a plain country gentleman; why in- 
crease his embarrassments by making him a lord ? 
Besides, you should take care in these new crea- 
tions who are your peeresses, or one of these 
days you'll have old Kennyfeck fancying that he 
is a noble himself." 

" There is no danger to be apprehended in that 
quarter?" asked Meek, with some trepidation of 
manner. 

"Yes, but there is, though, and very consider- 
able, too. He has been living in the house with 
those girls — clever and shrewd girls, too. He is 
more at his ease there than elsewhere. They listen 
]latiently to his tiresome prairie stories, and are 
indulgent to all his little 'escapades'- — as a ' ran- 
chero," in a word, he is a hero there, and never 
leaves the threshold without losing some of the 
charms of the illusion." 

' And you saw all this?" 

"Yes." 

" And suffered it?" 

"Yes. What would you have me do? Had 
ther been only one girl in the case — I might have 
married her But it is only in Botany, or the Bay 
of that name, that the English permit polygamy.'' 

" I am very sorry to hear this," said Meek, 
gravely. 

" I am very sorry to have it to tell. Meek," said 
the other. 

" Hemightmarry so well!" muttered Meek, half 
in soliloquy. 

" To be sure he might, and in good hands- — I 



434 



ROLAND CASH EL. 



mean in those of a man who sees his way in life 
—cut a very fair figure, too. But it won't do to 
appear in London with a second or third-rate 
woman, whose only recommendation is the pretti- 
ness that has fascinated ' Castle balls' in Dublin." 

" Let us talk over this again, Linton, ' said 
Meek, arranging his papers, and affecting to be 
busied. 

■' With all my heart, indeed, it was a subject I 
intended to speak to you about. I have a little 
theory thereanent myself.' 

" Have you, indeed?' said Meek, looking up 
with animation. 

''Yes, but it needs your counsel — perhaps some- 
thing more, I should say — but another time — 
good-bye, good-bye." And without waiting to 
say or hear more, Linton lounged out of the room, 
leaving the secretary, thoughtful and serious, be- 
hind him. 



CHAPTER XVHL 
"under the green-wood tree." 

Nor lives the heart so cold and dark 
But in its depths some lingering spark 
Of love is cherished there! 

— The Outlaw. 

When Tom Linton parted with Mr. Meek he 
repaired to the club in Kildare street to listen to 
the gossip on the rumored dissolution of Parlia- 
ment, and pick up what he could of the prevail- 
ing tone among the country gentry. 

His appearance was eagerly hailed by many, 
who regarded him as generally well informed on 
all the changes and turns of party warfare; but, 
as he professed the most complete ignorance of 
everything, and seemed to devour with greedy 
curiosity the most common-place announcements, 
he was speedily deserted and suffered to pursue 
his work of inquiry perfectly unmolested. Not 
that indeed there was much to learn; the tone of 
banter and raillery with which, from want of all 
real political influence, iiien in Ireland accustom 
themselves to discuss grave questions, concealing 
their real sentiments, or investing them with a 
ludicrous exaggeration, oftentimes foiled even 
the shrewd perception of Tom Linton. 

_ He did, however, learn so much as showed 
him that all ihe ordinary landmarks of party 
beirig lost, men were beginning to feel themselves 
at liberty to adopt any leadership which pleased 
them, without suffering ihe stain of desemon 
They thought themselves betrayed by each of 
the great political chiefs in turn, and began to 
fancy that the best course for them in 'future 
would be to make specific terms for any support 
they should accord. Suggestions to this end 
thrown out in all the bantering gayety of Irish 
manner might mean anything, or nothing, and so 
Linton well knew, as he listened to them. 

He had taken his place at a whist-table, that 
he might, while seemingly preoccupied, hear what 
was said around him, and although no error of 
play, nor a single mistake in the game, marked 
the different direction of his attention, he con- 



trived to learn much of the opinion prevalent in 
certain circles. 

"That is the luckiest fellow in Europe," said 
one of his late antagonists, "as usual, he rises 
the only winner." 

"You can scarcely call it luck,'' said another; 
''he is a first-rate player, and always so cool." 

Meanwhile, Linton, mounting his horse, rode 
slowly along the streets till he arrived at Bilton's 
Hotel, where a handsome britschka was stand- 
ing, whose large up-standing horses and richly- 
mounted harnessing gave token of London lather 
than of Dublin taste. 

"Is her ladyship going out, Halpin?" said he 
to the footman. 

'' Her ladyship ordered the carriage for four 
precisely, sir." 

Linton mused for a second or two, and then 
asked if Lord Kilgoff were at home? and not 
waiting for a reply, passed on. 

No sooner, however, had he reached the land- 
ing-place, and was beyond the observation of 
tlie servant, than he halted and appeared to re- 
flect. At last, as if having made his resolve, 
he turned to descend the stairs, when the draw- 
ing-room door opened and Lord Kilgoff appeared. 

"The very man I wanted. Linton, come here,*' 
cried he, re-entering the room. 

" I was just on my way fo you, my lord," said 
Linton, with well affected eagerness. 

"Are they out, Linton, are they "out?'" said 
he, in breathless impatience. 

"No, my lord. I've seen Meek; they're safe 
for the present. A coalition has been formed 
with O'Morgan and his party, which secures a 
working majority of forty-five or fifty." 

"This is certain, Linton^may I rely upon it?" 

"You may, my lord, with confidence." 

" Then I suppose the moment is come when 
my adhesion would be most well-timed. It's a 
grave question, Tom; everything depends on it. 
If I join them and they go out^ " 

"Why your lordship goes out, too, without ever 
having the satisfaction of being 'in.' " 

"Not if they gave me the mission to Florence, 
Tom. They never remove the smaller legations 
in any change of parties." 

"But you could not help resigning, my lord, 
you should follow your friends," said Linton, 
with an assumed air of high principle. 

" Not a bit of it; I'd hold on. I see no reason 
whatever for such a course. I have made a 
rough draft of ? letter, which Hindley should 
show to Peel. See here, this is the important 
passage, i presuppose that I had already given 
Hindley my resignation to hand in to Aberdeen, 
but that yielding to his arguments, who refuses 
to deliver it, I have reconsidered the matter. 
Now, listen: — 'You say that my functions are 
not of a nature to admit any line of partisanship, 
and that a man of honorable views can serve his 
country under a whig or tory administration, 
irrespective of his own preference for one or the 
other. I feel this to be true. I know that, in 
my own official career, I have always forgotten 
the peculiar politics of my masters; but another 
question arises — how shall I be judged by 
others, for while I confess to you that I enter- 



ROLAND CASH EL 



435 



tain for Peel's capacity a respect I have never 
been able to feel for the whig leaders, yet family 
prejudices, connections, a hundred minor circum- 
stances, some purely accidental, threw me among 
tlie ranks of that party, and a sense of consist- 
ency kept me where very probably unbiased 
judgment had never suffered me to remain.'' 

"Amazingly good! very well done, indeed!'' 
said Linton, in whose dubious smile younger 
eyes than Lord Kilgoff's might have read the 
most insolent expression of contempt; not, in- 
deed, at the hypocrisy, but at the poor attempt 
to give it color. " There could be no thought of 
removing a man with such sentiments." 

"I think not, Linton. It would be a gross 
and flagrant case of official tyranny to do so — a 
case for inquiry in the House — a motion to pro- 
duce the correspondence " 

"Better not, my lord," said Linton, dryly, 
"that is an admirable letter, addressed to your 
friend Lord Hindley, but in a blue book it won't 
read so well. Take my advice; hold on if you 
can, go it you must, but don't ask questions, at 
all events '' 

" Perhaps you are right, Tom," said Kilgoff, 
musing 

"Now for another point, my lord; this visit 
to Mi Cashel ' 

■' Lve declined it," said Lord Kilgoff, redden- 
ing and with a look of extreme irritation. " The 
note 's there sealed on the table, and sliall be 
sent within an hour." 

''I am not at liberty to ask your reasons, my 
lord," said Linton, gravely and respectfully, 
'■ but I am certainly free to state my own, why 1 
think you ought most positively to go there.'' 

" You may, certainly, said Lord Kilgoff, ris- 
ing impatiently, and pacing the room '' I shall 
not interrupt you, but I shall also pledge myself 
not to let them influence me in the slightest de- 
gree My mind is made up, sir." 

'Then I shall speak with more freedom," said 
Linton, boldly; " because, having no pretension 
to change your sentiments, I am merely desirous 
to record my own 

Lord Kilgoff made no reply, but continued his 
walk, while Linton resumed: 

" Now I see your impatience, my lord, and 
will not trespass on it. Here, in three words, is 
my case. The borough of Drumkeeran returns 
a member to Parliament, Hebden, who repre- 
sents it, is about to accept the Hundreds; 
Cashel owns the town.' 

"And if he does, sir, what signifies it to me.?" 
broke in Lord Kilgoff; "I have not the slightest 
influence over that gentleman's opinions. He 
was rude enough to give me a very flat contra- 
diction in the only discussion we ever held to 
gether. I venture to assert, from what I have 
seen of him, that any direction of his course in 
Parliament would be totally impossible. He is 
self-willed, obstinate, and opinionated." 

"Granted, my lord; he is the very calibre to 
run through his own, and ruin any other man's 
foi^tune." 

"Well, sir, and this is the person whose ser- 
vices you think it worth my while obtaining?'' 

'' I never said so, my lord." 



"What, didn't I hear you tliis moment " 

"No, you heard me say that the borough is 
his, but you never heard me say that he ought 
to be its member. For that honor I had another 
in my eye, one over whom your lordship's in- 
fluence has never yet been doubted." 

"Whom do you mean?" 

"Tom Linton, my Lord; a very unworthy, 
but a- most devoted partisan of your lordship's." 

" What! Tom — you in Parliament?" 

'' Even so, my lord," said Linton, for once in 
his life — perhaps, the only time — that a flash of 
angry meaning colored his calm features. "I 
am sorry that the notion should so palpably wake 
your lordship's amazement." 

"No — no — no! I didn't mean that. I was 
only surprised. In fact, you took me unawares 
— we were talking of Cashel." 

' Precisely, my lord; we were discussing the 
probable career of a person so eminently gifted 
with statesmanlike qualities; then, how could I 
possibly hope for patience when introducing to 
your notice abilities so humble as my own?" 

" But is it possible — is this practicable, Lin- 
ton?" 

"With your assistance it is certain The in- 
fluence of your lordship's rank would give such 
weight to your opinions, that if you were only to 
say to him. Send Linton into Parliament as your 
member,' the thing is done." 

" I have my doubts." 

"I have none w'hatever — I know the man well. 
He is dying to conform to anything that he sup- 
poses to be the discipline of his class. Tell him 
he ought, and he never resists." 

" I had resolved on not paying this visit," said 
Kilgoff, after a brief pause; " reasons of suffi- 
cient weight determined me." 

' Oh, my lord, pardon the freedom, but I must 
say that they liad need be strong reasons to 
weigh against all the advantages I can show 
from the opposite course." 

''They are, sir, very strong reasons, nor do I 
deem it necessary to advert to them again; 
enough that I esteem them sufficient." 

" Of course, my lord, I never dreamed of call- 
ing them in question; they must needs be cogent 
arguments which counterpoise the opposite scale 
— a high diplomatic career — a representative 
peerage — this there could be no doubt of." 

" How do you mean?" broke in Kilgoff, 
abruptly 

"Simply that this young man becomes your 
trump card, if you only please to take him up, 
As yet he has resisted the advances made by 
Downie Meek and his set, because of my watch- 
fulness, but sooner or later some party will catch 
him, and when one thinks how few men with a 
large unencumbered fortune we possess here, 
with a great county interest, two boroughs, for 
he owns Knockgarvan as well, the prize is leally 
worth having, particularly as it only needs the 
stretching out the hand to take. ' 

Lord Kilgoff mused and seemed to ponder over 
the words. He entertained small doubts of- his 
"friend" Linton's capacity; but he had very 
considerable suspicions of his principles, 'and i*' 
is a strange fact that people willing to commit 



430 



ROLAND CAS II EL, 



very gross breaches of fair dealing tlieniselves 
are exceedingly scrupulous respecting the fair 
fame of their associates in iniquity, so admirably 
accommodating is a worldly conscience! 

"Well, sir," said he, at length, "the price — 
name the price. What are we to pay for the ar- 
ticle? — that is the question." 

" I have said, ray lord, it is to be had for ask- 
ing. Your lordship has only to take the terri- 
tory, as our naval men do the chance islands 
they meet with in the Southern Pacific. Land and 
plant your flag — voila tout!" 

" But you have heard me observe already," said 
he, in a querulous tone, " that I dislike the pros- 
pect of this visit — that in fact it would be ex- 
ceedingly disagreeable to me." 

"Then I have nothing more to say, my lord," 
said Linton, coolly, while he took up liis hat and 
gloves. ''I can only congratulate you on the 
excellence of your political prospects, which can 
dispense with a strong alliance to be had so 
easily." 

"Our measures of value are very different, 
Mr. Linton," said Lord Kilgoff, ])roudly. " Still, 
to prove that this is no caprice on my part" — 
here he stopped abruptly, while his heightened 
color showed the degree of embarrassment he 
labored under — " to show you that I have — in 

order to explain my inotives " Here he took 

a cautious glance around the room; walked to the 
door, opened and shut it again, and then draw- 
ing his arm within Linton's, led him towards a 
window. For a second or two he seemed unde- 
cided, and »at last, by a great effort, he whispered 
a few words in Linton's ear. 

Had any third party been there to watch the 
effect of the whispered confidence, he might 
easily have read in the speaking brilliancy of 
Linton's eyes and in his assured look, that it was 
of a nature to ^ive him the greatest pleasure. 
But scarce had his lordship done speaking, when 
these signs of pleasure gave way to a cold, al- 
most stern air of morality, and he said, "But 
surely, my lord, it were far better to leave her 
ladyship to deal with such insolent preten- 
sion " 

" Hush, not so loud; speak lower. So I 
should, Linton, but women never will see any- 
thing in these airs of puppyism. They persist in 
thinking,'or saying, at least, that they are mere 
modern fashionable manners, and this endurance 
on their part gives encouragement. And then, 
when there happens to be some disparity of 
years — Lady Kilgoff is my junior — the censorious 
world seizes on the shadow of a scandal; in fact, 
sir, I will not consent to afford matter for news- 
paper asterisks or figurative description." 

Your lordship never had' a belter opportu- 
nity of giving open defiance to both. These airs 
of Cashel are, as you remark, mere puppyism, 
assumed to get credit for a certain fashionable 
character for levity. To avoid him would be to 
acknowledge that there was danger in his society. 
I don't go so far as to say that he would assert 
as -much, but most assuredly the world would 
for him. I think I hear the ready comments on 
your absence: ' Were not the Kilgoffs expected 
here?' ' Oh, they were invited, but Lord Kilgoff 



was afraid to venture. Cashel had been paying 
attentions.' In a word, every species of inii<cr- 
tinence that malevolence and envy can fancy 
would be fabricated. Your loidship knows the 
world far better than I do; and knows, besides, 
the heavy price a man pays for being the pos- 
sessor of a high capacity and a handsome vile; 
these are two insults that the less fortunate in 
life never do, or never can forgive." 

" Well, what is it you counsel ?" 

" To meet these calumnies in the face; small 
slanders, like weak fires, are to be trampled out, 
to tamper with such, is to fan tiie flame, which 
at last will scorch you. Besides, to take another 
view of the matter: her ladyship is young, and 
has been much admired; how will she accept 
this seclusion? 1 don't speak of the present 
case^ besides, I suppose that this country \isit 
would bore her beyond measure. But how will 
she regard it in other instances? Is it not an 
implied fear on your lordship's part? you, v ho 
have really nothing to dread in competition with 
any man. I only know, if I were in your place, 
how I should actually seize the very op])ori unity 
of 0))enly flouting such calumnious rumor; never 
was there an occasion to do so on cheaper terms. 
This Roland Cashel is an underbred boy." 

"There is a great deal in what )ou say, 
Linton. But as jealousy is a feeling of which I 
have never had any experience, I was only anx- 
ious on Lady Kilgoffs account, that llie thouj^ht- 
less gayety of a very young and handsome woman 
should not expose her to the sarcastic insinua- 
tions of an imjiertinent world. She is gay in man- 
ner — there is an air of lively imagination " 

" No more than what the French call ' aiiiabilite\' 
my lord, which, like the famed armor of Mihnn, 
is not the less defensive that it is so beautiful in 
all its details." 

" Well, then, Lll not send the note," said Lord 
Kilgoff, as he took up the letter, and tearing it, 
threw the fragments into the fire; "of course, 
Linton, this conversation is strictly confiden- 
tial ?" 

"Y'our lordship has never found me unwor- 
thy of such a trust." 

" Never; nor, I must say, would it he for your 
advantage to become so." Linton bit his lip, 
and for a second or two seemed burning to make 
a rejoinder, but overcoming the temptation, as- 
sumed his careless smile, and said, — 

" I leave you, my lord, greatly gratified that 
chance led me to pay this visit. I sincerely be- 
lieve, that in the counsels I have offered, I have 
at least been able to be of service to you." 

Lord Kilgoff presented his hand in acknowledg- 
ment of the speech, but it was accorded with an 
air which seemed to say, " Well, here is a receipt 
in full for your devotedness." 

Linton took it in the same s]iirit, and left the 
room, as though deeply impnssed with all the 
honor he enjoyed in such a noble friendship. 

Hastening down the stairs, he sprang into the 
saddle of his horse, and cantering up the street, 
turned towards the road which leads to the Plip:- 
nix Park. It was about the hour when the equip- 
ages were wont to throng that promenade, but 
Linton did not seem desirous of joining that gay 



ROLAI^D CASH EL, 



437 



crowd, for he took a cross-path through the fields, 
and after a sharp ride of half an hour, readied a 
low p.iling which skirted tlie Park on the east- 
ward; here, at a small cottage kept by one of the 
rangers, a little door led in, passing through 
which lie found himself in one of the long green 
alleys of that beautiful tract. A boy, who seemed 
to be ready waiting, now took his horse, and 
Linton entered the wood and disappeared. He 
did not proceed far, however, within the shady 
copse, for after going a short distance he per- 
ceived a carriage standing in the lane, by the 
door of which a footman waited, with a shawl 
upon his arm. The coachman, with his whip 
poled, sat talking with his fellow-servant, so that 
Linton saw that the carriage had no occupant. 

He now hastened along, and speedily emerg- 
ing at a little grassy opening of the wood, came 
in sight of a lady walking at some distance in 
front. The fashionable air and splendid dress, 
wliicli might have suited the most brilliant prom- 
en.ide of a great city, seemed strange in such 
a lone, unvisited spot. Linton lost no time in 
overtaking her, only diminishing his speed as 
he came closer, when, with his hat removed, and 
ill an altitude of the most humble deference, he 
S-iid, — 

" Pray let me stand e.xcused if I am somewhat 
behitid my time; the fault was not my own." 

"Oh, say nothing about it," said a soft, musi- 
cal voice, and Lady Kilgoff turned an easy smile 
towards him. "'Qui s'excuse, s'accuse,' says 
the French proverb, and / never dreamt of the 
accusation. Is it not a lovely day here?" 

Linton was too much piqued to answer at once, 
but recovering, he said: " Without seaking to 
apologzie for an absence that was not felt, let 
me return to the subject. I assure your lady- 
ship that 1 had been detained by Lord Kilgoff, 
who was pleased to bestow a more than ordinary 
share of his confidence upon me, and even con- 
descended to ask my counsel." 

" How flattering! Which you gave, I hope, 
with all the sincerity for which you are famous." 

Linton tried to smile, but not very successfully. 

" What then was this wonderful mystery? Not 
the representative peerage, I trust; I'm sure I 
hope thdt question is at rest forever." 

" You are quite safe there — he never mentioned 
it." 

" Oh, then it was his diplomatic ambition— 
ain't I right? Ah, I knew it. How very silly. 
or how very wicked you must be, Mr. Linton, to 
encourage tliese day-dreams — you who have not 
the excuse of hallucinations, who read the book 
of life as it is written, without fanciful interpre- 
tations." 

" I certainly must disclaim your panegyric. I 
had one hallucination, if so you term it; it 
was that you wished, ardently wished, for the 
position which a foreign ' mission' bestows. A 
very natural wish, I freely own, in one so worthy 
in every way to grace and adorn it." 

Well, so I did, some time back, but I've 
changed my mind. I don't think I should like 
it — I have been reconsidering the suBject." 

" And your ladyship inclines now rather to 
seclusion and rural pleasures — how fortunate 



that I should have been able to serve your inter- 
ests there also." 

" What do you mean?" said she, with a stare, 
while a deep scarlet suffused her cheek. 

"I alluded to a country visit which you fancied 
might be made so agreeably, but which his lord- 
ship had the bad taste to regard less favorably." 

" Well, sir, you did not presume to give any 
opinion?" 

" I really did. I had all the hardihood to 
brave Lord Kilgoff's most fixed resolves. You 
were aware that he declined Mr. Cashel's invita- 
tion?" 

She nodded, and he went on. 

"Probably, too, knowing the reasons for that 
refusal ?" 

" No, sir; the matter «as indifferent fo me, so 
I never troubled my head about it. My lord 
said we shouldn't go, and I said, ' Very well,' and 
there it ended." 

Now, although this was spoken with a most 
admirably feigned indifference, Linlcn was too 
shrewd an observer not to penetrate the decep- 
tion. 

" I am doubly unlucky this day," said he, at 
last, " first to employ all my artifices to plan a 
ministerial success to vhich you aie actually 
averse, and secondly, to carr)' a point to which 
you are indifferent." 

" IJare I ask, if the question be not an indis- 
creet one, VI hat peculiar interest Mr Linton can 
have, either in our acceptance or refusal of this 
invitation?" 

' Have I not said that I believed you desired 
it?" replied he, with a most meaning look. 

'' Indeed you read inclinations most skilfully, 
only that you interpert them by anticipation." 

" This is lOO much," said Linton, in a voice 
whose ]-iassionate earnestness showed that all 
dissimulation was at an end, "far too much! 
The genteel comedy that we play before the 
world, madam, might be laid aside for a few 
moments here. When I asked for this interview, 
and you consented to give ii " 

" It was on the express stipulation that you 
should treat me as you do in society, sir," broke she 
in — " that there should be no attempt to fall back 
upon an intimacy which can never be resumed." 

" When 1 promised, I intended to have kept 
my word, Laura," said he, in deep dejection; " I 
believed I could have stifled the passion that con- 
sumes me, and talked to you in the words of 
sincare, devoted friendship, but I cannot. Old 
memories of once happiness, brought up too 
vividly by seeing you, as I used to see you, when 
in many a country walk we sauntered on, dream- 
ing of the time when, mine, by every tie of right, 
as by affection " 

"How you requited that affection, Linton!" 
said she, in a tone whose deep reproach seemed 
actually to stun him. Then suddenly changing 
to an air of disdainful anger, she continued; 
" You are a bold man, Linton. I thought it 
would be too much for even jour hardihood to 
recur to a theme so full of humiliation for your- 
self; but I know your theory, sir: you think 
there is a kind of heroism in exaggerated base- 
ness, and that it is no less great to transcend men 



438 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



in crime tlian in virtue. You dare to speak of an 
affection that you betrayed and bartered for 
money!" 

" I made you a peeress, madam. When you 
were Laura Gardiner, you couldn't have spoken 
to me as now you speak." 

"If I consented to the vile contract, it was 
that, when I discovered your baseness, any refuge 
was preferable to being the wife of one like you!" 

" A most complimentary assurance, not only 
to myself, but his lordship," said Linton, with 
an insolent smile. 

" Now, hear nie," said she, not noticing the 
taunt, but speaking with a voice of deep collected 
earnestness. "It is in vain to build upon time 
or perseverance — the allies you trust so deeply — 
to renew the ties broken forever. If I had no 
other higher and more sustaining motive, my 
knowledge of you would be enough to rescue me 
from this danger. I know you well, Linton. You 
have often told me what an enemy you could be. 
This, at least, I believe of all that you have ever 
sworn! I have a full faith, too, in your ingenuity 
and skill: and yet I would rather brave both — 
ay, both hate and craft — than trust to what you 
call your honor." 

"You do indeed know me well, Laura," said 
he, in a voice broken and faltering, " or you never 
had dared to speak such words to me. There is 
not one breathing could have uttered them and 
not pay the penalty, save yourself. I feel in my 
inmost heart how deeply I have wronged you, 
but is not my whole life an atonement for the 
wrong? Am I not heartbroken and wretched, 
without a hope or a future? What greater punish- 
ment did any one ever incur than to live in the 
daily sight and contemplation of a bliss that his 
own folly or madness have forever denied him; 
and yet, to that same suffering do I cling, as the 
last tie that binds me to existence. To see you 
in the world, to watch you, to mark the effect 
your grace and beauty are making on all around 
you — how every fascination calls up its tribute of 
admiration — how with each day some new excel- 
lence develops itself, till you seem inexhaustible 
in all the traits of graceful womanhood, this has 
been the cherished happiness of my life! It was 
to this end I labored to induce the acceptance of 
that invitation that once more, beneath the same 
roof, I should see you for days long. Your own 
heart must confess how I have never before the 
world forgotten the distance that separates us. 
There is then no fear that I should resign every 
joy that yet remains to me for any momentary 
indulgence of speaking to you as my heart feels. 
No, no, Laura, you have nothing to dread either 
from my hate or my love." 

" To what end, then, was it that you asked me 
to meet you here to-day?" said she, in a voice in 
which a touch of compassionate sorrow was 
blended. 

" Simply to entreat, that if I should succeed in 
persuading his lordship to accept this visit, you 
would throw no obstacle in the way on your 
side." 

" And if I consent, shall I have no cause to 
rue my compliance?" 

" So far as depends on me, none, on my honor!" 



It had been better for Linton's cause that he 
had omitted the last words, at least, as Laura 
turned away her head, a curl of insolent meaning 
was on her lip, but she did not speak, and they 
now walked along, side by side, in silence. 

"You will go then?" said he, at last, in a low 
whisper. 

" Yes," said she, faintly. 

Linton stole a glance at her unperceived, and 
suddenly the sparkle of his eyes and the elation 
of his whole expression showed the transport of 
pleasure he experienced. 

" Now for one word of caution," said Linton, 
as drawing closer to her side he assumed the 
tone of sincere friendship. " Lord Kilgoff has 
just revealed to me, in deep confidence, that he 
has been much offended by certain attentions 
shown to you by this Mr. Cashel, and which were 
of so marked a nature that he was almost deter- 
mined never to admit his intimacy in future. 
Had his lordship known you as well as I do, he 
might have spared himself this anxiety. I believe 
such savage excellence as his has few attractions 
for you, nor, save the admiration that all must 
yield you, has the youth taste or feeling to ap- 
preciate your excellence. However, ' my lord' 
is jealous; let it be your care, by knowledge of 
the fact, not to incur anything to sustain the 
suspicion." 

" How very absurd all this is Do you know 
that Mr. Cashel did not condescend to pay me 
the poor compliment of a special invitation to 
his house, but asked my lord to come, and hoped 
I would accompany him, just as people invite 
their humbler acquaintances, hoping that only 
half the request may be accorded." 

" He is underbred even to barbarism," said 
Linton. 

"He seems a most good-natured creature, and 
full of generosity." 

" Overwealth has sometimes that air. When 
the glass is brimful, none but the steadiest hand 
can carry, without spilling, the wine." 

" He does not appear even to make the effort. 
They tell me he has squandered some thousands 
already, making presents to every one who will 
accept them." 

" He gave me this cane,' said Linton, super- 
ciliously, exhibiting a little riding-cane, which he 
had taken himself out of Cashel's hand, and was 
of no value whatever. ' Not any great evidence 
of exaggerated generosity," said he. "As to 
his house, however, I trust its honors may be 
well done; he has given me carte blajuhe, and I 
must only try and not disgrace my jirerogative." 

" How very late it is — nearly seven," said Lady 
Kilgoff, looking at her watch. 

"Shall I see your ladyship to your carriage?" 
said Linton. 

" 1 think not," said she, blushing slightly; "as 
I left it unaccompanied, so I shall return to it. 
Good-bye." 

She held out her hand as she spoke, but 
slightly averted her head, so that Linton could 
not mark the expression of her features. As it 
was, he pressed the gloved fingers to his lips, 
but, when doing so, contrived to unclasp her 
bracelet, a singularly rich one, and a present 



ROLAND CASH EL. 



439 



from Lord Kilgoff on the day of her marriage. 
Tliis he let tall noiselessly on the grass, and 
murmured in a low, sad voice, " Good-bye." 

Lady Kilgoff, hastily wrapping her shawl about 
her, left the spot. Linton watched her till he 
had seen her seated in the carriage, and con- 
tinued to gaze after it, as it drove rapidly away, 
and so intently occupied by his thoughts, that 
he did not notice the approach of a horseman, 
who came up at a walking pace behind him. 

"Eh, Tom!" cried out Lord Charles Frob- 
isher, " this is flying at high game!" 

" You are mistaken, Charley," said he, in 
some confusion. " This ' meeting under the 
greenwood tree' was nothing less than a love 
affair." 

"Oh, hang your morality, Mr. Joseph; it's 
rather good fun to see the 'insolent beauty' of 
the season capitulating." 

" Wrong again," said Linton, affecting a 
laugh. " Everton is in a scrape, and his wife 
wants me to get him out of the way " 

"Nonsense, man, I saw the carriage; there is 
no need of mystifying here. Besides, it's no af- 
fair of mine- — I'm sure I wish it were! But, 
come, what are the odds on Hitchley's colt — are 
seven to two taken?" 

" Don't bet," said Linton, knowingly; "there 
is something ' wrong' in that stable, and I hav'n't 
found out the secret." 

" What a deep fellow you are, Tom." 

" Nothing of the kind, Charley. If I were, 
you'd never have discovered it. Your only deep 
fellow is he that the world deems shallow — your 
light-hearted, rattling knave, whose imputed 
thoughtlessness covers every breach of faith, 
and makes his veriest schemes seem purely ac- 
cident. But, once get the repute of being a 
clever or a smart fellow, and success is tenfold 
more difficult. The world, then, only plays with 
you as one does with a sharper, betting small 
stakes, and keeping a steady eye on the cards. 
Your own slee|iy eye, Charley, your languid, 
careless look, are a better provision than most 
men give their young'-r children." 

Lord Charles lifted his long eyelashes lazily, 
and, for a second, something like a sparkle lit 
up his cold, dark eye, but it was gone in a mo- 
ment, and his habitually lethargic expression 
once more returned. " You have heard that we 
were nearly 'out,' I suppose?" said he, after a 
pause. 

" Yes. This is the second time that I bought 
Downie Meek's carriage-horses on the rumor of 
a change of administration." 

"And sold them back again at double the 
price, when he found that the ministry were 
safe!" 

"To be sure; wasn't it a 'good hedge' for 
him to be secretary for Ireland at the cost of a 
hundred or so?" 

"You'll get the name of spreading the false 
intelligence, Tom, if you always profit so much by 
it." 

" With all my heart. I wish sincerely some 
good natured fellow would lay to my charge a 
little roguery that I had no share in. I have ex- 
perienced all manner and shades of sensations, 



but injured innocence, that would really be new 
to me." 

" Well," sighed Lord Charles, with a yawn, " I 
suppose we liave only a short time before us here. 
The end of the session will scarcely see us in 
office." 

"About that: by keeping all hands at the 
pumps we may float the ship into harbor, but no 
more." 

"And what's to become of us?" said the aide- 
de-cam |), with a deep depression in his accent. 

" Tlie usual lot of a crew paid off," cried 
Linton, laughing; " look out for a new craft in 
commission, and go to sea again. As for you, 
Charley, you can either marry something in the 
printedcalico line, with a hundred and fifty 
thousand, or, if you prefer it, exchange into a 
light cavalry corps at Suntanterabund." 

" And you?" said Lord Charles, with something 
almost of sternness. 

" I ? Oh, as for me, I have many alternatives. 
I can remain a whig, and demand office from the 
to'ies — -a claim Peel has never resisted. I can 
turn repealer, and be pensioned by something 
in the colonies. I can be a waiter on Providence, 
and live on all parties by turns. In fact, Charley, 
there never was a better age for your ' adventurer' 
than this year of our Lord i8 — . All the geo- 
graphy of i>arty has been erased, and it is 
open to every man to lay down new territorial 
limits." 

" But for any case of the kind you should have 
a seat in Parliament." 

" So I mean it, my boy. I intend to represent 
I'm sure I forget the name of my constituency. 



in the next assemblage of the collective wisdom." 

" How do you manage the qualification?" said 
the aide-de-camp, slyly. 

" The man who gives the borough must take 
care of that; it's no affair of mine," said Linton, 
carelessly. "I only supply the politics." 

" And what are they to be?" 

" Ce/c! d/pend. You might as well ask me n-hat 
dress I'll wear in the changeable climate of an 
Irish July " 

" Then you'll take no pledges?" 

" To be sure I will; every one asked of me. I 
only sti|)ulate to accompany each with a crotchet 
of my own, so that, like the gentleman who 
emptied his snuff-box over the peas, I'll leave the 
dish uneatable by any but myself." 

"Well, good-bye, I'om," said Lord Charles, 
laughing. " If you only be as loyal in love as you 
promise to be in politics, our fair fiiend is scarcely 
fortunate." And so saying, he cantered slowly 
away. 

" Poor fellow!" said Linton, contemptuously, 
"your little bit of principle haunts you like a 
superstition." And with this reflection, he stepped 
out briskly to where the boy was standing with 
his horse. 

"Oh, Mr Linton, darlin', only sixpence' and 
I here this two hours?" said the ragged urchin, 
with a cunning leer, half roguery, half shame. 

"And where could you have earned sixpence, 
you scoundrel, in that time?" cried Linton affect- 
ing anger. 

" Faix, I'd have earned half-a-crown if I'd got 



440 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



up on the beast and rode down to Bilton's," said 
the fellow, grinning. 

"You'd have liad your skull cracked with this 
cane the next time 1 met you for your pains," 
said the other, really enraged, while he chucked 
a shilling at him. 

"Success to your honor — all's right," said the 
boy. And touching his cap, he scampered off 
into the wood, and disappeared. 

" You shall have a sea voyage, my friend," 
said Linton, looking after him; "a young gentle- 
man with such powers of observation would have 
a fine opening in our colonies." And away he 
rode towards town, his brain revolving many a 
complex scheme and lucky stratagem, but still 
with ready smile acknowledging each salutation 
of his friends, and conveying tlie impression of 
being one whose easy nature was unruiHed by a 
care. 



CHAPTER XIX. 

THE DOMESTIC DETECTIVE CONSULTED. 

Of "sweet fifteen" no mortal e'er afraid is, 
Your real " man-traps" are old maiden ladies- 

— The Legacy. 

It was late of that same afternoon ere Cashel 
awoke. Mr. Phillis had twice adventured into 
the room on tiptoe, and as stealthily retired, and 
was now, for the third time, about to retreat, 
when Roland called him back. 

" Beg pardon, sir- but Mrs. Kennyfeck's foot- 
man has been here twice for the answer to this 
note." 

" Let me see it," said Cashel, taking a highly- 
perfumed epistle, whose tinted paper, seal, and 
superscription were all in the perfection of epis- 
tolary coquetry. 

" Dear Mr. Cashel, — Mamma desires me to 
convey her reproaches for your shocking forget- 
fulness of yesterday, when, after promising to 
dine here, you never appeared. She will, how- 
ever, not only forgive the past, but be grateful 
for the present, if you will come to us to-day at 
seven. 

"Believe me, very truly yours, 

"Olivia Kennyfeck." 

Simple and commonplace as the words were, 
Cashel read them over more than once. 

I know not if any of my male readers can 
corroborate me, but I have always thought there 
is some mysterious attraction in even the most 
everyday epistle of a young and pretty woman. 
The commonest social forms assume a different 
meaning, and we read the four letters which 
spell " dear" in any acceptation very remote 
from what they inspire when written by one's 
law agent; and then, the concluding "yours 
truly," or " faithfully yours," or better again, 
"ever yours," what suggestive little words they 
are! how insinuating in their portraiture of a 
tie, which possibly might, but does not, actually 
bind the parties. 



If my readers concur not in these nympathies, 
I have great satisfaction in saying that Roland 
Cashel did. He not only sat gazing at the few 
lines, but he looked so long at them as to half 
believe tliat the first word was a superlative; 
then, suddenly rousing himself, he asked the 
hour. It was already past six. He had only 
time, then, for a verbal " With pleasure," and to 
dress for dinner. 

It seemed like a reproach on his late mode of 
living, the pile of unopened letters, which in 
imposing mass Mr Phillis had arrayed on his 
master's dressing-table. They contained speci- 
mens of everything epistolary which falls to the 
lot of those favored children of fortune who, 
having "much to give," are great favorites with 
the world. There were dear little pressing invi- 
tations signed by the lady of the house, and in- 
dited in all the caJigraphy of the governess. 
There were begging letters from clerg)men with 
large families, men who gave so "many hostages 
to fortunes," that they actually ruined thembelves 
in their own " recognizances." Flatteries, which, 
if not written on tinted paper, might have made 
it blush to bear them, mixed up with tradesmen's 
assurances of fidelity and punctuality, and bash- 
ful apologies for the indelicacy of any allusion 
to money. 

Oh, it IS a very sweet world this of ours, and 
amiable withal! save that the angelic smile it be- 
stows on one part of the creation has a sorry 
counterpart in the sardonic grin with which it 
regards the other. Our friend Cashel was in the 
former category, and he tossed over the letters 
carelessly, rarely breaking a seal, and, even then, 
satisfied with a mere glance at the contents, or 
the name of the writer, when he suddenly caught 
sight of a large square-shaped epistle, marked 
"Sea letter.' It was in a liand he well knew, 
that of his old comrade Enrique, and burning 
with anxiety to hear from him, he threw him- 
self into a chair, and broke the seal. 

The very first words which met his eye shocked 
him. 

" St Kitt's, Jamaica 

"Ay, Roland, even so. St. Kitt's, Jamaica! 
heavily ironed in a cell at the top of a strong 
tower over the sea, with an armed sentry at my 
door, I write this! a prisoner fettered and chained, 
I, that could not brook the very orders of dis- 
cipline! Well, well, it is only cowardice to repine. 
Truth is, amigo, I've had no luck since you left 
us. It was doubtless yours that sustained me so 
long, and when iw/ withdrew from the firm, 1 be- 
came bankrupt, and yet, thi,p is pretty much 
what we used once, in merry mood, to predict 
for each other, 'the loop and the leap.' 

" How shall I tell you so briefly as neither to 
weary vou to read nor myself to write it, my last 
sad misfortune. I say the last, because the bad 
luck took a run against me. First, I lost every- 
thing I ])ossessed at play — the very pistols you 
sent me, I staked and lost. Worse still, Roland 
—and faith I don't think I could make the con- 
fession, if a few hours, or a few days more, were 
not to hide my shame in a felon's grave — I played 
the jewels you sent here for Maritaiia. She re- 
fused them with words of bitterness and anger, 



ROLAND CASH EL. 



441 



Partly from the irritated feeling of the moment, 
partly from the curse of a gambler's spirit — the 
hope to weary out the malice of fortune — 1 threw 
them on the monte- table. Of course I lost. It 
was soon after this Barcelonetta was laid in ruin 
by a shock of earthquake, the greatest ever ex- 
perienced here. The 'Quadro' is a mere mass 
of chaotic rubbish. The ' Puerta Mayor,' with 
all its statues, is engulphed, and an arm of the 
sea now washes up and over the beautiful gar- 
dens where the governor gave his fete. The 
villa, too, rent from root to basement, is a ruin; 
vast yawning gulfs intersect the parterres every- 
where; the fountains are dried up; the trees 
blasted by lightning; and a red-brown surface of 
ashes strewn over the beauteous turf where we 
used to stroll by moonlight. The old tree that 
sheltered our monte-table stands uninjured, as if 
in mockery over our disasters! Maritana's ham- 
mock was slung beneath the branches, and there 
she lav, careless of — nay, I could almost say, if 
the word did not seem too strange for truth, 
actually pleased by — the dreadful event. I went 
to take leave of her; it was the last night we 
were to spend on shore. I little knew it was to 
be the last time we should ever meet. Pedro 
passed the night among the ruins of the villa, 
endeavoring to recover papers and valuables 
amid that disastrous mass Geizheimer was 
always with him, and as Noronja and the rest 
soon fell off to sleep, wearied by a day of great 
fatigue I sat alone beside her hammock till day 
was breaking. Oh, would that night could have 
lasted for years, so sweetly tranquil were the 
starlit hours, so calm and yet so full of hopeful 
promies What brilliant pictures of ambition 
did she, that young, untaught girl, present to my 
eyes — how teach me to long for a cause whose 
rewards were higher, and greater, and nobler 
than the prizes of this wayward life. I would 
have spoken ot my affection, my deep-felt, long- 
cherislied love, but with a haK-scornful laugh, 
she stopped me, saying, 'Is this leafy shade so 
like a fair lady s boudoir tliat you can persuade 
yourself to trifle thus, or is your own position so 
dazzling that you deem the offer to share it a 
flattery?" ' 

'I'm afraid, sir,'' said "Mr. Phillis. here obtrud- 
ing his head into the room, ' that you'll be very 
late. It is already more than half- past seven 
o'clock." 

' So it is! ' exclaimed Cashel, starting up, 
while he muttered something not exceedingly 
complimentary to his host's engagement. "Is 
the carriage ready?" And without staving to 
hear the reply, hurried down-stairs, the open 
letter still in his hand. 

Scarcely seated in the carriage, Cashel re- 
sumed the reading of the letter. Eager to trace 
the circumstances which led to Iiis friend's cap- 
tivity, he hastily ran his eyes over the lines till 
Iv; came to the following " There could he no 
doubt of it. The Esme; alda, our noble frigate, 
was not in the service of the republic, but by 
some infamous treaty between Pedro and Naro- 
chez, the minister, was permitted to carry the 
flag of Columbia. We were slavers, buccaneers, 



pirates — not sailors of a state. When, therefore, 
the British war-brig Scorpion sent a gun across 
our bows, with an order to lie to, and we replied 
by showing our main-deck ports open, and our 
long eighteens all ready, the challenge could not 
be mistaken. We were near enough to hear the 
cheering, and it seemed, too, they heard ours; 
we wanted but you, Roland, among us to have 
made our excitement madness!" 

The carriage drew up at Kennyfeck's door as 
Cashel had read thus far, and in a state ot mind 
bordering on fever he entered the hall and passed 
up the stairs The clock struck eight as he pre- 
sented himself in the drawing-room, where the 
family were assembled, the number increased by 
two strangers, who were introduced to Roland 
as Mrs. Kennyfeck's sister. Miss O'PIara, an eld- 
erly maiden lady, with a light brown wig; and 
a raw-boned, much-freckled young man, Peter 
O'Gorman, her nephew. 

Nothing could be more cordial than the recep- 
tion of the Kennyfecks; they affected not to 
think that it was so late, vowed that the clock 
was too fast, were certain that Mr. Cashel's watch 
was right, in fact, his presence was a receipt in 
full for all the anxieties of delay, and so they 
made him feel it. 

There was a little quizzing of Roland, as they 
seated themselves at table over his forgetfulness 
of the day before, but so good-humoredly as 
not to occasion, even to himself, the slightest 
embarrassment. 

"At breakfast at the barrack!" repeated Miss 
Kennyfeck after him. "What a formidable 
affair, if it always lasts twenty-four hours." 

"What do you mean? How do you know 
that?" asked Roland, half in shame, half in sur- 
prise, at this knowledge of his niovtnients. 

" Not to speak of the brilliant conversation, 
heightened by all the excitement ot wit, cham- 
pagne, and hazard — dreadful competitors with 
such tiresome society as ours," said Olivia. 

'Never mind them, Mr. Casliel," broke in 
Miss O'Hara, in a mellifluous Doric; '"tis jeal- 
ous they are, because you liked the officeis bet- 
ter than themselves 

A most energetic dissent was entered by Cashel 
to this supposition, who neverlheless felt grateful 
for the advocacy of tlie old lady. 

" When I was in the Cape Coast Fencibles," 
broke in Peter, wiih an accent that would have 
induced one to believe that Africa was on the 
Shannon, '' we used to sit up all night — it was so 
hot in the day, but we always called it break- 
fast, for vou see " 

" And when are we to visit your pictures, Mr. 
Cashel ?" said Mrs. Kenn)feck, wliose efforts to 
suppress Peter were not merely vocal, as that in- 
jured individual's shins might attest. 

"That depends entirely on you, madam," said 
Roland, bowing. " I have only to say, the earlier 
the more agreeable to me." 

■'He has such a beautiful collection," said 
Mrs- Kennyfeck, turning to her sister. 

Indeed then, I deliiiht in pictures," said 
' Aunt Fanny," as her nieces called her. 'I 
went the other day to Mount Bennett, to see a 
portrait painted by Rousseau." 



442 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



"By Rubens, I suppose you mean, aunt," in- 
terposed Miss Kennyieclv, tartly. 

" So it may be, my dear, I never knew the 
names right: but it was a dark old man, with a 
hairy cap and a long grey beard, as like Father 
Morris Heffernan as ever it could stare." 

" Is your new Carlo Dolce so very like Olivia?" 
interposed Mrs. Kennyfeck, who was sadly ham- 
pered by her country relatives and their reminis- 
cences. 

" So very like, madam, that I beg you to accept 
it as a portrait," replied Roland. 

'' Upon my word, then, young gentleman, 
you're not so fond of a pretty face as you might 
be," broke in Aunt Fanny, "or you wouldn't be 
so ready to give it away." A very hearty laugh 
at the old lady's eccentricity relieved Cashel 
from all necessity of e.xplanation. 

" The old masters are so good," said Mrs. 
Kennyfeck; " I delight in their fine vigorous 
touch." 

" Why don't they put more clothes on their 
figures," said Aunt Fanny, ' even a warm climate 
is no excuse for the way the creatures went 
about." 

"If you saw them in Hick weretickanookee," 
said Peter, " King John never wore anything but 
a cocked-hat and a pair of short black gaiters 
the missionary give him for learning the Lord's 
Prayer." 

" I hear that Lady Janet said Gary would be 
an excellent study for Helen M'Gregor, ' said 
Mrs. Kennyfeck. " It was scarcely civil, however. " 
" It was more — downright rude," said Cashel, 
reddening; "but Miss Kennyfeck can afford to pay 
the penalty beauty always yields to its opposite." 
"There, my dear, that's a compliment," said 
Aunt Fanny, "and don't be displeased. I say, 
darling, didn't he say a while ago you were like 
somebody at Carlow?" 

"A Carlo Dolce, aunt," broke in both sisters, 
laughing; and so the dinner proceeded amid com- 
monplaces, relieved occasionally from their 
flatness by the absurdities of Aunt Fanny, who 
seemed as good naturedly proof against ridicule 
as she was likely to evoke it. 

Peter was the first to rise from table, as he 
•was anxious to go to "the play," and the ladies 
soon retired to the drawing-room, Mrs. Kennyfeck 
slyly whispering, as she passed behind Roland's 
chair, an entreaty that he would not long delay 
in following them. Cashel's anxiety to close his 
iete-d.-telt arose from another cause — his burninn- 
anxiety to finish Enrique's letter; while Kenny- 
feck himself seemed beating about, uncertain 
how to open subjects he desired to have dis- 
cussed. After a long time he said: 

" I was speaking to Pepystell yesterday, and he 
is of opinion that there is no use in preserving 
any part of the old structure at Tubbermore— 
the great difficulty of adapting a new character 
of architecture to the old would not repay the 
cost." 

Cashel nodded a careless assent, and, after a 
pause, Kennyfeck resumed: 

"It might be of some convenience at present, 
however, to let the building stand as it is. A 
residence of one kind or other you will want, 



particularly as the elections are approaching." 
Another nod in silence was all the reply. 
" Pepystell's estimate is la-ge — don't you think 
so?" 

He nodded again. 

" Nearly seventy thousand pounds! And that 
does not include the gate tower, which seems a 
point for after consideration." 

" I remember," muttered Cashel, in a voice 
that implied anything rather than a mind atten- 
tive to the subject before it. 

Now, it would be as well," said Mr. Kenny- 
feck drawing a long breath, and as it were pre- 
. paring himself for a great effort, " to put a little 
order mto our affairs. Your first year or two 
will be costly ones — building expenses, equipage, 
horses, furniture, election charges. Much of your 
capital is vested in foreign securities, which it 
would be injurious to sell at this moment. Don t 
you think" — here he changed his voice to an 
almost insinuating softness — "don't you think that 
by devoting a certain portion of your income— say 
a third, or one-half, perhaps — for the present, to 

meet these charges ' He paused, for he saw 

from Cashel's occupied look that he was not at- 
tending to his words. 

" ^^■ell — continue," said Roland, affecting to 
wait for his conclusion. 

' I was about to ask, sir," said Kennyfeck, 
boldly, "what sum would you deem sufficient for 
your yearly expenditure?'' 

" What is the amount of my income?" asked 
Cashel, bluntly 

■ " In good years, something above sixteen 
thousand pounds; in bad ones, somewhat less 
than twelve." 

" Well, then — you have the scale of my expend- 
iture at once.' 

" Not your ■\\hole income?' exclaimed Kenny- 
feck, astonished. 

" Even so I see no earthly reason for hoard- 
ing. I do not find squandering money is any 
high enjoyment; I am certain scraping and sav- 
ing it would afford me still less pleasure." 

"But there are always casualties demanding 
extraordinary expense— a contested election, for 
instance.'' 

■'I'll not try it — I don't intend to enter Parlia- 
ment." 

"When you marry " 

'Perhaps I shall not do that either." 
'Well, sums lost at play — the turf has pressed 
on many a strong pocket '* 

'Play has no fascination for me. I can give it 
up — I may almost say I have done sn. ' 

" Not without paying a heavy penalty, how- 
ever," said Kennvfeck, whose animation showed 
that he had at last approached the territory he 
was so long in search of. 

' How do you mean?" said Cashel, blushing 
deeply as he began to fear that by some accident 
his secret visit to the money-lender had reached 
Kennyfeck's ears. 

■ Your drafts on Latrobe, sir, whose account 
I have received to-day, are very heavy." 
Oh, is that all ?'' said Cashel, carelessly 
"All! all!" repeated Kennyfeck; then, sud. 
denly correcting himself, he added, " I am al- 



ROLAND CASH EL 



443 



most certain, sir, that your generous habits have 
overmastered )'our prudence. Are you aware of 
having drawn fifty thousand pounds?" 

"No, I really was not," replied Cashel, smiling 
more at the attorney's look of consternation than 
anything else. "I fancied about lialf as much. 
Pray tell me some of the items. No, no, not from 
book; that looks too formal — just from memory." 

" Well, there are horses witiiout number — one 
bought wi,th all his engagements for the Oaks, 
which amount to a forfeiture of four thousand 
pounds." 

'■ I remember that — a piece of Linton's blun- 
dering; but he lost more lieavily himself, poor 
fellow; our steed Lanzknecht having turned out 
a dead failure." 

"Then there is something about a villa at 
Cowes, which I am certain you never saw." 

" No; but I have a drawing of it somewhere — 
a pretty thing under a cliff, with a beautiful bay 
of deep water, and good anchorage. Linton 
knows all about it." 

"Twelve thousand pounds is a large sum to 
give without ever seeing the purchase." 

" So it is — but go on." 

'' I cannot remember one-half; but there is 
plate and jewels, sums advanced for building; 
subscriptions to everything and everybody; a 
heavy amount transmitted to the Havannah." 

" Very true; and that reminds me of a letter 
which I received at the very moment I was leav- 
ing home. Have I your leave to finish the read- 
ing^ It is from an old and valued comrade." 

" Of course — don't think of me for an instant," 
said Kennyfeck, scarcely able to repress an open 
acknowledgment of liis amazement at the cool 
ness which could turn from so interesting a topic 
to the, doubtless commonplace, narrative of 
some Mexican sailor. 

Cashel was, meanwhile, searching every pocket 
for the letter, which he well remembered, after 
reading in the carriage, to have crushed in his 
hand as he ascended the stairs. " I have 
dropped this letter," said he, in a voice of great 
agitation. "May I ask if your servants have 
found it?" 

The bell was rung, and the butler at once in- 
terrogated. He had seen nothing, neither had 
the footman. They both remembered, liowever, 
that Mr. Pliillis had accompanied his master to 
the foot of the stairs to receive some directions, 
and then left him to return with the carriage. 

" So, then, Phillis must have found it," said 
Cashel, rising liastily; and, without a word of 
apology or excuse, he bade his host a hurried 
good-evening, and left the room. 

" Won't you have the carriage? Will you not 
stay for a cup of tea?" cried Mr. Kennyfeck, 
hastening after him. But the hall-door had al- 
ready banged heavily behind him, and he was 
gone. When Cashel reached his house, it was 
to endure increased anxiety, for Mr. Phillis had 
gone out, and, like a true gentleman's gentleman, 
none of the other servants knew anything of his 
haunts, or when he would return. Leaving 
Cashel, then, to the tortures of a suspense which 
his fervid nature made almost intolerable, we 
shall returu for a brief space to the house he had 



just quitted, and to the drawing-room, where, in 
momentary expectation of his ajipfarance, the 
ladies sat, maintaining that species of " staccato" 
conversation which can afford interruption with 
least inconvenience. It is our duty to add, that 
we bring the reader back here less with any di- 
rect object as to what is actually going forward, 
tlian to make him better acquainted with tlie new- 
arrival. 

Had Miss O'Hara been the mere quiet, easy- 
going, simple-minded elderly maiden she seemed 
to Cashel's eyes, the step on our part had not 
been needed; she might, like some other charac- 
ters of our tale, have been suffered to glide by, 
as ghosts or stage-supernunicraries do, unques- 
tioned and undetained, but she possessed qual- 
ities of a kind to demand somewhat more con- 
sideration. Aunt Fanny, to give lier the title by 
which she was best known, was, in reality, a per- 
son of the keenest insight into others/ — reading 
people at sight, and endowed with a species of 
intuitive perception of all the possible motives 
which lead to any action. Residing totally in a 
small town in the west of Ireland, she rarely 
\isited the capital, and was now, in fact, brought 
up "special" by her sister, Mrs. Kennyfeck, who 
desired to have her advice and countel on the 
prospect of securing Cashel for one or other of 
her daughters. It was so far a wise step, tliat in 
such a conjuncture no higher opinion could have 
been obtained. 

" It was like getting a private hint frcm the 
chancellor about a cause in equity." This was 
Ml'. Kennyfeck's own illustration. 

Aunt Fanny was then there in the guise of a 
domestic detective, to watch proceedings and re- 
port on them — a function which simplifies the 
due conduct of a case, be it in love or law, be- 
yond an}thing. 

" How agreeable your papa must l)e this even- 
ing, my dear," said Mrs. Kenii\fetk, as with a 
glance at the clock on the mantelpiece she rec- 
ognized that it was near ten. 

"I'm sure he is deep in one of his intermin- 
able law arguments, whith always makes Mr. 
Cashel so sleepy and so stupid, that he never re- 
covers for the rest of the evening." 

" He ought to find the drawing-rocm all the 
pleasanter for the contrast," rtmaiked Miss 
O'Hara, dryly. "I like to see young men — mind 
me well, young men, it doesn't do with old ones 
— thoroughly bored before they come among the 
ladies. The sudden change to the tea, and the 
wax-lights, and the bright eyes, are trying stimu- 
lants. Let them, however, be what they call 
'pleasant' below stairs, and they are sure to come 
up flushed and excited, well satisfied with the 
host's claret, and only anxious to order the car- 
riage. What o'clock is it now?" 

"A quarter past ten, aunt." 

"Too late, full three-quarters too late," ejacu- 
lated she, with the tone of an oracle. "There is 
nothing your father could have to say should 
have detained him till now. Play that little 
Mexican thing again, my dear; and, Livy, love, 
leave the door a little open; don't you find the 
heat of this room intolerable?" 

The young ladies obeyed, and meanwhile 



444 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



Aunt Fanny, draving her chair closer to her 
sister's said, in a low tone: 

"Well, explain the matter more clearly. Did 
he give her the diamonds?" 

"No; that is the strangest of all," responded 
Mrs. Kennyfeck. "He just told Leonard to 
send them home, and we never heard more about 
them." 

Aunt Fanny shook her head. 

"You know, he asked Olivia, as they were 
going down-stairs, what she thought of them; 
and she replied, 'They're beautiful.'" 

"How did she say it, though, was it like a 
mere casual remark, or did she make it with 
feeling?" 

" With feeling," echoed Mrs. Kennyfeck, purs- 
ing up her lips. 

" Well ?" 

"Well! he just said, 'I'll take them,' and 
there was an end uf it." 

Aunt Fanny seemed to reflect, and, after some 
time, said: 

" Now, as to the horse, when did he make her 
a present of that?" 

" It was to Caroline he gave the horse; sure I 
told you already." 

"Very true, so you did: a bad feature of th; 
case, too! She ought to have declined it 
somehow." 

"So she would," broke in Mrs. Kennyfeck; 
"but, you perceive, it was very doubtful, at the 
.rime, which of the girls he p.'ei'erred." 

"And you tell me this Mr. Linton has such 
i ifluence over him?" 

" 'I'l.e most absolute. It is only a few weeks 
since they became acquainted, and now they are 
inseparable." 

" Whit is he like — Linton himself?" 

Mrs. Kennvfeck gave a most significant signal, 
by closing up her lips, and slowly nodding her 
head — a gesture that seemed well understood. 

" D<)es K-nnyfeck know nothing of his affairs 
— has he no private history of the man, which 
might be useful lo us?" 

" Don't thmk of that, my dear," rejoined Mrs. 
Kennyfeck, knowingly; "but here tlu-y come at 
last." This w;»s said with reference to ihe sound 
of footsteps on the stairs, which gradually ap- 
proached, nnd at last Mr. Kennyfeck made his 
ap|)eir;ince in the drawing room. 

" Where is Mr. Cashe'l — is he gone?" asked 
Mrs. Kennyfeck, in an accent of unusual anxiety. 

" He went away above an hour ago. He wanted 
to see a letter, or to write one, or lo look for one 
he had lost — I forget which." 

"I'm certain you do!" observed Mrs. Ken- 
nyfeck, with an expression of unequivocal con- 
tempt. "I am perfectly certain we need not 
look to you for either information or assistance." 

Poor M-. Kennyfeck was dumbfounded. The 
very words were riddles to him, and he turned 
to each person about him in silent entreaty 
for explanation — but none came. 

" Wh.it had you been conversing about?" asked 
Aunt Fanny, in that encouraging tone lawyrs 
sometimes use to draw out a reluctant or bashful 
witness. 

"Of his money affairs, Miss O'Hara; and I 



am grieved to say that the subject had so littie 
interest for him, that he started up and left me 
on suddenly remembering something about a 
letter." 

" Which something you have totally forgotten," 
remarked Mrs. Kennyfeck, tartly. 

"And yet it would be a mo.-^t important fact 
for us," observed Aunt Fanny, with judicial 
solemnity; "a letter, whether to read or to 
write, of such pressing necessity, implies much.'' 

"Come, Livy, dear," said Miss Kennjieck, 
rising from the pianoforte, and addressing her 
sister, who sat reading on the sofa, " viy canzon- 
ette and your beautiful attitude are so much 
sweetness thrown away. He's gone without even 
a thought of either! There, there, don't look so 
innocently vacant- — you understand me perfectly." 

A very gentle smile was all the younger sister's 
reply as she left the room. 

" Depend upon it, my dear," said Miss O'Hara 
to Mrs. Kennyfeck, "that young man had made 
some unhappy connection, that's the secret of 
this letter, and when they get into a scrape of 
the kind it puts marriage out of their heads al- 
together. It was the same with Cajitain Morris" 
— here she whispered still lower, the only audi- 
ble words being, "without my ever suspecting — 
orke evening — a low creature — never set eyes 
upon — ah, man, man!" And with this exclama- 
tion aloud, Aunt Fanny took her candle and 
retired. 

About a minute after, however, she re-entered 
the drawing-room, and advancing close to her 
sister, said, with all the solemnity of deep, 
thought: 

"Peter is no good in this case, my dear; send 
him home at once. That man will 'blaze' for 
the asking." And with a nod of immense signifi- 
cance she finally withdrew. 



CHAPTER XX. 



HOW ENRIQUE S LETTER WAS LOST AND FOUND. 
Arcades ambo — Blackguards both! 

In the window of a very pretty cottage-room 
overlooking the Liffey, and that romantic drive 
so well known to Dubliners as the "low road" 
to Lucan, sat Tom Linton. He was enjoying a 
cigar and a glass of v/eak negus, as a n)an may 
enjoy such luxuries seated in the easiest of 
chairs, looking out upon one of the sweetest of 
wood-landscapes, and feeling the while that the 
whole was " his own." If conscientious scruples 
had been any part of that gentleman's life philoso- 
phy, he might have suffered some misgivings, see- 
ing that the cottage itself, its furniture, the jilate, 
the very horses in the stable and the grooms 
about it, had been won at the hazard-table, and 
fiom one whose beggary ended in sulfide. But 
Linton did not dwell on such things, and if they 
did for an instant cross his mind, he dismissed 
them at cnce with a contemptuous iiity for the 
man who could not build up a fortune by the 



ROLAND CASH EL. 



445 



arts with which he had lost one. He had not 
begun the world himself with much principle, 
and all his experiences went to prove that even 
less would suffice, and that for the ])urposes of 
the station he occupied, and the society he fre- 
quented, it was only necessary that he should 
not transgress in his dealings with men of a cer- 
tain rank and condition; so that while every 
transaction with people of class and fashion 
should be strictly on "the square," he was at 
perfect liberty to practise any number of sharp 
things with all beneath them. It was the old 
axiom of knight-errantry adapted to our own cen- 
tury, which made every weapon fair used against 
the plebeiaiti! 

From a pleasant reverie over some late suc- 
cesses and some future ones in anticipation, he 
was aroused by a gentle tap at the door. 

"Come in," said he, "I think I guess who it 
is— Phillis, eh?" 

"Yes, sir, you're quite correct," said that in- 
dividual, advancing from the misty twilight of 
the room, which was only partly lighted by a 
single alabaster lamp. "I thought I'd find you 
at home, sir, and I knew this letter miglit interest 
you. He dropped it when going up the stairs at 
Kennyfeck's, and could scarcely have read it 
through." 

''Sit down, George — sit down, man — -what will 
you take? I see you've had a fast drive; if that 
was your car I just heard on the road, your 
pace was tremendous. What shall it be — claret 
— sherry — brandy-and- water?" 

" If you please, sir, sherry I have lost all 
palate for Bordeaux since I came to Mr Cashel. 
We get abominable wine from Cullan ' 

'* So I remarked myself, but this must be 
looked to. Come, try that, it s some of Gordon s, 
and he would not send a bad bottle to me " 

" I'm very certain of that, sir. It is excellent.' 

" Now, then for the epistle." So saving, he 
ligh'ed a tap; r and prepared to read. "Jamacia 
— oh, a shipmate's letter." 

" A curious one, too, sir, as you'll say when 
you read it." 

Linton, without reply, began to read, nor did 
he break silence till he finished, when laving 
down the paper he said, " And this very fellow 
who writes this he actually spoke of inviting 
to Ireland — to stay some time at his house — to 
be introduced, in fact, to his acquaintances as a 
personal friend." 

" It's verv sad, sir," sighed Phillis. " I have 
long been of opinion that I must leave him. The 
appointments, it is true, are good, perquisites, too, 
very handsome — but the future, Mr. Linton — 
what a future it will be!" 

" It need not be a very near one, at all events," 
said Linton, smiling; "you've read this?" 

" Just threw an eye over it, sir?" 

" Well, you see that your excellent master has 
been little better than a pirate or a slaver." 

"Very shocking, indeed, sir!" 

" Of course this must not get abroad, George." 

" It would ruin me utterly, sir." 

" To be sure it would. No nobleman nor any 
gentleman of rank or fashion, could think of en- 
gaging your services after such an appointment. 



Happily, George, you may rot require such, if 
you only mind your hits. Your master can afford 
to make your fortune, and never know himself 
the poorer. Come, how go on matters latterly at 
No. 50?" 

" Pretty much as usual, sir; two dinner-perties 
last week." 

"I know all about them, though I affected to- 
be engaged and didn't dine there. What I want 
is, to hear of these Kennyfecks — do they come 
much after him?" 

" Only once, sir, when they came to see the 
house and stopped to luncheon." 

"Well, was he particular in his attentions to 
either of the daughters?" 

"Very attentive, indeed, sir, to the younger. 
She dropped her handkerchief in the gallery, and 
ran back for it, and so did he, sir." 

" You followed, of course?" 

"I did, sir, and she was blushing very much 
as I came in, and I heard her say something 
about 'forgiving him,' and then they left the 
room." 

"And what of Kennyfeck, has he had any 
conversations with him on business?" 

" None, sir; 1 have strictly followed your 
orders, and never admitted him." 

'■ Lord Charles F'robisher was a large winner 
t'other night?" said Linton, after a pause. 

■'Yes, sir, so I heard them say at supper, and 
Mr. Cashel first gave him a cheque and then 
changed his mind, and I saw him hand over a 
heavy sum in notes." 

"Indeed!" muttered Linton to himself: "and 
my worthy friend Charley did not confess this to 
me. — Have you taken care that the peo])le don't 
send in their bills and accounts, as I mentioned ?" 

'^ Yes, sir; with few exceptions, notliing of the 
kind comes.' 

"What brought that Mr. Clare Jones so fre- 
quently of late?" 

" He came twice in Mr. Downie Meek's 
carriage, sir but sat all the while outside, while 
Mr. Meek was with my master; the third day, 
however, he was sent for to come in, and spent 
nearly an hour in the study." 

" VVell, what took place?" 

" I could only hear part of the conversation, 
sir, as I feared I might be sent for. The subject 
was a seat in Parliament, which Mr. Casiiel owns, 
and that Mr. Meek is desirous of procuring for 
Jones." 

" Ha! ha! my little Judas! is that your game? 
Go on, George, this interests me." 

"I have little more to tell, sir, for Mr. Meek 
always speaks so low, and my master scarcely 
said anything." 

" And Jones?" 

" He merely remarked on the identity of his 
political principles with those of the present 
government." 

"Of course; the fellow began as a radical, and 
then turned tory, and now is a whig. Blue and 
yellow when mixed always make green. But 
how did it end ?" 

"As well as I could perceive, sir, without any 
promise. My master was to deliberate and send 
his answer." 



446 



ROLAND CASH EL. 



"Let neither have access to him till you hear 
from me again — mark that." 

" You shall be obeyed, sir." 

" Did Lord Kiigoff call ?" 

"Twice, sir; but my master was out. I fol- 
lowed your directions, however, and said that 
her ladyship was with him, and he seemed much 
provoked at not finding him at home." 

" Well, how did he take it — did he make any 
remark?" 

" A half smile, sir; nothing more." 

"But said nothing?" 

" Not a word, sir." 

Linton arose and walked the room in deep 
meditation; at last he said, — 

'• You had better let hun have those letters we 
held back the last two days, to-day. He'll not 
think deeply over his losses on the Derby while 
dwelling on this missing letter." 

" I don't suspect his losses, sir, will cause much 
uneasiness on any score; money occupies very 
little of his thoughts." 

"True, but here the sum is a very heavy one. 
I rsade the book myself, and stood to win thirty 
thousand pounds; but, no matter, it can't be 
helped now — better luck another time. Now, 
another point. It strikes me of late, that he 
seems bored somewhat by the kind of life he is 
leading, and that these carouses at the messes are 
becoming just as distasteful to him as the heavy 
dinner-p.-irties with the dean and the rest of 
Ihem. Is that your opinion?" 

" Perfectly, sir. He even said as much to me 
t'other evening, when he came back from a late 
supper. He is always wishing for the yacht to 
come over — speaks every now and then of taking 
a run over to London and Paris — in fact, sir, he 
/i- bored here. There is no disguising it." 

'■ I feared as much, George; 1 suspected, many 
a day ago, he would not be long satisfied 
with the provincial boards. But this must not 
be, once away from Dublin, he is lost to us for- 
ever I know, and so do you know, the liands 
he would fall into in town. Better let him go 
back to his old prairie haunts for a while, than 
that." 

" Not so very unlikely, sir. He sits poring 
over ma;)s and charts for liours together, and 
scans the new coast survey like a man bent on 
exploring the scenes for himself. It is hard to 
say what is best to do with him." 

" I'll tell you what he must not be permitted 
to do with himself: he must not leave Ireland — 
he must not marry — he must not enter Parliament 
— and, for the moment, to employ his thoughts 
and banish ennui, we'll get up the house-warming 
at Tubbermore. I mean to set off thither to- 
morrow " 

" Without Mr. Cashel, sir?" 

" Of course; be it your care that matters are 
well looked to in my absence, and as Kennyfeck's 
house is safer than the barracks, he may dine 
there as often as he pleases. Keep a watch on 
Jones — not ithat I think he'll be very dangerous; 
see after Lord Charles, whether he may try to 
profit by my absence; and, above all, write me a 
bulletin each day." 

Mr. Phillis promised a strict obedience to 



orders, and rose to retire, pleading the necessity 
of his being at home when his master returned. 

" What of this letter, sir? Shall I contrive to 
place it in his pocket, and discover it as he is un- 
dressing? He never suspects anything or any- 
body." 

" No, George, I'll keep it; it may turn out use- 
ful to us one of these days, there's no knowing 
when or how. I'm curious, too, to see how he 
will act with reference to it — whether he will 
venture on any confidence towards me. I sus- 
pect not; he never alludes to his bygones. The 
only terror his mind is capable of would seem 
the fear of fashionable contempt. If he ever lose 
this he's lost to us forever." This was said rather 
in soliloquy than addressed to Phillis, who did not 
appear to catch the meanmg of the remaik. 
"You'll leave this note on his table, and take 
care he sees it. It is to remind him of an ap- 
pointment here to-morrow with Hoare, the 
money-lender, at eleven o'clock, punctually." 

Phillis took the note, and after a very respect- 
ful leave-taking, withdrew. 

"Yes," said Linton, musing, as he leaned 
against the window, "'all goes fairly so far. Mr. 
Phillis may live to see himself once more a mer- 
chant-tailor in Cheapside. and Tom Linton, un- 
der the buckler of h.is M. P., defy duns and 
bums, and be again a denizen of the only city 
worth living in." 

He then reseated himself in an easy-chair, and 
prepared to con over the letter, to which he had 
only given a passing attention. The narrative 
of Enrique, full of exciting details and hairbreadth 
'scapes, was, however, far less an object of in- 
terest to Linton than the consideration" how far 
a character like this might be made use of for 
the purpose of threat and intimidation over 
Cashel. 

His reflection ran somewhat thus: The day 
may come — is perhaps, even now nigh— when 
Cashel shall reject my influence and ascendancy. 
There never has been anything w hie li could e\en 
counterfeit friendship betw een us — close intimacy 
has been all. To maintain that hold over him 
so necessary to my fortunes, I must be in a pos- 
ition to menace. Roland, himself, has opened 
the way to this by his own reserve. The very 
concealment he has practised implies fear; — 
otherwise, why, in all the openness of our familiar 
intercourse, never have mentioned Enrique's 
name; still more, never once alluded to this 
Maritana? It is clear enough with what shame 
he looks back on the past. Let nine be the task 
to increase that feeling, and build up the fear of the 
world's ridicule, till he shall be the slave of every 
whisper that syllables his name! The higher his 
path in society, the greater the depth to which 
discloures may consign him; and what dis- 
closures so certainly ruinous as to connect him 
with the lawless marauders of the Spanish Main — 
the slaver and the pirate! His dear friend, a felon, 
taken in open fight by a British cruiser! Maritana, 
too, may serve us; her name as mistress — or, if 
need be, as wife — will effectually o])pose any 
matrimonial sjieculations here. So far, this let- 
ter has been a rare piece of fortune! 

For some moments he walked the room with 



ROLAND CASH EL. 



447 



excited and animated looks, the alternating shades 
of pleasure and its opposite flitting rajjidiy across 
his strong features. At last he broke out in 
words: "Ay, Cashel, I am as suddenly enriched 
as yourself — but with a different heritage. 
Yours was gold. Mine, revenge! And there 
are many to whom I could pay the old debt 
home. There's Forster, with his story of Ascot, 
and his black-ball at Graham's! — a double debt, 
with years of heavy interest upon it. There's 
Howard, too, that closed his book at Tattersall's 
after tearing out the leaf that had my name! 
Frobisher nimself daring his petty insolence at 
every turn! — all these cry for acquittance, and 
shall have it. There are few men of my own 
standing, that with moneyed means at my com- 
mand, I could not ruin! And ungallant as the 
boast may be, some fair ladies, too! How I. have 
longed for the day, how I have schemed and 
plotted for it! and now it comes almost unlooked 
for. 

" Another month or tvvo of this wasteful ex- 
travagance, and Cashel will be deeply, seriously 
embarrassed. Kennyfeck will suggest retrench- 
ment and economy, that shall be met with an in- 
sidious doubt of the good man's honesty And 
how easy to impeach it! The schemes of his 
wife and daughter will aid the accusation. 
Roland shall, meanwhile, learn the discomfort 
of being 'hard up.' The importunity — nay, the 
insolence— of duns shall assail him at every post 
and every hour. From this there is but one 
bold, short step — and take it he must — make me 
his agent. That done, all the rest is easy. Em- 
barrassment and injurious reports will soon drive 
him from the country, and from an estate he 
shall never revisit as his own. So far — the first 
act of the drama. The second discovers Tom 
Linton the owner of Tubbermore, and the host 
of Lord and Lady Kilgoff, who have conde- 
scendingly agreed to pass the Easter recess with 
him. Mr. Linton has made a very splendid 
maiden speech, which, however, puzzles the 
minister and the Times, and if he were not a 
man perfectly indifferent to place, would expose 
him to the imputation of courting it. 

"And Laura all this while!" said he, in a voice 
whose accents trembled with intense feeling, " can 
she forgive the past? Will old memories revive 
old affections, or will they rot into hatred? Well,' 
cried he, sternly, "whichever way they turn, I'm 
prepared." 

There was a tone of triumphant meaning in 
his last words that seemed to thrill through his 
frame, and as he threw himself back upon a seat, 
and gazed out upon the starry skv, his features 
wore the look of proud and insolent defiance. 
" So is it," said he, after a pause; "one must be 
alone — friendless, and alone — in life, to dare the 
world so fearlessly" He filled a goblet of sherry, 
and, as he drank it off, cried, "Courage! Tom 
Linton against ' the field!' " 



CHAPTER XXI. 

THE CONSPIRATORS DISTURBED. 

Eternal friendship let us swear, 

In fraud at least — "nous serons freres." 

— Robert Macaire 

Cashel passed a night of feverish anxiety. 
Enrique's uncertain fate was never out of his 
thoughts; and if for a moment he dropped off to 
sleep, he immediately awoke with a sudden start, 
some fancied cry for help — some heart-uttered 
appeal to him for assistance breaking m upon his 
weary slumber. 

How ardently did he wish for some one friend 
to whom he might confide his difficulty, and from 
whom receive advice and counsel. Linton's 
shrewdness and knowledge of life pointed him 
out as the fittest, but how to reveal to his fash- 
ionable friend the secrets of that buccaneering 
life he had himself so lately quitted? How ex- 
pose himself to the dreaded depreciation a "fine 
gentleman" might visit on a career passed amid 
slavers and pirates? A month or two previous, 
he could not have understood such scrnjiles, but 
already the frivolities and excesses of daily habit 
had thrown an air of savage rudeness over the 
memory of his western existence, and he had not 
the courage to brave the comments it might sug- 
gest. To this false shame had Linton brought 
him, acting on a naturally sensitive nature, by 
those insidious and imperceptible counsels vhich 
represent the world — meaning, thereby, that por- 
tion of it who are in the purple and fine linen 
category — as the last appeal in all cases, not alone 
of a man's breeding and pretensions, but of his 
honor and independence. 

It was not without many a severe struggle, and 
many a heartfelt repining, Cash.el felt h:niself 
surrender the free action of his natural independ- 
ence to the petty and formal restrictions of a code 
like this But there was an innate dread of 
notoriety, a sensitive shrinking from remark, that 
made him actually timid about transgressing 
whatever he was told to be an ordinance of 
fashion To dress in a particular way- — to fre 
quent certain places — to be known to certain 
people — to go out at certain hourt — and so on, 
were become to his mind as the actual require- 
ments of his station, and often did he regret the 
hour when he had parted with his untrammelled 
freedom to live a life of routine and monotony 

Shrinking, then, from any confidence in Lin- 
ton, he next thouglit of Kennvfeck, and, although 
not placing a high value on his skill and correct- 
ness in such a difficulty, he"resohed, at all hazards, 
to consult him on the course to be followed. He 
had been often told how gladly government 
favors the possessors of fortune and influence. 
Now, thought he, is the time to test the problem. 
"All of mine is at their service, if they but lib- 
erate my poor comrade." 

So saying to himself, he had just reached the 
hall, when the sound of wheels approached the 
door A carriage drew up. and Linton, followed 
by Mr Hoare, the money-lender, descended. 

" Oh, I had entirely forgotten this affair," cried 



448 



ROLAND C A S H E L 



Cashel, as he met them; "can we not fix another 
day'" 

"Irtipossible, sir; I leave town to-niglit." 

''Aiiutber hour to-day, then?" said Cashel, 
impatiently. 

'■'I'his will be very difficult, sir. I have some 
very pressing engagements, all of which were 
formed subject to your convenience in this busi- 
ness." 

" But while you are discussing the postpone- 
ment, you could finish the whole affair," cried 
Linton, drawing his arm within Cashel's, and 
leading him along towards the library. ''By 
Tove! it does give a man a sublime idea of wealth, 
to be sure," said he, laughing, "to see the cool 
indifference with which you can propose to defer 
an interview that brings you some fifteen thou- 
sand pounds. As for me, I'd make the viceroy 
himself play 'ante-chamber,' if little Hoare paid 
nie a visit." 

'"Well, be it so; only let us despatch," said 
Cashei, "for lam anxious to catch Kennyfeck 
before he goes down to court." 

" I'll not detain you many minutes, sir," said 
Hoare, drawing forth a very capacious black 
leather pocket-book and opening it on the table. 
" There are the bills, drawn as agreed upon — at 
three and six months — here is a statement of the 
charges for interest, commission, and " 

" I am quite satisfied it is all right," said 
Cashel, pushing the paper carelessly from him. 
" I have borrowed money once or twice in my 
life, and always thought anything liberal which 
did not exceed cent, per cent." 

"We are content with much less, sir, as you 
will perceive," said Hoare, smiling "Six per 
cent, interest, one-half commission '' 

" Yes, yes — it is all perfectly correct," broke 
in Cashel. " I sign my name here — and here?" 

"And here, also, sir There is also a policy 
of insurance on your life. 

" What does that mean?" 

"Oh, a usual kind of security in these cases," 
said Linton, "' because if you were to die before 
the bills came due — — " 

" I see it all — whatever you please," said 
Cashel, taking up his hat and gloves. "' Now, 
will you pardon me for taking a very abrupt 
leave?" 

" You are forgetting a very material point, 
sir,'' said Hoare; " this is an order on Frend and 
Begnan for the money." 

"Very true. The fact is, gentlemen, my head 
is none of the clearest to-day. Good-bye — good- 
bye." 

" Ten to one all that haste is to keep some 
appointment with one of Kennyfeck's daughters," 
said Hoare, as he shook the sand over the freshly- 
signed bills, when the heavy bang of the hall- 
door announced Cashel's departure. 

"I fancy not," said Linton, musing; " I be- 
lieve I can guess the secret." 

'What am I to do with these, Mr. Linton?" 
said the other, not heeding the last observation, 
as he took two pieces of paper from the pocket 
of his book. 

" What are they?" said Linton, stretching at 
full length on a sofa. 



"Two bills, with the endorsement of Thomas 
Linton." 

' Then are two ten shilling stamps ppoiled and 
good for nothing," replied Lmton, "which, with- 
out that respectable signature, mi^ln have lulpcd 
to ruin somebody worth ruining," 

"One will be due on Saturday, the twelfth. 
The other " 

'■ Don't trouble yourself about the dates, 
Hoare. I'll renew as often as you please — I'll 
do anything but pay " 

"Come, sir, I'll make a generous proposition; 
I have made a good morning's work. You shall 
have them both for a hundred." 

" Thanks for the liberality," said Linton, 
laughing 'You bought them for fifty " 

" I know that very well; but remember you 
were, a very depreciated stock at that time. 
Now you are at a ])remium. I hear )ou have 
been a considerable winner from our Iriend 
here.' 

' Then you are misinformed. I have won less 
than the others — far less than I might have 
done The fact is, Hoare, I have been placing 
a back game — what jockeys call, holding niy 
stride '' 

'' Well, take care you don't wait too long, ' 
said Hoare, sententiously 

' How do you mean?" said Linton, sitting up,, 
and showing more animation than he had ex- 
hibited before. 

"You have your secret— I have mine. ' replied 
Hoare, dryly, as he replaced the bills in his 
pocket-book, and clasped it. 

" What if we exchange prisoners, Hoare?'^ 

" It would be like most of your compacts, Mr. 
Linton, all the odds in your ciwn favor," 

■' I doubt whether any man makes such com- 
pacts with you," replied Linton; "but why 
higgle this way? ' Remember," as Peacham says, 
that we could hang one another;' and there is 
an ugly adage about what happens — when people 
such as you and I 'fall out.' " 

■ So there is, and, strange enough, I was just 
thinking of it. Come, what is your secret?" 

' Read that," said Linton, placing Enrique's 
letter in his hand, while he sat do«n, directly in 
front, to watch the effect it might produce. 

Hoare read slowly, and attentively, some pas- 
sages he re-read three or four times, and then, 
laying down the letter, he seemed to reflect on 
its contents. 

"You scarcely thought what kind of company 
our friend used to keep formerly?" asked Lin- 
ton, sneeringly. 

" I knew all about that tolerably well. I was 
rather puzzling myself a little about this Pedro 
Rica; that same trick of capturing the slavers, 
and then selling the slaves, is worthy of one I 
could mention, not to speak of the double treach- 
ery of informing against his comrades, and send- 
ing the English frigate after them." 

"A deep hand he must be," remarked Linton, 
coolly. 

"A very deep one; but what is Cashel likely 
to do here?" 

"Nothing; he has no clue whatever to the 
business; the letter itself he had not time to 



ROLAND CASH EL 



449 



read tliroiigh, when he dropped it, and " I 

"I understand — perfectly This accounts for 
his agitation. Well, I must sa)', my secret is the 
betier of' the two, and, as usual, you have made 
a good bargain." 

" Not better than your morning's work here, 
Hoare; — confess that." 

" All, there will not be many more such har- 
vests to reap, ' said he, sighing. 

" How so? his fortune is scarcely breached, as 

"He spends money fast.* said Hoare, gravely; 
" even now, see what sums he has squandered — 
think of the presents he has lavished — diamonds 
— horses " 

" As to the Kennyfeck affair, it was better than 
getting into a matrimonial scrape, which I fancy 
I have rescued hitn from." 

" Oh, no, nothing of the kind. Pirate as he is, 
he wouldn't venture on that." 

" Why so — what do you mean?" 

" Simply, that he is married already, at least, 
that species of betrothal which goes for marriage 
in his free and easy country." 

' Married'"" exclaimed Linton, in utter amaze- 
ment " and he never even hinted in the most 
distant manner to this." 

" .\nd yet the obligation is sufficiently binding, 
according to Columbian law, to give his widow 
the benefit of all property he might die possessed 
of in that republic ' 

" And he knows this himself '' 

'So well, that he has already proposed a very 
large sum as forfeit to break the contract." 

'■ And this has been refused ?' 

"Yes. The girl's father has thought it better 
to follow your own plan, and make ' a waiting 
race' well knowing, that if Cashel does not re- 
turn to claim her as his wife — or that, which is 
not improbable, she may marry more advanta- 
geous! v — he will always be ready to pay the 
forfeit" 

" May I not learn his name?" 

" Nol" 

" Nor his daughter's? — the Christian name, I 
mean?" 

" To what end? It would be a mere idle curi- 
osity, for I should exact a pledge of your never 
divulging it." 

''Of course said Linton, carelessly "It 
was, as you say a mere idle wish. Was this a love 
affair, then, for it has a most commercial air?" 

"I really don t know that, I fancy that they 
were both very young, and very ignorant of what 
they were pledging, and just *s indifferent to the 
consequences. 

" She was handsome, this " 

" Maritaiia is beautiful, they say," said Hoare, 
who inadvertently let slip the name he had re- 
fused to divulge. 

Linton's quick ear caught it at once, but as 
rapidly affccted.not to notice it, as he said, — ■ 

" Bat I really do not see as yet how this affects 
what we were just speaking of?" 

" It will do so, however — and ere long. These 
people, who were immensely rich some time back, 
are now, by one of the convulsions so frequent 
in those countries, reduced to absolute poverty. 



They will, doubtless, follow Cashel here, and 
seek a fulfilment of his contract. I need not 
tell you, Mr Linton, what must ensue on such a 
demand. It would be hard to say whether ac- 
ceptance or refusal would be worse In a word, 
ihe father-in-law is a man of such a character, 
there is only one thing would be more niimius 
tlian his enmity, and that is, any alliance with 
him. Let him but arrive in this country, and 
every gentleman of station and class will fall 
back from Cashel's intmiacy; and even th.ose — 
I'll not mention names,'' said he smiling — " who 
could gloss over some of their jireji, dices w ith 
gold-leaf, will soon di;-co\er that a slirewder e\e 
than Cashel's will be on llitm and that all at- 
tempts to profit by his easiness of ttmjier and 
reckless nature, will be met by one who has never 
vet been foiled in a game of artifice and deceit." 

" Then I perceive we have a ver) short teth.er," 
said Linton, gravely: 'when may this worthy 
gentleman he looked for? ' 

" At any moment. I believe early in spring, 
however, will be the time." 

" Well, that gi\es us a few months during 
which I must contrive to get in for this b(Ji<nii;h 
of Derrahecne) — But hark! is that a carriage at 
the door? — jes, by Jove! the Kenn) fecks I 
remember, he had asked them to-day to come 
and see his pictures. I say, Hoare, step out by 
the back way — we must not be caught together 
here. I'll make my escape afterwards " 

Already the thundering knock of .the footman 
resounded through the house, and Hoare, nf)t 
losing a moment, left the library, and hasttiud 
through the garden at the rear of the house, 
while Linton, seizing some writing n.aterials, hur 
ried up-stairs, and established himself in a small 
boudoir off one of the drawing-rooms, carefully 
letting down the Venetians as he entered, and 
leaving the chamber but half lighted; this done, 
he drew a screen in front of him, and waited 
patiently. 



CHAPTER XXII. 



VISIT TO THE CASHEL PICTURE GALLERY. 

Ignored tlie scfiool.^ of France and Spain, 

And of the Netherlands not surer 
He knew not Cuyp from Clande Lorraine, 

Nor Dow from Albert Durer. 

— Bell s Images. 

Scarcely had the Kennyfecks' carriage driven 
from the door when the stately equipage of the 
MacFarlines drew up, which was soon after fol- 
lowed by the verv small ponv phaeton of Mrs 
Leicester White, that lady herself driving and 
having for her companion a large, high-shouldered, 
spectacled gentleman, whose glances, at once in- 
quiring and critical, pronounced him as one of 
her nnmtrow^ prote'g/s in art, science, or letters 

This visit to the "Cashel Gallery' as she 
somewhat grandiloquently designated the collec- 
tion, had been a thing of her own planning first, 
because Mrs. White was an adej)t in that skilful 
diplomacy which so happily makes plans for 
pleasure at other people's houses — and oti, what 



4i5a 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



numbers there are!^delightful, cliarming people 
as ihe world calls them! whose gift goes no 
further than this, that they keep a registry of 
their friends' accommodation, and know to a 
nicety the season to dine here, to sup there, to 
ptc-nic at one place, and to " spend the day" — 
horrible expression of a more horrible fact — at 
another. But Mrs. \Vhite had also another ob- 
ject in view on the present occasion, which 
was, to introduce her companion, Mr. Elias 
Howie, to her Dublin acquaintance. 

Mr. Elias Howie was one of a peculiar class, 
which this age, so fertile in inventions, has en- 
gendered, a publisher's man-of-all-work, ready 
for everything, from statistics to satire, and 
equally prepared to e.vpound prophecy, or write 
squibs for " Punch." 

Not that lodgings were not inhabited in Grub 
sireet before our day, but that it remained for the 
glory of this century to see that numerous horde 
of tourist authors held in leash by fashionable 
booksellers, and every now and then let slip over 
some country, to which plague, pestilence, or 
famine, had given a newer and more terrible in- 
terest. In this novel walk of literature Mr. 
Howie was one of the chief proficients; he was 
the creator of that new school of travel which, 
writing expressly for London readers, refers 
everything to the standard of " town;" and whether 
it be a trait of Icelandic life, or some remnant of 
old world existence in the far East, all must be 
brought for- trial to the bar of" Seven Dials," or 
stand to plead in the dock of Pail-Mall or Picca- 
dilly. Whatever errors or misconceptions he 
migiit fall mto respecting his subjects, he made 
none regarding his readers. He knew them by 
heart — their leanings, their weakness, and their 
prejudices; and how pleasantly could he flatter 
their town-bred self-sufficiency — how slyly insin- 
uate their vast superiority over all other citizens, 
insidiously assuring them that the Thames at 
Richmond was infinitely finer than the Rhine or 
the Danube, and that a trip to Margate was richer 
in reijayal than a visit to the Bosphorus! Ireland 
was, just at the time we speak of, a splendid field 
for his peculiar talents. The misery mongers had 
had their day. The world was somewhat weary 
of Landlordism, Pauperism, and Protestantism, 
and all the other " isms" of that unhappy country. 

There was nothing that had not been'said over 
the overgrown Church establishment — the de- 
vouring Middleman— Cottier misery — and Celtic 
barbarism; people grew weary of hearing about 
a nation so endowed with capabilities, and which 
yet did nothing, and rather than puzzle their 
heads any further, they voted Ireland a " bore." 
It was just then that " this inspired cockney" de- 
termined to try a new phase of the subject, 
and this was not to counsel nor console, not 
to lament over nor bewail our varied mass of 
errors and misfortunes, but to laugh at us. 
To hunt out as many incongruities — many, 
real enough, some, fictitious — as he could find; 
to unveil all that he could discover of social an- 
omaly; and, without any reference to, or any 
knowledgeof, the people, to bring them up for judg- 
ment before his less volatile and more happily cir- 
cumstanced countrymen, certain of the verdict he 



sought for — a hearty laugh. His mission was to 
make " Punch" out of Ireland, and none more 
capable than he for the office. 

A word of Mr. Howie in the flesh, and we 
have done. He was large a-nd heavily built, but 
neither muscular nor athletic; his frame and all 
his gestures indicated weakness and uncertainty. 
His head was capacious, but not remarkable for 
what phrenologists call moral development, while 
the sinister expression of his eyes — half submis- 
sive, half satirical — suggested doubts of his sin- 
cerity. There was nothing honest about him but 
his mouth; this was large, full, thick-lipped, and 
sensual; the mouth of one who loved to dine 
well, and jet felt that his agreeability was an 
ample receipt in full for the best entertainment 
that ever graced Blackwall or the " Freres." 

It is a heavy infliction that we story-tellers are 
compelled to lay upon our readers and ourselves 
thus to interru|)t our narrative by a lengthened 
description of a character not essentially belong- 
ing to our story; we had rather, far rather, been 
enabled to imitate Mrs. White, as she advanced 
into the circle in the drawing-room, saying, " Mr. 
Casliel, allow me to present to your favorable 
notice my distinguished friend, Mr. Howie. 
Lady Janet MacFarline, Mr. Howie' — soiio — 
'■ the author of ' Snooks in the Holy Land,' — the 
wittiest thing of the day — Sir Andrew will be de- 
lighted with him — has been all over the scenes 
of the Peninsular war. — Mrs. Kennyfeck, Mr. 
Howie." 

Mr. Howie made his round of salutations, and 
although by his awkwardness tacitly acknowl- 
edging that they were palpably more habituated 
to the world's ways than himself, yet inwaidly 
consoled by remarking certain little traits of 
manner and accent sufficiently provincial to be 
treasured up, and become very droll in print or 
a copper etching. 

" It's a vara new pleasure ye are able to con- 
fer upon your friends, Mr. Cashel," said Sir An- 
drew, "to show them so fine a collection o' pic- 
tures in Ireland, whar, methinks, the arts ha' no 
enjoyed too mickle encouragement." 

"I confess," said Cashel, ir.c:destly, "I am but 
ill-qualified to extend the kind of patronage that 
would be serviceable, had I even the means, I 
have not the slightest pretension to knowledge 
or judgment. The few I have purchased have 
been as articles of furniture, pleasant to look at, 
without any pretension to high excellence." 

"Just as Admiral Dalrymple paid ten pounds 
for a dunghill when he turned farmer," whispered 
Mr. Howie in Mrs. White's ear, "and then said, 
'he had only bought it because some one said 
it was a good thing, but that, now, he'd give 
any man "twenty" to tell him what to do with 
it.' " 

Mrs. White burst into a loud fit of laughter, 
exclaiming, — 

" Oh. how clever, how good ! Pray, Mr. Howie, 
tell Lady Janet — tell Mr. Cashel that." 

" Oh, madam!" cried the terrified tourist, who 
had not discovered before the very shallow dis- 
crimination of his gifted acquaintance. 

" If it is so vara good," said Sir Andrew, " we 
maun insist on hearin' it." 



ROLAND CASHEL 



451 



"No, no! nothing of the kind," interposed 
Howie; " besides, the observation was only in- 
tended for Mrs. White's ear." 

" Very true," said the lady, affecting a look 
of consciousness. 

"The odious woman," wliispered Mrs. Ken- 
nyfeck to her sister; "see how delighted she 
looks to be compromised." 

" If we had Linton," said Cashel, politely offer- 
ing his arm to Lady Janet, as he led her into the 
so-called gallery, "he could explain everything 
for us. We have, however, a kind of catalogue 
here. This large landscape is said to be by 
Both." 

" If she be a coo," said Sir Andrew, " I maun 
say it's the first time I ever seen ane vvi' the head 
ower the tail." 

" Nonsense," said Lady Janet; " don't ye per- 
ceive that the animal is fore-shortened, and is 
represented looking backwards?" 

"1 ken nothing aboot that; she maybe short- 
ened in the fore-parts, an ye say, and that may 
be some peculiar breed, but what brings her head 
ower her rump?" 

Sir Andrew was left to finish his criticism 
alone, the company moving on to a portrait as- 
signed to Vandyck, as Diedrich von Aevenghem, 
Burgom^jster of Antwerp. 

"A fine headi" e.xclaimed Mrs. White, au- 
thoritatively, "don't you think so, Mr. Howie?" 

"A very choice specimen of the great master, 
for which, doubtless, you gave a large sum." 

" Four hundred, if I remember aright," said 
Cashel. 

" I think he maught hae a clean face for that 
money," broke in Sir Andrew. 

"What do you mean, sir?" said Miss Kenny- 
feck, insidiously, and delighted at the misery 
Lady Janet endured from his remarks. 

" Don't ye mind the smut he has on ane cheek?" 

"It's the shadow of his nose. Sir Andrew," 
broke in Lady Janet, with a sharpness of rebuke 
there was no misunderstanding 

" Eh, my leddy, so it may, but ye need na 
bite mine off, for a' that!" And so saying, the 
discomfited veteran fell back in high dudgeon. 

The party now broke into the twos and threes 
invariable on such occasions, and while Mrs. 
Kennyfeck and her elder daughter paid their 
most devoted attentions to Lady Janet, Mrs. 
White and the author paired off, leaving Olivia 
Kennyfeck to the guidance of Cashel. 

"So you'll positively not tell me what it is that 
preys on your mind this morning?" said she, in 
the most insinuating of soft accents. 

Cashel shook his head mournfully, and said: 

"Why should I tell you of what it is impossi- 
ble you could give me any counsel in, while your 
sympathy would only cause uneasiness to your- 
self ?" 

"But you forget our compact," said she, 
archly; "there was to be perfect confidence on 
both sides, was there not?" 

" Certainly. Now, when shall we begin?"' 

" Have you not begun already?'' 

" I fancy not. Do you remember two even- 
ings ago, when I came suddenly into the draw- 
ing-room and found you pencil in hand, and 



you, instead of at once showing me what you 
liad been sketching, shut the portldlio and car- 
ried it off, despite all my entrcaties^nay, all my 
just demands?" 

"Oh, but," said she, smiling, "confidence is 
one thing — confession is another." 

"Too subtle distinctions for me," cried Cashel. 
■'I foolishly supposed that there was to be an 
unreserved " 

" Speak lower, for mercy sake! — don't you per- 
ceive Lady Janet trying to hear everything you 
say?" This was said in a soft whisper, while she 
added aloud, " I think you said it was a Correg- 
gio, Mr. Cashel," as they stood before a very 
lightly-clad Magdalen, who seemed endeavoring 
to make up for the deficiency of her costume by 
draping across her bosom the voluptuous masses 
of her golden hair. 

" I think a Correggio," said Cashel, confused 
at the sudden artifice; " but who has the cata- 
logue? — oh, Sir Andrew; tell us about number 
fifty-eight." 

" Fefty-eight, fefty-eight," mumbled Sir An- 
drew a number of times to himself, and then, 
having found the number, he approached the pic- 
ture and surveyed it attentively. 

"Well, sir, what is it called ?" said Olivia. 

" It's vara singular," said Sir Andrew, stilll 
gazing at the canvas, "but doubtless Correggio' 
knew weel what he was aboot This," said he,. 
" is a picture of Sain John the Baaptist in a rai- 
ment of caamel's hair." 

No sense of propriety was proof against this 
announcement; a laugh, loud and general, burst 
forth, during which Lady Janet, snatching the 
book indignantly from his hands, cried, 

" You were looking at sixty-eight, Sir Andrew,, 
not fifty-eight; and you have made yourself per- 
fectly ridiculous." 

" By my saul, I believe so," muttered the old 
gentleman, in deep anger; " I've been looking at 
' saxty-eight' ower long already !" 

Fortunately, this tarcajm was not heard by her 
against whom it was directed, and they who did 
hear it were fain to suppress their laughter as 
well as they were able. The party was now in- 
creased by the arrival of the dean and his "an- 
cient," Mr. Softly, to tlie manifest delight of Mrs. 
Kennyfeck, who at once exclaimed, 

"Ah, we shall now hear something really in- 
structive." 

The erudite churchman, after a very abrupt, 
notice of the company, started at speed without 
losing a moment 

His attention being caught by some curious- 
tableau of the interior of the great pyramid, he im- 
mediately commenced an explanation of the var- 
ious figures, the costumes and weapons, which he- 
said were all masonic, showing that Pharaoh wore- 
an apron exactly like the duke of Sussex, and' 
that every emblem of the "arch" was to be found; 
among the great of ancient Egypt. 

While thus employed, Mr. Howie, seated in a 
corner, was busily sketching the whole party for 
an illustration to his new book on Ireland, and 
once more Cashel and his companion found 
themselves, of course by the merest accident, 
standing opposite the same picture in a little bou- 



452 



ROLAND CASHEL 



doir off the large gallery The subject was a 
scene from Faust, wliere Marguerite, leaning on 
her lover's arm, is walking in a garden by moon 
light, and seeking by a mode of divination com- 
mon in Germany to ascertain his truth which is 
by plucking one by one the petals of a flower, 
saying alternately, " He loves me, he loves me 
not;"' and then, by the result of the last-plucked 
leaf, deciding whicii fate is accomplished. Cashel 
first explained the meaning of the trial, and then 
taking a rose from one of the flower vases, he 
said, — 

" Let me see if you can understand my teach- 
ing; you have only to say Er liebt mich,' and, 
' Er liebt mich nicht. ' 

" But how can I ? " said she, with a look of 
beaming innocence, ' if there be none who ' 

"No matter," said Cashel, " besides, is it not 
possible you could be loved, and yet never know 
it? Now for the ordeal." 

■ ' Er liebt mich nicht," said Olivia, with a low 
silvery voice, as slie plucked the first petal oft 
and threw it on the floor 

" You begin inauspiciously, and, I must say, 
unfairly, too, said Cashel. 'The first augury 
is in favor of love " 

" Er liebt mich, ' said she, tremulously, and 
the leaf broke in her fingers. '' Ha! sighed 
she, " wliat does that imply? Is it, that he only 
loves by half his heart?" 

" That cannot be," said Cashel " it is rather 
that you treated his affection harshly. ' 

" Should it not bear a little? — ought it to give 
way at once?" 

" Nor will it," said he, more earnestly, if you 
deal but fairly. Come, I will teach you a stdl 
more simple, and yet unerring test." 

A heavy sigh from behmd the Chinese screen 
made both the speakers start; and while Olivia, 
pale with terror, sank into a chair Cashel hastened 
to see what had caused the alarm. 

■ Linton, upon my life!' exclaimed he, in a 
low whisper, as, on tiptoe, he returned to the 
place beside her 

'Oh, Mr. Cashel, oh, dear, Mr. Cashel " 

'' Dearest Olivia— " 

" Heigho!'' broke in Linton; and Roland and 
his companion slipped noiselessly from the room, 
and, unperceived, mixed with the general com- 
pany, who sat in rapt attention while the dean 
explained that painting was nothing more nor 
less than an optical delusion — a theory which 
seemed to delight Mrs. Kenn>feck in the same 
proportion that it puzzled her Fortunately, 
the announcement that luncheon was on the table 
cut short the dissertation, and the party de- 
scended, all more or less content, to make mate 
rial enjoyments succeed to intellectual ones. 

" Well," whispered Miss Kennyfeck to her 
sister, as they descended the stairs, ''did he?" 

An almost inaudible ''No" was the reply. 

'■ Your eyes are very red for nothing, my dear," 
rejoined the elder 

" I dinna ken, sir," said Sir .\ndrew to Softly, 
as he made use of his arm for support — " I dinna 
ken how ye understand your theory aboot optical 
delusions, but I maun say, it seems to me a vara 
strange way for men o' your cloth to pass the 



mornin'. starin' at naked weemen — creatures, too, 
that if they ever leeved at all, must ha' led the 
maist abandoned lives. I take it, the Diana her- 
self was ne better than a cuttie, do ye mark 
hoo she does no scruple to show a bra pair of 
legs " 

" With respect to the Heathen Mythology," 
broke in Softly, in a voice he hoped might subdue 
the discussion 

" Don't tell me aboot the haythins, sir; flesh 
and bluid is a' the same, whatever kirk it fol- 
lows." 

Before they were seated at table, Linton had 
joined them, explaining, in llie most natural way 
in the world, that, having sat down to write in 
the boudoir, he had fallen fast asleep, and was 
only awakened by Mr Phillis having accidentally 
discovered liim. A look of quick intelligence 
passed between Cashel and Olivia at this narrative; 
tlie young lady soon appeared to have recovered 
from her former embarrassment, and the luncheon 
proceeded pleasantly to all parties. Mr. Howie 
enjoyed himself to the utmost not only by the 
reflection that a hearty luncheon at two would 
save an hotel dinner at six, but that the dean 
and Sir Andrew were two originals, worth five 
pound apiece even for " Punch ' As to Cashel, 
a glance at the author's note-book would show 
how he impressed that gifted personage. "'RC 
— a snob — rich — and gullible, his pictures, all 
the household gods at Christie's, the Vandyck, 
late a sign of the Marquis of Granby, at Windsor 
Mem. not over safe to quiz him." " But we'll 
see kiter on." " Visit him at his country-seat, 
if poss.' " 

" Who is our spectacled friend ?" said Linton, 
as they drove away from the door. 

"Sc-me distinguished author, whose name I 
have forgotten. ' 

"Shrewd looking fellow— think I have seen 
him at Ascot. What brings him over here?" 

" To write a book, I fancy " 

" \Vliat a bore. This is the age of detectives, 
with a vengeance. 'Well, don't let him in again, 
that's all. By Jove! it's easier, now-a-days, to 
escape the Queen's Bench than the Illustrated 

'A note from Mr Kennyfecl:, sir," said 
Mr. Phillis, " and the man waits for an answer " 

Linton, taking up a book, affected to read, but 
in leality placed himself so as to watch Cashel's 
features as he perused the letter, whose size and 
shape pronounced to be something unusual. 
Hurriedly mumbling over a rather tedious ex- 
ordium on the various views the writer had taken 
of a subject- Cashel's eyes suddenly flashed as he 
drew forth a small printed paragraph, cut from 
thecolumn of a newspaper and which went thus. 
— " It will be, doubtless, in our readers' recollec- 
tion how a short time back an armed slaver, 
sailing under the flag of Columbia, was taken, 
after a most severe and sanguinary engagement, 
by H.M. brig Hornet. The commander, a young 
Spaniard of singularly handsome exterior, and 
with all the bearing and appearance of a rank 
very different* from his mode of life, was carried 
off and confined in St. Kitt's till such time as he 
could be brought to trial. Representations from 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



453 



the government of the republic were, however, 
made, and a claim preferred for indemnity, not 
only for the loss of the vessel and property, but 
for the loss of life and other injury incurred on 
the capture. While this singular demand was 
under investigation, the young Sjianiard alluded 
to contrived to break his bonds and escape: the 
only mode of doing which was by a leap into the 
sea from the parapet of the fortress, a height, we 
are informed, of nigh one hundred feet. They 
who are acquainted with the locality assert that 
if he even survived the des[)erate leap, he must 
inevitably have fallen a victim to the sharks who 
frequent the bay to catch the bodies of all who 
die in the prison, and who, it would appear, are 
thus unceremoniously disposed of 'I'his sup- 
position would seem, however, in some respect, 
contradicted, by the circumstance that a Vene- 
zuelan cruiser, which hung about the shore for 
the two preceding days, sailed on the very night 
of his escape, and, in all probability, with him on 
board." 

''I could swear he is safe!" cried Cashel, 
in an ecstasy of enthusiasm, "he's a glorious 
fellow." 

" Who is that?" said Linton, looking up, "any 
one I know?" 

" No. indeed !" said Cashel. Then suddenly 
checking himself in a speech whose opening 
accents were far from flattering, he added, " One 
you never even heard of." 

He once more addressed himself to the letter, 
which, however, merely contained some not very 
brilliant commentaries of Mr. Kennyfeck over 
the preceding extract, and which, after enumerat- 
ing a great many modes of investigating the 
event, concluded with the only thing like com- 
mon sense in the whole, by recommending a 
strict silence and secrecy al.oat it all. 

Cashel was closing the epistle, when he caught 
on the turn-down the following lines: 

" Mr. Linton has written to me about some- 
thing like a legal transfer of the cottage and 
lands of Tubber-beg, which he mentions your 
having presented to him. What reply am I to 
return to this? I stated that you had already as- 
sured Mr. Corrigan, the present tenant, of an un- 
disturbed possession of the tenure, but Mr. L. in- 
terrupted my explanation by saying that he only 
desired an assignment of the property, such as 
would give a parliamentary qualification, and 
that all pledges made to Mr. C. he would regard 
as equally binding on himself " 

Cashel's first impulse, when he had read thus 
far, was to show Linton the paragraph, and 
frankly ask him what he wished to be done, in- 
deed, he had already advanced towards him with 
that object, when he checked himself " It might 
seem ungracious to ask any explanation. There 
had been already a moment of awkwardness 
about that same cottage, and I^inton had behaved 
so well, and, of course, only asking him for the 
possession as a means of qualifying, Corrigan 
need never hear of it. Besides, he cinuld make 
Linton a present of much greater real value as 
soon as the circumstances of the estate became 
better known." Such and such-like reasonings 
passed hastily through his brain; and as all his 



resolves were quickly formed, and as quickly 
acted on, he sat down and wrote: 

" Dear Mr. Kennvfeck, — Many thanks for 
the information of your note, which has served 
to allay all my anxiety for a valued friend. As 
to Linton, you will have the goodness to satisfy 
him in every particular, and make all and every 
legal title he desires to the cottage and grounds 
of Tubber-beg. Although he is now at my side 
while I write, I have not alluded to the subject, 
feeling the awkwardness of touching on a theme 
so delicate. Say, however, for me, that Corri- 
gan is not to be disturbed, nor any pledge I have 
made towards him — no matter how liberally con- 
strued by him — to be, in any respect, infringed — 
Yours, in great haste, 

" R. C- 

" Why, you are quite a man of business to-day, 
Cashel, with your correspondence and letter- 
writing, and Lm sorry for it, for I wanted to 
have a bit of serious talk with you — that is, if it 
do not bore you." 

" Not in the least. I was, I own it, nervous 
and uneasy this morning; now, however, my 
mind is at ease, and I am quite ready for any- 
thing." 

' Well, then, without preamble, are you still 
of the same mind about Parliament, because the 
time is hastening on when you ought to come to 
some decision on the matter?" 

"I have never bestowed a thought on the 
matter since,' said Cashel. " The truth is, when 
I hear people talk politics in society, I am only 
astonished at their seeming bigotry and one- 
sidedness: and when I read news|)apers of op- 
posite opinions, I am equally confounded at the 
excellent arguments they display for diametric- 
ally contradictory lines of action, so that my 
political education makes but little jirogress." 

"What you say is perfectly just," said Linton, 
appearing to reflect profoundly. " A man of 
real independence — not the mere independence 
of fortune, but the far higher independence of 
personal character — has much to endure in our 
tangled and complex system of legislation. As 
for yourself, for instance, who can afford to de- 
spise patronage, who have neither sons to ad- 
vance in the navy, nor nephews in the foreign 
office, who neither want the bath nor a baronetcy, 
who would be as sick of the flatteries, as you 
would be disgusted with the servility of part) — 
why you should submit to the dust and heat, the 
turmoil and fatigue of a session, I can't think. 
And how you would be bored — bored by the 
ceaseless reiterations night after right, the same 
arguments growing gradually weaker as the echo 
grew fainter; bored by the bits of ' Horace' got 
j off by heart to wind up with; bored by the bad 
I jests of witty members; bored by Peel's candor, 
' and Palraerston's petulance; by Cobden's un- 
blushing effrontery, and PLime's tiresome pla- 
cidity. You'd never know a happy day nor a joy- 
ous hour till you accepted the Chiltern Hun- 
dreds, and cut thern all. No; the better course 
for you would be, choose a nominee for your 
borough; select a man in whoiri you have confi- 



454 



ROLAND CASH EL. 



dence Think of some one over whom your in- 
fluence would be complete, who would have no 
other aim than in following out your suggestions; 
some one, ir. fact, who unites sufficient ability 
with personal friendship What d'ye think of 
Kennyfeck.'''' 

'■ Poor Kennyfeck,"' said Cashel, laughing, 
" he'd never think of such a thing ' 

"I don t know" said Linton, musing; "it 
might not suit hiin, but his wife would like it 
prodigiously." 

" Shall ! propose it theni" ' said Cashel 

'' Better not, perhai)s " said Linton, appearing 
to reflect; his income, which is a right good 
one, is professional. This, of course, he'd for- 
feit by accepting a seat in the house. Besides 
really, the ))oor man would make no way. No, 
we must think of some one else. Do you like 
White?" 

" Leicester White? I detest the man, and the 
wife too. 

" Well, there's Frobisher, a fellow of good 
name and family. I'd not go bail for his pre- 
ferring your interests to his own, but as times 
go, you might chance upon worse. Will you 
have Frobisher?" 

■' I have no objection," said Cashel, carelessly. 
" Would he like it himself?" 

' Would he like anything that might help him 
to a step in the regiment, or place him in a po- 
sition to sell himself, you, and the borough con- 
stituency, to the highest bidder?" said Linton, 
irritated at Cashel's half assent. 

"Well, if these be his principles/' cried 
Cashel, laughi.ig, "I think we'd better put him 
aside." 

"You're right, he'd n'^ver do," said Linton, 
recovering all his self-possession; "what you 
want, is a man sufficiently unconnected with lies 
of family or party, to see in you his patron and 
his object, and who, with cleverness enough to 
enunciate the views you desire to see prevail, has 
also the strong bond of personal regard to make 
him always even more the friend than the fol- 
lower." 

" I only know of one man who realizes all this 
combination," said Cashel, smiling, "and he 
wouldn't answer." 

" Who is he — and why?" asked Linton, in vain 
endeavoring to look easy and unconcerned. 

''Tom Linton is the man, and his invincible 
laziness the 'why ' Isn't that true?' 

" By George. Cashel, if you're content with the 
first part of the assertion, I'll pledge myself to 
remedy the latter. I own, frankly, it is a career 
for which I have no predilection; if I had, I 
should have been 'in' many years ago. I have 
all my life held very cheap your great political 
leaders, both as regards capacity and character, 
and I have ever fancied that I should have had 
some success in the lists, but I have always 
loved ease, and that best of ease, independence. 
If you think, however, that I can worthily rejire- 
sent you in Parliament, and that you could safely 
trust to my discretion the knotty question of 
political war, say the word, my boy, and I'll 
fling my ' far niente' habits to the wind, and you 
shall have all the merit of developing the prom 



-what's the name of it?" 



ising member for- 

" Derraheeny. " 

" Exactly — the honorable and learned — for 
Derraheeny. I rather like the title " 

■' Well, Linton, if you are really serious ' 

" Most assuredly, serious, and more, to prove 
it, I shall ask you to clench our bargain at once. 
It is not enough that you make me your nominee, 
but you must also render me eligible to become 
so." 

" I don't clearly comprehend ' 

" I'll enlighten you. Our venerable constitu- 
tion, perfectly irrespective of the Tom Lintons 
of this woild. — a race which, by the way, never 
dies out, probably because they have avoided 
intermarriage — has decided that a man must 
possess something besides his wits to be qualified 
as ' Member of Parliament," a strange law, be- 
cause the aforesaid wits are all that the honora- 
ble House has any reason to lay claim to. This 
same something which guarantees that a man 
has a legislative cajiacily, amounts to some hun 
dreds a year. Don't be impatient, and come out 
with any piece of rash generosity, I don't want 
you to make a present of an estate — only to lend 
me one' To be qualified, either as a candidate 
for the House or a gentleman rider, one only 
needs a friend — a well todo friend — who'll say, 
' He's all right.' " 

' I'm quite ready to vouch for you, Tom, but 
you'll have to take the affair into your cwn 
manngeir.ent." 

" Oh, it's easy enough. That same cottage 
and the farm which we spoke of the other day, 
Kennyfeck can make out a kind of conveyance, 
or whatever the instrument is called, by which it 
acknowledges me for its owner, vice Roland 
Cashel, Esquire. This, properly sealed, signed, 
and so on will defy the most searching Com- 
mittee that ever pried into any gentleman s pn 
vate circumstances." 

'Then explain it all to Kennyfeck, and say 
that I wish it done at once " 

' Nay, Cashel, pardon me. My ugliest enemy 
will not call me punctilious, but 1 must stand 
upon a bit of ceremony here. This must be 
ordered by yourself. You are doing a gracious 
thing — a devilish kind thing — it must not be 
done by halves. Were I to communicate this to 
Kennyfeck, he'll unquestionably obey the direc- 
tion, but most certainly he'd say to the first 
man he met, "See how Linton has managed to 
trick Cashel out of a very considerable slice of 
landed property.' He'd not take much trouble 
to state the nature of our compact, he'd rather 
blink the whole arrangement altogether, and 
make the thing seem a direct gift Now, I have 
too much pride on your account, and my own 
too, to stand this." 

"Well, well, it shall be as you like only I 
trow I disagree with you, about old Kennyfeck' 
he's a fine, straight hearted fellow — he s ' 

" He's (in attorney, Cashel. These fellows can 
no more comprehend a transfer of property with- 
out a trial at bar, or a suit in equity, than an 
Irish second can understand a falling out with- 
out one of the parties being brought home on a 
door Besides, he has rather a grudge against 



ROLAND CASH EL. 



465 



me I never told you — indeed, I never meant 
to tell you — but I can have no secrets from you 
You know the youngest girl, Olivia?' 

" Yes, go on," said Cashel, red and pale by 
turns 

' Well, I flirted a good deal last winter with 
her Upon my life, I did not intend it to have 
gone so far; I suppose it must have gone far, 
though because she became desperately in love. 
She is very pretty, certainly and a really good 
little girl — mais, que voulez-vous? If I tie a fly 
on my hook I can't afford to see a flounder or a 
perch walk off with it — it's the speckled monster 
of the stream I fish for. They ought to have 
known th.it them selves — I've no doubt they did, 
too, but they were determined, as they say here, 
to die 'innocent,' and so one fine morning I was 
just going to join the hounds at Finglas, when 
old Kennyfeck, very trimly dressed and looking 
unutterable importance, entered my lodgings. 
There's a formula for these kind of explanations 
■ — I've gone through seven of these myself, and 
I'll swear that every ])ap.i has opened the con 
ference with a solemn appeal to Heaven ' that he 
never was aware of the attentions shown his 
daughter, nor the state of his dear child's affec- 
tions, till last evening.' They always assure you, 
besides, that if they could give a million and a 
half as dowry you are the very man — the actual 
one individual^they would have selected, so 
that on an average most yoking ladies have met 
with at least half a dozen parties whom the 
fathers have pronounced to be, separately, the 
one most valued. Kennyfeck behaved, I must 
say, admirably His wife would have a Galvvay 
cousin sent for, and a duel, some other kind 
friend suggested to have me waylaid and thrashed. 
He calmly heard me for about ten minutes, and 
then taking up his hat and gloves, said, ' Take 
your rule,' and so it ended I dined there the 
next Sunday — yes, that's part of my system; I 
never permit ])eople to n-ourish small grudges, 
and go about abusing me to my acquaintances. 
If they wUI il ; that, I overwhelm them by their 
duplicity, as I am seen constantly in their inti- 
macy, and remarkable for always speaking well 
of them, so that the world will certainly give it 
against them. The gist of all this tiresome story 
is, that Kennyfeck and the ladies would, if occa- 
sion served, pay off the old debt to me, there- 
fore, beware if you hear me canvassed in that 
quarter:" 

Linton, like many other cunning people, very 
often lapsed into little confessions of the tactics 
by which he played his gime in the world, and 
although Cashel wa3 not by any means a dan- 
gerous confidant to such disclosures, he now 
marked with feelings not all akin to satisfaction 
this acknowledgment of his friend's skill 

" You d never have shown your face there 
again, I'll wager a hundred!'' said Linton, read- 
ing in the black look of Roland's countenance an 
expression he did not fancy. 

" You are right. I should have deemed it un- 
fair to impose on the young lady a part so full 
of awkwardness as every meeting must necessi- 
tate." 

" That comes of yourinnocence about women, 



my dear friend They have face for anything. 
It is not hypocrisy, it is not that they do not 
feel, and feel deej^ly, but their sense of command, 
their instinct of what is becoming, is a thousand 
times finer than ours, and I am certain that when 
we take all manner cf caie to, what is called, 
spare their feelings, we are in reality only spar 
ing them a cherished opportunity of exercising 
a control over those feelings which we foolishly 
suppose to be as ungovernable as our own." 

Either not agreeing with the sentiment, or un- 
able to cope with its subilety, Ca^hel sat some 
time without speaking. From Olivia Kennyfeck 
iiis thoughts revcrttd to one in every respect un- 
like her — the daring, impetuous Maritafia. He 
wondered within himself whether her bold, im- 
passioned nature could be comprehended within 
Linton's category, and a secret sense of rejoicing 
thrilled through him as he replied to himself in 
the negative 

" I'd wager a trifle, Roland, from that easy 
smile you wear, that jour memory has called up 
one CNMiiple, at least, unf?\orable to my theory. 
Eh! 1 have guessed aright. Ctme, then, out 
with it, man — \\\.o is ihis jteiltss paragon of 
])ure ingenious trutlj?— who is she wliote nature 
is the transparent cr)Slal wl.ere fair thoughts are 
enshrined? No dtniztn of cur misty northland, 
I'll be sworn, Lut ttnie fair Mtxiian, with as 
little disguise as drapery. Confess, I say — 
there is a confession, I'll be sworn — and so make 
a clean breast of it." 

It stiuck Cashel, while Linton was speaking, 
how effectually Mariiafia herself, by one proud 
look, one haughty gesture, would have silenced 
such flippant raillery; and he could not help 
feeling it a kind of treason to their old friend- 
ship that he should listen to it in patient en- 
durance. 

" Listen to me, amigo mio," said he, in a tone 
of earnest passion, that seemed almost estranged 
from his nature latterl) — "listen to me, while J 
tell you that in those far-away countries, whose 
people you regard with such contemptuous pity, 
there are women — ay, young girls — whose dar- 
ing spirit would shame the courage of many of 
those fine gentlemen we sptnd our lives with, 
and I, for one, have so much of the Indian in 
me, as to think that courage is the first of 
virtues." 

" I cannot help f.nncying," said Linton, with 
an almost imperceptible raillery, " that there are 
other qualities would please me as well in a wife 
or a mistress." 

" I have no doubt of it — and suit you better, 
too," said Cashel, savagely ; then hastily correct- 
ing himself for his rude speech, he added, ' I 
believe, in good earnest, that you would as lit- 
tle sympathize with that land and its people, as 
I do with this. Ay, if you want a confession, 
there's one for you. I'm longing to be back 
once more among the vast prairies of the West, 
galloping free after the dark-backed bisons, and 
strolling along in the silent forests. The ener- 
vation of this life wearies and depresse* me — 
worse than all, I feel that, with a little more of 
it, I shall lose all energy and zest for that ac- 
tivity of body, which, to men like myself, sup- 



456 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



plies the place of thought — a little more of it, 
and I shall sink into that languid routine where 
dissipation supplies the only excitement." 

" 'i'his is a mere passing caprice; a man who 
has wealth " 

"There it is," cried Cashel, interrupting him 
impetuously; " that is the eternal burden of your 
song. As if wealth, in forestalling the necessity 
for labor, did not, at the same time, deprive life 
of all the zeal of enterprise. When I have stepped 
into my boat to board a Chilian frigate, I have 
liad a prouder throbbing at my heart than ever 
the sight of that banker's cheque-book has given 
me. There's many a gambusino in the Rocky 
Mountains a happier — ay, and a finer fellow, too, 
than the gayest of those gallants that ever squan- 
dered the gold //c quarried! But why goon? — we 
are speaking in unknown tongues to each other." 

The tone of irritation into which, as it seems 
unconsciously, Cashel had fallen, was not lost on 
the keen perception of Linton, and he vyas not 
sorry to feign a pretext for closing an interview 
whose continuance might be unpleasant. 

''I was thinking of a hurried trip down to 
Tubbermore," said he, rising; "we shall have 
tliese guests of yours in open rebellion, if we 
don't affect at least something like preparation 
for their reception. I'll take Pepystell along with 
me, and we'll see what can be done to get the 
old house in trim." 

" Thanks," said Cashel, as he walked up and 
down, his thoughts seeming engaged on some 
other theme. 

" I'll write to you a report of the actual condi- 
tion of the fortress," said Linton, assuming all his 
habitual easy freedom of manner, " and then, if 
you think of anything to suggest, you'll let me 
hear." 

" Yes, I'll write," said Cashel, still musing on 
his own thoughts. 

■' I see pretty plainly," cried Linton, laughing, 
"there is no earthly use in asking you questions 
just now, your brain being otherwise occupied, 
and so, good-bye." 

" Good-bye — good-bye," said Cashel, endeavor- 
ing, but not with a very good grace, to shake off 
his preoccupation while he shook hands with him; 
and Linton descended the stairs, humming an 
opera air, with all the seeming light-heartedness 
of a very careless nature. 

Cashel, meanwhile, sat down, and, with his 
head resting on his hand, pondered over their late 
interview. There were two circumstances which 
both puzzled and distressed him. How came it 
that Linton should have written this note to Ken- 
nyfeck on a subject which only seemed to have 
actually suggested itself in the course of this 
their very last conversation? Had he already 
])lanned the whole campaign respecting the seat 
in Parliament and the qualification, and was his 
apparently chance allusioti to these topics a thing 
studied and devised beforehand ? This, if true 
would argue very ill for his friend's candor and 
fair dealing; and yet, how explain it otherwise? 
Was there any other seat open to him for which 
to need a qualification? If so, he had never 
s])oken of it. It was the first time in his life that 
Cashel had conceived a suspicion of one whom 



he had regarded in the light of friend, and only 
they who have undergone a similar trial can 
understand the poignant suffering of the feeling; 
and yet, palpable as the cause for such a doubt 
was, lie had never entertained it had not Linton 
spoken disparagingly of the Kennyfecks! This 
is a curious trait of human nature, but one worth 
consideration; and while leaving it to the eluci- 
dation the penetration of each reader may sug- 
gest we only reiterate the fact, that while Cashel 
could, without an effort, have forgiven the du- 
plicity practised on himself, the levity Linton 
employed respecting Olivia engendered doubts of 
his honor too grave to be easily combated. 

As for Linton, scarcely had he quitted Cashel, 
than he hastened to call on Kenn} feck; he had 
written the note already alluded to, to leave at 
the house should the solicitor be from home; but 
having left it, by accident, on his writing-table, 
his servant, discovering it to be sealed and ad- 
dressed, had, without further question, left it at 
Kennyfeck's house. As Linton went along, he 
searched his pockets for the epistle, but consoled 
himself by remembering how he had left it at 
home. 

A few moments later found him at Kennyfeck's 
door. The attorney was at home, and, without 
any announcement, Linton entered the study 
where he sat. 

"I was this instant writing to you, sir," said 
Kennyfeck, rising, and placing a seat for him; 
"Mr. Cashel, on being informed of the wish ex- 
pressed in your note " 

"Of what note?" said Linton, in a voice of, 
for him, very unusual agitation. 

"This note — here, sir — dated — no, by-the-bye, 
it is not dated, but brought by your servant two 
hours ago." 

Linton took the paper, glanced his eye over it, 
and then, in mingled chagrin and forgetfulness, 
tore it, and threw the fragments into the fire. 

"There is some mistake about this," said he, 
slowly, and giving himself time to consider what 
turn he should lend it. 

"This is Mr. Cashel's reply, sir," said Kenny- 
feck, after pausing some moments, but in vain, 
for the explanation. 

Linton eagerly caught the letter and read it 
through, and whatever scruples or fear he might 
have conceived from any other man's, it seemed 
as if he had little dread of Cashel's penetration, 
for his assured and easy smile at once showed 
that he had regained his wonted tranquillity. 

"You will then take the necessary steps, with- 
out delay, Kennyfeck," said he. "The elections 
cannot be very distant, and it is better to be pre- 
pared." As he spoke, he threw the letter back 
upon the table, but in a moment afterwards, 
while taking off his gloves, managed to seize it 
and convey it to his pocket. " You know far 
better than I do, Kennyfeck," resumed he. "how 
sharp the lawyers can be in picking out any flaw 
respecting title and so forth; for this reason, be 
careful that this document shall be as regular 
and binding as need be." 

" It shall be submitted for counsel's opinion 
this evening, sir — •^" 

" Not to Jones, then; I don't fancy that gentle- 



ROLAND CASHEL, 



457 



man, although I know he has some of your con- 
fidence; send it to Hammond." 

"As you please, sir." 

"Another point. You'll not insert any clause 
respecting the tenant in possession; it would only 
be hampering us with another defence against 
some legal subtlety or other." 

"Mr. Cashcl does not desire this, sir." 

"Of course not — you understand what the 
whole thing means. Well, I must say good-bye; 
you'll have all ready by the time I return to 
town. My respects to the drawing-room. Adieu." 

" That was a bad blunder about the note," 
muttered Linton, as he walked along towards 
home, " and might have lost the game, if the 
antagonist had any skill whatever " 



CHAPTER XXHI. 

LINTON VISITS HIS ESTATE. 

Let's see the field, and mark it well, 
For, here, will be the battle. 

— Ottocao. 

"Does this path lead to the house, friend?" 
said a gentleman, whose dress bespoke recent 
travel, to the haggard, discontented figure of a 
man, who, seated on a stone beside a low and 
broken wicket, was lazily filling his pipe, and oc- 
casionally throwing stealthy glances at the 
stranger. A short nod of the head was the reply. 
"You belong to the place, I suppose.?" 

"Maybe I do, and what then?" 

" Simply that, as I am desirous of going 
thither, I should be glad of your showing me the 
way." 

"Troth, an' there's little to see when you get 
there," rejoined the other, sarcastically. "What 
are you by trade, if it's not displeasin' to ye?" 

"That's the very question I was about to ask 
you," said Linton, for it was himself; you ap- 
pear to have a very easy mode of life, what- 
ever it be, since you are so indifferent about 
earning half-a-crown." 

Tom Keane arose from his seat, and made an 
awkward attempt at saluting, as he said, 

"'Tis the dusk of the evening prevented me 
seeing yer honer, or I wouldn't be so bowld. 
This is the way to the hall, sure enough." 

" This place has been greatly neglected of 
late," said Linton, as they walked along side by 
side, and endeavoring, by a tone of familiarity, 
to set his companion at ease. 

"Troth, it is neglected, and always was as long 
as I remember. I was reared in it, and I never 
knew it other, thistles and docks as big as your 
leg, everywhere, and the grass choked up with 
moss." 

" How came it to be so completely left to 
ruin?" 

"Anan!" muttered he, as if not wellcomprehend- 
ing the question, but, in reality, a mere device 
employed to give him more time to scan the 
stranger, and guess at his probable otiject. 

" I was asking," said Linton, ' how it hap- 



pened that a fine old place like this was suffered 
to gu to wreck and ruin?" 

"Fai.x, it's ould enough, anyhow," said the 
other, uith a coarse laugh. 

" And large too." 

" Yer honer was here afore?" said Tom, 
stealthily glancing at him under his brows. "I'm 
thinking I remember yer honor's faytures. *You 
wouldn't be the gentleman that came down with 
Mr. Duffy?" 

"No; this is my first visit to these parts; now, 
where does this little road lead? It seems to be 
better cared for than the rest, and the gate, too, 
is neatly kept." 

" That goes down to the cottage, sir — Tubber- 
beg, as they call it. Yer honer isn't Mr. Cashel 
himself ?" said Tom, reverentially taking off his 
tattered hat, and attempting an air of courtesy, 
which sat marvellously ill upon him. 

"I have not that good luck, my friend." 

" 'Tis good luck ye may call it," sighed Tom 
— "a good luck that doesn't fall to many; but, 
maybe, ye don't want it; maybe, yer honer " 

"And who lives in the cottage of Tubber- 
beg?" said Linton, interrupting. 

" One Corrigan, sir; an ould man and his 
granddaughter." 

"Good kind of people, are they?" 

"Ayeh! there's worse, and there's betther! 
They're as proud as Lucifer, and poor as naygurs." 

"And is this the hall itself ?" exclaimed Linton, 
as he stopped directly in front of the old dilapi- 
dated building, whose deformities were only exag- 
gerated by the patchy effect of a faint moonlight. 

"Ay, there it is," grinned Tom, " and no beauty 
either; and ugly as it looks without, it's worse 
within! There's cracks in the walls ye could put 
your hand through, and the windows is rotten, 
where they stand." 

"It is not very tempting, certainly, as a resi- 
dence," said Linton, smiling. 

"Ah, but if ye heard the cats, the way they do 
be racin' and huntin'each other at night, and the 
wind bellowsin' down the chimbleys, such 
screechin' and yellin' as it keejjs, and then, the 
slates rattlin', till ye'd think the ould roof was 
comin' off altogether — be my soul, there's many 
a man wouldn't take the property and sleep a 
night in that house." 

" One would do a great deal, notwithstanding, 
for a fine estate like this," said Linton, dryly. 

There was something, either in the words or 
the accent, that touched Tom Keane's sympathy 
for the speaker; some strange suspicion, perhaps, 
that he was one, whose fortune, like his own, 
was not beyond the casualties and chances of 
life, and it was with a species of coarse friendship 
that he said, "Ay, if we had it between us, we'd 
do well." 

" Right well — no need to ar.k for better," said 
Linton, with a heartiness of assent that made the 
other perfectly at ease. " I'm curious to have a 
look at the inside of the place; I suppose there 
is no hindrance?" 

" None in life! I live below, and, faix, there's 
no living anywhere else, for most of the stairs 
is burned, and, as I towld ye, the rats has up-stairs 
all to themselves, Nancy, give us a light," cried 



458 



ROLAND CASHEL, 



he, passing into the dark and spacious hall, " I'm 
going to sliow a gentleman the curiosities. I ax 
your honer's pardon, the place isn't so clean as it 
might be." 

Linton gave one peep into the long and 
gloomy chamber, where the whole family were 
iiuddicd together in all the wretchedness and 
disorder of a cabin, and at once drew back. 

" The cows is on the other side," said the man, 
"and, bjyond, there's four rooms was never 
jilastered; and there, where you see the straw, 
that's the billiard-room, and inside of it again, 
there's a place for play-actin', and, more by 
token, there's a quare thing there.'' 

" What's that?" asked Linton, whose curiosity 
was excited by the remark. 

" Come, and I'll show yer honer." 

So saying, he led on through a narrow corri- 
dor, and, passing through two or three dilapi- 
dated, ruined chambers, they entered a large and 
spacious apartment, whose sloping floor at once 
showed Linton that they were standing on the 
stage of a theatre. 

Tom Keane held up the flickering light, that 
the other might see the torn and tattered rem- 
nants of the decorations, and the fragments of 
scenes, as they flapped to and fro. " It's a dhroll 
jiLice anyhort'," said he, " and there's scarce a 
bit of it hasn't a trap-door, or some other con- 
trivance of the like; but here's one stranger than 
all; this is what I towld yer honer about." He 
walked as lie spoke, to the back wall of the build- 
ing, where on the surface of the plaster, a rude 
scene, representing a wood, was painted, at one 
side of which a massive pile of rock, overgrown 
with creepers, stood. " Now, ye'd never guess 
what was there," said Tom, holding the candle 
in different situations to exhibit the scene; " and, 
indeed, I found it by chance myself; see this"- — 
and he pressed a small but scarcely percep lible 
knob of brass in the wall, and at once, wliat ap- 
peared to be the surface of the rock slid back, dis- 
covering a dark space behind. "Come on, now, 
after me," continued he. Linton followed, and 
they ascended a narrow stair constructed in the 
substance of the wall, and barely sufficient to 
admit one person. 

Arriving at the top, after a few seconds' delay, 
Tom opened a small door, and they stood in a 
large and well-proportioned room, where some 
worm-eaten bed furniture yet remained. The 
door had been once, as a small fragment of glass 
showed, the frame of a large mirror, and must 
have been quite beyond the reach <3f ordinary 
jiowers of detection. 

" That was a cunning way to steal down among 
the play-aethers," said Keane, grinning, while 
Lint.in, with the greatest attention, remarked the 
l)Osition of the door and its secret fastening. 

'■ I suppose no one but yourself knows of this 
stair?" said Linton. 

" Sorra one, sir, except, maybe, some of the 
smugglers that used to come here long ago from 
the mouth of the Shannon. This was "one of 
their hiding-places." 

"Well, if this old mansion comes ever to be 
inhabited, one might have rare fun by means of 
that p.\ssage; so be sure you keep the secret well. 



Let that be a padlock on your lips." And, so 
saying, he took a sovereign from his purse and 
gave It him. " Your name is " 

"Tom, yer honer — Tom Keane; and, by this 
and by that, I'm ready to do yer honer's bidding 
from this hour out " 

" Well, we shall be good friends, I see," inter- 
rupted Linton; "you may, perhaps, be useful to 
me, and I can also be able to serve you. Now, 
whicli is the regular entrance to this chamber?" 

" There, sir; it's the last door as ye see in the 
long passage. Them is all bedrccnis along 
there, but it's not safe to walk down, for the 
floor is rotten." 

Linton noted down in a memory far from de- 
fective the circumstances of the chamber, and 
then followed his guide through the remainder 
of the house, which in every cjuarter presented 
the same picture of ruin and decay. 

"The bit of candle is near out," said Tom, 
"but sure there isn't much more to be seen; there's 
rooms there was never opened, and more, on the 
other side, the same. I'he place is as big as a 
barrack, and here we are once more on the 
grand stair." 

For once, the name was not ill applied, as, 
constructed of Portland stone, and railed with 
massive banisters of iron, it presented features of 
solidity and endurance, in marked contrast to 
the other portions of the edifice. Linton cast 
one more glance around the gloomy entrance, and 
sailed forth into the free air. "I'll see ycu to- 
morrow, Tom," said he, " and we'll have seme 
talk together. Good-night." 

"Good-night, and good luck to yer honer; but 
won't you let me see your honer out of the 
grounds-^as far as the big gate, at least?" 

"Thanks, I know the road perfectly already, 
and I rather like a lonely stroll of a fine night 
like this." 

'I'om, accordingly, reiterated his good wishes, 
and Linton was suffered to pursue his way 
unaccompanied. Increasing his speed as he 
arrived at a turn of the road, he took the path 
which led off the main approach, and led down 
by the river-side to the cottage of Tubber-beg. 
There was a feeling of strong interest which 
prompted him to see this cottage, which now he 
might call his own; and as he went, he regarded 
the little clumps of ornamental planting, the 
well-kept walks, the neat palings, the quaint 
benches beneath the trees, with very different 
feelings from those he had besiowed on the last 
visited scene. Nor was he insensible to the 
landscape beauty which certain vistas opened, 
and, seen even by the faint light of a new 
moon, were still rich promises of picturesque 
situation. 

Suddenly, and without any anticipation, he 
found himself, on turning a little copse of ever- 
greens, in front of the cottage, and almost be- 
neath the shadow of its deep porch. Whatever 
liis previous feelings of self-interest in every detail 
around, they were speedily routed by the scene 
before him. 

In a large and well-furnished drawing-room, 
where a single lamp was shining, sat an old man 
in an easy-chair, his features, his attitude, and 



ROLAND CASHEL 



4id 



his whole bearing indicating the traces of recent 

illness. Beside him, on a low stool, almost at his 
feet, was a young girl of singular beauty — the 
plastic grace of her figure, the easy motion of 
the head, as from time to time she raised it to 
throw upwards a look of affectionate reverence, 
and the long, loose masses of her hair, which, 
accidentally unfastened, fell on either shoulder, 
making rather one of those ideals which a 
Raphael can conceive than a mere creature of 
every-day existence. Although late autumn, the 
windows lay open to the ground, for, as yet, 
no touch of coming winter had visited this se- 
cluded and favored spot. In the still quiet of 
the night, /ler voice, for she alone spoke, could 
be heard; at first, the mere murmur of the accents 
reached Linton's ears, but even from them he 
could gather the tone of cheering and encourage- 
ment in which she spoke. At length he heard 
her say, in a voice of almost tremulous enthusi- 
asm, " It was so like you, dear papa, not to tell 
this Mr. Cashcl that you had yourself a claim, 
and, as many think, a rightful one, to this same 
estate, and thus not trouble the stream of his 
munificence." 

' Nay, child, it had been as impolitic as un- 
worthy to do so," said the old man, "he who 
stoops to receive a favor should detract nothing 
from the generous sentiment of the granter." 

For my part, I would tell him," said she, 
eagerly, "that his noble conduct has forever 
barred my prosecuting such a claim, and that if, 
to-morrow, t' t fairest proofs of my right should 
reach me, I'd throw them in the fire." 

"To get credit for such self-sacrifice, Mary, 
one must be independent of all hypothesis; one 
must do, and not merely promise. Now, it 
■would be hard to expect Mr. Cashel to feel the 
same conviction I do, that this confiscation was 
repealed by letters under the hand of majesty 
itseli. The Brownes, through whom Cashel in- 
herits, were the stewards of my ancestors, en- 
trusted with all their secret affairs, and cognizant 
of all their family matters. From the luimble 
position of dependents, they suddenly sprang 
into wealth and fortune, and ended by purchas- 
ing the very estate they once lived on as day- 
laborers — sold as it was, like all confiscated es- 
tates, for a mere fraction of its value." 

"Oh, base ingratitude!" 

"Worse still; it is said, and with great reason 
to believe it true, that Hammond Browne, who 
was sent over to London by my great-grand- 
father to negotiate with the government, actually 
received the free pardon and the release of the 
confiscation, but concealed and made away with 
both, and, to prevent my grandfather being 
driven to further pursuit, gave him the lease of 
this cottage on the low terms we continue to 
hold it." 

A low, faint cough from the old man warned 
his granddaughter of the dangers of the night 
air, and she arose and closed the windows. 
They still continued their conversation, but 
Linton, unable to hear more, returned to his inn, 
deeply reflecting over the strange disclosures he 
had overheard. 



CHAPTER XXIV. 



BREAKFAST WITH MR CORRIGAN. 

How cold is treachery. — Play. 

" Who can Mr. Linton be, my dear?" said old Mr. 
Corrigan, as he sat at breakfast the next day, and 
pondered over the card which, with a polite re- 
quest for an interview, the servant had just de- 
livered. " I cannot remember the name, if I ever 
heard it before; but should we not invite him to 
join us at breakfast?" 

"Where is he, Simon?" asked Miss Leicester. 

" At the door, miss, and a very nice-looking 
gentleman as ever I saw." 

"Say that I have been ill, Simon, and cannot 
walk to the door, and beg he'll be kind enough 
to come in to breakfast." 

With a manner where ease and deference were 
admirably blended, Linton entered the room, and, 
apologizing for his intrusion, said, "I have come 
downhere, sir, on a little business matter for my 
friend Roland Cashel, and I could not think of 
reluming to town without making the acquaint- 
ance of one for w^nom my friend has already con- 
ceived the strongest feeling of interest and re- 
gard. It will be the first question I shall hear 
when I get back,' Well, what of Mr. Corrigan, and 
how is he?" " 

While making this speech, which he delivered 
in a tone of perfect frankness, he seemed never 
to have noticed the presence of Miss Leicester, 
who had retired a little as he entered the room, 
and now, on being introduced to her, made his 
acknowledgments with a grave courtesy. 

"And so our >oung landlord is thinking of 
taking up his residence amongst us?" said Cotii- 
gan, as Linton assumed his place at the breakfast- 
table. 

" For a few weeks he purposes to do so, but 
I question greatly if the tranquil pleasures and 
homely duties of a country life will continue long 
to attract him; he is very young, and the world 
so new to him, that he will scarcely settle down 
anywhere, or to anything, for some time to rome." 

" Experience is a capital thing, no doubt, Mr. 
Linton, but I'd rather trust the generous impulses 
of a good-hearted youih in a country like this, 
long neglected by its gentry Let him once take 
an interest in the place and the people, and I'll 
vouch for the rest. Is he a sportsman?" 

"He was, when in Mexico; but buffalo and 
antelope hunting are very different from what 
this country offers." 

" Does he read.? — is he studious?" said Mary. 

"Not even a newspaper. Miss Leicester. He 
is a fine, high-spirited, dashing fellow, and if 
good-nature and honorable intentions could 
campensate for defective education and training, 
he would be perfect." 

" They'll go very far, depend on it, Mr. Linton. 
In these days, a man of wealth can buy almost 
anything. Good sense, judgment, skill, are all in 
the market, but a generous nature and a warm 
heart are God's gifts, and can neither be grafted 
nor transplanted." 

" You'll like him, I'm certain, Mr. Corrigan." 



460 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



" I know I shall. I have reason for the an- 
ticipation; Tiernay told me the handsome words 
he used when according me a favor — and here 
comes the doctor himself." As he spoke, Dr. 
Tiernay entered the room, his flushed face and 
hurried breatiiing bespeaking a hasty walk. 
" Good-morrow, Tiernay. Mr. Linton, let me 
present our doctor; not the least among our local 
advantages, as you can tell your friend Mr. 
Cashel." 

"We've met before, sir," said Tiernay, scan- 
ning, with a steady gaze, the countenance which, 
wreathed in smiles, seemed to invite rather than 
dread recognition. 

" I am happy to be remembered. Dr. Tiernay," 
said Linton, " although I fancy our meeting was 
too brief for much acquaintance; but we'll know 
each other better, I trust, hereafter." 

" No need, sir," wiiispered Tiernay, as he passed 
close to his side; "I believe we read each other 
perfectly already." 

Linton smiled, and bowed, as though accept- 
ing the speech in some complimentary sense, and 
turned towards Miss Leicester, who was busily 
arranging some dried plants in a volume. 

"These are not specimens of this neighbor- 
hood ?" said Linton, taking up some heaths, 
" which are seldom found save in Alpine regions." 

"Yes, sir," interrupted Tiernay, "you'll be 
surprised to find here productions which would 
not seem native to these wilds." 

"If you take an interest in such things," said 
old Corrigan, " you can't have a better guide 
than my granddaughter and Tiernay; they know 
every crag and glen for twenty miles around; all 
I bargain for is, don't be late back for dinner. 
You'll give us your company, I hope, sir, at si.x.'" 

Linton assented, with a cordial pleasure that 
delighted his invilor; and Mary, so happy to see 
tlie gratified expression of her grandfather's face, 
looked gratefully at the stranger for his polite 
compliance. 

" A word with you, sir," whispered Tiernay in 
Linton's ear; and lie passed out into the little 
flower-garden, saying, as he went, " I'll sliow Mr. 
Linton the grounds, Miss Mary, and you shall 
not have to neglect your household cares." 

Linton followed him without speaking, nor was 
a word interchanged between them till they had 
left the cottage a considerable distance behind 
them. " Well, sir," said Linton, coming to a 
halt, and speaking in a voice of cold and stead- 
fast purpose, " how far do you propose that I am 
to bear you company?" 

"Only till we are beyond the danger of being 
overheard," said Tiernay, turning round. "Here 
will do perfectly. You will doubtless say, sir, 
that in asking you for an explanation of why I 
see you in this cottage, that I am exceeding the 
bounds of what right and duty alone impose." 

" You anticipate me precisely," said Linton, 
sarcastically, " and to save you the embarrassment 
of so obviously impertinent a proceeding, I beg 
to say that I shall neither afford you the 
slightest satisfaction on this or any other subject 
of inquiry. Now, sir, what next?" 

" Do you forget the occasion of our first 
meeting?" said the doctor, who actually was 



abashed beneath the practised effrontery of this 
adversary. 

" Not in the least, sir. You permitted your- 
self on that occasion to take a liberty, which from 
your age and other circumstances I consented to 
pass unnoticed. I shall not always vouch for 
the same patient endurance on my part ; and so 
pray be cautious how you provoke it." 

" It was at that meeting," said the doctor, with 
passionate earnestness, " that I heard you en- 
deavor to dissuade your friend from a favorable 
consideration of that man's claim, whose hospit- 
ality you now accept of. It was with an insolent 
sneer at Mr. Cashel's simplicity " 

" Pray stop, sir — not too far, I beseech you. 
The whole affair, into which by some extraordin- 
ary self-delusion you consider yourself privileged 
to obtrude, is very simple. This cottage and 
the grounds appertaining to it are mine. The 
old gentleman, for whom I entertain the highest 
respect, is my tenant. The legal proof of what 
I say, I promise to submit to you within the week ; 
and it was to rescue Mr. Cashel from the incon- 
sistency of pledging himself to what was beyond 
his powers of performance, that I interfered. 
Your very ill-advised zeal prevented this; and 
rather than increase the awkwardness of a painful 
situation, I endured a very unprovoked and im- 
pertinent remark. Now, sir, you have the full 
explanation of my conduct, and my opinion of 
yours; and I see no reason to continue the inter- 
view." So saying, Linton touched his hat and 
turned back towards the cottage. 



CHAPTER XXV. 

TUBBERMORE TRANSFORMED. 

Ay, sir, the knave is a deep one. 

— Old Play. 

To save our reader the tedious task of follow- 
ing Mr. Linton's movements, however necessary 
to our story some insight into them may be, we take 
the shorter, and therefore pleasanter course, of 
submitting one of his own brief notes to Roland 
Cashel,' written some three days after his arrival 
at Tubbermore: 

" Still here, my dear Cashel, still in this Tip- 
perary Siberia, where our devotion to your service 
has called and still retains us — and what difficul- 
ties and dangers have been ours! What a land! 
— and what a people! Of a truth, I no longer 
envy the rich landed proprietor — as, in my ignor- 
ance, I used to do some weeks back. To begin: 
Your chateau de Tubbermore, which seems a 
cross between a gaol and a county hospital with- 
out, and is a downright ruin within, stands in a 
park of thistles and docks, whose luxuriant growth 
are a contemptuous reflection upon your trees, 
which positively don't grow at all. So ingeniously 
placed is this desirable residence, that although 
the country, the river and the mountains, offer 
some fine landscape effects, not a vestige of any 
of them can be seen from your windows. Your 
dining-room, late a nursery for an interesting 



ROLAND CASH EL. 



461 



family ot small pigs, lool<s out upon the stables, 
picturesque as they are iu fissured walls and 
tumbling rafters, and one of tlie drawing-rooms 
— they call it the blue room — a tint so likely to 
be caught up by the spectators — opens \\\ion a 
garden — but what a gardeli! Fruit-trees iheieare 
none — stay, I am unjust, two have been left 
standing to give support to a clothes-line, where 
the amiable household of your care-taker, Mr 
Cane, are pictorially represented by various 
garments, cresendo from the tunic of tender 
years to the full grown ' toga.' But why en- 
umerate small details? Let me rather deal in 
negatives, and tell you there is not a whole 
pane of glass in the entire building — not a grate 
— few doors — little flooring, and actually no 
roof The slates, where there are such, are so 
loose that the wind rattles among them like the 
keys of a gigantic piano, and usually ends with 
a grand Freischutz effect, which uncovers a room 
or two. The walls are everywhere so rotten, that 
if you would break a loop-hole, you throw down 
enough to drive a ' break' through; and as for the 
chimneys, tlie jackdaw may plead the statute of lim- 
itations, and defy to surrender a possession which 
certainly dates from the past century! Pepystell 
is in despair, he goes about sticking his thumb 
through the rotting timbers, and knocking down 
partitions with a kick of his foot, and exclaiming 
against the ignorance of the last age of architects, 
who, I take it, were pretty much like their suc- 
cessors, save in the thefts committed from Greek 
and Roman models This is not tempting, nor 
the remedy for it easy. Stone and mortar are as 
great luxuries here as ice-cream at Calcutta, 
there are no workmen, or the few are merely 
artificers in mud. Timber is an exotic — glass 
and iron are traditions, so that if you desire to 
be an Irish country gentleman, your pursuit of 
territorial ascendancy has all the merit of diffi- 
culty. Now — que faire' Shall we restore, or, 
rather, rebuild, or shall we put forty pounds of 
Dartford gunpowder in one of the cellars, and 
blow the whole concern to him who must have 
devised it? Such is the course I should certainly 
adopt myself, and only feel regret at the ignoble 
service of the honest explosive. 

" Pepystell, like all his tribe, is a pedant, and 
begins by asking tor two years, and I won't say 
how many thousand pounds. My reply is, 
' Months and hundreds, vu-e years and thousands," 
and so we are at issue. I know your anxiety to 
receive the people you have invited, and I feel 
how fruitless it would be to tell you with what 
apologies I, if in your place, should put them off, 
so pray instruct me how to act. Shall I com- 
mission Pepystell to go to work in all form, and 
meanwhile make a portion of the edifice habit- 
able? or shall I — and I rather admire the plan — 
get a corps of stage artificers from Drury Lane, 
and dress up the house as they run up a provin- 
cial theatre? I know you don't care about cost, 
which, after all, is the only real objection to the 
scheme, and if you incline to my suggestion 
about the fireworks, for a finish, it will be per- 
fectly appropriate. 

"'My own cottage' — so far, at least, as I 
could see of it v/ithout intruding on the present 



occupant — is very pretty; roses, and honey- 
suckles, and jasmines, and such-like ruralities, 
actually enveloping it. It is well placed, too, 
in a snug little nook, sheltered from the north, 
and with a peep at the river in front — just the 
sort of place where baffled ambition and disap- 
pointment Would retire to, and where, doubtless, 
some of tliese days, Tom Linton, not being 
selected by her majesty as chief secretary for the 
Home Office, will be announced in the papers to 
have withdrawn from public life, ' to prose- 
cute the more congenial career of literature.' 
There is a delicious little boudoir, too — such is 
it at present; you or I would make it a smoking 
crib — looking over th-. Shannon, and with a fine 
bold mountain, well- wooded, beyond 1 should 
like a gossip with you in that bay window in the 
mellow hour, when confidence, which hates 
candles, is at its full 

" Have I told you everything? I scarcely 
know, my head is so full of roof trees, rafters, 
joists, gables, and parapets. Half I was for- 
getting a pretty — that is not the word — a hand- 
some girl, daughter or granddaughter of our ten- 
ant Mr Corrigan, one of those saintly, virginaL 
heads Raphael painted, with finely pencilled eye- 
brows, delicate beyond expression above, severe, 
in the cold, unimpassioned character of the 
mouth and lips, clever, too, or, what comes to 
nearly the same, odd and eccentric, being edu- 
cated by an old St Omei priest, who taught her 
Latin, French, Italian, with a dash of theology 
and, better than all, to sing Provencal songs to 
her own accompaniment on the piano. You'll 
say, with such companionship, Siberia is not so 
bad after all, nor would it, perhaps, if we had 
nothing else to think of Besides, she is as proud 
as an Austrian archduchess — has the blood of, 
God knows how many, kings — Irish, of course — 
in her veins, and looks upon me — Saxon that I 
am — as a mountain-ash might do on a mush- 
room " 

There was no erasure but one, and that very 
sliglit, and seeming unimportant, he had written 
Tubber-beg at the top of the letter, and, perceiv 
ing it, had changed it to Tubbermore, the fact 
being that he had already established himself as 
an inmate of the ' cottage, ' and a guest of Mr 
Corrigan We need not dwell on the arts by 
which Linton accomplished this object, to which, 
indeed, Mr. Corrigan's hospitable habits con- 
tributed no difficulty The " doctor" alone could 
have interposed any obstacle, and he knowing 
the extent of Linton's power, did not dare to do 
so, contenting himself to watch narrowly all his 
proceedings, and warn his friend whenever warn- 
ing could no longer be delayed. 

Without enjoying the advantages of a careful 
education, Linton's natural quickness counter- 
feited knowledge 'so well that few, in every-day 
intercourse, could detect the imposition. He 
never read a book through, but he skimmed some 
thousands, and was thoroughly familiar with that 
process so popular in our universities, and tech- 
nically termed " cramming" an author. In this 
way, there were few subjects on which hi could 
not speak fairly, a faculty to which considerable 



463 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



fluency and an easy play of fancy lent great as- 
sistance. His great craft, however, was — and 
whatever may be said on the subject, it would 
seem the peculiar gift of certain organizations — 
that he was able, in an inconceivably short time, 
to worm himself into the confidence of almost all 
with whom he came in contact. His natural 
good sense, his singularly clear views, his ever- 
ready sympathy, but, more than all, the dexterity 
with which he could affect acquaintance with 
topics he was all but totally ignorant of, pointed 
him out as the very person to hear the secrets of 
a family. 

Mr. Corrigan was not one to exact any great 
efforts of Linton's tact in this walk; his long 
isolation from the world, joined to a character 
naturally frank, made him communicative and 
open; and before Linton had passed a week 
under his roof, he had heard all the circum- 
stances of the old forfeiture, and the tradition- 
ary belief of the family that it had been with- 
drawn under a special order of the king in 
council. 

"You are quite right," said Linton, one night, 
as this theme had been discussed for some hours, 
" never to have alluded to this in any correspond- 
ence with Cashel. His iiasty and excitable tem- 
per would have construed the whole into a threat 
— and there is no saying how he might have re- 
sented it." 

"I did not speak of it for a very different 
reason," said old Corrigan, proudly; " I had 
just accepted a favor — and a great one — at his 
hands, and I would not tarnish the lustre of his 
noble conduct by even the possibility of self- 
interest." 

Linton was silent — a struggle of some kind 
seemed working within him, but he did not 
speak, and at last sauntered from the room, and 
passed out into the little garden in front. 

He had not gone far, wiien he heard a light 
footstep on the gravel behind him. He turned, 
and saw Mary Leicester. 

" I have followed you, Mr. Linton," said she, in 
a voice whose agitation was perceptible, " be- 
cause I thought it possible that some time or 
other, in your close intimacy with Mr. Cashel, 
you might allude to this topic, and I know what 
distress such a communication would occasion to 
ray grandfather. Our claim — if the word be not 
inapplicable — can never be revived, for myself, 
there is no condition of privation I would not 
rather meet, than encounter the harassing vicis- 
situdes of a struggle which should embitter my 
poor dear grandfather's few years on earth 
The very mention of the theme is sure to render 
him irritable and unhappy. Promise me, then, 
to avoid the subject as much as possible, here, 
and never to advert to it, elsewhere." 

"Should I not be doing you a gross injustice 
by such a pledge?" said Linton, mildly. 

"I can endure that; I cannot support the al- 
ternative. Make me this promise." 

" I make it, truly and solemnly; would it were 
in tny power to pledge myself to aught of real 
service to Miss Leicester." 

" There is one such," said Mary, after a pause, 
"and yet I am ashamed to ask it — ashamed of 



the presumption it would imply — an yet I feel 
acquitted to my own heart." 

" What is it? — only tell me how I can serve 
you," said Linton, passionately. 

"I have scarce courage for the avowal," said 
she, in a low, faint voice. " It is not that my 
self-love can be wounded by any judgment that 
may be pronounced — it is rather thai I dread 
failure for itself. In a word, Mr. Linton, certain 
circumstances of fortune have pressed upon my 
grandfather's resources, some of which I am 
avvare of — of others ignorant. So much, how- 
ever, do I know, that the comforts, so necessary 
to his age and habits, have diminished one by 
one — each year seeing some new privations, 
where increasing infirmity would demand more 
ease. In this emergency, I have thought of an 
effort — you will smile at the folly, perhaps, Dut 
be lenient for the motive — I have endeavored to 
make some of the many reminiscences of his own 
early years contribute to his old age, and have 
written certain short sketches of the time, when, 
as a youth, he served as a soldier of the body- 
guard of Louis XVI. I know how utterly value- 
less they are in a literary point of view — but I 
have thought that, as true pictures of a time now 
probably passed away never to return, they 
might have their interest. Such is my secret. 
My entreaty is, to ask of you to look at them, and, 
if not utterly unworthy, to assist me regarding 
their publication." 

" I not only promise this, but I can pledge 
myself to the success," said Linton; "such re- 
citals of life and manners as I have listened to 
from Mr. Corrigan would be invaluable, we know 
so little in England " 

"Nay, let me stop you; they are written in 
French. My hope is to procure their insertion 
in some French journal, as is the custom now-a- 
days. Here tliey are," said she, handing him a 
packet with a trembling hand. "I have but to 
say, that if they be all I fear them, you will be 
too true a friend to peril me by a rejection." 
And without waiting for a reply, she hurried 
back to ilie house. 

Many minutes had not elap-^ed ere Linton 
found himself in his room, with the open manu- 
script before him. It was quite true, he had not 
in anticipation conceived a very high idea of 
Miss Leicester's efforts, because his habit, like 
that of a great number of shrewd people, was to 
regard all ama e ir performances as very inferior, 
and that only they who give themselves wholly 
up to any pursuit attain even mediocrity He 
had not, however, read many pages ere he was 
struck by the evidence of high ability. 'J he 
style was everywhere simple, chaste, and elegant, 
the illustrations natural and graceful; and the 
dialogue, when occurring, marked by all the 
epigrammatic smartness which characterized the 
era. 

The sketches also had the merit of life-pic- 
tures — real characters of the day, being drawn 
with a vigor that only actual knowledge could 
inijjart. All these excellences Linton could per- 
ceive and estimate; but there were many very 
far above his power of apjireciation. As it was, 
he read on, fascinated by the interest the scenes 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



463 



inspired, nor ceased till tlie last page was com- 
pleted, when, throwing himself on his bed, he 
fell soon asleep, and dreamed of Mary Leicester. 
His very first care, on waking, was to resume 
the manuscript, and see how far the impression 
first made might be corroborated by afterthought. 
It was while reading, that the post had just ar- 
rived, bringing, among other letters, one in 
Phillis's hand, which was, though brief, signifi- 
cant: 

"Sir, — There is no time to be lost. The K.'s 

are here every day, and Lord C spends every 

morning here till three or four O'C. Mr. Meek 
has written to ask for Mr. C.'s interest in the 
borough — what answer given, not known. Mr. 
C. would seem to be again pressed for money. 
He was here twice yesterday. The rumor is, 
that Mr. C. will marry Miss O. K. immediately. 
Pearse overheard Mr. K. warning Mr. C. against 
Mr. Linton as a very dangerous intimate. Ld. 
C. F said, when sitting here yesterday, ' I have 
known Master Tom some years, and never knew 
the man he did not help to ruin with whom he 
had any influence.' l\Ir. C. said something about 
being on his guard, and ' suspecting' — but the 
exact words were not heard. Lord K. and lady 
breakfasted with Mr. C. to-day, and stayed till 
two. Lady K. swept down with her dress a 
Sevres jar in the boudoir — heard Mr. C. say that 
he would not give the fragments for the most 
precious vase in the Tuileries. Lord K. asked 
what he said, and her ladyship replied that Mr. 
C.'s vase was unhappily the fellow of one in the 
Tuileries, and looked confused at the accident. 
Mr. Linton is warned to lose no time, as Mr. C. 
is hourly falling deeper into other influences — ■ 
and every day something occurs to injure Mr. 
L.'s interest. — Plonored sir, in duty youis, 

"P. 

"N.B.— The yacht came into harbor from 
Cowes last night." 

The same day which brought this secret despatch 
saw one from Linton to Cashel, saying, that by 
the aid of four hundred workmen in various 
crafts, unceasing toil, and unwearied zeal, Tub- 
bermore would be ready to receive his guests by 
the following Wednesday. A steamer, hired 
specially, had brought over from London nearly 
everything which constitutes the internal arrange- 
ment of a house, and as money had been spent 
without control, difficulties melted away into 
mere momentary embarrassments — impossibili- 
ties there were none. The letter contained a 
long list of commissions for Cashel to execute, 
given, however, with no other object than to oc- 
cupy his time for the remaining few days in town 
as much as possible. This, written and sent off, 
Linton addressed himself to his task of prepara- 
tion with an energy few could surpass, and while 
the tradespeople were stimulated by increased 
pay to greater efforts, and the work was carried 
on through the night by torchlight, the whole 
demesne swarmed with laborers, by whom roads 
were cut, paths gravelled, fences levelled, flower- 
plots devised, even the garden — that labyrinth of 
of giant weeds — was reduced to order, till in the 



hourly changing aspect of the place it was hard 
not to recognize the wand of enchantment. It 
was, indeed, like magic to see how fountains 
sprang up, and threw their sprayey showers over 
the new-planted shrubs; new paths led away into 
dense groves of trees; windows, so late half 
walled up, now opened upon smooth, shaven 
turf, or disclosed a reach of swelling landscape; 
and chambers, that a few days back were the 
gloomy abode of the bat and tlie night-owl, be- 
came of a sudden cheerful and lightsome. 

Stuccoed ceilings, mirror-panelled windows, 
gilded cornices, and carved architraves — all of 
which would imply time and long labor — were 
there at once and on the moment, for the good 
fairy who did these things knows not failure — 
the banker's cheque-book. From the great hall 
to the uppermost chamber the aspect of all be- 
spoke comfort. The elegances of life, Linton 
well knew, are like all other refinements, not 
capable of being "improvised," but ilie daily 
comforts are. The meaner objects which make 
up the sum of hourly want- — the lazy ottoman, 
the downy-pillowed fauteuils, the little fquabs 
that sit in windows to provoke flirtations and in- 
s|iire confidences; the tempting little writing- 
tables that suggest pen and ink; the billiard- 
table, opening on the flower-garden, so redolent 
of sweet odors, that you feel exonerated for the 
shame of an in-door occupation; the pianos, and 
guitars, and harps scattered about in various 
places, as though to be ever ready to the touch, 
the books, and prints, and portfolios, that gave 
excuse to the lounging mood, and text for that 
indolent chit-chat, so pleasant of a morning — 
all these, and a thousand other things, seen 
through the long perspective of a handsome 
suite of ro( ms, do make up that sum, for which 
our own dear epithet, "comfort," has no foieign 
equivalent. 

We have been often compelled, in this vera- 
cious history, to reflect with harshness on cer- 
tain traits of Mr. Linton's morality. Let us 
make him the small amende in our power to say, 
that in his present functions he was unsurpassa- 
ble — and here, for the moment, we leave him. 



CHAPTER XXVL 

BAD GENERALSHIP. 

They alle agrede to disagree, 
A moste united Faniilie! 

Great was the excitement and bustle in the 
Kennyfeck family on the arrival of a brief note 
from Roland Cashel, setting forth that the house 
at Tubbermore was at length in a state to receive 
his guests, who were invited for the following 
Wednesday. 

Although this visit bad rarely been alluded to 
in Cashel 's presence, it was a very frequent topic 
of the family in secret committee, and many were 
the fears inspired by long postponement that the 
event would never come off. Each, indeed, 
looked forward to it with very different feelings. 



464 



ROLAND CASH EL, 



Independent of all more purely personal views, 
Mrs. Kennyfeck speculated on the immense in- 
crease of importance she should obtain socially, 
in the fact of being domesticated in the same 
house with a commander of the forces and his 
lady, not to speak of secretaries, aides-de-camp, 
and Heaven knows what other functionaries. 
The young ladies had prospective visions of an- 
other order, and poor Kennyfeck fancied himself 
a kind of agricultural Metternich, who was about, 
at the mere suggestion of his will, to lay down 
new territorial limits on the estate, and cut and 
carve the boundaries at his pleasure. 

Aunt Fanny, alone, was not warmed by the 
enthusiasm around her; first of all, there were 
grave doubts if she could accompany the others, 
as no precise invitation had ever been ac- 
corded to her; and although Mrs. Kennyfeck 
stoutly avered "she was as gobd as asked," the 
elder daughter plainly hinted at the possible 
awkwardness of such a step, Olivia preserving 
between the two a docile neutrality 

" I'm sorry (or your sake, ray dear," said Miss 
O'Hara to Olivia, with an accent almost tart, 
" because I thought I might be useful." 

" It is very provoking for all our sakes," said 
Miss Kennyfeck, as though quietly suffering the 
judgment to be pronounced; " we should have 
been so happy all together." 

" If your father was any good, he'd manage it 
at once," said Mrs. K., with a resentful glance 
towards poor Mr. Kennyfeck, who with specta- 
cles on his forehead, and the newspaper on his 
knee, fancied he was thinking 

■' We should hive some very impertinent re- 
mark upon it, I'm certain," said Miss K., who, 
for reasons we must leave to the reader's own 
acuteness, was greatly averse to her aunt accom- 
panying them, '■ so many of one family! I know 
how Linton will speak of it." 

" Let him, if he dare; I wonder whose exer- 
tions placed Cashel himself in the position he 
enjoys," said Mrs. Kennyfeck, angrily, and dart- 
ing a look of profound contempt at her husband, 
recognizing, doubtless, the axiom of the ignoble 
means through which Providence occasionally 
effects our dL'-tinies. 

"I can remain here, mamma, for that matter," 
said Olivia, in a voice of angelic innocence. 

" Sweet—artless creature," whispered her 
sister, 'not to know how all our devices are ex- 
ercised for her." 

"It's really too provoking, Fanny," said Mrs. 
Kennyfeck; " you were just beginning to acquire 
that kind of influence over him which would be 
so serviceable, and once in the country, where so 
many opportunities for joining him in his walks 
would occur, I calculated immensely on your 
assistance." 

" Well, my dear, it can't be helped," sighed 
Aunt Fannv. 

"Couldn't we allude to it to-day, when Cashel 
calls, and say something about your going away 
to the country, and our regrets at parting, and so 
on? Olivia, you might do that very easily " 

" It wouldn't do for Olivia," said Aunt Fanny, 
very sententiously. 

' Quite right, aunt," chimed in Miss Kenny- 



feck, " that would be like old Admiral Martin, 
who shot away all his ammunition firing salutes " 

"'Mr. Kennyfeck'" said his spousC; with a voice 
of command, "1 vow he is deafer every da\ — 
Mr. Kennyfeck, you must call on Mr Cafehcl 
this morning, and say that we really cannot think 
of inflicting him with an entire family; that you 

and I alone — or you and Olivia " 

" No — no, Mr. Kennyfeck and Caroline," in- 
terposed Aunt Fanny, " say that.' 

" Thanks for the preference," said Miss Kenny- 
feck, witli a short nod. " I am to play lightning- 
conducUir; isn't it so?" 

''Or shall I propose going alone?" interposed 
Mr. Kennyfeck, in all the solemnity of self-im- 
portance. 

" Isn't he too bad ?" exclaimed his wife, turn- 
ing to the others; " did you ever conceive theie 
could be anything as dull as that man? \\"e 
cannot trust you with any part of the transac- 
tion." 

" Here comes Mr. Cashel himself!" said Miss 
Kennyfeck, as a phaeton drove rapidly to the 
door, and Cashel, accompanied by a friend, de- 
scended. 

" Not a wrrd of what we were speaking, Mr. 
Kennyfeck!" said his wife, sternly, for she re- 
posed slight reliance on his tact. 

" Who is with him?" whispered Olivia to her 
sister; but not heeding the question, Miss Kenr,)- 
feck said: 

" Take my advice, Livy, and get rid of ycur 
duenna. You'll play your own game better." 

Before there was time for rejoinder, Lcrd 
Charles Frobisher and Cashel entered the draw- 
ing room. 

"You received my note, I hope, Mrs. Kenny- 
feck," said Roland, as he accepted her cordially 
offered hand. "I only this morning got Linton's 
last bulletin, and immediately wrote cff to ttll 
you." 

" That M significant," whispered Miss Kenny- 
feck to Olivia. "To give i/s the earliest intelli- 
gence." 

" I trust the announcement is not too abrupt 

" Of course not-^our only scruple is, the large- 
ness of our party. We are really shocked at 
the notion of inflicting an entire family Ufon 
you." 

■' Beware the bear," whispered Lord C, in a 
very adroit undertone — " don't invite the aunt." 

'' My poor house will only be the more 
honored," said Cashel, bowing, and sorely puzzled 
how to act. 

" You'll have a very numerous muster, Cashel. 
I fancy'" said Lord Charles, aloud; " not to speak 
of the invited, but those ' Umbrse,' as the Ro- 
mans called (hem, who follow in the suit of such 
fascinating people as Mrs. \\'hite." 

" Not one too many, if there be but room for 
them; my great anxiety is, that my personal 
friends should not be worst off, and I have con,e 
to beg, if not inconvenient, that you would start 
from this on Tuesday." 

" Do you contract to bring us all down?" said 
F.obisher '" I really think you ought; the ge- 
ography of that district is not very familiar to 
most of us. What says Miss Kennyfeck?" 



ROLAND CASH EL, 



465 



"I like everything that promises pleasiirs and 
anTusement."' 

"What says her sister?" whispered Cashel to 
Olivia. 

" How do you mean to travel, Mr. Cashel?" 
said she, in a tone which might be construed into 
perfect artlessness or the most intense interest. 

" With you — if you permit,' said Cashel, in a 
low voice. "I have been thinking of asking 
Mrs. Kennyfeck if she would like to go down by 
sea, and sail up the Shannon. My yacht has 
just arrived." 

" Mamma cannot bear the water, or it would 
be delightful," said Olivia. 

" Cannot we manage a lady patroness, then?" 
said Cashel; "would Miss O'Hara kindly con- 
sent?" 

"Aunt Fanny, Mr. Cashel wishes to speak to 
you." 

" Gare la tante!" said Frobisher, between his 
teeth. 

"We were speaking — -or rather, I was express- 
ing a hope," said Cashel, diffidently, " that a 
yacht excursion, round the southern coast, and so 
up the Shannon, might not be an inappropriate 
way of reaching Tubbermore. Would Miss 
O'Hara feel any objection to be of the party?" 

" With Caroline and me," said Olivia inno- 
cently. 

Miss O'Hara smiled, and shook her head 
doubtfully. 

" It is very tempting, Mr. Cashel — too tempt- 
ing, indeed; but it requires consideration. May 
I speak a word with you?" And so saying, she 
withdrew with Cashel into a window recess. 

The interview was brief; but as they returned 
to the circle, Cashel was heard to say. 

"I am really the worst man in the world to 
solve such difficulties; for in my ignorance of all 
forms, I incur the risk of undervaluing them; but 
if you thought by my inviting Lord and Lady 
Kilgoff •• 

"Oh, by no means. My sister would never 
consent to that. But I will just confer with her 
for an instant." 

"If the Kilgoffs are asked, it spoils all," said 
Mrs. Kennyfeck, in reply to a whispered com- 
munication of her sister. 

" I'll manage that," said Aunt Fanny; " I half 
hinted you didn't like the companionsliip for the 
girls." 

"He'll invite Mrs. Leicester White, or Lady 
Janet, perhaps." 

" He shan't. I'll take the whole upon myself." 

" You have done it, I see," said Frobisher. 
coming close to Cashel, and affecting to examine 
his watch-guard, " and I warned you, notwith- 
standing." 

" What could I do?" said Cashel, hopelessly. 

" What you must do later on," said Lord 
Charles, coolly; "cut the whole concern alto- 
gether." 

" Have you invited the dean, Mr Cashel ?" in- 
terposed Mrs. Kennyfeck. 

"I really cannot inform you, madam. There 
has been so much confusion — Linton promising 
to do everything, and ask everybody, but the 
omission — if such " 



• "Sboulnl be left where it is, ' muttered Frobisher. 

•' How long should we probably be on the voy- 
ag.e, Mr Cashel?" asked Miss O'Hara. 

" Three — four — or five days — perhaps more." 

'' I'll give you a month's sail, and back ' Time' 
after all," said Lord Charles. 

" Oh, that is out of the question — we couldn't 
think of such an excursion," said Aunt Fanny. 

Olivia cast a most imploring look on her aunt, 
and was silent. 

" Another point, Mr. Cashel," said Miss O'Hara, 
speaking in a very low whisper; " my sister, who 
is so particular about her girls — you know how 
they have been brought up, so rigidly, and so 
carefully— she is afraid of that kind of intimacy 
that might possibly grow up between them and — 

and •" Here she came to a full stop. "Didn't 

I hear you speak of Lady Kilgoff?" 

" Yes; I thought her exactly the kind of person 
you'd like to have." 

"Oh, she is charming — most delightful; but 
she is a woman of the world, Mr. Cashel," said 
Aunt Fanny, shaking her head. 

"Indeed!" muttered Roland, not in the least 
guessing the drift of the remark. 

"No, no, Mr. Cashel that would never do. 
These sweet children have no knowledge of s\uh 
people, further than the common intercourse of 
society. Lady Kilgoff and Mrs. White " 

" Is she another?" 

"She is another, Mr. Cashel," said Aunt Fanny, 
oraculously. 

"Then I see nothing for it but limiting the 
party to myself and my yaclit commander — Lieu- 
tenant Sickleton, of the Navy — and I believe we 
have as little of the world about us as any one 
could desire." 

It was full a minute or two before Miss O'Hara 
could satisfy herself that -this speech was not ut- 
tered ironically; but the good-natured and frank 
look of the speaker at last dispelled the fear, and 
she said. 

" Well, if you really ask my opinion, I'd say. 
you are right. For our parts — that is, for tlie 
girls and myself, I mean — we should like it all the 
better, and if you wouldn't find us loo tiresome 
companions " 

Miss O'Hara was interrupted here by Mrs. 
Kennyfeck, who, with considerable agitation in 
her manner, said, " I must beg pardon for dis- 
turbing your agreeable ictc-a-tete, Mr. Cashel, but 
I wish to say one word to my sister." 

As they retired together, Frobisher came up, 
and, drawing his arm within Roland's, led him to 
a window. " I say, old fellow, you are going loo 
fast here; hold in a bit, I advise yon." 

"How do you mean? — what have I done?" 

" It's no affair of mine, you know, and you may 
say I'm devilish impertinent to mix myself up in 
it, but I don't like to see a fellow ' sold,' notwith- 
standing.'' 

" Pray be explicit and frank- — what is il?" 

"Well, if you'll not take it ill " 

'I promise I shall not — go on." 

"Do you mean to marry that little girl yonder, 
with the blue flower in her hair?" 

" I cannot say that I do, or that I do not," said 
Roland, getting very red. 



466 



ROLAND CASH EL. 



"Then, you're making a very bad book, that's 
all." 

"Oh, you're quite mistaken; I don't suspect 

her of the slighest feeling towards me " 

'What has that to say to it, my dear fellow?" 
interrupted Frobishcr. "I didn't imply that she 
w.is in love with you! I wanted to warn you 
about the mess you're getting into — the family 
fracas — the explanation asking — the sermonizing 
— the letter-writing — the tears, reproaches, dis- 
tractions — ay and the damages, too! — devilish 
heavy they'd be against one like you, with plenty 
of 'ready.' Hush! they're coming." 

Miss O'Hara advanced towards Cashel, and 
Frobisher retired; her mien and carriage were, 
however, statelier and more imposing, with less 
of cordiality than before. '"We cannot agree 
upon the details of this excursion, I find, sir; 
my sister's scruples — Mr. Kennyfeck's doubts — 
the difficulties, in short, of every kind, are such, 
that I fear we must relinquish it." 

Cashel bowed deeply, without uttering a word; 
the insinuations of Frobisher were added in his 
mind to the suspicion that some secret game was 
being played against him, and his manly nature 
was insulted by the doubt. 

Aunt Fanny, perhaps, perceived she had gone 
too far, for, reassuming her former smile, she said, 
" Not that we despair of one day or other taking 
a pleasure-trip in your beautiful vessel.'' 

"You dome too much honor by expressing 
such a hope," said Cashel, gravely; and then 
turning to Frobisher, added, "Will you drive me 
down to Kingstown.' I want to go on board for 
a few minutes." 

"We see you at seven o'clock. I hope.'" said 
Mrs. Kennyfeck, in a whisper 

" I regret to have made an engagement for 
to-day, madam," replied Cashel, stiffly " Good- 
uiorning, ladies. Very sorry. Miss O'Hara, our 
sea intentions have been a failure. Let me hope 
for better luck on land." 

"Will you not be here this evening? said 
Olivia, as he passed close to her, and there was 
in the swimming eye and tremulous voice enough 
to have melted a harder heart than Roland's, but 
this time he was proof against all blandishments, 
and with a very cold negative, he departed 

"There is hope for you yet, old fellow,' said 
Lord Charles, as he walked down-stairs beside 
him, "you did that extremely well.' 

Now, although Roland was far from knowing 
what he had done, or how to merit the piaises, lie 
was too well pleased with the momentary repose 
the flattery afforded to question further Mean- 
while, a very excited scene took place in the house 
they had just quitted, and to which, for a brief 
space, we must return 

On a sofa in one corner of the room sat Olivia 
Kennyfeck, pale and trembling, her eyes tearful, 
and her whole air bespeaking grief and agitation. 
At the window close by stood Miss Kennyfeck, 
the calm composure of her face, the ease of her 
attitude, the very types of internal quiet. She 
looked out, up the square, and playing on the 
woodwork of the window an imaginary pianoforte 
air, while in the back drawing-room sat Mrs. 
Kennyfeck and Miss O'Hara, side by side on 



a sofa, their excited looks and heightened com- 
plexions attesting the animation of the contro- 
versy, for such in reality it was 

" I thought you would go too far — I knew you 
would," said Mrs, Kennyfeck, with an angry 
gesture of the hand. 

" What do you mean by too far'" rejoined her 
sister " Is it in the face of a letter like this 
that you would permit him to continue his atten- 
tions, and, worse still, let the girls go off tor an 
excursion of maybe a week or two' Read that ' 

" The letter is anonymous, and ma)be untrue 
from end to end.' 

" Tlien why not let me test its truth by some 
allusion to its contents'' 

"And banish him from the house ever after,'' 
rejoined Mrs Kennyfeck. bitterly. ■ " No, no, 
Fanny, you mistake him very much; he isn't like 
one of your old County Clare admirers, that can 
be huffed to-day, and asked to dinner to-morrow 
— not that, indeed, you showed much judgment 
in your management even of them ' 

This allusion to Aunt Fanny's spinsterhood 
was too palpable to pass unnoticed, and she arose 
from the sofa with a face of outraged temper. 

" It might be a question, my dear, between us, 
which had the least success — I, who never got 
a husband — or you, who married that one. ' 

If Mr Kennyfeck had intended by a tableau 
to have pointed the moral of this allusion, he 
could not have succeeded better, as he sat bolt 
upright in his chair, endeavoring through tlie 
murky cloud of his crude ideas to catch one ray 
of light upon all he witnessed — he looked the 
very ideal of hopeless stupidity. Miss O'Hara, 
like a skilful genera', left the field under the 
smoke of her last fire, and Mrs. Kennyfeck sat 
alone, with what Homer would call "'a heart- 
consuming rage," to meditate on the past. 



CHAPTER XXVII. 

LIEUTENANT SICKLETOn's PATENT PUMP. 

The mariner's chart 

He knew by liearl, 
And every current, rock, and shore, 

From tlie drifting sand 

Off Newfoundland, 
To the sun-spht cliffs of Singapore. 

— Captain Pike. 

Lord Charles Frobisher was never a very 
talkative companion, and as Cashel's present 
mood was not communicative, they drove along, 
scarcely interchanging a sentence, till the harbor 
of Kingstown came in sight, and with it the gay 
pennons that fluttered from the mast of Roland's 
schooner 

" I suppose that is your yacht — the large craft 
yonder?" 

'I hope so," said Cashel, entiuisiastically, 
"she sits the water like a duck, and has a fine 
rakish look about her " 

" .So, then, you never saw her before?' 

"Never- I purchased hci from description, 
taking her crew, commander, and all, just as she 



ROLAND CASHEL 



467 



sailed into Southampton from Zante, a month 
ago. They sent me a drawing ol' her her meas- 
urement, tonnage, and draught ot uater, as also 
the log of her run in the Mediterranean. — yes, 
that's she, I can recognize the water line from 
tiie sketch.' 

'' Is your visit on board going to be a long 
one?" drawled out Lord Cliarles, languidly,'' for 
I own 1 am not the least aquatic, and were it not 
for lobsters and whitebait, 1 vote the sea a hum 
bug." 

'"Then I'll say goodbye' said Cashel. 
" That blue water, that curling ripple, and the 
fluttering of that bunting, have sent me a think- 
ing about hundred tilings." 

■' You'll dine with us at seven, won't you?' 

'No, I'll dine on board, or not dine at all," 
said he, as he sprang from the carriage, and, 
waving iiis hand in adieu, made his way to the 
hacbor. Taking the first boat that offered, Cashel 
■ rowed oat to the yacht, just in time to calch Lieu- 
tenant Sickleton, who, in full yacht costume, 
was about to wait on iiis principal. He was a 
bluff, good-natured, blunt fellow, who having 
neither patronage nor interest in the service, had 
left the wardroom for the easier, but less am- 
bitious, life of a yacht commander; a thoroughly 
good seaman, and brave as a lion, he saw him- 
self reduced to a position almost menial from 
hard and galling necessity. Hi had twice been 
to Alexandria with touring lords, who, while 
treating him well in all essentials, yet mingled 
so much of condescension in their courtesy, as 
to be all but unendurable. He had gone to 
America with a young O.'iford man, the son of a 
great London brewer, whose overbearing inso- 
lence he had been obliged to rei)el by a threat of 
personal consequences. He had taken an in- 
valid family to Madeira, and a ruined duke to 
Greece, and was now, with the yacht and its 
company, transferred to Cashei's hands, not know- 
ing — ^scarca caring — ivith whom or wherj his fu- 
ture destinies were to be cast. 

The Freemasonry of the sea has a stronger 
tie than the ni-'re use of technicals. Cashel was 
not ten minutes on board ere Sickleton. and he 
were like old acquaintances. The Lucciola was, 
in Sickleton's ideas, the best thing that ever ran 
on a keel. There was nothing she couldn't do — 
fair weather or foul. She could outsail a Yankee 
smack in a gale off the coast of Labrador, or 
beat a felucca in the light winds off the Gulf of 
Genoa. If these tidings were delightful to 
Cashei's ears — the most exciting and heart- 
stirring he had listened It for many a day — the 
gratification was no less to Sickleton, that he was 
about to sail with one who really loved the sea, 
and thoroughly understood, and could value, the 
qualities of his noble craft. 

From the vessel, they turned the conversation 
to all the possible places the world's map af- 
forded for a cruise. Sickleton's experiences 
were chiefly Eastern — he knew the Mediterran- 
ean as well as he did the Downs — while Cashei's 
could vie with him in both coasts of the great 
Spanish peninsula, and all the various channels 
of the West India islands. For hours they sat 
discussing soundings, and trad? winds, and shore 



currents, with all the bearings of land points, 
bluffs, and lighthouses In talk, they visited 
half the globe — now staggering under a haif- 
reefed topsail in the Bay of Biscay — now swim- 
ming along, with winged and stretching sails, 
under the blue cliffs of Baia. 

'I'm sure I don't know how you ever could 
lead a shore life,' said Sickleton, as Cashel de- 
scribed with warm enthusiasm some passages of 
his rover's existence. 

Nor do I understand how I have borne it so 
long, said Cashel, '' its dissipations weary — its 
deceits provoke me. I have lost — if net all — 
great part of that bouyancy which mingled peril 
and pleasure create, and I suppose, in a month 
or two more, I should be about as apathetic, as 
indolent, and as selfish as any fine gentleman 
ought to be. Ah, if we had a war!" 

"That's it — that s what 1 say every day and 
every night= — if we had a war, the world would be 
worth living in or dying for Fellows like my. 
self, for instance, are never thought of in a peace, 
but they 'look us all out'- — just as they do a 
storm-jib, when it comes on to blow — no laugh- 
ing a man out of position, then- — no, faith'" 

"How do you mean?" said Cashel, who saw in 
the intense expression of the speaker how much 
the words covered 

''Just what happened to myself — that's all 
said Sickleton; " but if you like to hear how — 
the story isn't long, or any way remarkable— 
we'll have a bit of luncheon here, and I'll tell it 
to you." 

Cashel willingly assented, and very quickly a 
most appetizing meal made its appearance in the 
cabin, to which Sickleton did the honors most 
creditably. 

" I'm impatient for that anecdote you promised 
me," said Cashel, as the dessert made its appear 
ance, and they sat in all the pleasant enjoyment 
of social ease. 

"You shall hear it — though, as I said before, 
it's not much of a story either, nor should I tell 
it, if I didn't see that you feel a sort of interest 
about myself — unhappily, its hero 

" I'll not weary you by telling you the story 
that thousands can repeat, of .a service without 
patronage, no sooner afloat than paid off again 
and no chance of employment, save in a ten-gun 
brig off the coast of Guinea, and I suppose you 
know what that is?" 

Cashel nodded, and Sickleton went on 

" Well, I passed as lieutenant, and went 
through my yellow fever in the Niger very cred- 
itably I was the only one of a ship s company in 
the gun-room on the way back to England . after 
a two years' cruise; I suppose because life was 
less an object to me than the other fellows, who 
had mothers, and sisters, and so on So it was, 
I brought the old Atnphion safe into dock, and 
was passed off to wander about the world, with 
something under forty pounds in my pocket, and 
a ' good-service letter' from the admiralty — a 
document that costs a man some trouble to gain, 
but that would not get you a third class place in 
the rail to Croydon, when you have it What 
was I to do' — I had no interest for the coast 
guaid. 1 tried to become kce])er of a ligJiC- 



468 



ROLAND CASH EL. 



house, but failed. It was no use to try and be 
a clerk — there were plenty of fellows, better 
qualified than myself, walking the streets supper- 
less. So I set myself a thinking if I couldn t do 
something for the service, that might get me into 
notice, and make the 'lords' take me up. There 
was one chap made his fortune by 'round sterns,' 
though they were known in the Dutch Navy for 
two centuries. There was another invented 
a life-boat; a third a new floating buoy — and so 
on. Now I'm sure I passed many a sleepless 
night thinking of something that might aid me; at 
one time it was a new mode of reefing to|)sails in a 
gale — at another it was a change in signalizing 
the distant ships of a squadron — now an anchor 
for rocky bottoms — now a contrivance for lower- 
ing quarter-boats in a heavy sea — till at last, by 
dint of downright hard thought and persever- 
ance, I did fall upon a lucky notion. I invented 
a new hand-pump, applicable for launches and 
gun-boats — a thing greatly wanted— very simple 
of contrivance, and easy to work. It was a 
blessed moment, to be sure, when my mind, 
instead of wandering over everything from the 
round top tt the taffrail, at last settled down on 
this same pump! 

" It was not mere labor and study this inven- 
tion caused me. No! it swallowed up every shil- 
ling of my little hoard. I was obliged to make 
a model, and what with lead and zinc, and solder 
and leather, and caoutchouc and copper, I was 
very soon left without 'tin;' but I had hope, and 
hope makes up for half rations. At last, my 
;pump was perfect; the next thing was to make 
it known. There was no use in trying this 
through any unprofessional channels. Lands- 
iUien think that as they pay for the Navy, they 
need not bother their lieads about it further. 
''My lords,' I knew well, wouldn't mind me, be- 
• cause my father wasn't in Parliament, and so I 
thought of one of those magazines that devote 
themselves to the interests of the two services, 
and I wrote a paper accordingly, and accom- 
pained it by a kind of diagram of my pump. I 
waited for a montii — two — three months — but 
heard nothing — saw nothing of my invention. I 
wrote, but could get no answer. I called, but 
could see no editor: and at last was meditating 
some personal vengeance, when I received a 
note. It was then much after midsummer, few 
people in town, and the magazines were print- 
ing anything — as no one reads them in the dog- 
days — stating that if Lieutenant .Sickleton would 
procure a woodcut of his pump, the paper de- 
scriptive of it should appear in the next nmnber. 
This was a civil way of asking me for five 
pounds; but help there was none, and so I 
complied. 

" .'^t IcngthI read in the list of the contents. 
'Lieutenant Sickleton's new hand-]nimp, with an 
illustration' — and my heart bounded at the words. 
It was the nineteenth article — near the end of 
the number. I forget what the othe:s were — 
something of course about Waterloo, and .Mbuera, 
and the Albert shako, and such-like stuff. ]\ly 
pump, I knew, put it where they would, was f/ie 
paper of the month. This feeling was a little 
abated on finding that, as I walked down Fleet 



street on the day of publication, I didn't per, 
ceive any sign of public notice or rccngnition; 
no one said, as I passed, 'That's Sickleton, the 
fellow who invented the new pump.' I rtmeni- 
bered, however, that if my pump was known, ] 
was not as yet, and that though the portrait <ji 
my invention had become fame, my own was slill 
in obscurity. 

"I betook myself to the office of the journal, 
expecting there at least to find that entluisiastii- 
receiition the knowledge of my merits must se- 
cure, but hang me, if one of clerks- — as to the 
editor, there was no seeing him- — took thi- 
slightest trouble about me. I told him, with. I 
trust, a pardonable swelling of the bosom, that 1 
was ' Sickleton.' I didn't say the famous Sickle- 
ton, and I thought I was modest in the omis- 
sion, but he wasn't in the least struck by the 
announcement, and I quitted the place in dis- 
gust. 

"Worse than all, when I came to read o\er 
my paper, I found, by the errors of the press, 
that the whole diagram was spoiled. The letters 
had been misplaced, and the Fiend himself, if he 
wanted it, couldn't work my pump. You see 
that C D represented the angular crank, F was 
the stop-cock, and T the trigger that closed the 
piston. Hang me, if they didn't make F the 
trigger, and instead of B being the cistern, it was 
made the jet; so that when you began to work, 
all the water squirted through the sluices at 

P Q over the operator. I went nearly mad. 

1 wrote a furious letter to the editor^ — 1 wrote 
another to the Times — I wrote to the Globe, the 
Post, and the Herald. I explained — I elucidated 
— I asked for the Englishman's birthright, as 
they call it — 'Justice' — but no use! In fact, my 
reclamations could only be instrted as ad\er- 
tisements, and would cost me about a bundled 
pounds to publish. So I sat down to grit-M- 
over my invention, and curse the hour I cAcr 
thought of serving my country. 

"It was about six months after this — I liad 
been living on some relations, nearly as pooi as 
myself — when I one day received an oider tn 
'wait at the Admiralty the next morning.' 1 
went, but without hope or intertst. 1 cciilcn't 
guess why I was sent for, but no touch of ex- 
pectancy made me anxious for the result. 

" I waited from eleven till four in the ante- 
room; and at last, after some filty had liad 
audiences, Lieutenant Sickleton was called. The 
time was I would have trembled at su( h an in- 
terview to the very marrow of my bones. Disap- 
pointment, however, had nerved me now, and i 
stood as much at ea?e and composed as I sit 
here. 

" 'You are Mr. Sickleton?' said the first lord, 
who was a ' Tartar.' 

" ' Yes, my lord.' 

" 'You invented a kind of puni]) — a hand- 
pump for launches and small craft, I tliink.'' 

'■ ' Yes, my lord.' 

" ' ^"ou have a model of the invention, too?' 

" 'Yes, my lord.' 

" 'Can you describe the principle of your dis- 
covery — is there anything winch, for its no\ellv, 
demands the peculiar attention of the Admiralty?' 







^ 
^ 
t 



,'^. 









^ 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



469 



" ' Yes — at least I think so, my lord,' said I, the 
last embers of hope beginning to flicker into a 
faint flame within. ' 'i'he wliole is so simple, 
that I can, with your permission, make it per- 
fectly intelligible even here. I'here is a small 
double-acting piston ' 

"'Confound the fellow; don't let him bore us, 

now,' said Admiral M , in a whisjjer quite 

loud enough for me to overhear it. ' If it amuse 
his majesty, that's enough. Tell him what's 
wanted, and let him go.' 

" ' Oh, very well,' said the first lord, who 
seemed terribly afraid of his colleague. ' It is 
the king's wish, Mr Sickleton, that your inven- 
tion should be tested under his majesty's personal 
inspection, and you are therefore commanded to 
present yourself at Windsor on Monday next, 
wit!i your model, at eleven o'clock. It is not very 
cumbrous, I suppose?' 

""No, my lord. It only weighs four and a 
half hundred-weight.' 

"'Pretty well for a model; but here is an 
order for a wagon. You'll present this at 
Woolwich.' He bowed, and turned his back, 
and I retreated. 

" Sharp to the hour of eleven I found myself at 
Windsor on the following Monday. It was past 
two, however, before his majesty could see me. 
There were audiences and foreign ambassadors, 
papers to read, commissions to sign — in fact, 
wlien two o'clock came, the king had only got 
through a part of his day's work, and then it 
was luncheon-time. This was over about three, 
and at last his majest)', with the first lord, two 
admirals, and an old post-captain, who, by the 
way, had once put me in irons for not saluting 
his majesty's guard when coming up to the watch 
at midnight, appeared on the terrace. 

" The place selected for the trial was a neat 
little parterre outside one of the small drawing- 
rooms. There was a fountain supplied by two 
running streams, and this I was to e.xperiment 
upon with my new pump. It was trying enough 
to stand there before such a presence, but the 
uppermost thought in my mind was about my 
invention, and I almost forgot the exalted rank 
of my audience. 

'■ After due presentation to his majesty, and a 
few comnionplace questions about where I had 
served, and how long, and so on, the king said, 
'Come, now, sir. Let us see the pump at work, 
for we haven't much time to lose.' 

" I immediately adjusted the apparatus, and 
when ail was ready, I looked about in some dis- 
may, for I saw no one to assist the working. 
There were present, besides the king and the 
three naval officers, only two fellows in full dress 
liveries, a devilish-sight more pompous-looking 
th.m the king or the first lord. What was to be 
done? It was a dilemma I had never anticipated, 
and, in my dire distress, I stepped back and 
whispered a word to old Admiral Beaufort, who 
was the kindest-looking of the party. 

'''What is he saying? — wliat does he want?' 

said the king, who partly overheard the whis]ier. 

Mr. Sickleton remarks, your majesty, that 

lie will need assistance to exhibit his invention — 

that he requires some one to work the pump.' 



" ' Then wl>y didn't he bring hands with him?' 
said the king, testily. 'I suppose the machine 
is not self-acting, and that he knew that before 
he came here.' 

" I thought I'd have fainted at this rebuke from 
the lips of royalty itself, and so I stammered out 
some miserable excuse about not knowing if I 
were empowered to have brought aid — my ignor- 
ance of court etiquette — in fact, I blundered — 
and so far, that the king cut me short by saying, 
'Take those people there, sir, and don't delay us;' 
pointing to the two gentlemen in cocked hats, 
bags and swords, that looked as if they could 
have danced on my grave with delight. 

" In a flurry — compared to which a fever was 
composure — I instructed my two new assistants 
in the duty, and stationing myself with the hose 
to direct the operation of the jet, I gave the 
word to begin. Well! instead of a great dash of 
water spurting out some fifty feet in height, and 
fizzing through the air like a rocket, there came a 
trickling, miserable dribble, that puddled at my 
very feet! I thought the sucker was clogged — 
the piston stopped — the valves impeded^twenty 
things did I fancy — but the sober truth was, 
those gilded rascals wouldn't do more than touch 
the crank with the tips of their fingers, and barely 
put sufficient force in the pressure to move the 

arm up and down. 'Work it harder put more 

strength to it,' I whispered, in mortal fear to be 
overheard, but they never minded me in the 
least. Indeed I almost think one fellow winked 
his eye ironically when I addressed him. 

" ' Eh — what I' said the king, after ten minutes 
of an exhibition that were to me ten years at the 
galleys, 'these pumps do next to nothing. They 
make noise enough, but don't bring up any water 
at all.' 

"The first lord shook his head in assent. Old 
Beaufort made me a sign logive up the trial, and 
the post-captain blurted out, in a half whisper, 
something about a blundering son of a dog's 
wife, that nearly drove me mad. 

"'I say, Sickleton,' said the king, 'your in- 
vention's not worth the solder it cost you. You 
couldn't sprinkle the geraniums yonder in three 
weeks with it.' 

" ' It's all the fault of these d — d bufi'ers, please 
your majesty,' said I, driven clean out of my 
senses by failure and disgrace — and, to be sure, 
as hearty a roar of laughter followed as ever I 
listened to in my life- — ' if they'd only bear a 

hand and work the crank as I showed them ' 

As I spoke, I leaned over and took hold of the 
crank myself, letting the hose rest on my shoulder. 

" With two vigorous pulls I filled the pistons 
full, and, at the third, rush went the stream with 
the force of a Congreve— not, indeed, over the 
trees, as I expected, but full in the face of the 
first lord. Scarcely was his cry uttered, when a 
fourth dash laid him full upon his back, drenched 
from head to foot, and nearly senseless from the 
shock. The king screamed with laughing— the 
admiral shouted— the old post-captain swore — 
and I not knowing one word of all that was 
happening behind my back, worked away for 
bare lit'e, till the two footmen, at a signal from 
the admiral, laid hold of me by main force, ,ind 



470 



ROLAND CASH EL 



dragged me away, the perspiration drippinj; 1 rom 
my forehead, and my uniform all in rags by the 
exertion. 

" ' Get away as fast as you can, sir,' whispered 
old B., 'and thank God if your day's work only 
puts you at the end of the list.' I followed the 
counsel — I don't know how — I never could re- 
collect one event from that moment till I awoke 
the next morning at my aunt's cottage at Black- 
wall, and saw my coat in tatters, and the one 
epaulette hanging by a thread; then I remembered 
my blessed invention, and I think I showed good 
pluck by not going clean out of my mind." 

There was an earnestness in poor Sickleton's 
manner that effectually repressed any mirth on 
Cashel's part — indeed, his sense of the ludicrous 
gave way before his feeling of sorrow for the 
hard fortune of the man without a friend. In 
the partial civilization of the far west, personal 
prowess and energy were always enough to se- 
aure any man's success; but here, each day's 
experience taught him how much was to be laid 
to the score of family — of fortune — name — ad- 
dress — and the thousand other accessories of for- 
tune. He had just begun to express his wonder 
that Sickleton had never tried life in the new 
world, when the mate appeared at the cabin- 
door to say that a shore boat was rowing out to 
the yacht. 

.\ movement of impatience broke from Sickle- 
ton. " More of 'em, I suppose," cried he; "we've 
had such, a lot of sight-seers this morning, since 
we dropoed anchor! most of them affecting to be 
intimate friends of yours, and all so well ac- 
quainted with your habits of life, that I should 
have become perfectly informed on every par- 
ticular of your private history only by listening." 

"The chances are," broke in Cashel, "I did 
not personally know a man amongst them." 

" I half suspect as much. They spoke far too 
confidently to be authentic. One would have it 
you were half ruined already, and had got the 
yacht over to clear away, and be off. Another, 
that you were going to be married to a lady with 
an immense fortune — a rumor contradicted by a 
third saying it was an attorney's daughter with- 
out a shilling." 

"'Ili^re's a lady, I see, sir, coming on board," 
said the mate, putting in his head once more. 

" I'd swear there was," growled Sickleton. 

" You give them luncheon, I hope?" said 
Cashel, smiling at the other's impatience. 

■'Yes; we've had something like an ordinary 
here, to-day, and as I heard that to-morrow 
would be busier still, T have had my boat going 
backwards and forwards all the morning to pre- 
jnire " 

" I am desired to show you this card, sir," said 
the mate handing one to Sickleton, who passed 
it to Casliel. 

"Lord Kilgoff — indeed!" said he, surprised, 
and at once hastened to the deck. 

"Mr. Cashel himself here!" exclaimed my 
lady, from the stern of a small boat alongside; 
and after an exchange of friendly recognition, 
the party ascended the gangway. 

"Tliis was a pleasure we scarcelv looked for, 
to meet you here," said liis lordship, blandh-. 



" We had just taken our drive down to the har- 
bor, when accidentally hearing your yacht had 
arrived, Lady Kilgoff grew desirous to see it." 

"A yacht in harbor is a horse in stable," said 
Cashel. " Will you permit me to give you a 
cruise.''' 

"I should like nothing in the world so well.'' 

" It is late^almost six o'clock," said Loid Kil- 
goff, looking at his watch. 

"And if it be," said my lady, coaxingly, "you 
know Dr. Grover recommended you the sea air 
and sea excursions. I declare you look better 
already; don't you think so, Mr. Cashel.'" 

" I protest I do," said Cashel, thus appealed 
to; "and if you will only pardon the deficiencies 
of a floating cuisine, and dine here " 

"How delighted!" broke in my lady, not suf- 
fering even time for an apology. 

" It appeared to me there was a haunch of ven- 
ison hanging over the stern when we came on 
board ?" said my lord, with his glass to his eye. 

"Yes, my lord," said Sickleton, touching his 
hat in salutation; "I've had it there for two 
hours every day since Tuesday week." 

" And is the wind, and the tide, and everything 
else as it should be, Mr. Cashel ?" said Lady Kil- 
goff. 

"Everything — when you have only uttered 
your consent," said he, gallantly. 

" What is this, sir?" said my lord, as, having 
requested something to drink, Sickleton poured 
him out a large glassful of scarcely frothing 
liquid. 

" Dry champagne, my lord. Moet's." 

"And very excellent too. Really, Laura, I 
am very sorry it should be so late, and we were 
to have dined with Meek at sever. " 

" But only alone — no party, remember that," 
said she, persuasively; "how easy to send the 
carriage back with an apology." 

Cashel looked his thanks, but without speak- 
ing- 

" Take those red partridges out of ice," said 
Sickleton, from the cook's galley, "and let us 
have those Ostend oysters to-day." 

"I yield," said my lord. "Mr. Cashel must 
take all the consequences of my breach of faith 
upon himself." 

" I promise to do so, my lord." 

" A pen and ink, and some paper, Mr. Cashel," 
said her ladyship. 

" Will you permit me to show you the way," 
said he, handing her down into the little cabin, 
whose arrangement was all in the perfection of 
modern taste and elegance. 

" How beautiful!" cried she. " Oh! Mr. Cashel, 
I really do envy you the possession of this fairy 
ship. You don't know how passionately I love 
the sea." 

"There are but few things I could hear you 
say with so much pleasure to me," said Cashel, 
gazing with a strange feeling of emotion at the 
brilliant color and heightened expression of her 
handsome features. 

"There! that is finished," said she, closing 
the hastily-written note. "Now, Mr. Cashel, we 
are vours," However tnuch of course the words 
were in themselves, her eyes met Cashel's as she 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



471 



spoke tliem, and as suddenly fell; while he, tak- 
ing the letter, left the cab'n without speaking — 
a world of curious conjecture warring in his 
heart. 



CHAPTER XXVIII. 

A SPLIT IN THE KENNYFECK CABINET. 

Like *' cat and dog!" not so tluir strife 
They carried on like " man and wife." 

— Famii,y Jars. 

It rnaj' easily have escaped our reader's mein- 
ory, that on Roland Cashel's hasty departure 
frpai Mr. Kennyfeck's, the seeds of a very seri- 
ous schism had been sown in that respectable 
family, Mrs. Kennyfeck being firmly persuaded 
that her liege lord had grossly mismanaged his 
influence over the young proprietor; the girls as 
resolutely opposed to each other; and all, with 
a most laudable unanimity, agreed in thinking 
th.it Aunt Fanny " had spoiled everything," and 
that but for her odious interference there never 
would have arisen the slightest coolness between 
them and their distinguished acquaintance. 

'■ I may lose the agency!" said Mr Kenny- 
feck, with a sigh of afHicting sincerity. 

"I shouldn't wonder if he avoids the house," 
quoth his wife. 

" He evidently rejects all attempts at domina- 
tion," said Miss Kennyfeck, with a glance at her 
aunt. Olivia said nothing; but it was not diffi- 
cult to see that her thoughts were full ol* the 
theme. Meanwhile, Miss O'Hara, in all the dig- 
nity of injured rectitude, sat seemingly uncon- 
scious of the popular feeling against her, repeating 
from time to time the ominous words, " We shall 
see — we shall see;" a species of prophetic warning 
that, come what may, can always assert its ac- 
complishment. 

With such elements of discord and discontent, 
the breakfast proceeded gradually, and the 
broken attempts to talk had subsided into a 
sullen silence, when the butler entered to say 
that Mr. Phillis begged to speak a few words 
with Mr. Kennyfeck. 

" Let him come in here," said Mrs. Kenny- 
feck, as her husband was rising to leave the 
room. " I think, if there are to be no more blun- 
ders, we had better be present at the confer- 
ence." 

"Show him in, Pearse," said Mr. Kennyfeck, 
in a meek voice; and the gentleman's gentleman 
entered, in all that easy self-sufficiency so pecul- 
iar to his class. 

"What is it, Mr. Phillis?" said Mrs. Kenny- 
feck, in a commanding tone, meant to convey 
the information of " where the court sat," and to 
whom he should address his pleading. 

" It's a little matter on which I wanted advice, 
ma'am, for I am really puzzled how to act. You 
know, m.i'am, that we are expecting large com- 
jiaiiy at our place in the country — Tubb — some- 
thing " 

" Tubbermore," interposed Mr. Kennyfeck. 

"Yes, sir, 'I'nhbermore. Well! there have 
been at least twerity messages this morning from 



different families, who want to know the best way 
of going, and when Mr. Cashel means to go him- 
self, and where post-horses are to be had, and 
how they are to get forward where there are none, 
and so on." 

" Is your master not the person to dictate the 
answer to these queries.'" said Mrs. Kennyfeck, 
with her grandest air. 

" Of course, ma'am, but he's not here." 

"Where is he, then?" asked she, eagerly. 

"He's gone, ma'am; he went last night." 

"Gone! — gone where?" said Mrs. Kennyfeck, 
with an eagerness no artifice could cover. 

" It's hard to say. ma'am; but he went down 
to Kingstown last night, and sailed in the )acht; 
and from the preparations and sea stores taken 
from the hotel, it would seem like a long cruise." 

"And did he not mention anything of his in- 
tention \.o you, Mr. Phillis?" said Mrs. Kennyfeck, 
with a flattering emphasis on the pronoun. 

" A few lines in pencil, ma'am, dated from the 
the harbor, was all I received. Here they are." 
And he handed a piece of note-paper across the 
table. 

The contents ran thus: 

" Phillis, send word to Sir Harvey Upton's 
that I shan't dine there to-morrow. Give the 
bearer of this my dressing-case, and clothes for 
some days, and have the fourgon ready packed 
to start for Tubbermore on receiving my next 
orders. 

" R. C. — Kingstown Harbor." 

" And who brought this note?" said Mrs. Ken- 
nyfeck, who fancied she was conducting the in- 
quiry in true judicial form. 

" One of the yacht sailors, ma'am; he came up 
on Lord Kilgoff s carriage." 

" On Lord Kilgoff 's carriage — how did that 
happen?" 

" The carriage came into town, ma'am, to bring 
some things my lady sent for; at least, so the 
sailor told me." 

"And were Lord and Lady Kilgoff on board 
the yacht?" 

"Yes, ma'am; they both sailed in her last 
night." 

As though drawn by some irresistible influence, 
every eye was now turned to Aunt Fanny, who, 
up to this, had listened to Mr. Piiillis with a 
breathless attention, and if looks could be 
translated, every glance thus thrown said plainly, 
" This is your doing." 

"Are you certain that the yacht has not re- 
turned to Kingstown?" said Miss O'Hara. 

" Perfectly, ma'am. It blew a storm last night, 
and the sailors about the harbor told me it was 
a great chance that any small vessel could out- 
live the gale." 

Olivia Kennyfeck became deadly pale at these 
words, and whispered something in her sister's 
ear. 

"Of course," replied the other, aloud; then 
turning to Phillis, said, " Had they a pilot with 
them?" 

" I believe so, miss, but there are so many con- 
tradictory reports, one don't know what to credit; 



472 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



some say that Lord Kilgoff was greatly opposed 
to the cruise, but that her ladyship insisted, and 
that, in fact, they got under weigh at last with- 
out my lord's knowing, and while they were at 
dinner '' 

"It was a fearful night!" said Mr Kennyfeck, 
whose mind was entirely engrossed by the one 
idea. 

"Take him into the next room, and I'll join 
you presently," said Mrs. Kennyfeck to lier hus- 
band, for that keen-sighted lady had remarked 
the intense interest with which Mr. Phillis 
listened to every remark made around him. 

"Here's a pretty piece of business!" cried she, 
as the door closed after her husband and the 
valet; "and certainly, I must say, we've no one 
to thank for it but you. Fanny'" 

' Unquestionably not," echoed Miss Ken- 
nyfeck. "Aunt Fanny has the entire merit of 
this catastrophe ' 

''It is most cruel,' sighed Olivia, as she wiped 
the tears from her eyes, and bent upon her 
stern relative a glance of most reproachful 
sadness. 

' Are you all mad '" said the assailed individual, 
her courage and her color rising together. 
"How can you pretend to connect me with this 
disgraceful proceeding? Here's a case as clearly 
pre-arranged as ever was iieard of." 

"Impossible'" cried Mrs. Kennyfeck; "didn't 
he invite us only yesterday to go down to Tub- 
bermore by sea?" 

"And didn't you yourself offer the only im- 
pediment?" said Miss Kennyfeck. 

"You are very cruel, aunt," sobbed Olivia. 

•' You'll drive me out of my senses," said Miss 
O'Hara; and certainly lier looks did not belie her 
words. 'I endeavor to rescue you from the 
snares of a young debauchee, who, as you well 
know, has a wife still living " 

"There, I hope you are content now," said 
Mrs. Kennyfeck, as Olivia fell fainting into her 
arms; and the window was thrown open, and all 
were busied in employing the wonted restoratives 
for such attacks. Meanwhile, hostilities were 
continued, but in a less vigorous fashion. "You 
know you've ruined everything — you know well 
how your officious meddling has destroyed this 
poor child's fortune; rub her temples, Gary." 

"I know that he is a dissipated, abandoned 
wretch, that would desert her to-morrow as he 
has done that unhappy " 

"Hush, she is coming to. You want to kill 
her." 

"Humph!" muttered Aunt Fanny; "this scene 
might be very effective with the young gentle- 
man, but is quite thrown away upon me " 

"Aunt! aunt!" cried Miss Kennyfeck, reprov- 
ingly. 

" If we had just followed our own counsels, 
we should have this very hour been on the way 
to Tubbermore, perhaps never to leave it!" 

Aunt Fanny shook her head, 

' Yes. You may affect to doubt and hesitate, 
and all that, but where is the wonderful conde- 
scension in a Mr. Cashel proposing for the grand- 
niece of Roger Miles O'Hara, of Kilmurray 
O'Hara ot Mayo, the second cousin of Lawrence 



OHara Kelly that ought to be Lord Bally 
Kelly?" 

"Fairly enough, if that was all" slipped in 
Miss O'Hara, hoping to escape from all danger 
by climbing up the genealogical tree whereon her 
sister was perched. 

" If that was all!" repeated Mrs. Kennyfeck, 
indignantly, catching at the last words, " and what 
more is wanting, I'd be glad to ask? But, to be 
sure, it was rather a mistake to call to our coun- 
sels, in such a case, one that never could succeed 
in iier own." 

This terrible taunt at Miss O'Hara's celibacy 
didn't go unpunished, for, throwing all attempts 
at conciliation behind her, she rose, with flashing 
eyes and trembling lips. 

" So, it is you that tell me this," said she — " joi/, 
that dare to sneer at wj being unmarried — you, 
that were fain to take up with a Dublin attorney — 
poor Tom Kennyfeck — the hack of the quarter 
sessions, serving latitats and tithe notices over 
the country in his old gig — - — Indeed, girls, I'm 
sorry to speak that way of your lallier, but it's 
well known " 

A loud shriek interrupted the sjjeech, and Mrs. 
Kennyfeck, in strong hysterics, took her place be- 
side Olivia. 

" It will do her good, my dear," said Aunt 
Fanny to her niece, as she chafed the hands and 
bathed the temples of her mother. " I was only 
telling the truth, she'd never li»ve married your 
father if Major Kennedy hadn't jilted her; and 
good luck it was he did, for he had two other 
wives living at the time — ]ust as your friend, 
Mr. Cashel. wanted to do with your sister." 

" Aunt — aunt — I entreat you to have done. 
Haven't you made mischief enough?" 

" Eaten up with vanity and self-conceit," re- 
sumed the old lady, not heeding the interruption. 
"A French cook and a conchand-foiir — noth- 
ing less! Let her scream, child — sure I know it's 
good for her — it stretches ll.e lungs." 

"Leave mc — leave the room!" cried Miss 
Kennyfeck, whose efforts at calmness were ren- 
dered fruitless by the torrent of her aunt's elo- 
quence. 

" Indeed I will, my dear; I'll leave the house, 
too. Sorry I am that I ever set foot in it. What 
with the noise and the racket night and day, it's 
more like a lunatic asylum than a respectable 
residence." 

'Send her away — send her away!" screamed 
Mrs. Kennyfeck, with a cry of horror. 

" Do, aunt — 60 leave the room." 

"I'm going — I'm going, young lady; but I 
suppose I may drink my cup of tea first — it's the 
last I'll ever taste in the same house," and she 
reseated herself at the table with a most provok- 
ing composure. " I came here," resumed she, 
" for no advantage of mine I leave you without 
regret, because I see how your poor fool of a 
father, and your vain, conceited motlier " 

"Aunt, you are really too bad. Have you no 
feeling?" 

"Tliat's just what comes of it," said she, stir 
ring iier tea tranquilly " You set up for people 
o( fashion, and you don't know that people oi 
fashion are twice as shrewd and 'cute as yourself. 



ROLAND CASH EL. 



473 



Faith, my dear, they'd buy and sell you, every 
one. What are they at all day, but roguery and 
schemes of one kind or other, and then after 
'doing' you, home they go, and laugh at your 
mother's vulgarity!" 

A fresh torrent of cries from Mrs. Kennyfeck 
seemed to show that unconsciousness was not 
among her symptoms, and Miss Kennyfeck now 
hastened from the room to summon her father to 
her aid. 

" Well, you've come to turn me out, I suppose?" 
said Aunt Fanny, as the old gentleman entered 
in a state of perplexity that might have evoked 
the compassion of a less determined enemy. 

" My dear Miss Fanny " 

" None of your Four Courts blarney with me, 
sir, I'm ready to go — -I'll leave by the coach to- 
night. I conclude you'll have the decency to 
pay for my place, and my dinner too, for I'll go 
to Dawson's Hotel this minute. Tell your mother, 
and that poor dawdle there, your sister, that 
tliey'd be tiiankful they'd have followed mv ad- 
vice. The rate you're living, old gentleman, 
might even frighten yon. There's more waste 
in your kitchen than in Lord Clondooney's As 
for yourself, Caroline, you're the best of the lot; 
but your tongue, darling! — your tongue''' And 
here she made a gesture of far more expressive 
force than any mere words could give. 

" Is she gone?" said Mrs. Kennyfeck, as a 
slight lull succeeded. 

"Yes, mamma," whispered Miss Kennyfeck, 
" but speak low, for Mr. Phillis is in the hall" 

" I'll never see her again — I'll never set eyes 
on her," muttered Mrs. Kennyfeck. 

" I shouldn't wonder, mamma, if that anony- 
mous letcer was written by herself," said Caro- 
line. '"She never forgave Mr. Cashel for not 
specially inviting her, and this, I'm ahnost sure, 
was the way she took to revenge herself " 

" So it was," cried Mrs. Kennyfeck, eagerly 
seizing at the notion. " Hush, take care Livy 
doesn't hear you." 

"As for the yacht expedition, it was just the 
kind of thing Lady Kilgoff was ready for She 
is dying to be talked of." 

" And that poor, weak creature, Cashel, will be 
so flattered by the soft words of a peeress, he'll 
be intolerable ever after." 

"Aunt Fanny — Aunt Fanny!" sighed Miss 
Kennyfeck, with a mournful cadence. 

" If I was only sure — that is, perfectly cer- 
tain — that she wrote that letter about Cashel 



But here comes your father — take Olivia, and 
leave me alone." 

Miss Kennyfeck assisted her sister from the 
sofa, and led her in silence from the room, while 
Mr. Kennyfeck sat down, with folded hands and 
bent-down head, a perfect picture of dismay and 
bewilderment. 

"Well," said his wife, after a reasonable in- 
terval of patient expectation that he would speak 
— " well, what have you to say for yourself now, 
sir?" 

The poor solicitor, who never suspected that 
he was under any indictment, looked up with an 
expression of almost comic innocence. 

" Did you hear me, Mr. Kennyfeck, or is it 



that you want to pass off your dulness for deaf- 
ness? Did you hear me, I say?" 

"Yes, I heard — but I really do not know — 
that is, I am unaware how — I cannot see " 

" Oh, the old story," sighed slit — "injured in- 
nocence! Well, sir, I was asking you if you felt 
gratified with our present prospects? Linton's in- 
timacy was bad enough, but the Kilgoff friend- 
ship is absolute, utter ruin That crafty, old, 
undermining peer, as proud as poor, will soon 
ensnare him; and my lady, with her new airs of 
a viscountess, only anxious to qualify for London 
by losing her character before she appears 
there!" 

"As to the agency " 

"The agency!" echoed she, indignantly, "do 
your thoughts never by any chance, sir, take a 
higher flight than five per cent..' — are you always 
dreaming of your little petty gains at rent-day? 
I told you, sir, how the patron might be con- 
verted into a son-in-law — did I not?" 

" You did, indeed, and I'm certain I nevet 
threw any impediment in the way of it." 

" You never threw any impediment in the way 
of your child's succeeding to a fortune of six- 
teen thousand a year' You really are an exem- 
plary father " 

" I'd have forwarded it, if I only knew how." 

" How good of you. I suppose you'd have 
drawn up the settlements if ordered. But so it 
is — all my efforts through life have been thwarted 
by you! I have labored and toiled day and night 
to place my children in the sphere that their 
birth at one side at least, would entitle them to, 
and you know it" 

Now this Mr. Kennyfeck really did not know. 
In his dull fatuity he always imagined that he 
was the honey-gatherer of the domestic hive, and 
that Mrs. Kennyfeck had in her own person 
monopolized the functions of queen bee and 
wasp together. 

''Your low pettifogging ambition never soared 
above a Softly or a Clare Jones for your daugh- 
ters, while I was planning alliances that would 
have placed them among the best in the land — 
and how have I been rewarded ? Indifference, 
coolness, perhaps contempt!" Here a flood of 
tears, that had remained dammed up since the 
last torrent, burst forth in convulsive sobs. 
" Ungrateful man, who ought never to have for- 
gotten the sacrifice I made in marrying him — the 
rupture with every member of my family- — the 
severance of every tie that united me to my own." 

She ceased, and here, be it remembered, Mrs. 
Kennyfeck seemed to address herself to some in- 
visible ]ury empanelled to try Mr. Kennyfeck 
on a serious charge. 

" He came like a serpent into the bosom of 
our peaceful circle, and with the arts that his 
crafty calling but too well supplied, seduced my 
young affections." 

Mr. Kennyfeck started. It had never before 
occurred to him that Don Juan was among his 
range of parts. 

" False and unfeeling both," resumed she. 
"Luring with promises never intended for per- 
formance, you took me from a home, the very 
sanctuary of peace!" 



474 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



Mr. Kennyfeck wiped his forehead in perplex- 
ity; his recollection of the home in question was 
different. Sanctuary it might have been, but it 
was against the officers of the law and the sheriff, 
and so far as a well-fastened hall door and bar- 
ricaded windows went, the epithet did not seem 
quite unsuitable. 

"Ah!" sighed she — for it is right to remark 
that Mrs. Kennyfeck was a mistress of that 
domestic harmony which consists in every 
modulation, from the grand adagio of indignant 
accusation to the rattling andante of open abuse — 
'"had I listened to those older and wiser than I, 
and who foretold the destiny that awaited me, I 
had never seen this unhappy day! No, sir! I had 
not lived to see myself outraged and insulted, and 
my only sister turned out of the house like a dis- 
carded menial." 

Had Mr. Kennyfeck been informed that for 
courteously making way for a bencher in the 
Hall he was stripped of his gown and degraded 
from his professional rank, he could not have 
been more throughly amazed and thunderstruck. 
He actually gasped with e.vcess of astonishment, 
and, if breath had been left him, would have 
spoken; but so it was, the very force of tlie charge 
stunned him, and he could not utter a word. 

Meanwhile, Mrs. Kennyfeck, who in the ardor 
of combat had imitated certain Sjjanish sailors, 
who in the enthusiasm of a sea fight loaded their 
cannons with whatever came next to hand, was 
actually shocked by the effect of her own fire. 
For the grandeur of a peroration she had taken a 
flying leap over all truth, and wou-ld gladly have 
been safe back again at the other side of the 
fence. 

For an instant not a word dropped from either 
side, and it was clear that he who spoke first 
had gained the victory. This was the lady. 

" Go, sir" — and she wiped her eyes witli that 
calm dignity by which a scolding wife seems to 
call up all Christian forgiveness of herself, and 
stand acquitted before her own conscience — " go, 
sir, and find out what these people that Cashel 
has invited mean to do; and if it be their inten- 
tion to repair to Tubbermore, let us lose no time 
in setting out; and if we are to go, Mr. Kenny- 
feck, let us do so as becomes us." 

Mr. Kennyfeck stifled a rising sigh — for he 
knew what the words denoted — and departed; 
while Mrs. Kennyfeck, witli lier heart lightened 
of a heavy load, rose to join her daughters, and 
discuss dress and "toilette," the great commis- 
sariat of the approaching campaign. 



CHAPTER XXIX. 

STORM AND WRECK. 

Tut, never mind the swell, love. 
The sails may swec[) the brine; 

But the craft will steer as well, love, 
With your soft hand in mine. 

— The Cruise. 

It was iinon a delicious evening, a little before 
sunset, that a yacht worked out of the harbor of 



Kingstown, all her canvas spread to catch the 
light air of wind, which scarcely ruffled the glassy 
surface of the bay. The craft, with her snow- 
white sails, her tall and taper spars, her gay 
bunting from gaff and peak, was all that the scene 
wanted to render it a perfect picture; and so, to 
all seeming, thought the many spectators who 
crowded the pier and the shore, and gazed with 
admiration at the graceful vessel, as she glided 
silently above her own image in the water. 

Various were the comments and criticisms from 
those who surveyed her course; some, in wonder- 
ing conjecture whither she was bound; others, 
not a whit better informed, boldly affecting some 
secret knowledge of lier desiinntioii, and even, 
by such petty pretension, assuming airs of supe- 
riority. 

" She belongs to that rich young fellow, Roland 
Cashel," said one of these, " who, by the way, is 
getting through his fortune tolerably fast. The 
story goes, that he has spent two hundred thou- 
sand already, and is borrowing at immense in- 
terest." 

"Wasn't he a smuggler, or a privateer's-nian, 
or something of the kind?" 

" No; he made all the money in the slave trade." 

" I always heard that he succeeded to a landed 
estate," softly insinuated a modest-looking old 
gentleman, 

" Not at all, sir. Such, T am aware, was the 
common belief; the fact, hoewver, is, thathehad 
invested large sums in land, and was then able to 
escape the scrutiny many would have instituted 
regarding the origin of his wealth." 

■'Who is it he is always riding with about town 
— a handsome girl, on a brown horse?" 

" On a grey, you mean." 

"No, a brown, with a bang tail." 

" No, no, it's a grey. She's a danghter of Tom 
Kennyfeck, the attorney," 

"The gentleman is right," interposed a thir-d. 
" I've seen him very often with a lady mounted 
on a brown thorough-bred." 

"Oh! that's Lady Kilgoff, the handsomest 
woman in Ireland." 

" She was much better looking two years ago," 
simpered out an ensign, affectedly. " I used to 
dance with her and her sister at the race balls at 
Asliby." 

The group immediately fell back, in tacit 
acknowledgment of the claim of one so aristo- 
cratically associated. 

" Didn't you know her, Hipsley?" lisped out 
the ensign to a brother officer, who was admiring 
a very green baby on the arm of a very blooming 
nursery-maid. " You knew the Craycrofts, 
didn't you?" 

" L.ady Kilgoff's maiden name, sir, was Gard- 
iner," said the timid old gentleman who spoke 
before. 

The ensign stuck his glass in one eye, and 
gazed at him for a second or two, with consum- 
mate effrontery, and then, in a voice intended 
for the most cutting drollery, said: 

" Are you certain it wasn't ' Snooks?' " — a re- 
joinder so infinitely amusing, tliat the bystanders 
laughed immoderately, and the bashful man re- 
tired, overwhelmed in confusion. 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



475 



"They're off for a good long cruise," said one, 
looking througli his pocket telescope at tlie yacht, 
which now was steering to the southward, with 
a fresher breeze. 

" I suspect so. They took on board five or 
six hampers from the hotel, just before they 
sailed." 

A very warm controversy now arose as to 
where the yacht was bound for, and who were 
the parties who went on board of her in the 
harbor; i)oints which, in the absence of all real 
knowledge, admitted of a most animated debate. 
Meanwhile, an old weather-beaten sailor, in a 
pilot coat, continued to gaze alternately from the 
sky to the sea, and back again, and at last mur- 
mured to himself: 

" They'll catch it before midnight, if they 
don't haul their wind, and get into shelter." 

Some drifting clouds, dropping slight rain as 
they passed, soon after cleared the pier of its 
loiterers, and night fell, dark and starless, while 
the wind freshened, and the sea fretted and 
chafed upon the rocks, and even sent its spray 
high against the strong lighthouse. 

Let us now quit the shore, and bear coni[)any 
with the party on board, who, having dined sump- 
tuously, sat sipping their coffee on deck, while the 
swift craft skimmed the calm waters of the bay, 
and unfolded in her course the beautiful ])anor- 
ama of the shore — the bold steep bluff of Bray- 
head, the curved strand of Killiney, the two 
" Sugar Loaves " rising from the bosom of dark 
wooJs. and, in the distance, the higher chain of the 
Wicklow mountains, while on the opposite side 
Howth seemed like a blue island studding the 
clear surface of the bay. Lord Kilgoff and Mr. 
Sickleton paid but passing attention to the bright 
picture around. A learned discussion on naval 
matters, wherein my lord took the opportunity 
of storing his mind with a goodly stock of 
technicals, to be used at some future occasion, 
occupied them altogether, leaving her !ad)ship 
and Roland Cashel to the undisturbed enjoyment 
of the scene and its associations. 

They paid the highest tribute the picturesque 
can exact — they sat in silence watching the 
changing tints, which from red faded to violet, 
then grey, and at last grew dark with closing 
night, while the wind freshening sent the sea 
rushing swiftly past, and made their light craft 
heave and pitch heavily. 

" We are returning to Kingstown, I trust?" 
said my lord to Sickleton, who had left him for 
a moment, to give orders about shortening sail. 
"It appears to me like a threatening night." 

" It looks dirty, my lord," said Sickleton, dryly, 
as he walked aft with the pilot, and conferred 
with him in a low tone. 

" Are we making for Kingstown, Mr. Cashel ?" 
said my lord, in a voice he was notjable to divest 
of anxiety. 

" I believe not," said Cashel, rising and ap- 
proaching the compass. " No, we are lying down 
Channel as straight as we can go." 

" Ay, and very well for us that we can do it," 
growled out the pilot. "If we make the Hook 
liglit before we tack, I shall say we're lucky.' 

" Does he mean there is any danger, Mr 



Cashel .'" said Lady Kilgoff, but in a voice devoid 
of tremor. 

" None whatever; but I am sadly distressed at 
having carried you out so far, since I find that 
in the present state of the tide, and with the 
wind still driving more to the north, we cannot 
bear up for Kingstown, but must run along the 
shore." 

"Think nothing of that," said she, gayly; 
" real peril I have no fancy for — a mere incon- 
venience is of no moment whatever; but"— here 
she dropped her voice very low — " say some- 
thing to my lord — give him some encouragement." 

" It blows fresh, my lord, and if it were not 
for the trespass on your comfort, I should almost 
rejoice at the occasion of showing you my yacht's 
qualities as a sailing-boat." 

" I should prefer taking your word for them, 
sir," said Lord Kilgoff, tartly; "a pleasure-trip 
is one thing, a night in a small vessel exposed to 
a heavy gale is another." 

"You're right, my lord," said the pilot, who 
heard but a part of the observation; "It will be 
a gale before morning." 

"Luff! luff, there!" shouted Sickleton; and at 
the same instant a heavy sea thundered against 
the bow and broke over the forepart of the vessel 
with a crashing sound. 

' I think when you see the lighthouse of 
Kingstown so near us," said Lord Kilgoff, " there 
ought to be no great difficulty in returning." 

" That's not the harbor-light you see yonder 
— that's the Kish, my lord," said the pilot. " Keep 
her up, my man, keep her up, the wind is fresh- 
ening." 

" Will you indeed forgive me for this disas- 
trous turn of our cruise?" said Cashel, as he fas- 
tened his boat cloak around Lady Kilgoff's 
throat, after several vain efforts to induce her to 
go below. 

" If you only prevent my lord from scolding, 
I shall enjoy it immensely," said she, in a half 
whisper. 

"I trust, Lady Kilgoff," said his lordship, ap- 
proaching, and steadying himself by the bul- 
warks, "that this night's experience will induce 
you to distrust your own judgment when in op- 
position to mine. I foresaw the whole of it. It 
is now blowing a fierce gale " 

" Not a bit of it, my lord," interposed the 
pilot, bluntly: "but it will blow great guns 'fore 
daybreak, or I'm mistaken." 

"And where shall we be then?" asked my lord, 
querulously. 

" Rayther hard to tell," said the pilot, laugh- 
ing. " If she be as good a sea-boat as they say, 
and that we don't carry away any of our spars, 
we may run for Cove. I take it " 

"For Cove! Gracious mercv! and if she be 
not as good a vessel as it is said she is, sir, what 
then, pray?" 

The pilot made no reply, but gave orders to 
set the jib, as she was laboring too much by the 
head. 

The wind increased, and with it the sea, which, 
dividing at the bow, fell in great cataracts over 
the vessel, sweeping along the entire deck at 
every plunge she gave. 



476 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



"I wish she were a little deeper in the water," 
whispered Sickleton to Cashcl. " We haven't 
within fifteen tons of our ballast on board. But 
she's a sweet craft, ain't slie? Keep her, there — 
steady, man." 

" \Ve couldn't stand round in stays, and bear 
up for the harbor?" asked Cashel, pn whom Lord 
Kilgoff's face of misery had made a strong im- 
pression. 

"Impossible! At least the pilot, who knows 
this coast well, says there is a shore current here 
runs eight knots." 

" What shall we do with him? He'll scarce live 
through the night." 

"Let us get him down below, and, once snug 
in a berth, he'll fall asleep, and forget every- 
thing." 

Cashel shook his head doubtfully, but deter- 
mined to try the plan at all hazards. 

" Would my lord be persuaded to lie down, do 
you think?" said Roland, approaching Lady 
Kilgoff, who, enveloped in the folds of the heavy 
boat-cloak, sat calm and collected near the 
wheel. 

" Is there danger?" asked she, hurriedly. 

" Not the least; but he seems so ill, and every 
sea rushes over him as he stands." 

" You should go down, my dear lord," said she, 
addressing him; "Mr. Cashel is afraid you'll 
catch cold here." 

"Ah, is he indeed ?" said Lord Kilgoff, in a 
snappish asperity. " He is too good to bestow a 
tiiought upon me." 

" I am only anxious, my lord, that you 
shouldn't suffer from your complaisance so un- 
happily rewarded." 

"Very kind, exceedingly kind, sir. It is as 
you say, most unhajipy — a perfect storm — a hur- 
ricane. Gracious mercy! what's that?'' 

This exclammation was caused by a loud 
smash, like the report of a cannon-shot, and at 
the same moment the taper top-mast fell crashing 
down, with all its cordage clattering round it. 
The confusion of the accident, the shouting of 
voices, the thundering splash of the sea, as, the 
peak having fallen, the craft had lost the steady- 
ing influence of the mainsail, all seemed to 
threaten immediate danger. Cashel was about 
to spring forward and assist in cutting away the 
entangled rigging, when he felt his hand firmly 
grasped by another, whose taper fingers left no 
doubt to whom it belonged. 

" Don't be alarmed — It is nothing," whispered 
he, encouragingly, "the mishap is repaired in 
a second." 

"You'll not leave me," said she, in a low tone, 
which thrilled through every fibre of his heart. 
He pressed her hand more closely, and tried, but 
in vain, to catch a glimpse at her face. 

Meanwhile, the disordered rigging had been 
repaired, and two men under Sickleton's direc- 
tion, lifting the drooping and scarce conscious 
peer from the deck, carried him down below. 

If the old instincts of Roland Cashel's sailor 
life would have rendered the scene interesting to 
him, watching as he did the way his craft "be- 
haved," and marking well the fine qualities she 
possessed as a sea-boat, there was another and far 



more intense feeling then occupying him as he 
stood close beside that swathed and muffled figure, 
who, pale and silent, marked by some gesture, 
from time to time, her dei)endence upon him. 
To Roland, the rattle of the gale, the hissing sea, 
the strained and creaking cordage, all, not only 
brought back old memories of his once life, but 
effectually seemed to dispel the colder mood of 
mind which admixture with the world of fashion 
had impressed upon him. He was again, if not 
in reality, in heart and spirit, the bold buccaneer 
that walked the western seas, bursting with life, 
and eager for adventure. Every plunge that 
sent the bowsprit down, every squall that bent 
the taper mast, and laid the vessel half-seas 
under, ins])iriied and excited liim, not the less 
that the wild storm called forth every form of 
encouragement to her, who vibrated between 
actual terror and a strange sense of delight. 

Roland lay at her feet, partly as a barrier 
against the surging water that, breaking over the 
bow, swept the entire deck, partly that he might 
mark those beauteous features, on which the 
binnacle light occasionally cast its glare. 

'"It is fine," murmuied she, in a low, soft 
voice, " and I almost feel as if my own terrors 
should serve to heighten the sense of ecstasy. I 
tremble while I delight in it." 

There was an expression of intense excitement 
in her eyes as she spoke, and her pale features 
for an instant flushed, as Roland's look met 
hers. 

" How I glory in your words," cried he, wild 
with enthusiasm, "I feel like one who suddenly 
awakes to life out of some long and dreary 
sleep — rather this is the sleep — this is itself the 
vision in which lie, here, beneath your smile, 
while we are borne onward through the hissing 
foam. Oh, would it but last — would that this 
dark and starless night could be for years, and 
that we might thus cleave the black waters on 
and on." 

"And whither to?" asked she, in a whisper 
scarcely breathed. 

"Whither to?" echoed he; "what matters it, 
while we journey thus? The sun-tipped icebergs 
of the North Sea, or the rosy mountains of the 
Spice Islands; the balmy shores of Quito, or the 
bleak coast of Labrador — all are alike to me." 

"A large vessel under the lee!" sang out a 
voice from the bow, and the cry was repeated 
still louder, while the pilot shouted, "Show a 
light at the mast-head; put your helm hard 
up." The double command was scarce obeyed, 
when a huge black mass heaved past them, her 
great yards almost seeming to grate the cordage. 
The looming size of the immense object that 
towered overhead, and the death-like stillness of 
the yacht's crew till the danger was past, thrilled 
with a cold terror through her, and instinctively 
she grasped Roland's hand more closely The 
gale had now become furious, and as the light 
spars were barely able to sustain even the little 
canvas spread, the sea swept over the vessel as 
she lay storm-tossed and scarce navigable. The 
hatches were fastened down, the boats strongly 
secured, and every precaution of seamanship 
adopted; and so long as these were in perform- 



ROLAN D CASH EL. 



477 



ance, and a certain activity and bustle prevailed, 
so long did Lady Kilgoff's courage iippear to 
support her; but when all was done, and the men 
resumed their places in watchful silence, and her 
mind was left to the contemplation of the raging 
hurricane alone, she seemed to sink, and, with 
a famt low sigh, glided from the seat and fell 
fainting to the deck. 

"You cannot take her below," said Sickleton, 
as Cashel, raising her in his arms, was about to 
carry her to the cabin; "we dare not open the 
hatches. See, there it comes again!" and, as he 
spoke, a great wave broke over the vessel's quar- 
ter and fell in torrents over the deck, washing, 
as it receded, several loose spars overboard. By 
the aid of coats and cloaks innumerable, Cashel 
at last succeeded in enveloping the fair form be- 
side hiui, and supporting her head upon his arm 
as he sat, he saw, to his unspeakable delight, 
that she soon dropped into a calm sleep. 

"This is a disastrous bit of pleasuring," said 
Sickleton, as he stood holding on by one of the 
braces; " who could have supposed such a gale 
was brewing?" 

" Well, well," replied Cashel, " if it comes no 
worse " 

" If it does, we can't stand through it, that's 
all," said the lieutenant, dryly; "the old pilot 
says we shall have to make a tack to keep clear 
of the Hook, but what boat can sail on a wind 
with a slorm-jib and three-reefed topsail?" 

"She behaves nobly," said Roland, as he 
gazed at the sleeping form, to guard which 
seemed all his care. 

Sickleton mistook the remark, and said, "Ay, 
tha; I knew she would; but the sea is tremendous 
for a small craft, and see how close we have the 
laud under our lee — that black mass yonder." 

" I'd give all I ovvn in the world that she were 
safe on shore," murmured Cashel, not heeding 
the other's observation; " 1 cannot forgive my- 
self for having induced her to venture out." 

The lieutenant made no reply, but peered for 
a few seconds through the skylight of the cabin. 
" My lord is lying like a dead man," said he; 
" fright and sea-sickness together have nearly 
done for him, and yet it was oidy two hours 
bark he thought he'd make a good figure at the 
admiralty. There," continued he, "day is break- 
ing yonder; we shall soon know our fate; if the 
gale freshens after sunrise it is all up with us." 

" Run the craft in shore and I'll engage to 
save her," said Cashel, eagerly. " I'm a strong 
swimmer in surf; I rescued a Malabar girl once, 
and in a sea nearly as heavy as this." 

Sickleton smiled incredulously, and turned 
away. 

" It is freshening, by Jove," said he, as a squall 
struck the vessel, and laid her almost on her 
beam ends, while every plank shivered as though 
she wr're rending in pieces. 

"It") coming stronger, sir," said the pilot, as 
he shook the sea from his rough coat and bent 
his gaze steadfastly towards the east; " I'd 
rather not see that red sunrise. Keepheraway, 
man, keep her away!" 

"Shall we try it?" muttered Sickleton, to some 
whispered observations of the other. 



" We may as well," rejoined the pilot; "she'll 
never hold steerage way with her present canvas, 
and if she won't bear the mainsail we must go on 
shore, and no help for it." 

"Bear a hand there, boys," cried Sickleton; 
" shake out the mainsail." 

"You'll carry away the mast," cried Cashel, 
as he heard the order. 

"It's like enough," growled the pilot, "but 
yonder's the lee-shore." 

"I could save her — I'm certain I could save 
her," said Cashel. 

"He's thinking of the lady!" said the pilot to 
Sickleton; and the contemptuous tone showed 
how humbly he estimated him. 

" Breakers ahead! — shoal water!" shouted a 
voice from the bow. 

"'Bout ship!" cried Sickleton; "stand by 
sheets and tacks there — dovn helm. Are ye 
ready, men?" And the next moment the obedi- 
ent vessel span lound, and was cleaving the 
water on another tack. 

"What is it? — where am I? — is this a dream?" 
said Lady Kilgoff, as she moved back the hair 
from her eyes, and looked up at Cashel, v. ho for 
hours had never moved or stirred. 

"To me, it has been a delicious dream," said 
Cashel, as he met her glance; "and if it were 
not that you may feel alarmed, it would be still 
such." 

" What a terrible sea' Where are we?" 

" Not far from shore," said Cashel, encourag- 
ingly. 

" A devilish deal too near it, though," mut- 
tered the pilot, under his breath. 

" Oh, I remember all now. Where is my 
lord, Mr. Cashel? Is he ill?" 

" He's gone below — he is sleeping, I believe 
It has been a wild night ioxyou; and you've passed 
it here on the deck." 

" Here?" said she, looking up and blushing, 
for she still lay su]>ported against Roland, and 
one of his hands held the boat-cloak across 
her. 

" Yes, here." said Cashel, with a voice and 
manner that made the color mount to her cheeks 
and as suddenly desert them again. 

Meanwhile the lieutenant had gone below, and 
reappeared with a chart, over which he and the 
pilot now bent in the deepest consideration. 

" Then that must have been the ' Calf light 
we saw to the eastward," said Sickleton, point- 
ing to the map. 

" I'd say so, too," replied the other, " if such 
a run didn't seem impossible; but we only tripped 
our anchor last night, before sunset." 

" Ten hours, though!— one can do a deal in 
ten hours!" said the lieutenant. 

" It may be worth as many years sometimes!" 
said Cashel, in a whisper to her at his side. 

" Breakers right ahead!" shouted the man in 
the bow. 

" We're among the 'Barrels!' "cried the pilot; 
"back the topsail — down mainsail " 

But it was too late! Like a sea-bird rising to 
its flight, the light craft hounded forward, till 
her shining copper glanced above the waves, and 
then, with a spring, dashed onward, amid the 



478 



ROLAND CASH EL. 



foam and spray that rose like a mist around her. 
Tlic rotliy shower flew over the deck, while the 
hissing water spirted up on every side with a 
crashing, splintering sound. The keel came down, 
and wliile a loud cry burst fortii, " She's struck!" 
thu mast snapped suddenly across, and fell with 
it- draped rigging into the sea. 

"Stand by — cut away the boats!" shouted 
Sii-kleton; and seizing a liatchet, gave the e.\- 
aniple himself, while Cashel, lifting the now life- 
less form of Lady Kilgoff, placed her in the boat. 
The confusion and terror became now extreme. 
The breaking sea already had forced its way 
through the vessel's bottom, and issued in a 
clear jet of blue water from the hatchways. The 
first boat launched was rapidly crowded, and 
scarcely had it touched the water than it was 
swamped. For an instant the struggling figures 
were seen battling with the waves, but, in a mo- 
ment after, they were gone! 

Mainly through Sickleton and Cashel's exer- 
tions, the second boat was got ready, and just 
about to be launched, when Roland turned to 
seek Lord Kilgoff, whom, up to that moment, he 
had entirely forgotten. Scarcely had he reached 
the binnacle, when the old man, pale and almost 
dead with terror, stood before him. " Is she 
safe, sir? — is my lady safe?" cried he, tremu- 
lously. 

" Quite so — come along, there's not a moment 
to lose." 

"Oh, Mr. Cashel, do not leave me!" cried 
Lady Kilgoff, as the boat was lifted from its 
place, and swung by the halyards from side to 
side. 

" You cannot surely resist that appeal, sir," 
said Lord Kilgoff, his withered and worn feat- 
ures flushed with a pang of sudden anger. 

" I must see to your safety, my lord, or none 
else is likely to do it," said Cashel, sternly; and 
as he spoke he lifted the old man and placed him 
in the boat. " Stay where you are, Sickleton," 
cried he to the lieutenant; " I'll cut her adrift. 
So there! my boys, all together — larboard now." 
And as the vessel heaved over to the surge the 
boat was launched. A shrill cry of terror was 
heard above the raging storm; for Cashel, in his 
e.irgerness to secure the others' safety, had 
perilled his own, and now the boiling surf rushed 
between the yacht and the boat, defying every 
effort to approach. 

"Never fear for me," said Roland, boldly; 
"the distance is short, and I've swum in many a 
heavier surf." And he swung himself, as he 
spoke, by a loose stay into the sea. Nobly 
breasting the mad waves, he was seen at inter- 
vals, now borne on the white-crested billows, 
now deep down in the dark trough of waters. 
His Indian teaching had taught him to dive at 
times through the coming surf, and thus escape 
its force, and so did he emerge from the great 
mass of waters that seemed almost to have buried 
him. Bending to the oars, the boat's crew jiulled 
manfully through the tide, and at last gaining a 
little bay, floated into calm water, just as Cashel 
had got a footing on a reef of rock, a short dis- 
tance from land. 

"Safe!" cried he, as he drew his wearied 



limbs up the little craggy eminence, from which 
he could see the yacht still storm-lashed and 
heaving, and follow with his eyes the boat, as 
with bounding speed she made for shore. 

No sooner had Sickleton safely landed his 
freight, than he put out again to rescue those in 
the yacht, while Cashel, bruised, bleeding, and 
torn, made his way slowly to the little hut, where 
Lord and Lady Kilgoff had taken shelter. 

His entrance was little noticed. The cabin 
was full of country jjeople and fishermen — some 
earnestly proffering advice and counsel, others as 
eagerly questioning all about the recent calamity. 
In a great straw chair, beside the fire, sat Lord 
Kilgoff, his head resting on a country-woman's 
shoulder, while another bathed his temples tore- 
store animation. 

"Where is she?" said Cashel, passionately; and 
the tone and look of the speaker turned attention 
towards him. 

" "Lis her husband," whispered the woman of 
the house, curtseying respectfully to the youth, 
who, in all the torn disorder of his dress, looked 
the gentleman; and with that she drew him into 
an inner room, where upon a low settle lay the 
pale and scarce breathing form of Lady Kilgoff. 

" Don't be afeared, yer honer, she'll be belther 
in a minute or two. She has more courage than 
her father there." And she pointed to the outside 
room where Lord Kilgoff sat. " Indeed, the first 
word she spoke was about yeVself." 

Cashel made a gesture lo be silent, and sat 
down beside the settle, his gaze fixed on the 
features, which, in their calm loveliness, had never 
seemed more beautiful. 

The stillness that now reigned in the little 
cabin, only broken by the low wliisperings with- 
out — the calm tranquillity so suddenly succeeding 
to the terrible convulsion — the crowd of sensa- 
tions pressing on the brain, and, above all, the 
immense fatigue he had gone through, brought 
on such a sense of stupor, that Cashel fell 
heavily on the floor, and with his head leaning 
against the settle, fell into a sound sleep. 

Before evening had closed in most of the 
party had recovered from their fatigues, and sat 
grouped in various attitudes round the blazing 
fire of the cabin. In a deep, old-fashioned 
straw chair, reclined, rather than sat, Lady 
Kilgoff; a slightly feverish flush lent a brilliancy 
to her otherwise pale features, deepening the ex- 
pression of her full soft eyes, and giving a more 
animated character to the placid beauty of her 
face. Her hair, in all the loose freedom of its 
uncared-for state, fell in great voluptuous masses 
along her neck and shoulders, while part of a 
finely-turned arm peeped out beneath the folds 
of the wide scarlet cloak which the fisherman's 
wife had lent her in lieu of her own costly 
" Cashmere." 

Next to her sat Roland; and although dressed 
in the rough jacket of a sailor his throat en- 
circled by a rude cravat of colored worsted, he 
seemed in the very costume to have regained 
some of his long-lost joyousness, and, notwith- 
standing the sad event of the night, to he in a 
verv ecstasy of high spirits. Sickleton, too, 
seemed like one who regarded the wliole adven- 



ROLAND CASH EL. 



479 



ture as a circumstance too commonplace for 
much thought, and busied himself writing letters 
to various persons at Cashel's dictation, sorely 
puzzled from time to time to follow out the thread 
of an intention, which Roland's devotion to the 
lady at his side more than once interru[)ted. 

The most disconsolate and woe-begone of all 
was the poor peer, who, propped up by cushions, 
sat with unmeaning gaze steadily riveted on the 
fire. There was something so horribly absurd, 
too, in the costume in which he was clad, that 
converted all pity into a sense of ridicule. A 
great wide pea-jacket encircled his shrunken, 
wasted figure to the knees, where the thin, at- 
tenuated legs appeared, clad in blue worsted stock- 
ings, whose wide folds fell in a hundred wrinkles 
around them; a woollen cap of red and orange 
stripes covered his head, giving a most grotesque 
expression to the small and fine-cut features of 
his face. If Lady Ivilgoff and Cashel had not 
been too much interested on other topics, they 
could not have failed to discover in the occasion- 
al stealthy glances that Sickleton cast on the old 
lord, that the costume had been a thing of his 
own devising, and that the rakish air of the 
nightcap, set sideways on the head, was owing 
to the sailor's inveterate fondness for a joke, no 
matter how ill-timed the moment, or ill-suited the 
subject of it. 

Behind them, and in a wider circle, sat the 
fisherman and his family, the occasional flash of 
the fire lighting up the gloom where they sat, 
and showing, as in a Rembrandt, the strong and 
vigorous lines of features where healtii and hard- 
ship were united — the whole forming in the light 
and shadow a perfect subject for a painter. 

From the first moment of the mishap, Lord 
Kilgoff had sunk into a state of almost child-like 
imbecility, neither remembering where he was, 
or taking interest in anything, an occasional 
fractious or impatient remark at some passing 
inconvenience being all the evidence he gave of 
thought. It devolved, therefore, upon Cashel to 
make every arrangement necessary — an assump- 
tion on his part which his natural respect and 
delicacv made no small difficulty. As for Lady 
Kilgoff, she appeared inplicitly to yield to his 
judgment on every point; and when Roland sug- 
gested that, instead of returning to Dublin and 
all its inevitable rumors, they should at once pro- 
ceed to Tubbermore, she assented at once, and 
most willingly. 

It was with this object, then, that Sickleton 
sat, pen in hand, making notes of Cashel's direc- 
tions, and from time to time writing at his dicta- 
tion to various tradesmen whose services he 
stood in need of. It would certainly have called 
for a clearer head, and a calmer than Roland's, to 
have conducted the conversation with the lady 
and the command to the gentleman, who sat at 
either side of him. Many a sad blunder did he 
make, and more than once did the reply in- 
tended for her ladyship find its way into the 
epistle of the lieutenant, nor did the mistake ap- 
pear till a reading of the document announced 
it. At these, a burst of laughter was sure to 
break forth, and then my lord would look up, 
and, passinghis fingers across Jiis temples, seein 



trying to recall his lost and wandering faculties 
— efforts that the changeful play of his features 
showed to be alternately failing and succeeding, 
as reason, tide-like, ebbed and flowed within his 
brain. 

It was as Sickleton wrote down at Cashel's 
direction the order for a considerable sum of 
money to be distributed among the crew of the 
yacht, that Lord Kilgoff, catching as it were in 
a momentary lucidness the meaning of ihe words, 
said aloud: " This is not munificence, sir. I tell 
you this is the wasteful extravagance of the buc- 
caneer, not the generosity of a true gentleman." 

The other suddenly started at the words, and 
while Lady Kilgoff's deep flush of passion and 
Cashel's look of astonibhnient exhibited their 
feelings, Sickleton's hearty laugh showed the 
racy enjoyment deficient delicacy can always 
reap from an awkward dilemma. 

" But, my lord, you mistake Mr. Cashel," said 
Lady Kilgoff, eagerly, bending forward as she 
spoke. " His noble gift is to compensate these 
brave fellows for a loss,, as well as reward them 
for an act of devotion. — How silly in me to 
reason with him! see, Mr. Cashel, his mind is 
quite shaken by this calamity." 

"Your defence compensates a hundred such 
reproofs," said Cashel, with warmth. "Well, 
Mr. Sickleton," said he, anxious to quit a pain- 
ful topic, "what of this schooner yacht you 
spoke of a while ago?" 

" The handsomest craft that ever swam," said 
the lieutenant, delighted to discuss a favorite 
theme. "Lord Wellingham has married, and 
they say won't keep her any longer. You'll get 
her for ten thousand, and the story is she cost 
about fourteen." 

" But perhaps Mr. Cashel may soon follow her 
noble owner's example," said Lady Kilgoff, smil- 
ing, and with a subdued look towards Roland. 

"Don't give him bad counsel, my lady." 

" It really does seem to me a kind of inveteracy 
thus to talk of buying a new yacl t within a few 
hours after losing one." 

"Like a widower looking out for a new wife, 
I suppose," said the lieutenant, laughing. 

" No, sir, I beg to correct you," broke in my 
lord, with a snappishness that made the hearers 
start; " her ladyship is not yet a widow, although 
her levity might seem to imply it." 

" My lord, I must protest against this sarcas- 
tic humor," said she, with a mild dignity. "Our 
terrible catastrophe may have disturbed your 
right judgment, but I pray select another theme 
for misconstruction. Mr. Cashel, I will wish you 
a good-night. In the difficulty in which I am 
placed, I can only say t'lat my perfect confidence 
in your counsel satishcs me it will be such as 
you ought to give and I to follow." 

"Yes, sir, of course; when the lady says, 'Fol- 
low,' I hope you know a gentleman's devoir bet- 
ter than to disobey." These words were uttered 
bv the old man with a sneering impertinence that 
augured no absence of mind; but ere the door 
closed upon Lady Kilgoff his face again had put 
on its former dull and vacant stare, and it was 
clear that the momentary intelligence was passed 
and ovfr. 



480 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



"Now, Sickleton," said Cashel, as if at length 
able to give his mind to the details before him, 
you will haste to Dublin; send us the carriages 
with all the speed you can muster; pack off her 
ladyship's maid and the wardrobe, and don't for- 
get that dressing-case at Seward's. I should like 
to have her crest upon it, but there's no time for 
that — besides, we should only have more scandal 
in Dublin when it got abroad. Then for Ken- 
nyfeck; tell him I have no money, and stand 
much in need of it; for, as my lord says, mine 
are buccaneer's habits: and lastly, run over to 
Cowes and secure the yacht — we must have her. 
I'm much mistaken, or our friends here will take 
a cruise with us among the Greek Islands one 
of these days." 

"Treacherous navigation, too!" said Sickleton, 
with a dryness that seemed to imply more than 
the mere words. 

"What if it be, man! they say there's nothing 
much worse anywhere that the line of coast here 
beside us," 

" Well, and haven't we suffered enough to make 
us credit the report?" He paused, and then drop- 
ping his voice to a low and cautious whisper, 
added, "Not but that I shall call you lucky if all 
the danger lias ended with the loss of the vessel." 

" How.' what do you mean?" asked Cashel, in 
a tone of great eagerness. 

" Cannot you guess?" said the other, with an 
imperturbable coolness. 

" No, on my honor, I haven't a thought whither 
your words point." 

"Then, faith, the peril is fifty times greater 
and nearer than I suspected," cried he, warmly. 
" When a man cracks on all that he can carry, 
and more than is safe, you at least give him credit 
for knowing the channel, and understanding its 
bearings, but when he tells you that he neither 
knows the course nor the soundings, why you 
set him down as mad." 

" I shall not be very far removed from that 
condition if you'll not condescend to explain 
yourself more freely," said Cashel, with some 
irritation of manner. " Where is this danger? 
and what is it?" 

Sickleton looked at him for a second or two — 
then at the old peer — and, at last, with a scarcely 
perceptible movement of his head, motioned 
towards the door by which Lady Kilgoff had just 
passed out. 

"You surely cannot mean — you do not sup- 
pose " 

"No matter what I suppose; all I say is, there 
are worse breakers ahead of you just now than 
the Liicciola had last night; haul your wind, and 
draw off while you have time. Besides, look 
yonder"— and he pointed with a jerk of his thumb 
to Lord Kilgoff, who still sat with stolid gaze 
fixed upon the red embers of the fire — "that 
would be a victory with but little honor!" 

Cashel started to his feet, and. passing his hand 
over his forehead, seemed, as it were, trying to 
disabuse his mind of some painful illusion. His 
features, flushed and animated an instant before, 
had grown almost livid in pallor; and he stood, 
with one hand leaning on the chair from which 
he had risen, like one recovering from a fainting 



fit. At last, and with a voice husky and hoarse 
from emotion, he said, " Sickleton, if I had thought 
this — if, 1 say, I even believed what you hint at 
possible " 

"Pooh! pooh!" broke in the other; "why 
anchor in three fathoms when you've deep water 
beside you? You'll not hug a lee-shore with a 
fresh breeze on your quarter; and all I ask is, 
that you'd not risk the loss of that noble craft 
merely that you may spoil the wreck." 

Casliel grasped the rough seaman's hand in 
both his own, and shook it with warmth. 

"I can only say this," said the bluff lieutenant, 
rising, " if such be the object of your cruises, you 
must seek another shipmate than Bob Sickleton; 
and so good-night " 

" Are you going?" said Cashel, with a sorrow- 
ful voice. "I wish you were not about to leave 
thus." 

"I have given you your bearings; that, ought 
to be enough for you. Good-night, once more." 
And with this the honest-hearted lieutenant 
threw his boat-cloak around him, and sallied forth 
to the door, before which a chaise was in waiting 
to convey him to Dublin. 

As for Roland, his agitated and excited mind 
banished all desire for sleep, and he wandered 
out upon the beach, where, revolving many a 
good intention for the future, he walked to and 
fro till day was breaking. 



CHAPTER XXX. 



MISS Leicester's dream and its fulfilment. 

Old walls have mouths as well as ears. 

— The Convent; a Play. 

To us of the present day, who see what genii 
are guineas, fairy tales are mere allegories. Your 
true sorcerer is a credit "on Coutts," and any- 
thing may be esteemed within his power who 
reckons by tens of thousands. 

Tom Linton was experimenting on this problem 
somewhat largely at Tubbermore, where the old, 
misshapen, ugly house had undergone such a series 
of transformations inside and out, that the oldest 
inhabitant might have failed to recognize it. 
Roman cement and stucco — those cosmetics of 
architecture — had given to the front a most 
plausible air, and what with a great flagged ter- 
race beneath and a balustrade parapet above, the 
whole had put on a wonderful look of solidity and 
importance. P>ench windows and plate-glass, 
stuccoed architraves and richly traceried bal- 
conies, from which access was had to various 
terraces and flower-plats, contributed an appear- 
ance of lightness to the building, and what was 
lost in architectural elegance was fully recom- 
pensed by convenience and facility of enjoyment. 

Within, the arrangements were excellent, and, 
as regarded the obje'-' in view, perfect — various 
suites of apartments, so separated as to be actu- 
ally like residences, abounded throughout, so 
that the guests might either indulge their soli- 
tude undisturbed, or mix in the wide circle of the 
general company. For the latter, a magnificent 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



481 



suite of rooms led along the entire basement 
story. Here, considering the shortness of the 
time and tlie difficulties encountered, I.inton's 
skill was pre-eminently distinguished. Painting 
was too slow a process for such an emergency, 
and accordingly the walls were hung with rich silks 
and stuffs from the looms of Lyons, draped in a 
hundred graceful fasiiions, while the floors, laid 
down in the rough, were concealed by tlie massive 
texture of Persian carpets, the most costly ever 
brought to this country. The air of comfort and 
" liveableness" — if we may coin a word — depicted 
on every side, took away the reproach of ostenta- 
tious splendor, which perhaps might have been 
applied to rich decorations and gorgeous details 
in a mere country-house And this was managed 
with no mean skill, and he must have been a 
stern critic who could have canvassed too 
rigidly the merit of appliances so manifestly 
provided for his own enjoyment Books and 
pictures — the Penates of domesticity — were there, 
and everything possible was done to give a sem- 
blance of long habitation to that which but a few 
weeks back had been a dreary ruin. 

A critical eye might have detected in many 
instances the evidences of a more refined taste 
than Mr. Linton's, and so was it. Miss Leicester 
had frequently aided him by her advice and sug- 
gestions, and every day, when the weather per- 
mitted, saw old Mr. Corrigan and his grand- 
daughter repair to Tubbermore, whose progress 
they watched with a degree of interest only felt 
by those whose retirement admits few sources of 
amusement. There was a secret cause of pride, 
too, in seeing the old residence of the family — 
marred as had been its proportions by frequent 
and tasteless additions — resume something of its 
once grandeur. Mary, whose earliest lessons in 
infancy had been the tales of her powerful ances- 
tors, who lorded over an almost princely tract, 
entered heart and soul into a course which fav- 
ored so many of fancy's pleasantest fictions. 
Her greatest delight, however, was in the restora- 
tion of one part of the building, which all former 
innovators had apparently despaired of, and left 
as a species of storehouse for every kind of 
lumber. This was a great square tower, with an 
adjoining chapel, the floor of which was formed 
by the tombstones of her earliest ancestors. One 
compartment of a stained-glass window showed 
" the helmet and torch," the arms of the 
O'Regans, from which the family, by a corrup- 
tion, took the name of Corrigan, and various 
other mementoes abounded to prove the high 
station they had once supported. 

Strongly imbued with a knowledge of the tales 
and customs of the period, Mary restored the 
chapel to all the emblazoned splendor of the 
sixteenth century The rich carvings, that 
modern research has discovered and carried away 
from the chateaux of the Low Countries, were 
adapted to the place, and speedily the interior 
put on an air of highly-preserved and cherished 
antiquity. 

The tower adjoining was also converted into a 
great chamber of audience — a " Ritter-Saal," 
hung round with weapons of the chase and war, 
while great buffets displayed a wealth of antique 



plate and china, of gem-wrought cup and mas- 
sive flagons, that lent a lustre to its otherwise too 
stern appearance. Liglited by a range of stained 
windows far from the ground, the tempered sun- 
light cast a mellow glance on every object; and 
here, in the silence of tiie noon, when the work- 
men had gone to dinner, Mary used to sit alone, 
some strange spell fascinating her to a spot where ■ 
echoes had once awoke to the tramp of her own 
kinsmen's footsteps. 

"Tell me, Mr. Linton," said she, as he entered 
suddenly, and found her seated in her favorite 
place, "what part of the chapel adjoins the wall 
we see yonder?" 

"That," said Linton, musing for a second — 
"that, if I mistake not, must be what you styled 
the crypt; the " 

"Exactly!" cried she, with animation. "The 
crypt is somewhat lower than this chamber, two 
steps or so?" 

" About as much." 

"How strange, how very strange!" she said, 
half to herself. 

"What is strange?" said Linton, smiling at the 
intense preoccupation of her features. 

"You will laugh outright," said she, "if I tell 
you It was a dream I had last night about this 
chamber." 

" Pray let me hear it," said Linton, seating 
himself, and affecting a deep interest. "I own 
to a most implicit confidence in dreams." 

"Which is more than I do," said she, laugh- 
ing. "This has, however, so much of truth 
about it, as the locality is concerned, and thus 
far it is curious. Are you certain that you never 
told me before that the crypt lay outside of that 
wall?" 

" Perfectly; since I only learned as much my- 
self about an hour ago." 

" How singular!" 

" Come, do not torture my curiosity further. 
Let us have your dream." 

" It was very short. I dreamed that I was 
sitting here musing and thinking over the lives 
and fortunes of some of those who once dwelt 
within these walls, and comparing their destiny 
with that of their descendants, only admitted, as 
it were, on sufferance, when suddenly a door 
opened slowly there — there, in the very midst of 
that wall — and I could see down into the crypt, 
and the chapel beyond it. On the altar there 
were candies lighted, and I thought the figure of 
a man crossed and recrossed below the steps, as 
if settling and arranging the books and cushions; 
and, at last, he turned round, and I perceived 
that he carried in his hands a small and 
strongly-clasped box, and, as he came towards 
me, he seemed to hold this out for me to take; 
; but, as I did not move or stir, he laid it down 
within the doorway, and, as he did so, the wall 
gradually closed up again, and no vestige of the 
door could be seen. Nay, so perfectly unshaken 
did all appear, that I remember remarking a 
I cobweb that stretched from the frame of a pic- 
ture, and hung over the spot where the door 
[seemed to be; and there," cried she, starting 
I up — "there, Mr. Linton, as I live, there is the 
cobweb!" 



482 



ROLAND CASH EL. 



" Which, without doubt, you observed yester- 
day," said Linton, " and in your sleep the vision 
of our neglect was renewed." 

" No, no; I never saw it before. lam confident 
that I never noticed it yesterday. I am sorry I 
revealed my dream to you," said she, perceiving 
that, in spite of all his tact, incredulity had lent 
a look of pity and compassion to his features. 

"On the contrary, I beg of you to believe in 
all my interest for your recital; nay, Lll prove 
it too." 

"How so?" said she, eagerly. 

" Simply enough. I'll give orders at once to 
have a door made here, and then we shall see if 
the view you describe of the crypt and the chapel 
can be seen from this point." 

" Why don't you add, and of the figure with 
the casket, too.'" said she, smiling, "for I see 
you regard them all a.s alike veracious.'' 

" In any case," cried Linton, ''if he lay down 
the treasure — and treasure it must be — here in 
the doorway, FU take care that the walls do not 
swallow it up again; we shall be able to find it 
in the morning." 

" And will you really have this done?" 

" ril give the orders this very day." 

" I must not be so silly," said she, after a 
pause; "the whole is too absurd. No, Mr. 
Linton, do not, I beg of you, do not take any 
notice of my folly " 

" At all events,' said Linton, " your dream is 
a most happy inspiration, a door here will be a 
great improvement, and if the vista takes in the 
chapel, so much the better. Remember, too," 
added he, in a lower and more feeling voice — 
"remember what I've told you so often, that 
whatever we do here has, so to say, no other re- 
ward than the pleasure it gives me the doing. 
Our great patron has about as much gratefulness 
in his composition as taste. He will neither feel 
thankful for our exertions nor sensible of 
their success, and is just as likely to desecrate 
yon Ritter-Saal, by making it his smoking room." 

" If I thought so " said she, proudly, and 

then stopped suddenly. " But how can it con- 
cern me? I have only to wonder how you can 
accept of an intimacy so distasteful." 

This, in its very abruptness, was a home-thrust, 
and so much did Linton feel it, that he reddened, 
at first with shame, and then with anger at his 
want of composure. 

" There are many circumstances in life. Miss 
Leicester," said he, gravely," which demand 
heavy sacrifices of personal feeling, and happy 
if sometiines the recompense coine in seeing that 
our self-devotion has worked well for others. I 
may one day e.xplain myself more fully on this 
head." 

Before Mary could answer, a messenger came 
to say that her grandfather was waiting to return 
with her to the cottage, and she bid Linton good- 
by with a degree of interest for him she had 
never felt before. Linton stood in a window and 
watched her as she went, nor did his eye quit the 
graceful form till it disappeared in the covering 
of the trees. " Yes," said he to himself, " I have 
struck the right chord at l.nst! She neither is to 
be dazzled by the splendor, nor excited by the 



ambitions of the great world. The key to the 
mystery of her nature lies in the very fact of her 
position in life- — the indignant struggle against a 
condition she feels beneath her; she can sympa- 
thize with this. She is just the very girl, too, to 
awaken Laura's jealousy, so brilliantly handsome, 
so much of elegance in mien and deportment. 
Ay! the game will win. I may stake all upon it. 
Who is that?" said he, starting suddenly, as a 
door banged behind him, and he saw Tom Keane, 
who had been a silent listener to his sokloquy. 
Linton well knew that shrewd as the man was, 
the words could have conveyed little or nothing 
to his intelligence, and carelessly asked what had 
the post brought. 

" A heap of letters, yer honer," said he, laying 
the heavily-loaded bag on the table. "I never 
see as many come to the town afore." 

As Linton unlocked the bag and emptied its 
contents before him, his face suddenly grew dark 
and angry, for none of the letters, as he turned 
them over, were for himself; they were all ad- 
dressed Roland Cashel, Esq., and marked " pri- 
vate." At last he saw one with his own name, 
and motioning to Keane to leave h.im undisturbed, 
he sat down to read it. It came from his cor- 
respondent Mr. Phillis, and was of the briefest. 

" SiR,--All has gone wrong. — R. C. sailed last 
night on a yachting excursion with Lord and Lady 
K., some say for Wales, others for the Isle of Wight. 
The truth I cannot ascertain. The persons in- 
vited to Tubbermore are all preparing to set out, 
but eagerly asking where C. is to be found. 
There has been something like a breach at K.'s, 
and I fancy it is about Lady Kilgoff's going in 
the yacht, which, although seeming accident, 
must have been planned previously. If you had 
been here the matter might have taken another 
turn, as C. appears very tired of K.'s agency, 
and the difficulty of obtaining money from 
him. 

" I have received a few lines from C, dated 
from * the harbor,' to order a ' fourgon' to be got 
ready; but I shall pretend not to have received 
the note, and leave this, if you desire it, for 
Tubbermore on hearing from you. 

" Yours, in duty, 

" R. Phillis." 

Linton crushed the note passionately in his 
fingers, and with a cheek almost purple, and. 
swollen, knotted veins about the forehead and 
temples, he hastily walked to and fro in the 
apartment. "So, madam." said he, " is this then, 
the reason of your compliance? Was this the 
source of that yielding to my wishes, that induced 
you to come here? And to dare this towards 
Mc /" A fiendish laugh burst from him as he 
said, " Silly fool, so long as you played fair, the 
advantage was all on your own side. I'ry to 
cheat, and you'll see who's the victor! And that 
cub, too," added he, with a hoarse passion, "who 
ventures a rivalry with me! Hate has an in- 
spiration that never deceives: from the first mo- 
ment I saw him, I felt that for him." 

" Ynu say you wanted the masons, sir," said 
Keane, opening tlie door, where he had been en- 



ROL AN D CASH EL. 



483 



deavoring, but "ineffectually, to catch the clue of 
Linton's words. 

" Yes, let them come here," said he, with his 
ordinary composure. " You are to break a door 
there," said he, as tlie men entered, "and I wish 
to have it done with all speed. You'll work all 
night, and be doubly paid." As he spoke, he 
sauntered out to muse over the late tidings he 
had received, and plan within himself the com- 
ing campaign. 

Thus loitering and reflecting, time slipped by, 
and evening drew near. 

" We must have a light here," said one of the 
masons. "' This room is never very bright, and 
now it is almost dark as niglit. But what have 
we here?" And at the moment his hammer sent 
forth a ringing sound as if it had struck upon 
metal. 

" What can it be.'" said the other; " it seems 
like a plate of iron." 

Linton now drew nigh, as he overheard these 
words, and stationing himself at a small window, 
beheld the two men as they labored to detach 
what seemed a heavy stone in the wall. 

" It's not a plate of iron, but a box," cried 
one. 

" Hush," said tlie other, cautioning silence; " if 
ii's money tliere's in it, let us consider a bit where 
we'll hide it." 

" It sounds empty, anyhow," said the first, as 
the metal rang clearly out under the hammer. 
Meanwhile Linton stood overwhelmed at the 
strange connection between the dream and the 
discovery. " It is a box, and here's the key 
fastened to it by a chain," cried the former 
speaker. He had scarcely succeeded in remov- 
ing the box from the wall, when Linton was 
standing, unseen and noiseless behind him. 

■'We'll share it fair, whatever it is " said the 
second. 

" Of course," said the other. " Let us see 
what there is to share." And so he threw back 
the lid, and beheld, to his great dismay, notliing 
but a roll of parchment fastened by a strap of 
wliat had once been red leather, but which 
crumbled away as he touched it. 

" 'Tis Latin," said the first, who seemed the 
more intelligent of the two, after a vain effort to 
decipher the heavily engrossed line at the top. 

" You are right," said Linton; and the two 
men started with terror on seeing him so near. 
"It is Latin, boys; it was the custom of the 
monks to bury tlieir prayers in that way once, 
and to beg whoever might discover the docu- 
ment to say so many masses for tlie writer's soul ; 
and Protestant though 1 be, I do not tiiink badlv 
of the practice. Let us find out the name." 
And thus saying, he took up the roll and perused 
it steadily. For a long time the evening dark- 
ness^the difficulty of the letters — and the style 
of the record, impeded him, but as he read on, 
the color came and went in his cheek, his hand 
trembled with agitation, and had there been light 
enough to have noted him well even the work- 
men must have perceived the excitement under 
which he labored. 

Yes," said lie, at last, "it is exactly as I said. 
It was written by a monk. This was an old con- 



vent once, and Father Angelo asks our pr.ayers 
Cor hib elernal repose, which assuredly he sliall 
have, heretic that I am! Here, boys, here's a 
pound note for you. Father Rush will tell you 
how to use it for the best. Get a light and go on 
with your work, and if you don't like to spend 
the money in masses, say nothing about the box, 
and I'll not betray your secret.'" 

A dry laugh and a significant leer of the eye 
showed that he had accurately read his hearer's 
inmost thoughts, and Linton cat down as if to 
await their return, but no sooner had tliey left 
the spot than he hastened with all speed to the 
inn. to con over his newly-discovered treasure, 
and satisfy himself as to its importance and 
authenticity 

Drawing close the curtains of his windows, and 
locking the door of his room, like one who would 
be alone, he again opened the casket, and took 
out the scroll. With bent-down head and steady 
gaze he perused it from end to end, and then sat 
wiih riveted eyes fixed upon the signature and 
massive seal which were appended to the foot of 
the document. '" That this jhould have been re- 
vealed in a dream,' raid he, at length, " is almost 
enough to shake one's faith in the whole! Am I 
myself awake, and is it real what I see before me?" 
He walked the loom with un:ertain steps — then 
opened wide the window' — then closed it again — 
once more took up the paper and studied it. In 
fact, it was clear to see that a sceptical nature, 
the very habit of doubt, had indisposed him to 
believe in even that which his very senses corro- 
borated. 

"What would I give for some lawyer's craft 
at this moment!" said he, as the drops of per- 
spiration stood upon his forehead, and his 
clenched hands were clasped together in Etrong 
emotion — "what would I give for the keenness 
that could pierce through every line of this, and 
see it free of flaw — ay, that is the point! And 
then, Master Roland," — here his voice grew full 
and round, — ' and then we should see who is the 
master and who the dependent, if with a word — 
with one word — I could unmake you, and I'rom 
the insolence of your sudden wealth bring you 
down once more to your fitting station! Never 
did Fortune stand by me like this! Let na. 
however, not lose the game from over-strengih 
Caution is needed here. Before Corrigan shall 
know hunself ihe rightful owner cf Tubbermore, 
he must be satisfied to see Tom Linton his son- 
in-law. A glorious hit that deals vengeance on 
every hand. Ay. my lady, we shall acquit our 
debt to you also!" From the heat of overwhelm- 
ing passion he a^ain turned to the document 
which lay open oi th^ table. "What if it were 
only a copy? But this is scarce possible. The 
signatures look real, and the seal cannot be coun- 
terfeit. Whom could I trust to inspect it? With 
whom dare I place.it for a day, cr even an hour? 
No! I'll never suffer it out of my own keeping! 
I know not if the power to strike is not the very 
acme of revenge!" 

As he walked the room in deepest agitation he 
chanced for an instant to catch a glimpse of 
Tubbermore, which, in the bright light of a newly- 
risen moon, could be seen above the trees. 



484 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



' So then it may chance that I have not ex- 
pended my labor in vain, and that this same 
house may be yet my own. Mine!" cried he, 
in ecstasy — "mine those swelling woods — that 
princely park— the high position which wealth be- 
stows, and the power that I could speedily ac- 
complish in political life. There may be many 
who have more ambition to strive for — I'll swear 
there are few men living have more grudges to 
pay off.' 

And with this speech, uttered in an accent of 
■withering hate and scorn, he again returned to 
gaze at the open parchment. 

The document, surmounted by the royal arms, 
and engrossed in a stiff old-fashioned hand, was a 
free pardon accorded by his majesty George the 
Second to Miles Hardress Corrigan, and a full 
and unqualified restoration to his once forfeited 
estates. 

Certain legal formalities were also enjoined to 
be taken, and certain oaths to be made, as the 
recognition of this act of his sovereign's grace. 

Such was the important docuijient on which 
now he gazed, reading and re- reading it, till every 
word became riveted on his memory 



CHAPTER XXXI. 

THE GUESTS BEGIN TO ARRIVE. 
Hark, they come' they come! 

An unusual bustle and commotion in the little 
inn awoke Linton early on the following morn- 
ing. These were caused by the arrival of a host 
of cooks, coachmen, grooms, footmen, and scul- 
lions, with a due proportion of the other sex, all 
engaged in London, and despatched — " as per 
order" — to form the liousehold of Tubbermore. 

As Linton proceeded with his dressing, he over- 
heard the multifarious complaints and lamenta- 
tions of this town-reared population over the 
dirt and destitution of their newly-adopted land; 
criticisms which, as they scrupled not to detail 
aloud, evoked rejoinders not a whit more com- 
plimentary to the Saxon, the hostess of the Goat 
— being an energetic disciple of that great au- 
thority who has pronounced both the land and 
its people as the paragons of creation — leading 
the van of the attack, and certainly making up 
for any deficiencies m her cause by the force of 
her eloquence 

" Arrah' who wanted ye here at all.'" said she, 
addressing the circle, stunned into silence by her 
volubility '' Who axed ye? Was it to plaze 
us, or to fill yer pockets with the goold of ould 
Ireland, ye kem? Oh, murther! murther — isn't 
it the sin and the shame to think how the cray- 
tures is eatin' us up! Faix! maybe ye'llbe sorry 
enough for it yet. There's more than one 
amongst you would like to be safe home again, 
afore long! A set of lazy thieves, no less. The 
heavens be my bed, but I never thought I'd see 
the day they'd be bringing a Naygur' to Ireland 
to teach us music!' 

This singular apostrophe, which seemed to fill 



the measure of her woe, so far attracted Linton's 
curiosity to comprehend it, that he opened the 
window and looked out, and at once discovered, 
by the direction of the eyes of the circle, the 
object of the sarcasm. He was a well-built man, 
of a dark swarthy complexion and immense beard 
and moustache, who sat on a stone bench before 
the door, occupied in arranging the strings of his 
guitar The air of unmoved tranquillity sliowed 
that he did not suspect himself to be the butt of 
any sarcasm, and he pursued his task with a com- 
posure that vouched for his ignorance of the 
language. 

"Who is our friend?" said Linton addressing 
the coachman, and pointing to the musician. 

" We calls him Robinson Crusoe, sir replied 
the other; " we took him up on the road from 
Limerick We never seed him afore." 

" So, then, he doesn't belong to our force. I 
really had begun to fear that Mr. Gunler had 
pushed enlistment too far - 

Meanwhile the stranger, attracted by the voice, 
looked up, and seeing Linton, immediately re- 
moved his cap, with an air of quiet courtesy that 
was not lost upon the shrewd observer to whom 
it was tendered. 

" You are a sailor, I jierceive?" said Tom, as 
he walked out in front of the inn. The other 
shook his head dubiously. 

"I was asking, said Linton, changing his 
language to French, '' if you had been a sailor?" 

" Yes sir, ' replied he, again removing his cap, 
"a sailor from Trieste." 

" And how came you here?" 

'' Our vessel was lost off the Blasquets, sir, on 
Wednesday night. We were bound for Bristol 
with fruit from Sicilv, and caught in a gale; we 
struck, and all w^re lost, except myself and an- 
other, novif in hospital in the large city yonder" 

" Were you a petty officer, or a common sea- 
man?" said Linton, who had been scanning with 
keen eye the well-knit frame and graceful ease of 
the speaker. 

" A common sailor, sir," rejoined he, modestly. 

" And how comes it that you are a musician, 
friend?" asked Linton, shrewdly. 

" Every one is in my country, sir — at least, with 
such humble skill as I possess." 

''What good fortune it was to have saved your 
guitar from shipwreck," rejoined Linton, with an 
incredulous twinkle of his grey eyes. 

" I did not do so, sir," said the sailor, who either 
did not, or would not notice the sarcasm. " My 
good friends here" — pointing to the servants — : 
"bought this for me in the last town we came 
through." 

Linton again fixed his eyes upon him; it was 
evident that he was hesitating between belief and 
an habitual sense of distrust, that extended to 
everything and everybody. At last he said; 

"And what led you hither, my friend?" 

" Chance," said the man, shrugging his 
shoulders. " I could have no preferences for 
one road over another — all were strange — all 
unknown to me. I hoped, with the aid of my 
guitar, to get some clothes once more together, 
and then to find some vessel bound for the 
Adriatic." 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



485 



" What can you do besides that?" said Linton, 
" for it strikes me a fellow with thews and 
sinews like yours was scarcely intended to thrum 
catgut." 

"I can do most things where a steady eye, and 
a strong hand, and a quick foot are needed. I've 
been a hunter in the forests of Dalmatia — herded 
the half-wild cattle on the Campagna at Rome — 
sailed a felucca in the worst Levanters of the 
Gulf — and to swim in a high sea, or to ride an 
unbroken horse, I'll yield to but one man living " 

" And who may he be?" said Linton, aroused 
at the southern enthusiasm so suddenly excited. 

'A countryman of mine ' said the sailor, 
sententiously: 'his name is not known to you." 

"How sad such gifts as these should have so 
little recompense in our days, said Linton, with 
an affected sincerity. ' There was a time, in 
your own country, too, when a fellow like your- 
self would not have had long to seek for a patron." 

The Italian's cheek grew deeper in its flush, 
and his dark eyes seemed almost to kindle beneath 
the shaggy brows; then correcting, as it seemed 
the passionate impulse, he said: "Ay, true enough, 
sir; there were many who had the gold to 
squander, who had not the hand to strike, and, 
as you say, fellows like me were high in the 
market.'' 

"And no great hardship in it, either," said 
Linton "There is a justice surer and quicker than 
the law, which I, for one, think right well of." 

Either not following the import of the speech, 
or not caring to concur in it, the Italian did not 
reply. 

" I have a notion that we may find out some 
employment for you here," said Linton. "What 
name are we to call you?' 

"Giovanni," said the sailor, after a moment's 
hesitation, which did not escape the shrewdness 
of his questioner. 

"Giovanni be it," said Linton, easily, "as 
good as another." 

" Just so," rejoined the Italian, with a hardi- 
hood that seemed to sit easily upon him. 

" I think, friend," said Linton, drawing nearer 
to him — and, although the foreign language in 
which he spoke effectually prevented the others 
from understanding what passed, instantly his 
voice dropped into a lower and more confidential 
tone — " I think, friend, we shall soon understand 
each other well. You are in want of a protector; 
I may yet stand in need of an attached ai,d 
zealous fellow. I read people quickly, and it 
seems to me that we are well met. Stay here, 
then; we shall soon have a large company arriv- 
ing, and I'll try and find out some exercise for 
your abilities." 

The Italian's dark eyes flashed and twinkled 
as though his subtle nature had already enlarged 
upon the shadowy suggestions of the other, and 
he made a significant gesture of assent. 

"Remember, now, in whose service you are," 
said Linton, taking out his purse, and seeking 
among its contents for the precise piece of coin 
he wanted — "remember, that I am not the mas- 
ter here, but one who has to the full as much 
power, and that I can prove a strong friend, and, 
some say, a very dangerous enemy Here is the 



earnest of our bargain," said he, handing him a 
guinea in gold; " from this hour I count upon 
you." 

The Italian nodded twice, and pocketing the 
money with a cool audacity that told tliat such 
contracts were easily comprehended bv him, 
touched his cap, and sauntered away, as though 
to follow out some path of his own choosing. 
Linton looked after him for a moment, but the 
next his attention was taken off by seeing that 
Mr. Corrigan and his granddaughter were ad- 
vancing hastily towards him. 

" So you have really accepted my suggestion," 
said Mary, with a flush of pleasure on her cheek; 
" the door has been opened, and the vista is ex- 
actly as my dream revealed it." 

" In all save the chief ingredient, " replied Lin- 
ton, laughing, " we want the monk and the 
casket." 

" Hush!" said she, cautiously; "grandpapa is 
a firm believer in all dreams and visions, and 
would not hear them spoken of irreverently " 

'Assuredly, I never was less in the mind to 
do so, " replied Linton, with a degree of earnest- 
ness that made Mary smile, little suspecting at 
the time to what his speech owed its fervor. 

" We've come to take a last look at the ' Hall,' 
Mr. Linton," said the old man. " Tom Keane 
tells me that your gay company will soon arrive, 
indeed, rumor say«>, that some have already 
reached Limerick, and will be here to-morrow." 

" This is more than I knew of," said Linton; 
"but here comes the redoubted Tom himself, 
and with a full letter-bag, too." Hastily un- 
locking the leather sack, Tom Linton emptied 
its contents upon a grassy bench, where the party 
seated themselves to learn the news. " There 
are no secrets here," said Linton, tossing over 
the letters, with nearly all of whose handwriting he 
was familiar; ' help me. Miss Leicester, I beg, 
to get through my task. Pray break some of the 
seals, and tell us who our dear friends are whose 
presence is so soon tociiarmand enliven us And 
will you, too, sir. bear your part?' Thus invited, 
old Mr Corrigan put on his spectacles, and 
slowly prepared to assist in the labor 

"That's the deans hand, Miss Leicester— the 
dean of Drumcondera I hope he's not coming; 
I'm sure he was never invited " 

" He regrets he cannot be with you this week, 
but will certainly come next, and take the liberty 
of presenting his distinguished friend, the Hof- 
rath von Dunnersleben, professor of Oriental 
Literature at Hochenkanperhausen." 

" This is painting the lily with a vengeance, 
' color on color' is bad heraldry, but what shall 
we say of the taste that brings 'Bore upon 
bore?' " 

" Mrs. Leicester White has prevailed upon Mr 
Howie to defer his departure from Ireland ' 

" This is too bad," interrupted Linton "What 
fortune have you, sir? I hope better tidings 
than Miss Leicester." 

" This is a strange kind of scrawl enough," 
said the old man, "it runs thus; 'Dear Tom, 
we are starting for your wild regions this even- 
ing — two drags and a mail phaeton I have 
sent Gipsy and the white fetlocked colt by 



486 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



Hericks, and will bring Tom Edwards with me. 
The mare looks well, but fleshy; you must look 
to it that we haven't heavy ground " 

" Oh, I know who that's from," said Linton, 
hastily taking tlie letter from Corrigans hand; 
"it's Lord Charles Frobisher — a silly fellow, that 
never thinks of anything but horse-racing and 
training.' 

" He would seem to speculate on something of 
the kind here," said Corrigan, " at least, it looks 
very like premeditation, this sending off grooms 
and racers. ' 

" He does so everywhere he goes," said Linton, 
affecting to laugh, "a surgeon would no more 
travel without his lancets, than Charley without 
some chance of a match;' but what's this? 

'' ' Dear Mr. Cashel, — I and my little girl 
are already "en route" for your hospitable castle, 
too happy to assist in the celebration of your 
house warming ' 

■'Oh, that's Meek," said Linton. "And now 
for this rugged little hand here. 



line- 



Lady Janet and Sir Andrew MacFar- 



" Strange style, — the lady first," interposed 
Miss Leicester 

" She is always »o," said Linton, continuing 
the perusal — " ' will reach Tubbermore by Tues- 
day, and have only to request that their apart- 
ments may not have a north aspect, as Lady f. 
has still a heavy cold hanging over her. Sir A.'s 
man, Flint, will arrange the rooms himself, and, 
with Mr. Cashel's permission, give directions 
about double doors — if tliere be none. 

"'Sir A. has taken the liberty of mentioning 
to Gordon that the sherry is far too hot and acrid, 
and hopes Mr. Cashel will pardon his having 
ordered some dozens of " Amontillado" for 
trial. Lady J. asks, as a favor, that plants and 
flowers may be banished from the house during 
her brief stay, Dr Grimes positively forbidd'ing 
all herbaceous odors; and if the cook could make 
the " cuisine" particularly simple, it would also 
oblige her, as Dr. G. says she ought not to be 
exposed to the irritation of tempting viands, even 
to see them at table. 

Lady J hopes that the society will be cheer- 
ful without dissipation, and gay without debauch; 
above all, she stipulates for' early hours, and 
trusts that by eleven, at latest, the house will have 
retired to rest. Lady Janet has no objection to 
meeting any one Mr. Cashel may honor with his 
invitation, but leaves it to Mr. C.'s discretion not 
to abuse this liberality. Were she to particu- 
larize, she should merely suggest, that the Ken- 
nyfecks, except perhaps the elder girl, are odious 
— Mrs. White, a perfect horror — the Meeks, 
something too atrocious — and that rather than 
meet the Kilgoffs and their set, Lady J. would 
almost prefer to relinquish all her much-antici- 
pated pleasure. Mr Linton can be, and very 
often is, gentlemanlike and amusing, but " Linton- 
ism," as occasionally practised, is intolerable. 
Lady Janet has ventured on these remarks, 



far less for her own convenience, than in the dis- 
• charge of what she feels to be a duty to a very 
young and inexperienced man, whose unsuspect- 
ing nature will inevitably expose him to the very 
insidious attacks of selfishness, cunning, and to 
that species of dictation that sooner or later ends 
in debasing and degrading him who permits him- 
self to be its subject. 

" ' Janet MacFarline.' " 

"What a chaste specimen of disinterestedness 
her ladysh>ip's own letter," said Mary. " Is she 
a near relative, or a very old friend of Mr. Cash- 
el's family?" 

" Neither; a mere acquaintance, undistinguished 
by anything like even a passing preference." 

"She is a Lady Janet," interposed old Corri- 
gan, 'and it is surprising what charms of influ- 
ence pertain to those segments of great families, 
as they descend a scale in society, and live 
among the untitled of the world; besides that, 
whatever they want in power, they ' take out' in 
pretension, and it does quite a-s well." 

"She is 'mauvaise langue,' " said J,inton, 
" and there are few qualities obtain such sway 
in society. But who comes here in such haste' 
It is Tom Keane. Well, Tom, what has hap- 
pened — is the Hall on fire?" 

"No, sir; but the company's comin' rowlin' 
in as fast as 'pays' down the big avenue, and 
into the coort; there was three coaches all to- 
gether, and I see two more near the gate." 

"Then we shall leave you to your cares of 
host," said Corrigan, rising; " but don't forget 
that when affairs of state permit, we shall be de- 
lighted to see you at the cottage." 

"Oh, by all means, Mr. Linton. I have ac- 
quired the most intense curiosity to hear about 
your fine company, and their doings — pray com- 
passionate my inquisitiveness." 

" But will you not join us sometimes?" said 
Linton; "can I not persuade you to make part 
of our little company? for I trust we shall be 
able to have some society worth showing you." 

The old man shook his head and made a ges- 
ture of refusal. 

"Nay," said he, "I am so unfitted for such 
scenes, and so grown out of the world's ways, 
that I am going to play hermit, and be churlish 
enough to lock the wicket that leads down to the 
cottage during the stay of your visitors — not 
against ^i'f«, however. You'll always find the key 
at the foot of the holly-tree." 

"Thanks — I'll not not forget it, ' said Linton; 
and he took a cordial leave of his friends, and 
returned to the house, wondering as he went who 
were the ])unctual guests whose coming had an- 
ticipated his expectations. 

He was not long in doubt upon this point, as 
he perceived Mr. Phillis, who, standing on the 
terrace before the chief entrance, was giving di- 
tions tc the people about, in a tone of no small 
authority 

"What, Phillis! has your master arrived?" 
cried Linton, in astonishment. 

"Oh, Mr. Linton'" cried the other, obse- 
quiously as hat in hand he made his approaches, 
" there 1. as been such a business since I wrote " 



ROLAND CASH EL, 



487 



" Is he here? Is he come?" asked Linton, im- 
patiently. 

"No, sir, not yet, nor can he arrive before to- 
morrow evening You received my letter, I sup- 
pose, about the result of the yachting party and 
Lady Kilgoff ?•• 

"No! I know not one word about it," said 
Linton, with a firmness that showed how well he 
could repress any trace of anxiety or excite- 
ment. " Come this way, out of the hearing of 
these people, and tell me everything from the 
beginning " 

Phillis obeyed, and walked along beside him, 
eagerly narrating the whole story of Casliel's de- 
parture, to the moment when the yacht foundered, 
and the party were shipwrecked off the coast of 
Wexford. 

' Well, go on," said Linton, as the other came 
to a full stop "What then?" 

" A few lines came from Mr. Cashel, sir, with 
orders for certain things to be sent down to a 
little village on the coast, and directions for me 
to proceed at once to Tubbermore and await his 
arrival." 

Linton did not speak for some minutes, and 
seemed totally occupied with his own reflections, 
when by hazard he caught the words " her lady- 
ship doing exactly as she pleases " 

"With whom?" asked he, sternly. 
'''With Mr. Cashel, sir; for it seems that not- 
withstanding all the terror and danger of the late 
mishap, Mr. Sickleton has been despatched to 
Cowes to purchase the Queen of the Harem, Lord 
Wellingham's new yacht, and this at Lady Kil- 
goff's special instigation. Mr. Sickleton slept 
one night at our house in town, and I took a 
look at his papers; there was notliing of any con- 
sequence, however, except a memorandum about 
'Charts for the Mediterranean,' which looks sus- 
picious." 

" I thought, Phillis, I had warned you about 
the Kilgoff intimacy. I thought 1 had impressed 
you with the necessity of keeping them from him " 

"So you had, sir; and, to the very utmost of 
my power, I did so; but here was a mere acci- 
dent that foiled all my care and watchfulness." 

" As accidents ever do," muttered Linton, with 
suppressed passion. "The game of Life, like 
every other game, is less to skill than chance! 
Well, when can they be here?" 

" To-morrow afternoon, sir, if not delayed by 
something unforeseen; though this is not at all 
unlikely, seeing the difficulty of getting posters 
There are from thirty to forty horses engaged at 
every stage. ' 

".Whom have we here?" cried Linton, as a 
large travelling-carriage suddenly swept round 
the drive, and entered the court. 

" Sir Andrew MacFarline's baggage, sir; I 
passed them at the last change. One would say, 
from the preparations, that they speculate on a 
somewhat lengthy visit. What rooms are we to 
assign them, sir?" 

" The four that look north over the billiard- 
room and the hall; they are the coldest and the 
most cheerless in the house. Your master will 
occupy the apartments now mine; see, here is a 
plan of the house, Lord and Lady Kilgoff have 



4, 5 and 6 Thes:; that are not marked you may 
distribute how you will. My quarters are those 
two, beyond the library. ' 

Linton was here interrupted by the advance of 
a tall, stiff-looking old fellow who, carrying his 
hand to his hat in military guise, stood straight 
before hmi, saying, in a very broad accent, 
'' The gen'ral's mon, sir an t please ye. ' 

" Well, friend, and what then?" replied Linton, 
half testily 

I've my leddy's orders, sir, to tak' up a good 
position, and a warm ane, in the hoos younder, 
and if it's no askin' too much, I'd like to speer 
the premises first " 

' Mr. Phillis, look after this, if you please, ' 
said Linton, turning away, " and remember my 
directions.' 

'' Come with me, friend, " said Phillis, "your 
mistress, I suppose, does not like cold apart- 
ments?" 

" Be ma saul, if she finds them so, she'll mak* 
the rest of the hoos over warm for the others,' 
said he, with a sardonic grin, that left small doubt 
of his sincere conviction. 

" And your master?" said Phillis, in that inter- 
rogatory tone which invites a confidence. 

"The gen'ral's too auld a soldier no to respec 
deescepline," said he, dryly. 

"Oh, that's it, Sanders." 

" Ma name's Bob Flint, and no Saunders — 
gunner and driver i' the Royal 'Artillery," said 
the other, drawing himself up proudly; " an' if 
we are to be mair acquaint, it's just as well ye'd 
mind that same." 

As Bob Flint possessed that indescribable some- 
thing which would seem, by an instinct, to save 
its owner from impertinences, Mr. Phillis did not 
venture upon any renewed familiarity but led 
the way into the house in silence. 

"That's a bra' cookin' place ye've got yon- 
der," said Bob, as he stopped for a second at the 
door of the great kitchen, where already the 
cooks were busied in the various preparations, 
'but I'm no so certain my leddy wad like to 
see a bra' giggot scooped out in tha' fashion just 
to mak' room for a wheen black potatoes inside 
o' it;" — the operation alluded to so sarcastically 
being the stuffing of a shoulder of mutton with 
truffles, in Provencal mode. 

" I suppose her ladyship will be satisfied with 
criticizing what comes to table," said Phillis. 
'' without descending to the kitchen to make ob- 
jections." 

"If she does, then,'' said Flint, "she's mair 
ceevil to ye here than she was in the last hoos 
we spent a fortnight, whar she discharged twa 
maids for no making the beds as she taw'd 
them, forbye getting the coachman turned off 
because the carriage horses held their tails ower 
high for her fancy " 

"We'll scarce put up with that here," said 
Phillis, with offended dignity. 

"I dinna ken,'' said Bob, thoughtfully; "she 
made her ain nephew carry a pound o' dips from 
the chandler's, just, as she said, to scratch his 
pride a bit. I'd ha' ye mind a wee hoo ye please 
her fancy Ye're a bonnie mon, but she'll think 
leetle aboot sending ye packing." 



488 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



Mr. Phillis did not deign a reply to this speech, 
but led the way to the suite destined for her 
ladyship's accommodation. 



CHAPTER XXXII. 

HOW THE VISITORS FARED. 
They come — they come! — Harold. 

Linton passed the greater part of the night in 
letter-writing. Combinations were thickening 
around him, and it demanded all the watchful 
activity he could command to prevent himself 
being overtaken by events. To a confidential 
lawyer he submitted a case respecting Corrigan's 
title, but, so hypothetically and with such reserve, 
that it betrayed no knowledge of his secret — for 
he trusted no man. Mary Leicester's manuscript 
was his next care, and this he entrusted to a 
former acquaintance connected with the French 
press, entreating Jiis influence to obtain it the 
honor of publication, and, instead of remunera- 
tion, asking for some flattering acknowledgment 
of its merits. His last occupation was to write 
his address to the constituency of his borough, 
where high-sounding phrases and generous pro- 
fessions took the place of any awkward avowals 
of political opinion. This finished, and wearied 
by the long-sustained exertion, he threw himself 
on his bed. His head, however, was far too 
deeply engaged to permit of sleep. The plot 
was thickening rapidly — events, whose course he 
hoped to shape at his leisure, were hurrying on, 
and although few men could summon to their aid 
more of cold calculation in a moment of difficulty, 
his wonted calm was now disturbed by one cir- 
cumstance — -this being, as he called it to himself 
— Laura's treachery. — No men bear breaches of 
faith so ill as they who practise them with the 
world. To most persons the yacht voyage would 
have seemed, too, a chance occurrence, where an 
accidental intimacy was formed, to wane and die 
out with the circumstance that created it. Not 
so did ht regard it. He read a prearranged plan 
in every step she had taken — he saw in her game 
the woman's vanity to wield an influence over 
one for whom so many contended — he knew, too, 
how in the great world an"/<r/«/" can always 
cover an " indiscretion" — and that, in the society 
of that metropolis to which she aspired, the repu- 
tation of chaperoning the rich Roland Casliel 
would be of incalculable service. 

If Linton had often foiled deeper snares, here, 
a deep personal wrong disturbed his powers of 
judgment, and irritated him beyond all calm pru- 
dential thoughts. Revenge upon her, the only 
one he had ever cared for, was now his uppermost 
thought, and left little place for any other. 

Wearied and worn out, lie fell asleep at last, 
but only to be suddenly awakened by the rattling 
of wheels and tlie quick tramp of horses on the 
gravel beneath his window "I'he one absorbing 
idea pervading his mind, he started up, mutter- 
ing, ''She is here." As he opened his window 
and looked down, he at once perceived his mis- 



take — Mrs. Kennyfeck's well-known voice was 
heard, giving directions about her luggage — and 
Linton closed the casement, half relieved and 
half disap] ointed. 

For a brief space the house seemed astir. Mrs. 
Kennyfeck made her way along the corridor in a 
mingled commentary on the liandsome decora- 
ions of the mansion and Mr. Kennyfeck's stu- 
pidity, who had put Archbold's "Criminal Prac- 
tice" into her bag instead of Debrett's " Peerage," 
while Linton could overlieara little quizzing con- 
versation between the daughters, wherein the 
elder reproached her sister for not having the 
politeness to bid them "welcome." The slight' 
commotion gradually subsided, and all became 
still, but only for a brief space. Again the same 
sound of crashing wheels was heaid, and once 
more Linton flung open his window and peered 
out into the darkness. It was now raining tre- 
mendously, and the wind howling in long and 
dreary cadences. 

" Wliat a climate!" exclaimed a voice Linton 
knew to be Downie Meek's. His plaint ran thus. 

" I often said they should pension off the Irish 
secretary after three years, as they do the chief 
justice of Gambia." 

"It will make the ground very heavy for run- 
ning, I fear," said the deep full tone of a speaker 
who assisted a lady to alight. 

" How you are always thinking of the turf, Lord 
Charles!" said she, as he rather carried than 
aided her to the shelter of the porch. 

Linton did not wait for the reply, but shut the 
window, and again lay down. 

In that half waking state, where sleep and 
fatigue contest the ground with watchfulness, 
Linton continued to hear the sound of several 
arrivals, and the indistinct impressions became 
commingled till all were lost in heavy slumber.' 
So is it. Childhood itself, in all its guileless 
freedom, enjoys no sounder, deeper sleep than 
he whose head is full of wily schemes and subtle 
plots, when once exhausted nature gains the 
victory. 

So profound was that dreamless state in which 
he lay, that he was never once aware that the 
door by which his chamber communicated with 
the adjoining one, had been opened, while a select 
committee were debating about the disposition of 
the furniture, in total ignorance that he made 
part of it. 

" Why couldn't Sir Andrew take that small 
room, and leave this for me? I like an alcove 
vastly," said Lady Janet, as, candle in hand, she 
took a survey of the chamber. 

" Yes, my leddy," responded Flint, who, 
loaded with cloaks, mantles, and shawls, looked 
like an amlnilating wardrobe. 

" You can make him a kind of camp-bed there, 
he'll do very well." 

" Yes, my leddy." 

" .^nd don't suffer that impertinent Mr. Phillis 
to poke his head in here and interfere with our 
arrangements. These appear to me to be the 
best rooms here, and I'll take them„" 

" Yes, my leddy." 

" Where's Sir Andrew?" 

" He's takin' a wee drap warm, my leddy, in 



ROLAND CASH EL 



489 



the butler's room, he was ower wat in the ' dickey' 
behind." 

" It rained smartly, but I'm sure the country 
wanted it," dryly observed Lady Janet. — "Well, 
sir, you here again?" This sharp interrogatory 
was addressed to Mr Phillis, who after a vain 
search for her ladyship over half the house, at 
length discovered her. 

" You are not aware, my lady,'' said he, in a 
tone of obsequious deference, that nearly cost 
him an apoplexy, " that these rooms are reserved 
for my master." 

" Well, sir, and am I to understand that a 
guest's accommodation is a matter of less impor- 
tance than a valet's caprice? for as Mr. Cashel 
never was here himself, and consequently never 
could have made a choice, I believe I am not 
wrong in the source of the selection." 

" It was Mr. Linton, who made the arrange- 
ment " 

" And who is Mr. Linton, sir, who ventures to 
give orders here? — I ask you, who is Mr Linton?" 
As there was something excessively puzzling to 
Mr. Phillis in this brief interrogatory, and as 
Lady Janet perceived as much, she repeated the 
phrase in a still louder and more authoritative 
tone, till, in the fulness of the accents, tliey fell 
upon the ears of him who, if not best able to give 
the answer, was, at least, most interested in its 
nature. 

He started, and sat up; and although, from the 
position of his bed in a deep alcove he was him- 
self screened from observation, the others were 
palpable enough to his eyes. 

"Yes," cried Lady Janet, for the third time — 
" I ask, who is Mr. Linton?" 

" Upon my life, your ladyship has almost made 
me doubt if there be such a person,'' said Tom, 
protruding his head through the curtains. 

"I vow he's m the bed yonder!" said Lady 
Janet, starting back, " Flint, I think you are 
really too bad; this is all your doing, or yours, 
sir,'' turning to Phillis with a face of anger. 

"Yes, my leddy, it's a' his meddlin' '' 

" Eh, Leddy Janet, what's this?" said Sir 
Andrew suddenly joining the party, after a very 
dangerous excursion along dark corridors and 
back stairs 

" We've strayed mto Mr. Linton s room, I 
find," said she, gathering up various small articles 
she had on entering thrown on the table '' I 
must only reserve my apologies for a more fitting 
tune and place, and wish him good-night 

" I've even dune something o' the same wi' 
Mrs. Kannyfack,' said Sir Andrew. " She was 
in bed, though, and so I made my retreat undis- 
covered.'' 

" I regret. Lady Janet," said Linton, politely, 
" that my present toilet does not permit me to 
show you to your apartment, but if you will allow 
Mr. Phillis " 

" Dinna get up, man," broke in Sir Andrew, as 
he half pushed the invading party out of the 
door; 'we'll find it vara weel, I've na doubt" 
And in a confused hubbub of excuses and grum- 
blings they withdrew, leaving Linton once more 
to court slumber, if he could 

" I beg pardon, sir,' said Phillis, popping in 



his head the minute after, "but Mr. Downie 
Meek has taken the rooms you meant for Lady ' 
Janet; they've pillaged all the chambers at either - 
side for easy-chairs and cushions to " 

"With all my heart, let them settle the ques- 
tion between them, or leave it to arbitration. 
Shut the door, pray." 

" Mrs White, too, and a large party are in the 
library, and I don't know where to show them 
into " 

" Anywhere but here, Phillis. Good-night; 
there's a good man, good-night." 

" They're all asking (or you, sir; just tell me 
what to say '' 

" Merely that I have passed a shocking night, 
and request I may not be disturbed till late in 
the afternoon." 

Phillis retired with a groan, and soon a con- 
fused hum of many voices could be heard along' 
the corridor, in every accent of irritation and re- 
monstrance Self-reproaches on the mistaken 
and abused confidence which had led the visitors 
to journey so many miles to " such a place," 
mutual condolences over misfortune; abuse of 
the whole establishment, and "that insufferable 
puppy the valet," in particular, went round, till 
at last, like a storm that had spent its fury, a lull 
succeeded, one by one the grumblers slipped- 
away, and just as day was breaking the house 
was buried in the soundest sleep 

About an hour later, when the fresh-risen sun' 
was glistening and glittering among the leaves,- 
lightly tipped with the hoar-frost of an autumnal 
morning, a handsomely-appointed traveling-car-, 
riage, with four posters, drove rapidly up to the 
door, and an active-looking figure springing from 
the box, applied himself to the bell with a vigor- 
ous hand, and the next minute, flinging open 
the carriage-door, said, " ^Vek:ome — at last, 1 am 
able to say — welcome to Tubbermore." 

A graceful person, wrapped in a large shawl,: 
emerged, and leaning on his arm, entered the 
house, but in a moment he returned to assist 
another and a far more helpless traveller, an old 
and feeble man, who sufi'ered himself to be car- 
ried, rather than walked, into the hall 

" This is Tubbermore, my lord," said the lady, 
bending down, and with a hand slightly touching 
his shoulder, seeming to awake his attention 

" Yes — thank you — perfectly well," said he, in 
a low soft voice, while a smile of courteous but 
vacant meaning stole over his sickly features. 

"Not over-fatigued, my lord?" said Roland, 
kindly. 

" No, sir — we saw the ' Lightship' quite near 
us" 

" Still thinking of that deardful night," said 
her ladyship, as she arranged two braids of her 
fair brown hair more becomingly on her fore- 
head, and then turning to a very comely per- 
sonage, who performed a series of curtseys, 
like minute guns, at intervals, added, "If you 
please, then, we'll retire to our apartment. Your 
housekeeper, I suppose, Mr. Cashel ?" 

"I conclude so," said Roland, "but I am 
equally a stranger here with yourself " 

" Mrs Moss, at your service, sir," said the 
housekeeper, with another curtsey. 



490 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



" Mrs. Moss, then," said Roland, in an under- 
tone, "I have only to remark that Lord and Lady 
Kilgoff must want for nothing here." 

"I understand, sir," said Mrs Moss, and 
whether the words, or the look that accompanied 
them, should bear the blame, but they certainly 
made Cashel look half angry, half ashamed. 

" Then good-night — or good-morrow, I be- 
lieve it should be," said Lady Kilgoff. ''I'm 
sure, in charity, we should not keep you from 
your bed a minute longer. You had a severe 
night outside." 

"Good-night — good-night, my lord,' said 
Cashel; and the handsome form of the lady 
moved proudly on, while the servant assisted the 
poor decrepid husband slowly after. 

Roland looked after them for an instant, and 
whether from some curiosity to see the possessions 
which called him master, or that he felt indis- 
posed to sleep, he passed out into the lawn and 
stood some minutes gazing at the strange and 
somewhat incongruous pile before him. 

Perhaps something of disappointment mingled 
with his thoughts— perhaps it was only that 
strange revulsion which succeeds to all long- 
excited expectation, when the moment of satisfy- 
ing it has come, and speculation is at an end for- 
ever — but he was turning away, in half sadness, 
when he caught sight ot a hand waving to him 
a salute from one of the windows. He had just 
time to answer the gesture, when thesliutter was 
closed. There was one other saw the motion, 
and noted well the chamber from whence it came. 
Linton, awoke by the arrival of the carriage, had 
watched every step that followed, and now sat, 
with half drawn curtains, eagerly marking every- 
thing that might minister to his jealous anger. 

As for Cashel, he sauntered on into the wood, 
his mind wandering on themes separated by 
nearly half the world from where his steps were 
straying. 

CHAPTER XXXni. 

Roland's introduction to mr. corrigan. 

And while the scene around fhem smiled, 
With pleasant talk the way beguiled. 

— Haile's Rambles. 

As Roland Cashel strolled along alone, he 
could not divest himself of a certain feeling of 
disappointment, that, up to the present, at least, 
all his wealth had so little contributed to realize 
those illusions he had so often faniced. The 
plots, the wiles, and cunning schemes by which 
he had been surrounded, were gradually revealing 
themselves to liis senses, and he was rapidly 
Hearing the fatal " bourne" which separates 
credulity from distrust. 

If we have passed over the events which suc- 
ceeded the loss of the yacht with some appearance 
of scant ceremony to our reader, it is because, 
though in themselves not totally devoidof interest, 
they formed a species of episode, which only in 
one respect bore reference to the current of our 
story, It is not necessary, no more than it 
would be gratifying, to us to inquire with what 



precise intentions Lady Kilgoff had sought to 
distinguish Roland by marks of preference. 
Enough, if we say that he was neither puppy 
enough to ascribe the feeling to anything but a 
caprice, nor was he sufficiently hackneyed in the 
world's ways to suspect it could mean more. 

That ht was flattered by the notice, and fas- 
cinated by the charms of a very lovely and 
agreeable woman, whose dependence upon him 
each day increasing drew closer the ties of inti- 
macy, is neither strange nor uncommon, no more 
than that she, shrewdly runarking the bounds of 
respectful deference by which he ever governed 
his acquaintance, should use greater freedoms 
and less restricted familiarity with him, than liad 
he been one of those fashionable young men 
about town with whom the repute of a conquest 
would be a triumph. 

It is very difficult to say on what terms they 
lived in each other's society. It were easier 
perhaps, to describe it by negatives, and say that 
assuredly if it were not love, the feeling between 
them was just as little that which subsists be- 
tween brother and sister. There was an almost 
unbounded confidence — an unlimited trust — 
much asking of advice, and, in fact, as many of 
my readers will say, fully as much peril as need 
be. 

From her Cashel first learned to see the 
stratagems and schemes by which his daily life 
was beset. Too proud to bestow more than a 
mere passing allusion to the Kennyfecks, she di- 
rected the whole force of her attack upon that 
far more dangerous g-roup in whose society Ro- 
land had lately lived. For a time she abstained 
altogether from even a chance reference to Lin- 
ton; but at length, as their intimacy ripened, 
she avowed her fear of him in all its fulness. 
When men will build up the edifice of distrust, 
it is wonderful with what ingenuity they will 
gather all the scattered materials of doubt, and 
with what skill arrange and combine them! A 
hundred little circumstances of a suspicious na- 
ture now rushed to Roland's memory, and his 
own conscience corroborated the history she 
drew of the possible mode by which Linton ac- 
quired an influence over, him. 

That Linton had been the "evil genius' of 
many, Cashel had often heard before, but always 
from the lips of men; and it is astonishing, 
whether the source be pride, or something less 
stubborn, but the warning which we reject so 
cavalierly from our fellows, comes with a won- 
drous force of conviction from the gentler sex. 

For the.heavy sums he had lost at play — for 
all the wasteful outlay of his money, Cashel 
cared little; but for the humiliating sense oi 
being a "dupe" and "a tool," his outraged pride 
suffered deeply; and when Lady Kilgoff drew a 
picture, half real, half imaginary, of the game 
which his subtle associate was playing, Roland 
could scarcely restrain himself from openly de- 
claring a rupture, and, if need be, a quarrel with 
him. 

It needed all her persuasions to oppose this 
course; and, indeed, if she had not made use of 
one unanswerable argument, could she have suc- 
ceeded. This was the inevitable injury Linton 



ROLAND CASHEL 



491 



could inflict upon her, by ascribing the breach 
to her influence. It would be easy enough, from 
such materials as late events suggested, to com- 
pose a history that would ruin her Lord Kil- 
goff's lamentable imbecility, the result of that 
fatal night of danger — Cashel's assiduous care 
of her — her own most natural dependence upon 
hira — all these, touched on with a woman s tact 
and delicacy, she urged, and at last obtained his 
pledge that lie would leave to time and oppor- 
tunity the mode of terminating an intimacy he 
had begun to think of with abhorrence. 

If there be certain minds to whom the very air 
they breathe is doubt, there are others to whom 
distrust is absolute misery Of these latter 
Cashel was one. Nature had made him frank 
and free-spoken, and the circumstances of his 
early life had encouraged the habit To nour- 
ish a grudge would have been as repulsive to his 
sense of honor as it would be opposed to all the 
habits of his buccaneering life To settle a dis- 
pute with the sword was invariably the appeal 
among his old comrades, and such arbitraments 
are those which certainly leave the fewest traces 
of lingering malice behind them To cherish 
and store up a secret wrong, and wait in patience 
for the day of reckoning, had something of the 
Indian about it, that, in Roland's eyes, augment- 
ed its atrocity. 

Oppressed with thoughts like these, and asso- 
ciating every vexation he suffered as in some 
way connected with that wealth whose posses- 
sion he fancied was to satisfy every wish, and 
every ambition, he sauntered on, little disposed 
to derive pleasure from the presence of those e.x- 
tern;d objects which fortune had made his 
own. 

"When I was poor," thought he, "I had warm 
and attached friends, ready to exult in my sue 
cesses, and sympathize with me in my sorrows 
If I had enemies, they were brave fellows, as 
willing to defend their cause with the sword as 
myself. None flattered or frowned on him who 
was richer than the rest. No subtle schemes lay 
in wait for him whose unsuspecting frankness 
exposed him to deception, we were 'bons cama- 
rades" at least," c,aid he, aloud, * and from what 
I have seen of the great world, I've lived to prize 
the distinction " 

From this reverie he was suddenly recalled by 
observing, directly in front of him, an elderly 
gentleman, who, in a stooping posture, seemed 
to seek for something among the dry leaves and 
branches beside a low wicket 

'■ This is the first fruit ot our gay neighbor- 
hood," said the old man, testily, as he poked the 
dead leaves with his cane, ''we're lucky if they 
leave us without more serious inconvenience." 

" Can I assist you in your search? — have you 
lost something?" said Cashel, approaching. 

"There is a key — the key of the wicket, hid 
somewhere hereabouts, young man," said the 
other, who, scarcely bestowing a look upon 
Roland, continued his investigation as busily as 
before. 

Cashel, undaunted by the somewhat ungra- 
cious reception, now aided him in his search, 
while the other continued: ' I've known this path 



for nigh forty years, and never remember this 
wicket to have been locked before. But so it is. 
My old friend is afraid of the invasion of this 
noisy neighborhood, and has taken to lock and 
key to keep them out. The key he promised to 
hide at the foot of this tree." 

"And here it is " said Cashel, as he unlocked 
the wicket and flung it wide. 

'■' Many thanks for your help, but you have a 
better reward than my gratitude, in eyes some 
five-and-thirty years younger," said the old man, 
with the same half testy voice as before. " Per- 
haps you'd like to see the grounds here, yourself, 
come along. The place is small, but far better 
kept than the great demesne, I assure you, just 
as many an humble household is more orderly 
than many a proud retinue '' 

Roland was rather pleased by the quaint oddity 
of his new companion, af whom he thought, but 
could not remember where, he had seen the fea- 
tures before. 

■ You are a stranger in these parts, I con ■ 
elude'' said the old man. 

"Yes I only arrived here about an hour ago, 
and have seen nothing save the path from the 
Hall to this spot. ' 

'' There's little more worth the seeing on yon- 
der side cf the paling, sir. A great bleak ex- 
panse, with stunted trees and a tasteless man- 
sion, full of, I take it, very dubious company; 
but perhaps you are one of them?" 

I confess as much,' said Roland, laughing; 
"but as I have not seen them, don't be afraid 
I'll take up the cudgel for my associates " 

Labor lost if you did," said the other bluntly, 
"I only know of them what the newspapers tell 
us, but their names are enough." 

"Are they all in the same category then?" 
asked Cashel, smiling. 

" Pigeons or hawks — dupes or swindlers — an 
ugly alternative to choose from." 

" You are candid, certainly, friend," said 
Cashel half angrily; "but don't you fancy there 
is rather too rwuch of frankness in saying this to 
one who has already said he is of the party?" 

"Just as he'likes to ftke it," said the old man, 
bluntly. " The wise man takes warning where 
the fool takes umbrage. There's a fine view for 
you — see' there's a glorious bit of landscape," 
cried he, enthusiastically, as they came to an 
opening of the wood and beheld the wide ex- 
panse of Lough Derry, with its dotted islands and 
ruined tower. 

Roland stood still silently gazing on the 
scene, whose beauty was heightened by all the 
strong effect of light and shade. 

" I see you have an eye for landscape,'' said 
the old man, as he watched the expression of 
Cashel's features. 

"I've been a lover of scenery in lands where 
the pursuit was well rewarded," said Roland, 
thoughtfully. 

"That you may; but never in a country 
where the contemplation called for more thought 
than in this before you. See, yonder, where the 
lazy smoke rises heavily from tiie mountnin side, 
high up there amid the fern and the tail heath, 
that is a human dwelling— there, lives some cot- 



492 



ROLAND CASHEL, 



tier a life of poverty as uncheered and unpitied 
as though he made no part of the great family of 
man For miles and miles of that dreary nioun 
tain some small speck may be traced where men 
live and grow, old and die out, tinthought of and 
uncared for by all beside. This misery would 
seem at its full, if now and then seasons of sick- 
ness did not show how fever and ague can aug- 
ment the sad calamities of daily life. There are 
men, ay, and old men, too, who never have seen 
bread for years, I say, save when some game- 
keeper has broken it to feed the greyhounds in a 
coursing party." 

"And whose the fault of all this?" said Cashel, 
eagerly. 

"It is easy to see, sir," said the other, "that 
you are no landed proprietor, for not only you 
had not asked the question, but you had not 
shown so much emotion when putting it. So it 
is." muttered he to himself. "It is so, ever. 
They have most sympathy with the poor who 
have least the power to help them." 

" But I ask again, whose the fault of such a 
system?" cried Cashel. 

"Ask your host yonder, and you'll soon have 
an answer to your question. You'll hear enough 
of landlords' calamities — wrecking tenantry — 
people in barbarism — irreclaimably bad — sunk in 
crime, black in ingratitude. Ask the peasant, 
he'll tell you of clearances — whole families turned 
out to starve and die in the highways — the iron 
pressure of the agent in the dreary season of 
famine and fever. Ask the priest, and he will 
say, it is the galling tyranny of the 'rich man s 
Church' establishment consuming the substance, 
but restoring nothing to the people. Ask the 
rector, and he'll prove it is Popery — the debas- 
ing slavery of' the very blackest of all supersti- 
tions, and so on;i each throws upon another tlie 
load which he refuses to bear his share of, and 
the end is, we have a reckless gentry and a 
ruined people; all the embittering hatred of a 
controversy, and little of the active working of 
Christian charity. Good-bye, sir. I ask pardon 
for inflicting something like a sermon upon you. 
Good-bye." 

" And yet," said Cashel, " you have only made 
me anxious to hear more from you. May I ask 
if we are likely to meet again, and where?" 

"If you should chance to be sick during 
your visit here, and send for the doctor, it's 
likely they'll fetch me, as there is no other 
here." 

Cashel started, for he at once remembered that 
the speaker was Dr. Tiernay, the friend of his 
tenant Mr Corrigan, as the doctor did not recog- 
nize him, however, Roland resolved to keep his 
secret as long as he could. 

"There, sir," said Cashel, "I see some friends 
accosting you. I'll say good-bye." 

" Too late to do so now," said the other, half 
sulkily "Mr. Corrigan would feel it a slight if 
you turned back, when his table was spread for 
a meal. You'll have to breakfast here." 

Before Roland could answer, Mr. Corrigan 
came forward from beneath the porch, and, with 
a ha«nd to each, bid them welcome. 

"I was telling this gentleman," said Tiernay, 



" that he is too far within your boundaries for 
retreat. He was about to turn back." 

" Nay, nay," said the old man, smiling; "an' 
old fellow like you or me may do a churlish 
thing, but a young man's nature is fresher and 
warmer. I tell you, Tiernay, you're quite wrong, 
this gentleman will breakfast here." 

"With pleasure," said Cashel, cordially, and 
entered the cottage. 



CHAPTER XXXIV. 

ROLAI!D " HEARS SOMETHING TO HIS 
ADVANTAGE." 

Ay, sir, I saw him 'hind the arras. 

— Sir Gavin. 

Cashel would have devoted more attention to 
the tasteful arrangement of the drawing-room 
into which they were ushered, if he had not been 
struck with the handsome and graceful form of 
a young girl, who from to time passed before his 
eyes in an inner chamber, engaged in the office 
of preparing breakfast, and whom he at once 
recognized as the granddaughter of whom Linton 
wrote. 

"We were talking of poor Ireland," said 
Tiernay, "and all her sorrows," 

" I'll engage you were," cried Corrigan, laugh- 
ing, " and I'll swear you did not make a mourn- 
ful topic a whit less gloomy by your way of 
treating it, and that's what he calls entertaining 
a stranger, sir; like a bankrupt merchant amus- 
ing a party by a sight of his schedule Now,> 
I'll wager a trifle my young friend would rather 
hear where a brace of cocks was to be found, or 
the sight of a neat grass country to ride over 
after the fox-hounds — and I can do both one 
and the other But here comes Mary My 
granddaughter, Miss Leicester, sir " 

Mary saluted the stranger with an easy grace- 
fulness, and she shook the doctor's hand cordially, 

"You are a little late, doctor," said she, as she 
led the way into the breakfast-room. 

" That was in part owing to that rogue Keane, 
who has taken to locking the gate of the avenue, 
by way of seeming regular, and some one else 
has done the same with the wicket here. Now, 
as for fifty years back all the cows of the coun- 
try have strayed through the one, and all the 
beggars through the other, I don't know what's 
to come of it,' 

" I suppose the great house is filling?'' said 
Mary, to withdraw him from a grumbling theme; 
" we heard the noise of several arrivals this 
morning early ' 

" This gentleman can inform you best upon 
all that," said Tiernay, 'he himself is one of 
the company " 

" But I am ignorant of everything,' said 
Cashel: "I only arrived here a little after day- 
break, and not caring to sleep, I strolled out, 
when my good fortune threw me into your way " 

" Your friends are likely to have fine weather, 
and I am glad of it," said Corrigan 'This 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



493 



country, pretty enough in sunshine, looks bleak 
and dreary when tlie sky is lowering, but I've no 
doaht you'd rather have 

"A southerly wind, and a cloudy sky, 

as the song says, than the brightest morning that 
ever welcomed a lark. Are you fond of hunting?'' 

" I like every kind of sport, where horse, or 
gun, or hound can enter; but I've seen most of 
such pastimes in distant countries, where the 
game is different from here, and the character of 
the people just as unlike." 

"I have hunted the wild boar myself, ' said old 
Corrigan, proudly, " in the royal forests at 
Meudon and Fontainebleau ' 

I speak of the antelope and the jaguar — the 
dark leopard of Guiana, or the brown bison of 
the Andes.' 

"That is indeed, a manly pastime'' said 
Mary, enthusiastically 

'' It is so, ' said Cashel, warmed by the encour- 
agement of her remark, more even for the en- 
durance and persevering energy it demands than 
for its peril. The long days of toil in search of 
game, the nights of waking watchfulness, and 
then the strange characters and adventures among 
which you are tiirown, all make up a kind of life 
so unlike the daily world." 

"There is, as you say, something highly ex- 
citing in all that," said Corrigan; "but to my 
thinking, hunting is a royal pastime, and loses 
half of its prestige when deprived of the pomp 
and circumstance of its courtly following. When 
I think of the old forest echoing to the tantarara 
of the cor de chasse,\\\^ scarlet-clad 'piqueurs' 
with lance and cutlass, the train of courtiers 
mounted on their high-mettled steeds, displaying 
all the address of the salon, and all the skill of 
the chase, to him who was the centre of the group 
— the king himself " 

" Are you not forgetting the fairest part of the 
pageant, papa?" broke in Mary. 

" No, my dear, that group usually waited to 
join us as we returned. Then, when the ''Re- 
tour dc la Cliasse' rang out from every horn, and 
the whole wood re-echoed with the triumphant 
sounds, then might be seen the queen and her 
ladies advancing to meet us. I think I see her 
yet, the fair-haired queen, the noblest and most 
beautiful in all that lovely circle, mounted on 
her spotted Arabian, who bore himself proudly 
beneath his precious burden. Ah' too truly did 
Burke say ' the age of Chivalry was past, or 
never had such sorrows gone unavenged. Young 
gentleman, I know not whether you have alreadv 
conceived strong opinions upon politics, and 
whether you incline to one or other of the great 
parties that divide the kingdom, but one thing 
I would beseech you — be a monarchist. There 
is a steadfast perseverance in clinging to the 
legitimate sovereign. Like the very observance 
of truth itself, shake the conviction once, and 
there is no limit to scepticism." 

"Humph!" muttered Tiernay, half aloud. 
" Considering how royalty treated your ances- 
tors, your ardor in their favor might be cooled 
a little." 



"What's Tiernay saying?" said the old man. 

" Grumbling, as usual, papa," said Mary, 
laughing, and not willing to repeat the remark. 

" Trying to give a man a bias in politics," said 
the doctor, sarcastically, "is absurd, except 
you accompany the advice with a place. A 
man s political opinions are born with him, and 
he has as much to do with the choice of his own 
Christian name, as whether he'll be a whig or a 
tory " 

Never mind him, sir," said Corrigan to 
Cashel; 'one might travesty the well-known 
epigram, and say of him that he never said a 
kind thing, nor a did rude one, in his life '' 

" The greater fool he, then," muttered Tiernay, 
" for the world likes him best who does the exact 
opposite; and here comes one to illustrate my 
theory There, I see him yonder, '" so I'll step 
into the library and look over the newspaper " 

' He cannot endure a very agreeable neigh- 
bor of ours — a Mr. Linton,' said Corrigan, as 
the doctor retired; "and makes so little secret 
of his dislike, that I am always glad when they 
avoid a meeting." 

" Mr. Linton is certainly more generous,'* said 
Mary, " for he enjoys the doctor's eccentricity 
without taking offence at his rude humor ' 

" Good breeding can be almost a virtue," said 
the old man, with a smile. 

" It has this disadvantage, however," said 
Cashel; "it deceives men, who, like myself, have 
little knowledge of life, to expect far more from 
politeness than it is ever meant to imply, just as 
on the Lima shore, when we carried off a gold 
Madonna, we were never satisfied if we missed 
the diamond eyes of the image." 

The old man and his granddaughter almost 
started at the strange illustration, but their at-' 
tention was now called off by the approach of 
Linton whom they met as he reached the porch. 

" Come here a moment, sir," said the doctor, 
addressing Cashel from the little boudoir, " here 
are some weapons of very old date found among 
the ruins beside where we stand." And Roland 
had just time to quit the breakfast-room before 
Linton entered it. 

"The menagerie fills fast," said Linton, as he 
advanced gayly into the apartment; "some of 
our principal lions have come; more are expected; 
and all the small cages have got their occu- 
pants." 

" I am dying of curiosity," said Mary. " Tell 
us everything about everybody Who have ar- 
rived ?" 

"We have everything of a household save the 
host. He is absent, and, stranger than all, no 
one knows where." 

" How singular!" exclaimed Corrigan. 

" Is it not? He arrived this morning with the 
Kilgoffs, and has not since been heard of. I 
left his amiable guests at the breakfast-table con- 
versing on his absence, and endeavoring to ac- 
count for it under every variety of 'shocking ac- 
cident' one reads of in the morning papers. The 
more delicately minded were even discussing, in 
whispers, how long it would be decent to stay in 
a house if the owner committed suicide." 

" This is too shocking," said Mary. 



494 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



" And yet there are men who do these things! 
Talleyrand it was, I believe, who said that the 
fellow who shot himself showed a great want of 
' savoir vivre.' Well, to come back; we have the 
Kilgoffs, whom I have not seen as yet; the Meeks, 
father and daughter; the MacFarlines; Mrs. 
White and her familiar, a distinguished author, 
the whole Kennyfeck tribe, Frobisher; some five 
or six cavalry subalterns; and a large mob of 
strange-looking people of both sexes, making up 
what in racing slang is called the ' ruck' of the 
party." 

" Will it not tax your ingenuity, Mr. Linton, 
to amuse, or even to preserve concord among 
such a heterogeneous multitude?" said Mary. 

" I shall amuse them by keeping them at feud 
with each other, and, when they weary of that, 
let them have a grand attack of the whole line 
upon their worthy host and entertainer. Indeed, 
already signs of rebellious ingratitude have dis- 
played themselves. You must know that there 
has been a kind of petty scandal going about re- 
specting Lady Kilgoff and Mr. Cashel." 

"My dear, sir," said Mr. Corrigan, gravely, 
but with much courtesy, " when my granddaugh- 
ter asked you for the latest news of your gay 
household, she did so in all the inconsiderate 
ignorance her habits and age may warrant; but 
neither she nor I cared to hear more of your 
guests than they ought to have reported of them, 
or should be repeated to the ears of a young 
lady." 

"I accept the rebuke with less pain," said 
Linton, smiling easily, "because it is, in part at 
least, unmerited. If you had permitted me to 
continue, you should have seen as much." Then, 
turning to Miss Leicester, he added; " You spoke 
of amusement, and you'll acknowledge we are 
not idle. Lord Charles Frobrisher is already 
marking out a race-course; Meek is exploring 
the political leaning of the borough, the Kenny- 
fecks are trying their voices together in every 
room of the house; and Lady Janet has every 
'casserole' in the kitchen engaged in the prep- 
aration of various vegetable abominations which 
she and Sir Andrew take before breakfast; and 
what with the taking down and putting up of 
beds, the tuning of pianofortes, sol-fa-ing here, 
bells ringing there — cracking of tandem whips — 
firing of percussion caps — screaming t.o grooms 
out of window, and slamming of doors, Babel 
was a scene of peaceful retirement in compari- 
son. _ As this, too, is but the beginning, pray 
forgive me if my visits here be more frequent 
and enduring than ever." 

" Your picture of the company is certainly not 
flattering," said Mary. 

" Up to their merits, notwithstanding; but how 
could it be otherwise? To make a house pleas- 
ant, to bring agreeable people together— to as- 
semble those particles whose aggregate solidifies 
into that compact mass called society — is far 
harder than is generally believed; vulgar folk 
attempt it by getting some celebrity _to visit 
them. But what a failure that is! One Hon will 
no more make a party than one swallow a sum- 
mer. Now people, like our friend Cashel, try it 
bj' asking everybody They hope, by firing a 



heavy charge, that some of the shot will hit. An- 
other mistake! He little knows how many jeal- 
ousies, rivalries, and small animosities are now 
at breakfast together at his house, and how- 
ready they are, when no other game offers, to 
make him the object of all their spite and 
scandal." 

"But why?" said Mary. "Is not his hospi- 
tality as princely as it is generously offered; can 
tliey cavil with anything in either the reception 
itself or the manner of it?" 

As that part of the entertainment entered 
into viy functions, Miss Leicester, I should say, 
certainly not. The whole has been well 'got up.' 
I can answer for everything save Cashel himself; 
as Curran said, 'I can elevate all save tiie host.* 
He is irreclaimably ' en arriere' — half dandy, half 
Delaware, affecting the man of fashion, but, at 
heart, a prairie hunter." 

Hold, sir!" cried Cashel, entering suddenly, 
his face crimson with passion. "By what right 
do you presume to speak of me in this wise?" 

" Ha! ha! ha!" broke out Linton, as he fell 
into a chair in a burst of admirably feigned 
laughter. "I told you. Miss Leicester, how it 
would be, did I not say I should unearth the 
fox? Ah! Roland, confess it; you were com- 
pletely taken in." 

Cashel stared around for an explanation, and 
in the astonishment of each countenance he fan- 
cied he read a condemnation of his conduct. 
All his impulses were quick as thought, and so 
he blushed deeply for his passionate outbreak, 
as he said. 

" I ask pardon of you, sir, and this lady, for 
my unseemly anger. This gentleman certainly 
deserves no apology from me. Confound it. 
Master Tom, but assuredly you don't fire blank 
cartridge to startle your game." 

" No use to tickle lions with straws," said Lin- 
ton; and the insinuated flattery succeeded. 

" Let me now bid you welcome to my cottage, 
Mr. Cashel," said Corrigan; "although this in- 
cognito visit was an accident, I feel happy to see 
you here." 

" Thank you, thank you," replied Cashel. " I 
shall be even more grateful still if you permit me 
to join in Linton's petition, and occasionally es- 
cape from the noisy festivities of the hall and 
come here." 

While Corrigan and Cashel continued to inter- 
change mutual assurances of esteem and regard, 
Linton walked to a window with Miss Leicester. 
"We had no conception that our guest was 
Mr. Cashel," said Mary; "he met Dr. Tiernay 
accidently in the park, and came along with him 
to breakfast." 

"And did not the doctor remember him?" 
asked Linton, shrewdly. 

"Oh, no; he may probably recollect some- 
thing of having met him before, three weeks 
hence, but he is so absent!" 

"I thought Roland would have taken the 
quizzing better," said Linton, thoughtfully, 
" There's no knowing any man, or — woman 
either. You perceived what I was at, certainly 

" No. indeed. I was as much deceived as Mr 
Cashel. I thought, to be sure, that you were 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



495 



unusually severe, but I never suspected the ob- 
ject." 

" How droll. Well, I am a better actor than 
I fancied," said Linton, laughing; then added, 
in a lower tone, "not that the lesson should be 
lost upon him; for, in sober earnest, there was 
much truth in it." 

" We were greatly pleased with him," said 
J.Iary; "and now, knowing who he is, and what 
temptations such a young man has to over-esti- 
mate himself, are even more struck by his unas- 
suming quietude." 

Linton only smiled, but it was a smile of most 
compassionate pity. 

" I conclude that you mean to show yourself to 
your company, then, Mr. Cashel ?" said he, turning 
suddenly about. 

" I'm ready," said Roland, " I'd go, however, 
with an easier conscience, if Mr. Corrigan would 
only promise me to come and see us there some- 
times." 

" I'm a very old fellow, Mr. Cashel, and have 
almost outlived the habits of society; but if any 
one's invitation shall bring me beyond these walls, 
it shall be yours." 

" I must be content with that," said Roland, as 
he shook the proffered hand; and then, with a 
cordial farewell to Miss Leicester, took Linton's 
arm, and retired. 



CHAPTER XXXV, 

MISS JEMIMA MEEK. 

If you show him in Hyde Park — Lauk! how they will stare! 
Though a very smart figure in Bioomsbury square. 

— The Snob. 

Cahsel's was not a nature to dwell upon a griev- 
ance, and he would have, at once and forever, 
forgotten the late scene with Linton if it were 
not coupled in his mind with suspicions derived 
from various different sources. This made him 
lilent and reserved as he walked along, and so 
palpably inattentive to all his companion's efforts 
at agreeability, that Linton at last said, " Well, 
Cashel, if you can dispense with sleep, you cer- 
tainly seem to take the compensation in dream- 
ing. Here have I been retailing for you the 
choicest bits of gossip and small-talk, not only 
without the slighest gratitude, but even without 
common attention on your part!" 

"Very true," said Cashel: "the reproach is 
quite just, and no man can be more agreeable at 
the expense of his friends than yourself." 

" Still harping on my daughter — eh?" cried 
Linton. "I never thought you the man to mis- 
construe a jest, but if you really are offended 
with my folly " 

"If I really were offended," said Cashel, almost 
sternly, " I should not leave it to be inferred from 
my manner." 

" That I am sure of," cried Linton, assuming 
an air of frankness; " and now, since all that silly 
affair is forgotten " 

" I did not say so much," interrupted Cashel 



" I cannot forget it, and that is the very reason 
I am annoyed with myself, with you, and with 
all the world." 

" Pooh! nonsense, man. You were not used 
to be so thin-skinned. Let us talk of something 
else. Here are all our gay friends assembled — 
how are we to occupy and amuse them?" 

Cashel made no reply, but walked on, seem" 
ingly lost in thought. 

"By the way," said Linton, "you've told me 
nothing of your adventures. Haven't you had 
something very like a shipwreck?" 

" The yacht is lost," said Cashel, dryly. 

" Actually lost?" echoed the other, with well- 
assumed astonishment. " How fortunate not to 
have had the Kennyfeck party on board, as I 
believe you expected." 

"I had the Kilgoffs, however," rejoined 
Roland. 

"The Kilgoffs! you amaze me. How did my 
lord ever consent to trust his most precious self 
on such an enterprise?" 

Cashel shrugged his shoulders, without utter- 
ing a word in reply. 

" But come, do condescend to be a little more 
communicative. How, and when, and where did 
the mishap occur?" 

" She foundered on the southern coast, some 
time after midnight on the isth. The crew and 
passengers escaped by the boats, and the craft 
went to pieces." 

"And the Kilgoffs, how did they behave in the 
moment of peril ?" 

" My lord seemed insensible to all around; 
Lady Kilgoff, with a dignified courage quite ad- 
mirable." 

. " Indeed!" said Linton, slowly, while he fixed 
his eyes on Cashel's face, where an expression of 
increased animation now displayed itself. 

" She has a fine, generous nature," continued 
Cashel not heeding the remark. " It is one of 
the saddest things to think of, how she has been 
mated." 

" She is a peeress," said Linton, curtly. 

" And what of that? Do your aristocratic dis- 
tinctions close the heart against every high and 
noble sentiment, or can they compensate for the 
absence of every tie that attaches one to life? 
Is not some poor Indian girl who follows her 
wild ranchero husband through the dark valleys 
of Guiana, not only a happier, but a better wife 
than your proud peeress?" 

Linton shook his head and smiled, but did not 
reply. 

" I see how my old prejudices shock you," 
said Cashel. " I only grieve to think how many 
of them have left me, for I am sick — sick at heart 
— of your gay and polished world. I am weary 
of its double-dealing, and tired of its glided 
falsehood. Since I have been a rich man, I have 
seen nothing but the servile flattery of sycophancy, 
or the insidious snares of deeper iniquity. There 
is no equality for one like myself. The high-born 
wealthy would treat me as a farTe/iu, the vulgar 
rich only reflect back my own errors in broader 
deformity. I have known no other use of wealth 
than to squander it to please others; I have 
played high, and lost deeply; I have purchased 



496 



ROLAND CASH EL. 



a hundred things simply because some others 
wished to sell them; I have entertained and 
sat among my company, waiting to catch and 
resent the covert insult that men pass upon such 
as me; and will you tell me— you, who know 
the world well — that such a life repays one?" 

" Now, let me write the credit side of the 
account," said Linton, laughing, and affecting a 
manner of easy jocularity. " You are young, 
healthy and high spirited, with courage for any- 
thing, and more money than even recklessness 
can get rid of You are the most popular 
fellow among men, and the greatest favorite of 
the other sex, going. You get credit for every- 
thing you do, and a hundred others that men 
know you could, but have not done. You have 
warm, attached friends; I can answer for one, at 
least, who'll lay down his life for you." He 
paused, expecting some recognition, but Cashel 
made no sign, and he resumed. " You have only 
to propose some object to your ambition, whether 
it be rank, place, or a high alliance, to feel that 
you are a favorite with fortune." 

" And is it by knowing beforehand that one is 
sure to win that gambling fascinates?" said 
Roland, slowly. 

" If you only knew how the dark presage of 
failure deters the unlucky man, you'd scarce ask 
the question!" rejoined Linton, with an accent 
of sorrow, by which he hoped to awaken sympathy. 
The stroke failed, however, for Cashel took no 
notice of it. 

" There goes one whose philosophy of life is 
simple enough," said Linton, as he stopped at a 
break in the holly hedge, beside which they were 
walking, and pointed to Lord Charles, who, 
mounted on a blood-liorse, was leading the way 
for a laijv, equally well carried, over some sport- 
ing-lookmg fences. 

"I say, Jim," cried Frobisher, "let her go a 
little free at them; she's always too hot when you 
hold her back." 

■ You don't know, perhaps, that Jim is the 
lady " whispered Linton, and withdrawing for 
secresy behind the cover of the hedge. " Jim," 
continued Linton, "is the familiar for Jemima. 
She's Meek's daughter, and the wildest romp " 

" By Jove! how well she cleared it. Here she 
comes back again," cried Cashel, in all the ex- 
citement of a favorite sport. 

That's all very pretty, Jim," called out 
Frobisher, ' but let me observe it's a very 
Brummagem style of thing after aU. I want you 
to ride up to your fence with your mare in hand, 
touch her lightly on the flank, and pop her over 
quietly ' 

She is too fiery for all that," said the girl, as 
she held in the mettlesome animal, and endeavored 
to calm her by patting her neck. 

" How gracefully she sits her saddle," muttered 
Cashel, and the praise might have been forgiven 
from even a less ardent admirer of equestrianism, 
for she was a young, fresh looking girl, with large 
hazel eyes, and a profusion of brigln auburn hair 
which floated and flaunted in every graceful wave 
around her neck and shoulders She possessed, 
besides, that inestimable advantage as a rider 
which perfect fearlessness supplies, and seemed 



to be inspired with every eager impulse of the 
bounding animal beneath her. 

As Cashel continued to look, she had taken the 
mare a canter round a large grass field, and vvas 
evidently endeavoring, by a light hand and a 
soothing, caressing voice, to calm down her 
temper; stooping, as she went, in the saddle to 
pat the animal's shoulder, and almost bending 
her own auburn curls to the counter. 

"She is perfect!" cried Roland, in a very 
ecstasy; ''See that, Linton! Mark how she sways 
herself in her saddle." 

" That comes of wearing no stays," said Linton, 
dryly, as he proceeded to light a cigar. 

" Now she's at it. Here she comes!" cried 
Cashel, almost breathless with anxiety: for the 
mare, chafed by the delay no sooner was turned 
towards the fence once more, than she stretched 
out and dashed wildly at it. 

It was a moment of intense interest, for the 
speed was far too great to clear a high leap with 
safety; the fear was, however, but momentary 
for, with a tremendous bound, the mare cleared 
the fence, and, after a couple of minutes' canter- 
ing, stood with hea\ing flanks and swelling nostril 
beside the other horse 

" You see my misfortune, I suppose?" said the 
girl, addressing Frobisher. 

"No. She's not cut about the legs?' said he, 
as he bent down in his saddle and took a most 
searching survey of the animal 

" No, the hack is all right But don't you 
preceive that bit of blue cloth flaunting yonder 
on the hedge?— that is part of my habit See 
what a treiiiendous rent is here, I declare, 
Charley, it is scarcely decent." And to illustrate 
the remark, she wheeled her horse round so as to 
show the fringed and jagged end of her riding- 
habit, beneath which a very finely turned ankle 
and foot were now seen. 

"Then why don't you wear trousers, like 
everybody else?" said Frobisher, gruffly, and 
scarce bestowing even a passing glance at the 
well-arched instep 

" Because I never get time to dress like any one 
else. You order me out like one of your New- 
market boys," replied she, pettishly. 

" By Jove! I wish any one of them had got 
your hand." 

" To say nothing of the foot, Charley," said 
she roguishly, and endeavoring to arrange her 
torn drapery to the best advantage. 

" No. That may do to astonish our friend 
Cashel, and make ' my lady jealous. By the way, 
Jim, I don't see why you shouldn't ' enter for 
the plate' as well as the Kennyfeck girls." 

"I Vike you better, Charley ' said she, curvet- 
ing her horse and passaging him alternatively 
from side to side. 

"This is the second time to-day I have played 
the eavesdropper unconsciously," said Roland, 
in a whisper, ' and with the ]iio\erI)ial fortune of 
the listener in both cases.'' And with these words 
he moved on, leaving Linton e.till standing oppo 
site the opening of the hedge. 

Cashel had not ad\anced many paces beneath 
the shelter of the tall hollies, when Frobisher ac- 
cidentally caught sight of Linton, and called out, 



ROL AN D CASH EL 



497 



"Ha, Tom — found you at last! Where have you 
been hiding the whole morning — you that should, 
at least, represent our host here'" 

Linton muttered something, while by a gss 
ture, he endeavored to caution Frobisher, and 
apprise him ot Cashel s vicinity The fretful 
motion of his horse, however, prevented his see- 
ing the signal, and he resumed: 

' One of my people tells me that Cashel came 
with the Kilgoffs this morning. I say, Tom, 
you'll have to look sharp in that quarter Soh, 
there — quiet Gustave — gently, man " 

' He's too fat, I think. You always have your 
cattle too heavy," said Linton, hoping to change 
the topic. 

" He carries flesh well. But what is it I had 
to tell you? Oh, I remember now — about the 
yacht club. I have just got a letter from Der- 
went, in which he says the thing is impossible. 
His remark is more true than courteous. He 
says, ' It's all very well in such a place as Ireland 
to know such people, but that it wont do in 
England; besides that, if Cashel does wish to 
get among men of the world, he ought to join 
some light cavalry corps for a year or so, and 
stand plucking by Stanhope, and Dashfield, and 
the rest of them. They'll bring him out if he'll 
only pay handsomely.' Soh, there, man — do be 
quiet, will you? The end of it is, that Derwent 
will not put his name up. I must say it's a dis- 
appointment to me, but, as a younger brother, I 
have only to smile and submit.'' 

While Lord Charles was retailing this piece of 
information in no very measured tone, and only 
interrupted by the occasional impatience of his 
horse, Linton's eyes were fixed on Cashel, who, 
at the first mention of his own name, increased 
his speed, so as to suggest the fond ho|)e that 
some, at least, of this unwelcome intelligence 
might have escaped him 

" You'll have to break the thing to him, Tom," 
resumed Lord Charles. '' You know him better 
than any of us, and how the matter can be best 
touched upon." 

" Not the slightest necessity for that, noiu," 
said Linton, with a low, deliberate voice. 

" Why so?' 

" Because you have just done so yourself. If 
you had only paid the least attention to my sig- 
nal, you'd have seen that Cashel was only a few 
yards in front of me during the entire of your 
agreeable revelations.'' 

"By Jove!'' exclaimed Frobisher, as his head 
dropped forward in overwhelming confusion. 
" What is to be done?" 

" Rather difficult to say, if he heard all, ' said 
Linton, coolly. 

'' You'd say it was a quiz, Tom. You'd '(ixt- 
tend that you saw him all the while, and only did 
the thing for joke's sake — eh?" 

"Possibly enough / might," replied Linton; 
"but v<^« couldn't." 

" How very awkward, to be sure!" exclaimed 
Frobisher, "I say, Jim, I wish you'd make up 
to Cashel a bit, and get us out of this scrape. 
There's Tom ready to aid and abet you, if only 
to take him out of the Kilgoffs' way ' 

" There was never a more propitious moment, 



Miss Meek," said Linton, passing through the 
hedge, and approaching close to her " He s a 
great prize — the best estate in Ireland. 

' The nicest stable of horses in the whole coun- 
try, echoed Frobisher. 

'■ A good-looking fellow, too; only wanting a 
little training to make presentable anywhere. ' 

' That white barb, with the flea-bitten flank, 
would carry you to perfection, Jim. ' 

"He'll be a peer one of these days if he is only 
patient enough not to commit himself in politics." 

■' And such a hunting country for you," said 
Frobisher, in ecstacy 

" I tell you I don't care for him; I never did,'' 
said the girl, as a flush of half angry meaning 
colored her almost childish features. 

' But don t you care to be mistress of fifteen 
thousand a year, and the finest stud in Ireland ?' 

'Mayhap a countess,' said Linton, quietly 
' Your papa would soon manage that." 

' I d rather be mistress of myself, and this 
brown mare, 'Joan,' here, that's all I know, and 
I'll have nothing to do with any of your plots and 
schemes," said she, in a voice whose utterance 
was that of emotion. 

" That s it,' said Frobisher, in a low tone to 
Linton, "there's no getting them, at that age, 
with a particle of brains." 

"They make up surprisingly for it afterwards," 
replied Linton, dryly. 

" So you'll not consent, Jim?" said Frobisher, 
in a half-coa.xing manner to the young girl, who, 
with averted head, sat in mingled sorrow and dis- 
pleasure. "Well, don't be pettish about it; I'la 
sure I thought it very generous in me, consider- 
ing ' 

She looked round at this moment, and her large 
eyes were bent upon him with a look which their 
very tears made passionately meaning. 

" Considering what a neat finger you have on 
on a young horse," said he. And she turned ab- 
ruptly away, and, as if to hide her emotion, 
spurred her mare into a bounding canter. 

" Take care, Charley— take care what you're 
doing," said Linton, with a look of consummate 
shrewdness. 

Frobisher looked after her for a minute or two, 
and then seemed to drop into a reverie, for he 
made no reply whatever. 

" Let the matter stop where it is," said Linton, 
quietly, as if replying to some acknowledgment 
of the other; " let it stop there, I say, and one of 
these days, when she marries — as she unquestion- 
ably will do, through Papa Downie's means, some- 
body of influence — she'll be a steadfast, warm 
friend, never forgetting, nor ever wishing to for- 
get, her childhood's companion. Go a little fur- 
ther, however, and you'll just have an equally de- 
termined enemy. I know a little of both sides 
of the question," added he, meditatively, "and 
it needs slight reflection which to prefer." 

"How are you going to amuse us here, Mr. 
Linton?" said she, cantering up at this moment, 
" for it seems to me, as old Lord Kilgoff says, 
that we are like to have a very dull house. 
People are ordering dinner for their own small 
parties as unsocially as though they were at the 
Crown Inn, at Brighton." 



498 



ROLAND CASH EL. 



"Yes, by-the-bye," said Frobisher. " I want to 
ask you about that. Don't you think it were 
better to dash a Httle bit of ' communism' through 
your administration?" 

"1 intend to send in my resignation as premier, 
now that the head of tiie State has arrived," said 
Linton, smiling dubiously. 

"I perceive," said Frobisher shrewdly, "you 
expect that the government will go to pieces if 
you leave it " 

" The truth is, Charley, said he dropping his 
voice to a low whisper, and leaning his hand 
on the horse's mane, " our friend Roland is 
rather too far in the category ' Savage' for long 
endurance He grows capricious and self-opin- 
ionated. The thin plating comes off and shows 
the buccaneer at every slight abrasion." 

"What of that?' said Frobisher languidly. 
" His book on Coutts's is unexceptionable. Come, 
Tom, you are the only man here who has a head 
for these things. Do exert yourself and set some- 
thing a-going." 

" Well, what shall it be?" said he, gayly. 
"Shall we get the country people together, and 
have hack races? — shall we assemble the squires, 
and have a ball? — shall we start private theat- 
ricals? What says Miss Meek?" 

"I vote for all three. Pray do, Mr. I.inton, 
you, who are so clever, and can do everything, 
make us gay. If we only go on, as we have be- 
gun, the house will be like a model prison^ — on 
the separate and silent system." 

" As you wish it," said Linton, bowing with 
assumed gallantry; " and now to work at once." 
So saying, he turned towards the house, the others 
riding at either side of him. 

"What shall we do about Derwent's letter, 
Tom?" asked Frobisher. 

" Never speak of it; the chances are that he 
has heard enough to satisfy the most gluttonous 
curiosity. Besides, he has lost his yacht." Here 
he dropped his voice to a low muttering, as he 
said, "And may soon have a heavier loss!" 

" Is his pace too fast?" said Frobisher, who 
caught up the meaning, although not the words. 

Linton made no reply, for his thoughts were on 
another track; then suddenly catching himself, 
he said, " Come and let us have a look at the 
stables. I've not seen our stud yet." And they 
turned off from the main approach and entered 
the wood once more. 



CHAPTER XXXVL 

AN "unlimited" monarchy. 

And at last they find out to their greatest surprise, 
That 'tis easier far to be " merry than wise " 

— Bell's Images. 

" Here is Mr. Cashel, here he is!" exclaimed 
a number of voices, as Roland, with a heart full 
of indignant anger, ascended the terrace upon 
which the great drawing-room operied, and at 
every window of which stood groups of his gay 
company. Cashel looked up, and beheld the 
crowd of pleased faces wreathed into smiles of 



gracious welcome, and then he suddenly remem- 
bered that it was he who had invited all that 
brilliant assemblage, that, for him all those win- 
ning graces were assumed, and that his gloomy 
thoughts, and gloomier looks, were but a sorry 
reception to offer them. 

With a bold effort, then, to shake off the load 
that oppressed him, he approached one of the 
-rindows, where Mrs. Kennyfeck and her two 
daugliters were standing, with a considerable 
sprinkling of young dragoons around them 

' We are not to let you in, Mr. Cashel," said 
Mrs Kennyfeck, from within. '' There has been 
a vote of the house against your admission.'' 

" Not, surely, to condemn me unheard," said 
Roland, "I might even say, unaccused.'' 

"How so?" cried Mrs. Kennyfeck, "is not 
your present position youraccusation? Why are 
you there, while we are here?" 

" I went out for a walk, and lost myself in the 
woods." 

"What does he say, my dear?" said Aunt 
Fanny, fearful of losing a word of the dialogue. 

" That he lost himself, madam," said one of 
the dragoons dryly. 

" So, indeed, we heard, sir," said the maiden 
lady, piteously; "but I may say I foresaw it all." 

" You are an old fool, and worse still, every 
one sees it," whispered Mrs. Kennyfeck, in an 
accent that there was no mistaking, although only 
a whisper. 

" We considered that you had abdicated, Mr. 
Cashel," said Mrs. White, who having in vain 
waited for Roland to approach the window she 
occupied, was fain at last to join the others; 
" and we were debating on what form of 
government to adopt — a presidency, with Mr. 
Linton " 

" I see you are no legitimist," slyly remarked 
Miss Kennyfeck. But the other went on. 

" Or an open democracy." 

"I'm for that," said a jolly-looking cavalry 
captain. "Pray, Miss Olivia Kennyfeck, vote 
for it too. I should like nothing so much as a 
little fraternizing." 

" I have a better suggestion than either," said 
Roland gayly; "but you must admit me ere I 
make it." 

"A device of the enemy," called out Mrs. 
White, " he wants to secure his own return to 
power." 

"Nay, on honor," said he, solemnly, 'I shall 
descend to the rank of the humblest citizen, if 
my advice be acceded to — to the humblest 
subject of the realm." 

" Ye maunna open the window. Leddy Janet 
has the rheumatics a' dandering aboot her batk 
a' the morning," said Sir Andrew, approaching 
the group, and then turning to Cashel, said, 
"Glad to see ye, sir; very glad, indeed; though, 
like Prince Charlie, you're on the wrang side o' 
the wa'." 

"Dear me!" sighed Meek, lifting his eyes from 
the newspaper, and assuming that softly com- 
passionate tone in which he always delivered the 
most commonplace sentiments, " how shocking, 
to keep you out of your own house, and the air 
quite damp! Do pray be careful and change 



ROLAXD CASIIRL. 



-199 



your clothes before voii come in here." Then 
he finished in a whisper to Lady Janet, "One 
never gets through a country visit without a 
cold." 

'■ Upon my word, I'll let him in," said Aunt 
Fanny, with a native richness of accent that made 
her fair nieces blush. 

'' At last!'' said Cashel, as he entered the room, 
and proceeded to salute the company, with many 
of whom he had but the very slightest acquaint- 
ance — of some he did not even remember the 
names. 

The genial warmth of his character soon com 
pelled him to feel heartily what he had begun by 
feigning, and he bade them welcome with a cor- 
diality that spread its kindly influence over all. 

" I see," said he, after some minutes, "Lady 
Kilgoff has not joined us, but her fatigue has 
been very great." 

"They say my lord's clean daft," said Sir 
Andrew. 

"Oh, no, Sir Andrew," rejoined Roland; "our 
misfortune has shaken his nerves a good deal, 
but a few day's rest and quiet will restore him." 

" He was na ower wise at the best, puir man," 
sighed the veteran, as he moved away. 

"Her ladyship was quite a heroine — isn't that 
so?" said Lady Janet, tartly. 

" She held the rudder, or did something with 
the compass, I heard," simpered a young lady in 
long flaxen ringlets. 

Cashel smiled, but made no answer. 

" Oh, dear," sighed Meek, " and there was a 
dog ittat swam — or was it you that swam ashore 
with a rope in your mouth?" 

" I grieve to say, neither man nor dog per- 
formed the achievement." 

" And it would appear that the horrid wretch 
— what's his name?" asked Mrs. White of her 
friend Howie. 

'' Whose name, madam?" 

"The man — -the dreadful man, wlio planned it 
all. Sick — Sickamore — -no, not Sickamore " 

" Sickleton, perhaps,' said Cashel, strangely 
puzzled to make out what was coming. 

" Yes, Sickleton, had actually done the very 
same thing twice before, just to get possession of 
the rich plate and all the thing-; on board.'' 

'■ This is too bad,'' cried Cashel, indignantly; 
" really, m idam, you must pardon my wamith, if 
it even verges on rudeness; but the gentleman 
whose name you have associated with such in- 
iquitous suspicions saved all our lives." 

"That's what I like in him better than all," 
wliis|)ered Aunt Fanny to Olivia; " he stands by 
liis friends like a trump ' 

''You have compelled me, ' resumed Cashel, 
" to speak of what really I had much rather for- 
get; but I shall insist upon your patience now 
for a few minutes, simply to rectify any error 
which may prevail upon this affair " 

With this brief prelude, Cashel commenced a 
narrative of the voyage from the evening of the 
departure from Kingstown to the moinent of the 
vessel's sinking off the south coast. 

If most of his auditors only listened as to an 
interesting anecdote, to others the story had a 
deeper meaning. The Kennyfecks were longing 



to learn how the excursion originated, and 
whether Lady Kilgoff's presence had been a 
prearranged plan, or a mere accidental occur- 
rence. 

"All's not lost yet, Livy," whispered Miss 
Kennyfeck in her sister's ear. "I give you joy;" 
while a significant nod from Aunt Fanny seemed 
to divine the sentiment and agree with it. 

" And I suppose ye had na the vessel insured ?" 
said Sir Andrew, at the close of the narrative; 
" what a sair thing to think o'." 

"Oh, dear, yes, to be sure'" ejaculated Meek, 
piteously; "and the cold, and the wetting, and 
the rest of it! for of course you must have met 
few comforts in that miserable fishing-hut." 

" How picturesque it must have been," inter- 
posed Mrs. Wiiite; "and what a pity you had no 
means of having a drawing made of it. The 
scene at the moment of the yacht striking — the 
despair-struck seamer,- " 

" Pardon me, madam, for destroying even a 
particle of so ingenious a fancy; but the men 
evinced nothing of the kind; they behaved well, 
and with the calmest steadiness." 

" It is scarcely too late yet," resumed the lady, 
unabashed: "if you would just describe it all 
carefully to Mr. Howie, he could make a sketch 
in oils one would swear was taken on the spot." 

"Quite imi)ossiblc — out of the question," said 
Howie, who was ah\a\s ashamed at the absurdi- 
ties which compromised himself, although keenly 
alive to those which involved his neighbors, 

" We have heard much of Lady Kilgoff's cour- 
age and presence of mind," said Mrs. Kennyfeck, 
returning to a theme by which she calculated on 
e-xploring into Cashel's sentiments towards that 
lady. " Were they indeed so conspicuous?" 

" Can you doubt it, madam?" said Lady Janet, 
tartly; " she gave the most unequivocal proof of 
both — she remembered her husband'" 

The tartness of this impertinent speech was 
infinitely increased by the voice and manner of 
the speaker, and a half-suppressed titter ran 
through the room, Cashel alone, of all, feeling 
annoyed and angry. Aunt Fanny, always less 
occupied with herself than her neighbors, quickly 
saw his irritation, and resolved to change a 
topic which more than once had verged on danger. 

" And now, Mr. Cashel,'' said she, " let us not 
forget the pledge on which we admitted you." 

" Quite right," exclaimed Roland, ' 1 promifed 

a suggestion, here it if- " 

" Pardon me for interrupting." said Miss 
Kennyfeck " but in what capacity do you make 
this suggestion? Are you still king, or have }ou 
abdicated ?" 

' Abdicated in all form, ' replied Roland, bow- 
ing vi'ith well assumed humility; as simjile citi- 
zen I propose that we elect a ' Queen, to rule 
despotically in all things; uncontrolled and ir- 
responsible 

" Oh, delightful ! admirable'' exclaimed a num- 
ber of voices, among which all the men and the 
younger ladies might be heard: Lady Janet and 
Mrs. Kennyfeck, and a few others " of the senior 
service, as Mr. Linton would have called them, 
seeming to canvas the motion with more cautious 
reserve. ■ 



600 



ROLAND CASH EL. 



"As it is to be an elective monarchy, sir,'' said 
Lady Janet, with a shrewd glance over all the 
possible candidates, " how do you propose the 
choice is to be made?" 

" That is to be for after consideration," replied 
Roland; "we may have universal suffrage and 
the ballot." 

"No, no, by Jove!" exclaimed Sir Harvey 
Upton, "we must not enter upon our new reign 
by a rebellion Let only the men vote. 

"How gallant!' said Miss Kennyfeck, sneer- 
ingly; while a chorus of ' How unfair!" "How 
ungenerous!" went through the room. 

" What say ye to the plan they hae wi' the 
pope?" said Sir Andrew, grinning maliciously, 
" tak' the auldest o' the company " 

This s>iggestion caused a laugh, in which certain 
parties did not join over-heartily Just at this 
moment the door opened, and Lord Kilgoff, lean- 
ing on the arm of two servants, entered He was 
deathly pale, and seemed several years older,, but 
his face had acquired something of its wonted 
expression, and it was with a sad, but courteous 
smile he returned the salutations of the company. 
Glad to see you amongst us, my lord, ' said 
Cashel, as he placed an arm-chair, and assisted 
the old man to his seat I have just been tell- 
ing my fiiends that our country air and quiet will 
speedily restore you '' 

"Thank you very much, sir,' said he, taking 
Cashel's hand "We are both greatly indebted 
to your kindness, nor can we indeed ever hope to 
repay it 

''Make him a receiver on the estate then," 
whispered Lady Janet in Miss Kennyfeck's ear, 
"and he'll soon pay himself " 

"Tell my lord about our newly invented govern- 
ment, Mr Cashel, said Mrs Kennyfeck, "I'm 
sure it will amuse him And Cashel, more ;n 
obedience to tlie request than from any convic- 
tion of its prudence, proceeded to obey One 
■word only, however, seemed to fix itself on the 
old man's memory 

"Queen! Queen!' repeated he several times 
to himself. "Oh, indeed! You expect her 
majesty will honor you with a visit, sir?" 

Cashel endeavored to correct the misconcep- 
tion, but to no purpose, the feeble intelligence 
could not relinquish its grasp so easily, and he 
went on in a low muttering tone, 

" Lady Kilgoff is the only peeress here sir, 
remember that you should speak to her about 
it, Mr. Cashel." 

"I hope we are soon to have the pleasure of 
seeing Lady Kilgoff, my lord ' whispered Cashel, 
half to concur with, half to turn the course of 
conversation. 

" She will be here presently," said he, some, 
what stiffly, as if some unpleasant recollection was 
passing through his mind, and Cashel turned 
away to speak with the others, who eagerly 
awaited to resume the interrupted conversation 

"Your plan, Mr Cashel, we are dying to hear 
it," cried one 

"Oh, by all means, how are we to elect the 
queen?" said another 

"What say you to a lottery?' said he, 'or 
something equally the upshot of chance. For 



instance, let the first lady who enters the room 
be queen.'' 

"Very good indeed," said Lady Janet, aloud, 
then added, in a whisper, ' I see that old Mrs. 
Malone with her husband toddling up the avenue 
this instant " 

Olivia, my love, whispered Mrs. Kennyfeck 
to her daughter, " fetch me my work here and 
don't be a moment away, child. He's so amus- 
ing' And the young lady glided unseen from 
the room at her mamma's bidding After a short 
but aniniaied conversation it was decided that 
this mode of choice should be adopted, and now 
all stood in anxious expectancy to see who first 
should enter At last footsteps were heard ap- 
proaching and the interest rose higher 

'■ Leddy Janet was right,' said Sir Andrew, 
with a grin, "ye'll hae Mrs. Malone for your 
sovereign, 1 ken her step weel 

" By Jove!" cried Upton, ' I'll dispute the suc- 
cession, that would never do. ' 

" "I'hat's a lighter tread and a faster,' said 
Cashel listening, 

■'Theie are two coming," cried Mrs White, 

I hear voices, how are we then lo decide''" 

Tliere was no time to canvass this knotty point, 
when a hand was heard upon the door-handle, it 
turned, and just as the door moved, a sound of 
feet upon the terrace without — running at lull 
speed — turned every eye in that direction, and 
the same instant Miss Meek sprang into the room 
through the window, while Lord Charles and 
Linton hurried after her, at the same moment 
that Lady Kilgoff. followed by Olivia Kennyfeck, 
entered by the door 

Miss Meek's appearance might have astonished 
the company, had even her entree been more cere 
monious, for she was without hat, her hair falling 
in long dishevelled masses about her shoulders, 
and her riding iiabit, torn and ragged, was carried 
over one arm, with a freedom much mote in ac- 
cordance with speed than grace 

"Beat by two lengths Charley,'' cried she, in 
a joyous, merry laugh 'beat in a canter — Mr. 
Linton, nowhere. ' 

"Oh. dear me, what is all this, Jemima, love.'' 
softly sighed her bland papa, "you've not been 
riding. 1 hope?" 

"Schooling a bit with Charley, pa. and as -we 
left the nags at the stable, they chaljentt d me to 
a race home, I don't think they'll do it again. 
Do look how they're blown. 

Some of the company laughed goodhumoredly 
at the girlish gayety of the scene Others, 
among whom it is sad to say, were many of the 
younger ladies made significant signs of being 
shocked by the indecorum, and gathered in groups 
to canvass the papa s indifference and the 
daughters indelicacy Meanwhile Cashel had 
been completely occupied with Lady Kilgoff. 
making the usual inquiries regarding fatigue and 
rest, but in a manner that bespoke all his interest 
in a favored guest 

'Are you aware to what high destiny the 
fates have called you?" said he laughing. Some 
attain fortune by being first to seek her — you on 
the contrary win by dallying We had decided 
a few moments before you came in, that the 



ROLAND CASHEL 



501 



first lady who entered should be the queen of 
our party — tliis lot is yours ' 

" I beg to correct you, Mr Cashel," cried 
Lady Janet, smartly, " Miss Meek entered be- 
fore her ladyship ' 

' Oh yes!" "Certainly'' "AVithout a doubt!" 
res'ounded from tlie whole company, who were 
not sorry to confer their suffrageson the madcap 
girl rather than the fashionable beauty 

"How distressing!" sighed Mr. Meek. "Oh, 
dear! I hope this is not so — nay, I'm sure, 
Jemima, it cannot be tlie case " 

" You're thinking of George Colman, Meek — 
I see you are," cried Linton 

' No, indeed — no, upon my honor. What was 
it about Colman?" 

■ The story is everybody's story. The prince 
insisted once that George was his senior, and 
George only corrected himself of his mistake by 
saying tliat ' he could not ])ossibly have had the 
rudeness to enter the world before his royal 
highness " 

"Ah' yes — very true — so it was," sighed Meek, 
who affected not to perceive the covert sneer at 
his assumed courtesy 

While, therefore, the party gathered around 
Cashel, with eager assurances of Miss Meek's 
precedence. Lady Kilgoff rising, crossed the 
room to where that young lady was standing, and 
gracefully arranging her loose flowing ringlets 
into a knot at the back of the head fastened them 
by a splendid comb which she took from her 
own, and whose top was fashioned into a hand 
some coronet of gold, saying. The question of 
legitimacy is solved forever — the pretender yields 
lier crown to the true sovereign. ' 

The gracefulness and tact of this sudden move- 
ment called forth the warmest acknowledgments 
of all save Lady Janet, who whispered to Miss 
Kennyfeck. "It is pretty clear, I fancy, who is 
to pay for the crown jewels'" 

'Am I really the queen?"' cried the young girl, 
half wild with delight. 

" Mast assuredly, madam," said Linton, kiss- 
ing her hand in deep reverence. "I beg to be 
first to tender my homage " 

" That's so like him," cried she, laugliing, 
" but you shall be no officer of mine. V/herc's 
Charley? I want to make him master of the 
buckhounds, if there be biickhounds." 

" Will you not appoint your ladles first, 
madam?" said Lady Janet; '' or, are your prefer- 
ences for the other se.K to leave us quite forgotten?" 

" Be all of you everything you please," rejoined 
the childish, merry voice, " with Charley Fro- 
bisher for master of the horse." 

" Linton for master of the revels," said some 
one 

"Agreed,'' said she. 

" Mr Cashel had better be first lord of the 
tre-isury, I suspect,' said Lady Janet, snappishly, 
'' if the administration is to last " 

"And if ye a' ways wear drapery o' this fashion,'' 
said Sir Andrew, taking up the torn fragment of 
her riding-habit as he spoke, " I maun say that 
the mistress of the robes will na be a sinecure." 

"Will any one tell me what are my powers?" 
said she, sitting down with an air of mock dignity. 



" Will any one dare to say what they are not'' 
res]ionded Cashel. 

" Have I unlimited command in everytliing'' 
In everything, madam; I, and all mine, are 
at your orders. 

'That's what the farce will end in," whispered 
Lady Janet to Mrs. Kennyfeck. 

" Well, then, to begin. The court will dine 
with us to-day — to>morrow we will hunt in our 

royal forest; our private band Have we a 

private band, Mr. Linton"'" 

Certainly, your majesty; so private as to be 
almost undiscoverable." 

"Then our private band will perform in the 
evening; perhaps, too, we shall dance Remem 
ber, my lords and ladies, we are a young sover- 
eign, who loves pleasure, and that a sad face, or 
a mournful one, is treason to our person Come 
forward now, and let us name our household ' 

While the group gathered around the wild and 
high-spirited girl, in whose merry mood even the 
least disposed were drawn to participate, Linton 
approached Lady Kilgoff, who had seated her- 
self near a window, and was affecting to arrange 
a frame of embroidery, on which she larely be- 
stowed a moment's labor 



CHAPTER XXXVII 

LADY KILGOFF AT BAY 

I'll make her brew the beverage herself. 
With her own fingers stir the cup 
And know 'tis poison as she drinks it. 

— Harold 

Had Linton been about to renew an acquaint 
ance with one he had scarcely known before, and 
who might possibly have ceased to remember 
him, his manner could not have been more studi- 
ously diffident and respectful 

" I rejoice to see your ladyship here, ' said he, 
in a low, deliberate voice, "where, on the last 
lime we spoke together, you seemed uncertain of 
coming " 

" Very true, Mr Linton, ' said she, not looking 
up from her work; "my lord had not fully made 
up his mind,'' 

'' Say, rather, your ladyship had changed 
yours,'' said he, with a cold smile, ' a privilege 
you are not wont to deny yourself. 

' I might have exercised it oftener in life with 
advantage, replied she still holding her head 
bent over the embroidery frame. 

"■ Don't you think that your ladyship and I are 
old friends enough to speak without inuendo?" 

" If we rpeak at all," said she, with a low but 
calm accent. 

True, that is to be thought of," rejoined he, 
with an unmoved quietude of voice. " Being in 
a manner prepared for a change in your ladyship's 
sentiments toward me " 

"Sir!" said she, interrupting, and as suddenly 
raising her face, which was now covered with a 
deep blush 

' I trust I have said nothing to provoke re- 
proof," said Linton, coldly. " Your ladyship is 



502 



ROLAND CASH EL. 



well aware if my words be not true. I repeat 
it, then — your sentiments are changed towards 
me, or — the alteration is not of my choosing — I 
was deceived in the expression of them when 
last we met." 

"It may suit your purpose, sir, but it can 
scarcely conform to tiie generosity of a gentleman, 
to taunt me with accedinj; to your request for a 
meeting, If any other weakness can be alleged 
against me, pray let me liear it." 

"When we last met," said Linton, in a voice 
of lower and deeper meaning tlian before, " we 
did so tliat / might speak, and you hear, the 
avowal of a passion which for years has filled my 
heart — against which I have struggled and fought 
in vain — -to stifle which I have plunged into dis- 
sipations that I detested, and followed ambitions 
I despised — to obliterate all memory of which I 
would stoop to crime itself, rather than suffer on 
in the hopeless misery I must do." 

" I will hear no more of tiiis," said she, push- 
ing back the work-table, and preparing to rise. 

" You must, and you shall hear me, madam," 
said he, replacing the table, and affecting to 
arrange it for her. "I conclude you do not 
wish this amiable company to arbitrate between 
us." 

" Oh, sir' is it thus you threaten me?" 

"You should say compromise, madam. There 
can be no threat where a common ruin impends 
on all concerned." 

" To what end all this, Mr. Linton.'" said she. 
" You surely cannot expect from me any return 
to a feeling whicli, i. it once existed, you your- 
self were the means of uprooting forever. Even 
you could scarcely be ungenerous enough to jier- 
secnte one for whose misery you have done 
already too much." 

" Will you accept my arm for half an hour?" 
cried he, interrupting. " I pledge myself it shall 
be the last time I either make such a request, or 
even allude to this topic between us. On the 
pretence of showing you the house, I may be 
able — if not to justify myself — nay, I see how 
little you care for that— well, at least to assure 
you that I have no other wish, no other hope, 
than to see you happy." 

"I cannot trust you," said she, in a tone of 
agitation; "already we are remarked." 

" So I perceive," said he, in an undertone; then 
added, in a voice audible enough to be heard by 
the rest, "I am too vain of my arcliitectural 
merits 'o leave their discovery to chance, and as 
you are good enuugh to say you would like to 
see the house, pray will your ladyship .accept 
my arm, while I perform tlie cicerone on myself?" 

The "coup" succeeded; and, to avoid the 
difficulty and embarrassment a refusal would 
have created. Lady Kilgoff arose, and prepared 
to accompany liim. 

"Eh, what— what is't, my lady?" said Lord 
Kdgoff, suddenly awaking from a kind of lethar- 
gic slumber, as she whispered some words in his 
ear. 

" Her ladyship is telling you not to be jealous, 
my lord, while she is making the tour of the 
house with Mr. Linton," said Lady Janet, with 
a malicious sparkle of her green eyes. 



" Why not make it a royal progress?" said Sir 
Harvey; "her majesty tlie queen might like it 
well." 

" Her majesty likes everything that promises 
amusement," said the wild romp, " come, Charley, 
give us your arm." 

"No, I've got a letter or two to write,' said 
he, rudely; "there's Upton or Jennings quite 
ready for any foolery." 

"This is too bad!'' cried she; and through all 
the pantomime of mock- royalty, a real tear rose 
to her eye, and rolled heavily down her cheek; 
then, with a sudden change of humor, she said, 
"Mr. Cashel, \\\\\ you take me?" 

The request was too late, for already he had 
given his arm to Lady Janet; an act of devotion 
he was performing with the expression of a saint 
under martyrdom. 

"SirHarvev — there's no help for it — we are 
reduced \.o you." 

But Sir Harvey was leaving tlie room with 
Olivia Kennyfeck. In fact, couples paired off 
in every direction; the only disengaged cavalier 
being Sir Andrew MacFarline, who, with a sar- 
donic grin on his features, came hobbling for- 
ward, as he said, — 

"Ye maunna tak' sich long strides, missy, if 
ye ga wi' nie, for I've got a couple o' ouncts of 
Langredge shot in my left knee — forbye the gout 
in both ankles." 

"I say, Jim," called out Lord Charles, as she 
moved away, "if you like to ride Princcpino this 
afternoon, he's ready for you." 

" Are you going?" said she, turning her head. 

"Yes." 

"Then /'// not go." And so saying, she left 
the room. 

When Linton, accompanied by Lady Kilgoff, 
issued from the drawing-room, instead of pro- 
ceeding through the billinrd-rocm low aids the 
suite which formed the " show" part of the man- 
sion, he turned abruptly to his left, and passing 
through a narrow corridor, came out upon a ter- 
race, at the end of which stood a large conserva- 
tory, opening into the garden. 

"I ask pardon." said he, "if I reverse the 
order of our geography, and show you the 
frontiers of the realm before we visit the capital, 
but otherwise we shall only be the advante-guard 
of that interesting comjaany, who have nothing 
more at heart than to overhear us" 

Lady Kilgoff walked along witliout speaking, 
at his side, having relinquished the su] port of 
his arm with a stiff, frigid courtesy. Had any 
one been there to mark ihe two figuris, as side 
by side they went, each deep in thought, and not 
even venturing a glance at the other, he might 
well have wondered what strange link could con- 
nect them. It was thus they entered the con- 
servatory, where two rows of orange-trees formed 
a lane of foliage almost impenetrable to the eye. 

"As this may be the last time we shall ever 
speak together in secret " 

"You have promised as much, sir," said she, 
interrupting; and the very rapidity of her utter- 
ance betrayed the eagerness of her wish. 

"Be it so, madam," replied he, coldly, and 
with a tone of sternness very different from that 



ROLAND CASH EL. 



508 



he had used at first. " I have ever preferred 
your wishes to my own. I shall never prove 
false to that allegiance. As we are now about 
to speak on terms which never can be resumed, 
let us at least be frank Let us use candor 
with each other. Even unpleasing truth is bet- 
ter at such a moment than smooth-tongued in- 
sincerity." 

"This ))reanible does not promise well," said 
Lady Kilgoff, witli a cold smile. 

" Not, perliaps, for the agreeability of our in- 
terview, but it may save us both much time and 
much temper. I Iiave said that yau are changed 
towards me." 

'"Oh, sir! it I had suspected that this was to 

be the theme ^" She stopped, and seemed 

uncertain, when he finished the speech for 
her. 

"You would never have accorded me tliis 
meeting. Do be frank, madam, and spare me 
the pain of self-inflicted severity. Well, I will 
not im])ose upon \our kindness, nor indeed was 
such my intention, if you had but heard me out. 
Yes, madam, I should have told you that while 
I deplore that alteration, I no more make you 
chargeable with it, than you can call Me to ac- 
count for cherishing a passion without a hope. 
Both one and the other are independent of us. 
That one should forget and the other remember 
is beyond mere volition." 

He waited for some token of assent — some 
slight evidence of concurrence — but none came, 
and he resumed: 

"When first I had the happiness of being dis- 
tinguislied by some slight show of your prefer- 
ence, there were many others who sought with 
eagerness for that position I was supposed to 
occupy in your favor. It Was the first access of 
vanity in my heart, and it cost me dearly. Some, 
envied me — some, scoffed — some, predicted that 
my triumph would be a brief one — some, were 
rude enough to say that I was only placed like a 
buoy, to show the passage, and that I should lie 
fast at anchor while others sailed on with pros- 
perous gale and favoring fortune. You, madam, 
best know which of these were right. I see that 
I weary you. I can conceive how distasteful all 
these memories must be, nor should I evoke them 
without absoUite necessity. To be brief, then, 
you are now about to play over with another the 
very game by which you once deceived me. It 
is your caprice to sacrifice another to your 
vanity; but know, madam, the liberties which 
the world smiled at in Miss Gardiner will be 
keenly criticized in the Lady Kilgoff. In the 
former case, the most malevolent could but hint 
at a mesalliance; in the latter, evil tongues can 
take a wider latitude. To be sure, the fascinat- 
ing qualities of the suitor, his wealth, his envia- 
ble position, will plead with some; my lord's age 
and decrepitude will weigh with others; but even 
these charitable persons will not spare you. 
Your own sex are seldom over-merciful fn their 
judgments. Men are unscrupulous enough to 
hint th.it there was no secret in the matter; some 
will go further, and affect to say that they them- 
selves were not unfavorably looked on." 

" Will you give me a chair, sir," said she, in 



a Voice which, though bafely above a whisper, 
vibrated with intense passion. Linton hastened 
to fetch a Seat, his whole features glowing with 
the elation of his vengeance. This passed rapidlv 
away, and as he placed the chair for her to sit 
down, his face had resimied its former cold, al- 
most melancholy c-xjiression, 

" I hope you are not ill ?" said he, with an air 
of feeling. 

A glance of the most ineffable scorn was her 
only reply. 

, "It is with sincere sorrow that 1 inflict this 
])ain upon you; indeed, Avhen I heard of that un- 
happy yacht excursion, my mind was made up 
to see Lord Kilgoff the very moment of his ar- 
rival, and, on any pretence, to induce him to 
leave this. This hope, however, was taken from 
me, wlien I beheld the sad state into which he 
had fallen, leaving me ho other alternative than 
to address yourself. I will not hurt your ears 
by repeating the intentions, each full of false- 
hood, that heralded your arrival here. The in- 
sulting discussion.? how you should be met — 
whether your conduct had already precluded 
your acceptance amofigst the circle of your 
equals — or, that you were only a subject of 
avoidance to mothers of marriageable daughters, 
and maiden ladies of excessive virtue. You have 
mixed in the world, and therefore can well imagine 
every ingenious turn of this peculiar eloc[uence, 
How was I — I who have known- — I who-^nay, 
madam, not a word shall pass my lips in refer- 
ence to that themc' — I would only ask, could I 
hear these things, could 1 see your foot ncaring 
the cliff and not cry out, stop?-^Another step 
and you are lost! There are women who can 
play this dangerous game with cool heads and 
cooler hearts; schooled in all the frigid indiffer- 
ence that wotdd seem the birthright of a certain 
class, the secrets of their affections die with them 
— but you are not one of these. Born in what 
they would call an humbler, but I should call a 
far higher, sphere, where the feelings are fresher 
and the emotions purer, j'6V/ might chance to — 
fall in love'" 

A faint smile, so faint that it conveyed no ex- 
pression to her eyes, was Lady Kilgoff's acknowl 
edgment of these last words. 

"Have you finished, sir?" said she, as, after a 
pause of some seconds, he stood still. 

"Not yet, madam," replied he, dryly. 

"In that case, sir, would it not be as well to 
tell the man who is lingering yonder to leave 
this? except, perhaps, it may be your desire to 
have a witness to your words." 

Linton started, and grew deadly pale; for he 
now perceived that the man must have been in 
the conservatory during the entire interview 
H.istening round to where he stood, his fears 
were at once dispelled; for it was the Italian 
sailor, Giovanni, who, in the multiplicity of his 
accompliislmiefifs, Was fiow assisting the gardener 
afndng the plants. 

"It is of no consequence, madam," said he, 
returning, "the man is an Italian, who under- 
stands nothing of English." 

" Voit are always fortunate, Mr. Linton," said 
she, with a deep emphasis on the pronoun. 



504 



R0LA5ID CAS HEX. 



" I have ceased to boast of my good luck, for 
many a day." 

" Having, doubtless, so many otlier qualities 
to be proud of," said she, with a malicious 
sparkle of her dark eyes. 

" The question is now, madam, of one far more 
interesting than me." 

"Can that be possible, sir? Is any one's wel- 
fare of such moment to his friends — to the world 
at large — as the high-minded, the honorable, the 
open-hearted Mr. Linton, who condescends, for 
tlie sake of a warning to his young friends, to 
turn gambler, and ruin them; while he has the" 
daring courage to single out a poor unprotected 
woman, without one who could rightfully defend 
her, and, under the miserable mask of interest, 
to insult her?" 

" Is it thus you read my conduct, madam?" 
said he, with an air at once sad and reproachful. 

" Not altogether, Mr. Linton. Besides the in- 
effable pleasure of giving pain, I perceive that 
you are acquitting a debt — the debt of hate you 

owe me; because but I cannot descend to 

occupy the same level with you in this business. 
My reply to you is a very short one. Your insult 
to me must go unpunished; for, as you well 
know, I have not one to resent it. You have, 
however, introduced another name in this dis- 
cussion; to that gentleman I will reveal all that 
you have said tiiis day. The consequences may 
be what they will, I care not; I never provoked 
them. You best know, sir, how the reckoning 
will fare with you." 

Linton grew pale, almost lividly so, while he bit 
his lip till the very blood came; then, suddenly 
recovering himself, he said: "I am not aware of 
having mentioned a name. I think your lady- 
ship must have been mistaken; but" — and here 
he laughed slightly— " you will scarce succeed in 
sowing discord between me and my old friend 
Lord Charles Frobisher." 

" Lord Charles Frobisher!" echoed she, almost 
stunned with the effrontery. 

" You seem surprised, madam. I trust your 
ladyship meant no other." The insolence of his 
manner, as he said this, left her unable for some 
minutes to replv, and when she did speak, it was 
with evident effort. 

'■ I trust now, sir, that we have spoken for the 
last time together. I own — and it is, indeed, 
humiliation enough to own it — -your words have 
deeply insulted me. I cannot deny you the sat- 
isfaction of knowing this; and yet, with all these 
things before me, I do not hate — I only despise 
you." 

So saying, she moved towards the door, but 
Linton stepped forward, and said: "One instant, 
madam. You seem to forget that we are pledged 
to walk through the room; our amiable friends 
are doubtless looking for us." 

"I will ask Mr. Cashel to be my chaperon 
another time," said she, carelessly; and drawing 
her shawl around her, passed out, leaving Linton 
alone in the conservatory. 

" Ay, by .St. Paul! the work goes bravely on," 
cried lie, as soon as she had disappeared. "If 
she ruin not him and herself to boot, now, I am 
sore mistaken. The game is full of interest, and, 



if I had not so much in hand, would delight 
me." 

With this brief soliloquy, he turned to where 
the Italian was standing, pruning an orange- 
tree. 

" Have you learned any English yet, Giovanni?" 

A slight but significant gesture of one finger 
gave the negative. 

" No matter, your own soft vowels are in more 
request here. The dress I told you of is now 
come; my servant will give it to you; so, be 
ready with your guitar, if the ladies wish for it, 
tliis evening." 

Giovanni bowed respectfully, and went on 
with his work, and soon after Linton strolled 
into the garden to muse over the late scene. 

Had any one been there to mark the signs of 
triumphant elation on his features, they would 
have seen the man in all the sincerity of his bold 
bad heart. His success was perfect. Knowing 
well the proud nature of the young, high-spirited 
woman, thoroughly acquainted with her impatient 
temper and haughty character, he rightly fore- 
saw that to tell her she had become the subject 
of a calumny, was to rouse her pride to confront 
it openly. To whisper that the world would not 
admit of this or that, was to make her brave that 
world, or sink under the effort. 

To sting her to such resistance was his wily 
game, and who knew better how to play it? The 
insinuated sneers at the class to which she had 
once belonged, as one not " patented" to assume 
the vices of their betters, was a deep and most 
telling hit; and he saw, when they separated, 
that her mind was made up, at any cost and every 
risk, to live down the slander by utter contempt 
o{ it. Linton asked for no more. "Let her," 
said he to himself, " but enter the lists with the 
world for an adversary! I'll give her all the 
benefit of the best motives — as much purity of 
heart, and so forth, as she cares for— but, ' I'll 
name tlie winner,' after all." 

Too true. The worthy people who fancy that 
an innale honesty of purpose can compensate 
for all the breachesofconventionaluse, arelike the 
volunteers of an army who refuse to wear its 
uniform, and are as often picked down by their 
allies as by their enemies. 



CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

A PARTIAL RECOVERY AND A REtAPSE. 

Such a conconrse ne'er was seen 

Of coaches, noddies, cars, and jingles, 
" Charsi-bancs" — to hold sixteen, 

And " Sulkies" meant to carry singles. 

— The Pic-Nic: a Lay. 

It is an old remark that nothing is so stupid 
as love letters; and, pretty much in the same 
spirit, we may affirm that there are few duller 
topics than festivities. The scenes in which the 
actor is most interested are, out of compensation, 
perhaps, those least worthy to record; the very 
inability of description to render them is dis- 
heartening, too. One must eternally resort to 



'^'-''-iLzrv 




-^. 













^1 






ROLAND CASHEL. 



605 



the effects produced, as evidences of the cause, 
j ist as, when we would characterize a climate, 
we find ourselves obliged to fall back upon the 
vegetable productions, the fruits and flowers of 
the seasons, to convey even anything of what we 
desire. So is it. Pleasure has its own atmos- 
])here — we may breathe, but hardly chronicle it. 

These prosings of ours have reference to the 
gayeties of Tubbermore, which certainly were all 
that a merry party and an unbounded ex[)endit- 
ure could compass. The style of living was 
princely in its splendor; luxuries fetched from 
every land— the rarest wines of every country, 
tlie most exquisite flowers — all tliat taste can 
suggest, and gold can buy, were there; and 
while the order of each day was maintained with 
undiminished splendor, every little fancy of tlie 
guests was studied with a watchful politeness 
tliat marks the highest delicacy of liospitality. 

If a bachelor's house be wanting in the grace- 
fulness which is the charm of a family rece[)tion, 
there is a freedom, a degree of liberty in all the 
movements of the guests, which some would ac- 
cept as a fair compromise; for, while the men 
assume a full eq.iality witli their host, the ladies 
are supreme in all such establishments. Roland 
Cashel was, indeed, not the man to dislike this 
kind of democracy; it spared him trouble; it in- 
flicted no tiresome routine of attentions; he was 
free as tiie others to follow the bent of his humor, 
and he asked for no more. 

It was without one particle of vulgar pride of 
wealth, that he delighted in the pleasure he saw 
around him; it was the mere buoyancy of a high- 
spirited nature. The cost no more entered into 
his calculations in a personal than a pecuniary 
sense. A consciousness that he was the source 
of all that splendid festivity — that his will was 
the motive-power of all that complex machinery 
of pleasure — increased, but did not constitute, 
his enjoyment. To see his guests happy, in the 
various modes they preferred, was his great de- 
light, anil, for once, he felt inclined to think that 
wealth had great privileges. 

The display of all, which gratified him most, 
was that which usually took place each day after 
luncheon; when the great space before the house 
was thronged with equipages of various kinds 
and degrees, with saddle-horses and mounted 
grooms, and amid all the bustle of discussing 
where to, and with whom, the party issued fortli 
to spend the hours before dinner. 

A looker-on would have been amused to watch 
all the little devices in request, to join this party, 
to avoid that, to secure a seat in a certain car- 
riage, or to escape from some other; Linton's 
chief amusement being to thwart as many of 
these plans as he could, and while he packed a 
sleepy chief justice into the same barouche with 
the g ly Kennyfeck girls, to commit Lady Janet 
to the care of some dashing dragoon, who did 
not dare decUne the wife of a "commander of 
the forces." 

Cashel always joined the party on horseback, 
so long as Lady Kilgoff kept the house, which 
she did for the first week of her stay; but when 
she announced her intention of driving out, he 
offered his services to accompany her. By the 



merest accident it chanced tnat the very day she 
fixed on for her first excursion was that on which 
Cashel had determined to try a new and most 
splendid equipage which had just arrived. It 
was a phaeton, built in all the costly splendor of 
the "Regency of the duke of Orleans" — one of 
those gorgeous toys which even a voluptuousage 
gazed at with wonder. Two jet-black Arabians, 
of perfect symmetry, drew it, the whole forming 
a most beautiful equijiage. 

Exclamations of astonishment and admiration 
broke from the whole party as the carriage drove 
up to the door, where all were now standing. 

"Whose can it be? — Where did it come from? 
— What a magnificent phaeton! Mr. Cashel, pray 
teil us all about it. Do, Mr. Linton, give us its 
history." 

" It has none as yet, my dear Mrs. White; 
that it may have, one of these days, is quite pos- 
sible." 

Lady Janet heard the speech, and nodded sig- 
nificantly in assent. 

" Mr. Linton, you are coming with us. a'n't 
you?" said a lady's voice from a britschka close 
by. 

" I really don't know how the arrangement is; 
Cashel said something about my driving Lady 
Kilgoff." 

Lady Kilgoff pressed her lips close, and gath- 
ered her mantle together as if by some sudden 
impulse of temper, but never spoke a word. At 
the same instant Cashel made his appearance 
from the house. 

" Are you to drive me, Mr. Cashel ?" said she, 
calmly. 

" If you will humor me so far," replied he, 
bowing. 

" I fancied you said something to me about 
being her ladyship's charioteer," said Linton. 

" Vou must have been dreaming, man," cried 
Cashel, laughing. 

"Will you allow my lady to choose?" rejoined 
Linton, jokingly, while he stole at her a look of 
insolent malice. 

Cashel stood uncertain what to say or do in 
the emergency, when, with a firm and deter- 
mined voice. Lady Kilgoff said: 

"I must own I have no confidence in Mr. Lin- 
ton's guidance." 

"There, Tom," said Cashel, gayly, " I'm glad 
vour vanity came in for that." 

" I have only to hope that you are in safer 
conduct, my lady," said Linton; as he bowed 
with uncovered head, and then stood gazing 
after the swift carriage as it hastened down the 
avenue. 

" Is it all true about these Kennyfeck girls 
having so much ' tin?' " said Captain Jennings, 
as he stroked down his moustache compla- 
cently. 

""They say five-and-twenty thousand each," 
said Linton; "and I rather credit the rumor." 

"Eh, aw! one might do worse," yawned the 
hussar, languidly; "I wish they hadn't that con- 
founded accent!" And so he moved off to join 
the party on horseback. 

"You are coming with me, Jemima," said Mr. 
Downie Meek to his daughter. " I want to pay 



506 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



a visit to those works at- Killaloe, we have so 
much committee talk in tlie house on inland navi- 
gation. Oh, dear! it is very tiresome." 

"Charley says I'm to go with him, pa; he's 
about to try Smasher as a leader, and wants me, 
if anything goes wrong." 
. "Oh, dear! — quite impossible." 

"Yes, yes, Jim, I insist," said Frobisher, in a 
half whisper; "never mind the governor." 

"Here comes the drag, pa. Oh, how beauti- 
ful it looks! There they go, all together; and 
Smasher, how neatly he carries himself! I say, 
Charley, he has no fancy for that splinter-bar so 
near him — it touches his near hock every instant; 
wouldn'c it be better to let his trace a hole 
looser?" 

"So it would," said Frobisher; "but get u]) 
and hold the ribbons till I have got my gloves 
on. I say, Linton, keep Downie in chat one mo- 
ment, until we're off." 

This kindly oftice was, however, anticipated by 
Lady Janet MacFarline, who, in her brief transit 
from the door to the carriage, always contrived 
to drop each of the twenty things she loaded her- 
self with at starting, and thus to press into the 
service as many of the bystanders as possible, 
who followed, one with a muff, another with a 
smelling-bottle, a third with a book, a fourth with 
lier knitting, and so on;' while Flint brought up 
the rear with more air-cushions and hot-water 
apparatus than ever were seen before for the 
accommodation of two persons. Li fact, if the 
atmosphere of our dear island, instead of being 
the mere innocent thing of fog it is, had been 
surcharged with all the pestilential vapors of 
the mistrale and the typhoon together, she could 
not have armed herself with stronger precautions 
against it, while even Sir Andrew, with the con- 
stitution of a Russian bear, was compelled to 
v^fear blue spectacles in sunshine and a respirator 
when it lowered; leaving him, as he said, to the 
' domnable alternative o' being blind or dumb" 

"I maun say," muttered he, behind his barrier 
of mouth-plate, " that Mesther Cashel has his 
ain notions aboot anlusin' his company when he 
leaves ane o' his guests to drive aboot wi' his ain 
wife. Ech, sir, it is a pleasure I need na hae 
corne so far to enjoy." 

"Where's Sir Harvey Upton, Sir Andrew?" 
said my lady, tartly; "he has never been near 
me to-day. I hope he's not making a fool of 
himself with those Kennyfeck min.xes." 

"1 dinna ken, and I dinna care," growled Sir 
Andrevv; and then, to himself, he added, "An' if 
he be, it's aye better fooling wi' young lassies 
than doited auld women!" 

"A place for )v//, Mr. Linton!" said Mrs. White, 
as she seated herself in a low drosky, where her 
companion, Mr. Howie, sat surrounded with all 
the details for a sketching excursion. 

"Thanks, but 1 have nothing so agreeable in 
prospect." 

"Why, what are you about to do?" 

" Alas! I must set out on a canvassing expedi- 
tion, to court the sweet voices of my interesting 
constituency. You know thaf I am'a candidate 
for the borough." 
■ "That must be very disagreeable." 



" It is, but I could not get off, Cashel is in- 
curably lazy, and / never know how to say ' no.' " 
" Well, good-bye, and all fortune to you," said 
she; and they drove away. 

Mr. Kennyfeck and the chief justice, mounted 
on what are called sure-footed ponies, and a few 
others, still lingered about the door, but Linton 
took no notice of them, but at once re-entered 
the house. 

F'or some time previous he had remarked that 
Lord Kilgoff seemed, as it were, struggling to 
emerge from the mist that had shrouded his 
faculties, his perceptions each day grew quicker 
and clearer, and even when silent, Linton ob- 
served that a shrewd expression of the eye would 
betoken a degree of apprehension few would have 
given him credit for. With the keenness of a 
close observer, too, Linton perceived that he 
more than once made use of his favorite expres- 
sion, " It ap])ears to me" and slight as the remark 
might seem, there is no more certain evidence of 
the return to thought and reason than the resump- 
tion of any habitual mode of expression. 

Resolved to profit by this gleam of coming in- 
telligence, by showing the old peer an attention 
he knew would be acceptable, Linton sent up a 
message to ask " If his lordship would like a visit 
from him?" A most cordial acceptance was re- 
turned; and, a few moments after, Linton entered 
the room where he sat, with all that delicate 
caution so becoming a sick chamber. 

Motioning his visitor to sit down, by a slight 
gesture of the finger, while he made a faint effort 
to smile, in return for the other's salutation, the 
old man sat, propped up by pillows, and enveloped 
in shawls, pale, sad, and careworn. 

" I was hesitating for two entire days, my lord," 
said Linton, lowering his voice to suit the charac- 
ter of the occasion, "whether I might propose 
to come and sit an hour with you, and I have 
only to beg that you will not permit me to trespass 
a moment longer than you feel disposed to en- 
dure me." 

"Very kind of you — most considerate, sir," 
said the old peer, bowing with an air of haughty 
courtesy. 

'You seem to gain strength every day, my 
lord," resumed Linton, who well knew that there 
is nothing like a personal topic to awaken a sick 
man's interest. 

"There is something here," said the old man, 
slowly, as he placed the tip of his finger on the 
centre of his forehead. 

"Mere debility, nervous debility, my lord. 
You are paying the heavy debt an over-worked 
intellect must always acquit; but rest and repose 
will soon restore you." 

"Yes, sir," muttered the other, with a weak 
smile, as though, without fathoming the senti- 
ment, he felt that something agreeable to his 
feelings had been spoken. 

"I have been impatient for your recovery, my 
lord, I will confess to you, on personal grounds; 
I feel now how much I have been indebted to 
your lordship's- counsel and advice all through 
life, by the very incertitude that tracks me. In 
fact, I can rfesolveon nothing, determine nothing, 
without your sanction." 



ROLAND CASH EL, 



507 



- The old man nodded assentingly; the assur- 
ance had his most sincere conviction.. 

" It would seem, my lord, that I must — 
whether I will or no — stand for this borough, 
here; there is no alternative, lor you are aware 
tliat Cashel is quite unfit for public business. 
Kach dav he exhibits more and more of those 
c|ualities which bespeak far more goodness of heart 
tiiaii intellectual training or culture. His way- 
wardness and eccentricity might seriously damage 
his own party — could he even be taught that he 
iiad one— and become terrible weapons in the 
hands of the enemy I was speaking of Cashel, 
my lord," said Linton, as it were answering the 
look of in(|u;ry in the old man's face. 

" I hate him, sir," said the old peer, with a 
bitterness of voice and look that well suited the 
words. 

"I really cannot wonder at it," said Linton, 
with a deep sigh; "such duplicity is too shocking 
— far too shocking — to contemplate." 

"Eh!— what? What did you say, sir?" cried 
the old man, impatiently 

"I was remarking, my lord, that I have no 
confidence in his sincerity — that he strikes me as 
capable of playing a double part.' 

A look of disappointment succeeded to the ex- 
cited expression of the old man's face, he had 
evidently expected some revelation, and now his 
features became clouded and gloomy. 

"We may be unjust, my lord," said Linton. 
" It may be a prejudice on our part; others would 
seem to have a different estimate of that gentle- 
man. Meek thinks highly of him.' 

" Who, sir; I didn't hear you?" asked he, snap- 
pishly 

"Meek — Downie Meek, my lord." • 
" Pshaw!" said the old man, with a shrewd 
twinkle of the eye, that made Linton fear the 
mind behind it was clearer than he suspected. 

"I know, my lord," said he, hastily, "that you 
always held the worthy secretary cheap; but you 
weighed iiim in a balance too nice for the majority 

of people -" 

" What does that old woman say? Tell me her 
opinion of Cashel," said Lord Kilgoff, rallying 
into something like his accustomed manner. "You 
know whom I mean!" cried he, impatient at 
Linton's delay in answering. " the old woman 
one sees everywhere; she married that Scotch 

sergeant " 

" Lady Janet MacFarline " 

" Exactly, sir." 

" She thinks precisely with your lordship." 
" I'm sure of it; I told my lady so," muttered 
he to himself: 

Linton caught the words with eagerness, and his 
dark eyes kindled; for at last were they nearing 
the territory he wanted to occupy 

"Lady Kilgoff," said he, slowly, "does not 
need any aid to appreciate him; she reads him 
thoroughly, the heartless, selfish, unprincipled 
spendthrift that he is." 

" She does not, sir," rejoined the old man, 
with a loud voice, and a stroke of his cane upon 
the floor, that echoed through the room. " 'i'ou 
never were more mistaken in your life. His in- 
sufferable puppyism, his reckless effrontery, his' 



underbred familiarity, are precisely the very 
qualities she is pleased with. 'They are so 
different,' as she says, ' from the tiresome routine 
of fasiiionable manners.' " 

"Unquestionably they are, my lord," said 
Linton, with a smile. 

" Exactly, sir; they differ, as do her ladyship's 
own habits, from those of every lady in the 
peerage. I told her so. I begged to set her 
right on that subject at least." 

" Your lordship's refinement is a most severe 
standard," said Linton, bowing low. 

" It should be an example, sir, as well as a 
chastisement. Indeed, I believe few would have 
failed to profit by it." I'he air of insolent pride 
in which he spoke, seemed for an instant to have 
brought back the wonted look to his features, 
and he sat up, with his lips compressed, and his 
chin protruded, as in his days of yore. 

" I vvould entreat your lordshq) to remember," 
said Linton, " how few have studied in the same 
school you have; liow few have enjoyed' the inti- 
macy of ' the most perfect gentleman of all 
Europe,' and of that small circle, who is there 
could have derived the same advantage from the 
privilege? ' 

" Your remark is very just, sir, I owe much, 
very much, to his royal highness." 

The tone of humility in which he said this 
was a high treat to the sardonic spirt of his 
listener. 

" And what a penance to you must be a visit 
in such a house as this?" said Linton, with a sigh. 

" True, sir; but who induced me to make it? 
Answer me that." 

Linton started with amazement, for he was 
very far from supposing that his lordship's 
memory was clear enough to retain the events 
of an interview that occurred some months be- 
fore. 

" I never anticipated that it would cost you 
so dearly, my lord," s;ud he, cautiously, and pre- 
pared to give his words any turn events might 
warrant. For once, however, the ingenuity was 
wasted. Lord Kilgoff, wearied and exhausted 
by the increased effort of his intellect, had fallen 
back in his chair, and, with drooping lips and 
fallen jaw, sat the very picture of helj^less fatuity. 

" So, then," said Linton, as on tiptoe he stole 
noiselessly away, " if your memory was inoppor- ■ 
tune, it was, at least, very short-lived. And now, 
adieu, my lord, till we want you for another act 
of the drama." 



CHAPTER XXXIX. 

MORE KENNVFECK INTRIGUING. 

We'll have you at our merry-making, too. 

— Honeymoon. 

If we should appear, of late, to have forgotten 
some of those friends with whom we first made 
our readers acquainted in this veracious history, 
we beg to plead against any charge of caprice or 
neglect. The cause is simply this; a story, like 



608 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



a streftni, has one main ourrent, and he who 
would follow the broad river, must eschew being 
led away by every rivulet which may separate 
from the great flood to follow its own vagrant 
fancy elsewhere Now, the Kennyfecks had 
been meandering after this fashion for some time 
back. The elder had commenced a very vigor- 
cur flirtation with tiie dashing Captain Jennings, 
while the younger sister was coyly dallying 
under the attentions of his brother hussar — less, 
be it remembered, with any direct intention of 
surrender, than with the faint hope that Cashel, 
perceiving the siege, should think fit to rescue 
the fortress, "Aunt Fanny" hovering near, as 
"an army of observation," and ready, like the 
Prussians in the last war, to take part with the 
victorious side, whichever that might be. 

And now, we ask in shame and sorrow, is it 
not humiliating to think, that of a party of some 
thirty or more, met together to enjoy in careless 
freedom the hospitality of a country-house, all 
should have been animated with the same spirit 
of intrigue — each bent on his own deep game, 
and, in some one guise or other of deceitfulness, 
each following out some scheme of selfish ad- 
vantage? 

Some may say these things are forced and un- 
natural; that pleasure proclaims a truce in the 
great war of life, where combatants lay down 
their weapons, and mix like friends and allies. 
We fear this is not the case. Our own brief ex- 
periences would certainly tend to a different con- 
clusion. Less a player than a looker-on in the 
great game, we have seen, through all the ex- 
citements of dissipation, all the fascinating 
pleasures of the most brilliant circles, the steady 
onward pursuit of self-interest; and, instead of 
the occasions of social enjoyment being like the 
palm-shaded wells in the desert, where men 
meet to taste the peacefulness of perfect rest, 
they are rather the arena where, m all the glitter 
of the most splendid armor, the combatants have 
come to tilt, with more than life upon the issue 

For this, the beauty wreathes herself in all the 
winning smiles of loveliness, for this, the cour- 
tier puts forth his most captivating address and 
his most seductive manner, for this, the wit 
sharpens Jhe keen edge of his fancy, and the 
statesman matures the deep resolve of his judg- 
ment. The diamond coronets that deck the 
hair and add lustre to the eyes — the war-won 
medals that glitter on the coat of some hardy 
veteran — the proud insignia of merit that a 
sovereigii's favor grants — all are worn to this 
end! Each brings to the game whatever he may 
possess of superiority, for the contest is ever a 
severe one. 

And now to go back to our company. From 
Lady Janet, intent upon everything which might 
minister to her own comfort or mortify her 
neighbor, to the smooth and soft-voiced Downie 
Meek — with the kindest of wishes and the cold- 
est of hearts — they were, we grieve to own it, 
far more imposing to look at, full dressed at 
dinner, than to investigate by the searching ana- 
tomy that discloses the vices and foibles of 
humanity; and it is, therefore, with less regret 
we turn from the great house, in all the pomp 



of its splendor, to the humble cottage, where Mr* 
Corrigan dwelt with his granddaughter. 

In wide contrast to the magnificence and 
profusion of the costly household, where each 
seemed bent on giving way to every caprice that 
extravagance could suggest, was the simple quiet- 
ude of that unpretending family The efforts 
by which Corrigan had overcome his difficulties, 
not only cost him all the little capital he pos- 
sessed in the world, but had also necessitated a 
mode of living more restricted than he had ever 
known before The little luxuries that his sta- 
tion, as well as his age and long use, had made 
necessaries — the refinements that adorn even the 
very simplest lives — had all to be, one by one, 
surrendered. Some of these he gave up manfully, 
others cost him deeply; and when the day came 
that he had to take leave of his old grey pony, 
the faithful companion of so many a lonely 
ramble, the creature he had reared and petted 
like a dog, the struggle was almost too much for 
him. 

He walked along beside the man who led the 
beast to the gate, telling him to be sure and seek 
out some one who would treat her kindly 
"Some there are would so for my sake; but she 
deserves it better for her own. — Yes, Nora, I'm 
speaking of you," said he, caressing her, as she 
laid her nose over his arm. "I'm sure I never 
thought we'd have to part." 

" She's good as goold this minit," said the 
man, " an' it'll go hard but I'll get six pounds 
for her, any way " 

'' Tell whoever buys her that Mr. Corrigan 
will give him a crown-piece every Christmas-day 
that he sees her looking well and in good heart. 
To be sure, it's no great bribe, we're both so 
old," said he, smiling, "but my blessing goes 
with the man that's a friend to her. ' He sat 
down as he said this, and held his hand over his 
face till she was gone. " God forgive me if I set 
my heart too much on such things, but it's like 
parting with an old friend. Poor Mary's harp 
must go next But here come's Tiernay. Well 
doctor, what news?" 

The doctor shook his head twice or thrice 
despondingly, but said nothing; at last, he 
muttered, in a grumbling voice: 

" I was twice at the hall, but there's no seeing 
Cashel himself; an insolent puppy of a valet 
turned away contemptuously as I asked for him, 
and said 

" Mr. Linton, perhaps, might hear what you 
have to say." 

"Is Kennyfeck to be found ?" 

"Yes, I saw him for a few minutes, but he's 
like the rest of them; the old fool fancies he's a 
man of fashion here, and told me he had left 
' the attorney' behind, in Merrion square. He 
half confessed to me, however, what I feared. 
Cashel has either given a promise to give this 
farm of yours to Linton " 

" Well, the new landlord will not be less kind 
than the old one." 

"You think so," said Tiernay, sternly. "Is 
your knowledge of life no better than this? 
Have you lived till now without being able to 
read that man? Come, come, Corrigan, don't 





'^^uaany/z-aiT^ //'^^/Ayx^^i' ^«4^eJ^^^^/?^^ 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



509 



treat tliis as a prejudice of mine. I have watched 
him closely, and lie sees it. I tell you again, the 
fellow is a villain." 

"Ay, ay," said Corrigan, laughing; "your 
doctor's craft has made you ahvavs on the look- 
out for some hidden miscliief." 

"My doctor's craft has taught me to know 
that symptoms are never without a meaning. 
But enough of him; the question is simply this: 
we have, then, merely to propose to Cashel the 
purcliase of your interest in the cottage, on which 
you will cede possession." 

" Yes; and give up, besides, all claim at law, 
for you know we are supported by the highest 
opinions." 

"Pooh — nonsense, man, don't embarrass the 
case by a pretension they're sure to sneer at. 
The cottage and the little fields behind it are 
tangible and palpable; don't weaken your case 
by a plea you could not ])ress." 

" Have your own way, then," said the old man, 
mildly. 

" It is an annuity, you say, you'd wish." 

"On Mary's life, not on mine, doctor." 

"It will be a poor thing," said Tiernay, with a 
sigh. 

"They say we could live in some of the towns 
in Flanders very cheaply," said Corrigan, cheer- 
fully. 

"You don't know how to live cheaply," re- 
joined Tiernay, crankily. " You think, if you 
don't see a man in black behind your chair, and 
that you eat off delf instead of silver, that you 
are a miracle of simplicity. I saw you last 
Sunday put by the decanter with half a glass of 
sherry at the bottom of it, and you were as proud 
of your thrift as if you had reformed your whole 
household." 

" Everything is not learned in a moment, 
Tiernay," said Corrigan, mildly. 

" Yoo are too old to begin, Con Corrigan," 
said the other, gravely; "such men as you, who 
have not been educated to narrow fortunes, never 
learn thrift; they can endure great privations 
well enough, but it is the little, petty, dropping 
ones that break down the spirit — these, they 
cannot meet." 

" A good conscience and a strong will can do 
a great deal, Tiernay. One thing is certain, that 
we shall escape persecution from him. He will 
scarcely discover us in our humble retreat." 

" I've thought of that, too," said Tiernay. 
" It is the greatest advantage the plan possesses. 
Now, the next point is, how to see this same 
Cashel; from all that I can learn, his life is one 
of dissipation from morning tiM night. Those 
fashionable sharpers by whom he is surrounded 
are making him pay dearly for his admission 
into the honorable guild." 

"The greater the i)itv," sighed Corrigan; " he 
appeared to me deserving of a different fate. An 
easy, complying temper " 

" The devil a worse fault I'd wish my enemy," 
broke in Tiernay, passionately " A field with- 
out a fence — a house without a door to it' And 
there, if I am not mistaken, 1 hear his voice; yes, 
he's coming along the path, and some one with 
hun, too." 



"I'll leave you to talk to him, Tiernay, for 
you seem in ' the vein.' " And with these words 
the old man turned into a by-path, just as 
Cashel, with Lady Kilgoff on his arm, advanced 
up the avenue. 

Nothing is more remarkable than the uncon- 
scious homage tendered to female beauty and 
elegance by men whose mould of mind, as well 
as habit, would seem to render them insensible 
to such fascinations, nor is their instinctive ad- 
miration a tribute which beauty ever despises. 

The change which came over the rough doc- 
tor's expression as the party came nearer exem- 
plified this truth strongly. The look of stern 
determination with which he was preparing to 
meet Cashel changed to one of astonishment, 
and, at last, to undisguised admiration, as he 
surveyed the graceful mien and brilliant beauty 
before him They had left the phaeton at the 
little wicket, and the exercise on foot had slightly 
colored her cheek, and added animation to her 
features — the only aid necessary to make her 
loveliness perfect. 

" I have taken a great liberty with my neigh- 
bor, Doctor Tiernay," said Cashel, as he came 
near. " Let me present you, however, first — 
Doctor Tiernay, Lady Kilgoff. I had been tell- 
ing her ladyship that the only picturesque por- 
tion of this country lies within this holly enclosure, 
and is the property of my friend Mr. Corrigan, 
who, although lit will not visit me, will not, I'm 
sure, deny me the pleasure of showing his taste- 
ful grounds to my friends." 

" My old friend would be but too proud of such 
a visitor," said Tiernay, bowing low to Lady 
Kilgoff. 

" Mr. Cashel has not confessed all our object, 
Mr. Tiernay," said she, assuming her must gra- 
cious manner. "Our visit has in prospect the hope 
of making Miss Leicester's acquaintance, as I 
know you are the intimate friend of the family, 
will you kindly say if this be a suitable hour, or, 
indeed, if our presence here at all would not be 
deemed an intrusion?" 

"The doctor colored deeply, and his eye 
sparkled with pleasure, for strange enough as it 
may appear, while sneering at the dissipations 
of the great house, he felt a degree of indignant 
anger at the thought of Mary sitting alone and 
neglected, with gayeties around her on every 
side. 

" It was a most thoughtful kindneFS of your 
ladyship," replied he, "for my friend is too old 
and too infirm to seek society, and so, the poor 
child has no other companionship than two old 
men, only fit to weary each other." 

"You make me hope that our mission will 
succeed, sir," said Lady Kilgoff, still employing 
her most fascinating look and voice; "we may 
reckon you as an ally, I trust." 

" I am your ladyship's most devoted," said 
the old man, courteously; "how can I be of 
service?" 

" Our object is to induce Miss Leicester to 

pass some days with us," said she; "we are 

plotting various amusements that might interest 

.her — private theatricals among the rest." 

I " Here she comes, my lady," said Tiernay, 



610 



ROLAND CASHEL 



with animation; " I am proud to be the means of 
introducing her." 

Just at this instant Mary Leicester had caught 
sight of the party, and uncertain whether to ad- 
vance or retire, was standing for a moment un- 
decided, when Tiernay called out, 

" Stay a minute, Miss Mary; Lady Kilgoff is 
anxious to make your acquaintance." 

"This is a very informal mode of opening an 
intimacy. Miss Leicester," said Lady Kilgoff; 
" pray let it have the merit of sincerity, for 1 
have long desired to know one of whom I have 
heard so much." 

Mary replied courteously to the speech, and 
looked pleasedly towards Cashel, to whom she 
justly attributed the compliment insinuated. 

As the two ladies moved on side by side, en- 
gaged in conversation, Tiernay slackened his 
pace slightly, and in a voice of low but earnest 
import, said, 

"Will Mr Cashel consider it an intrusion if I 
take this opportunity of speaking to him on a 
matter of business?" 

" Not in the least, doctor," said Cashel. gaylv; 
"but it's right I should mention that I am most 
lamentably ignorant of everything that deserves 
that name My agent has always saved me 
from the confession, but the truth will out at 
last." 

"So much the worse, sir — for others, as well 
as for yourself, "replied Tiernay bluntly. '' The 
trust a large fortune imposes but I shall for- 
get myself, if I touch on such a theme My 
business is this, sir — and, in mercy to you, I'll 
make it very brief My old friend, Mr Corrigan, 
deems it expedient to leave this country, and, 
in consequence, to dispose of the interest he 
possesses in these grounds, so long embellished 
by his taste and culture. He is well aware that 
much of what he has expended here has not 
added substantial value to the property, that, 
purely ornamental, it has in great part, repaid him- 
self by the many years of enjoyment it has 
afforded liim. Still he hopes — or rather, I do 
for him — for, to speak candidly, sir, Aehns neither 
courage nor hardihood for those kind of transac- 
tions — I hope sir that you, desirous of uniting 
this farm to the large demesne — as I understand 
to be the case — will not deem this an unfitting 
occasion to treat liberally with one whose posi 
tion is no longer what it once was I must take 
care, Mr. Cashel, that I say nothing which looks 
like solicitation here the confidence my friend 
has placed in me would be ill requited by sucli 
an error.' 

Is there no means of securing Mr. Corrigan's 
residence here?" said Cashel. ' Can I not ac- 
commodate his wishes in some other way, and 
which should not deprive me of a neighbor I prize 
so highly?" 

" I fear not The circumstances which induce 
him to go abroad are imperative." 

"Would it not be better to reflect on this?" 
said Cashel ' I do not seek to pry into concerns 
which are not mine, but I would earnestly ask if 
some other arrangement be not possible?' 

Tiernay shook his head dubiously 
If this be so then I can or)pose no longer 



It only remains for Mr, Corrigan to put his own 
value on the property and I accept it." 

" Nay, sir; this generosity will but raise new 
difficulties. You are about to deal with a man 
as high-hearted as yourself, and with the punctil- 
ious delicacy that a narrow fortune suggests, 
besides." 

" Do you, then, doctor, who know both of us, 
be arbitrator. Let it not be a thing for parch- 
ments and lawyers' clerks. Let it be an honorable 
understanding between two gentlemen, and so, 
no more of it." 

" If the world were made up of men like your- 
self and my old friend, this would be, doubtless, 
the readiest and the best solution of the difficulty," 
said Tiernay; "but what would be said if we 
consented to such an arrangement? What would 
not be said? Ay, faith, there's not a scandalous 
rumor that malice could forge would not be rife 
upon us. 

" And do you think such calumnies have any 
terror for me?'' cried Ca.shel. 

"Wlien you've lived to mj age, sir, you'll reason 
differently " 

" It shall be all as you wish, then," said Cashel. 
" But stay!" cried he, after a moment s thought; 
" there is a difficulty I had almost forgotten. I 
must look that it may not interfere with our plans 
When can I see you again? Would it suit you to 
come and breakfast with me to-morrow ? I'll 
have my man of business, and we II arrange every- 
thing.'' 

"Agreed, sir, I'll not fail. I like your prompti- 
tude. A favor is a double benefit when speedily 
granted." 

" Now I shall ask one from you, doctor If I 
can persuade my kind friends here to visit us, 
will you, too, be of the party sometimes?'' 

'■ Not a bit of it W'hy should I. sir, expose 
you to the insolent critici.sm my unjiolisbed 
manners and rude address would bring upon you 
• — or myself to the disdain that fashionable folk 
would show me? I am proud — too proud, per 
haps — at the confidence you would repose in my 
honor; I don t wish to blush for my breeding by 
way of recompense. There, sir — there is one 
yonder in every way worthy all the distinction 
rank and wealth can give her I feel happy to 
think that she is to move amongst those who, if 
they cannot prize her worth, will at least appre- 
ciate her fascinations.' 

" Will Mr Corrigan consent?" 

" He must — he shall.' broke in Tiernay " I'll 
insist upon it But come along with me into the 
cottage, while the ladies are ctmcnting their 
acquaintance; we 11 see him, and talk him over " 

So saying, he led Cashel into the little library, 
where deep sunk in his thoughts, the old man 
was seated with an open book before him, but of 
which he had not read aline. 

■'Con!" cried Tiernay. 'Mr. Cashel has come 
to bring you and Miss Mary up to the Hall, to 
dinner There, sir, look at the face he puts on; 
an excuse in every wrinkle of it. 

" But, my dear friend— my worthy doctor — 
you know perfectly-- ' 

"III know perfectly that you must go — no 
help for it 1 have told Mr Cashel that you'd 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



mi 



make fifty apologies — pretend age — ill-health — 
want of habit, and so on. the valid reason being 
that you think his company a set of raffs, and " 

'' Oh, Tiernay, I beg you II not ascribe such 
sentiments to iiic." 

■' Well. I thought so myself, t other day — ay, 
half an hour ago: but there is a lady yonder, 
walking u|) and down the grass-plot, has made me 
ch.inge mv mind: come out and see her, man, 
and then say as many ' Nos' as you- please." 
And? half dragging, half leading the old man 
out, Tiernay went on- 

'You'll see. Mr. Cashel. Iiow jiolite he'll grow 
when he sees the bright eyes and the fair clieek. 
You'll not hear of anymore refusals tiien, I prom- 
ise you ' 

Meanwhile so far had Lady Kilgoff advanced 
in the favorable opinion of Miss Leicester, that 
the young girl was already eager to accept the 
proffered invitation. Old Mr. ("orrigan, however, 
could not be induced to leave his home, and so 
it was arrrnged that Lady Kilgoff should drive 
over on the following day to fetch her- with 
which understanding they parted, each looking 
forward with pleasure to their ne.xt meeting. 



CHAPTER XL. 

Linton's mysterious disappearance. 

Gone! and in secret, too! 

Amid all the plans for pleasure which engaged 
the attention of the great house, two subjects now 
divided the interest between them. One was 
the e.xpected arrival of the beautiful Miss Lei- 
cester — "Mr. Cashel's babe in the wood,'' as 
Lady Janet called her — the other, the reading of 
a little one-act piece, which Mr. Linton had 
written for the company. Although both were, 
in their several ways, "'events," the degree of in- 
terest they e.\cited was very disproportioned to 
their intrinsic consequence, and can only be ex- 
plained by dwelling on the various intrigues and 
schemes by which that little world was agitated. 

Lady Janet, whose natural spitefulness was a 
most catholic feeling, began to fear that Lady 
Kilgoff had acquired such an influence over 
Clashel, that she could mould him to any course 
she jileased — even a marriage. She suspected, 
therefore, that this rustic beauty had been se- 
lected by her ladyship as one very unlikely to 
compete with herself in Roland s regard, and 
that she was thus securing a lasting ascendancy 
over him. 

Mrs. Leicester White, who saw, or believed 
she saw, herself neglected by Roland, took an 
indignant view of the matter, and threw out 
dubious and shadowy suspicions about " who 
this young lady might be, who seemed so oppor- 
tunely to have sprung up in the neighbor- 
hood,' and expressed, in confidence, her great 
surprise, " how Lady Kilgoff could lend herself 
to such an arrangement." 

Mrs. Kennyfeck was outraged at the entrance 
of a new competitor into the field, where her 



daughter was no longer a '"' favorite.' In fact, 
the new visitor s arrival was heralded by no 
signs of welcome, save from tne young men of 
the party, who naturally were pleased to hear 
that a very handsome and attractive girl was ex- 
pected. 

As for Aunt Fanny, her indignation knew no 
bounds; indeed, ever since she had set foot in 
the house her state had been one little short of 
insanity \n her own very graphic phrase — 

She was fit to be tied at all she saw." Now, 
when an elderly maiden lady thus comprehen- 
sively sums up the cause of her anger, without 
descending to 'a bill of particulars," the chances 
are, that some personal wrong — real or imaginary 
■ — is more in fault than anything reprehensible 
in the case she is so severe upon. So was it 
here, Aunt Fanny literally saw nothing, although 
she heard a great deal. Daily, hourly, were the 
accusations of the whole Kennyfeck family di- 
rected against her for the loss of Cashel But 
for her, and her absurd credulity on the state- 
ment of an anonymous Jctter, and there had been 
no yacht voyage with Lady Kilgoff — no ship- 
wreck — no life in a cabin tn the coast — no — —In 
a word, all these events had either not happened 
at all, or only occurred with Livy Kennyfeck 
for their heroine. 

Roland's cold, almost distant politeness to the 
young ladies, was marked enough to appear in- 
tentional; nor could all the little by-])lay of flirt- 
ation with others excite in him the slightest 
evidence of displeasure. If the family were out- 
raged at this change, poor Livy herself bore up 
admirably; and while playing a hundred little 
attractive devices for Cashel, succeeded in mak- 
ing a very deep impression on the well-w hiskered 
Sir Harvey Upton, of the — th. Indeed, as 
Linton, who saw everything, shrewdly remarked 
— "She may not pocket the ball she intended, 
but, rely on't, she'll make a ' hazard' somewhere.'' 

Of all that great company but one alone 
found no place in her heart for some secret wile; 
this was Miss Meek, who, sadly disappointed at 
the little influence of her loyally, had ceased to 
care much for in-door affairs, and spent her 
mornings " schooling" with Charley, and her 
evenings listening to sporting talk whenever two 
or three " fast men" got together in the drawing- 
room. 

The evening that preceded Miss Leicester's 
intended arrival had been fixed for the reading 
of Mr Linton's comedy — a little dramatic piece, 
which, whether he had stolen wholesale from the 
French, or only borrowed in part, none knew; 
but various were the rumors that it would turn 
out to be a very satirical composition, with al- 
lusions to many of those who were to sit in 
judgment over it. How this supposition origin- 
ated, or with whom, there is no saying, nor if 
well-founded in any respect, for Linton had 
never shown his sketch to any one, nor alluded 
to it, save in the most vague manner. 

Each, however, looked to see his neighbor 
"shown up;'' and while one said, "What a char- 
acter could be made of old Sir Andrew, with his 
vulgarity, his deafness, and his gluttony!" an- 
other thought that Downie Meek, in his oily 



313 



ROLAND CASHEL, 



smoothness, his sighings, and his "dear me's," 
would be admirable — all the ladies averring that 
Lady Kilgolf would be a perfect embodiment of 
Lady Teazle, as "Sir Peter" suspected, and 
"Joseph" intended her to be. 

Fears for individual safety were merged in 
hopes of seeing others assailed, and it was in 
something like a flutter of expectancy that the 
party assembled in the drawing-room before 
dinner. Great was their surprise to find that 
Mr. Linton did not make his appearance. The 
dinner was announced, but he never came, and 
his place vacant at the foot of the table was the 
continual suggester of every possible reason for 
his absence. If Lady Kilgoff could not divest 
herself of a certain terror — vague and meaning- 
less, it is true — the dread she felt proceeded 
from knowing him to be one whose every act 
had some deep purpose; while others were then 
canvassing his absence in easy freedom, she 
took the first opportunity of asking Cashel whether 
he were in the secret, or if it were really true that 
Linton had not communicated, even with him, 
about his departure. 

" I am no better informed than my friends 
here," said Roland; "and, to say truth, I have 
given myself little thought about the matter. 
We have not, as you are aware, of late seen so 
much of each other as we used once; he has 
himself rather drawn off me, and I have left the 
interval between us to widen without much re- 
gret." 

"Remember, however, what I told you; he 
can be a terrible enemy." 

Cashel smiled calmly as he said, "I have con- 
sorted with men whose vengeance never took 
longer to acquit than the time occupied in draw- 
ing a knife from the sleeve or a ])islol from the 
girdle. I care very little for him whose weapon 
is merely subtlety." 

" It is this over-confidence makes me fear for 
you," said she, anxiously; " for, I say again, you 
do not know him." 

" 1 wish I never had," said Cashel, with an 
earnestness of voice and accent. " He has in- 
volved me in a hundred pursuits for which I feel 
neither taste nor enjoyment. To him I owe it 
that pleasure is always associated in my mind 
with mere debauch; and the only generosity he 
has taught me has been the spendthrift waste of 
the gaming-iable." 

" Could you not find out something of him — 
when he went, and in what direction?" said she, 
anxiously. "I cannot tell you why, but my 
heart mjsgives me about his departure." 

More in compliance with her scruples than that 
he deemed the matter worth a thought, Cashel 
left the room to make inquiries from the servants; 
but all he could learn was, that Mr. Linton arose 
before daybreak and left the house <n foot; his 
own servant not knowing in what direction, nor 
having heard anything of his master's previous 
intention. 

His intimacy with the family at the cottage 
left it possible that they might know something 
of his movements, and Cashel accordingly de- 
spatched a messenger thither to ask; but with the 
same fruitless result as every previous inquiry. 



While Cashel was following up this search with 
a degree of interest that increased as the diffi- 
culty augumented, he little knew how watchfully 
his every word and gesture was noted down by 
one who stood at his side. This was Mr. Pliillis, 
who, while seeming to participate in his master's 
astonishment, threw out from time to time certain 
strange, vague hints, less suggestive of his own 
opinions, than as baits to attract those of his 
master. ' 

" Very odd, indeed, sir — very strange — so reg- 
ular a gentleman, too — always rising at the same 
hour. His man says, he's like the clock. To 
be sure," added he, after a pause, " his manner 
is changed of late." 

" How do you mean?" asked Cashel, hurriedly. 
" He seems anxious, sir — uneasy, as one might 
say." 

" I have not perceived it." 

" His man says " 

" What care I for that," said Cashel impa- 
tiently. " It is not to pry into Mr. Linton's habits 
that I am here; it is to assure myself that no ac- 
cident has happened to him, and that, if he stand 
in need of my assistance, I shall not be neglect- 
ing him. Tell two of the grooms to take horses, 
and ride down to Killaloe and Dunkeeran, and ask 
at the inns there if he has been seen. Let them 
make inquiry, too, along the road." With these 
directions, hastily given, he returned to the 
drawing-room; his mind far more interested in 
the event than he knew how to account for. 

" No tidings of Tom?" said Lord Charles 
Frobisher, lounging carelessly in a well-cushioned 
chair. 

Cashel made a sign in the negative. 
" Well, it's always a satisfaction to his friends 
to know that he'll not come to harm," said he, 
with an ambiguous smile. 

"The country is much disturbed at this mo- 
ment," said the chief justice; " the calendar was 
a very heavy one last assize. I trust no ma- 
rauding party may have laid hold of him." 

"Ah, yes; that would be very sad indeed." 
sighed Meek, "mistaking him for a spy." 

"No great blunder, after all," said Lady Janet, 
almost loud enough for other ears than her next 
neighbor's. 

"If the night were moonlight," said Miss Meek, 
as she opened a shutter and peeped out into the 
darkness, " I'd say he was trying those fences we 
have laid out for the hurdle-race." 

" By Jove, Jim, that is a shrewd thought!" said 
Lord Charles, forgetting that he was addressing 
her by a familiar sobriquet he never used before 
company. 

"You have abet with him, Charley?" said Up- 
ton. 

" Yes, we have all manner of bets on the race, 
and I'll have one with you, if you like it — an 
even fifty that Tom turns up ' all right and no 
accident,' after this bolt." 

"Ah, my lord, you're in the secret, then!" said 
.■\unt Fanny, whose experiences of sporting 
transactions derived from "the West" induced 
her to suspect that a wager contained a trap-fall. 
A very cool stare was the only acknowledgment 
he deigned to return to this speech, while Mrs. 



ROLAND CASH EL. 



513 



Kennyfeck looked unutterable reproaches at her 
unhappy relative. 

" I call the present company to witness," said 
Sir Harvey Upton, " that if Tom has come to an 
untimely end, he has bequeathed to me his 
brown cob pony, 'Batter.' " 

" I protest against the gift," said Miss Kenny- 
feck. " Mr. Linton told me, if he were killed in 
the steeple-chase on Tuesday next, I should have 
'Batter.'" 

""That was a special reservation, Miss Kenny- 
feck," said the chief justice; "so that if his death 
did not occur in the manner specified, the deed 
or gift became null and void." 

"I only know," said Miss Meek, "that Mr. 
Linton said, as we came back from the hurdle- 
field — ' Remember, " Batter" is yours, if — if " 

She hesitated and grew red, and then stopped 
speaking in evident shame and confusion. 

"If what? tell us the condition; you are bound 
to be candid," said several voices together. 

" I'll tell you, but I'll not tell any one else," 
said the young girl, turning to Lady Kilgoff ; and 
at the same instant she whispered in her ear, "If 
I were to he married to Mr. Cashel." 

" Well," said her ladyship, laughing, " and was 
the bribe sufficient?" 

" I should think not!" replied she, with a 
scornful toss of the head, as she walked back to 
her seat. 

" I winna say," said Sir Andrew, " but I ha' a 
bit claim mysel' to that bonnie snuff-bo.x he ca'd 
Louis-Quatorze; if ye mind, leddies, I asked 
him to mak' me a present o' it, and he replied — 
' In my weell, Sir Andrew; I'll leave it ye in my 
weell.' " 

'■ I foresee there will be abundance of litiga- 
tion," said the chief justice, " for the claims are 
both numerous and conflicting." 

" You'll not be troubled with the next of kin, I 
believe," said Lady Janet, in her most spiteful 
of voices. 

''I say, my lord chief justice," said Frobisher, 
"let me have a travelling opinion from you, on 
a legal point. "Wouldn't Linton's heirs, or 
representatives, or whatever they're called, be 
bound to ' book up' if Ramskiii is beaten in the 
handicap?" 

" The law expressly declares such transactions 
without its pale, my lord," said the judge, re- 
bukingly. 

" Well, I can only say," interrupted Upton, 
" that when we were in cantonments at Sickma- 
bund. Jack Paris ' of ours' had a heavy stake in 
a game of piquet with the major, and jusf as he 
was going to count his point, he gave a tremen- 
dous yell, and jumped up from the table. It was 
a cobra capella had bitten him in the calf of the 
leg. Everything was done for him at once, but 
all in vainj he swelled up to the size of four, and 
died in about two hours. It was rather hard on 
old Cox, the major, who had two hundred pounds 
on it, and a capital hand; and so he made a 
representation to the mess, showing that he had 
seven cards to his point, with a quint in hearts; 
that, taking in the ace of clubs, he should count 
a quatorze, and, therefore, unquestionably win 
the game. The thing was clear as day, and so 



they awarded him the stakes. Cox behaved very 
handsomely, too; for he said, 'If Faris's widow 
likes to play the game out, I'll give her the op- 
portunity when we get back to England, and 
back myself, two to one.' " 

"The Chevalier Bayard himself could not have 
done more," said Miss Kennyfeck, with admirable 
gravity. 

"I must say," resumed the dragoon, "we 
thought it handsome, for old Cox was always 
hard up for money." 

"And what is to become of our theatricals, if 
Mr. Linton should have been so ill-natured as 
to drown himself?" said Mrs. White, in a most 
disconsolate "tone; for she had already made ter- 
rible havoc in her wardrobe to accomplish a 
Turkish costume. 

" Such a disappointmont as it will be," sighed 
Olivia Kennyfeck who had speculated on a last 
effort upon Cashel in a Mexican dress, where, 
certes, superfluity should not be the fault. 

" You can always make some compensation 
for the disappointment," and Lady Kilgoff, "by 
a fancy ball." 

"Oh, delightful! the very thing!" exclaimed 
several together. "When shall it be, Mr. 
Cashel?" 

" I am entirely at your orders," said, he bow- 
ing courteously. 

" Shall we say Tuesday, then?" 

"Not Tuesday; we have the race on that 
morning," said Frobisher; "and some of us, at 
least, will be too tired for a ball afterwards." 

" Well, Wednesday; is Wednesday open?" 

" Wednesday was fixed for a boat excursion to 
Holy Island," said Cashel. 

"You can't have Thursday, then," exclaimed 
Lady Janet; "That is the only evening we ever 
have our rubber. I'll not give you Thursday." 

" Friday we are to have some people at dinner," 
said Cashel; "and Saturday was to have been 
some piece of electioneering festivity for Linton's 
constituents." 

"What matter now," said Mrs. White; "per- 
haps the poor dear man is in a better place; a 
very sad thought," sighed she, "but such things 
are happening every day." 

"Ah, yes, very sad," responded Meek, who 
never failed to perform echo to any one's lamenta- 
tion. 

"Ah, indeed!" chimed Aunt Fanny, "cut off 
like a daisy." And she wiped her eyes and looked 
solemn, for she believed she was quoting Scrip- 
ture. 

At Inst it was decided that the ball should come 
off on the earliest evening possible, irrespective 
of all other arrangements: and now the company 
formed in a great circle, discussing Iresses and 
characters and costumes with an eager interest, 
that showed how little Linton's fate had thrown a 
shadow over the bright picture of anticipated 
pleasure. 



514 



ROLAN D CAS H EL. 



CHAPTER XLI. 

THE REASON OF LINTOn's FLITTING. 

He could outrogue a lawyer. 

— Oldham. 

Revealing so freely as we do tlie hidden wiles 
of our characters for tlie reader's pleasure, it 
would ill become us to affect any reserve or 
mystery regarding their actions. We shall not 
make, therefore, any secret of Mr. Linton's ab- 
sence, nor ask our patient reader to partake of the 
mystification that prevailed among the company 
at Tubbermore. 

It so chanced, that on the evening preceding 
his departure he saw in a newspaper paragraph 
the arrival of a very distinguished lawyer at 
Limerick on his way to Dublin, and the thought 
at once occurred to him, that the opportunity 
was most favorable for obtaining an opinion re- 
specting the "Corrigan Pardon," without incur- 
ring eitlier suspicion or any lengthened absence. 

Another object, inferior, but not devoid of in- 
terest, also suggested itself. It was this: profit- 
ing by a secret passage which led from the theatre 
to Cashel's bedroom, it was Linton's custom to 
visit this chamber every day, ransacking the 
letters and papers which, in his careless indolence, 
Roland left loose upon the tables, and thus pos- 
sessing himself of the minutest knowledge of 
Cashel's affairs. In his very last visit to this 
room, he perceived a cumbrous document, of 
which the seal on the envelope was broken, but 
apparently the contents unlooked at. It was 
enough that he read the endorsement, " Deed of 
Conveyance of the Cottage and Lands of Tub- 
berbeg." 

Feeling how far he himself was interested in 
the paper, and well knowing the forgetful liabits 
of Cashel, who would never detect its removal, lie 
coolly folded it up and carried it away. 

At first, his intention was simply to peruse the 
paper at his ease, and, if need were, to show it 
in confidence to Corrigan, and thus establish for 
himself that degree of influence over the old man 
which the character of his landlord might convey. 
But another and a bolder expedient soon sug- 
gested itself to his mind — nor was he one to 
shrink from an enterprise merely on account of its 
hazard — and this was no less than to forge 
Cashel's signature to the deed— for, as yet, it was 
wanting in that most essential particular. 

That Roland would never remember anything 
of the matter, and that he would always incline 
to believe his own memory defective, than suppose 
such a falsification possible, Linton was well con- 
vinced. There was but one difficulty: how 
should he manage for the witnesses, whose names 
were to be appended, as actually present at the 
moment of signing. Here was a stumbling-block 
— since he could scarcely hope to find others as 
short of memory as was Roland Cashel. It was 
while still canvassing the question in his mind 
that he came upon the intelligence in the news- 
paper of the lawyer's arrival at Limerick, and 
suddenly it struck him that he could easily in that 
city find out two persons, who, for a sufficient 



consideration, wou'd append their signatures to 
the deed. A little further reflection devised even 
an easier plan, which waa to take along with him 
the Italian sailor Giovanni, and make him repre- 
sent Cashel, whose appearence was quite un- 
known. By Giovanni's personation of Roland, 
Linton escaped all the hazard of letting otheis \ 
into his confidence, while the sailor himself, in a ' 
tew days more, would leave the country — never 
to return. 

It was with the calm assurance of a man who 
could put a price upon any action required of 
him, that Giovanni found himself, an hour after 
midnight, summoned to Linton's dressing- 
room. 

" I told you some time back, Giovanni, that we 
might be serviceable to each other. The hour has 
come a little earlier than I looked for; and now 
the question is, are you of the same mind as you 
then were?" 

"I know nothing of the laws of the country, 

signor, but if there be life on the issue " 

" No, no, nothing like that, my worthy fellow. 
In the present case, all I ask for is your silence 
and your secrecy." 

" Oh, that is easily had — go on, signor." 
" Well, I wish to go over to-morrow by day- 
break to Limerick. I desire, too, that you should 
accompany me — as my companion, however, and 
my equal. We are about the same height and 
size, so take tliat suit there, dress yourself, and 
waif for me at the cross-roads below the village." 
The Italian took the parcel without speaking, 
and was about to retire, when Linton said: 
" You can write, I suppose?" 
Tlie oilier nodded. 

" I shall want you to sign a document in pres- 
ence of witnesses — not your own name, but an- 
other, which I'll tell you." 

The Italian's dark eyes flashed with a keen 
and subtle meaning, and leaning forward, he 
said, in a low, distinct tone, 

" His excellency means that I should forge a 
name?" 

" It is scarcely deserving so grave a phrase," 
replied Linton, affecting an easy smile; " but 
what I ask amounts pretty much to that. Have 
you scruples about it?" 

" My scruples are not easily alarmed, signor; 
only let us understand each other. I'll do a7iy- 
t/iing" — and he laid a deep emphasis on the 
word — " when I see my way clear before me, 
nothing, when I'm blindfolded." 

" A man after my own heart!" cried Linton; 
"and now, good-night. Be true to the time and 
place." And with this they parted. 

The grey mist of a winter morning was just 
clearing away as Linton, accompanied by Gio- 
vanni, drove up to the principal hotel of Limer- 
ick, where Mr. Hammond, the eminenj; barrister, 
was then stopping. Having ascertained that he 
was still in the house, Linton at once sent up his 
name, with a request to be admitted to an inter- 
view with him. The position he had so long en- 
joyed among the officials of the viceroy had 
made Linton a person of considerable importance 
in a city where the " plated article" so often 
passes for silver; and no sooner had the lawye? 



ROLAND CASKEL. 



515 



read the name, than he immediately returned a 
polite answer, saying that he was perfectly at 
Mr. Linton's orders. 

Tlie few inciuiries which Mr. Linton had mean- 
while made at the bar of the hotel, informed him 
that Mr. Hammond was making all haste to Eng- 
l.ind, where, he was about to appear in a case be- 
fore the House of Lords; that horses had been 
already ordered for him along the whole line of 
road and his presence in London was imperative. 
Armed with these facts, Linton entered the room, 
where, surrounded with deeds, drafts, and acts 
of Parliament, the learned counsel was sitting 
at his breakfast. 

" It was but last night late, Mr. Hammond," 
said he, advancing with his very frankest man- 
ner, " that we caught sight of your name as hav- 
ing arrived here, and you see I have lost no time 
in profiting by the intelligence. I have come 
thirty Irish miles this day to catch and carry you 
off with me to Mr. Cashel's, at Tubbermore." 

" Most kind, indeed — very flattering — I am 
really overpowered," said the lawyer, actually 
reddening with pleasure; and he said the exact 
truth, he was " overpowered" by a compliment 
so little e.xpected. For, although high in his 
profession, and in considerable repute among his 
brethren, he had never been admitted into 
that peculiar class which calls itself the first 
society of the metropolis. 

" I assure you," resumed Linton, " it was by a 
vote of the whole house I undertook my mission. 
The Kilgoffs, the MacFarlines, the chief justice. 
Meek, and — in fact, all your friends are there — 
and we only want you to make the party com- 
plete." 

" I cannot express the regret- — the very deep 
regret — I feel at being obliged to decline such 
an honor; one which, I am free to confess, ac- 
tually takes me by surprise. But, my dear Mr. 
Lmton, you see these weighty papers — that for- 
midable heap yonder " 

"Meek said so," said Linton interrupting, and 
at the same time assuming a look of deep despond- 
ency. "'Hammond will refuse,' said he. 
' There's no man at the Irish bar has the same 
amount of business; he cannot give his friends 
even one hour from his clients.' " 

" I'm sure I scarcely suspected the right hon- 
orable secretary knew of me," said Hammond, 
blushing between pleasure and shame. 

" Downie not know of you! — not know Mr. 
Hammond! — come, come — this may do for a bit 
of quiz in those Irish newspapers that are always 
affecting to charge English officials with ignor- 
ance of the distinguished men, here; but I can- 
not permit Mr. Hammond himself to throw out 
the aspersion, nor, indeed, can I suffer Meek, 
one of my oldest friends, to lie under the oblo- 
quy. I need not tell one so much more capable 
of appreciating these things than myself, how 
every adminstration comes into ofifice with a host 
of followers far more eager for ])lace, and infin- 
itely more confident of high deservings, than the 
truly capable men of the party. These 'locusts' 
eat up the first harvest, but, ha]ipily for human- 
ity, they rarely live for a second." 

Linton U aned back 'n his chaii', and appeared 



to be taking counsel with himself, and at length, 
as if having formed his resolve, said, 

" Of course frankness with such a man is never 
a mistaken policy." And with this muttered 
^soliloquy again became silent. 



CHAPTER XLII. 



FORGERY. 



It was not " Flattery," he sold, but " Hope." 

— Bell. 

We left Mr. Linton and Mr. Hammond seated 
opposite each other, the former lost in seeming 
reflection, the latter awaiting with eager expect- 
ancy for something which might explam the few 
strange words he had just listened to. 

" May I venture on a bit of confidence, Mr. 
Hammond," said Linton, clearing his brow as he 
spoke; "you'll never betray me?" 

" Never — on my honor " 

"Never, willingly, I well know; but I mean, 
will you strictly keep what I shall tell you — for 
yourself alone — because, as I am the only de- 
positary of the fact, it would be inevitable ruin 
to me if it got about?" 

" I give you my solemn pledge — I promise!" 

" Quite enough — well " Heie he leaned 

on the other's shoulder, and putting his lips close 
to his ear, said: " Malone will retire — Repton 
will be chief — and" — here he prodded the lis- 
tener with his finger — " attorney-general." 

" You mean me, sir — do you mean that I am 
to be attor " 

" Hush!" said Linton, in a long low note; " do 
not breathe it, even in your sleep! If I know 
these things, it is because I am trusted in quarters 
where men of far more influence are hoodwinked. 
Were I once to be suspected of even this much, 
it would be ' up' with me forever." 

" My dear friend — will you pardon me for 
calling you so? — I'd suffer the torture of the rack 
before I'd divulge one syllable of it. I own to 
you, mv family, and my friends in general, have 
not been patient under what they deemed the 
goxernment neglect of me." 

"And with too good reason, sir," said Linton, 
assuming the look and air of a moralizer. "And 
do you know why you have been passed over, 
Mr. Hammond ? I'll tell you, sir; because your 
talents were too brilliant, and your integrity too 
spotless, for promotion, in times when inferior 
capacities and more convenient consciences were 
easier tools to handle! — Because you are not a 
man who, once placed in a conspicuous position, 
can be consigned to darkness and neglect when 
his capabilities have been proved to the world! — 
Because your knowledge, sir, your deep insight 
into the political condition of this country, M-ould 
soon have placed you above the heads of iht 
very men who appointed you. But times ;.ri. 
changed: capable men, zealous men — ay, sir, and 
I will say, great men — are in request now. The 
public will have them, and ministers can no 
longer either overlook their claim or ignor"" dieir 



516 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



merit. You may rely upon it; I see something of 
what goes on behind the scenes of the great State 
drama, and be assured that a new era is about to 
dawn on the really able men df tliis country." 

" Your words liave given me a degree of en- 
couragement, Mr. Linton, that I was very far 
from ever expecting to receive. I have often de- 
plored — not on my account, I pledge my honor — 
l)ut I have grieved for others, whom I have seen 
here, unnoticed and undistinguished by successive 
governments." 

" Well, there is an end of the system now, 
and it was time!" said Linton, solemnly. " But 
to come back. Is there no chance of stealing 
you away, even for a couple of days?" 

"Impossible, my dear Mr. Linton. The volu- 
minous mass of evidence yonder relates to an 
appeal case, in which I am to appear before 'the 
lords.' It is a most important suit; and I am at 
this very moinent on my way to London, to at- 
tend a consultation with the solicitor-general." 

"How unfortunate! — -for us, I mean — for in- 
deed, your client cannot join in the plaint. By 
the way, your mention of 'the lords' reminds me 
of a very curious circumstance. You are aware 
of the manner in which my friend Cashel suc- 
ceeded to this great estate here?" 

''Yes. I was consulted on a point of law in it, 
and was present at the two trials." 

" Well, a most sing ilar discovery has been 
made within the last few days I suppose you 
remember that the property had been part of a 
confiscated estate, belonging to an old Irish 
family, named Corrigan'' 

"I remember perfectly — a very fine old man, 
that used to be well known at Dalys Club, long 
ago 

■ The same Well, this old gentleman has 
been always under the impression, that shortly 
after the accession of George III. the Act of 
Confiscation was repealed, and a full pardon 
granted to his ancestors for the part they had 
taken in the events of the time." 

'I never knew the descendants of one of those 
'confiscated' families who had not some such 
hallucination," said Hammond, laughing; ''they 
cling to the straw, like the drovvning man." 

"Exactly," said Linton. " I quite agree with 
you. In the present case, however, the support 
is better than a straw; for there is an actual 
bond fide document extant, purporting to be the 
very pardon in question, signed by the king, and 
bearing the royal seal." 

"Where is this? In whose possession?" said 
Hammond, eagerly. 

Linton did not heed the question, but con- 
tinued: 

" By a very singular coincidence, the discovery 
is not of so much moment as it might be, be- 
cause, as Cashel is about to marry the old man's 
granddaughter— his sole heiress— no change in 
the destination of the estate would ensue, even 
supposing Corrigan's title to be all that he ever 
conceived it. However, Cashel is really anxious 
on the point; he feels scruples about making 
settlemsnts and so forth, with the consciousness 
that he may be actually disposing of what he has 
no real claim to. He is a sensitive fellow; 



and yet he dreads, on the other side, the kind 
of exposure that would ensue in the event of 
this discovery becoming known. The fact is, his 
own ancestors were little better than bailiffs on 
the estate, and the inference from this new- 
found paper would lead one to say, not over- 
honest stewards besides." 

''But if this document be authentic, Mr. 
Linton, Cashel's title is not worth sixpence." 

" 'i'hat is exactly what I'm coming to," said 
Linton, who, the reader may have already per- 
ceived, was merely inventing a case regarding a 
marriage, the better to learn from the counsel 
the precise position the estate would stand in 
towards Mary Leicester's husband. "If this 
document be authentic, Cashel's title is invalid. 
Now, what would constitute its authenticity?" 

"Several circumstances, the registry of the 
pardon in the state paper office — the docimient 
itself, bearing the unmistakable evidences of its 
origin — the signature and seal — in fact, it could 
not admit of much doubt when submitted to ex- 
amination." 

"I told Cashel so," said Linton. "I said to 
him, ' My opinion unquestionably is that the 
pardon is genuine, but,' said I, 'when we have 
Hammond here, he shall see it, and decide the 
question.' " 

"Ah! that is impossible " 

"So I perceive," broke in Linton; ''we then 
hoped otherwise." 

" Why didn't you bring it over with you?" 

' So I did," said Linton; "here it is." And, 
opening a carefully-folded envelope, he placed 
the important document in the lawyer's hands. 

Hammond spread it out upon the table, and 
sat down to read it over carefully, while Linton, 
to afford the more time to the scrutiny, took the 
opportunity of descending to his breakfast. 

He stopped as he passed the bar to .'ay a few 
words to the landlord — one of those easy speeches 
he knew so well how to make about the ''state of 
trade," '" what travellers were passing," and " how 
the prospect looked for the coming season" — 
and then, when turning away, as if suddenly 
recollecting himself, said: 

"By the way, Swindon, you are a cautious 
fellow, that a man may trust with a secret— you 
know who the gentleman is that came with me?" 

■ No, sir, never saw him before. Indeed, 
I did not remark him closely." 

" All the better, Swindon. He does not fancy 
anything like scrutiny. He is Mr. Roland 
Cashel" 

' Of Tubbermore, sir'" 

"The same. Hush, man — he cautious! He 
has come up here about a little law business on 
which he desired to consult Mr. Hammond, and 
now we have a document for signature, if you 
could only find us another person equally dis- 
creet with yourself to be the witness, for these 
kind of things, when they get about in the world, 
are misrepresented in a thousand ways. Do you 
happen to have any confidential man here would 
suit us?" 

"If my head-waiter, sir, Mr. Nipkin, would 
do; he writes an excellent hand, and is a most 
reserved, cautious young man." 



ROLAND CASHEL, 



517 



"Perfectly, Swindon; he'll do perfectly. Will 
you join us iip-stairs, where my friend is in wait- 
ing? Pray, also, give Nipkin a hint not to bestow 
any undue attention on Mr. Cashel, who wants 
to be t'/tfo,^., so far as may be; as for yourself, 
Swindon, no hint is necessary." 

A graceful bow from the landlord acknowl- 
edged the compliment, and he hastened to give 
the necessary orders, while Linton continued his 
way to the apartment where the Italian awaited 
him. 

"Impatient for breakfast, I suppose, Gio- 
vanni?" said Linton, gayly, as he entered. 
"Well, sit down, and let us begin. Already I 
have done more than half the business which 
brought me here, and we may be on our way 
back within an hour." 

Giovanni seated himself at the table without 
any of that constraint a sense of inferiority en- 
forces, and began his breakfast in silence. 

"You understand," said Linton, "that when 
you have written the name ' Roland Cashel,' and 
are asked if that be your act and deed, you have 
simply to say 'Yes;' a bow — a mere nod, indeed 
— is sufficient." 

"I understand," said he, thoughtfully, as if 
reflecting over the matter with himself. " I con- 
clude, then," added he, after a pause, " that the 
sooner I leave the country afterwards, the better 
— I mean the safer — for me." 

"As to any positive danger," said Linton, af- 
fecting an easy carelessness, " there is none. 
The document is merely a copy of one already 
signed by Mr. Cashel, but which I have mislaid, 
and I am so as!iamed of my negligence I cannot 
bring myself to confess it." 

This tame explanation Linton was unable to 
finish without faltering, for the Italian's keen 
and piercing dark eyes seemed to penetrate into 
him as he was speaking. 

"With this I have nothing to do," said he, 
abruptly. " It is quite clear, however, that 
Giovanni Santini is not Roland Cashel, nor, if 
there be a penalty on what I have done, am I so 
certain that he whose name I shall have forged 
will undergo it in my place." 

"You talk of forgery and penalties as if we 
were about to commit a felony," said Linton, 
laughing. " Pray give me the cream. There is 
really no such peril in the case, and if there were, 
it would be all mine." 

" I know nothing of your laws here — I desire 
to know nothing of them," said the Italian, 
haughtily; "but if it should be my lot to be ar- 
raigned, let it be for something more worthy of 
manhood. I'll sign the paper, but I shall leave 
the country at once." 

No words could have been more grateful to 
Linton's ears than these. He was, even at 
that very moment, considering in his own ' 
mind in what way to disembarrass himself of 
his "friend" when this service should have been 
effected. 

"As you please, Giovanni," said he, gravely. 
" I regret to part company so soon with one 
whose frankness so well accords with my own 
humor." 

The Italian's lips parted slightly, and a smile 



of cold and dubious meaning flitted across his 
dark features. 

" We part here, then," said he, rising from the 
table. "There is a vessel leaves this tor Bristol 
at noon to-day. It is already past eleven o'clock. ' 

"I'll not delay," said Linton, rising and ring- 
ing the bell; "send Mr. Swindon here, " said he 
to the waiter, while he opened a parchment 
document upon the table, and after hastily glanc- 
ing over it, folded it carefully again, leaving up- 
permost the margin, where certain pencil marks 
indicated the places of signature. "This is yours, 
Giovanni," said he, placing a weighty purse in 
the Italian's hand, who took it witli all the easy 
indifference of one whose feelings of shame were 
not too acute. " Remember what I have- " 

There was not time to finish, for already a 
light tap was heard at the door, and the landlord, 
followed by the head-waiter, entered. 

"We are pressed for time, Swindon," said 
Linton, as he examined the pens, \vhich, like all 
hotel ones, seemed invented for ruling music 
paper, "and have sent for you to witness the 
signature to this document. Here, Cashel, you 
are to sign here," said he, turning to Giovanni, 
who had just lighted a cigar, and was smoking 
away with all imaginable coolness. The Italian 
took the pen, and with a bold and steady hand 
wrote the words "Roland Cashel." 

" Mr. Swindon at this side; Mr. Nipkin's name 
comes underneath." 

" You acknowledge this for your hand and seal, 
sir?" said Swindon, turning towards Giovanni. 

"I do," said the Italian, in an accent which 
did not betray the slightest emotion, nor any 
trace of foreign pronunciation. 

"All right; thank you, Swindon — thanks. Mr. 
Nipkin," said Linton, as, with an elation of coun- 
tenance all his efforts could not suppress, he 
folded up the parchment; "and now, will you 
order my horses at once?" 

The landlord and the waiter left the room, 
and Linton found himself once more alone with 
Giovanni; the only consolation he felt being that 
it was for the last time. There was a pause, in 
which each gazed steadily at the other without 
a word. At last, with a long-drawn sigh. Giovanni 
exclaimed: 

"Perdio! but it is hard to do." And with this 
he pressed his hat upon his brows, and waving a 
careless farewell with his hand, walked out, 
leaving Linton in a state of amazement not al- 
together unmingled with fear. Tom watched 
the tall and stalwart figure of the foreigner as he 
moved through the crowd that filled the quay, 
and it was with a sense of relief he could not ex- 
plain to himself that he saw him cross the plank 
that led to the steamer, on whose deck numer- 
ous passengers w'ere already a.=sembled. The 
bell rang out in warning of her approaching de- 
parture, and Linton kept his eyes intently fixed 
upon the one figure, which towered above the 
others around him. Already the scene of bustle 
portended the moment of starting, and some 
were hastening on board, as others, with not less 
eagerness, were endeavoring to get on shore; 
when, just at that instant, the landlord's voice 
was heard. 



518 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



" Mr. Hammond is just going off, sir; he wants 
to say one word to you before he goes." 

Mr. Hammond had just taken his seat in his 
carriage, and sat with one hand upon the door, 
awaiting Linton's coming. 

" I am run sharp for time, Mr. Linton," cried 
he, " and have not a second to lose. I wish sin- 
cerely I could have given a little more time to 
that document — not nideed that any feature of 
difficulty exists in forming an opinion, only that 
I believe I could have put your friend on the safe 
road as to his future course." 

"You regard it then as authentic — as a good 
and valid instrument?" said Linton in a low but 
eager voice. 

"So much so," said Hammond, lowering his 
tone to a mere whisper, " that if he does not 
marry the young lady in question, I would not 
give him twenty shillings for his title." 

"By Jove!" exclaimed Linton, leaning his 
head on the door of the carriage, as if to con- 
ceal his chagrin, but in reality to hide the ex- 
uberance of his joy; " and this is your candid 
opinion of the case?" 

" I am willing to stake my fame as a lawyer 
on the issue; for, remember, the M^hole history 
of the suit is familiar to me; I recollect well the 
flaws in the course of proofs adduced, and I 
see how this discovery reconciles each dis- 
crepancy, and supplies every missing link of the 
chain." 

"Poor fellow — it will be a sad blow for 
him," said Linton, with admirably feigned emo- 
tion. 

"But it need not, Mr. Linton.' The Church 
can tie a knot not even an equity suit can open. 
Let him marry." 

" Ay, if he will." 

" Tell him lie must; tell him what I now tell 
you, that this girl is the greatest heiress in the 
laud, and ihat he is a beggar. Plain speaking, 
Mr. Linton, but time is short. Good-bye." 

" One word more. Is the document of such a 
nature that leaves him no case whatever ? Is all 
the ground cut away beneath his feet ?" 

" Every inch of it. Once more, good-bye. 
Here is your parchment; keep it safely; there 
are few men in this city hold in their hands a 
paper of such moment." 

I'll take good care of it," said Linton, senten- 
tiously; "and so good-bye, and a safe journey 
to you. I'll not forget our conversation of this 
morning. Meek shall hear of it before I sleep to- 
night. Adieu." 

"The richest heiress in the land, and Cashel 
a beggar," repeated Linton, slowly, to himself, 
as the carriage drove off. ' "Charley Frobisher 
would say, ' Hedge on the double event,' but I'll 
keep my book." And, with this slang reflection, 
he sauntered into the inn to wait for his horses. 



CHAPTER XLIII. 

ROLAND DISCOVERS THAT HE HAS OVERDRAWN. 



- — —His counsel, like his physic, 

If hard to talce, was good when taken. 

— Village Worthies. 



Long before the guests of Tubbermore were 
astir, Cashel sat in his library awaiting the arrival 
of Dr. Tiernay. In obedience to Roland's re- 
quest, Mr. Kennyfeck was present, and affected 
to look over books or out of windows — to scan 
over prints or inspect maps — anything, in short, 
which should pass the time and shorten the in- 
terval of waiting — doubly awkward from being 
the first moment he had been alone with Cashel 
since his arrival. Cashel was silent and absorbed, 
and, more intent upon following out the train of 
his own thoughts, never noticed the various arts 
by which Kennyfeck affected to interest himself. 
The solicitor, too, bent from time to time a 
stealthy look on the young man, on whose features 
he had rarely seen the same traces of deep 
reflection. 

At last, with a half start, as if suddenly awak- 
ing, Cashel sat up in his chair, and said: 

" Have I explained to you what Dr. Tiernay's 
business is here this morning? It is to make a 
proposition from Mr. Corrigan for the sale of 
his interest in Tubber-beg. He wishes to leave 
the country and go abroad." 

" His interest, sir," replied Kennyfeck, calmly, 
"although more valuable to you than to anyone 
else, must be a matter of small amount; for years 
back, he has done little morethan vegetate on the 
property, without capital or skill to improve it." 

" I'm not asking you to appraise it, just yet," 
said Roland, snappishly, "I was simply inform- 
ing you of the object of the gentleman's visit. It 
is the advantage of this purchase that I wished 
you to consider, not its cost." 

" The cost will define the advantage, sir," re- 
joined Kennyfeck, " particularly as the demand 
mav be high, and the payment inconvenient." 

" How do you mean, inconvenient?" 

Kennyfeck hesitated. There was something 
in the hurried abruptness of the question, as well 
as in the excited expression of the questioner's 
face, that confused him; so that Cashel had time 
to repeat the words before he could reply. 

" Is it that I am straitened for money?" said 
he, passionately. 

"Not quite — that — sir," replied Kennyfeck, 
stopping between every word. " You have re- 
sources — very great resources — untouched, and 
you have considerable sums in foreign securities, 
intact- " 

"Never mind these," broke in Roland, hur- 
riedly. " How do we stand with those London 
fellows?" 

Kennyfeck shook his head gravely, but without 
speaking. 

"I pray you, sir." said Roland, in a voice of 
hardly suppressed passion, " keep pantomime for 
another moment, or a keener interpreter of it, 
and condescend, in plain English, to answer me 
my last question," 



ROLAN D CASH EL. 



519 



■ "There is no difficulty with Bigger and Swain, 
sir," said Kennyfeck, as his cheek grew shghtly 
red. "They will neither be pressing for a set- 
tlement, nor exacting when making it, be- 
sides, you have not overdrawn very heavily after 
all." 

" Overdrawn, said you? — did you say over- 
drawn, Mr. Kenny feck.?' 

" Yes, sir. In the account last forwarded, 
your debit was eleven thousand four hundred 
and- forty pounds, since that you have drawn — 
but -not for any large amount " 

"Overdrawn!" repeated Cashel, as though his 
thoughts had never wandered beyond the first 
shock of that fact: then rallying into something 
like his habitual easy humor, he said, " I am, I 
need not tell you, the stupidest man of business 
that ever breathed, so pray forgive me if I ask 
you once more if I understood you aright that 
I have not only expended all the money I 
owned in these people's hands, but actually had 
contracted a debt to them?" 

"That is the case, sir/ said Kennyfeck, 
gravely. 

A deep groan broke from Cashel, and he sat 
silent and still. 

" I would wish to observe, sir," said Kenny- 
feck, who was shocked at the alteration a few 
moments had made in the young man s counte- 
nance — " I would wish to observe, sir, that if 
you desire a sum of money for any purpose " 

"Stay — let me interrupt you here,'' said 
Cashel, laying his hand on Kennyfeck's arm, and 
using a tone whose earnest distinctness thrilled 
through his hearer's heart; " I should deceive you, 
were you to suppose that it is the want of money 
gives me the pain I am now suffering That 1 
had believed myself rich a few moments back, 
and now found myself a beggar, could not give 
one-thousandlh part of that suffering which I 
feel here. I have braved poverty in every form, 
and I could brave it again; but I'll tell you 
what it is that now cuts me to the souL and 
lowers me to myself. It is that, in a senseless, 
heartless career, I should have squandered the 
wealth bv which I once imagined I was to bless 
and succor hundreds. It is to think, that of all 
the gold I have wasted, not one memory has been 
purchased of a sick-bed consoled, a suffering les- 
sened, a sinking spirit encouraged — I have done 
nothing, actually nothing, save pamper vice and 
sensual heartlessness. I came to this kingdom a 
few months back, my very dreams filled with 
schemes of benevolence. I felt as if this wealth 
were given to me that I might show the world 
how much of good may be done by one who, 
having experienced narrow fortune, should best 
know how to relieve it in others: and now, here 
am I, the wealth and the high aspirations alike 
departed, with no tradition to carry away, save 
of a life passed in debauch, the friendship of 
worthless, the pitying contempt of good men! 
Hear me out. I was nurtured in no school of 
sentiment; I belonged to a class who had too 
little time or taste to indulge in scruples. We 
were reckless, passionate — cruel, if you will — 
but we were not bad in cold blood; we seldom 
hated long; we never could turn on a benetac- 



tor. These Jre not the lessons I've lived to 
learn here! It is over, however — it is past now! 
I 11 go back to the old haunts, and the old com 
rades. It will go hard with me if I quarrel with 
their rude speech and rough demeanor. I'll think 
of gentlemen! and be grateful. 

'The rapid utterance in which he poured forth 
these words, and the fervid excitement of his 
manner, abashed Kennyfeck, and deterred him 
from reply. Cashel was the first to speak. 

" This arrangement, however, must be pro- 
vided for; whatever Mr. Corrigan's interest be 
worth — or rather, whatever he will accept in 
lieu of it — I insist upon his having. But I see 
Dr. Tiernay coming up to the door; we can talk 
of these things at anotlier time." 

When Tiernay entered the library he was 
heated with his walk, and his face betrayed un- 
mistakable signs of recent irritation; indeed, he 
did not long conceal the reason. 

" Is it true, Mr. Cashel, that Mr. Linton is 
your nominee for the borough of Derraheeny ?" 

"Yes; what of that?" 

" Why, that he canvasses the constituency in 
a fashion we have not yet been accustomed to, 
at least jw/?- tenants, of whom I am one, are told 
that our votes are the condition on which our 
leases will receive renewal; that you will not 
brook opposition in any one who holds under 
you. Are these your sentiments, Mr. Cashel. or 
only his?" 

"Not mine, assuredly," replied Cashel, 
gravely. 

" I said as much. I told several of my neigh- 
bors that if this mode of canvass had your sanc- 
tion, it was from not knowing the privileges of 
an elector." 

■■ 1 neither sanctioned nor knew of it," rejoined 
Cashel, eagerly. 

"So much the better— at least for me," said 
Tiernay, seating himself at the breakfast-table, 
■ for I shall not lose a good breakfast, as I 
should have been forced to do had these been 
your intentions." 

"I would observe. Doctor Tiernay," inter- 
posed Kennyfeck, mildly, " that the borough, 
being entirely the projierty of Mr. Cashel, its 
charities maintained by his bounty and its 
schools supported at his cost, he has a fair claim 
on the gratitude of those who benefit by his be- 
nevolence." 

" Let him stand himself for the borough, and 
we'll not deny the debt,'' said Tiernay, roughly; 
" but if for every ten he should expend a hun- 
dred, ay, sir, or a thousand, on the village, I'd 
not vote for Mr. Linton." 

" Most certainly, doctor; I'd never seek to co- 
erce you," said Cashel, smiling. 

" Labor lost, sir. I am your tenant for a hold- 
ing of twenty-two pounds a year. I have never 
been in arrear; you, consequently, have not 
granted me any favor, save that of extending 
your acquaintance to me. Now, sir, except that 
you are a rich man and I a poor one, how is even 
that condescension on your part a favor ? and 
how could you purpose, upon it, to ask me to 
surrender my right of judgment on an important 
point, to you, who, from your high station, your 



52'i 



ROLAND CASHEL 



rank and influence, have a thousand preroga- 
tives, while / have but this one?" 

" I never heard the just influence of the landed 
proprietor disputed before," said Kennyfeck, who 
felt outraged at the doctor's hardiliood. 

"It is only Jt/s/ influence, sir," said Tiernay, 
" when he who wields it is an example, as much 
by his life, as by the exercise of an ability that 
commands respect. Show me a man at the head 
of a large property extending the happiness of 
his tenantry, succoring the sick, assisting the 
needy, spreading the blessings of his Dwn knowl- 
edge among those who have neither leisure nor 
opportunity to acquire it for themselves. Let 
me see him, while enjoying to the fullest the 
bounteous gifts that are but the portuon of few 
in this world, not forgetful of those whose life is 
toil, and whose struggle is for mere existence. 
Let me not know the landlord only by his liveries 
and his equipage, his fo.\«-hounds, his plate, his 
racers, and his sycophants " 

' Hard hitting, doctor;" said Cashel inter- 
rupting. 

"Not if you can take it so goodhumoredly, 
said Tiernay; 'not if it only lose me the honor 
of ever entering here, and teach you to reflect on 
these things. 

" You mistake me much,* said Cashel, " if you 
judge me so narrowly ' 

" I did not think thus meanly of you, nor, if I 
did would it have stopped me. I often promised 
myself, that if I could but eat of a rich man s 
salt I 11 tell him my mind, while under the pro- 
tection of his hospitality. I have paid my debt 
now, and so, no more of it. Kennyfeck could 
tell you better than I, if it be not, in part at least, 
deserved. All this splendor that dazzles our eyes 
' — all this luxury, that makes the contrast of our 
poverty the colder — all this reckless waste, that 
is like an unfeeling jest upon our small thrift is 
hard to bear when we see it, not the pastime of 
an idle hour, but the business of a life. You can 
do far better things than these, and be happier 
as well as better for doing them! And now. 
sir, are you in the mood to discuss my friend's 
project.'' ' 

' Perfectly so, doctor- you have only to speak 
your sentiments on the matter before Mr Ken- 
nyfeck my concurrence is already with you.'' 

We want you to buy our interest in Tubber 
beg," said the doctor, drawing his chair in front 
of Kennyfeck ' and though you tell us that 
flower-plats and hollies, laurustinus and geran- 
iums, are not wealth, we'll insist on your re- 
munerating us for some share of the cost. The 
spot is a sweet one, and will improve your demesne. 
Now. what's it worth?" 

There are difficulties which may preclude any 
arrangement,'' said Kennyfeck, gravely. " There 
was a deed of gift of this very property made out, 
and only awaiting Mr Cashel's signature ' 

" To whom?" said Tiernay. gasping with 
anxiety. 

'To Mr. Linton." 

''The very thing I feared," said the old man, 
dropping his head sorrowfully 

"It is easily remedied, I fancy," said Cashel ''It 
was a hasty promise given to afford him qualifi 



cation for Parliament. I'll give him something 
of larger value. I know he'll not stand in our 
way here." 

" How you talk of giving, sir! You should have 
been the good fairy of a nursery tale, and not a 
mere man of acres and bank-notes But have 
your own way. It's only anticipating the crash 
a month or so ruined you must be!" 

" Is that so certain,' said Cashel, half smiling, 
half seriously. 

"Ask Mr. Kennyfeck, there, whose highest 
ambition half a year ago was to be your agent, 
and now he d scarcely take you for a son-in-law! 
Don't look so angry, man, what I said is but an 
illustration It will be with your property as it 
was with your pleasure-boat t'other day: you'll 
never know you've struck till your sinking. ' 

' You affect to have a very intimate knowledge 
of Mr Cashel's affairs, sir/ said Kennyfeck. who 
was driven beyond all further endurance. 

''Somewhat more than you possess, Mr Ken- 
nyfeck; for I know his tenantry. Not as you 
know them, from answering to their names at 
rent-day, but from seeing them in seasons of dis- 
tress and famine — from hearing their half uttered 
hopes that better days were coming when the new 
landlord himself was about to visit them— 'from 
listening to their sanguine expectations of bene- 
fits — and now, within some few days, from hear- 
ing the low mutterings of their discontent — the 
prelude of worse than that." 

" I have seen nothing else than the same scenes 
for forty years, but I never remember the people 
more regular in their payments," said the attorney 

"Well, don t venture among the Drumcoologhan 
boys alone; that, at least, I would recommend 
you,'' said the doctor, menacingly. 

" Why not? — who are they? — where are these 
fellows?" cried Cashel, for danger was a theme 
that never failed to stir his heart. 

" It's a bad barony, sir," said Kennyfeck, 
solemnly. 

' A district that has supplied the gallows and 
the convict-ship for many a year; but we are 
wandering away from the theme we ought to dis- 
cuss." interposed Tiernay, " and the question nar- 
rows itself to this, if this property is still yours 
— if you have not already consigned it to another 
— what is my friend's interest worth?" 

" That will require calculation and reflection." 

' Neither, Mr Kennyfeck," broke in Cashel. 

Learn Mr. Corrigan.'s expectations, and see 
that fhey are complied with." 

" My friend desired a small annuity on the 
life of his granddaughter." 

' Be it an annuity, then," replied Cashel. 

''By heaven!" exclaimed 'I'iernay. as if he 
could not restrain the impulse that worked within 
him, "you are a fine-hearted fellow. Here, sir, ' 
said he, taking a ]japer from his pocket — "here 
is a document, which my poor friend sat up half 
the night to write, but which I'd half made up 
my mind never to give you. You'd never guess 
what It IS, nor your keen friend either but I'll 
spare you the trouble of spelling it over It s a 
renunciation of Cornelius Corrigan, Esq., for 
himself and his heirs forever, of all right, direct 
or contingent, to the estate of Tubbermo.ite., owe 



ROLAND CASH EL, 



521 



the family property of his ancestors for eleven 
generations. You never heard of such a claim," 
said Tiernay. turning to Cashel, "but Mr. Ken- 
nyfeck did, he knows well the importance of 
that piece of paper he affects to treat with such 
indifference." 

And do you suppose, sir, that if this claim 
you speak of be a good and valid one, I could, 
as a man of honor, maintain a possession to 
which I had no right? No; let Mr. Corrigan 
take back that paper, let him try his right, as 
the laws enable him. If I stand not here as the 
just owner of this house, I am ready to leave it 
at this instant, but I am neither to be intimi- 
dated by a threat nor conciliated by a com- 
promise " 

■ Mr. Corrigan's claim has nothing to go upon 
I assure you,"' broke in Kennyfeck. " If we 
accept the paper, it is by courtesy — to show that 
we respect the feeling that suggested it — notliing 
more." 

While these words were addressed to Tiernay, 
Cashel, who had walked towards one of the win- 
dows, did not hear them. 

" Well," cried Tiernay, after an awkward 
pause, " the devil a worse negotiator ever ac- 
cepted a mission than myself ! When I desire to 
be frank, the only truths that occur to me are sure 
to be offensive, and I never am so certain to insult 
as when I fancy I'm doing a favor. Good-bye, 
sir; pardon the liberties of an old man, whose 
profession has taught him to believe that reme- 
dies are seldom painless and who, although a 
poor man, would rather any day lose the fee 
than the patient! You'll not treat Con Corrigan 
the less kindly because he has an imprudent 
friend I'm sorry to think that I leave an un 
favorable impression behind me. but I'm glad, 
heartily glad I came here to breakfast, for I go 
away convinced of two things, that I was far 
from believing- so certain when I entered" — he 
paused for a second or two, and then said — 
' that a spendthrift could have an unblemislied 
sense of honor and that an attorney could ap- 
preciate it! 

With these words he departed, while Cashel, 
after staring for a few moments at Kennyfeck, 
threw himself back in his chair, and laughed long 
and heartily. 

An original, sir — quite an original!' said 
Kennyfeck, who, not exactly knowing whether to 
accept the doctor's parting speech as a compli- 
ment or the reverse, contented himself with this 
very vague expression. 

'' He's a fine old fellow, although he does lay 
on his salve in Indian fashion, with a scalping- 
knife, but I wish he'd not have said anything of 
that confounded paper." 

' Pardon me. sir" interposed Kennyfeck, tak- 
ing it from his pocket, " but it might prove of 
inestimable value, in the event of any future 
litigation,' 

"What! you kept it, then," cried Cashel. 

" Of course I did, sir. It is a document scarce 
inferior to a deed of title, for, although Mr 
Corrigan has nothing to substantiate a claim at 
law, it is incontestable that liis family were the 
original owners of this estate.'' 



Cashel took the paper from Kennyfeck's hand, 
and seemed to peruse it for some minutes, and 
then approaching tjie fire he threw it into the 
blaze, and pressed it down with a poker till it 
was consumed; while Kennyfeck, too much con- 
sternated to utter a word, stood the personifica- 
tion of terror-struck astonishment. 

" You have burnt it. sir!" said he at last, in a 
whisper. 

'' Why not, sir.'' cried Cashel, rudely. "Should 
I have made use of it against the man who wrote 
it, or against his heirs, if by chance they should 
seek one day to dispute my right?" 

A deep sigh was all the reply Kennyfeck could 
make 

"I understand your compassion well," said 
Cashel, scornfully. ''You are right, sir It was 
the buccaneer, not the gentleman, spoke there, 
but I'm sick of masquerading, and I long for a 
little reality." 

Without waiting for a reply, Roland left the 
room, and wandered out into the park. 



CHAPTER XLIV. 



THE BURNT LETTER GREAT EXPECTATIONS. 

* Like Dido's self," she said. " I'm free! 
Trojan or Tyrian are alike to me." 

There was but one species of tyranny Mr 
Kennyfeck ever atttrmpted in his family: this 
was, to shroud with a solemn mystery every 
little event in his professional career which he 
saw excited any curiosity with his wife and 
daughters. It was true that on such occasions 
he became a mark for most sneering insinuations 
and derisive commentaries, but he rose with the 
dignity of a martyr above all their taunts, and 
doubtless felt in his lieart the su]>porting energy 
of a high-priest standing watch over the gate of 
the Temple. 

The few pencilled lines by Cashel, which had 
summoned liim to the meeting recorded in the last 
chapter, he threw into the fire as soon as he had 
read, and then arising from the breakfast-table, 
dryly observed. 

" Don't wait breakfast, Mrs. Kennyfeck; I 
shall not be back for some time." 

"Another secret, Mr. Kennyfeck,' said his 
wife, scoffingly. 

He only smiled in reply. 

' It ought to be a duel, at least, pa,' said his 
eldest daughter, " from the urgent haste of your 
departure." 

" Or a runaway couple, who wish to have the 

settlements " 

"Is that all you know of the matter, Livy?" 
said her sister, laughing heartily; ' why, child,, 
your Gretna green folks never have settlements 
— never think of them till six months later, when 
they are wanting to separate." 

'■ Is there any occasion for mystery ini' this- 
case? rejoined Mrs. Kennyfeck, haughtily 

"To be sure there may, my dear," broke in 
Aunt Fanny; "there's many a dirty tihtng. the 



o22 



ROLAND CASH EL, 



lawyers have to do they'd be ashamed to own 
before tlieir families." 

Even this did not move Mr. Kennyfeck, and 
although from the way he nestled his chin be- 
hind the folds of his white cravat, and a certain 
scarcely perceptible shalceof the head, it was clear 
he longed to refute the foul aspersion. 

"I suppose you will appear at dinner, sir?" 
said Mrs. Kennyfeck, with her grandest air. 

"I hope so, Mrs. Kennyfeck," was the mild 
answer. 

"Without you should take it into your head, 
pa, to enter into rivalry with Mr. Linton, and 
stay away. Heaven knows where or how long," 
said Miss Kennyfeck. 

Mr. Kennyfeck did not wait for more, but left 
the room with an air whose solemnity well suited 
any amount of secrecy. 

"Is there a carriage at the door?" said Mrs. 
Kennyfeck. 

"No, mamma; there are three saddle-horses 
— one with a side saddle. That odious Miss 
Meek!" exclaimed Miss Kennyfeck; "what Lord 
Charles can see in her I cannot conceive. To 
be sure, she saves a stable-boy the more, and 
that to him is something." 

"Has your father gone out by the back 
terrace?" resumed Mrs. Kennyfeck, one only 
theme occupying her thouglits. 

Olivia retired into an adjoining room, and soon 
returned, saying, 

" No, ma; there's no one there, except Sir 
Andrew and Lady Janet, taking their morning 
walk." 

"Their run, rather, my dear," chimed in Miss 
Kennyfeck, "for she chases the poor old man 
lip and down with a cup of camomile tea, which 
either scalds or sets him a coughing. Lm sure 
thrJ-t tiresome old couple have awoke me every 
day the last week with their squabbling." 

" Step down into the library, my love," said 
Mrs. Kennyfeck to her younger daughter, "and 
bring me up the Post or the St. James's 
Chronicle." 

"And if you meet Phillis, just ask if he saw 
your father, for he forgot his gloves." And, 
suiting the action to the word, Aunt Fanny dived 
into a cavern of an apron-pocket, and drew out 
a pair of knitted things without fingers, which 
she offered to Olivia. 

"Do no such thing. Miss Olivia Kennyfeck," 
said her mamma, with an air of imposing 
grandeur. 

" Ma wants the newspaper, Olivia, and is not 
thinking of papa," said Miss Kennyfeck; and 
her eyes sparkled with a malicious fun she well 
knew how to enjoy. 

As Miss Olivia Kennyfeck left the room, her 
sister approached the fire-place, where a small 
charred portion of the note thrown down by 
her father was yet lying. She took it, and walk- 
ing towards the window, examined it carefully. 

And while we leave her thus occupied, let us, 
for the reader's information — albeit he may deem 
the matter trivial — give the contents as Cashel 
wrote them. 

" Dear Mr. Kennyfeck, — Make my excuses 



to Mrs. Kennyfeck and the Demoiselles Gary and 
Olivia, if I deprive them of your society this 
morning at breakfast, for 1 shall want your 
counsel and assistance in the settlement of some 
difficult affairs. I have been shamefully back- 
ward in paying my respectful addresses to the 
ladies of your family; but to-day, if they will 
permit, I intend to afford myself that pleasure. 
It is as a friend, and not as my counsel learned 
in law, I ask your presence with me in my library 
at ten o'clock. Till then, 

" Believe me yours, 

" R. C." 

Now, of this very commonplace document, a 
few blackened, crumpled, frail fragments were 
all that remained; and these, even to the 
searching dark eyes of Miss Kennyfeck, revealed 
very little. Indeed, had they not been written 
in Cashel's hand, she would have thrown them 
away at once, as unworthy of further thought. 
This fact and the word " Olivia," which she 
discovered after much scrutiny, however, excited 
all her zeal, and she labored now like an anti- 
quarian who believes he has gained the clue to 
some mysterious inscription. She gathered up 
the two or three filmy black bits of paper which 
yet lay within the fender, and placing them before 
her, studied them long and carefully. The word 
" settlement" was clear as print. 

"^' Olivia' and 'settlement' in the same paper," 
thought she; " what can this mean?" 

" Come here, mamma — Aunt Fanny — look at 
this for a moment," said she, eagerly; and the 
two ladies approached at her bidding. 

" What is that word ?" said she to Mrs. Kenny- 
feck: " is it not ' Olivia?' Don't you see the end 
of the '1' has been burned away, but the rest is 
quite plain?" 

"So it is — upon my life! — and in Cashel's 
hand, too!" exclaimed Mrs. Kerfnyfeck. 

" And what is that?" asked Miss Kennyfeck, 
triumphantly, pointing to another word. 

Aunt Fanny, with her spectacles on, bent down, 
and examined it long. 

" ' Battlement.' That is ' battlement' as clear 
as day," said she. 

" What nonsense, aunt — it is ' settlement.' 
Look at what you call a ' b' — it is an ' s.' " 

" Gary's quite right. The word is ' settlement,' " 
said Mrs. Kennyfeck, in a voice tremulous with 

joy. 

"And there! — I hope you can read!" ex- 
claimed Miss Kennyfeck, " even without your 
spectacles^ — ' paying' — 'addresses.' " 

" Show it to me, Gary," said her mother, 
eagerly. I declare I can read it perfectly. Is it 
possible? — can this be indeed true?" 

" Of course it is. mamma. Will yon tell me 
by what other coincidence you could find Olivia's 
name coupled with the words 'settlement' and 
'addresses' in the same note!" 

" It is very suspicious, certainly," said Aunt 
Fanny. 

" I think it very convincing, aunt — not sus- 
picious," said Miss Kennvfeck, proudly. " Here 
is something about 'friend,' and another word 
I can't make out." 



ROLAND CASH EL. 



523 



" That's something about a ' saw' my love," 
said Avmt Fanny. 

"How absurd, aunt; the word is Maw.' I 
have it. See — here is the name — it is the con- 
clusion of the note, and ran, doubtless, thus: 
' Your present friend, and future son-in-law, — 
R. C" 

Mrs. Kennyfeck leaned forward, and kissed 
her daughter's cheek with a degree of fervor she 
,very rarely gave way to; and then lying back in 
her chair, pressed her handkerchief to her face, 
while she, doubtless, revelled in a little excursion 
of fancy, not the less brilliant because tempered 
with anxiety. 

If the moment was one of maternal ecstasy for 
Mrs. Kennyfeck, is was no less one of triumphant 
joy to her daughter. It was she who revealed 
the secret meaning; her skill and ingenuity had 
given light to the dark mystery, and consistency 
to its incoherence. What domination could be 
too great for such services? It was then, like a 
legitimate sovereign assuming the reins of gov- 
ernment, she said: 

" I beg. Aunt Fanny, that you will not spoil 
the game this time, as most unquestionably you 
did before." 

" Let us see that there is one to be spoiled, 
my dear," rejoined Aunt Fanny, snappishly. 

" You are really too provoking, Fanny," said 
Mrs. Kennyfeck, removing her handkerchief from 
two very red eyelids. You never are satisfied 
when you see us happy. Gary has shown you 
enough to convince any one " 

'■ Any one disposed to conviction, mamma," 
broke in Miss Kennyfeck, haughtily. " Hush, 
here's Olivia." 

" Mr. Meek is reading the Posf. ma," said the 
young lady, entering; "and he has got the other 
papers in his pocket, but he says there's really 
nothing of any interest in them." 

"I think Livy should be told, mamma," 
■whispered Miss Kennyfeck to her mother. 

" 1 quite agree with you, Cary," said Mrs. 
Kennyfeck; " I never was a friend to any secrecy 
in families. Your father, indeed, I grieve to say, 
does not participate in my sentiments; but much 
may be excused in him, from the habits of his 
profession, and, I will also say, from the class in 
life he sprang from." Here Mrs. Kennyfeck, 
who had spoken like one delivering an oracle, 
stopped to drop a tear over the sad mesalliance 
which had condemned her to become the wife of 
an attorney. "Olivia, my dear, circumstances 
have disclosed the nature of the interview which 
Mr. Kennvfeck would not confide to us. It is 
one in which you are deeply concerned, my 
dear. Have you any suspicion to what I allude?" 

Olivia assumed her very sweetest look of inno- 
cence, but made no reply. 

"Mamma wants you to be candid enough to 
say, if there is anything in the way of particular 
attention you may have received lately, which 
should corroborate the impressions we entertain." 

Miss Kennyfeck delivered these words so cate- 
gorically, that her sister well knew how, in the 
event of refusal, a searching cross-examination 
was reserved for her. 

Olivia looked down, and a very slight embar- 



rasment might be detected in the quickened 
heaving of her chest. 

" Tell us, my darling," said Aunt Fanny, ' if — 
if any one has, in a manner so to say- — you un- 
derstand — eh?" 

"Keep the blushes, Livy, for another time; 
they look beautiful with orange flowers in the 
hair," said her sister; " but be candid with us." 

" If you mean attentions, mamma " 

"We mean attentions, 'and something more,' 
as Lord Lyndhurst says," interposed Miss Kenny- 
feck, who felt that she was the proper person to 
conduct the inquiry. 

" I cannot positively say, mamma, that we are 
engaged, but I believe that if you and pa made 
no obstacles — if, in fact, you are satisfied that 
his rank and fortune are sufficient for your ex- 
pectations, as I own they are for mine- " 

"What humility!" exclaimed Miss Kennyfeck, 
holding up her hands. 

"Hush, Cary — go on Livy," said her mother. 

" I have no more to say, mamma. Sir Haivey 
told me " 

"Sir Harvey!" cried Mrs. Kennyfeck. 

" Sir Harvey Upton!" echoed Miss Kennyfeck. 

"The man with the hair all over his face!" 
exclaimed Aunt Fanny, whose western habits had 
not accustomed her to moustaches. 

Olivia stared from one to the other in mingled 
fear and astonishment. She suddenly saw that 
she had been betrayed into a confession to which 
they did not possess the slightest clue; she aho 
perceived the tidings, for which she anticipated 
a most joyous welcome, were received with cold- 
ness and almost disdain. 

" He is a baronet, mamma, with very great 
expectations," said she, proudly; for really, it was 
a large " bird" to bag, in the beginning of the 
season, too! 

" Very possibly," said Mrs. Kennyfeck, looking 
to her elder daughter with that silent eloquence 
which the court occasionally bestows upon the 
crown counsel, meaning to say: " Have you 
anything to reply to that?" 

" Mamma is aware that Sir Harvey is a bar- 
onet, and a captain of hussars, and Jonas Upton 
of Summerton is his uncle, who may, or may not, 
leave him his large estates — a circumstance, most 
probably, mainly dependent on the alliance he 
may form in marriage." 

"Yes, indeed! my dear," broke in Aunt 
Fanny; " and when the old man finds out that 'tis 
only an attorney's daughter " 

" Fanny, do you mean to drive me distracted!" 
screamed Mrs. Kennyfeck; "are my children to 
be taught to be ashamed of their father?" 

" 'Tis a lesson they might know by heart, this 
time of day, my dear," said the inexorable 
Fanny, who put up her spectacles, and smoothed 
down her apron — unmistakable signs that she 
was preparing for battle. 

"You needn't 'beat to quarters,' aunt, as 
Captain Luttredge says; there is no one going to 
fire into you," said Miss Kennyfeck. "The 
question at present is, how is Olivia to free her- 
self from an unhappy connection " 

"An unhappy connection!" exclaimed Livy, in 
amazementt 



524 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



" Listen to your sister, and don't interrupt 
her," said Mrs. Keimjteck. 

"I spoke advisedly, Livy," resumed the elder, 
■' when 1 called your connection with Sir Harvey 
Upton unhappy.' We have just learned that far 
higher views are opening to you— that no less a 
person than Mr. Cashel " 

'■ Impossible, mamma! he never notices me in 
the least. Our acquaintance is scarcely more 
than a cold act of recognition when we meet." 

" Though love is hot sometimes, soon it grows 
cold," muttered Aunt Fanny, who believed she 
was quoting to the letter. 

" There never was love in the case at all, 
aunt," said Olivia. 

" Attend to me, Livy," said her sister, who 
seemed impatient at this digression. " It is suf- 
ficient — it ought at least to be sufficient — for you, 
that we know Mr. Roland Cashel's intentions. 
It is for you to establish a coolness with Sir 
Harvey. There is no difficulty in the task. I 
could not presume to instruct _^v« in any matter 
of this kind, nor will I." 

"Take a friend's advice, Livy dear, and don't 
throw out dirty wjiter till you're sure of clean." 

'' What, aunt.'" asked Olivia, who really was 
puzzled by theofigurative eloquence of her rela- 
tive. 

"Pshawl" said Miss Kennyfeck, equally angry 
at the counsel and the vulgarity of the expression 
it was couched in. " Livy, attend to me" said 
she again. " Mr. Cashel has sent for papa this 

morning to make a formal Hush! here is pa 

himself." And Mr. Kennyfeck's heavy tread was 
heard approaching the door. 

Mr. Kennyfeck's sudden entrance not only 
closed the discussion, but left the debaters in the 
difficulty of having no concerted line of conduct 
respecting the new arrival; and although Mrs. 
Kennyfeck's eyebrows were worked with a 
telegraphic activity, and Miss Kennyfeck's 
pantomimic replies as promptly returned, it was 
clear to see that neither comprehended the other. 
Kanitz lays it down as an axiom that " when two 
wings of an army are in presence of an enemy, 
and without means of rapid and certain com- 
munication, it is always better to act on the 
defensive than to attack, without some evident 
weak point of the adversary encourages a for- 
ward movement." It is more than probable that 
neither Mrs. Kennyfeck nor her fair daughter 
had studied the authority in question, yet, with 
a tact quite instinctive, they proceeded to act 
upon it. 

"You are back early, Mr. Kennyfeck," said 
his wife, with a tone of half indifference. 

Mr. Kennyfeck looked at his watch, and said 
it wanted twenty minutes to twelve. 

" Has Mr. Linton returned, pa?" asked Miss 
Kennyfeck. 

" I believe not. I have not heard that he has," 

" It would be little loss if he never did!" said 
Aunt Fanny, as she bit the end of an obstinate 
thread that would not enter the eye of her needle. 

"Oh, Aunt Fanny!" exclaimed Olivia, in a 
deprecating tone. 

" Ton my word, my dear, them's my sentiments 
—whatever yours is." 



" Mr. Cashel certainly thinks differently," said 
Mrs. Kennyfeck, glad to introduce the name 
uppermost in all their thoughts. 

" I think of late there has been something like 
a coldness between them — you see them very 
rarely together. Did Mr. Cashel mention his 
name to you this morning, Mr. Kennyfeck?" said 
his wife; and by this sudden question revealing 
that they knew, at least, where he had been. 

" Mere passingly, ncidentally," said Mr. Kenny- 
feck, evidently amazed that his small mystery 
liad been penetrated; then, after a sligiit pause, 
he added, very probably with a sly malice to 
pique curiosity, " Mr. Cashel is desirous of Mr. 
Linton's counsel on a step he meditates taking." 

" Indeed, sir; and has he much confidence in 
Mr. Linton's judgment?" 

'' In this instance, it is likely he will follow the 
dictates of his own, Mrs. Kennyfeck," said the 
attorney, solemnly. 

This fencing was too much for Mrs. Kennyfeck, 
in whom the Job-like element was always at zero. 
It was an insult, too, to her understanding, that 
Mr. Kennyfeck should skirmish in this fashion 
with her; and so, drawing herself proudly up, 
she said: 

" Mr. Kennyfeck, I would wish to ask you, if 
you have, even upon one single occasion, dis- 
covered that OTV knowledge of the world, 7ny tact, 
ox my intelligence, were inferior to your own?" 

" Never, madam; I'm sure I never disputed 
the " 

" No, sir, you never dared to contest the fact, 
though you may have endeavored to escape from 
its application. I believe, sir, the only instance 
of deficient judgment I can be accused oi,you, 
at least, ought not to reproach me with. ' My 
family' " — this was a word Mrs. Kennyfeck used 
to enunciate with an emphasis that always im- 
pressed her husband very little provocation might 
possibly have made her say, 'Our house' — "my 
family, indeed, may refuse to forgive me" — she 
stopped, wiped her eyes, and then, with what 
seemed an heroic victory over her feelings, went 
on — " but the welfare of my children, sir, may 
well be conceived dear to one, who would not 
league to them the unhappy descent she hasher- 
self suffered." 

Mrs. Kennyfeck paused again. It appeared 
as though, do what she would, there was no 
escaping from the theme of her 7nesallinnce when 
once she had touched it. It was very birdlime 
in its adhesiveness. 

" When, therefore, Mr. Kennyfeck, the occasion 
presents itself of resuming, through my childien 
— for, alas! it is lost to me in my own person — 
the station I have forfeited, I do think that I 
should at least be consulted, that my advice 
should be asked, and my guidance required. 
Don't you think so, too, sir?" 

Now, of all men living, never was there one 
more inapt to read riddles than poor Mr. Kenny- 
feck, and while he averred that he perfectly con- 
curred in his wife's opinion, he had not the 
faintest glimmering of a notion what that opinion 
implied. 

" Don't you think, sir, also, it would be better 
1 to use a little candor with your family?" 



ROLAND CASH EL. 



525 



"Yes, pa, we know all about it,' said Miss 
Kennyfeck, nodding significantly. 

" Ay, indeed, we liad it in black and white — 
that is, if we can call a bit of burnt- ■" 

" Aunt Fanny, what are you about?" cried 
Miss Kennyfeck, in a voice of real terror, for she 
was shocked at the meanness she did not scruple 
to :,toop to. 

"Yes, Mr. Kennyfeck," reiterated his wife, 

"we know all! If, however you still persist in 

maintaining that mysterious aspect you have 

-assumed with your family, I must say, sir, it is 

perfectly absurd." 

'It is unnecessary too. Papa," cried Miss 
Kennyfeck. 

"And it's unfair to that young creature," chimed 
in Aunt Fanny, with a gesture towards Olivia, 
who sat, en tableau for injured innocence, next a 
window. 

Possibly if any could have read Mr. Kenny- 
feck's sentiments at that instant, they would have 
recognized the sufferings of a true martyr. To 
his own heart he muttered, 

"This is very hard; it is being called upon to 
reply to a case without a copy of the affidavits." 

At length with a courage that he did not be- 
lieve he was capable of, he said: 

"I am confused, Mrs. Kennyfeck; I am over- 
whelmed; I may submit a plea of surprise — that 
is, I would move the court, I mean — in fact, I 
must beg you will permit me to adjourn this 
case." 

And with these words, and with an agitation 
very unusual with him, he hastened from the 
room. Scarcely had the door closed after him, 
.than he re-opened it, and putting in his head, 
said, 

"I should have told you, Mrs. Kennyfeck, 
that Mr. Cashel intends to pay a visit here 
to-day." 

And so saying, he shut the door and departed. 

''At last, sir!" exclaimed Mrs. Kennyfeck, in 
a voice of exultation, "you have been obliged 
to confess so much at least; but, rely on it, girls, 
your father is acting under Cashel's dictation, or 
he never would dare to tamper in this manner 
with 7ne." 



CHAPTER XLV. 

A STARTLING INTRUSION. 

Say what you will, good friend, I do persist, 

I had him " covered," when you shook my wrist. 

— The Duel. 

In a handsome drawing-room, where the light 
was judiciously tempered by the slight folds of 
rose-colored curtains, while the air breathed the 
faint delicious perfume of some hot-house flowers, 
sat Olivia Kennyfeck alone. She was most 
simply but becomingly dressed, and in her hair, 
worn in smooth bands on either cheek, a little 
sprig of Greek myrtle, with its bright red berries, 
was interwoven, which served to show to even 
greater advantage the delicate fairness of a skin 
tinged with the very faintest blush. There was 



a soft pensive character in her beauty, which 
seemed to harmonize perfectly with the silent 
room and its scattered objects of art. The very 
exclusion of all view appeared to add to the 
effect; as though suggesting how much of in-door 
happiness was contamcd within those four walls; 
neither asking for, nor wanting, the " wide cold 
world " without. She was reading — at least she 
held a book in her hand — a gorgeously bound 
little volume it was — nor did the dark ribbon of 
velvet fringed with gold that marked her place 
fail to contrast well with the snowy whiteness of 
the wrist it fell upon. 

Her attitude, as she lay, rather than sat, in a 
deep arm-chair, was faultless in its grace; and, 
even to the tiny foot which rested on a little 
Blenheim spaniel, as he lay sleeping on the 
hearth-rug, had a certain air of homelike ease 
that made the scene a picture, and to a suggest- 
ive mind might have given it a story. And yet, 
for all the sleepy softness of those half-drooped 
lids, for all that voluptuous ease of every linea- 
ment and limb, the heart within was watchful 
and waking. Not a soimd upon the stairs, not a 
voice nor footstep, that did not make its pulses 
beat faster and fuller. 

Two o'clock struck, and the great bell rang 
out which called the guests to luncheon, a meal 
at which Cashel never appeared; and now Olivia 
listened to the sounds of merry laughter that 
floated along the corridors, and faded away in 
the distance, as group after group passed down 
stairs, and at last, all was silent again. Where 
was he? Why did he not come? she asked her- 
self again and again. Her mamma and her sister 
had purposely stayed away from luncheon to re- 
ceive him; for so it was arranged, that she her- 
self should first see Cashel alone, and afterwards 
be joined by the others — and yet he came not! 

The half hour chimed, and Olivia looked up 
at the French clock ujion the mantelpiece with 
amazement. Surely there had been more than 
thirty minutes since she heard it last; and the 
little Cupid on the top, who, with full-stretched 
bow and fixed eye, seemed bent on mischief- 
silly fool! like herself, there was no mark to 
shoot at! She sighed; it was not a deep sigh, 
nor a sad one; nor was it the wearisome ex- 
pression of listlessness; nor was it the tribute 
paid to some half-called-up memory. It was 
none of these; though perhaps each entered into 
it as an ingredient. But what right have we to 
analyze its meaning, or ask how much of hope 
or fear it contained? — what jiortion of regret for 
one she was about to desert? — what shame for 
the faithlessness? Ay, what shame! 

Coquetry is no virtue; but most certainly it is 
not the wholesale corrupter some moralists 
would make it. Miss Olivia Kennyfeck had 
been taught it from her earliest years — from 
those pleasant days, when, dressed like some 
fairy queen, she descended from the nursery to 
stand beside pa's chair on rnmjjany days, at 
dessert, and be stared at, and kissed, and "dear- 
loved" by some scores of people, wliose enthusi- 
asm for childish beauty had all the warmth that 
springs from turtle and truffles, iced punch and 
Lafitte. She had been taught it by the French 



526 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



governess, who told her to be "amiable." The 
very dancing-master cried out, " Grace — more 
grace, if you please, Miss Olivia," at every step 
of her minuet; and the riding master's eternal 
exhortation was, " Sit as if the whole world was 
watching you, miss." 

These teachings go further and deeper into 
the heart than we suspect. " The wish to please" 
— pure and amiable as the feeling can be — lies 
on the frontier of a dangerous land — the " wish 
to conquer." That passion once engendered in 
the heart, no room rem.iins for any other. 

To return to Miss Olivia Kennyfeck — for most 
ungallantly we are forgetting she is alone all this 
while. Her education had but one end and ob- 
ject — to obtain a good position by marriage. 
The precept had been instilled into her mind in 
a thousand different ways, and not only self-in- 
terest, but pride, emulation, and vanity had been 
enlisted in its support. So constantly was tlie 
theme presented to her, such day-by-day discus- 
sion of the prizes and blanks drawn by others in 
the wheel connubial, that she really felt little or 
no interest in any other topic. 

And yet, with all that misdirection of mind, 
that perverse insistance on wrong, there was still 
in her heart a void, a want, that neither vanity 
nor selfishness could fill. It might be. perhaps, 
to be found out by one who should make it the 
storehouse of high and generous imp'^lses, of 
ennobling duties and tender affe<tions, or, just 
as likely, lie like some fruitful but unknown tract 
— barren, waste, and profitless! 

Three o'clock came! And now the hovse re- 
sounded with the buzz of voices and the honied 
movement of feet. Carriages and horses, too, 
assembled before the door, and all the pleasant 
bustle of those bent on pleasure rilled the air. 
Olivia arose, and, screened by the curtain, 
watched the scene beneath. For the first time 
she perceived that Lady Kilgoff was in a riding- 
dress. She stood in the midst of a group before 
the door, amid wh.ich Olivia's eyes peered with 
restless activity. 

No, Cishel was not there! She aim-, st s^id 
the comforting words aloud, but at the same in- 
stant a cry of " Here he is — here he comes!" 
broke from those beneath, and every head "-as 
turned tovvavds the road to the stables, along 
which Cashel was seen cantering a snow- white 
Arab of great beauty. As he came nearer it 
could be seen that he was seated on a side-saddle, 
while he managed the well trained creature with the 
most graceful address. 

"Are you quite certain I may venture, Mr. 
Cashel.'" said Lady Kilgoff, as he pulled up in 
front of her; " remember, that I am neither so 
fearless nor so skilful as our fair queen beside 
me, who, I must own, is far more worthy of 
' Hassan Bey' than I am." 

" I'll pledge my life on his good conduct," said 
Roland, springing from his back; "I've ridden 
him for an hour, and he is gentleness itself." 

" He's over-trained for my fancy," said Miss 
Meek. " He's like one of the creatures you see 
in Franconi's, walking up a ladder to catch a 
handkerchief." 

Lady Janet whispered something in her ear, 



at which she started and smiled, but evidently in 
ignorance of its meaning 

"What is that very wicked thing that Lady 
Janet has just told you?" said Lady Kilgoff, as 
she advanced to mount her horse. 

" It was a propos of the handkerchief. She 
said, ' Probably you were going to throw yours 
at Mr Cashel' — I'm sure I don't know why." 

Fortunately none but Lady Kilgoff and Cashel 
heard this speech, but both blushed deeply. 

'^V'hile tliis was enacting below, Olivia, who 
marked every gesture and every look eagerly, 
could not hear what passed. She could only see 
the respectful atteniion bestowed by Cashel on 
every wish of his fair guest, how, having seated 
her, he draped in graceful folds the long velvet 
habit, in which, and vith a white hat and droop- 
ing feather, she resembled one of the court of 
Louis Quinze. 

At last she turned her horse's head, and rode 
him slowly along before the house, evidently 
timid and afraid of the high-mettled animal. 
Cashel, however, walked at his head, and so they 
stood, while he arranged the curbchain, exactly 
beneath the window where Olivia was standing. 

She opened the sash noiselessly, and bending 
down, listened. 

"I assure you," said Lady Kilgoff, "I'll not 
continue my ride if you don't come. I have no 
confidence in these fine gentlemen cavaliers; and 
as for Miss Meek, she'd risk her life to see me 
run away with." 

" I pledge myself to follow in ten minutes — 
nay, in five, if possible. I told Mr. Kennyfeck I 
should fnake my obeisances to the ladies to-day." 

"Would to-morrow not serve?" said she smil- 
ing. 

" I believe it might — but a promise! Besides, 
I have been sadly deficient in attentions there." 

"Sir Haney and his brother hussar have made 
the amevde for your short-comings; but go, make 
haste and overtake us. I see 'my lord' trying 
to understand Lady Janet, and I must not delay 
longer." 

•'Ride slowly," cried Roland, "'and don't get 
run away with till I'm of the party." 

She nodded archly in reply to this speech, and 
joining the group, who were all awaiting her, rode 
off, while Cdshel entered the house, and soon 
vas heard ascending the stairs at a hurried pace. 

Olivia could only close the window and resume 
her place, when a tap was given at the door, and 
the same instant Cashel entered the room. 
He stopped suddenly, and looked around, for 
at first he did not perceive Olivia, who, deep in 
her book, affected not to hear the noise of his ap- 
proach. 

The rich coronet of brown hair, on which an 
evening sun was throv/ing one brilliant gleam, 
caught his eye, and he advanced near enough to 
see and be struck by that graceful attitude of 
which we gave our reader a glimpse at the open- 
ing of this chapter. 

She was reading some old English ballad; and, 
as she closed the volume, murmured, half aloud, 
the lines of the concluding verse: 

" And ye varlete, bcunde upon a tarte, 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



687 



Was drajjgede to ye gallows high, 
Wiiile ye knighte tliat .stole yc Indye's liearte 
(And was not his ye graveie parte?) 

Rode oute to see hira die." 

"A sad moral, indeed," said Cashel, in a low, 
soft voice. 

"Oil, dear! oh, Mr. Cashel !" cried she, start- 
ing, and letting fall tlie book, " how you have 
terrified me." 

" Pray forgive me," said he, drawing his chair 
near, " but when I entered the room I saw no 
one. I had come thus far ere I discovered that 
I was so fortunate." 

" Shall I ring for mamma and Gary? they are 
dressing, I know, but will be quite annoyed if 
you go before they come down." 

"You must not inconvenience their, on my ac- 
count," said Roland, eagerly. "I'm certain," 
added he, smiling, " you are not afraid to receive 
me alone." 

She hung down her head, and partly averting 
it, murirured a scarcely audible " No." 

Cashel, who had evidently never calculated on 
his careless remark being taken thus seriously, 
looked sillv and uncomfortable f.orafew seconds 
There is a terrible perversity sometimes in our 
natures; we are disposed to laugh occasir^nally at 
times when nothing could be more ill-timed or 
imsuitable; aud so, at m-^ments when we 
would give anything in the world for some 
commonplace theiie to hang phrases on, we 
cannot, for the life of us, originate one. 

" You've not ridden out, I think, since we 
caiT.e?" said Roland, at last, but with an air of 
sudden despair at his own stupidity. 

" No. We have driven out once or twice; but 
— but " 

" Piay finish," said he, with a persuasive look 
as he spoke. 

" I was going to say that your horses are so 
spirited, thtit I was really afraid to trust myself, 
and the more so as Miss Meek is so wild and so 
rerkless." 

" Never think of riding with her. Let me be 
your chaperon — shall we say to-morrow? I've 
got the gentlest creature that wasever mounted." 

"Oh, I know her; that sweet white Arab I saw 
the grooro exercising yesterday?" 

" No; not she," said Roland, blushing and 
confused, "a spotted barb, fully as handsome — 
some say handsomer. Will you do me the favor 
to ride her to-morrow, and, if she be fortunate 
enough to please you, to accept her?" 

Olivia hung down her head full a second, and 
a deep scarlet covered her cheek, and rose even 
to her temples, and it was with a voice broken 
and interrupted she said, "Oh, I cannot — I must 
not." Then, turning on him a look, where the 
tearful eyes, swimming in a softened lustre, con- 
veyed a whole story of deep suffering^ she said 
rapidly: " You are too kind and too gooQ ever 
to give pain; you are too generous to believe 
others capable of it; but were I to accept your 
beautiful gift — were I even to ride out with vou 
alo/ii' — there is nothir.g that would not be said 
of me." 

It was Ca'^hel's turn for a slight blush now ; 
and, to do him justice, he felt the sensation a 



most disagreeable one. It had not indeed oc- 
cured to him to make the proposal as the young 
lady took it, but he was far too long schooled in 
gallantly to undeceive her, and so he said, " I 
really cannot see this in the light you do. It 
is a ver) natural wish on my part, that I should 
show my guests whatever my poor grounds afford 
of the picturesque; and remember, we are not 
friends of yesterday." This he said in his very 
kindest tone. 

" I (/«? remember it," said she, with a slow but 
most meaning sigh. 

" That memory is, I trust, not so associated 
with sorrow," added he, leaning down, and 
speaking in a deep, earnest voice, " that you re- 
call it with a sigh?" 

" Oh no, but I was thinking — I must not say 
of what I was thinking." 

" Nay, but you must," said he, gently, and 
drawing his chair closer. 

" I dare not — I cannot — besides, you," — and 
there was on the pronoun the very softest of all- 
dwelling intonation — " jou might be angry • 
might never forgive me." 

" Now, I must insist on your telling me" said 
Roland, passionately, '" if but to show how un- 
fairly you judge me." 

" Well," said she, drawing a long breath — 
" but shall I trust you?" There was a must winning 
archness in the way she said this, that thri' ed 
through Cashel as he listened " No, I will not," 
added she, sudden y, and as if carried away by 
a passionate impulse, " you are too " 

" Too what?" cried he, impatiently 

" Too fickle," said she. and then, as if terrifif d 
at her own boldness, she added, in a tremulous 
voice, "Oh, do forgive me." 

" Tliere is really nothing to forgive," s.iid 
Roland," unless you persist in keeping fiom me 
an avowal that I almost fancy I have a right to 
ask for. And now, of what were vou thinl^ing?" 

"I'll tell you," said she, in a low, earnest ac- 
cent, " though it may lose me your esteem. I 
was thinking" — her voice here fell so low, that 
Cashel, to hear her words, was obliged to draw 
his chair closer, and bend down his head till it 
actually brushed against the leaves she wore in 
her hair- — " I was thinking that, when we knew 
you first, before you had made acquaintance with 
others — when you sat and read to us — when we 
walked and rode together — when, in short, the 
day was one briglit dream of pleasure to us, who 
had never known a brother " 

Pardon us, dear reader, if, at so criticial a mo- 
ment, we occupy the pause which here ensued — 
and there was a pause^by referring to our Aunt 
Fanny, only premising that we do so advisedly. 
It was one of that e.Ncellent lady's firmest con- 
victions that every one in the world required 
some discreet friend, who should, at eventf.jl 
passages in life, be ready to aid, by presence of 
mind, a wavering resolve, or confirm ahalf-forn'ed 
determination. Now, she had waited for wo 
mortal hours on that day for Cashel's con.ing in 
a state of impatience little short of fever. She 
opened and shut her window, looked up one 
avenue and down another; she had watched on 
the landing, and stood sentinel on the stairs; she 



528 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



had seen Mrs. Kennyfeck and lier elder daughter 
pass out into tlie garden, weary of long waiting; 
when, at last, she heard Roland's hasty step as 
he traversed tlie hall, and, hurrying up-stairs enter 
the drawing-room. 

Drawn by an attraction there is no explaining, 
she left her room, and took up her position in a 
small boudoir which adjoined the drawing-room. 
Here she sat, persuading herself she was at her 
work; but, in reality, in a state of suspense not 
very inferior to some prisoner while a jury is 
deliberating on his fate. 

The conversation, at first conducted in an ordi- 
nary tone, had gradually subsided, till it dropped 
into the low, undistinguishable manner we have 
mentioned. 

Aunt Fanny's inventive mind had suggested 
every step of the interview. She kept muttering 
to herself: " He is explaining himself — she is in- 
credulous — and he tries to reassure her — she 
believes that his heart was given to another — he 
vows and swears it was always hers — she cannot 
credit the happiness — she is too unworthy." 

It was just as our aunt had got thus far in her 
running commentary that both voices ceased, and 
a stillness, unbroken by a murmur, succeeded. 
" What could it mean?" was the sudden question 
that flashed across her mind; and Napoleon's 
own dread anxiety, as he gazed on the wood, and 
hesitated whether the dark masses emerging from 
the shade were his own legions or the Prussians, 
was not much more intense than hers. At last — 
we are sorry to record it — but, alas! Aunt Fanny 
was only mortal, and an old maid to boot^she 
approached the door and peeped through the 
keyhole. The sight which met her eyes needed 
no second glance; she saw both heads bent down 
together, the dark waving hair of Cashel close 
to the nut-brown silky braids of Olivia. Neither 
spoke. "It was then concluded." 

This was the moment in which mutual avowals, 
meeting like two rivers, form one broad and 
sweeping flood. It was the moment, too, in 
which, according to her theory, a friend was all 
essential. According to her phrase, the " nail 
should be clinched." 

Now, Aunt Fanny had been cruelly handled 
by the family for all the blunders she had com- 
mitted. Her skill had been impugned; her 
shrewdness sneered at; her prognostications 
derided. Here was an opportunity to refute all 
at once; and, in the language of the conqueror, 
" to cover herself with glory." 

Gently opening the door she entered the room, 
and stealing tiptoe over, till she stood behind 
their chairs, she placed, with all the solemnity of 
an archbishop, a hand on either head, and, in a 
voice of touching fervor, said: 

" Bless ye both, my darlings; may ye be as 
happy as " 

As what? The history is unable to record; 
for a shrill cry from her niece, and an exclama- 
tion nearly as loud, and we fear far less polite, 
from Roland, cut short the speech. 

Shriek followed shriek from Olivia, who, partly 
from the shock, and still more from shame, was 
thriiwn into an attack of hysterics. 

" What the " he was very nigh saying some- 



thing else — "what have you done, madam?" said 
Roland, in a state of mingled anger and terror. 

" It's only your Aunt Fanny. It's me, my pet. 
Livy, darling, don't be frightened; and here, too, 
is Mr. Cashel." 

In this, however, the good lady was mistaken; 
for Roland had hastened up-stairs to Mrs. Kenny- 
feck's room, which finding locked, he flew down 
to the great drawing-room, thence to the library, 
and was making for the garden, when he saw 
that lady and her daughter crossing the hall. 

'' I'm afraid, madam," said he, with all the 
composure he could summon, "Miss Olivia 
Kennyfeck is not well; nothing serious, I trust; 
but a suddea fright — a shock— Miss O'Hara 
somewhat imprudently- " 

"Oh, Fanny again!" screamed Mrs. Kenny- 
feck; and without waiting for more, rushed up- 
stairs, followed by her daughter, while Roland, in 
a state of mind we dare not dwell upon, hastened 
from the house, and mounting his horse, galloped 
off into the wood. 

There were times when Cashel would have 
laughed and laughed heartily, at the absurdity of 
this adventure. He would have even treasured 
up the " tableau" as a thing for future ridicule 
among his friends; but his better feelings, born 
of a more manly pride, rejected this now; he was 
sorry, deeply, sincerely sorry, that one, with so 
much to fascinate and charm about her, could 
lend herself to a mere game like this! "Where 
are these deceptions to end?" said he, in passion- 
ate warmth. "Have candor, good faith, and 
honesty fled the world? or, are they only to be 
found among those whose vices make the foil to 
such humble virtues?" 

Nor were these his only painful reflections. 
He was. obliged to see himself^ — the thing, of all 
others, he despised — " a dupe." The mark for 
every mean artifice and every ignoble scheme. 
The gambler — the flirt — the adventurer in every 
walk — regarded him as a prey. Wealth had done 
this for him- — and it had done no more! None 
cared for him as a friend or companion. Even as 
a lover, his addresses were heralded by his gold, 
not enhanced by qualitites of his own. What 
humilitation! 

Mary Leicester alone seemed unimpressed by 
his great fortune, and regardless of his wealth. 
She alone had never evinced towards him any show 
of preference above others less endowed by Fate. 
Nay, he fancied he could trace something of re- 
serve in her manner whenever he stepped by 
chance out of his character of careless, buoyftnt 
youth, and dwelt upon the plans that mere money 
accomplishes. In these she showed no interest 
and took no pleasure; while, to the adventures 
of his former life, she listened with eager atten- 
tion. It was easy to see she thuoght more of the 
cabalhro than the millionnaire. 

What a happiness had it been to have be- 
friended her grandfather and herself; how differ- 
ent had been'his reflections at this hour; what 
lessons in the true wisdom of life might he not 
have learned from one who had seen the world, 
not as the play-table for the rolling dice of for- 
tune, but as the battle-ground were good and evil 
strive for victory, where a higher i>hilosopby is 



ROLAND CASH EL. 



529 



taught than the lifeless, soulless dictates of mere 
fashionable existence! 



CHAPTER XLVI. 



SCANDAL, AND GENERAL ILL-HUMOR. 

But where are they all, I do not see, 
One-half of ourgoodlie companie? 

— Hone. 

That daywas destined to be one of contrarieties 
to the household of Tubbermore. Of the Kenny- 
feck family, none appeared at dinner. Lady 
Kilgoff, angry at Roland's breach of engagement 
— for, although he rode at top-speed in every 
direction, he never ovjertook her^also kept her 
room. The carriage sent for Msss Leicester had 
returned without lier, a somewhat formal note of 
apology stating that Mr. Corrigan was indisposed, 
and his granddaughter unwilling to leave him; 
while Linton, usually a main feature in all the 
social success of a dinner, was still absent. 

Of the assembled guests, too, few were in their 
wonted spirits. Sir Andrew and Lady Janet had 
quarrelled in the morning about the mode of pre- 
paring dandelion tea, and kept up the dispute all 
day. U|Jton was sulky, dark, and reserved. 
Meek more than usually lachrymose. Fro- 
bisher's best mare had been staked in taking a 
leap, and Miss Meek had never discovered it till 
half an hour after, so that the lameness was 
greatly aggravated. Mrs. White had had a " tiff" 
with the author, for his not believing, the Irish to 
be of Phoenician origin, and vvouldn't speak to 
him at dinner; so that Cashel himself constrained, 
absent, and ill at ease, found his company any- 
thing rather than a relief to his own distracted 
thoughts. 

Among his other guests he found the same 
reserve and coldness of manner, so that no sooner 
had they assembled in the drawing-room, after 
dinner, than he left the house and set off to in- 
quire for Mr. Corrigan at the cottage. 

"We had nine vacant places today at table," 
said Lady Janet, as soon as she had arranged her 
special table ne.xt the fire, with a shade in front 
and a screen behind her, and was quite satisfied 
that, in regard to cushions and footstools, she had 
monopolised the most comfortable in the room. 

" I thought — aw — that we — aw — were some- 
what slow," said Captain Jennings, with his 
habitually tiresome, pompous intonation. 

" What's the matter with Upton?" said a junior 
officer of his regiment, in a whisper; "he looks 
so confoundedly put out." 

" I'm sure I don't know," yawned oat Lord 
Charles; " he has a very safe book on the Oaks." 

"He's backing Dido a very long odds," inter- 
posed Miss Meek, " and she's weak before, they 
say." 

" Not staked. I hope," said Frobisher, looking 
maliciously at her. 

" I don't care what you say, Charley," rejoined 
she; "I defy any one to know whether a horse 



goes tender, while galloping in deep ground. 
V'ou are always unjust." And she moved away 
in anger. 

"She is so careless," said Frobisher, listlessly. 
"Tell me about these Kennyfecks. What is 
it all about?" said Mrs. White, bustling up, as if 
she was resolved on a long confidence. 

"They hedged against themselves, I hear," 
said Frobisher. 

"Indeed! poor things; and are they much 
hurt?" 

" Not seriously, I fancy," drawled he. " Lady 
Janet knows it all." 

Mrs. White did not neglect the suggestion, but 
at once repaired to that part of the room where 
Lady Janet was sitting, surrounded by a select 
circle, eagerly discussing the very question she 
had asked to be informed upon. 

"I had it from Virthinia," said Mrs. Malone, 
with her peculiar, thick enunciation, "Lady Kil- 
goff's maid. She said that not a day passes with- 
out some such scene between the mother and 
daughters. Mrs. Kennyfeck had, it seems, for- 
bithen Cashel to call there in her abthence." 

" I must most respectfully interrupt you, 
madam," said a large old lady, with blonde false 
hair, and a good deal of rouge, "but the affair 
was quite different. Miss Olivia, that is the sec- 
ond girl, was detected by her aunt, Miss O'Hara, 
packing up for an elopement." 

" Fudge," said Lady Janet; " she'd have helped 
her, if that were the case! I believe the true 
version of the matter is yet to come out. My 
woman, .Stubbs, saw the apothecary coming down- 
stairs, after bleeding Livy, and called him into 
her room; not, indeed, to speak of this matter" 
• — here Lady Janet caused her voice to be heard 
by Sir Andrew, who sat, in moody sulk, right 
opposite — "it was to ask, if there should not be 
two pods of capsicum in every pint of dandelion 
tea." 

"There may be twa horns o' the de'il in it," 
ejaculated Sir Andrew, "but I'll na pit it to my 
mouth agen. I hae a throat like the fiery 
furnace that roasted the three chaps in the 
Bible." 

"It suits your tongue all the better," muttered 
Lady Janet, and turned round to the others. 
" Stubbs, as I was saying, called the man in, and 
after some conversation about the dandelion, 
asked, in a cursory way, you know, 'How the 
lady was, up-stairs?' He shook his head, and 
said nothing. 

" 'It will not be tedious, I hope?' said Stubbs. 
"'These are most uncertain cases,' said he; 
' sometimes they last a day, sometimes eight or 
nine.' 

" ' I think you're very mysterious, doctor,' said 
Stubbs. 

"He muttered something about honor, and, 
seizing his hat, went off, as Stubbs says, 'as if 
he was shot.' " 

" Honor!" cried out one of the hearers. 
" Honor!" ejaculated another, with an ex- 
pression of pure horror. 

"Didn't he say, madam," said the blonde old 
lady, " that it wasn't his branch of the profes- 
sion?" 



530 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



"Oh! oh!" broke in the company together, 
while the younger ladies held up their fans and 
giggled behind them. 

" I'm thorry for the poor mother!" sighed Mrs. 
Malone, who had seven daughters, each uglier 
than the other. 

" I pity the elder girl," said Lady Janet; "she 
had a far better tone about her than the rest." 

"And that dear, kind, old creature, the aunt. 
It is said that but for her care this would have 
happened long ago," said Mrs. Malone. 

"She was, to my thinking, tiie best of them," 
echoed the blonde lady; " so discreet, so quiet, 
and so unobtrusive." 

" What could come of their pretension?" said 
a colonel's widow, with a very large nose and a 
very small pension; " they attempted a style of 
living quite unsuited to them! The house always 
ftill of young men, too." . 

" You wouldn't have had them invite old ones, 
madam," said Lady Janet, with the air of rebuke 
the wife of a commander-in-chief can assume to 
the colonel's relict. 

"It's a very sad affair, indeed," summed up 
Mrs. White, who, if she hadn't quarrelled with 
Mr. Howie, would have given him the whole 
narrative for the "Satanist." 

"What a house to be sure! There's Lady 
Kilgoff on one side " 

" What of lier, my lady?" said the blonde. 

"You didn't hear of Lord Kilgoff overtaking 
her to-day in the wood witli Sir Harvey LTpton? 
— hush! or he'll hear us. The poor old man — 
you know his state of mind — snatched the whip 
from the coachman, and struck Sir Harvey across 
the face. They say there's a great welt over the 
cheek!" 

Mrs. White immediately arose, and, under pre- 
tence of looking for a book, made a circuit of 
the room in that part where Sir Harvey Upton 
was lounging with his head on his hand. 

" Quite true," said she, returning to the party. 
"It is so painful, he can't keep his hand from 
the spot." 

"Has any one discovered who the strange- 
looking man was that was received by Mr. 
Cashel this morning in his own study?" asked 
tlie blonde. " My maid said he was for all the 
world like a slieriff's officer. It seems, too, he 
was very violent in his language, and but for 
Mr Kennyfeck, he would not have left the 
house." 

Too true, I fear, ma'am," said Mrs. Malone; 
" my husband, the thief" — this was Mrs. Malone's 
mode of abbreviating and pronouncing the words 
chief justice— "told me it was impothible for 
Mr. Cashel to continue his extravaganth much 
longer." 

"It's shameful — it's disgraceful," said Lady 
Janet; "the kitchen is a scene of waste and 
recklessness, such as no fortune .could stand." 

"Indeed, so tlie 'thief said," resumed Mrs. 
Malone; " lie said that robbery went on, on every 
thide, and that Mr. Phillith, I think his name is, 
was the worst of all." 

" Your liusband was quite correct, ma'am," 
said Lady Janet; "no one should know it better " 
And then she whispered in lier neighbor's ear. 



" If the adage be true, ' Set a thief to catch a 
thief.'" 

The party entrusted with this could not restrain 
her laughter, and for a space, a species of distrust 
seemed to pervade the circle. 

We are certain that no apology will be re- 
quired, if we ask of our reader to quit this 
amiable society — although seated at a comfort- 
able fire, in the very easiest of chairs, \vith the 
softest carpet beneath his feet — and acconi] any 
Roland Cashel, who now, with hasty step, trod 
the little path tliat led to Tubber-beg Cottage. 

However inhospitable the confession, we are 
bound to acknowledge Cashel was growing mar- 
vellously weary of his character as a host. The 
hundred little contrarieties which daily arose, 
and which he knew not how to smooth down or 
conciliate, made him appear, in his own estima- 
tion at least, deficient in worldly tact, and left 
him open to the belief that others would judge 
him even less mercifully. The unbridled freedom 
oi his household, besides, stimulated all the selfish- 
ness of those who, in a better arranged establish- 
ment, had kept "watch and ward" over their 
egotism; and thus, instead of presenting the 
features of a society where the elerRents of 
agreeability were not deficient, they resembled 
rather the company in a packet-ship, each bent 
upon securing his own comfort, and only intent 
how to make his neighbor subsidiary to himself. 

Prosperity, too, was teaching him one of its 
least gracious lessons — " Distrust." The mean 
and selfish natures by which he was surrounded 
were gradually unfolding themselves to his view, 
and he was ever on the verge of that dangerous 
frontier where scepticism holds sway. One con- 
clusion^ — and it was not the least wise — he formed 
was, that he was ill-suited to such companion- 
ship and that he had been happier, far happier, 
on some humble fortune, than as the rich pro- 
prietor of a great estate. 

It was, while thus ruminating, Cashel found 
himself at the little space which intervened be- 
tween one front of the cottage and the lake, and 
was struck by the rapid movement of lights that 
glanced from window to window, appearing and 
disappearing at e^ ery instant. 

The dread that the old man was taken seriously 
ill at once came over him, and he hastened forward 
in eager anxiety to learn the tidings. Then, sud- 
denly checking himself, he felt reluctant, almost 
stranger that he was, to obtrude at such a mo- 
ment. Fearing to advance, and unwilling to re- 
tire, he stood uncertain and hesitating. 

As he remained thus, the door of the drawing- 
room that opened upon the lawn was flung wide, 
and Tiernay passed hastily out, saying in a loud 
and excited voice, " I will have my own way I'll 
see Cashel at once." And with these words he 
issued ^orth in haste. Scarcely, however, had 
lie gone a dozen paces, than he stopped short, 
and, clasping his hands firmly together, muttered 
aloud, " "I'o what end should I seek him? What 
claim can I pretend — by what right appeal to 
him?" 

" Everv claim and every right," cried Roland, 
advancing towards him, "if I can only be of 
any service to you." 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



531 



''What! actually here at this moment!" ex- 
claimed Tiernay. " Come this way with me, sir, 
we must not go into the house just yet." And so 
saying, he passed his arm witliin Roland's, and 
led him onward towards the lake. 

" Is he ill ?" said Cashel — " is Mr. Corrigan 
taken ill ?" But although the question was asked 
eagerly, Tiernay was too deeply sunk in his own 
thoughts to hear it; while he continued to mutter 
hurriedly to himself. 

' "What « the matter?" said Roland at last 
losing patience at a preoccupation that could 
not be broken in upon. " Is Mr. Corrigan ill ?" 

"He is ruined!" said Tiernay, drop])ing 
Cashel's arm, and letting fall his own as he spoke, 
with a gesture of despair. 

"What do you mean? — How?" 

" Ruined ! utterly rained !" reechoed Tiernay, 
and there was that in liis accent and the emotion 
of his manner that forbade any further ques- 
tioning 

"It is not at a moment like this," said the doctor, 
"that I can tell you a long tale, where treachery 
and falsehood on one side, and generosity and 
manliness on the other, played the game as ever 
it has been, and ever will be played, between such 
antagonists; — enough, if I siy, my poor friend 
became responsible for the debts of a man who, 
but for his aid, would have had a felon's fate 
This fellow, who possesses one terrible means of 
vengeance, threatens now to use it, if a demand 
be not complied with, which Corrigan may leave 
himself a beggar and yet not satisfy. The threat 
has been held over him for years, and for years 
he lias struggled on, parting, one by one, with 
every httle acquirement of his station, and sub- 
mitting with noble resignation to any and every- 
thing to stave off the evil day; but it has come 
at last." 

" And what is the sum demanded ?" said Cashel, 
hastily. 

" I cannot tell. There are various bills; some 
have been renewed again and again, others are 
yet current. It is a tangled web, and, in our 
hopelessness, we never sought to unravel it!" 

" But the danger is imminent?" 

"So imminent, that my friend will be arrested 
to-morrow if bail be not forthcoming. I have 
not told him this; I dare not tell him so; but I 
have made up a story to induce him to leave this 
to-night." 

"VVIiere for?" cried Roland, anxiously. 

" God knows! I lose memory as well as judg- 
ment in moments like this. I believe I advised 
Limerick, and thence by ship to some port in 
England, from which they could reach the 
Continent." 

" But all this will be unnecessary if I offer my- 
self as security," said Roland. 

"For a sum of which you know nothing!" 
muttered Tiernay, sorrowfully. 

" No matter; it cannot be, in all likelihood, 
more than I can meet." 

"And for one who can never repay!" echoed 
the doctor, still more sadly. 

"Who can tell that?" said Cashel; "there's 
many a coinage costlier than ever the mint 
fashioned, he may requite me thus." 



The doctor started. "You mean — no! — no!" 
cried he, interrupting himself, " that were too 
great good fortune. I must tell you, sir," added 
he, in a firm voice, " that there is nothing — ab- 
solutely nothing — to give you in requital for such 
aid. Aly friend's alternative is a prison, or be 
your debtor for what he cannot pay." 

"I am content — perfectly content," said 
Roland. " There is no need to say another word 
on the matter. Do not suffer him to endure any 
anxiety we can spare him; tell him at once the 
thing is done." 

"We must think over this a little," said 
Tiernay, musing. "Con is a difificult fellow to 
deal with: there must be something which shall 
give it the semblance of a loan; he must be made 
to believe it is only a change of creditors." 

" Could we not arrange it without his knowl- 
edge, while you could affect to have made seme 
settlement which has satisfied the others?" 

''Too late — too late, for that; he has seen 
Hoare himself." 

' Hoare!- — the money-lender from Dublin?" 
said Cashel, blushing at the recollection of his 
own acquaintance with him. 

"Ay, sir, of course you know him! A man 
cannot enjoy such distinguished friendships as 
you have, without the aid of usurers!" 

Cashel smiled good-humoredly, and went on: 

"Where is this gentleman at iiiesent " 

" Yonder," said Tiernay, pointing to the cot- 
tage. " but he intends shortly returning to the 
inn at the village, where perhaps it would be 
better to meet him than here. If you'll peimit 
ine, I'll just step in and say as much, and then 
we can stroll that way together." 

Cashel consented, and his companion left 
him to do his errand. It was only as he stood alone, 
and had time for reflection, that he remembered 
his conversation with Kennyfeck in the morning, 
and learned that, with regard to ready money at 
least, he stood in a very different position from 
what he had supposed. That there would be 
difficulties and legal obstacles innumerable made 
by Kennyfeck to any sale of property,* he well 
knew; but he had made up his mind as to his 
course, and would not be thwarted. He had but 
space for these reflections, when Tiernay joined 
him, saying, 

" So far all is well. Hoare will follow us in a 
few minutes, and, for privacy sake, I have made 
the rendezvous at my house." 

" And Corrigan — how have you left him?" asked 
Cashel. 

"Like one a dream. .He seems neither to 
know whether it be misfortune or the opposite 
which impends him. Were it not for Mary, his 
poor heart had given way long since. Ay, sir, 
there is more true heroism in one dav of t-hat 
humble life, than in the boldest deed of bravery 
even you have ever witnessed." 

Cashel did not speak, but, in the pressure of 
his arm against Tiernay's the other felt how the 
theme had touched him. 

"You only know her hy the graceful elegance 
of her manner, and the fascinations that, even 
to old men like myself, are a kind of sorcery; but 
I have seen her in every trial, where temper and 



532 



ROLAND CASH EL. 



mind, and heart and pride, are tested, and come 
through all victorious; draining the very wells of 
her own hopefulness to feed the exhausted foun- 
tain which age and disappointment had dried up; 
lending to manhood a courage greater than her 
own; ay, and more — showing that her temper 
could resist the Jarring influences of misfortune, 
and, like the bright moon above the storm-lashed 
clouds, soar on, glorious and lustrous ever. What 
are men made of?" cried he, energetically; " of 
what stuff are they formed, when such a girl 
as this can excite more admiration for her 
beauty, than for traits of character that ennoble 
humanity.'" 

" You speak with all a lover's warmth, doctor," 
said Cashel, half smiling, while, in reality, the 
subject interested him deeply. 

" And why not, sir? I do love her, and with 
an affection that only such beings inspire. It is 
creatures like her that redeem years of disap- 
pointment and worldly disgust. It is in watch- 
ing the single-heartedness of that young girl that 
I, an old man, hackneyed and hardened as I am, 
become trustful and hopeful of others. Love 
her! — to be sure I love her. And so would you, 
if the poor fopperies amid which you live but 
left you one moment free to think and feel as 
your own head and heart would lead you. I 
hope you take no heed of my rude speech, sir," 
Slid he, hastily; " but it is the fault of my craft to 
believe that sweet things are only ' Placebos,' given 
but to earn the fee and amuse the patient." 

" 1 thank you for it," said Cashel, pressing his 
hand; "few have ever cared to tell me truths." 

" Say, rather, few have cared to resign their 
influence over you by showing they knew your 
weak points. Now, I have too deep an interest 
in you, and too slight a regard for any profit your 
acquaintance can render myself, to be swayed by 
this. You don't know — you cannot know — what 
a charm there is to an old fellow like myself, 
whose humble fortunes limit to a life of mere 
routine — to think that he has an opportunity of 
counselling one in your station — to feel that he has 
sown the seed of some good principle, that one 
day or other will bear its fruit. Yes, years hence, 
when you have forgotten the old village doctor 
— or if by chance remember him, only to recall 
his vulgarity or eccentricity — I will be an anx- 
ious watcher over you, flattering myself to think 
that I have had some share in instilling the pre- 
cepts by which you are winning good men's 
esteem. These thoughts are ])oor men's treasures, 
but he that feels them would not barter them for 
gold." 

"I have long wished for such a counsellor," 
said Cashel, fervently. 

" The advice will not be the less stringent that 
it comes when you are heart-sick of frivolitv," 
said Tiernay. "What could your fine company 
up yonder teach you? Such of them as are above 
mere folly, trade in vice. I have seen them all 
since they have assembled here, and I am no 
mean physiognomist, and there is but one among 
them deserving of better than the poor heartless 
life they're leading." 

" I can guess whom you mean," said Roland, 
half pleased and half fearful. 



"Well, she indeed would merit a better lot; 
and yet I would she were gone." 

" Why so? Do you grudge us even a passing 
' gleam of virtue's brightness?' " 

" She is more dangerous than the veriest 
coquette that ever lured a man to ruin. It is in 
such as she, where noble qualities have run to 
waste, where generous sentiments and pure affecr 
tions have been blighted by the cold chill of a 
world that fosters not such gifts, the peril is ever 
greatest, for her sake and for yours, I would she 
were gone." 

As they spoke thus, they had reached the wide 
esplanade in front of the great house, from the 
windows of which lights were gleaming, while 
sounds of festivity and pleasure floated on the 
night air. 

Tiernay halted for a second, and then said, 
" Who could believe that the owner of that 
princely mansion, filled as it is with pleasure- 
loving guests, and every adjunct that can promote 
enjoyment, should leave it, to wander on foot 
with a poor old village doctor, whose only merit is 
to utter unpalatable truths!" 

"And be happier while doing so! add that, my 
worthy friend," said Cashel, pressing the arm 
that he held within his own. 

"Come along, sir; this dalliance is pleasanter 
to me than to you. I begin to feel that 1 may 
have done you good, and )ou should be a doctor 
to know the full ecstasy of that feeling. Let us 
now move on, or this man will be before ns." 
And so saying, they moved briskly forward 
towards the village of Dunkeeran. 



CHAPTER XLVII. 

SHYLOCK DEMANDS HIS BOND. 

The debts we make by plighted vows. 
Bear heaviest interest, ever! 

— Havwood. 

The doctor's little parlor was the very " ideal" 
of snugness; there was nothing which had the , 
faintest resemblance to luxury save the deep- " 
cushioned arm-chair, into which he pressed Cashel 
at entering, but there were a hundred objects 
that told of home. The book-shelves, no mean 
indication of the owner's " trenipe," were filled 
with a mixture of works on medicine, the older 
English dramatists, and that class of writers who 
prevailed in the days of Steele and Addison. 
There was a microscope on the table, with a great 
branch of fresh-plucked fern beside it. A chess- 
board, with an unfinislied game — a jiroblem from 
a newspaper, for he had no antagonist — stood on 
another table; while full in front of the fire, with 
an air that betokened no mean self-importance, 
sat a large black cat, with a red leather collar, 
the very genius of domesticity. As Cashel's eyes 
took a hasty survey of the room, they rested on 
a picture — it was the only one there — which hung 
over the mantelpiece. It was a portrait of Mary 
Leicester, and although a mere water-color sketch, 
an excellent likeness, and most characteristic in 
air and attitude. 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



n33 



"Ay!" said Tiernay, who caught the direction 
of his glance, "a birthday present to me! She 
had promised to dine with me, but the day, like 
most Irish days, when one prays for sunshine, 
rained torrents; and so she sent me that sketch, 
with a note, a merry bit of doggerel verse, whose 
merit lies in its local allusions toaliundred little 
things, and people only known to ourselves; but 
for this, I'd be guilty of breach of faith and show 
it to you?" 

" Is the drawing, too, by her own hand ?" 

" Yes; she is a clever artist, and might, it is 
said by competent judges, have attained high 
excellence as a painter, had she pursued the 
study. I remember an illustration of the fact 
worth mentioning. Carringford, the well-known 
miniature-painter, who was making a tour of this 
country a couple of years back, passed some 
days at the cottage, and made a picture of old 
Con Corrigan, for which, I may remark pas- 
singly, poor Mary paid all her little pocket- 
money, some twenty guineas, saved up from 
Heaven knows how long. Con did not know 
this of course, and believed the portrait was a 
compliment to his granddaughter. Carringfoiu s 
ability is well known, and there is no need to 
say the picture was admirably painted; but still 
it wanted character; it had not the playful ease, 
the gentle, indulgent pleasantry that marks my 
old friend's features; in fact, it was hard and 
cold, not warm, generous, and genial; s.o I 
thought, and so Mary thought, and accordingly, 
scarcely had the artist taken his leave, when she 
set to work herself, and made a portrait, which, 
if inferior as a work of art, was infinitely superior 
as a likeness. It was Con himself; it had the 
very sparkle of his mild blue eye, the mingled 
glance of drollery and softness, the slightly curled 
mouth, as though some quaint conceit was Imger- 
ing on the lip! all his own. Mary's picture hung 
on one side of the chimney, and Carringford's at 
the other, and so they stood when the painter 
came through, from Limerick, and passed one 
night at Tubber-beg, on his way to Dublin. I 
breakfasted there that morning, and I remember, 
on entering the room, I was surprised to see the 
frame of Carringford's portrait empty, and a 
bank-note, carefully folded, stuck in the corner. 
'What does that mean.'' said I to him, for we 
were alone at the time. 

"'It means sim|3ly that my picture cannot 
stand such competitorship as that,' said he; 
';;//«^ was a miniature, //;«/ is the man himself.' I 
will not say one-half of the flatteries he uttered, 
but I have heard from others since, that he 
speaks of this picture as a production of high 
merit. Dear girl! that meagre sketch may soon 
have a sadder interest connected with it; it may 
be all that I shall possess of her! Yes, Mr. 
Cashel, your generosity may stave off the pressure 
of one peril, but there is another, from which 
nothing but flight will rescue my poor friend." 

A sharp knocking at the door here interrupted 
the doctor's recital, and soon Hoare's voice was 
heard without, inquiring if Dr. Tiernay was at 
home? 

Hoare's easy familiarity, as he entered, seemed 
to suffer a slight shock on observing Roland 



Cashel, who received him with cold politeness. 

Tiernay, who saw at once that business alone 
would relieve the awkwardness of the scene, 
briefly informed the other that Mr. Cashel was 
there to learn the exact amount and circum- 
stances of Corrigan's liabilities, with a view to a. 
final settlement of them. 

" Very pleasing intelligence this, doctor," said 
the money-lender, rubbing his hands, "and, I 
am free to own, very surprising also! Am I to 
enter into an explanation of the peculiar causes 
of these liabilities, doctor, or to suppose," said 
he, "that Mr Cashel is already conversant with 
them?" 

" You are to suppose, sir," interposed Cashel, 
" that Mr. Cashel is aware of every circumstance 
upon which he does not ask you for further in- 
formation." There was a sternness in the way 
he spoke that abashed the other, who, opening 
a huge pocket-book on the table, preceeded to 
scan its contents with diligence; while Tiernay, 
whose agitation was great, sat watching him 
without speaking. 

"The transactions," said Hoare, "date from 
some years back, as these bills will show, and 
consist, for the most part, in drafts, at various 
dates, by Mr. Leicester, of South Bank, New 
Orleans, on Cornelius Corrigan, Esq., of Tubber- 
more. Some of these have been duly honored; 
indeed, at first, Mr. Corrigan was ))unctuality 
itself; but bad seasons, distress at home here, 
greater demands, the consequence of seme com- 
mercial losses sustained by Mr. Leicester in the 
States, all coming together, the bills w ere not met 
as usual; renewals were given — and, when it 
comes to that, Mr. Cashel, 1 need scarcely say 
difficulties travel by special train." No one 
joined in the little laugh by which Mr. Hoare 
welcomed his own attempt at pleasantry, and he 
went on: "At first we managed tolerably well. 
Mr. Corrigan devoted a po^rtion of his income 
to liquidate these claims; he made certain sales 
of property; he reduced his establishment; in 
fact, I believe, he really made every sacrifice 
consistent with his position " 

" No, sir," broke in Tiernay, " but consistent 
with bare subsistence." 

The violent tone of the interruption startled 
the money-lender, who hastened to concur with 
the sentiment, while he faltered out — 

" Remember, gentlemen, I speak only from 
hearsay; of myself I know nothing." 

" Go on with your statement, sir," said Cashel, 
peremptorily. 

" My statement," said Hoare, provoked at the 
tone assumed towards him, "resolves itself into 
a debt of three thousand seven hundred and 
forty-eight pounds some odd shillings. There 
are the bills. The sums due for interest and 
commission are noted down, and will, I believe, 
be found duly correct." 

" Three thousand seven hundred pounds in 
less than five years!" ejaculated Tiernay. "What 
iniquity!' 

" If your expression is intended to apply to 
anything in the conduct of this transaction, sir," 
said Hoare, growing pale with passion as he 
spoke, " I beg you to remember that there is 



534 



ROLAND CASH EL. 



such a thing in the land as redress for libel." 

"If the laws will warrant sixty per cent., they 
may well punish the man who calls it infamy," 
said Tiernay, almost choking with anger. 

"That will do, gentlemen, that will do," said 
Hoare, replacing the bills in the pocket-boo!':, 
while the fingers trembled with passion. "I 
was not aware that your object in this meeting 
was to insult me. I'll not expose myself a second 
time to such a casualty. I'll thank you to hand 
me that bill, sir." This request was addressed to 
Cashel, who, with his eyes riveted on a document 
which he held in both hands, sat perfectly un- 
mindful of all around him. 

" If you will have the kindness to give me that 
bill, sir?" said Hoare, again. 

".Shylock wants his bond," said Tiernay, who 
walked up and down the room with clenched 
hands, and brows knitted into one deep furrow. 

Hoare turned a scowling glance towards him, 
but not trusting himself to reply, merely repeated 
his question to Cashel. 

" How came you by this?" cried Roland, rising 
from the' table, and holding out a written paper 
towards Hoare — '" I ask, sir, how came you by 
this?" reiterated he, while the paper shook with 
the hand that held it. 

" Oh! I perceive," said Hoare; " that document 
has no concern with the case before us; it refers 
to another and very different transaction." 

" This is no answer to my question, sir," said 
Cashel, sternly; "I asked, and I ask you again, 
how it came into your hands?" 

" Don't you think, sir, that it would be more 
appropriate to express your regret at having ex- 
amined a paper not intended to have been sub- 
mitted to you?" said Hoare, in a tone half in- 
solent, half deferential. 

"I saw my name upon it," said Cashel; 
"coupled, too, with that of another, of whom I 
preserve too many memories to treat anything 
lightly wherein he bears a part; besides, there 
can be but little indiscretion in reading that to 
which I had attached my own signature. And 
now, once more, sir, how do I see it in your pos- 
session?" 

"Really, Mr. Cashel, when the question is put 
in this tone and manner, I am much disposed to 
refuse an answer. I can see nothing in our re- 
lative situations that can warrant the assumption 
of these airs towards tiie." 

"Shylock, again!" exclaimed Tiernay, who 
continued to pace the room during this scene 
with hasty strides. 

" Not so, sir," said Cashel, as Hoare moved 
towards the door, against which, Roland now 
placing a chair, sat down. " Out of this room 
you shall not stir, till I hear a distinct and clear 
account of the circumstances by which I find you 
in possession of this paper." 

'■ You have no right, sir, to demand such an 
answer." 

" Possibly not, legally speaking," said Cashel, 
whose voice became calmer and deeper as his 
passion increased. " You are more conversant 
with law than I am, and so I take it that your 
opinion is correct. But I have the right which 
a good conscience and strong will beget, and I tell 



you again, you'll not leave this room before you 
satisfy me, or you'll not leave it living." 

"I call you to witness, Dr. Tiernay," said 
Hoare, whose accents trembled with fear and 
anger together, "that this is a case of false im- 
prisonment — that a threat against my life has 
been uttered, if I do not surrender the pos- 
session of certain papers." 

"Nothing of the kind," broke in Tiernay; 
" there is no thought of taking anything from 
you by force. Mr. Roland Cashel — doubtless 
for good reasons of his own — has asked you a 
question, which you, demurring to answer, he 
tells you that you shall not leave the room till 
you do." 

" And do you fancy, sir, that such conduct is 
legal ?" cried Hoare. 

"I cannot say," rejoined Tiernay; "but that 
it is far more mild and merciful than I could 
have expected under the circumtances, I am 
perfectly ready to aver." 

"May I read the paper out?" said Hoare, with 
a malicious scowl at Cashel. 

"There is no need that you should, sir," said 
Roland; "its contents are known to me, whom 
alone they concern." 

"You can, I opine, have no objection that 
your friend. Dr. Tiernay, should hear them?" 

"I repeat, sir, that with the contents of that 
paper, neither you nor any one else has any 
contern; they relate to me, and to me alone." 

"Then I must labor under some misapprehen- 
sion," said Hoare, affectedly; " I had fancied 
there was another pefson at least equally inter- 
ested." 

"Will you dare, sir!" said Roland; and in the 
thick guttural utterance there was tliat which 
made the other tremble with fear. 

'' If the matter be one, then," said he, rallying 
into his former assurance, "that you deem best 
kept secret, it would be perhaps a judicious pre- 
liminary to any conversation on the subject, that 
Dr. Tiernay, should withdraw." 

"I only await Mr. Cashel's pleasure," said 
Tiernay, moving towards the door. 

" Then you will remain, sir," said Roland, 
firmly. " Remain, and listen to what this gen- 
tleman has so menacingly alluded. Here it is; 
it is the promise, given under my hand, that I 
will espouse the daughter of a certain Don Pedro 
Rica, to whom, in the date herein annexeo, I 
have been this day betrothed; or, in forfeiture 
of such pledge, pay down the sum of seventy 
thousand dollars, thereby obtaining a full release 
from the conditions of the contract. It was the 
rash pledge of a young and thoughtless boy, with 
regard to one who neither accepted his affection 
nor acknowledged the contract. I do not say 
this to absolve myself from the forfeiture, which 
I am ready to acquit this hour. I speak of it, 
that, as a man of honor, I may not seem to pay 
a debt of feeling by a check on my banker." 

"But this betrothal," said Tiernay; "what 
does it imply?" 

" It is a ceremony common enough in Old 
Spain and her once colonies, and is simply the 
public recognition of a private promise of mar- 
riage." 



ROLAND CASH EL. 



535 



" You have forgotten two circumstances, sir," 
said Hoare, whose eyes never quitted Cashel's 
face. 

" Which are they?" 

"One is, that this contract should be either 
fulfilled, or the forfeit paid, within two years; 
twenty-one months of wliich have already ex- 
pired." 

" True! — and the other condition?" 

"That the acceptance or refusal of the forfeit 
is optional with Don Pedro, who may, at his 
pleasure, select which clause he likes — the mar- 
riage or tiie penalty." 

" I never acknowledged this interpretation of 
the document," said Cashel, reddening. "I know 
Don Pedro did, and tliere we were at issue. Me- 
thinks it were somewhat hard to compel a mar- 
riage distasteful to both parties, and only to suit 
the speculations of a ruined adventurer." 

"I hope, sir, the likelihood of future relation- 
ship will moderate the warmth of your lan- 
guage." 

" And is the man fool enougli to fancy such a 
promise could be legally enforced in this coun- 
try?" said Tiernay. 

" He is not without the opinion of learned 
counsel," said Hoare; "who are strongly of 
opinion that the interpretations Columbian law 
would put upon tiie document would be recog- 
nized by our own courts, and recognize the mar- 
riage as such." 

" And does he, or do you, suppose," said 
Cashel, indignantly, " that I could expose her 
name, were I indifferent about my own, to be 
bandied about your assize courts, and printed in 
newspapers, and m.ide the gossip of the town for 
a nine-days' wonder?" He stopped, for he saw 
by the elation of Hoare's fe.itures with what 
triumph this avowal had been listened to. "And 
now, sir, enough has been said of this; I come 
'back to mv former question — how came you by 
this paper?" 

" I received it from Don Pedro, with whom I 
have had much business intercourse, and who 
left it in my hands a few days back." 

" Then he is in the country?" said Cashel, 
anxiously. 

Hoare nodded an assent. 

" Here, in Ireland! and is Mari " He 

stopped suddenly, remembering to whom he was 
speaking; but Hoare, as if eager to show an in- 
timacy with names and events, said, 

" Yes, sir, she is also here." 

Casliel became silent; his mind, a very chaos 
of con uvid thought; memories of his buccaneer 
life — iis lawless habits — its wild companionship 
— its adventures of love and war — of play — of 
heroism — and of mad debauch. The villa and 
Maritana were before him as last he saw her at 
the fountain; and from these he came to his fine 
and lordly friendships, with all their fictitious 
warmth; and he began to fancy how would his 
present society — the very guests at that moment 
beneath his roof — receive or recognize his old 
associates. 

The deep preoccupation of his look suggested 
to Tiernay's mind the notion that Cashel was 
overwhelmed by the intelligence he had just re- 



ceived, and drawing close to him, he said, in a 
whisper. 

" That fellow is watching and enjoying your 
confusion; put a bolder face on the matter, and 
we'll see what is best to be done." 

Roland started, and then, as if by an effort 
chasing away an unpleasant thought, he said to 
Hoare, 

" Our first business is Mr. Corrigan's. The 
sum due is " 

" Three thousand seven hundred and forty." 

" Will you accept my bill for this?" 

"At what date, sir?" said Hoare, cautiously. 

" At whatever date you please; a month or a 
week." 

" A month be it." 

" Does that release Mr. Corrigan from every 
claim so far as your principal is concerned?" 

" All up to this date." 

" By which, probably, you would imply, that 
new liabilities may begin again. Is that so?" 

" I think from the nature of Mr. Leicester's 
claim, such an event is not impossible." 

" Never mind the threat," whispered Tiernay 
■ — "it is but a threat." 

"As to the other affair," said Cashel, approach- 
ing Hoare, " I will accompany you to town. I 
will see Don Pedro myself." 

" That will be difficult, sir. I am not at 
liberty to mention his place of abode; nor does 
he wish his presence here to be known." 

" But to me," said Cashel, " this objection 
cannot apply." 

" His orders are postive, and without qualifi- 
cation; but any proposition which you desire to 
submit " 

" Can come through Mr. Hoare?" said Cashel, 
sneeringly. "I prefer doing these things in per- 
son, sir." 

" Leave this to me," whispered Tiernay; " I'll 
manage him better." 

Cashel squeezed his friend's arm in assent, and 
turned away; while Hoare, reseating himself, 
proceeded to draw out the bill for Cashel's sig- 
nature. 

" You are aware," said Tiernay, " that Corri- 
gan can give you nothing but personal security 
for this sum, and the lease of Tubber-beg?" 
But Cashel did not heed the remark, deep as he 
was in his own reflections. "There is a small 
sum — a few thousand pounds — of Mary's, settled 
at her mother's marriage. You are not attend- 
ing to me," said he, perceiving the preoccupa- 
tion of Roland's look. " I was mentioning that 
Mary Leicester " 

"Yes," said Cashel, talkinghis thoughts aloud, 
" to marry her would, indeed, be the true solu- 
tion of the difficulty." 

" What did you say?" whispered Tiernay, upon 
whose ear the muttered words fell distinctly. 

" She would refuse me," Roland went on; 
"the more certainly that I am rich. I know her 
wei".; the rank, the station, the thousand flatter- 
ies that wealth bestows, would be things for her 
mockery if unallied with power." 

" You are wrong, quite wrong," said Tiernay; 
" her ambition is of a different order. Mary 
Leicester " 



5H6 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



" Mary Leicester!" echoed Cashel; and, in his 
suddenly awalvened look, Tiernay at once per- 
ceived that some mistake had occurred. Hoare 
relieved the awkwardness of the moment as he 
said, 

" This wants but your signature, sir, and the 
matter is finished." 

Cashel wrote his name on the bill and was 
turning away, when Hoare said, 

' These are the bills, they are now your prop- 
erty, sir " 

" For what purpose?" 

"They are vouchers for your claim on Mr. 
Corrigan," said Hoare. 

"His word will suffice," said Cashel; and 
gatliering them up, he hurled them into the fire 

"A costly blaze that," said Hoare, as he 
watched the conflagration. 

" Speak to him, doctor; learn what you can 
of Rica for me; if money will do it, I'll not 
quarrel with the price," said Cashel to Tiernay, 
in a low tone. " Another point — I was nigh for- 
getting it — you'll not tell Mr. Corrigan how the 
matter has been arranged. Promise me this. 
Nay, I have a reason for it — a reason you shall 
hear to-morrow or next day, and will acknowl- 
edge to be good. Keep my secret for a month; 
I ask no longer." 

" For a month, then, I am silent," said Tiernay. 

"Let me see you to-morrow early," said 
Cashel. "Will you breakfast with me?" 

" No: ril not risk my character by going twice 
to your grand house in the same week; besides, 
I am going to Limerick " 

"Good-night, then," said Cashel, "good- 
night, sir." And with a formal bow to Hoare, 
Roland left the room, and took his way home- 
ward alone. 



CHAPTER XLVIII. 

CIGARS, ^cartS, and hazard. 

The devil's back-parlor — a bachelor's room 

— MiLYARD. 

While Cashel continued his way homeward a 
very joyous party had assembled in Lord Charles 
Frobisher's room, who were endeavoring, by the 
united merits of cigars, ecarte, hazard, and an 
excellent supper, of which they partook at inter- 
vals, to compensate themselves for the unusual 
dulness of the drawing-room. It is well known 
how often the least entertaining individuals in 
general society become the most loquacious mem- 
bers of a party assembled in this fashion. The 
restraints which had held them in check before 
are no longer present. Their loud speech and 
empty laughter are not any longer under ban, 
and they are tolerated by better men, pretty 
much as children are endured, because at least 
they are natural. 

At a round table in the middle of the room 
were a group engaged at hazard. Upton was deep 
in &arte with his brother officer, Jennings, while 
Frobisher lounged about, sipping weak negus, 



and making his bets at either table as fancy or 
fortune suggested. The supper-table had few 
votaries; none, indeed, were seated at it save 
Meek, who, with a newspaper on his knee, 
seemed singularly out of place in the noisy gath- 
ering. 

"Eleven's the nick — eleven! I say, Charlie, 
have at you for a pony," called out a boyish- 
looking dragoon, from the middle table. 

" You're under age, young gentleman," said 
Frobisher; "I can't afford to bet with you. 
Wait a moment, Upton, I'll back you this time. 
Twenty sovereigns — will you have it?" 

" Done'" said Jennings, and the game began. 
"The king," cried Upton, "I propose." 
" To which of them'" said a sharp-looking in- 
fantry captain, behind his chair. 

" Olivia, of course," slipped in Jennings. 
" I'd give fifty pounds to know if they have the 
money people say," cried Upton. 

" Meek can tell you — he knows everthing. I 
say, Downie," said Jennings, " come here lor a 
moment, and enlighten us on a most interesting 
point." 

"Oh, dear! what is it? This room is so very 
cold. Don't you think, Frobisher, that a double 
door would be advisable?" 

" A green one, with a centre pane of glass, 
would make it devilish like a 'hell,' " said Up- 
ton; upon which the company all laughed ap- 
provingly. 

" What is it you want!" said Meek, approach- 
ing, glass in hand. 

'' Play out the game, and have your gossip af- 
terwards," said Frobisher, who felt far more anx- 
ious about the fate of his twenty pounds than for 
the result of the conversation. 

" A queen of hearts," said Upton, leading; 
then, turning to Meek, said, "These Kennyfeck 
girls — can you tell what the figure is?" 

" Poor dear things," said Meek, piteously; 
" they should be very well off." 

" I score two!" said Upton. "Well, have 
they twenty thousand each?" 

" I should say more. Oh, dear me' they must 
have more' Kennyfeck holds a heavy mortgage 
on Kilgoff's estate and has a great deal of other 
property." 

" Then it would be a good thing. Meek, eh?" 
said Jennings. 

" Game!" cried Upton, showing his cards upon 
the table. 

" There is so much chaffing about girls and 
their fortunes, one can't play his game here," 
said Jennings, as he threw down a handful of 
gold on the board. 

' Who was it ordered the post-horses for to- 
morrow?" .said a youth at the supper-table. "The 
MacFarlines?" 

" No; Lord Kilgoff." 

"I assure you," cried a third, "it was the 
Kennyfecks There has been a ' flare-up' about 
money between Cashel and him, and it is said 
he'll lose the agency. Who'll get it, I wonder?" 
"Tom Linton, of course," said the former 
speaker, " I'd wager he is gone off to Dublin 
to furbish up securities, or something of that 
kind." 



ROLAND CASH EL, 



537 



" Wlio'd give Tom trust, or go bail for him?" 
said Frobisher. 

A very general laugh did not sound like a con- 
tradiction of the sentiment. 

" I heard a week ago," said the cornet, " that 
Kilgoff wauld stand security to any amount for 
him " 

" Ah, that comes of my lady's good opinion 
of him!" cried Jennings. 

" Nay, don't say that, it looks so ill-natured," 
sighed Meek; " and there is really nothing in it. 
You know she and Tom were old friends. Oh 
dear, it was so sad!" 

" Where does Cashe! get such execrable cham- 
pagne?" said an infantry man with a very wry 
expression of face. 

" It's dry wine, that's all," said Frobisher, 
" and about the best ever imported." 

" We'd be very sorry to drink it at our mess, 
my lord, I know that," said the other, evidently 
nettled at the correction. 

''Yours is the Fifty-third?" said a guardsman. 

" No; the Thirty-fifth." 

" Aw! same thing," sighed he; and he stooped 
to select a cigar. 

" I wish the Kennyfecks were not going," said 
Upton, drawing his chair closer to IVIeek's; 
"there are so few houses one meets them at." 

" You should speak to Linton about that," 
whis]iered Meek. 

" Here's Jim's health — hip, hip, hurrah!" cried 
out a white moustached boy, who had joined a 
hussar regiment a few weeks before, and was 
now excessively tipsy. 

The laughter at this toast was increased by 
Meek's holding out his glass to be filled as he 
asked, "Of course — whose health is it?" 

" One of Frobisher's trainers," said Upton, 
readily. 

" No, it's no such thing," hicupped the hussar. 
" I was proposing a bumper to the lightest snaffle 
hand from this to Doncaster — the best judge of a 
line of country in the kingdom " 

" That's me," said a jolly voice, and at the 
same instant the door was flung wide, and Tom 
Linton, splashed from the road, and travel-stained, 
entered. 

" I must say, gentlemen, you are no churls of 
your wit and pleasantry, for, as I came up the 
stairs, I could hear every word you were say- 
ing." 

"Oh dear, how dreadful! and we were talking 
of you, too,'' said Meek, with a piteous air, that 
made every one laugh. 

A tho\isand questions ag to where he had been 
— whom with — and what for' all burst upon 
Linton, who only esc-aped importunity by declar- 
ing that he was half dead with hunger, and would 
answer nothing till he had eaten. 

"So," said he, at length, after having devoted 
twenty minutes to a grouse pie of most cunning 
architecture, "you never guessed where I bad 
been?" 

"Oh! we had guesses enough, if that served 
any purpose." 

"I thought it was a bolt, Tom," said Upton, 
" but as she appeared at breakfast, as usual, I saw 
my mistake." 



" Meek heard that you had gone over to 
Downing street to ask for the Irish secretaryship," 
said Jennings. 

" 1 said you had been to have a talk with Scott 
about 'Regulator;' was I far off the mark?" 

" Mrs. White suggested an uncle's death," said 
Frobisher; '.'but uncles don't die now-a-days." 

" Did you buy the colt? — Have you backed 
' Runjeet Singh?' — Are you to have the agency? — 
How goes on the borough canvass?" and twenty 
similar queries now poured in on him. 

"Well, I see," cried he, laughing, "I shall 
sadly disappoint all the calculations founded on 
my shrewdness and dexterity, for the whole object 
of my journey was to secure a wardrobe tor our 
fancy ball, which I suddenly heard of as being 
at Limerick; and so, not trusting the mission to 
another, I started off myself, and here I am, with 
materials for more Turks, monks, sailors, watch- 
men, Greeks, jugglers, and Tyrolese, than ever 
travelled in anything save a caravan with one 
horse." 

" Are your theatrical intentions all abandoned?" 
cried Jennings. 

" I trust not," said Linton, "but I heard that 
Miss Meek had decided on the ball to come off 
first." 

"Hip! hip! hip!" was moaned out, in very 
lachrymose tone, from a sofa where the boy 
hussar, very sick and vesy tipsy, lay stretched on 
his back 

"Who is that yonder?" asked Linton. 

"A young fellow of ours," said Jennings, 
indolently. 

" I though they made their heads better at 
Sandhurst." 

''They used in my time, "said Upton; "but 
you have no idea how the thing has gone down. 

"Quite true," chimed in another, "and I 
don't think we've seen the worst of it yet. Do 
you know, they talk of an examination for all 
candidates for commissions!" 

"Well, I must say," lisped the guardsman, 
" I believe it would be an improvement for the 
'Line.' " 

" The household brigade can dispense with 
information,'' said an infantry captain. 

" I demur to the system altogether," said 
Linton. " Physicians tell us that the intellectual 
development is always made at the expense of 
the physical, and as one of the duties of a British 
army is to suffer yellow fever in the West Indies 
and cholera in the East, I vote for leaving them 
strong in constitution and intact in strength as 
vacant heads and thoughtless skulls can make 
them." 

"Oh, dear me! yes," sighed Meek, who, by one 
of his mock concurrences, effectually blinded the 
less astute portion of the audience from seeing 
Linton's impertinence. 

" What has been doing here in my absence?" 
said Linton; "have you no event worth record- 
ing for me?" 

"" There is a story," said Upton, " that Cashel 
and Kennyfeck have quarrelled — a serious rup- 
ture, they say, and not to be repaired." 

" How did it originate? — Something about the 
management of the property?" 



538 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



" No, no — it was a row among the women. 
They laid some scheme for making Cashel pro- 
pose for one of the girls." 

" Not Olivia, I hope?" said Upton as he lighted 
a new cigar. 

" I rather suspect it was," interposed another 

"In any case, Linton," cried Jennings, "you 
are to be the gainer, for the rumor says, Cashel 
will give you the agency, with his house to live in, 
and a very jolly thing to spend, while he goes 
abroad to travel." 

"If this news be true, Tom," said Frobisher, 
"I'll quarter my yearlings on you; there is a 
capital run for young horses in those flats along 
the river." 

"The house is cold at this season," said Meek, 
with a sad smile; " but I think it would be very 
endurable in the autumn months. I shouldn't say 
but you may see us here again at that time." 

" I hope ' ours' may be quartered at Limerick," 
said an infantry man, with a most suggestive 
look at the comforts of the apartment, which 
were a pleasing contrast to barrack-room accom- 
modation. 

" Make yourselves perfectly at home here, 
gentlemen, when that good time comes," said 
Linton, with one of his careless laughs. " I tell 
you frankly, that if Cashel does make me such a 
proposal — a step which, from his knowledge of 
my indolent, lazy habits, is far from likely — I 
only accept on one condition." 

" What is that?" cried a dozen voices. 

" That you will come and pass your ne.xt 
Christmas here." 

"Agreed — agreed!" was chorussed on every 
side. 

" I suspect, from that bit of spontaneous hos- 
pitality," whispered Frobisher to Meek, "that 
the event is something below doubtful." 

Meek nodded. 

" What is Cliarley saying?" cried Linton, whose 
quick eye caught the glance interchanged be- 
tween the two. 

" I was telling Meek," said Frobisher, " that I 
don't put faith enough in the condition to accept 
the invitation." 

"Indeed!" said Linton, while he turned to 
the table and filled his glass, to hide a passing 
sign of mortification. 

"Tom Linton, for a man's agent, seems pretty 
like what old Frederick used to call, keeping a 
goat for a gardener." 

" You are fond of giving the odds, Frobisher," 
said Linton, who, for some minutes, continued 
to take glass after glass of champagne; "now, 
what's your bet that I don't do the honors here 
next Christmas-day?" 

"I can't say what you mean," said Frobisher, 
languidly. " I've seen you do ' the honors' at 
more than one table where you were the guest." 

"This, I suppose, is meant for a pleasantry, 
my lord ?" said Linton, while his face became 
ilushed with passion. 

"It is meant for fact," said Frobisher, with a 
steady coolness in his air and accent. 

"A fact! and not in jest, then!" said he, ap- 
proaching where the other sat, and speaking in 
a low voice. 



" That's very quarrelsome wine, that dry cham- 
pagne," said Frobisher, lazily; "don't drink any 
more of it." 

Linton tried to smile; the effort, at first not 
very successful, became easier after a moment, 
and it was with a resumption of his old manner 
he said, — 

"I'll take you two to one in fifties that I act 
the host here this day twelvemonth." 

"You hear that offer, gentlemen?" said Fro- 
bisher, addressing the party. "Of course it is 
meant without any reservation, and so I take it." 

He produced a betting-book as he said this, 
and began to write in it with his pencil. 

" Would you prefer it in hundreds?" said Lin- 
ton, 
t Frobisher nodded an assent. 

" Or shall we do the thing sportingly, and say 
two thousand to one?" continued he. 

" Two thousand to one be it," said Frobisher, 
while the least possible smile mighfbe detected 
on his usually immovable features. "There is 
no knowing how to word this bet," said he, at 
last, after two or three efforts, followed by as 
many erasures; "you must write it yourself." 

Linton took the pencil, and wrote rapidly for 
a few seconds. 

" Will that do?" said he. 

And Frobisher read to himself — " ' Mr. Lin- 
ton, two thousand to one with Lord C. Frobisher, 
that he, T L., on the anniversary of this day, 
shall preside as master of the house Tubber- 
more, by due right and title, and not by any 
favor, grace, or sanction of any one whatso- 
ever.' " 

"Yes; that will do, perfectly," said Frobisher, 
as he closed the book, and restored it to his 
pocket. 

"Was the champagne so strong as you ex- 
pected?" whispered Lfpton, as he passed behind 
Frobisher's chair. 

A very knowing nod of acquiescence was the 
only reply. 

Indeed, it did not require the practised shrewd- 
ness of Lord Charles, or his similarly sharp-eyed 
friends, to see that Linton's manner was very 
different from his habitual calm collectedness, 
while he continued to drink on, with the air of 
a man that was resolved on burying his faculties 
in the excitement of wine. 

Meek slipped away soon after, and, at Linton's 
suggestion, a rouge-et-noir bank was formed, at 
which the play became high, and his own losses 
very considerable. 

It was already daylight, and the servants were 
stirring in the house ere the party broke up. 

" Master Tom has had a squeeze to-night," 
said Jennings, as he was bidding Upton good- 
bye at his door. 

" I can't understand it at all," replied the 
other. " He played without judgment, and 
betted rashly on every side. It was far more 
like Roland Cashel than Tom Linton." 

" Well, you remember he said — to be sure, it 
was after drinking a quantity of wine — 'Master 
Roland and I may change characters yet. Let 
us see if he can play " Linton," as well as 1 can 
"Cashel. 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



539 



"He's so deep, that I wouldn't say but there is 
something under aU this." And so they parted, 
sadly puzzled what interpretation to put on con- 
duct, the mere result of a passing intemperance; 
for so it is, "your cunning men" are sever re- 
puted to be so deep by the world as when by 
some accident they have forgotten their craft. 



CHAPTER XLIX. 

MR. KENNVFECK AMONG THE BULLS. 

With a bright lie upon his hook, 

He played mankind, as anglers play a fish. 

— Cotter. 

An hour's sleep and a cold bath restored 
Linton to himself, and ere the guests of Tubber- 
niore were stirring, he was up and ready for the 
day. He dressed with more than usual care, 
and having ordered a horse to be saddled and a 
groom to follow him, he sauntered out into the 
park, taking the road tiiat led to the village. 

The groom rapidly overtook him; and then, 
mounting, he rode at a brisk trot down the road, 
and drew up at the door of the doctor's house. 
To his question, " If Mr. Tiernay were at home?" 
he received for answer, that " He had set out for 
Limerick that morning," nor did the servant know 
when he might be expected back. 

For a moment this intelligence appeared to 
derange his plans, but he rallied soon, and turn- 
ing his horse's head towards Tubbermore, 
muttered to himself: " As well — perhaps better 
as it is " He rode fast till he gained the wood, 
and then dismounting, he gave the horse to the 
groom,' with directions to go home, as he would 
return on foot. 

He stood looking after the horses as they re- 
tired, and it seemed as if his thoughts were 
following them, so intent was his gaze; but, long 
after they had disappeared, he remained standing 
in the same place, his features still wearing the 
same expression of highly-wrought occupation. 
The spot where he stood was a little eminence, 
from which the view stretched, upon one side, 
over the waving woods of the demense; and on 
the other, shewed glimpses of the Shannon, as, 
in its sweeping curves, it indented the margin of 
the grounds. Perhaps not another point could 
be found which displayed so happily the extent 
and importance of the demesne, and yet con- 
cealed so well whatever detracted from its 
picturesque effect. The neighboring village of 
Derraheeny — a poor, straggling, ruinous street of 
thatched hovels, like most Irish villages — was 
altogether hidden from view, while of the great 
house itself, an object with few pretensions to 
architectural elegance, only so much was visible 
as indicated its size and extent. The little 
cottage of Tubber-beg, however, could be seen 
entire, glittering in the morning's sun like a gem. 
its bright-leaved hollies and dark laurels forming 
a little grove of foliage in the midst of winter's 
barrenness. 

It this was by far the most striking object of 



the picture, it was not that which attracted most 
of Linton's attention. On the contrary, his eye 
ranged more willingly over the wide woods which 
stretched for miles along the river's side, and 
rose and fell in many a gentle undulation inland. 
A commonplace observer, had such been there 
to mark him, would have pronounced him one 
passionately devoted to scenery; a man who loved 
to watch the passing cloud-shadows of a land- 
scape, enjoying with all a painter's delight the 
varying tints, the graceful lines, the sharp-thrown 
shadows, and the brilliant lights of a woodland 
picture, a deeper physiognomist would, how- 
ever have seen that the stern stare, and com- 
pressed lip, the intense preoccupation which 
every feature exhibited, did not denote a mind 
bent upon such themes. 

" Tom Linton, of Tubbermore," said he, at 
len-gth — and it seemed as if uttering the words 
gave relief to his overburdened faculties, for his 
face relaxed, and his habitual, easy smile re- 
turned to his mouth — " Linton, of Tubbermore; 
it sounds well, too. 

"And then the great game! that game for 
which I have pined so long and wished so 
ardently — which I have stood by and seen others 
play and lose, where I could have won — ay, won 
rank, honor, station, and fame. The heaviest 
curse that lies on men like me is to watch those 
who rise to eminence in the world and know their 
utter shallowness and incapacity. There will 
soon be an end to that now. Stand by, gentle- 
men; make way, my Lords Charles and Harry; 
it is Tom Linton's turn — not Linton the 'Ad' 
venturer,' as you were gracious enough to call him 
— not the bear-leader of a marquis, or the hanger- 
on of his grace the duke, but your equal in rank 
and fortune — more than your equal in other 
things; the man who knows you all thoroughly, 
not fancying your deficiencies and speculating on 
your short-comings, as your vulgar adversaries, 
your men of cotton constituencies, are wont to 
do, but the man who has seen you in your club 
and your drawing-room, who has eaten, drunk, 
betted, played and lived with you all! who knows 
your tactics well, and can expound your 'aristo- 
cratic prejudices better than ever a Quaker of 
them all!' — Not but," said he, after a pause, " an- 
other line would satisfy me equally. The peer- 
age, with such fortune as this, is no inordinate 
ambition; a few years in the house, of that dog- 
ged, unmanageable conduct Englishmen call in- 
dependence — a capriciousness in voting — the re- 
pute of refusing office, and so on. There's no 
originality in the thought, but it succeeds as well 
as if there were! Besides, if hard pressed," I 
can be a Romanist, and, as times go, with every 
party; that is a strong claim. And why not 
Lord Linton? I have no doubt," — and he laughed 
as he spoke this — " there is a peerage in the 
family already, if I only knew where to look for it! 
" And now, sufficient of speculation! to open the 
campaign!" So saying, he descended the knoll, 
and took the path which led to the cottage. 
As he drew near the wicket, he saw a man loung- 
ing beside it, in all that careless indifference 
which an Irish peasant can assume, and soon per- 
ceived it was Tom Keane, the gatekeeper. 



540 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



"Good-morrow, Tom; how comes it you are 
up here so early?" 

" Tis in ihrouble I am, your honer," said lie, 

taking off his hat, and putting on the suppHcating 

look so characteristic of his class. The master's 

going to turn me out of the little place beyant." 

" What for?" 

"For nothing at all, your honer: that's just 
it; but ould Kennyfeck put him up to it." 

" Up to what? That seems the whole ques- 
tion." 

" Your honer may remimber, that when you 
came here first, the cattle of the neighbors was 
used to come and pick a mouthful of grass — and 
poor grass it was — bekase there was no way of 
keeping them out. Well, when the master came 
down, and all the people, by coarse the cows and 
pigs couldn't be let in as. afore; for as the agint 
said, it was a disgrace to see them under the nose 
of the quality, running about as if it was Donny- 
brook fair! " Don't let them appear here again, 
Tom K.eane,'says he, ' or it will be worse for you.' 
And sorra one ever I let in since that, till it was 
dark night. .But ould Mr. Kennyfeck, the other 
evening, takes it into his head to walk into the 
park, and comes right into a crowd of two-year- 
old bulls, and didn't know a bit where he was, 
till a man called out, ' Lie down on your face, 
for the love of the Virgin, or you are a dead man. 
The bullsheens is comin'!' And down he lay, 
• sure enough, and hard work they had to get him 
up afterwards, for the herd went over him as the 
man drov' them off; and what between bruises 
and fear, he kept his bed two days; but the worst 
of it was, the spalpeens said that they paid three- 
pence apiece for the bullsheens every night for 
the grass, and it was to me they gave it." 

" Which, of course, was untrue?" said Linton, 
smiling knowingly. 

"By coorse it was!" said Tom, with a laugh, 
whose meaning there was no mistaking; "and 
so, I'm to be turned out of ' the gate,' and to lose 
my few acres of ground, and be thrun on the 
wide world, just for sake of an attorney!" 

" It is very hard — very hard indeed." 

" Isn't it now, your honer?" 

"A case of destitution, completely; what the 
newspapers call 'extermination.' " 

"Exactly, sir — tarnination, and nothing less." 

"But how comes it that you are up here on 
that account?" 

"I was thinking, sir, if I saw Miss Mary, and 
could get her to spake a word to the master — 
they say she can do what she plazes with him." 

" Indeed! — who says so?" 
, "The servants' hall says it; and so does Mr. 
Corrigan's ould butler. He towld me the other 
'. day that he hoped he'd be claning the plate up 
at the big liouse before he died." 

"How so?" said Linton, affecting not to catch 
the intention of the remark. 

"Just that he was to be butler at the Hall 
when the master was married to Miss Mary." 

"And so, I suppose, this is very likely to 
happen?" 

" Sure yer honer knows betther than ignorant 
craytures like us; but faix, if walking about in 
the moonlight tl^ere, among the flowers, and talk- 



ing together like whisperin' is any sign, I wouldn't 
wonder if it came about." 

"Indeed! and they have got that far?" 

" Ay, faith!" said Tom, with a significance of 
look only an Irishman or an Italian can call up. 

" Well, I had no suspicion of this," said Linton, 
with a frankness meant to invite further confi- 
dence. 

" An' why would yer lioner? Sure wasn't it 
always on tlie evenings, when the company was 
all together in the great house, that Mr. (Jashel 
used to steal down here and tie his horse to the 
wicket, and then gallop back again at full speed, 
so that the servants towld me he was never missed 
out of the room." 

" And does she like him — do they say she likes 
him?" 

" Not like him wid a place such as this!" said 
Tom, waving his hand towards the widespreading 
fields and woods of the demesne. " Bathersliin, 
sure the queen of England might be proud of it!" 

" Very true," said Linton, affecting to be struck 
by the shrewdness of the speaker. 

"See now," said Tom, who began to feel a 
certain importance from being listened to, " I 
know faymales well, and so I ought! but take the 
nicest, quietest, and most innocent one among 
them, and by my conscience, ye'll see, 'tis money 
and money's worth she cares for more nor the 
best man that ever stepped! Tell her 'tis silk 
she'll be wearin', and goold in her ears, and ye 
may be as ould and ugly as Tim Hogan at the 
cross roads!" 

"You haven't a good opinion of the fair sex, 
Thomas," said Linton, carelessly, for he was far 
less interested in his speculations than his facts. 
"Well, as to your own case — leave that in my 
hands. I may not have all the influence of Miss 
Leicester, but I suspect that I can do what you 
want on this occasion." And without waiting 
for the profuse expressions of his gratitude, Lin- 
ton passed on and entered the garden, through 
which a little path led directly to the door of the 
cottage. 

" At breakfast, I suppose?" said Linton to the 
servant who received him. 

" The master is, sir; but Miss Mary isn't well 
this morning." 

" Nothing of consequence, I hope?" 

"Only a headache from fatigue, sir." So saying, 
he ushered Linton, whose visits were admitted on 
the most intimate footing, into the room where 
Mr. Corrigan sat by himself at the breakfast- 
table. 

"Alone, sir?" said Linton, as he closed the 
door behind him, and conveying in his look an 
air of surprise and alarm. 

"Yes, Mr. Linton, almost the only time I re- 
member to have been so for many a year. My 
poor child has had a night of some anxiety which, 
although bearing well at the time, has exacted its 
penalty at last in a slight attack of fever It will, 
I trust, pass over in a few hours; and you — 
where have you been — they said you had been 
absent for a day or two?" 

" A very short ramble, sir — one of business 
rather than pleasure. I learned suddenly — by a 
newspaper paragraph, too — that a distant relative 



ROLAND C A S H E L . 



541 



of my mother's had died in the East, leaving a 
considerable amount of property to myself; and 
so, setting out, I arrived at Limerick, intending 
to sail for Liverpool, when, who should I meet, 
almost the first person I saw, but my agent, just 
come in haste from London, to confer with me 
on the subject. The meeting was so far agree- 
able, tiiat it saved me a journey I had no fancy 
for, and also put me in possession of the desired 
information regarding the properly. My agent, 
speaking of course from imperfect knowledge, 
-calls it a large — what a man like myself would 
style— a very large fortune." 

"I give you joy, with all my heart," cried Cor- 
rigan, grasping his hand in both his, and shaking 
it cordially. " When wealth descends to men 
who have shown their ability to maintain an 
honorable station without it, the chances are 
greatly in favor of its being nobly and generously 
employed." 

"How I hope that I may not disgrace your 
theory," said Linton, "for I am not ashamed to 
assert that I have fulfilled the first condition of 
the category. With little else but good birth and 
a fair education, I had to start in the race against 
others with every aid of fortune, and if 1 have 
not reached a more elevated position, I can say 
that the obstacle lay rather in my own scruples 
than my incapacity. I declined parliamentary 
life because I would not be a nominee; I had a 
glancing suspicion that my time would come, too, 
when, without other check upon my motives than 
the voice of conscience, I should stand in the 
British Senate a free and independent member. 
If I have waited patiently for this hour, I hope 
I have not abused the leisure interval, and that 
I may bring to the public service something be- 
sides the zeal of one who feels the importance of 
his trust." 

"There is no failure with intentions pure and 
honorable as these," said Corrigan, warmly. " It 
does not need your talents, Mr. Linton, to ensure 
success in such a path; one-half of your ability, 
so nobly backed, would reach the goal. And 
now tell me, if I be not indiscreet in asking some 
of your plans, what place do you mean to stand 
for?" 

"Our good borough of Derraheeny," said Lin- 
ton, half smiling. " I am in a measure committed 
to continue my canvas there, and, indeed, have 
already entered into securities to keep my pledge. 
I see these words sound a little mysteriously, but 
I intend to explain them; only I must ask one 
favor of you. I hope, before I leave the room, 
to show that I have, if not a claim upon your 
generosity, at least a plea to warrant my request. 
My entreaty is this, that you \\\\\ never divulge 
to any one what I shall now tell you." 

" Pray, my dear friend, consider for a moment 
what you are asking. Why make me the deposi- 
tary of a secret? An old man, whose very years 
are like 'fissures in the strong keep,' where mys- 
teries should be imprisoned." 

"Could I participate in your reasonings, my 
dear sir, there is yet enough in the present in- 
stance to make it an exception. This is a mat- 
ter you ought to know (or your sake, and to keep 
secret for Mine." 



"Then you have my promise," said Corrigan, 
frankly. 

"I'll be brief with my explanation," said Lin- 
ton. " When there was a design, some time back, 
of my accepting the representation of the borough, 
Cashel offered me his property of Tubber-beg, 
on terms which very nearly approached a gift. 
This — though at the time our relations were those 
of the closest friendship — I refused; but, as I 
had made some progress in my canvass of the 
borough, there was a difficulty in abandoning the 
position; and so the matter hung, each hoping 
that the other would suggest some arrangement 
that might satisfy both. 'J'his fortunate device, 
however, was not to be discovered, and as, for 
some time back, our intercourse had become 
gradually less intimate, the chance of such a solu- 
tion diminished daily. 

"In this way the affair stood, when a couple 
of mornings since, I felt it my duty, as one who 
really felt an interest in him, to remonstrate with 
Roland on a circumstance which, without any af- 
fectation of prudery, would have gravely com- 
promised himself, and, worse still, another per- 
son. It was a case — I know not exactly how to 
touch upon a matter of such delicacy — enough 
if I say it was one where a persistence in his con- 
duct must have ended in disgrace to him, ruin 
and misery to another. Poor thing! she is, in- 
deed, to be pitied; and if there be extenuation 
for such cases, hers is one to claim it. I knew 
her as Laura Gardiner, the handsomest creature 
I ever beheld. Well, well, it is a theme I must 
not linger on. Cashel, so far from receiving my 
counsel as I hoped, and indeed expected, resented 
it with anger and rudeness, and even questioned 
the degree of intimacy on which I presumed to 
give my unasked advice. 

" I am fortunately a man of cool temper, and 
so I bore this ungenerous return better than 
most others might; and seeing that it would pos- 
sibly be the last occasion I should ever have of 
giving even unwilling counsel, I spoke to him 
freely and openly. I told him that his mode of 
living, while derogatory to the hopes conceived 
of him, was one that must end at last in ruin; 
that no fortune could stand his losses at play, and 
the wasteful extravagance of his caprices. I 
pressed the matter as strongly as I was able, and 
represented that his habits bore no reference 
whatever to his income. 

" ' It is quite true,' said he, with a sneering 
tone; 'I cannot readily forget 1 am chargeable 
with all these wasteful ways you speak of, nor do 
I feel that I make any the slightest defence of 
myself, in regard to habits, where my generosity 
has been as lavish as it has been ill-bestowed.' 

"'I wish I knew if I understand you aright?' 
said I. 

"'Your comprehension is of the quickest 
where there is question of a favor to be re- 
ceived.' 

" I did not trust myself with any answer to this 
speech, which I well knew was a trait of his old 
buccaneer life. I withdrew, and hastening to his 
law-agent, Kennyfeck, I at once arranged for 
the purchase of this small property. The mo- 
ment for me was propitious. I'hey were in want 



542 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



of ready money, and the treaty was completed 
the same day. There is the title." 

As he spoke, he threw down the parchment 
deed upon the table, and lay back in his chair, 
watching with intense delight the expression 
of sadness and disappointment on Corrigan's 
features. 

"Good Heavens!" exclaimed the old man at 
last, " how deceived I have been in him!" 

" I confess that is what wounds me most in 
the whole transaction," said Linton, with a mock 
emotion in his manner. " One is well accus- 
tomed through life to meet sordid motives in 
mere men of the world, and who deem their low- 
born subtlety cleverness; but to find a young 
fellow, beginning Mfe with an ample fortune and 
a fair position, surrounded by all the blandish- 
ments that wealth charms up ■" 

"Hold!" cried Corrigan, laying his hand on 
Linton's arm; " I cannot bear this. It is not at 
my age, sir, that disappointments like these can 
be borne easily. 1 have too short a time be- 
fore me here to hope to recover from such 
shocks." 

" I would not willingly give you pain, my dear 
sir; nor, indeed, is this the topic on which I am 
most anxious to address you. Another and a 
very different interest led me hither this morn- 
ing; and, although I have thought long and 
maturely on the subject, I am as far as ever from 
knowing how to approach it. My own unworthi- 
ness to what I aspire recoils upon me at every in- 
stant, and nothing but the indulgent kindness with 
which you have always regarded me could give 
ir>e courage. Forgive me this prolixity; I am 
like one who fears to plunge, lest he should never 
rise again." 

" If my estimate of you be correct," said the 
old man, laying his hand upon Linton's, "the 
goal must needs be high to which you dare not 
aspire." 

" It is indeed so!" cried Linton, as if carried 
away by an irresistable emotion. " To me it 
means station, hope, worldly success, happiness — 
ay, life itself. I cannot longer tamper with your 
feelings, nor my own. The ambition of which 
I speak, is to be your son; not alone in the af- 
fectionate love which already I bear you, but by 
the closest and dearest ties, to be bound to yoii 
in the same chain by which she is, who owns all 
my heart and all my destiny." 

He stopped as if overcome; and Corrigan, 
compassionating the agitation he seemed to 
suffer, said, 

"Be calm, my dear friend; this takes me by 
surprise. I was not in any way prepared for 
such an announcement; nor have I courage to 
look at its consequences; poor, old, companion- 
less as I should be " 

■'Nay, such cruelty was not in my thoughts. 
It was with far other intentions I became "pos- 
sessed of the property. It v.-as in the glorious 
hope tliat it would be our home — yours and mine 
together: not to render your hearth desolate, but 
to give it another guest, whose duty would be 
his title to be there." 

" Let me think — let me reflect on this — let me 
separate my own selfish thoughts from the 



higher ones that should guide me. You have not 
spoken to my daughter?" 

" No, sir; I deemed the more honorable course 
to have your sanction; or, if not that, to bury 
my sorrows in silence forever." 

" There is so much to consider, and I am so 
weak and infirm, so inadequate to decide. Youi 
proposal is a proud one for any girl, I know it; 
and we are proud, although poor. Ay, Mr. 
Linton, poor to very necessity! If her affections 
were engaged by you, if I saw that your high 
qualities had made the impression on her that 
they have on me, I own this offer would delighl 
me; but can you say this is the case?" 

" I hope, sir, I am not indifferent to Miss 
Leicester. The humble fortune which has res- 
strained me hitherto, and prevented my prose- 
cuting an attachment to which I felt I had no 
claim, exists no longer. I am independent in 
means, as in opinion; and, however conscious of 
my personal unworthiness in all that regards 
station and condition, I'm in a position to satisfy 
you. I only ask your sanction to address Miss 
Leicester — to know, in fact, that if I should prove 
acceptable to her, \\\zX you will not look unfavor- 
ably upon me." 

" This appears most candid and fair on your 
part; and it is a time when we must both use 
candor and fairness. Now, Mr, Linton, there 
are circumstances which at this moment involve 
me in considerable difficulty; 1 cannot enter into 
them just yet; but they may offer grave obstacles 
to what you propose. I will, therefore, beg of you 
not to press me for my answer. I see this delay 
is displeasing — • — " 

" Nay, sir, I am ready to yield to anything you 
suggest; but is it not possible that my assistance 
and advice might be of service in these difficul- 
ties you speak of ?" 

" There is another point, Mr. Linton — and I 
know you will think better of me for all my 
frankness. Are your friends — your family, I mean 
— aware of this step of yours; are you certain of 
their concurrence in it?" 

" I have few relatives living, sir," said Linton, 
reddening; "but I can answer for their partici- 
pation in all that so nearly concerns my happi- 
ness." 

"This evening, then; come tome this evening, 
then," said Mr. Corrigan, "and you shall hear 
my sentiments." 

"This is most kind: I can ask 'for nothing 
more," said Linton; and with a most affectionate 
pressure of the old man's hand, departed. 



CHAPTER L. 

POLITICAL ASPIRATIONS. 

Be grateful, too! you ask "for what?" 
Simply, for that you never got; 
And you'll get something yet. 

— Machiavelu Travestied. 

Mr. Linton, like a large majority of the cun- 
ning people in this word, made the mistake of 
supposing that every one had an " after-thought" 



ROLAND CASH EL 



C43 



— some secret mental reservation in all he said; 
that, in fact, no one told "the whole truth" on 
any subject. Now, judging Mr. Corrigan by this 
rule, he came to the conclusion that the old gen- 
tleman had not received his addresses with all 
the warmth that might be expected; — possibly, 
in the hope of a more advantageous offer — 
possibly, because in his old Irish pride of family, 
he had got to learn who this Mr. Linton was, 
what his connections, and what position they 
held in the society of their own country. 

In this way did Linton read the old man's 
inquiry as to the " concurrence of his relatives." 
It was, to his thinking, a mere subtle attempt to 
ascertain who and what these same relatives were. 
"A clever stroke in its way," thought Tom, 
"but I am not to be drawn out of my entrench- 
ment so easily. Still, the theme will linger in 
his mind, and must be got rid of." 

Linton knew well how the influence of rank 
and title can smooth down difficulties of this 
kind, and ran over in his mind the names of at 
least a dozen peers, any one of whom, in such 
an emergency, would have owned him for a half- 
brother, or a cousin, at least. 

It was provoking to think how many there 
were, at that dull season, listless and unemployed, 
who could, were he only able to summon them, 
stand sponsors to his rank and condition. 
Measuring Corrigan by what he had witnessed in 
other men of small fortune and retired lives, he 
deemed " a lord" was all-essential. Linton had 
seen a great deal of life, and a great deal of that 
submissive homage so readily conceded to nobil- 
ity. A lord, at a wedding, is like a captain, in a 
duel. They are the great ingredients which 
warrant that these events "come off," properly. 
They place beyond all cavil or question what- 
ever may occur; and they are the recognizances 
one enters into with the world that he is " spliced" 
or shot like a gentleman. It is quite true Linton 
was above this vulgarity; but he was not above 
the vulgarity of attributing it to another. 

The more he reflected on this, the more did he 
believe it to be the solution of the whole diffi- 
culty. "My kingdom for a Lord!" exclaimed 
he laughing aloud at the easy gullibility of that 
world which he had duped so often. 

The reader is aware that of the pleasant com- 
pany of Tubbermore, Lord Kilgoff was the only 
representative of tlie peerage; and to him Linton's 
thoughts at once resorted, as the last hope in his 
emergency. Of late his lordship had been 
gradually mending; clear intervals broke through 
the mist of his clouded faculties, and dis|)layed 
him, for the time, in all his wonted self-im- 
portance, irritability, and pertinacity. To catch 
him in one of these fortunate moments was the 
o!)ject, and so induce liim to pay a visit to the 
cottage. 

Could he but succeed in this, none better 
than the old peer to play the part assigned to 
him. The very qualities to make his society in- 
tolerable would be, here, the earnest of success. 
Tlie imperturbable conceit, the pompous distance 
of his manner, would repel inquiry, and Linton 
saw that his oracle would not utter one word 
more than he ought. 



"He will not — I dare not ask him — to call me 
his relative," said he; "but I can easily throw a 
hazy indistinctness over our intimacy. He can 
be a friend of 'my poor father'" — Tom laughed 
at the conceit — "one who knew me from the 
cradle. With him for a foreground figure, I'll 
soon paint an imaginary group around him, not 
one of whom shall be less than a marquis. 

"With Mary this will rot succeed. Laura, 
indeed, might do me good service in that quarter, 
but I cannot trust her. Were she more skilled 
in this world's ways, she would gladly aid me — 
it would be like drawing the game between us; 
but she is rash, headlong, and ]iai-sionale. I 
doubt if even her fears would control her. And, 
yet, I might work well upon these! I have the 
will, and the way, both! The event shall decide 
whether I employ them." With these thoughts 
passing in his mind he reached the house, and 
entering unobserved, since they were all at 
breakfast, repaired to his own room. 

He immediately sat down and wrote a few 
lines to Lord Kilgoff, inquiring with solicitude 
after his health, and craving the favor of being 
permitted to wait upon him. This done, he 
amused himself by inventing a number of little 
political "gossipries" for the old peer — those 
small nothings which form the sweepings of clubs 
and the whisperings of under-secretaries' offices; 
the pleasant trifles which every one repeats, but 
no one believes. 

" My lord will see Mr. Linton whenever he 
pleases," was the answer of the valet; and Linton 
lost no time in availing himself of the permission. 

" Llis lordship is at breakfast ?" said he to the 
servant, as he walked along. 

"Yes, sir." 

"And her ladyship?" 

" My lady breakfasts below stairs, sir." 

"As it ought to be; he is alone," thought 
Linton, who in his present incertitude of purpose 
had no desire to meet her. 

"If vou'll have the goodness to wait a mo- 
ment, sir, I'll tell my lord you are here," said 
the man, as he ushered Linton into a handsome 
diawing-room, which various scattered objects 
denoted to be her ladyship's. 

As Linton looked over the table, where books, 
drawings, and embroidery were negligently thrown, 
his eye caught many an object he had known 
long, long before; and there came over him, 
ere he knew it, a strange feeling of melancholy. 
The past rushed vividly to his mind— that time 
when, sharing with her all his ambitions and his 
holies, he had lived in a kind of fairy world. 
He turned over the leaves of her sketch-book — 
she had done little of late — an unfinished bit, 
here and there, was all he found; and he sat 
gazing at the earlier drawings, every one of 
which he remembered. There was one of an old 
pine-tree scathed by lightning, at the top, but 
spreading out, beneath, into a light and feathery 
foliage, beneath which they had often sat to- 
gether. A date in pencil had been written 
at the foot, but was now erased, leaving 
only enough to discover where it had been. 
Linton's breathing grew hurried, and his pale 
cheek paler, as with his head resting on his 



544 



ROLAND CASH EL, 



hands he sat, bent over this. "I was happier, 
then," said he, with a sigh that seemed to rise 
from his very heart — "far happier! But would it 
have lasted! that is the question. Would mere 
love have compensated for thwarted ambition, 
delusive hope, and poverty? How should I have 
borne continued reverses.'" 

The door opened, and Lady Kilgoff entered; 
not seeing him, nor expecting any uie in the 
apartment, she was humming an opera air, when 
suddenly she perceived him. " Mr. Linton here? 
This is a surprise indeed!" exclaimed she, as, 
drawing herself proudly up, she seemed to ques- 
tion the reason of his presence. 

" I beg you will forgive an intrusion which was 
not of my seeking. I came to pay niy'respects 
to Lord Kilgoff, and his servant showed me into 
tliis chamber until his lordship should be ready 
to receive me." 

" Won't you be seated, sir?" said she, \vith an 
accent which it would be difficult to say whether 
it implied an invitation or the opposite. 

Few men had more self-possession than Linton, 
fewer still knew better how to construe a meYe 
accent, look, or a gesture, and yet, he stood now, 
uncertain and undecided how to act. Meanwhile 
l^ady Kilgoff, arranging the frame of her em- 
broidery, took her seat near the window. 

"Penelope must have worked in Berlin wool, 
Lm certain," said Linton, as he approached 
where she sat. " These wonderful tissues seem 
never to finish." 

"In that lies their great merit," replied slie, 
smiling, "it is sometimes useful to have an oc- 
cupation whose monotony disposes to thought, 
even when the thoughts themselves are not all 
pleasurable." 

"I should have fancied that monotony would 
dispose to brooding," said he, slowly. 

" Perhaps it may, now and then," said she, care- 
lessly. " Life, like climate, should not be all 
sunshine;" and then, as if wishing to change the 
theme, she added, " You have been absent a day 
or two?" 

"Yes; an unexpected piece of fortune has be- 
fallen me. I find myself the heir of a considerable 
property, just as I have reached that point of 
life when wealth has no charm for me! There 
was a time when — but, no matter; regrets are 
half brother to cowardice." 

"We can no more help one than the other, 
occasionally," said she, with a faint sigh, and 
both were silent for some time. 

" Is not that tulip somewhat too florid?" said 
he, stooping over her embroidery. 

"That tulip is a poppy, Mr. Linton." 

"What a natural mistake, after all!" said he. 
" How many human tulips who, not only look 
like, but are, downright poppies! Is not this 
house intolerably stupid ?" 

" I'm ashamed to own I think it pleasant," 
said she, smiling. 

"You were more fastidious once, if my memory 
serves me aright," said he, meaningly. 

" Perhaps so," said she, carelessly. " I begin 
to fancy that odd people are more amusing than 
clever ones; and, certainly, they entertain with- 
out an effort, and that is an immense gain." 



" Do you think so? I should have supposed 
the very effort would have claimed some merit, 
showing that the desire to please had prompted 
it." 

"My lord will see Mr. Linton at present," said 
the servant. 

Linton nodded, and the man withdrew. 
" How long ago is it since you made this 
sketch?" said he, opening the book, as if acci- 
dentally, at the page with the pine-tree. 

She turned, and althougli her bent-down head 
concealed her features, Linton saw the crimson 
flush spread over the neck as she answered, 
" About three years ago." 

'Scarcely so much," said he. "If I mistake 
not, I wrote the date myself beneath it; but it 
has worn out." 

" You will excuse my reminding you, Mr. Lin- 
ton, that Lord Kilgoff has not regained his hab- 
itual patience, and will be very irritable if you 
defer a pleasure such as a visit from you always 
affords him." 

" Happy conjuncture," said he, smiling, " that 
can make my i)resence desired, in one quarter, 
when my absence is wished for, in another." 
And with a low, respectful bow, he left the 
room. 

AViiatever the object of the hint. Lady Kilgoff 
had not exaggerated his lordshijj's deficiency in 
the Job-like element, and Linton found him, on 
entering, interrogating the servant as to whether 
he "had conveyed his message properly, and 
what answer he had received." 

" That will do. Leave the room," said he. 
Then turning to Linton, "I have waited twelve 
minutes, sir — nearly thirteen- — since my servant 
informed you I would receive you." 

" I am exceedingly sorry, my lord, to have 
occasioned you even a moment of impatience. I 
was mentioning to Lady Kilgoff a circumstance 
of recent good fortune to myself, and I grieve 
that my egotism should have mastered my sense 
of propriety." 

"Twelve minutes, or thirteen, either, may 
seem a very unimportant fraction of time to men 
of mere pleasure, but to those whose weijjhiier 
cares impose graver thoughts, is a very consid- 
erable inroad, sir." 

" I know it, my lord. I feel it deeply, and I 
beg you to excuse me." 

" Life is too short, at least in its active period, 
to squander twelve minutes, Mr. Linton, and 
however you, \n jcn/r station, and with jonr pur- 
suits, may deem otherwise, I would wish to ob- 
serve that persons in miNe think differently." 

Linton looked a perfect statue of contrition, 
nor did he utter another word. Perhaps he felt 
that continuing the discussion would be but an 
indifferent mode of compensating for the injury 
already incurred. 

"And now, Mr. Linton, I conclude that it was 
not without a reason you sought an interview at 
this unusual hour?" 

"The old story, my lord, and as I came to 
ask a favor, I selected the petit lever as the most 
appropriate hour." 

"Indeed! you surprise me much how an in- 
dividual so much forgotten as Lord Kilgoff can 



ROLAND CASH EL. 



545 



pnssibly be of service to that most promising 
gentleman, Mr. Linton!" 

Linton never lieeded the sarcastic discontent 
of the speech, but went on: 

" Yes, my lord, you find me, as you have so 
often found me, a suppliant." 

"I have nothing to bestow, sir." 

" You can do all that I can ask, or even wish 
for, my lord. My ambition is not very un- 
measured; my greatest desire is to have the op- 
portunity of frequent intercourse with you, and 
the benefit of that practical wisdom for which 
your lordship's conversation is distinguished at 
home and abroad." 

" My valet is not going to leave me," said the 
old man, with an insolence of look that tallied 
with the rude speech. 

" My lord: " 

" Nay, nay, you must not be offended; I was 
rather jesting on my own barrenness of patronage 
than upon your proposal." 

Linton saw by the slight advantage he had 
gained that the bold course was the more promis- 
ing, and continued; 

" You will soon have a great deal of business 
on your hands, my lord, and so, I will economize 
your time and your patience. You have not 
lieard, I am aware, that Dollington has been re- 
called. The mission at Florence is to give away, 
and I am here to ask for the secretaryship I 
know well that the appointment is a Foreign-Office 
one; but Blackwell, who gives me the present 
information, says, ' If you have interest with 
Kilgoff push it now; his recommendation will, I 
know, be attended to.' He then goes on to say 
that Dollington is most anxious to know if you 
would take his house off his hands. He has 
been furnishing and arranging the interior most 
expensively, never dreaming of a recall." 

"When did this news come?" said Lord Kil- 
goff, sitting down and wiping his forehead, on 
which the jjerspiration now stood, from agitation. 

" Yesterday. Blackwell sent a cabinet messen- 
ger to me, but with the strictest injunctions to 
secrecy. Li fact, the rumor would call so manv 
suitors in the field, that the Foreign Office would 
be besieged." 

"You can rely upon it, however?" 

" Unquestionably. Blackwell writes me that 
the thing is done. You will receive the offer 
immediately after the recess." 

" You acted very properly, I must say — very 
properly, indeed, in giving me this early notice 
of his majesty's gracious intentions with regard 
to me, the more, as I shall have time to consider 
how far my views upon questions of foreign pol- 
itics are in agreement with those of the govern- 
ment." 

" Upon that jjoint your lordship's mind mav 
be at rest. I gather from Blackwell that you 
will receive the widest discretion. The secre- 
tary of state has named you as ///c man; of course, 
interference is out of the question." 

" Of course it would be, sir, were I to accept 
the mission. Dollington's house. I conclude, is 
a suitable one, and we'll think of it; and as to 
yourself, Linton, I really am at a loss what to say. 
Lady Kilgoff — it is best to be candid — is preju- 



diced against you. She thinks you satirical and 
sarcastic, as it" — and here he raised liis head, 
and threw forward his chin with most imposing 
dignity — •" as if the person who bore fiiy name 
need fear such qualities anywhere; but besides 
this, it appears to me that your abilities are not 
diplomatic. You have neither that natural re- 
serve, nor that suave impressiveness 'the line' 
requires. You are a club man, and will pro- 
bably make a very good House of Commons man; 
but diplomacy, Mr. Linton — diplomacy is a high, 
I had almost said a sacred, vocation! To all 
\.h^ prestige of family and ancient lineage must be 
added the most insinuating graces of manner. 
Personal advantages should be combined with a 
high cultivation, so that the envoy may worthily 
mirror forth the majesty he represents. It would 
be an inestimable benefit if the Eastern princi- 
ple of ' caste' were observed in diplomacy, and 
the office of ambassador be limited to certain 
families! Believe me, sir, you may say of such, 
'A^asciiur non fit.' " 

As he spoke, his eyes flashed, and his cheek 
became flushed; the flutter of self-importance 
gave a fresh impulse to his circulation, and he 
walked back and forward in a perfect ecstasy of 
delight. 

" Alas, my lord! you have made me feel too 
deeply the presumption of my request. 1 con- 
fess, till I had listened to your eloquent exposi- 
tion, I had formed other and very erroneous ideas 
upon this subject. I see, now, that I am quite 
unsuited to the career. The very fact that it 
becomes your lordship, is evidence enough how 
unfitted it would prove to me." 

" I will not say, that in Greece, or perhaps 
with some Republican government, vou might 
not be very eligible. We'll consider about it." 

"No, no, my lord; I'll content myself with 
more humble fortunes. I suppose there is 
always a place for every capacity — and now, 
to a matter purely personal to myself, and in 
which I hope I may count upon your kind co- 
operation. I have thoughts of marriage, my 
lord, and as I am a stranger in this country, un- 
connected with it by kindred or connection, I 
would ask of you to give me that sanction and 
currency which the honor of your lordship's 
friendship confers. The lady upon whom I have 
fixed my choice is without fortune, but of a family 
which traces back to royalty, I fancy. This 
Irish pride of lineage, then, requires that I, upon 
my side, should not be deficient in such preten- 
sions " 

"I am not a Clarencieux, nor Norroy, sir, to 
make out your genealogy," said the old peer, 
with ineffable disdain. 

Linton had more difficulty to control his 
laughter than his anger at this impertinent ab- 
surdity. "I was not thinking of ' the tree,' my 
lord, but its last and most insignificant twig, my- 
self; and, remembering how many kindnesses I 
owed you, how uniformly your patronage had 
befriended me through life, I still reckon upon 
the feeling to serve me once more. ' 

" Be explicit. What do you ask?" said he, 
leaning back, and looking like a monarch whose 
will was hal' ipotence. 



546 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



"What I should like, my lord, is this — that 
you would permit me to drive you over some 
morning to the gentleman's house, where present- 
ing the family to your lordship, 1 might, while 
enjoying the sanction of your intimacy and 
friendship, also obtain your opinion upon the 
merits of one with whom I would link my hum- 
ble destinies. I have said that the lady has no 
fortune; but your lordship has shown the noble 
example of selecting for far higher and more en- 
nobling qualities than wealth." This was said 
with a spice of that subdued raillery of which 
Linton was a master, and he saw with delight 
how the old peer winced under it. 

"Very true, sir; your remark is just, except 
that the disparity between our conditions does 
not give the instance the force of example; nor 
am I certain the experiment will be always suc- 
cessful!" The irritation under which the last 
words were uttered spread a triumphant joy 
through Linton's heart, nor dare he trust himself 
to speak, lest he should reveal it! 

"Perhaps a letter, Mr. Linton, would answer 
your object. It appears to me that the conde- 
scension of a visit is a step too far in advance. 
You are aware that, in a day or two, as his 
majesty's representative, etiquette would require 
that I should never make the initiative in ac- 
quaintance." 

"Pardon my interrupting, my lord; but that 
rule will only apply to you at the seat of your 
mission. Here you have no other distinction than 
ot being the well-known leader of the Lish 
peerage — the great head of an illustrious body, 
who look up to you for guidance and direction." 

" You are right, perhaps, sir — my station is 
what you have described it. I trust you have 
not mentioned to Lady Kilgoff anything of your 
Foreign-Office news?" 

"Of course not. my lord. It will always re- 
main with your discretion, when and how to 
make the communication." 

"It appears to me, sir, that her ladyship has 
admitted many of the inmates here to a degree 
of intimicy quite inconsistent with their relative 
stations." 

" Her ladyship's youth and amiability of 
manner offer great temptations to the inroads of 
obtrusiveness," said Linton, with the air of one 
thinking aloud. 

" I disagree with you, sir, entirely. I was young 
myself, sir, and, I am told, not quite destitute of 
those attractions you speak of; but I am not 
aware that any one ever took a liberty with vie! 
This must be looked to. And now, your affair? 
AVhen is it to come off? Your marriage, I 
mean?" 

"That is by no means so certain, my lord," 
said Linton, who smiled in spite of himself at 
the careless tone in which his lordship treated so 
very humble an event. " I may reckon on your 
lordship's assistance, however?" 

Lord Kilgoff waved his hand in token of ac- 
quiescence, and Linton took a former leave, al- 
most bursting with laughter at the ridiculous con- 
ceit he had himself contributed to create. 

"Ay," muttered he, as he descended tlie stairs, 
"as a democrat, an out-and-out democrat, I say, 



' Long live an hereditary peerage!' I know 
nothing can equal it, in making the untitled 
classes ths rulers." 



CHAPTER LL 

A WET DAY — THE FALSE SIGNAL. 

So cunning, Uke the doubhng of the hare, 
Oft turns upon itself. 

— Bell. 

It was a rainy day — one of those downright 
pelting, pouring, swooping wet days which Ire- 
land IS accustomed to, for nearly one-lialf of 
every year. All out-of-door occupation was im- 
possible; the most fidgety could only get as tar 
as the stables, to smoke a cigar and " chaff" 
horse-talk with the grooms; while the more re- 
signed wandered from room to room, and ])lace 
to place, in that restlessness that defies common 
philosoj.jhy to subdue. 

A wet day in a country-house is always a 
severe trial. Sociability will not be coerced, and 
the greater the necessity for mutual assistance, 
the less is the dii-position to render it; besides, 
they who habitually contribute least to the en- 
joyment of their fellows, have always great re- 
sources of annoyance at such periods — as the 
most insignificant instrument in the orcliestra 
can, at any moment, destroy the harmony of the 
band. 

Scarcely was breakfast over in Tubbeimore, 
than the guests were scattered in various direc- 
tions, it was difficult to say where. Now and 
then, someone would peep into the drawing-room 
or the library, and, as if not seeing "the right 
man," shut the door noiselessly, and dep.nrt. Of 
the younger men, many were sleeping off the de- 
bauch of the previous evening. Downie Meek, 
who had a theory upon the subject, always kept 
his bed w hile it rained. Sir Andrew had, unfor- 
tunately, mistaken a lotion containing laudanimi 
for some concoction of bitters, and wasobligid 
to be kept eternally walking up and down s-tairs, 
along corridors and jjassages, lest he should 
drop asleep; his man, Flint, accompanying hmr 
with " the wakeful anrbimctnient" of " Hae a 
care, Sir Andrew, here's my leddy," an antidote 
to the narcotic worth all the Pharmacopoeia con- 
tained. 

Lady Janet was meanwhile deep in the forma- 
tion of a stomachic, which, judging from the 
maid's face as she tasted it, must needs have been 
of the pungent order. Mrs. White was letter- 
writing. Howie was sketching heads of the com- 
pany, under the title of " Beauties of Ireland," 
for a weekly newspaper. Frobisher was instruct- 
ing Miss Meek in the science of making knee- 
caps for one of his horses; and so with the re- 
mainder, a few only were to be seen below stairs; 
of these the " chief" was fast asleep with the 
Quarterly on his knee, and a stray subtillcrn or 
two sat conning over the "Army List," and gaz- 
ing in stupid wonder at their own names in 
print! And now we come to the Kennyfecks, at 
whose door a servant stands knocking for the 



ROLAND CASH EL. 



547 



second or third time. "Come in" is heard, and 
he enters. 

The blinds are drawn, which adding to the 
gloom of the day, the vast apartment is in semi- 
darkness, and it is some time before you can 
descry the figures. On a sofa sits Mrs. Kenny- 
feck in a kind of travelling-dress, with her bonnet 
beside her; fragments of ribbons and stray ar- 
ticles of dress litter the sofa and the table, 
several trunks are strewn about, and a maid and 
a man are performing a. pas de deux on an " im- 
perial," which, in its efforts to close at the lock, 
is giving way simultaneously at the hinges. 
Miss Kennyfeck stands at the chimney burning 
notes and letters, of which, as she glances from 
time to time, her features betray the tenor; and 
lastly, Olivia is lying on a sofa, her face con- 
cealed between her hands, and only tlie quick 
palpitation of her bosom showing that her agita- 
tion is not lulled in slumber. 

" What does he say? I can't hear liim with all 
that stamping." said Mrs. Kennyfeck; and her 
voice was not of the dulcet order. 

"He says the pnst-iiorses have come, mamma; 
and wishes to know when he's to come round 
with the carriage." 

"When I give orders for it; not till then," 
said she, imperiously; and the man, abashed in 
such a presence, departed. 

■' There, Pearse, leave it so; I cannot bear that 
noise any longer. Frances, you needn't wait; 
I'll send for you if I want you;" and the servants 
withdrew. 

" He's at least two hours away, now," said 
slie, addressing her eldest daughter. 

"Very nearly. It wanted only a few minutes 
to eleven when Mr. Cashel sent for him." 

" I hope, Carolme, that he will remember what 
is due, not to himself — I cannot say that — but 
to we, on this occasion. It is impossible that 
Cashel can avoid the acknowledgment of his at- 
tentions; nothing but your father's incompetence 
could permit of his escape." 

" It's too late, mamma — altogether too late. 
When Aunt Fanny " 

" Don't speak of her — don't even mention her 
name in my presence, ' cried Mrs. Kennyfeck, 
with an accent of bitter anguish. 

" I was merely going to observe, mamma, that 
her conduct has involved us in such ridicule 
tiiat reparation of the mischief is out of the 
question. " 

"I wish we were away; I cannot bear to stay 
another day here," said Olivia, with a deep sigh. 

■■ If aunt — — " 

" Don't call her your aunt, Caroline; I for- 
bid it; she is no sister of mine; she has been the 
evil genius of our family all her life long. But 
tor her and her wiles, I had never been married 
to your father! Just fancy what a position you 
might have had now, but for that cruel mishap." 

The problem, to judge from Miss Kennyfeck's 
face, seemed difficult to solve; but she prudently 
held her peace. 

" You may rest assured they know it all below 
stairs. That odious Lady Janet has told it in 
every dressing-room already." 

" ."Vad Linton, mamma," said C'.iroline, whose 



sisterly feelings were merged in most impartial 
justice — "only fancy Linton imitating Aunt 
Fanny's benediction with uplifted hands and 
eyes. I almost think I see him before me, and 
hear the insolent shouts of laughter on every 
side." 

" Give me the aromatic vinegar!" cried Mrs. 
Kennyfeck, with an accent like suffocation. 

" I think there's some one at the door. C'ome 
in," cried Miss Kennyfeck; and a very smartly 
dressed groom entered with a note. 

"Is there any answer to this?" said Mrs. 
Kennyfeck, listlessly, who thought it one of the 
habitual invitations to some excursion in a car- 
riage or on horseback. 

"Yes, my lady," said the servant, bowing. 

The title sounded pleasantly, and Mrs. K.'s 
features relaxed as she broke the seal. 

Ah, Mrs. Kennyfeck, indolently and carelessly 
as you hold that small epistle in your fingers, it 
cost him who wrote it many a puzzling thought, 
and many a fair sheet of foolscap. Critics assure 
us that style is no criterion of the labor of com- 
position, and that Johnson's rounded periods ran 
fli]jpantly off the pen, while the seemingly care- 
less sentences of Rousseau cost days and nights 
of toil. The note was from Sir Harvey Upton, 
and neither by its caligraphy nor grammar shed 
lustre on the literary genius of his corps. It 
went thus: 

" My dear Madam, — The beauty and fas- 
cinations of your daughters — but more especially 
of the second — have conspired to inspire me 
with sentiments of respectful admiration, which 
may speedily become something warmer should 
I obtain the gratifying sensation of your appro- 
bation. 

" Family, fortune, and future expectations, 
will, I fancy, be found 'all right.' 

" Part of the estate entailed on the baronetcy; 
encumbrances, a trifle. 

" 1 am, waiting your reply, dear madam, 
" Very respectfully, yours, 

" Harvey Upton, 
" Hussars." 

" Shall we write, Cary?" whispered Mrs. Ken- 
nyfeck, in the very faintest of tones, 

" Better not, mamma; a verbal ' happy to see 
Sir Harvey,' safer," was the answer. 

Mrs. Kennyfeck yielded to the sager counsel, 
and ihe servant departed with the message. 

" We may leave the matter entirely with Livy, 
mamma," said her sister, half sarcastically; " I 
opine that innocence, upon the present occasion, 
will carry the day." 

"I am glad of it," said Mrs. Kennyfeck; " I 
am fatigued and out of spirits: I'd rather not re- 
ceive visitors." 

" A white frock and a little sentiment — a sprig 
of jessamine and a bit of poetry!" said Miss K., 
as she arranged her hair at the glass; " only don't 
overdo it, Livy." 

" I'd much rather you'd not go!" said Olivia, 
languidly." 

"Of course, my dear; we are perfectly aware 
of thill, but we have otir duties also. M?.airea 



548 



ROLAND CASHEL, 



must take care that Aunt Fanny does not ' give 
you away" before you're asked for; and I must 
see what the result of papa's interview with 
Cashel may be, lest you should make a bad mar- 
ket while a good bid is being offered." 

"Clever creature!" murmured Mrs. Kenny- 
feck, as she rose to leave tlie room. 

" It will seem so odd, mamma, that I'm to re- 
ceive him, alone!" 

"Not ;it all, Livy; we are packing up to go 
off; there are the trunks and cap-cases all 
strewn about. You can be engaged with Frances, 
and send her to summon us when Sir Harvey 
comes," said Miss Kennyfeck. 

"Just so, my dear; and then you'll entreat of 
him to sit down — all as if you had heard noth- 
ing of his note; you'll be quite lively and nat- 
ural in your manner." 

"Ah, mamma, remember what Talleyrand said 
to the emperor: ' Give me the instructions, sire, 
but leave the knavery to myself.' My sweet sis- 
ter is quite diplomatic enough to re-echo it." 

Livy looked reproachfully at her, but said 
nothing. 

" If I discover, my dear, that the high prize 
is on your ticket, I'll wear a handkerchief round 
my neck. Without you see this emblem, don't 
discard your baronet." 

" Mamma, is this quite fair.'" said Olivia. 
" Gary speaks as if my heart had no possible 
concern in the matter." 

" Quite the reverse, my dear; but bear in mind 
that you have only one heart, and it would not 
be altogether discreet to give it away to two 
parties. Gary is always right, my love, in morals 
as in everything else." 

"And how am I to behave, mamma," said 
Olivia, with more courage than before, " if I am 
neither to refuse nor accept Sir Harvey's propo- 
.sals?" 

"Did you never flirt, Livy, dearest? Doesn't 
-every partner with whom you dance twice of the 
:same evening make advances that are neither re- 
pelled nor received! The silliest boarding-school 
■miss that ever blushed before her Italian teacher 
iiiows how to treat such difficulties, if they de- 
serve the name. But we are delaying too long. 
■Mamma! to your post, while I, in the library, es- 
tablish a strict blockade over papa." 

With these words Miss Kennyfeck waved her 
hand affectedly in adieu and led her mother from 
the room; while Olivia, after a second's pause, 
arose and arrayed more smoothly the silky 
tresses of her hair before the glass. 

We have once already, in this veracious narra- 
tive, been ungallant enough to peep at this 
young lady, and coolly watch her strategy be- 
ifore the enemy. We will not repeat the offence, 
nor linger to mark how, as she walked the room, 
she stopped from time to time before the mirror 
to gaze on charms which expectancy had already 
heightened; in fact, we will quit the chamber 
with Mrs. Kennyfeck and her elder daughter, 
and as the choice is peritiittcd which to follow, 
we select the latter. 

" Here's Miss Kennyfeck, by Jove!" cried 
Jennings, as she crossed the hall. " We have all 
been dying to see you; pray come here and give 



us your counsel." And he led her into a small 
drawing-room, where, around a table, covered 
with jjrints and colored drawings of costume, a 
considerable number of the guests were assem- 
bled. 

" For mercy sake, nothing out of the ' Waver- 
ley Novels?' " said the blonde lady. " I am 
wearied of seeing the Jewess Rebecca wherever 
I go." 

"Well, I'll be Diana Vernon, I know that," 
said Miss Meek; " you may all choose how you 
please." 

"But you can't be, my love, if we have the 
' Midsummer Night's Dream,'" said Mrs. White. 

"Why can't I, if Charley takes Osbaldiston?" 
said she. 

" Because they are not characters of the piece." 

" Nobody cares for character in a masquerade!" 
said Linton. 

" Or if they have any, they put a mask over 
it," said Lady Janet. 

"I vote that we are all Tyrolese peasanths," 
lisped the fat and dumpy Mrs. Malone. "It's a 
most picthuresque costhume." 

" What will you be, Sir Andrew?" cried 
another, as the old general passed the door in a 
dog-trot, with Flint behind him. 

"By me saul! I ihenk I'll be 'the Wanderin' 
Jew!' " cried he, wiping the perspiration off his 
forehead. 

"You hear that, Lady Janet?" said Linton, 
roguishly. " Sir Andrew intends to live forever." 

" So that I don't, sir, I can't complain," said 
she, with a tartness quite electric. 

" I incline to leave the choice of each free," 
said Miss Kennyfeck, as she tossed over the 
drawings. "When you select a story, there are 
always a certain number of characters nobody 
likes to take." 

" I'll be Henri Quatre," said an infantry 
captain. "1 wish you'd be Gabrielle, Miss 
Kennyfeck?" 

" Thanks; but I've a fancy for that Cepha- 
lonian costume." 

" Egad! you can always pick up a 'Greek' or 
two, here to keep you company," said a hussar; 
but no one joined his laugh. 

" I'll be Don Belianis!" said a tall, melancholy 
subaltern. 

"What were you at Bellingden's last year, 
Fillymore?" 

" I went as ' Chiffney;' but they turned me out. 
The whole was mediaeval, and they said I was 
all wrong." 

"Try that turban, my dear Miss Kennyfeck," 
said Mrs. White, who, suspecting the youug lady 
wore false ringlets, made a vigorous effort to ex- 
pose the cheat. 

" By Tove! how becoming!' exclaimed Jen- 
nings. "Now, put r.n the mantle — not over the 
right shoulder, but so — crossed a little." 

"You ought to have this scarf round your 
neck," said another; " blue and gold have such 
an exce'lent effect." 

" I vote for your wearing that," said the 
hussar, quite smitten with her beauty. " What 
do they call the dress?" 

" Costume of Leopoldine of Eschingen, who 



ROLAND CASH EL, 



549 



defended the ' Irongate' against the Turks, 
in 1662." 

" Where was that?" asked one. 

" In somebody's avenue, I suppose," lisped out 
the tall sub. 

"No, no; it's on some river or other. There's 
a cataract they call the Irongate — I forget 
where." 

" The Lethe, perhaps," said Miss Kennyfeck, 
slyly. 

" Is not that a pace! — by Jove! Cashel's in a 
hurry. This way," said Jennings; and they all 
rushed to the window in time to see Roland flit 
past a full gallop. 

Miss Kennyfeck did not wait for more, but, 
throwing off the turban and mantle, Jiastened out 
to catch her father, who, at the same instant, was 
issuing from the library. 

" Now, pa," said slie, slipping her arm within 
his, " how is it to be? Pray, now, don't affect the 
mysterious, but say at once — has he proposed ?" 

"Wlio? has who proposed ?" 

"Mr. Cashel, of course. How could I mean 
any other?" 

" For you, my dear?" said he, for once ventur- 
ing upon a bit of raillery. 

"Pshaw, pa; for Olivia!" 

" Nothing of the kind, my dear Such a sub- 
ject has never been alluded to between us." 

"Poor thing! she has been badly treated then, 
that's all! It would, however, have saved us all 
a world of misconception if you had only said so 
at first; you must own that." 

*' But you forget, Miss Kennyfeck, that I never 
supposed you entertained this impression. Mr. 
Cashel's conversation with me related exclusively 
to the affairs of his ])roperty." 

"Poor Livy!".said Miss Kennyfeck, letting go 
his arm and ascending the stairs. As Miss Kenny- 
feck drew near the door of the drawing-room, 
the began to sing sufficiently loud to be heard 
by those within, and thus, judiciously heralding 
her approach, she opened the door and entered. 
Sir Harvey had been standing beside the chimney- 
piece with Olivia, but turned hastily round, his 
countenance exhibiting that state ot mingled 
doubt, fear, and satisfaction, which vouched for 
the cleverness of the young lady's tactics. Nothing, 
in truth, could have been more adroit than her 
management; performing a feat which among 
naval men is known as " backing and filling," 
she succeeded in manceuvring for nigh an hour 
without ever advancing or retiring. We should 
be unwilling to deny our reader the value of a 
lesson, did we not feel how the fairer portion of 
our audience would weary over a recital, in every 
detail of which they could instruct our ignorance. 

The late Lord Londonderry was famed for 
being able to occupy " the House" for any given 
time without ever communicating a fact, raising 
a question, solving a difficulty, or, what is harder 
than all, committing himself. But how humbly 
does this dexterity appear beside the young-lady- 
like tact, that, opposed by all the importunity of a 
lover, ran jilav the game in such wise, tliat after 
fiftv-odd minutes the " pieces' sliould stand upon 
the board preciselv as they did ?\ the beginning! 

"IIow do you, Sir Harvey? \Vhy are you not 



on that committee of costume in the little draw- 
ing-room, where the great question at issue is 
between the time of the Crusades and the Swell 
Mob?" 

"I have been far more agreeably occupied, in 
a manner that my feelings" — (here Olivia looked 
disappointed)— "my heart, I mean," said he — 
(and the young lady looked dignified) — "my 
feelings and my heart, too," resumed he, liorribly 
puzzled which tack to sail upon, "assure me 
most nearly concern my future happiness." 

" How pleasant!" said Gary, laughingly, as if 
she accepted the speech as some high-flown com- 
pliment; "you are so fortunate to know what 10 
do on a dreary wet day like this." 

Olivia, whose eyes were bent upon her sister, 
changed color more than once. "The signal 
was flying" — "Stop firing," just at the moment 
when the enemy had all but "struck;" in less 
figurative phrase. Miss Kennyfeck's throat was 
encircled by the scarf which she had forgotten 
to lay aside on leaving the drawing-room. 

The object was too remarkable to escape no- 
tice, and Olivia's face grew scarlet as she thought 
of her triumph. Miss Kennyfeck saw this, but 
attributed the agitation to anything but its true 
cause. 

" I'm in search of mamma," said she, and with 
a very peculiar glance at Olivia, left the room. 

Sir Harvey's visit lasted full twenty minutes 
longer, and although no record has been pre- 
served of what passed on the occasion, they who 
met him descending the stairs all agreed in de- 
scribing his appearance as most gloomy and de- 
spondent. As for Olivia, she saw the door close 
after him with a something very like sorrow. 
I'here was no love in the case, nor anything 
within a day's journey of it; but he was good- 
looking, fashionable, well-mannered, and mus- 
tachioed. She would have been "My lady," too; 
and though this is but a "brevet nobility" after 
all, it has all " the sound of the true metal." She 
thought over all these things; and she thought, 
besides, how very sad he looked when she said 
" No;" and, how much sadder, when asking the 
usual question about "Time, and proved' devo- 
tion, and all that sort of thing," she said " No" 
again; and how, saddest of all, when she made 
the stereotyped little speech about " sisterly af- 
fection, and seeing him happy with another!" 
Oh, dear! oh, dear! is it not very wearisome and 
depressing to think that chess can have some 
hundred thousand combinations, and love-making 
but its two or three " gambits" — the " fool's 
mate" the chief of them? We have said she was 
sorry for what had occurred; but she consoled 
herself by remembering, it was not her fault thai 
Sir Harvey was not as rich as Cashel, and, 
nephew to a live uncle! 

As Sir Harvey's "Lady" — Heaven forgive me, 
I had almost written " VVife" — she would have 
been the envy of a very large circle of her 
Dublin acquaintance; and then she knew that 
these Dragoon people have a way of making 
their money go so much further than civilians; 
and in all that regards horses, equipage, and out- 
ward show, the smartest "mufti" is a seedy nffair 
beside the frogs of the new regulation pelisse! 



550 



ROLAND CASH EL. 



She actually began to feel misgivings about her 
choice. 

A high drag at the Howth races, a crowd of 
whiskered fellows of " ours," and the band of 
the regiment in Merrion square, came home to 
her "dear Dublin" imagination with irresistible 
fascination. In her mind's eye, she had already 
cut the " Bar," and been coldly distant with the 
Infantry. It was a little reverie of small triumphs, 
but the sum of them mounted up to something 
considerable. 

"Is he gone, Livy?" said Cary, as, entering 
noiselessly, she stole behind her sister's chair. 

"Yes, dear, he is gone!" said she, sighing 
slightly. 

" My poor forlorn damsel, don't take his 
absence so much to heart! "You're certain to 
see him at dinner!" 

" He said he'd leave this afternoon," said she, 
gravely; " that he couldn't bear to meet me after 
what had passed." 

"And what has passed, child?" 

"You know, of course, Cary; I refused him!" 

"Refused him! — refused him! — what possessed 
you to do so?" 

"This!" said Olivia, gasping with terror at the 
unknown danger; and she caught hold of the 
fringe of her sister's scarf. 

Miss Kennyfeck started, and put her hand to her 
neck, and suddenly letting it fall again, she leaned 
against the wall for support. 

" Tliis was a mistake, Livy," said she, in a voice 
barely above a whisper; "I was trying on some 
costumes below stairs, and thev tied this round 
my neck, where I utterly forgot it." 

"And there is nothing " She could not 

go on, but hanging her head, burst into tears. 

" My poor, dear Livy, don't give way so; the 
fault, I know, was all mine. Let me try if I can- 
not repair it. Have you positively refused 
him?" 

She nodded, but could not speak. 

" Did you say that there was no hope — that 
your sentiments could never change?" 

"I did." 

"Come, that's not so bad; men never believe 
that. You didn't say that your affections were 
engaged?" 

" No!" 

"There's a dear child," said she, kissing her 
neck; "1 knew you'd not be guilty of such folly. 
.\nd how did you part, Livy — coldly, or in 
affectionate sorrow?" 

"Coldly; we did not shake hands." 

"That's right; all as it ought to be. It is a 
sad blunder, but I hope not irreparable. Cheer 
up, child; depend upon it my scarf is not so fatal 
as Aunt Fanny's blessing." 

" Ah, then, my dear, I don't see much difference 
in the end," said that redoubtable lady herself, 
who issued from a small conservatory off the 
drawing-room where she had lain in wait for the 
last half hour. " I heard it, my dears, and a 
nice hash you made of it between you, with your 
signa'.s and telescopes" — we believe she meant 
telegraphs — " you threw out the dirly water, now, 
in earnest!" .And so saying, she proceeded to dis- 
ent.mgle herself from a prickly creeper, which 



had a most pertinacious hold of what Linton 
called her " scalp-lock." 

" Aunt Fanny's blessing indeed!" said she, for 
her temper knew no bounds when she saw the 
enemy silenced. "' Tis little harm that would 
have done, if ye didn't take to screaming about 
it; as if any man could bear that! You drove 
him away, my dear, just the way your own 
mother did poor Major Cohlhayne — with hard 
crying — till he said 'he'd as soon go to a wake 
as take tay in the house.' And sure enough she 
had to take up with your poor father, after! Just 
so. I never knew luck come of signals and 
signs. When the good thing's before you, help 
yourself. My poor father used to say, ' Don't 
pass " the spirits" because there's claret at the 
head of the table; who knows if it'll ever come 
down to you?' And there you are, now! and 
glad enough you'd be to take that curate I saw 
in Dublin with the smooth face! this minute. I 
don't blame you, as much as your poor foolish 
mother. She has you, as she reared you. Bad 
luck to you for a planti" cried she, as the in- 
genious creeper insinuated itself among the 
meshes of her Limerick lace collar. " Cary, 
just take this out for me;" but Cary was gone, 
and her sister with her. Nor did Aunt Fanny 
know how long her eloquence had been purely 
soliloquy. 

She looked around her for a moment at the 
deserted battle-field, and then slowly retired. 



CHAPTER LH. 

THE SHADOW IN THE MIRROR. 

" No" is the feminine of "Yes!" 

— Hungarian Proverb. 

Bad as the weather is- — and certainly even in 
Ireland a more drenching, driving-down, pouring 
rain never fell — we must ask of our readers to 
follow Cashel, who at a slapping gallop rede on, 
over grass and tillage, now, careering lightly 
over the smooth sward, now, sweltering along 
heavily through deep ground, regardless of the 
pelting storm, and scarcely noticing the strong 
fences which, at every instant, tried the stride 
and strength of his noble horse. 

If his speed was headlong, his seat was easy, 
and his hand as steady as if lounging along some 
public promenade; his features, however, were 
flushed, partly from the beating rain, but more 
from a feverish excitement that showed itself in 
his flashing eye and closely compressed lip. 
More than once, in crossing a difficult leap, his 
horse nearly fell, and although half oji the 
ground, and only recovering by a scramble, he 
seemed not to heed the accident. At last he 
arrived at the tall oak paling which fenced the 
grotinds of the cottage, and where it was his 
went to halt and fasten his horse. Now, how- 
ever, he rode fiercely at it, clearing the high leap 
with a tremendoKs spring, and alighting on the 
trimlv-kept grass-jilat before the door. 

\ sliuht faint shriek was heard as the horse 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



551 



dashed past the window, and pale with terror, 
Mary Liecester stood in the porch. 

Cashel had meanwhile disiiiotintcd, and given 
his horse to the old gardener. 

" Not hurt, Mr. Cashel ?" said she, trying to 
seem composed, while she trembled in every 
limb. 

" Not in the least. I never intended to have 
alarmed you, however." 

" Then it was no run-away?" said she, essaying 
a smile. 

" I'm ashamed to say I have not that excuse 
for so rudely trampling over your neat sward. 
Will Mr. Corrigan forgive me?" 

"Oi course he will, if he ever knows that he 
lias anything to forgive; but it so ha])pens, that 
he has gone into the village to-day— an excursion 
he has not made for a nigh a year. He wished 
to consult our friend the doctor on some matter 
of importance, and I half suspect he may have 
stayed to share his dinner." 

As Miss Leicester continued to make this ex- 
])lanation, they had reached the drawing-room, 
which, to Cashel's amazement, exhibited tokens 
of intended departure. Patches here and there 
on the walls showed where pictures had stood. 
'I'lie book shelves were emoty, the table displayed 
none of those little trifling objects which denote 
daily life and its occupations, and his eye wan- 
dered over the sad-looking scene till it came 
back to her, as she stood reading his glances, and 
seeming to re-echo the sentiment they conveyed. 

"All this would seem to speak of leave-tak- 
ing," said Cashel, in a voice that agitation made 
thick and guttural. 

" It is so," said she, with a sigh; " we are go- 
ing away." 

" Going away!" Simple as the words are, we 
have no sadder sounds in our language. They 
iiave the sorrowful cadence that bespeaks deser- 
tion. They ring through the heart like a knell 
over long-past happiness. They are the requiem 
over ■' friends no more," and of times that never 
can come back again. 

" Going away!" How dreary does it sound; as 
if life had no fixed destination in future, but that 
we were to drift over its bleak ocean, the " waifs" 
of what we once had been. 

" Going away!" cried Cashel; "but surely you 

have not heard " He stopped himself; another 

word, and his secret had been revealed — the se- 
cret he had so imperatively enjoined Tiernay to 
keep; for it was his intention to have left Ireland 
forever ere Mr. Corrigan should have learned 
the debt of gratitude he owed him. It is true, 
indeed, that one night of sleepless reflection had 
suggested another counsel, but had not altered 
his desire that the mystery should be preserved. 

He was confused, therefore, at the peril he 
had so narrowly escaped, and for a moment was 
silent; at length he resumed, in a tone of assumed 
ease: 

"'Going away!' sounds to one like me, who 
have lived a life of wandering, so like pleasure, 
that [ always associate it with new scenes of en- 
joyment; I think all the sorrow is reserved for 
those who remain behind — -the deserted." 

■'.So it may," said she, "with those who, like 



yourself, have roamed the world in the excitement 
of ardent youth, glorying in enterprise, thirsting 
for adventure: btit there are others, ourselves, 
for instance, whose humble fortunes have linked 
them with one class of scenes and objects till 
they have grown part of our very natures; so 
that we only know the world as it is associated 
with things familiar to daily use. There are, 
doubtless, plants of more gorgeous foliage and 
fairer flowers in other countries, but i^v shall 
never learn to look at them as we do upon these 
that speak to us of home, of spring and summer, 
when they gladdened us, of autumn and winter, 
when our culture cared for Md-;//. There are sun- 
sets more rich and glowing, but if we see them, 
it will be to think of that sinking orb which sent 
its last rays over that wide river, and lit up in a 
golden glory this little chamber. There's not a 
charm the fairest clime can own but will have its 
highest merit in recalling some humble scene 
that tells of ' home.' " 

" I never could leave a spot so dear to me as 
this were!" cried Cashel, who watched wi'th 
ecstasy the impassioned beauty of her features. 

" Do not say that" said she, seriously. " We 
can all of us do what we ought, however it may 
try our courage. Yes, I say courage," said she, 
smiling, " since I fancy it is a property you have 
a due respect for. If we leave scenes so c ear 
to us as these, it is because we feel it a duty; and 
a duty fulfilled is a buckler against most sorrows. 
But we are wandering into a very sad theme — at 
least, to judge from your grave looks. What 
news have you of your gay company?" 

" I see but little of them," said Cashel, 
abruptly. 

"What a strange host! — and how do they 
amuse themselves?" 

" As they fancy, I believe. I only know I never 
enterfere with them, and they are kind enough to 
reci|irocate the civility; and so we get on admir- 
ably." 

" I must say this scarcely speaks well for either 
party," said she, laughing. 

" I fear not; but it is true, notwithstanding." 

" You have a most accomplished friend, I be- 
lieve?" 

"Linton? Do you mean Linton?" 

" Yes. He must be an excellent counsellor in all 
difficulties." 

Cashel did not look as if he concurred in the 
sentiment, but he said nothing; and Mary, half 
fearing that she had unwittingly given pain, was 
silent also. She was the first to speak. 

" Do you know, Mr. Cashel, how I passed 
the morning? You'd scarcely guess. It was in 
writing a long letter; so long, indeed, that I be- 
gan to fear, like many efforts of over-zeal, it 
might defeat itself, and never get read; and 
that letter was — to you." 

" To me! where is it, then?" 

"There!" said she, pointing to some charred 
leaves beneath the grate. " I see your curiosity, 
and I have no pretension to trifle with it. But 
last night, late, papa dictated to me a long ser- 
mon on your account, prcmisi^ig that the im- 
pertinence was from one you should never see 
again, and one who, howexer indiscreet in his 



563 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



friendship, was assuredly sincere in it. Were 
the document in existence, I should probably 
not have to utter so many apologies; for, on the 
whole, it was very flattering to you." 

" And why is it not so?" cried Cashel eagerly. 

" I cannot tell you why." 

" Do you mean that you do not wish to tell, or 
do not know the reason.'" 

'" I do not know the reason," said she, firmly. 
" I was ill, slightly ill, this morning, and could not 
breakfast with papa. It was late when I arose, 
and he was on the very brink of starling for 
Dunkeeran; he seemed agitated and excited, 
and, after a few words of inquiry about my healtli, 
he said, 

'■ ' That letter, Mary, have you written it? 
Well, burn it. Throw it into the fire, at once." 

" I did so; but I cannot conceal from you the 
deep interest he has taken in your fortunes — a 
feeling which the dread of offending has possibly 
sentenced him to cherish in secret. At least, so 
I read his change of intention." 

" I iiad hoped he knew me better," said Cashel, 
in whose voice a feeling of disappointment might 
be traced. " It is the misfortune of men like 
myself to make the most unfavorable impression, 
where alone they are anxious for the opposite. 
Now, it may seem very uncourteous, but I am 
less than indifferent what the fair company 
yonder think of me; and yet, I would give much 
to stand high in Mr. Corrigan's esteem." 

" And you do so, believe me," cried she, her 
eagerness moved by the evident despondency of 
his manner; "he speaks of you with all the in- 
terest of a father," 

" Do not say so," cried Cashel, in a voice 
tremulous with anxiety; "do not say so, if you 
mean not to encourage hopes I scarcely dare to 
cherish." 

His look and manner, even more than his 
words, startled her, and she stared at him, un- 
certain what reply to make. 

" I never knew a father, nor have I ever tasted 
a mother's affection. I have been one of whom 
fortune makes a plaything, as if to show how 
much worldly prosperity can consort vvitli a 
desolate condition, and a heart for which none 
have sympathy. I had hoped, however, to attach 
others to me. I had joined in pursuits that 
were not mine, to endeavor to render myself 
companionable. I fell in with habits that 
were uncongenial, and tastes that I ever disliked, 
but without success I might be 'the dupe,' 
but never ' the friend.' I could have borne much 
— I did bear much — to win something that re- 
sembled cordiality and esteem; but all in vain! 
When I lived the wildlife of a Columbian sailor, 
1 deemed that such men as I now associate with 
must be the very types of chivalry, and I longed 
to be of them, and among them. Still, the 
reproach lies not at their door. Thev stepped 
not out of their sphere to act a part — / did; 
mine was all the sycophancy of imitation. The 
miserable cant of fashion formed all my code. 
But for this, I might have won good men's 
esteem — but for this. I might have learned what 
duties attach to fortune and station such as mine; 
and now I see the only one, from whom I hoped 



to gain the knowledge, about to leave me!" 

" This despondency is ill-judging and unfair," 
said Mary, in a kind tone. "You did, perhaps, 
choose your friends unwisely, but you judge them 
unjustly too. They never dreamed of friendship 
in their intercourse with you, ///i^ only thought 
of that companionship which men of the same age 
and fortune expect to meet in each other. If less 
worldly-wise, or more generous than themselves, 
they deemed that they once had paid for their skill 
and cleverness; and so should you. Remember, 
that you put a value upon their intimacy which 
it never laid claim to, and that they were less false 
than were_)'i'« self-deceived." 

" Be it so," said Cashel, hastily. " I care little 
where the delusion began. 1 meant honestly, and 
if they played not on the square with me, the 
fault be theirs; but tliat is not what I would speak 
of, nor what brought me here to-day. I came 
to throw my last stake for ha])|)iness." He 
paused, and took her hand in his. " I came," 
said he — and his lips trembled as he spoke^ — " I 
came, to ask you to be my wife!" 

Mary withdrew her hand, which he had scarcely 
dared to press, and leaned upon the chimney- 
piece without speaking. It rarely hapjjens that 
such an announcement is made to a young lady 
quite unexpectedly; such was, however, the case 
here: for nothing was she less jirepared! Cashel, 
it is true, had long ceased to be indifferent to her, 
the evenings of his visits at the cottage were sure 
to be her very happiest; his absences made dreary 
blanks. The inanificial traits of his character 
had at first inspired interest; his generous nature, 
and his manly leaning to right, had created esteem 
of him. There were passages of romantic interest 
in his former life which seemed so well to suit 
his bold and dasliing independence, and there 
was also an implicit deference, an almost humility, 
in the obedience he tendered to her grandfather, 
which spoke much for one whom sudden wenlth 
and prosi)erity might be supposed to have cor- 
rupted. Yet, all this while, h;ui she never thought 
of what impression she herself was making. 

"I have but one duty," said she at last, in a 
faint whisper. 

" Might I not share it with you, Mary?" said 
he, again taking her hand between his own, 
" you would not grudge me some part of his 
affection?" 

" Who crossed the window there?" cried she, 
starting; "did you not see a figure pass?" 

"No, I saw no one- — I thought of none save 
you." 

" I am too much frightened to speak. I saw 
some one stop before the window and make a 
gesture, as if threatening — I saw it in the glass." 

Cashel immediately hurried from ihe room, and 
passing out, searched through the shrubberies on 
either side of tlie cottage, but uilliout success. 
On examining closely, however, he < ould detect 
the trace of recent footsteps on the wet grass, 
but lost the direction on the gravel-walk; and it 
was in a frame of mind far from tranquil that he 
re-entered the room. 

" You saw no one?" said she, eagerly. 

" Not one." 

"Nor any appearance of footsteps?' 



ROLAND CAS II EL 



553 



"Yes, I did, or fancied I did, detect feucli be- 
fore the window; but why should this alarm you, 
or turn your mind from what we spoke of? Let 
me once more " 

"Not now — not now, I beg of you; a secret 
misgiving is over me, and I am not generally a 
coward; but I have not collectedness to speak to 
\ou as I ought. I would not wish to be unkind, 
nor would I yet deceive you. This cannot 
be." 

" Cannot be, Mary?" 

"Do not ask me more now. You are too 
generous to give pain; spare me, then, the suffer- 
ing of inflicting it on you. I will tell you my 
reasons, you shall own them to be sufficient." 

" When are we to meet again?" said Roland, as 
he moved slowly towards the door. 

"There it is again!" cried she, in a voice of 
actual terror; and Cashel opened the window and 
sprang out; but even the slight delay in unfasten- 
ing the sash prevented his overtaking the intruder, 
whoever he might be, while, in the abundance 
of evergreens about, search was certain to prove 
fruitless. 

" Good-bye," said she, endeavoring to smile; 
"you are too proud and high of spirit, if I 
read you aright, to return ever to a theme like 
this."' 

" I am humble enough to sue it out — a very 
suppliant," said he, passionately. 

" I thought otherwise of you," said she, affect- 
ing a look of disappointment. 

"Think of me how you will, so that you kijow 
I love you," cried he, pressing his lips to her 
hand; and then, half-maddened by the conflict 
in his mind, he hastened out, and mounting his 
horse, rode off; not, indeed, at the mad speed 
of his coming, but slowly, and with bent-down 
head. 

Let a man be ever so little of a coxcomb, the 
cliances are that he will always explain a refusal 
of this kind on any ground rather than upon that 
of his own unworthiness. It is either a case "of 
pre-engaged affection," or some secret influence 
on the score of family and fortune, and even this 
sophistry lends its balm to wounded self-love. 
Cashel, unhappily for his peace of mind, had not 
studied in this school, and went his way in deep 
despondency. Like many men who indulge but 
seldom in self-examination, he never knew how 
much his affections were involved till his proffer 
of them was refused. Now, for the first time, he 
felt that; now recognized what store he placed 
on her esteem, and how naturally he had turned 
from the wearisome dissipations of his own house 
to the cheerful happiness of "the cottage." 
Neither could he divest himself of the thought, 
that had Mary known him in his early and his 
only true character, she might not have refused 
him, and that he owed his failure to that mon- 
grel thing which wealth had made him. 

" I never was intended for this kind of life," 
thought he. " I am driven to absurdities and ex- 
travagances to give it any character of interest 
in my eyes, and then I feel ashamed of such 
triviality. To live among the rich, a man should 
be born among them — should have the habits, 
the tastes, and the traditions. These are to be 



imbibed from infancy, but not acquired in man-- 
hood — at least, I will not begin the study." 

He turned homeward, still slowly. 'I'he bell 
was ringing which called the guests to dress for 
dinner as he readied a large open lawn before 
the house, and for a moment he halted, mutter- 
ing to himself, " How would it be, now, were I 
to turn my horse's head and never re-enter 
that house? How many are there, of all my 
'dear friends,' who would ever ask what befell 
me?" 

Arrived at the door, he passed up-stairs to his 
dressing-room, upon a table of which he per- 
ceived a very small note, sealed with Lady Kil- 
goff's initials. It was written in pencil, and 
merely contained one line— "Come over to me. 
before dinner, for one minute. — L. K." 

He had not seen her since the day before, when 
he had in vain sought to overtake her in the 
wood; and her absence from the dinner-table 
had seemed to him in pique at his breach of en- 
gagement. Was this an endeavor, then, to revive 
that strange relationship between them, which 
took every form save love-making, but was all 
the more dangerous on that account? Or was it 
merely to take up some commonplace j)lan of 
amusement and pleasure — that mock importance 
given to trifles which as frequently makes them 
cease to be trifles? 

Half careless as to what the invitation por- 
tended, and still pondering over his failure, he 
reached her door and knocked. 

"Come in," said she; and he entered. 

Dressed for dinner with unusual taste and splen-i 
dor he had never seen her look so beautiful. For 
some time back she had observed an almost 
studied simplicity of dress, rarely wearing an 
ornament, and distinguishing herself rather by a 
liaif Puritanism of style. The sudden change to 
all the blaze of diamonds and the softening in- 
fluence of deep folds of face, gave a brilliancy to 
her appearance quite magical; nor was Cashel's 
breeding proof against a stare of amazement and 
admiration. 

A deeper flush on her cheek acknowledged 
how she felt his confusion, and hastening to re- 
lieve it, she said, — 

"I have but a moment to speak to you. It is 
almost seven o'clock. You were at ' the cottage' 
to-day?" 

"Yes," said Roland, his cheek growing scarlet 
as he spoke. 

"And, doubtless, your visit had some object 
of importance. Nay, no confessions. This is not 
curiosity on my part, but to let you know that 
you were followed. Scarcely had you left this, 
when Linton set out also, making a circuit by 
the wood, but at a speed which must have soon 
overtaken you. He returned some time before 
you, at the same speed, and entered by the back 
gate of the stables. From this window I could 
see him each time." 

" Indeed!" said Roland, remembering the 
figure Mary had seen before the window. 

"You know my opinion of this man already 
He never moves without a plan; and a plan, 
with him, is ever a treachery." ■ 

He avoids me strangely; we rarely meet now, 



554 



ROLAND CASHEL, 



never by any chance alone. And even before 
others there is a forced L;ayety in his manner, 
that all liis artifice cannot pass off for real." 

" Have you thwarted him in anything?" 

"Not that 1 know of." 

" Have you refused him any favor that he 
sought for.'" 

"Never." 

" Is he your debtor for what he ought, but never 
means, to pay.'" 

" Not even that. What I may have given him 
has been always without any reserve or thought 
of restitution." 

" Are your altections directed towards the same 
object.'" 

As she said this, the ease in which she com- 
menced gradually left her, and her cheek grew 
flushed ere she finished. 

"1 cannot tell. There are no confidences be- 
tween us; besides, a very bankrupt in love could 
not envy my soUency. Mine is a heart that can- 
not threaten dangerous rivalry." 

"You cannot be certain ol that!" said she, as 
if thinking aloud. 

Fortunately, Cashel did not hear tlie words, 
but stood in deep reverie for some seconds. 

" There! the second bell has rung; I must leave 
you. My lord comes down to dinner to-day. 
It is by his orders that I am thus showily dressed. 
Linton has been filling his mind with stories of 
some embassy he is to have, and we are already 
rehearsing 'our e.xceilencies!' I liave but time 
to say, be on your guard; Linton is no common 
enemy; nor does it need an injury to make him 
one." 

" It is very rude of me, I know, to interrupt 
so interesting a tele-a-tHe, but Mr. Cashel's cook 
has feelings also at stake." 

These words were spoken by Lord Kiigoff, 
who, in a tone of no small irritation, now joined 
them. 

"I was speaking of your mission, my lord." 

" Which you forgot, of course, was not to be 
mentioned — even to so sincere a well-wisher as 
Mr. Cashel." 

"In any case, my lord, it remains safe in my 
keeping." 

" Very possibly, sir; but, it is a poor earnest 
Lady Kiigoff gives of her fitness as the wife of a 
' diplomatist." " 

Cashel gave his arm to Lady Kiigoff without 
speaking, and his lordship followed them slowly 
towards the dining-room. Linton stood at the 
door as they entered, and his wan features grew 
flushed as the haughty beauty moved past him 
with the very coldest of recognitions. 

" What an admirable taste Is your lordship's!" 
said he to the old peer; "Lady Kilgoff's dia- 
monds are disposed with an elegance that be- 
speaks thi guiding skill of a consummate artist!" 

"Ha! you perceive it, then!" said he, smiling. 
" I own to you, the festooning the robe with 
bouquets of brilliants was a fancy of mine, and 
has, I tliink, a very pretty effect." 

"Storr told me that he had not one person in 
h-is employment could equal your lordship in the 
harmonious arrangement of gems. He men- 
tioned a bracelet, if I remember aright, made 



from your own designs, as the most beautifully 

chaste ornament he had ever seen." 

"You must pronounce for yourself, sir," said 
the old lord, with a smile of elated vanity; and 
so, taking Linton's arm, he. approached where 
Lady Kiigoff was seated in a group of ladies. 

" Will you oblige me, madam," said he, with 
a courteous bow, "by showing Mr. Linton vour 
ruby and opal bracelet, which I had the jioor 
merit of designing?" 

" I am unfortunate enough not to have it 
here," replied she, with a confusion which made 
the blood mount to her temples. 

" I am grieved, madam, it should not enjoy 
the honor of your preference," said Lord Kii- 
goff, with an air of pique. " Will you order your 
maid to fetch it?" 

" I've not got it, my lord," said she, coloring 
still deeper. 

"Not got it, madam! you do not mean to im- 

p'y — " 

" Only that it is slightly broken — a few stones 
have fallen out, and I have sent it to be re- 
paired." 

"To be repaired, madam! and without my 
knowledge. To whom, jjray?" 

"That man in Dublin; I forget his name." 

" Your ladyship means Leonard, I presume," 
interposed Linton, witli an air of courtesy, uliile, 
plainer than any words, his glance said, " My 
revenge is coming!" 

"Leonard!" exclaimed Lord Kiigoff, with a 
look of horror. "Give Leonard that bracelet! 
the mould of which I refused to the Princess of 
Hohenhbffingen, and which I made Storr destroy 
in my own presence!" 

" You perceive, my lord," cried Lady Janet, 
"her ladyship is less e.xclusive than you are." 

" And generous enough to admire what may 
belong to another," added J,inton, but in a tone 
only audible by Lady Kiigoff. 

" We have got a few minutes before dinner, 
madam. I must beg you will employ them in 
writing to Mr. Leonard to return the bracelet at 
once. Say it was a mistake on your part — an in- 
advertence — and done without my knowledge. 
Caution the man, loo, about appropriating any 
portion of the design, and remind him that articles 
of vcrtu are protected by the act of copyright." 

" We had better delay the postboy, my lord," 
said Linton; " he starts at seven precisely." 

" Do so, sir." 

" Dinner!" cried the butler, flinging wide the 
folding-doors. 

" Could we delay that pleasant summons a few 
minutes, Mr. Cashel?" said Lord Kiigoff. 

"It will not be necessary on my account, sir; 
I'll write to-morrow." And this she said with 
an air of haughty defiance that never failed to 
subdue the old peer's jjetulance; and then, accept- 
ing Cashel's arir, moved on without a word. 

"Where is it? that's the question!" whispered 
Mrs. White to Lady Janet. 

" Take you two to one it's not at Leonard's," 
said Frobisher. 

" Give you an even fifty Linton knows all 
about it," replied Upton. 

" And ten to two that he'll never tell!" chimed 



ROLAND CASH EL. 



555 



in Miss Meek, and so they took thtir places at 
the table. 



CHAPTER LIII. 

THE OLD FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 

I could an I would, Sir Harry. 

— Old Pi.ay. 

While the gay company at Tubbermore dined 
sumptuously, and enjoyed tlie lu.xuriesol a splen- 
did table with no other alloy to their pleasure than 
the d/t/tui oi people whose fastidiousness has grown 
into malady, Mr. Corrigan sat in council at the 
cottage with his ancient ally, the doctor. There 
was an appearance of constraint over each — very 
unusual with men who had been friends from boy- 
hood, and in their long pauses, and short, abrupt 
sentences, might be read the absence of that 
confiding spirit which had bound them so many 
years like brothers. 

It may be in the reader's recollection that, 
while Coriigan was pledged to secrecy by Linton 
respecting his revelations of Cashel, Tiernay was 
equally bound by Roland not to divulge any of 
his plans for the old man's benefit. Perhaps it 
was the first time in the life of either that such 
a reserve had been practised. Certainly, it 
weighed heavily upon both; and more than once 
they were coming to the fatal resolve to break 
their vows, and then some sudden thought — some 
unknown dread of disconcerting the intentions 
of those who trusted them — would cross their 
mind, and after a momentary struggle, a hnlf 
cough, and muttered " Well' \vel!«'" they wou'd 
relapse into silence, each far too occupied by him- 
self to note the other's embarrassment. 

It was after a long time and much thought that 
Corrigan perceived, however pledged to Linton 
not to speak of Cashel's conduct respecting the 
cottage, that he was in no wise bound to secrecy 
regarding the proposal for Mary Leicester's hand, 
and this was, indeed, the topic on which he was 
most desirous of the doctor's counsel. 

" I have a secret for you, Tiernay," said the 
old man, at length; '"and it is one which will 
surprise you. I have had an offer this morning 
for Mary! .\y, just so. You often told me that 
nothing but this life of isolation and retirement 
would have left her with me so long; but the 
thought of losing her — the tangible, actual dread 
— never presented itself before this day!" 

"Who is it?" said Tiernay, shortly, but not 
without evident agitation of manner. 

"One who has never enjoyed much of your 
favor, Tiernay, and whom I suspect you have 
judged with less than your habitual fairness." 

"I know the man. Linton?" 

" It was Linton.' 

" .\nd he actually made this proposition?" 
said Tiernay, with an expression of the most un- 
bounded surprise in his features. 

"To me, myself, in this room, he made it." 

" He asked you what her fortune would be?" 
said Tiernay, grufflv. 

"He did not: he told me of his own. He 



said, that by a recent event he had become pos- 
sessed of sufficient property to make him in- 
different to the fortune of whoever he might 
marry. He spoke sensibly and well of his future 
career, of the plans he had conceived, and the 
rules he made for his own guidance, he spoke 
warmly of her with whom he wished to share his 
fortunes; and lastly, he alluded in kind terms to 
myself, dependent as I am upon her care, and 
living as I do upon her affection. In a word, if 
there was not the ardor of a passionate lover, 
there was what I augur better from — the senti- 
ments of one who had long reflected on his own 
position in life, who knew the world well, and 
could be no mean guide amid its dangers and 
difficulties." 

" Have you told Mary of this?" 

" I have not. My answer to Linton was ' Let 
me have time to think over this proposal, give 
me some hours of thought before I even speak 
to my granddaughter;' and he acceded at once." 

"Good Heavens!" exclaimed Tiernay, rising 
and pacing the room. " How inadequate are we 
two old men — removed from intercourse with 
the world, neither jjlayers nor lookers-on at the 
game of life — to cope with one like him, and see 
what he purposes to himself by this alliance' 
As for his affection, as for his power to feel her 
worth, to estimate the gentle virtues of her spot- 
less nature, I cannot, I will not believe it " 

" And for that very reason are you unfit to 
judge him. Your prejudices, ever against him, 
are rendered stronger because you cannot divine 
motives black enough to suit your theory, you 
give the benefit of all your doubts against him- 
self." 

" I know him to be a gambler in its worst sense. 
Not one who plays even for the gratification of 
those alternating vacillations of hope and fear 
which jaded, \Yorn-out natures resort to as the 
recompense for blunted emotions and blasted 
ambitions, but a gambler for gain! — that foul 
amalgam of the miser and the knave. I've seen 
him play the sycophant, too, like one who stu- 
died long his part, and knew it thoroughly. No, 
no, Con, it is not one like this must be husband 
of Mary!" 

" I tell you again, Tiernay, you suffer your pre- 
judices to outrun all your prudence. "I'he very 
fact that he asks in marriage a portionless 
girl, without influence from family, and without 
the advantage of station, should outweigh all your 
doubts twice told." 

"This does but puzzle me — nothing more." 
said Tiernay, doggedly. "Were it Cashel, that 
high-hearted, generous youth, who made this 
offer " 

" I must stop you, Tiernay; you are as much 
at fault in your over-estimate of o/ie, as in your 
disparagement of the oi/ier. Cashel is not what 
you deem him. Ask me not how I know it. I 
cannot — I dare not tell you, it is enough that I 
do know it by the evidence of my own eyes." 

"Then they have deceived you, that's all," 
said Tiernay, roughly; "for I tell you, and I 
speak now of what my own knowledge can sus- 
tain, that he is the very soul of generosity — a 
generosity that would imply recklessness, if not 



556 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



guided by the shrinking delicacy of an almost 
girlish spirit." 

" Tiernay, Tiernay, you are wrong, I say," 
cried Corrigan, passionately. 

"And J say it is you who are in error," said 
Tiernay. "It was but this morning I held in 

my hands [' He stopped, stammered, and 

was silent. 

''Well," cried Corrigan, "go on; not that, 
indeed, you could convince me against what my 
eyes have assured, for here, upon this table I be- 
held " 

"Out with it, man! Tell what jugglery has 
been practised on you, for I see you have been 
duped." 

"Hush! here's Mary!" cried Corrigan, who, 
scarcely able to control himself, now walked the 
room in great agitation. 

" You were talking so loud," said Mary, " that 
I guessed you were quarrelling about politics, and 
so I came to make peace." 

" We were not, Mary; but Tiernay is in one of 
his wrong-head humors." 

"And your grandfatlicr in the silliest of his 
foolish ones!" exclaimed Tiernay, as, snatching 
up his hat, he left the cottage. 



CHAPTER LIV. 

A TETE-A-TETE INTERRUPTED. 

Like b.iuie-trumps 
The chaos of their tongueb did diowii reflection. 

— Oswald. 

It miglit be thought that in ahouseliold so full 
of contrarieties as Ttibherniore, any new plans of 
pleasure would have met but a meagre success. 
Here, were the Kilgoffs,- upon on*; side, full of 
some secret importance, and already speaking of 
the uncertainty of passing the spring in Ireland. 
'I'here, were the Kennyfecks, utterly disorgan- 
ized by intestine troubles — mother, aunt, and 
daughters at open war, and only of one mind for 
some few minutes of each day, when they as- 
sailed tlie luckless Kennyfeck as the " author of 
all evil;" Frobisher, discontented that no handi- 
cap could be " got up," to remunerate him for 
the weariness of his exile; Upton, suffering un- 
der the pangs of rejection; Sir Andrew, reduced 
to a skeleton by tlie treatment against his unhappy 
opiate, being condemned, as "Jim" phrased it. 
to " two heavy sweats without body-cloths, and 
a drench every day;" Meek grown peevish at the 
little prospect of making anything of Cashel 
politically, and Cashel himself hipped and bored 
by all in turn, and wearied of being the head of 
a house where the only pleasantry existed in the 
servants' hall — and they were all rogues and 
thieves who made it. 

It might be easily supposed these were not the 
ingredients which would amalgamate into any 
agreeable union, and that even a suggestion to 
that end would meet but few supporters. 

Not so; the very tliought of doing "anything" 
was a relief; each felt, perhaps, his share of 
shame at the general etinui, and lOnged for what- 



ever gave a chance of repelling it. It \Vas as in 
certain political conditions in seasons of general 
stagnation — men are willing even to risk a revo- 
lution rather than continue in a state of unprom- 
ising monotony. 

Linton, whose own plans required that the 
others should be full of occupation of one kind 
or other, was the first to give the impulse, byre- 
minding Miss Meek that her sovereignty had, up 
to this time, been a dead letter. 

"You have jjositively done nothing," said he, 
" since your accession. Here we are, all ready 
to do your bidding, only waiting for the shadow 
of a wish on your part. There is no obstacle 
anywhere; pray let us commence a series of such 
right royal festivities as shall cause the, envy of 
every other sovereign in Christendom." 

" I'm sure I wish for nothing better; but nobody 
minds me," said she, pouting. 

" What shall be the opening, then?" said Lin- 
ton, taking a sheet of paper, and seating himself, 
in all form, to write. "A masquerade?" 

" By all means! A masquerade!" exclaimed 
a dozen voices; and at once a large circle gath- 
ered round the table where he sat. 

" Does the country afford materials for one?" 
asked Jennings. 

" Oh, dear, yes!" sighed Meek; "you could 
gather a great many important people here by a 
little management. 

"I'll tell Macnevin, wha commands at Limer- 
ick, to send ye every officer wha isn't under ar- 
rest," said Sir Andrew. 

A speech received with great favor by various 
young ladies unknown to the reader. 

Every one who knew anything of the three 
neighboring counties was at once siimnioned to 
form part of a select committee to name those 
who ought to be invited. The chief justice was 
acquainted with the principal persons, from his 
having gone circuit; but then, those he men- 
tioned were rarely of the stamp to add lustre or 
brilliancy to a fancy ball; indeed, as Linton 
v.-hispered, "The old judge had either hanged or 
transported all the pleasant fellows." 

The ii;tantry men from Limerick were familiar 
with every pretty girl of that famed capital and 
its environs for some miles round; and as exclu- 
siveness was not to be the rule, a very imposing 
list was soon drawn up. 

Then came the question of receiving so large 
a party, and each vied with his neighbor in gen- 
erous sacrifices of accommodation; even Downie 
vouchsafed to say that the noise would be terri- 
ble, " but one ought to submit to anything to give 
pleasure to his friends." 

The theatre should be the ball-room; the two 
drawing-rooms and the library would ofl'er space 
for the company to promenade; the buffet stand 
in the dining-room; and supper be served in the 
great conservatory, which, with its trellised vines 
all studded with lights disposed as stars, would 
have a new and beautiful effect. 

Sir Andrew promised two military bands, and 
unmarried officers a discretion. 

Devoted offers of assistance poured in from 
every side. Foraging parties were " told off," to 
shoot snipe and woodcocks without ceasing; and 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



557 



Frobisher was to ply with a foiir-in-luind — of 
Cashel's horses — to and from Limerick every 
day, carrying everybody and everything that 
was wanting. 

All the servants of the guests, as well as of 
the house, were to be attired in a costume which, 
after some discussion, was decided to be Spanish. 

Unlimited facilities were to be at the disposal 
of all, for whatever they pleased to order. ^Ls. 
White sat down to write to Paris for an envoy of 
moss-rosses and canielias, witii a postscript from 
Upton on the subject of red partridges and foie 
s;i'as. 

Jennings dictated a despatch to Mayence for 
two cases of Steinberger; and Howie took notes 
of all for a series of papers, which in four differ- 
ent styles were to appear in four periodicals 
simultaneously. 

As each guest was at full liberty to invite 
some half-dozen friends, there was quite an ex- 
citement in comparing lists with each other, and 
speculations innumerable as to the dress and 
cliaracter they would appear in, for all were mys- 
sterious upon that head. 

"But whar is Maister Cashel all this time?" 
said Sir Andrew; " methinks it wud na be vara 
polite na to hae his opinion upon a' this, syne he 
must gie the siller for it." 

" He's playing chess with Lady Kilgoff in the 
boudoir," said Jennings. 

'■ Tell Kennyfeck," said Frobisher; " that's 
quite enough! Cashel calls everything where 
money enters, business, and hates it, in conse- 
quence." 

"Oh, dear! I'm precisely of his mind, then," 
sighed Meek, caressing liis whiskers. 

" Kilgoff will not remain, you'll see," said 
Upton. " He is not pleased with my lady's 
taste for close intimacy." 

"The Kennyfecks are going to-morrovv or 
next day," said another. 

" So they have been every day this last week; 
but if some of you gentlemen will only be 
gallant enough to give a good reason for remain- 
ing, they'll not stir." This was spoken by Lady 
Janet in her tartest of voices, and with a steady 
stare at Upton, who stroked his moustaches in 
very palpable confusion. " Yes, Sir Harvey," con- 
tinued she, " I'm perfectly serious, and Mr. 
I^inton, I perceive, agrees with me." 

" As he always does. Lady Janet, when he de- 
sires to be in the right," said Linton, bowing, 

" Aw — I, aw — I didn't think it was so easy in 
that quarter, aw!" said Jennings, in a low semi- 
confidential tone. 

" I'll insure you for a fair premium, Jennings, 
if you have any fancy that way." 

"Aw, I don't know— concern looks hazardous 
— ha, ha, ha! — don't you think so?" But as no- 
body joined in his laughter, he resumed, in a 
lower voice. " There's Upton's very spoony in- 
deed about one of them" 

"It's the aunt," said Linton; "a very fine 
woman, too; what the French call a '' bcaute 
sMre,' but classical, quite classical." 

"Confounded old harridan!" muttered Upton 
between liis teeth; "' I'd not takeherwith Roths- 
child's bank at her disposal." 



All this little chit-chat was a thing got up by 
Linton, while stationing himself in a jjosition to 
watch Cashel and Lady Kilgoff, who sat, at a 
chess-table, in an adjoining room. It needed 
not Linton's eagle glance to perceive that neither 
was attentive to the game, but that ihey were 
engaged in deep and earnest conversation. Lady 
Kilgoff 's back was towards him, but Roland's face 
he could see clearly, and watch the signs of 
anger and impatience it dis|)laytd. 

"A little more noise and confusion here," 
thought Linton, "and they'll forget that they're 
not a hundred miles away;" and acting on this, 
he set about arranging the company in various 
groups; and while he disposed a circle of very 
fast-talking old ladies, to discuss rank and priv- 
ileges, in one corner, he employed some others 
in devising a character quadrille, over which 
Mrs. White was to preside; and then, seating a 
young lady at the piano, one of those determined 
performers who run a steeple-chase through 
waltz, polka, and mazurka, for hours uninter- 
ruptedly, he saw that he had manufactured a 
very pretty chaos " off-hand." 

While hurrying hither and thither, directing, 
instructing, and advising every one, he con- 
trived also, and as it were by mere accident, to 
draw across the doorway of the boudoir the 
heavy velvet curtain that performed the function 
of a door. The company were far too busied in 
their various occupations to remark this; far less 
was it perceived by Lady Kilgoff or Roland. 
Nobody knew better than Linton how to perform 
the part of fly-wheel to that complicated engine 
called society; he could regulate its pace to 
whatever speed he pleased; and upon this oc- 
casion he pushed the velocity to the utmost; and, 
by dint of that miraculous magnetism by which 
men of warm imaginatiim and quick fancy in- 
spire their less susceptible neighbors, he spread 
the contagion of his own merry humor, and con- 
verted the drawing-loom into a scene of almost 
riotous gayety. 

" They want nomore leadership now," said he, 
and slipped from the room and hastened towards 
the library, where sat Lord Kilgoff, surrounded 
by folios of Grotius and Pnffendorf — less, in- 
deed, for perusal and study, than as if inhaling 
the spirit of diplomatic craft from their presence. 

" Nay, my lord, this is too much," said he, en- 
tering with a smile; "some relaxation is really 
necessary. Pray come and dissipate a little with 
us in the drawing-room." 

" Don't lose my place, however," said he, 
smiling far more graciously tlian his wont. " I 
was just considering that assertion of Grotius, 
wherein he lays it down that ' a river is always ob- 
jectionable as a national boundary.' I dissent 
completely from the doctrine. A river has all 
the significance of a natural frontier. It is the 
line of demarcation drawn from the commence- 
ment of the world between different tracts, and 
at once suggests separation." 

"Very true, my lord; I see your observation 
in all its justice. A river, in the natural world, 
is like the distinguisliing symbol of rank in the 
social, and should ever be a barrier against un- 
warrantable intrusion." 



558 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



Lord Kilgoff smiled, tapped liis snuff-box, and 
nodded, as though to say, "Continue." Linton 
understood the hint in this wise, and went on: 

" And yet, my lord, tliere is reason to fear that, 
with individuals, as with nations, these demarca- 
tions are losing their ''prestige.' What people 
call enlightenment and progress, now-a days, is 
the mere negation of these principles." 

"Every age has'thrown some absurd theory to 
the surface, sir," said Lord Kilgoff, proudly: 
" Southcotians, Mormons, and Radicals among 
the rest. But truth, sir, has always the ascend- 
ancy in the long run. Facts cannot be sneered 
down; and the Pyrenees and the English peerage 
are facts, Mr. Linton, and similar facts, too!" 

Linton looked like one who divided himself 
between rebuke and conviction — submissive, but 
yet satisfied. 

"Give me your arm, Linton; I'm still very far 
from strong; this place disagrees with me. I 
fancy the air is rheumatic, and I am impatient to 
get away; but the fact is, I have b^en lingering 
in the hope of receiving some tidings from the 
Foreign-Office, which 1 had rather would reach 
me here, than at my own house." 

"Precisely, my lord; the request then has the 
air— I mean, it shows you have been souglit after 
by the minister, and solicited to take office when 
not thinking of the matter yourself." 

" Quite so; I open the despatch, as it may be, 
at tlie breakfast-table, jocularly observing that it 
looks official, eh.''" 

"Exactly, my lord; you even surmise that 
it may prove an appointment you have solicited 
for one of your numerous //-u/i-^ij/j' — something in 
the colonies, or the 'troop,' without purchase, in 
the Blues?" 

Lord Kilgoff laughed — for hirn, heartily — at 
Linton's concurrence in his humor, and went on: 

"And when I open it, Linton, and read the 
contents, eh?" 

Here he paused, as if asking what effect his 
astute friend would ascribe to such pleasant 
tidings. 

"I think I see your lordship throw the heavy 
packet from you with a 'pshaw!' of disappoint- 
ment; while you mutter to your next neighbor, ' I 
have been warding off this these two or three last 
years, but there's no help for it; the king insists 
upon my taking the mission at Florence!' " 

" I must say, Mr. Linton, your conjecture 
strikes me as strained and unnatural. The ap- 
pointment to represent my august master at the 
court of Tuscany might be a worthy object of my 
ambition. I cannot agree with the view you take 
of it." 

Linton saw that he had " charged too far," 
and hastened to secure his retreat. 

"I spoke, my lord, rather with reference to 
your regret at quitting the scenes of your natural 
influence at home, of withdrawing from tliis dis- 
tracted country the high example of your pres- 
ence, the wisdom of your counsels, the munifi- 
cence of your charity. These are sad exports at 
such a time as this!" 

Lord Kilgoff sighed — he sighed heavily; he 
knew Ireland h.ul gone through many trials and 
afflictions, but the dark future which Linton pic- 



tured had never presented itself so full of gloom 
before. He doubtless felt that, when he left the 
ship, she would not long survive the breakers; 
and, sunk in these reveries, he walked along at 
Linton's side till they gained the picture gallery, 
at one extremity of which lay the boudoir we 
have spoken of. 

" Poor things, my lord!" said Linton shrug- 
ing his shoulders as he passed along, and casting a 
contemptuous glance at the apocryphal Vandycks 
and Murillos around, and for whose authenticity 
he had himself, in nearly every case, been the 
guarantee. 

Lord Kilgoff gave a fleeting look at them, 
but said nothing; and Linton, to occupy time, 
went on: 

"New men, like our friend here, should never 
aspire above the Flemish school. Your Cuyps, 
and Hobbemas, and Vandervelds are easily un- 
derstood, and their excellences are soon learned. 
Even Mieris and Gerard Dow are open to such 
connoisseurship; but, to feel the calm nobility[of 
a Velasquez the sublime dignity of a Vandyck, 
or the glorious intellectuality of a Titian portrait, 
a man must be a born gentleman, in its most ex- 
alted signification. What a perfect taste your 
collection at Kilgoff displays! All Spanish or 
Venetian, if I mistake not." 

" Are we not like to distuib a tcic-a-tcte, Lin- 
ton?" said Lord Kilgoff, nudging his friend's arm, 
and laughing slyly, as he pointed through the 
large frame of plate-glass that formed a door to 
the boudoir. 

" By Jove!" said Linton, in a low whisper, 
"and so we were! You are always thoughtful, 
my lord!" 

" You know the adage. Linton, 'An old poacher 
makes the best gamekeeper!' Ha, ha, ha!" 

" Ah, my lord! I have heard as much of you. 
But who can they be?" 

" We shall soon see, for it is always better in 
these cases to incur the rudeness of interruption 
that the meanness of espionage;" and so saying. 
Lord Kilgoff opened the door and entered. Al- 
though in so doing the noise he made might 
easily have attracted notice, the chess-players, 
either deep in their pre-occupation, or habituated 
to the uproar of the drawing-room, paid no at- 
tention, so that it was only as he i.Mlaimed 
"Lady Kilgoff!" that both started, and beheld 
him, as, pale with passion, he stood sujiporting 
himself on the back of a chair. 

" Pray don't stir, sir; be seated, I beg," said 
he, addressing Cashel, in a voice that shook with 
anger; "my interruption of your game was pure 
accident." 

"No apologies, my lord; we are both but in- 
different players," said Cashel, smiling, but yet 
very far from at ease. 

" Your seclusion at least bespeaks the interest 
you feel in the game. Mr. Linton and I can 

vouch " (Here his Irodship turned to call 

his witness, but he had left the court, or, more 
pioprrly speaking, had never entered it.) 

"Linton here?" said Lady Kilgoff, in a voice 
which, though scarce a whisper, was actually 
thrilling in the intensity of its meaning. 

"I hope, sir, when jou have lived somcwl'.at 



ROLAND CASH EL 



559 



more in the world, you will learn that the first 
duty of a host is not to compromise a guest." 

"I am most willing to be taugiU by )our lord- 
ship's better knowledge; but if I am to benefit 
by the lesson in the present case, it must be 
more clearly expressed," said Cashel, calmly. 

" As for you, madam," said Lord Kilgoff, " I 
cauuot compliment you on the progress you have 
made in acquiring the habits and instincts of 
■ your order.' " 

" My lord!" exclaimed she, and then, with a 
countenance wherein rebuke and entreaty were 
blended, she stopped. 

" I am aware, sir, what eclat young gentlemen 
now-a-days derive from the supposed preference 
of individuals of exalted rank, and I would hope 
that your vanity mav be most in fault, here." 

" My lord, one word — only one," said Cashel, 
eagerly, "I am sadly afflicted with the infirmity 
of hot temper, which never gives way more 
surely, nor more suddenly, than when accused 
wrongfully Such is your lordship doing at jire- 
sent I would entreat you not to say, what a 
very little calm reflection will call upon you to 
retract." 

" This concerns me, sir, most of all," said Lady 
Kilgoff, rising and drawing herself proudly up 
" These unworthy suspicions had never occurred 
to you, had they not been prompted; but you 
might have believed th.Tt when I sacrificed all I 
have done, for that rank of which so incessantly 
you remind me, that I would not rashly hazard 
the position for which I paid so dearly — Let us 
leave this now, my lord, Mr Cashel can scarcely 
desire a presence that has so ungratefully re- 
warded his hospitality, and I, at least, shall be 
spared the mortification of meeting one who has 
been a witness to such an outrage." 

" This is not to end here, sir," said Lord Kilgoff, 
in a whisper to Casliel, who, more intent upon 
the words Lady Kilgoff had just uttered, care- 
lessly answered, 

" As you will " 

"Good-bye, Mr. Cashel," said she, holding out 
her hand. " I wish 1 was leaving a "htXX^x souvenir 
behind me than the memory of this last scene ' 

''I will never remember it, madam,' said 
Cashel; "but I would beg that you may not let 
an incident so trivial, so perfectly devoid of 
everything like importance, hasten your going. 
Nothing save malevolence and calumny could 
suggest any other impression, and I would be- 
seech you not to favor, by such a step as a hasty 
departure, the malice that scandal-lovers may 
circulate." 

"This is matter for wv consideration, sir," said 
Lord Kilgoff, haughtily; while, drawing Lady 
Kilgoff's arm within his own, he made a vigorous 
attempt to move away with dignity 



CHAPTER LV. 



LORD KILGOFF DETERMINES TO MEET ROLAND. 
Ts lie not too old for such gambols? — Sir Raymond. 
Cashel was in no mood to join his comp.Tny 



after such a scene, and hastening up-stairs, he 
entered his drcssiiigroom What was his sur- 
prise to see that Linton was seated in an easy- 
chair before the fire, enjoying a cigar and a new 
novel, with all the cool negligence of his un- 
ruffled nature 

"At last' cried he, as Cashel entered. "I 
have been waiting here most impatiently to know 
how you got through it ' 

"Through what! — how — what do you mean'" 

"That affair with Kilgoff. I slipped away 
when I saw that he ivoiild enter the boudoir, 
after having coughed and sneezed like a grampus, 
in the hope of attracting your attention, but you 
were so confoundedly engrossed by my lady's 
agreeability — so excessively tender " 

" Linton, I must stop you at once. I may 
barter some of my own self-respect for quietness' 
sake, and let you talk this way of me, but you 
shall not do so of another " 

"Hang it, man, ^he is an older friend ihan 
yourself I have known her this seven years — 
as little more than a child." 

"Your friendship would seem a costly bless- 
ing, if you understand its duties always in this 
fashion." 

"I hope it will admit of a little frankness, at 
all events," said he, affecting a laugh. "It will 
be too bad if you both fall out with ine for watch- 
ing over your interests." 
■ "I don't understand you." 

" I will be plain enough I have seen for 
many a day back what has been going on. I 
perceived the very commencement of the mis- 
chief, when probaljly neither she nor you dreamed 
of it; and, resigning all the esteem that years 
had cemented between us, I spoke to her. 
Ay, Roland, I told her what would happen I 
said, that qualities like yours could not be 
brought every day into contrast with those of 
poor Kilgoff without most unhappy comparisons. 
I explained to her, that if she did form an at- 
tachment to you, it could not be one- of those 
passing flirtations that an easy code of fashion 
admits and sanctions, that you were a fellow 
whose generous nature could never descend to 
such heartless levity, and that there was no sac- 
rifice of position and prospect you would hesi- 
tate to make for a woman that loved you: and I 
asked her flatly, would she bring such ruin upon 
you' The greater fool myself; I ought to have 
known better. She not only refused to listen to 
me but actually resented my attempted kindness 
by actual injury. I don't want to speak for my- 
self here, so I'll hasten on. It was all but a cut 
between us, for months before we met here 
You may remember, in Dublin, we rarely even 
spoke to each other; we who once had been like 
brother and sister! 

" Well, before she was a week here, I saw that 
the danger I had dreaded so long, was hourly be- 
coming more imminent. You, very possibly, had 
not a serious thought upon the matter, but she 
had actually fallen in love! I suppose you must 
have played hero, at that shipwreck, in some 
very chivalrous fashion; however it was, my lady 
hnd lost her heart, precisely at the same time 
thr.t \\\% l.T.cl;!up iind lost his head — Iravir.gyou, 



560 



ROLAND CASHEL, 



I conjecture, In a very awkward dilemma. Seeing 
there was no time to lose, and resolving to sacri- 
fice myself to save her, 1 made one more effort. 
I'll not weary you with a narrative of my elo- 
quence, nor repeat any of the ten-thousand-and- 
one reasons I gave, for her shunning your society, 
and, if need were, leaving your house. The 
whole ended as I ought to have foreseen it 
would — -in an open breach between us; she can- 
didly avowing that she would be my deadly 
enemy througli life, and even procure a personal 
rupture between you and me, if pushed to it, by 
my ' impertinent importunity,' so she called it. I 
own to you I was completely dumbfounded by 
this. I knew that she had courage for anything, 
and that, if she did care for a man, there would 
be a recklessness in the course she would follow 
that would defy guidance or direction, and so, I 
abstained from any further interference; and, as 
you may have remarked yourself, I actually es- 
tranged myself from you." , 

" I did remark that," said Cashel, gravely. 

"Well, to-night, when by mere accident Kilgoff 
and I had sauntered into the gallery and came 
upon you in the boudoir, I own frankly I was 
not sorry for it; unpleasant as such scenes are, 
they are better — a hundred thousand times 
better — than the sad consequences they antici- 
pate; and even should anything take place per- 
sonally, I'd rather see you stand Kilgoff's fire at 
' twelve, paces," than be exposed to the flash of 
my lady's eye at ' one.' " 

"Your friendly zeal," said Cashel with a very 
peculiar emphasis on the words, " would seem 
to have got the upper hand of your habitually 
sharp perception; there was nothing to fear in 
any part of my intimacy with Lady Kilgoff. I 
have been but too short a time conversant with 
fashionable life to forget mere vulgar habits, and, 
among them, that which forbids a man to pay his 
addresses to the wife of another. I need not 
vindicate her ladyship; that she has taken a 
warm, I shame not to say an affectionate, interest 
in my fortunes, may have been' imprudent. I 
know not what your code admits of or rejects, 
but, her kindness demands all my gratitude, and, 
if need be, the defence that a man of honor 
should always be ready to offer for the cause of 
truth." 

"Don't you perceive, Cashel, that all you are 
saying only proves what I have been asserting — 
that, while you are actually ignorant of your 
danger, the peril is but the greater? I repeat it 
to you, however intact your heart may be, hers 
is in your keeping. I know this; nay, I say it 
advisedly— don't shake your head and look so 
confident— I repeat it, I know this to be the 
case." 

" You know it.'" said Cashel, as though Linton's 
words had startled his convictions. 

"I_ know it, and I'll prove it, but upon one 
condition, your word of honor as to secrecy." 
Cashel nodded, and Linton went on. " Some 
short time back, some one, under the shelter of the 
anonymous, wrote her a letter, stating that they 
had long watched her intimacy with vou — griev- 
ing over it, and regr'etting that she should have 
yielded any portion of her affection to one, whose 



whole life had been a series of deceptions, that 
your perjuries in love's court were undeniable, 
aud that you were actually married, legally and 
regularly married, to a young Spanish girl. ' 

" Was this told her.'" said Cashel, gasping lor 
breath. 

"Yes, the very name was given — Maritana, if 
I mistake not. — Is there sucli a name.'" 
Cashel bent his head slightly in assent. 
" How you had deserted this poor girl after 

having won her affections- " 

"This is false, sir; every word of it false'" 
said Cashel, purple with passion; "nor will I 
permit any man to drag her name beiore this 
world of slanderers in connection with such a 
tale. Great heaveni what hypocrisy it is to have 
a horror for the assassin and the cut-throat, and 
yet give shelter, in your society, to those who 
stab character and poison reputation! 1 tell you, 
sir, that among those buccaneers you have so 
often sneered at, you'd not meet one base enough ' 
for this." 

" I think you are too severe upon this kind of 
transgression, Cashel," said Linton, calmly. "It 
is as often prompted by mere idleness as malice. 
The great mass of people in this life have noth- 
ing to do, and they go wrong, just for occupa- 
tion. There may have been^ — there generally is 
— a little grain of truth amid all the chaff of fic- 
tion; there may, therefore, be a young lady 

whose name was " 

" I forbid you to speak it. I knew her, and 
girl as she was, she was not one to suffer insult 
in her presence, nor shall it be offered to her in 
her absence." 

" My dear fellow, your generous warmth should 
not be unjust, or else you will find few friends 
willing to incur your anger in hope cf doing you 
service. I never believed a word of this story. 
Marriage — adventure — even the young lady's 
identity, I deemed all fictions together." 

Cashel muttered something he meant to be 
apologetic for his rudeness, and Linton was not 
•slow in accepting even so unwilling a leparation. 
"Of course I think no more of it," cried he, 
with affected cordiality. " I was going to tell 
you how Lady Kilgoff received the tidings— ex- 
actly the very opposite to what her kind corres- 
pondent had intended. It actually seemed to 
encourage her in her passion, as though there 
was a similarity in your cases. Besides, she 
felt, perhaps, that she was not damaging your 
future career, as it might be asserted she had 
done, were you unmarried. These are mere 
guesses on my part. I own to you, I have little 
skill in reading the Machiavellism of a female 
heart; the only key to its mystery I know of is, 
'always suspect what is least likely.'" 

"And I am to sit down patiently under all 
this calumny!" said Cashel, as he walked the 
room with hasty steps. "I am perhaps to re- 
ceive at my table those whose amusement it is 
so to sport with my character and my fame!" 

" It is a very naughty world, no doubt of it," 
said Linton, lighting a fresh cigar; "and the 
worst of it is, it tempts one always to be as 
roguish as one's neighbors, for self-preserva- 
tion." 



ROLAND CASH EL. 



561 



"You say I am not at liberty to speak of this 
letter to Lady Kiigoff ?" 

"Of course not; I am myself a defaulter in 
having told the matter to you." 

Cashel paced the room hurriedly; and what 
a whirlwind of opposing thoughts rushed through 
his brain! for while at times all Lady Kiigoff 's 
warnings about Linton, all his own susiiicions of 
his duplicity and deceit, were uppermost, there 
was still enough in Linton's narrative, were it 
true, to account for Lady Kilgoff's hatred of 
him. The counsels he had given, and she re- 
jected, were enough to furnish a feud forever 
between them. At which side lay the truth? 
And then, this letter about Maritana — who was 
the writer? Could it be Linton liimself ? and if 
go, would he have ventured to allude to it? 

These thoughts harassed and distressed him 
at every instant, and in liis present feeling to- 
wards Linton he could not ask his aid to solve 
the mystery. 

Now, he was half disposed to charge him with 
the whole slander; his [jassion prompted him to 
seek an object for his vengeance, and the very 
cool air of indifference Linton assumed was 
provocative of anger. The next moment, he 
felt ashamed of such intemperate warmth, and 
almost persuaded himself to tell him of his pro- 
posal for Mary Leicester, and thus, prove the 
injustice of the suspicion about Lady Kiigoff. 

" There's a tap at the door, I think," said Lin- 
ton. " I suppose, if it's Frobisher, or any of 
them, you'd rather not be bored ?" .\nd, as if 
divining the answer, he arose and opened it. 

"Lord Kilgoff's compliments, and requests 
Mr. Linton will come over to his room," said his 
lordship's valet. 

"Very well," said Linton, and closed the door. 
" What can the old peer want at this time of 
night? Ami to bring a message to you, Cashel ?" 

Cashel gave an insolent laugh. 

"Or shall I tell him the story of Davoust at 
Hamburg, when the syndicate accused him of 
peculating, and mentioned some millions that he 
had abstracted from the treasury. 'All untrue, 
gentlemen,' said he; ' I never heard of the money 
before, but since you have been polite enough to 
mention the fact, I'll not show myself so un- 
grateful as to forget it.' Do you think Kiigoff 
would see the apropos?" 

With this speech, uttered in that half jocular 
mood habitual to him, Linton left the room, 
while Cashel continued to ponder over the late 
scene, and its probable consequences; not the 
least serious of which was, that Linton was pos- 
sessor of his secrets. Now, thinking upon what 
he had just heard of Lady Kiigoff — now, pictur- 
ing to liimself how Mary Leicester would reward 
his pledge to Maritaiia, he walked impatiently 
up and down, when the door opened, and Lin- 
ton appeared. 

" Just as I surmised!" said he throwing him- 
self into a chair, and laughing heartily. " My lord 
win be satisfied with nothing but a duel a mort." 

" I see no cause for mirth in such a contin- 
gency," said Cashel, gravely; " the very rumor of 
it would ruin Lady Kiigoff." 

" That of course is a grave consideration," said 



Linton, affecting Seriousness; "but it is still 
more his than yours." 

'^He is a dotard !" said Cashel, passionately, 
"and not to be thought of. She is young, beau- 
tiful, and unprotected. Her fortune is a hard 
one already, nor is there any need to makeitslill 
more cruel." 

" I half doubt she would think it so!" said 
Linton, with an air of levity, as he stooped to 
select a cigar. 

" How do you mean, sir?" cried Cashel, angrily. 

"Why, simply, that when you shoot my lord, 
you'll scarcely desert my lady," said he, with the 
same easy manner. 

" You surely told him that his suspicions were 
unfounded and unjust; that my intimacy, liow- 
ever prompted by the greatest admiration, had 
never transgressed the line of respect?" 

" Of course, my dear fellow, I said a thousand 
things of you, that I didn't believe^ — and worse 
still, neither did he; but the upshot of all is, that 
he fancies it is a question between the peerage 
and the great untilltd class; he has got it into 
his wise brain that the Barons of Runn)mede 
will rise from their monumental marble in horror 
and sliame at such an invasion of 'the order;' 
and that there will be no longer security beneath 
the coronet when such a domestic Jack Cade as 
yourself goes at large." 

"I tell you again, Linton — and let it be for 
the last time — your pleasantry is most ill-timed. 
I cannot, I will not, gratify this old man's humor, 
not make myself ridiculous to pamper his absurd 
vanity. Besides, to throw a slander upon his 
wife, he must seek another instrument." 

By accident, mere accident, Cashel threw a more 
than usual significance into these last few words; 
and Linton, whose command over his features 
rarely failed, taken suddenly by what seemed a 
charge, grew deep red. 

Cashel started as he saw the effect of his speech: 
he was like one who sees his chance shot has ex- 
ploded a magazine. 

" What!" cried he, " have you a grudge in that 
quarter, and is it thus you would pay it?" 

" 1 hope you mean this in jest, Cashel ?" said 
Linton, with a voice of forced calm. 

" Faitii, I never was in a less mood for joking; 
my words have only such meaning as your heart 
accuses you of." 

"Come, come, then there is no harm done. 
But pray, be advised, and never say as much to 
any one who has less regard for you. And now, 
once more, what shall we do with Kiigoff? He 
has charged me to carry you a message, and I 
only undertook the mission in the hope of some 
accommodation — something that should keep the 
whole affair strictly amongst ourselves." 

" Then you wish for my answer?" 

" Of course." 

" It is soon said. I'll not meet him." 

" Not meet him? But, just considei " 

" I have considered, and I tell you once more, 
I'll not meet him. He cannot lay with truth any 
injury at my door; and I will not, to indulge his 
petulant vanity, be led to injure one whose fair 
fame is of more moment than our absurd dif- 
ferences." 



562 



ROLAND CASH EL. 



"I own to you, Cashel, this does not strike 
me as a wise course. By going out and receiving 
liis fire, you have an opportunity of declaring on 
the ground your perfect innocence of the charge; 
at least, such, I fancy, would be what I should 
do, in a like event. I would say, ' My lord, it is 
your pleasure, under a very grave and great 
misconception, to desire to take my life. 1 have 
stood here for you, once, and will do so, again, 
as many times as you please, till either your 
vengeance be satisfied or your error recognized; 
simply repeating, as I now do, that I am inno- 
cent.' In this way you will show that personal 
risk is nothing with you in comparison with the 
assertion of a fact that regards another far more 
nearly than yourself. I will not dispute with you 
which line is the better one; but, so much will I 
say. This is what 'the World' would look-for." 

The word was a spell! Cashel felt himself in 
a difficulty perfectly novel. He was, as it were, 
arraigned to appear before a court of whose pro- 
ceedings he knew little or nothing. How "the 
World" would regard the affair, was the whole 
question — what "the World" would say of Lady 
Kilgoff — how receive her excul|iation. Now Lin- 
ton assuredly knew this same ''World" well; he 
knew it in its rare moods of good-humor, when 
it is pleased to speak its flatteries to some popu- 
lar idol of the hour; and he knew it, in its more 
congenial temper, when it utters its fatal judg- 
ments on unproved delinquency and imputed 
wrong. None knew better than himself the 
course by which the '"Holy Ofifice" of slander 
disseminates its decrees, and he had often im- 
pressed Roland with a suitable awe of its mys- 
terious doings. The word was, then, talismanic; 
for, however at the bar of conscience he might 
stand acquitted, Cashel knew that it was to another 
and very different jurisdiciion the appeal should 
be made. I-inton saw wliat was passing in his 
mind, for he had often watched him in similar 
conflicts, and he hastened to press his advantage. 

" Understand me well, Cashel; I do not pre- 
tend to say that this is the common-sense solu 
tion of such a difticulty; nor is it the mode which 
a man with frankness of character and honorable 
intentions would perhaps have selected; but it is 
the way in which the world will expect to see it 
treated, and any deviation from which would be 
regarded as a solecism in our established code 
of conduct." 

" In what position will it place her '> That's 
the only question worth considering." 

'■ Perfect exculpation. You, as I said before, 
receive Kilgoff's fire, and protest your entire in- 
nocence: my lord accepts your assurance, and 
goes home to breakfast — voila lout!" 

'■ What an absurd situation! I declare to you 
I shrink from the ridicule that must attach to 
such a rencontre, meeting a man of his age and 
infirmity!" 

" They make pistols admirably now-a-days," 
said liinton, dryly; "even the least athletic can 
pull a hair-trigger." 

Cashel made no answer to this speech, but 
stood still, uncertain how to act. 

'"Come, come," said Linton, " von are i;iving 
tin- whole tiling .in importance it does not merit: 



just let the old peer have the pleasure of his 
bit of heroism, and it will all end as I have men- 
tioned. They'll leave this to-morrow earh , reach 
Killaloe to breakfast, whence Kilgoff will start for 
the place of meeting, and, by ten o'clock, you'll 
be there also. The only matter to arrange is, 
whom you'll get. Were it a real affair, I'd say 
Upton, or Frobisher; but, here, it is a question 
of secrecy, not skill. I'd advise, if possible, your 
having MacFarline." 

"Sir Andrew?" said Cashel, half laughing. 

" Yes; his age and standing are precisely what 
we want here. He'll not refuse you; and if he 
should, it's only telling Ladv Janet that we want 
to shoot Kilgoff, and she'll order him out at 
once." 

" I protest it looks more absurd than ever!" said 
Roland, impatiently. 

" That is merely prejudice," said Linton. 
" You cannot regard single combat, but as a life- 
struggle between two men, equal not merely in 
arms, but alike in bodily energy, prowess, skiH, 
and courage. We look on the matter here as a 
mere lottery, wherein the less expert as often 

draws the prize but there, as I vow, that was 

two o'clock! It struck, and I promised to see 
Kilgoff again to-night. By the way, he'll want 
horses. Where can he get them?" 

" Let him take mine; there are plenty of them, 
and he'll never know anything of it." 

" Very true. What an obliging adversay, that 
actually ' posts' his enemy to the ground!" 

" How am I to see MacFarline to-night?" 

" You'll have to call him out of bed. Let Flint 
say there's an orderly from Limerick with de- 
spatches; that Bidd)- Molowney won't pay her 
poor-rate, or PaddyFlanagan has rescued his pig, 
and the magistrates are calling for the Fifty- 
something and two squadrons of horse, to protect 
the police. You'll soon have him up; and, once 
up, his .Scotch blood will make him as discreet 
as an archdeacon. So, goodnight; add a codi- 
cil to your will in fa\or of my lady, and to bed." 

With this Linton took his candle and retired. 

Cashel, once more alone, began to ponder over 
the difficulty of his position. The more he 
reasoned on the matter, the stronger a)5peared his 
fears that Lady Kilgoff's name would be com- 
promised by a foolish and unmeaning quarrel; 
while, for himself, he saw nothing but ridicule 
and shame from his compliance. That omni- 
potent arbiter, " the w orld," might indeed be 
satisfied, Ijut Roland suspected that few of its 
better-judging members would hesitate to con- 
demn a course as unfeeling as it was unwise. 

A quick, sharp knocking at the door of his 
room aroused him from his musings. It was 
Lady Kilgoff's maid, breathless and agitated. 
She came to say that Lord Kilgoff, after a scene 
of passionate excitement with her ladyship, had 
been seized with paralysis, and that he was now 
lying powerless and unconscious on his bed. 

" Come, sir, for mercy's sake; come quickly. 
My lady is distracted, nor can any of us think of 
what to do." 

Cashel scratched a few lines in pencil to 
Tirrnay, requesting his immediate presence, and, 
ling'iig for h.is ser\ant. at once dispatclicd 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



563 



message to the village. This done, he followed 
the maid to Lord Kilgoff's chamber. 



CHAPTER LVI. 



THE SECOND SHOCK. 



The waters darken, and the rustling sound 
Tells of the coming " squall." 

—The Pilot. 

Lord Kilgoff was stretched upon his bed, 
breathing heavily; one arm lay straiglit beside 
him, and the other crossed upon his breast. His 
features were deadly pale, save in the center of 
each cheek, where a deep-red spot seemed to burn. 
A slight, very slight distortion marked his features, 
and a faint tremor seemed to quiver on his lip. 
Beside the bed, with an expression of some 
conscious terror in her face, sat Lady Kilgoff: 
h'er white dressing-gown, over which her hair fell 
in long abundant masses, added pallor to her 
looks. Her eyes met Cashel's as he entered, 
and then reverted to the bed where the sick 
man lay, but with an expression less of sorrow 
than of bewilderment and confusion. 

She looked, indeed, like one whose faculties 
had been stunned by some sudden shock, and 
had, as yet, made no effort to recall them to 
their wonted exercise. At the foot of the bed 
stood the maid, whose half-uttered sobs were the 
only sounds to break the stillness. 

Cashel drew near, and placed his fingers on 
the sick man's pulse. Often had he, in his former 
adventurous career, felt the ebbing current of a 
life's blood, and measured its power by its resist- 
ance. The full but laboring swell of the heart 
might well deceive him, then, into the impression 
that no grave consequences were near. He knew 
not that in such affections the pulse can be 
round, and strong, and impulsive; and it was 
with an earnest conviction of truth he whispered 
to her, 

"There is no danger." 

She looked up, but it was easy to see that 
although the words had sounded like comfort, 
they had not pierced the dense veil that clouded 
her mind. 

Cashel repeated the phrase, and said, 

"'Tiernay will soon be here, but have no fears; 
tny own slight skill can tell you there is nothing 
of peril. Had you not better retire from this — 
even to the window!" 

A faint " No" was all she uttered. 
' " He was in perfect health this afternoon?" 
said Cashel to the maid. 

" My lord was better than usual, sir; he took 
out his collar and his star to look at them, and 
he spoke very pleasantly of going abroad in the 
spring. He was reading in the library, when Mr. 
Linton went to him." 

"Linton!" muttered Lady Kilgoff, with a 
shudder. 

''I think I hear voices in the corridor," said 
Cashel. " If it be the doctor, say I wish to speak 
with him before he sees my lord." 

TUe maid left the room to perform the com- 



mission, and scarcely had the door closed, than 
Lady Kilgoff started u|i, and seizing an object 
which lay on the bed, exclaimed, " How came it 
in your keeping.?" 

"What?" cried Cashel, in amazement. 

" This bracelet," said she, holding out towards 
him the massive bracelet which Linton had con- 
trived to detach from her arm at their meeting 
in the " Park." 

" I never saw it before— never in my life." 

She sank slowly back upon the chair without 
speaking, while a faint tremor shook her frame. 

" The doctor is without, sir," said the maid at 
this moment, and Cashel hastened out. He spoke 
a few hurried words to Tiernay, and then walked 
towards his own room. That some deep and 
artful treachery had drawn its web around and 
about him, involving not himself alone but an- 
other too, he now clearly felt. He saw danger, 
as the sailor sees it in the lowering sky and fleet- 
ing scud, but as yet he knew not from w hat quarter 
the "squall" was coming. His suspicions all 
pointed to Linton; but why attribute such a 
game to him? and if such were his purpose, to 
what end could he practise this treachery? 

" Would it not be better," thought he, " to see 
him at once; tell him my suspicions openly; say, 
that I no longer trust him as my friend, but feel 
towards him the misgivings of a secret enemy? 
If there is manliness about him, he will avow his 
enmity, or resent my distrust; either or both 
would be a relief to what I now suffer. Ah! here 
he comes," said he; but he was deceived; it was 
Tiernay entered. 

"What say you, doctor? Is the case a grave- 
one?" 

" Worse; it is nearly hopeless!" 

" What! do you fear for his life?" 

" Life or intellect, one or the other, must pay 
the penalty. This is the second shock. The 
shipwreck gave the first, and rent the poor edi- 
fice almost in twain; this will, in all likelihood, 
lay it in ashes." 

"This is very dreadful!" said Cashel, upon 
whom the attendant event and the consequences 
were weighing heavily. 

" He has told me all!" said Tiernay, almost 
sternly. ^'' His jealousy and her levity — the ram- 
pant pride of station — the reckless freedom of a 
broken heart — such are the ingredients that have- 
made up a sad story, which may soon become a 
tragedy." 

"But there was no reason for it; his jealousy 
was absurd — unfounded." 

"As you will. You may go further, and say 
he could not lose what he never owned. I saw 
the peril — I even warned you of it." 

" I can only comprehend you by half," saidl 
Cashel, impatiently. "You imply blame to me 
where I can feel none." 

" I blame you as I will ever do those, who, not 
fearing danger for themselves, art as indifferent 
about their neighbors. It is not of this silly oldi 
man I am thinking here — it is of her, who, with- 
out a protector, should have found one in every 
man of generous and honorable feeling; not as 
you, perhaps, understand protection — not by the 
challenge hurled in the face of all who would 



0^ 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



dare to asperse her fair fame, but by that studied 
respect, that hallowed deference, that should 
avert detraction. Neither you nor any other could 
be the champion of her honor; but you might 
have been its defender by a better and a nobler 
lieroism. It is too late to think of this now; let 
us not lose time in vain regrets. We must take 
measures that ungenerous reports should not be 
circulated." 

The door suddenly opened at the instant, and 
Linton, in his dressing-gown, entered; but, see- 
ing Tiernay, made a motion to retire. 

"Come in," said Cashei; and there was some- 
thing almost peremptory in the words. 

" I feared I might prove an intruder, seeing 
the doctor here. Is it true what my servant says, 
that Kilgoff is dangerously ill ?" 

Cashei nodded. 

"Poor fellow! he has no command over him- 
self in those paroxysms of passion, which his folly 
and vanity are so constantly stirring up. But is 
the case serious?" 

''He will scarcely recover, sir," said Tiernay; 
"and it was because my functions as a physician 
can be of so little benefit, that I ventured to offer 
my services as a friend in the case, and give some 
counsel as to what should be done." 

"Most considerate, indeed," said Lintnn, but 
in an accent at once impossible to say whether 
ironical or the reverse. 

" I said, sir," resumed Tiernay, " that it would 
be becoming that no false representation should 
obtain currency as to the origin of the illness, nor 
that a momentary excitement of a feeble intellect 
should be assumed as the settled conviction o{ a 
sound mind. My Lord Kilgoff has had some- 
thing like altercation with his wife, and being a 
weak and failing man. with breaking faculties, has 
been seized witli a pa ilytlc attack." 

"Very thoughtful, all tliis," said Linton, gravely; 
"pray command me in any part of your plan 
iwhere I may be serviceable." 

"The plan is this," said Cashei: "here is a 
case where a terrible calamity lias befallen, and 
iwhich can be made worse only by calumny. To 
make thi slanderer pay the heaviest penalty of his 
infamy " 

" Nay, nay — this is not our plan," said Tiernay, 
igently; "Lord Kilgoff's attack must be spoken 
■of without connection with any circumstances 
which preceded it this evening. Nothing was 
more likely to occur than such a seizure: his age 
— his late illness — his peculiar habit, all predis- 
posed to it." 

" Just so," interposed Cashei, hastily; "and as 
none save you, Linton, and myself, know anything 
of the matter, it need never gain wider publicity." 

"Of course nothing can be easier than this. 
The Lady 'Janets' need never hear a word more 
than you choose to tell them," said Linton. 

" In a few days he will bear removal. Change 
will be necessary tor him; and, in fact, our caution 
is, doubtless, greater than ihe necessity warrants," 
added Tiernay. 

"You will, of course, leave everything to take 
its course in the house?" said Linton. "To in- 
terfere with all the plans of pleasure would be to 
give rise to malicious rumors." 



" I scarcely know how to act," said Cashei 
"It looks unfeeling and unkind that we should 
give ourselves up to gayety at such a moment." 

" Mr. Linton's counsel may be wise, notwith- 
standing," said Tiernay, " His lordship may con- 
tinue a long time in his present state." 

"Exactly what I mean," said Linton. "He 
will probably linger on, unchanged; so that if 
events follow their habitual train, there will be 
little time or temptation to spread scandal about 
him; and then, what, at first blush, setms to lack 
kindness, is, in reality, the very truest and most 
considerate service we can render." 

" Then you will look to this part of the matter, 
Linton?" said Cashei, on whom his apparent 
frankness had resumed its former ascendancy. 

"Leave it all to me," said he; and so, good- 
night." And, with that, he dtparttd, leaving 
Cashei and Tiernay together. 

They were silent for some minutes, as Linton's 
retiring steps were heard going lowaids his own 
room. Soon after the Irud bang of a door re- 
sounded through the house, and all was still. 
Little knew they, that scarcely had he gained his 
room than he left it noiselessly, and, slipping 
down the great stairs, crossed the hall, and, enter- 
ing the theatre, proceeded by the secret passage 
which led to Cashel's dressingrocm, and thrcuj.h 
the thin panel that covered which, he could easily 
overhear whatever was spoken within. 

" At least you will allow that he has been 
candid with us here?" said Cashei, in a lone of 
remonstrance. 

" I cannot afford to give a man my confidence, 
because I am unable to sound his intentions, ' 
said Tiernay. " I disliked this Linton from the 
first, and I never yet saw any distinct reason to 
alter the sentiment. That he has puzzled mt- — 
ay, completely puzzled me, and all my calcu- 
lations, within the last few days, is quite tiue. 
He has done that which, in a man like himself, 
disconcerts one altogether, because it is so diffi- 
cult to trace his probable motive. AVhat would 
you say, were I to tell you that this deep man of 
the world, this artful and subtle gambler in the 
game of life, has actually proposed for a girl who 
is utterly without fortune or fc.mily influence? 
That she is endowed with noble attributes — that 
she is one a prince miglit have chosen to share his 
fortunes, I deem as nothing to the purpose, for I 
cannot conceive such qualities as hers could 
weigh with hin); but so it is, he has actually made 
an offer of his hand." 

" Dare your confidence go further?" said 
Cashei, eagerly, "and tell me — to whom?" 

"Yes. I have been guilty of one breach of 
faith in telling you so much, and I'll hazard all, 
and let you hear the remainder. It was Mary 
Leicester." 

" Mary Leicester!" echoed Cashei, but in a 
voice barely audible. 

" Mary Leicester," ccntiniud Tierray, " n-ay 
count it among her triumphs to have attracted 
one whom all the world regards as an adventurer; 
a man living by the exercise of his clerer wits, 
profiting by the weaknesses and follies of his 
acquaintances, and deriving his subsistence from 
the vices he knows how to pamper." 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



565 



"And what answer lias he received?" asked 
Cashel, timidly. 

" None, as yet. Poor Corrigan, overwhelmed 
by misfortune, threatened by one wliose menace, 
if enforced, would be liis death-stroke, has 
begged for a day or two to consider; but the reply 
is certain." 

" And will be " Cashel could not command 

his emotion as he spoke. 

" Refusal." 

" You are certain of this, Tiernay? You are 
positive of what you say?" 

" I know it. My old friend, were he even in- 
clined to this alliance, could never coerce her; 
and Mary Leicester has long since learned to dis- 
tinguish between the agreeable qualities of a 
clever man and tlie artful devices of a treacherous 
one. She knows him; she reads him thoroughly, 
and| as thoroughly she despises him! I will not 
say that her impressions liave been unaided; 
she received more than one letter from a kind 
friend — Lady Kilgoff; and these were her first 
warnings. Poor Corrigan knows nothing of this; 
and Mary, seeing how Linton's society was 
pleasurable to the old man, actually shrank from 
the task of undeceiving him. 'He has so few 
pleasures,' said she to me, one evening; ' why 
deny him this one?' — 'It is a poison which can- 
not injure in small doses, doctor,' added she, 
another time; and so, half jestingly, she reasoned, 
submitting to an intimacy that was odious 
to her, because it added a gleam of comfort to 
the chill twilight of his declining life." 

" And you are sure of this — you are certain 
she will refuse him?" cried Cashel, eagerly. 

" I am her confidant," said Tiernay, "and you 
see how worthily I repay the trust! Nay, nay! 
I would not tell these things to any other living; 
bit I feel that I owe them to you. I have seen 
more misery in life from concealment, from the 
delicacy that shuns a frank avowal, than from 
all the falsehood that ever blackened a bad 
he.irt. Mary has told me all her secrets; ay — 
don't blush so deeply — and some of yours also." 

Casliel did indeed grow red at this speech, 
and, in his effort to conceal his shame, assumed 
an air of dissatisfaction. 

" Not so, my dear young friend," said Tiernay; 
"I did not mean to say one word which could 
offend you. Mary has indeed trusted me with 
the secret nearest to her heart. She has told me 
of the proudest moment of her life." 

" Wnen slie rejected me?" said Cashel, bitterly. 

" So was it — wlien she rejected you," re-echoed 
Tiernay. "When poor, she refused wealth; 
when friendless in all that friendship can profit, 
she declined protection; when almost homeless, 
she refused a home; when sought by one whom 
alone of all the world she preferred, she said him 
nay! It was at that moment of self-sacrifice, 
when she abandoned every thought of present 
happiness and of future hope, and devoted her- 
self to one humble but holy duty, she felt the 
ecstasy of a martyr's triumph. You may think 
that these are exaggerations, and that I reckon 
at too e.xalted a standard such evidences of 
affection, but I do not think so. I believe that 
there is more courage in the patient submission 



to an obscure and unnoticed fortune, beset with 
daily trials and privations, than in braving the 
stake or the scaffold, with human sympathies to 
exalt the sacrifice." 

" But I offered to share this duty with her; 
to be a son to him whom she regarded as a father." 

" How little you know of the cares — the 
tlioughtful, watchful, anxious cares — }ou were 
willmg to share! You could give wealth and 
splendor, it is true; you could confer all the 
blandishments of fortune, all the luxuries th«t 
rich men command; but, one hour of gentle 
solicitude in sickness — one kind look, that re- 
called years of tenderness — one accustomed 
service, the tribute of affectior. — were worth all 
tliat gold could purchase, told ten timesover. Arid 
tliese are not to be acquired; ihty are the in- 
stincts that, born in childhood, grow strong with 
years, till at length they form that ainiosphere cf 
love in which parents live among their children. 
No! Mary felt that it were a treason to rob her 
poor old grandfather of even a thought that 
should be his." 

"But, I repeat it," cried Cashel, passionately, 
"I would participate in every care; I would 
share her duties, as she should share my for- 
tunes." 

"And what guarantee did you give for your 
fitness to such a task?" said Tiernay. "Was it 
by your life of pleasure, a career of wild and 
wasteful extravagance — was it by the unbridled 
freedom with which you followed every impulse 
of your will — was it by the example your friend- 
ships exhibited — was it by an indiscriminating 
generosity, that only throws a shade over better- 
regulated munificence, you would show that you 
were suited to a life of unobtrusive, humble 
duties?" 

"Y'ou wrong me," said Cashel. "I would 
have lived in that cottage yonder, without a 
thought or a wish for the costly pleasures you 
think have such attractions for me." 

" You had already sold it to jour friend." 

" Sold it! — never! — to whom?" 

"I thought Linton had purchased it." 

"Never!" 

"Well, you gave it as a gift?" 

" I did intend to do so; but seeing the value 
Corrigan puts upon it, I will give Linton double 
— thrice the value, rather than part with it." 

" What if he refuse?" 

"He will not. Linton's fancies never run 
counter to solid advantages. A thousand pounds 
with him is always twice five bundled, come 
with what condition it may." 

"But Linton may, for his own reasons, think 
differently here; his proposal to marry seems as 
though it were part of some settled plan; and if 
you have already given him a legal claim here, 
my opinion is, that he will uphold it." 

"That I have never done; but my word is 
pledged, and to it he may hold me, if he will. 
Meanwhile, I have seen Kcnnyfeck this morning. 
The man Hoare has offered us a large sum on 
mortgage, and I have promised to meet them 
both the day after to-morrow. If I read Tom 
aright, 10,000/. will free me from every claim he 
has upon me." 



56^ 



ROLAND CASHEL, 



"A hea-v-y sum, but not ill spent if it liberate 
you from his friendship," cried Tiernay, eagerly. 

"And so it shall." 

'' You promise me this — you give me your word 
upon it?' 

"I do," 

" Then there are good days in store for you. 
That man's intimacy has been your bane; even 
when you thought least of il, his influence swayed 
your actions and perverted your motives. Under 
the shadow of his evil counsels your judgment 
grew warped and corrupted, you saw all things 
in a false and distorted light, and your most 
latal error of all was, that you deemed yourself 
a ' gentleman.' " 

"I have done with him forever," said Cashel, 
with slow, deliberate utterance. 

"Again 1 say, good days are in store for you," 
said Tiernay. 

" I cannot live a life of daily, hourly distrust," 
said Cashel; "nor will I try it. I will see him 
to-morrow; I will tell him frankly that I am 
weary of his fashionable protectorate; that as a 
scholar in modish tastes I should never do him 
credit, and that we must part. Our alliance was 
ever a factitious one; it will not be hard to sever 
it." 

" You mistake much," said Tiernay; " the 
partnership will not be so easily relinquished by 
him who reaps all the profit." 

"You read me only as a dupe," said Cashel, 
fiercely. 

Tiernay made no reply, but waving his hand 
in adieu, left the room 



CHAPTER LVII. 

LINTON INSTIGATES KEANE TO MURDER. 

Hell's eloquence — " Temptation!" 

— Harold. 

Tom Keane, the gatekeeper, sat moodily at his 
door on the morning after the events recorded in 
our last chapter. His reflections seemed of the 
gloomiest, and absorbed him so completely, that 
he never noticed the mounted groom, who, de- 
spatched to seek the doctor for Lord Kilgoff, 
twice summoned him in vain to open the gate. 

" HoUoal" cried the smartly-equipped servant, 
"stupid! will you open that gate, I say?" 

"It's not locked," said Tom, looking up, but 
withoat the slightest indication of obeying the 
request. 

" Don't you see the mare won't stand?" cried 
he, with an oath. 

Tom smoked away without replying. 

"Sulky brute you are!" cried the groom; 
" I'm glad we're to see the last of you soon." 

With this he managed to open the gate and 
pass on his way. 

".So, it's for turnin' me out, yez are." said 
Tom to himself; "turnin' me out on the road — 
to starve, or maybe— to rob" — (these words were 
uttered between the puffs of his tobacco-smoke) — 
" after forty year^ in the same place." 



The shrill barking of a cur-dog, an animal 
that in spitefulness as in mangy condition seemed 
no bad type of its master, now aroused him, and 
Tom muttered, " Eite him, Blaze! hould him 
fast, yer soule!" 

"Call off your dog, Keane — call him off'" 
cried out a voice, whose tones at once bespoke 
a person of condition; and at the same instant 
Linton appeared. "You'd better fasten him up, 
for I feel much tempted to ballast his heart with 
a bullet." 

And he showed a pistol which he held at full 
cock in his fingers. 

"Faix, ye may shoot him for all I care," said 
Tom; "he's losing his teeth, and won't be worth 
a 'trawneen' 'fore long. Go in there— into the 
house, "cried he, sulkily; and the animal shrank 
away craven and cowed. 

" You ought to keep him tied up," said Lin- 
ton, '"every one complains of him," 

" So I hear," said Tom, with a low, sardonic 
laugh; "he used only to bite the beggars, but 
he's begun now to be wicked with the gentlemen. 
I suppose he finds they taste mighty near alike." 
" Just so," said Linton, laughing; " if the cur 
could speak, he'd tell us a laborer was as tender 
as 'my lord.' I've come over to see )ou," 
added he, after a moment's pause, "and to say 
that I'm sorry to have failed in my undertaking 
regarding you; they are determined to turn you 
out." 

" I was thinking so," said Tom, moodily. 

" I did my best I told them you had been 

many years on the estate- " 

" Forty-two." 

"Just so. I said forty and upwards — that 
your children had grown up on it — that you were 
actually like a part of the property. I spoke of 
the hardship of turning a man at your time of 
life, with a helpless family, too, upon the wide 
world I even went so far as to say, that these 
were not the times for such examples; that there 
was a spirit abroad of regard for the poor man, 
a watchful inquiry into the evils of his condi- 
tion, that made these 'clearances,' as they call 
them, unwise and impolitic, as well as cruel." 

'' An' what did they say to that?" asked Tom, 
abruptly, 

" Laughed — laughed heartily." 
" They laughed ?" 

"No- — I am wrong," said Linton, quickly, 
" Kenny feck did not laugh, on the contrary, he 
seemed grave, and observed that up at Drum- 

coologan- is there such a name?" 

" Ay, and nice boys they're in it," said Tom, 
nodding 

"'Weil, up at Drumcoologan,' said he, 'such 
a step would be more than dangerous.' 
■' ' How do you mean?' said Mr. Cashel. 
" ' They'd take the law into their own hands,' 
replied Kennyfeck. — The man who would evict 
one of those fellows might as well make his will, 
if he wishes to leave one behind him. They are 
determined fellows, whose fathers and grand- 
fathers have lived and died on the land, and 
find it rather hard to understand how a bit of 
parchment with a big seal on it should have 
more force than kith and kindred." 



ROLAND CASH EL, 



'^67 



"Did ould Kennyfect say that?" asked Tom, 
with a glance of unutterable cunning. 

"No," replied Linton, "that observation was 
mine, for really I was indignant at that summary 
system which disposes of a |)opulation as coolly 
as men change the cattle from one pasturage to 
another. Mr. Cashel, however, contented him- 
self with a laugh, and such a laugh as, for his 
sake, I am right glad none of his unhappy ten- 
antry were witness to. 

" ' You may do as you please down here, sir,' 
said Kennyfeck — who, by the way, does not 
seem to be any friend of yours — ' but the Drum- 
coologan fellows must be humored.' 

" ' 1 will see that,' said Mr. Cashel, who, in 
his own hot-headed way, actually likts opposi- 
tion, ' but we'll certainly begin with this fellow 
Keane.' 

"'I suppose you'll give him the means to 
emigrate?' said I, addressing Kennyfeck. 

" ' We generally do in these cases,' said he. 

" ' I'll not give the scoundrel a farthing,' broke 
in Mr. Cashel. 'I took a dislike to him from 
the very hour I came here.' And then he went 
on to speak about the dirt and neglect about the 
gate-lodge, the ragged appearance of the children 
— even your own looks displeased him; in fact, 
I saw plainly that somehow you had contrived to 
make him your enemy, not merely of a few days' 
standing, but actually from the moment of his 
first meeting you. Kennyfeck, though not your 
friend, behaved better than I expected; he said 
that to turn you out was to leave you to starve; 
that tliere was no employment to be had in the 
country; that your children were all young and 
helpless; that you were not accustomed to daily 
labor; indeed, he made out your case to be a 
very hard one, and, backed as it was by myself, 
I hoped that we should have succeeded; but, as 
I said before, Mr. Casliel, for some reason of his 
own, or perhaps without any reason, hates you. 
He has resolved that out you shall go, and go 
you must!" 

Keane siid nothing, but sat moodily moving his 
foot backwards and forwards on the gravel. 

" For Mr. Cashel's sake, I'm not sorry the lot 
has fallen upon a quiet tempered fellow like 
yourself; there are plenty here who wouldn't 
bear the hardship so patiently." 

Keane looked up, and the keen twinkle of his 
■grey eyes seemed to read the other's very 
thoughts. Linton, so proof against the searching 
glances of the well-bred world, actually cowered 
'under the vulgar stare of the peasant. 

"So you think he's luckv that I'm not one of 
the Drunicoo'ogan boys?" s.iid Keane; and his 
features assumed a smile of almost insolent 
■meaning. 

"They're bold fellows, I've heard," said Lin- 
ton, "and quick to resent an injury." 

" Maybe there's others just as ready," said he, 
doggedly. 

" Many are ready to feel one," said Linton, 
" that I'm well aware of. The difference is, that 
some men sit down under their sorrows, crest- 
fallen and beaten; others rise above them, and 
make their injuries the road to fortune. .And 
ireally, much as people say against this, 'wild 



justice' of the people, when we consider that 
they have noolher possible — that the law is ever 
against them — that tlieir own right hand alone is 
their defence against oppression — one cannot 
wonder that many atyrant landlord falls beneath 
the stroke of the ruined tenant, and particularly 
when the tyranny dies with the tyrant." 

Keane listened greedily, but spoke not; and 
Linton went on: 

" It so often happens that, as in the present 
case, by the death of one man, the estate gets 
into Chancery; and then, it's nobody's affair who 
pays and who does not. Tenants then have as 
much right as the landlord used to have. As the 
rents have no owner, there's little trouble taken 
to collect them; and when any one makes a bold 
stand and refuses to pay, they let him alone, and 
just turn upon the others that are easier to deal 
wilh." 

"That's the way it used to be here long ago," 
said Keane. 

"Precisely so. You remember it yourself, 
before Mr. Cashel's time; and so it might be 
again, if he should try any harsh measures with 
those Drumcoologan fellows. Let me light my 
cigar from your pipe, Keane," said he; and as he 
spoke, he laid down the pistol which he had still 
carried in his hand. Keane's eyes rested on 
the handsome weapon with an expression of stern 
intensity. 

" Cashel would think twice of going up to that 
mountain barony to-morrow, if he but knew the 
price that lies upon his head. The hundreds 
of acres that to-day are a support to as many 
people — and this day twelve-month, perhaps, may 
lie barren and waste; while the poor peasants 
that once settled there have died of hunger, or 
wander friendless and houseless in some far-away 
country — and all this to depend on the keen eye 
and the steady hand of any one man brave enough 
to pull a trigger!" 

" Is he going to Drumcoologan to-morrow? ' 
asked Keane, dryly. 

"Yes; he is to meet Kennyfeck there, and 
go over the property with him, and on Tuesday 
evening he is to return here. Perhaps I maybe 
able to put in another word for you, Tom, but I 
half fear it is hopeless." 

" 'Tis a lonely road that leads from Sheehan's 
Mill to the ould church-yard," said Keane, more 
bent upon following out his own fancies than 
in attending to Linton. 

" So I believe," said Linton; " hut Mr. Cashel 
cares little for its solitude; he rides always 
without a servant, and so little does he fear 
danger, that never goes armed." 

" I heard that afore," observed Tom, signifi- 
cantly. 

" I have often remonstrated with him about 
it," said Linton. " I've said, ' Remember how 
many there are interested in your downfall. One 
bullet through your forehead is a lease forever, 
rent-free, to many a man whose life is now one 
of grinding poverty.' But he is self-willed and 
obstinate. In his pride, he thinks himself a 
'match for any man — as if a rifle-bore and a 
percussion-lock /ike that, there, did not make 
the merest boy his eoual! Besides, he will not 



568 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



bear in mind that his is a life exposed to a thou- 
sand risks; he has neither family nor connec- 
tions interested in him; were he to be found 
dead on the roadside to-morrow, there is neither 
father nor brother, nor uncle nor cousin, to take 
up the inquiry Iiow he met his fate. The coroner 
would earn his guinea or two, and there would 
be the end of it!" 

" Did he ever do you a bad turn, Mr. Linton?" 
asked Keane, while he fixed his cold eyes on 
Linton with a stare of insolent effrontery. 

"Me! injure me.'' Never. He would have 
shown me many a favor, but I would not accept 
of such. How came you to ask this question?" 

"Because you seem so interested about his 
comin' home safe to-morrow evening," said Tom, 
with a dry laugh. 

"So I am!" said Linton, with a smile of strange 
meaning. 

" An' if he was to come to harm, sorry as you'd 
lie, you couldn't help it, sir?" said Keane, still 
laughing. 

'■ Ot course not; these mishaps are occurring 
every day, and will continue as long as the coun- 
try remains in its present state of wretchedness." 

Keane seemed to ponder over the last words, 
for he slouched his hat over his eyes, and sat 
with clasped hands and bent-down head for 
several minutes in silence. At last bespoke, but 
it was in a tone and with a manner whose earnest- 
ness contrasted strongly with his former levity. 

"Can't we speak openly, Mr. Linton.' — 
wouldn't it be best for both of us to say fairly 
what's inside of us this minit?" 

"I'm perfectly ready," »aid Linton, seating 
himself beside him; " I do not desire anything 
better than to show my confidence in a man of 
courage like yourself." 

" Then let us not be losin' our time," said the 
other, gruffly. " What's the job worth? that's the 
chat. What is it worth?" 

" You are certainly a most practical speaker," 
said Linton, laughing in his own peculiar way, 
" and clear away preliminaries in a very summary 
fashion." 

"If I'm not worth trustin', now," replied the 
other, doggedly, "ye"d betther have nothin' to 
say to me." 

'■ I did not mean that, nor anything like it, Tom. 
I was only alluding to your straightforward, busi- 
ness-like way of treating a subject which less 
vigorously-minded men would approach timidly 
and carefully." 

" Faix, I'd go up to him bouldly, if ye mane 
that!" cried tlie other, who misconceived the 
eulogy passed upon his candor. 

" I know it — well I know it," said Linton, en- 
couraging a humor he had thus casually evoked; 
for in the bloodshot eyes and flushed cheeks of 
the other, it was plain to see what was passing 
within him. 

" Do ye want it done? Tell me that— be fair 
and above-boord with me — do you want it done?" 

Linton was silent; but a slight, an almost im- 
perceptible motion of his brows made the reply. 

" And now, wliat's it worth?" resumed Tom. 

" To you," said Linton, speaking slowly, "it is 
worth much — everything. It is all the difference 



between poverty, suffering, and a gaol, and a 
life of ease and comfort either here or m America. 
Your little farm, that you hold at jjresent by the 
will, or rather the caprice of your landlord, be- 
comes your own forever; when I say forever, I 
mean what is just as good, since the estate will 
be thrown back into chancery; and it is neither 
_)'c^y children nor mine will see the end of that." 

"That's no answer to nic," said Keane, fixing 
his cold, steady stare on Linton's face. "I want 
to know — and I won't ax it again — what is it 
worth loyou?" 

"To ?He/ — to me/" said Linton, starting. 
"How could it be worth anything to me?" 

" You know that best yourself," said Tom, 
sulkily. 

" I am neither the heir to his estate, nor one 
of his remote kindred. If I see a fine pro]:)erty 
going to ruin, and the tenantry treated like gallev- 
slaves, I may, it is true, grieve over it; I may 
also perceive what a change- — a total and happy 
change — a mere accident might work; for, after 
all, just think of the casualties that every day 
brings forth -" 

" I hav'n't time for these thoughts, now," mut- 
tered Tom. 

"Always to the point — always thinking of the 
direct question!" said Linton, smiling. 

" 'Tisn't yer honer's falin', any how," said Tom, 
laughing sardonically. 

" You shall not say that of me, Tom," said 
Linton, affecting to relish the jocularity; " I'll 
be as prompt and ready as yourself. I'll wager 
you ten sovereigns in gold — there they are — that 
I can keep a secret as well as you can." 

As he spoke, he threw down the glittering 
pieces upon the step on which they sat. 

The peasant's eyes were bent upon the money 
with a fierce and angry expression, less betokening 
desire than actual hate. As he looked at them, 
his cheek grew red, and then pale, and red once 
more; his broad chest rose and fell like a swell- 
ing wave, and his bony fingers clasped each 
other in a rigid grasp. 

"There are twenty more where these came 
from," said Linton, significantly. 

"That's a high price — devil a lie in it!" mut- 
tered Tom, thoughtfully. 

Linton spoke not, but seemed to let the charm 
work. 

" A high price, but the 'dhrop' in Limerick is 
higher," said Tom, with a grin. 

" Perhaps it may be," rejoined Linton, care- 
lessly; "though I don't perceive how the fact 
can have any interest for you or me." 

" Begorra, ye're a bowld man, anyhow," said 
Keane, his savage nature struck with admiring 
wonder at the unmoved serenity of Linton's 
manner. 

" I'm a determined one," said Linton, who 
saw the necessity of impressing his companion; 
"and with such alone would I wish to act." 

" And where would you be, after it was all 
over, sir?" 

" Here, where I am at present, assisting the 
magistrates to scour the country — searching 
every cabin at Drumcoologan — draining ditches 
to discover the weapon, and arresting every man 



ROLAND CASHEL-. 



569 



tliat killed a pig and got blood on his corduroys 
for the last fortnight." 

" And where would / be?" asked Keane. 

" Here, too; exactly where you sit this moment, 
quietly waiting till the outcry was over. Nor 
need that make you impatient. I have said al- 
ready there is neither wife, nor sister, nor brother, 
nor child to take up the pursuit. There are forty 
people in the great house yonder, and there 
wouldn't be four of them left two hours after it 
was known, nor one out of the four that would 
give himself the trouble of asking how it hap- 
pened." 

"An' them's gentlemen .'" staA Keane, closing 
his lips and shaking his head sententiously. 

Linton arose; he did not over-fancy the turn 
of reflection Tom's remark implied: it looked 
too like the expression of a general condemnation 
of his class — at the very moment, too, when he 
was desirous of impressing him with the fullest 
trust and confidence in his own honor. 

" I believe it's safer to have nothin' to do with 
it," muttered Keane. 

"As you please, friend," replied Linton; "I 
never squeeze arfy man's conscience. You know 
best what your own life is." 

" Hard enough, that's what it is," said the 
other, bitterly. 

" You can also make a guess what it will be in 
future, when you leave this." 

A deep groan was all that he gave for answer. 

" For all that / know, you may have many 
friends who'll not see your wife and children 
begging along the roads, or sitting in a hole 
scooped out of a clay ditch, without food or fire, 
waiting for the fever to finish what famine has 
begun. You haven't far to seek for what I mean; 
about two hundred ^ards from that gate yonder, 
there's a group exactly like it." 

" Ye're a terrible man, that's the truth," said 
Tom, as he wiped the big drops of perspiration 
from his forehead. " Begorra I never seed 
your like afore!" 

" I told you that I was a determined man," said 
Linton, sternly; "and I'm sorry to see that's 
not what I should say of you." He moved a 
step or tvi'o as he spoke, and then turning care- 
lessly back, added, "Leave that money for me 
at ' The House,' this evening; I don't wish to 
carry gold about me on the roads here." And 
with this negligent remark he departed. 

Linton sauntered carelessly away; nothing in 
his negligent air and carriage to show that he 
was not lounging to kill the weary hours of a 
winter's day. No sooner, however, had he turned 
an angle of the road than he entered the wood, 
and with cautious steps retraced his way, till he 
stood within a few paces of where Keane yet sat, 
still and motionless. 

His hat was pressed down upon his brows, 
his hands were firmly clasped, and his head bent 
so as to conceal his features; and in this attitude 
he remained as rigidly impassive as though he 
were seized with a catalepsy. A few heavy 
drops of rain fell, and then a low growling roar 
of thunder followed, but he heeded not these 
signs of coming storm. The loud cawing of the 
rooks as they hastened homeward filled the air, 



but he never once lifted his head to watch them! 
Another crash of thunder was heard, and sud- 
denly the rain burst forth in torrents. Swoop- 
ing along in heavy drifts, it blackened the very 
atmosphere, and rushed in rivulets down the 
gravel walk; but still he sat, while the pelting 
storm penetrated his frail garments and soaked 
them through. Nor was it till the water lay in 
pools at his feet that he seemed conscious of the 
hurricane. Then rising suddenly, he shook him- 
self roughly, and entered the house. 

Linton's eyes were earnestly fixed upon the 
stone — he crept nearer to observe it. The 

MONEY WAS GONE. 



CHAPTER LVIII. 



LINTON IS BAFFLED — HIS RAGE AT THE DIS- 
COVERY. 

The mask is falling fast. — Harold. 

The day of the great masquerade arrived; 
and, from an early hour, the whole household was 
astir in preparing for the occasion. The court- 
yard was thronged with carriages of various 
sorts. Confectioners from London, table-deckers 
from Paris, were there, accompanied by all the 
insignia of tlieir callings. Great lumbering 
packing-cases were strewn about; while rich 
stuffs, rare exotics, and costly delicacies littered 
the stone benches, and even lay upon the pave- 
ment, in all the profusion of haste and reckless- 
ness. To see the rare and rich articles which 
were heaped on every side, almost suggested the 
notion that it was some gorgeous mansion which 
was put to pillage. There was that, too, in the 
lounging insolence of the servants, as they went, 
that favored the illusion. The wanton waste ex- 
hibited everywhere was the very triumph of that 
vulgar and vindictive spirit which prompts the 
followers of a spendthrift master to speed the 
current of his ruin. Such would seem to be the 
invariable influence that boundless profusion ex- 
ercises on the mind; and it is thus that affluence, 
unchastened by taste, unruled by principle, is 
always a corrupter! 

A light travelling-carriage, with a few articles 
of travelling use attached, stood in the midst of 
all this confusion; and shortly after day-dawn 
two gentlemen issued from the house, and taking 
their seats, drove hastily forth, and at full speed 
parsed down the avenue towards the high road. 

These were Cashel and Mr. Kennyfeck, who 
had made an appointment to meet Mr. Hoare at 
Killaloe and proceed with him to Drumcoologan, 
on which portion of the estate it was proposed to 
raise a considerable sum l)y mortgage. 

Some observation of Mr. Kennyfeck upon the 
wasteful exhibition of the scene in the court-yard, 
was met by a sharp and angry reply from Cashel; 
and these were both overheard as they issued 
forth — vague words, spoken thoughtlessly at the 
time, but to be remembered afterwards with a 
heavier significance than the speakers could have 
anticipated! As they hastened along, little was 



C70 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



said on either side; the trifling irritation of the 
first moment created a reserve, which deepened 
into actual coldness, as each following out his 
own thoughts took no heed of his companion's. 

Kennyfeck's mind was full of sad and gloomy 
forebodings. The reckless outlay he had wit- 
nessed for weeks back was more than a princely 
fortune could sustain. The trooi)s of useless 
servants, the riotous disorder of the houbehold, 
the unchecked, unbridled waste on every side, 
demanded supplies to raise which they were 
already reduced to loans at usurious interest. 
What was to come of such a career, save imme- 
diate and irretrievable ruin. 

As for Cashel, his reveries were even darker 
still. The whirlwind current of events seemed 
to carry him onward without any power of resist- 
ance. He saw his fortune wasted — his character 
assailed — his heart-offered proposal rejected — 
all at once, and as if by the influence of some 
evil destiny. Vigorous resolutions for the future 
■warred with fears lest that tiiey were made too 
late, and he sat with closed eyes and compressed 
lips, silent and sunk in meditation. 

Leaving them, therefore, to pursue a journey 
on which their companionship could scarcely 
afford much pleasure to the reader, let us turn to 
one who, whatever his other defects, rarely threw 
away the moments of his life on unavailing re- 
grets: this was Mr. Linton. If lie was greatly 
disappointed by the inform ition he gleaned when 
overhearing the conversation between Cashel and 
the doctor, lie did not suffer his anger either to 
turn him from his path, or distract him from his 
settled purpose. 

"To-day for ambition!" said he, "to-morrow 
revenge!" 

Too well accustomed to obstacles to be easily 
thwarted, he recognized life as a struggle wherein 
the combatant should never put off his armor. 

" She must and shall accept me as her husband; 
on that I am determined. A great game, and a 
gloriou.i stake, shall not be foiled for a silly girl's 
humor. Were she less high-flown in her notions, 
and with more of the 'world' about her, I might 
satisfy her scruples, that, of her affections — her 
heart as she would call it^-there is no question 
here. ' Je suis bon prince' — I never coerce my 
liege's loyalty. As to the old man, his dotage 
takes the form of intrepidity, so that it might be 
unsafe to use menace with him. The occasion 
must suggest the proper tactic." 

And with this shrewd resolve he set forth to 
pay his visit at the cottage. If in his step and 
air, as he went, none could have read the lover's 
^rdor, there was that in his proud carriage and 
glancing eye that bespoke a spirit revelling in its 
own sense of triumph. 

While Mr. Linton is thus pursuing his way, let 
us use the privilege of our craft by anticipating 
him, and taking a peep at that cottage interior in 
which lie is so soon to figure. Old Mr. Corrignn 
had arisen from his bed weary and tired; anight 
of sleepless care weighed heavily on him; and 
he sat at his untasted breakfast with all the out- 
ward signs of a sick man. 

Mary Leicester, too, was pale and sad-looking; 
and although she tried to wear her wonted smile. 



and speak with her accustomed tones, the heavy 
eyelids and the half-checked sighs that broke 
trom her at times betrayed how sad was the 
spirit from which they came. 

" I have been dreaming of that old nunnery at 
Bruges all night, Mary," said her grandfather, 
after a long and unbroken silence; "and you 
cannot think what a liold it has taken of my 
waking thoughts. I fancied that I was sitting in 
the little parlor, waiting to see you, and that, at 
last, a dark-veiled figure appeared at the grille, 
and beckoned me to approach. I hastened to 
do so, my heart fluttering with I know not what 
mixture of hope and fear — the hope, it might be 
you, and then the fear, stronger than even hope, 
that I should read sadness in that sv\eet face — 
sorrow, Mary — regret for leaving that w orld you 
never were to see more." 

" And was it me, dearest papa?" 

" No, Mary," said he, with a lower and more 
meaning tone, " it was another, one \\hom I never 
saw before. She came to tell me that — that" — 
lie faltered, and wiping a tear from his eyes, made 
an eft'ort to seem calm- — " that I had lost you, 
darling! lost by a separation darker and more 
terrible than even the iron bars of the nunnery 
can make And although I bethought me that 
you had but gone there, whither 1 myself was 
hastening, I felt sorrow-struck by the tidings. 
I had clung so long to the hope of leaving you 
behind me here, to enjoy that world of vliich all 
your affectionate care has denied you enjoyment 
— to know how, amidst its troubles and reverses, 
there are healing springs of love that recompense 
its heaviest inflictions — I cherished this wish fo 
long, so ardently, that I could not face the con- 
viction which told me it should never be." 

" Dearest papa, remember this was but a dream; 
bethink you, for an instant,'*that it was all unreal; 
that I am beside you, my hand in yours, my head 
upon your shoulder; that we are not parted, nor 
ever shall be." 

The tone of deep fervor in which she fpoke 
drew tears from the old man's eyes, and he turned 
away to hide them. 

"It was but a dream, as you say, Mary; but, do 
not my waking thoughts conjure up a future to 
the full as gloomy? A few months, at furthest, 
a year or so more — less sanguine prophets would 
perhaps say weeks — and where shall 1 be? and 
where you, Marv'" 

The old man's grief could no longer be re- 
strained, and it was in a perfect burst of sorrow 
the last words came forth. She would have 
spoken, but she knew not from what source lo 
draw consolation. The future, which to his eyes 
looked dark and lowering, presented an aspect no 
less gloomy to her own; and her only remedy 
against its depressing influence was to make her 
present cares occupy her mind, to the exclusion 
of every other thought. 

" And yet, Mary," said he, recovering some- 
thing of his habitual tone, "there is an alieinitive 
— one which, if we could accept of it from choice 
as freely as we mijjlit adopt it from convenience, 
would solve oiir difficulties at once. My heart 
misgives me, dearest, as I approach it. I tremble 
to think how far my selfishness may bias you^ — 



ROLAND CASH EL. 



571 



how thoughts of me. old and worthless as I am, 
may rise uppermost in your breast and gain the 
mastery, where other and very differenC feelings 
should prevail- I have ever been candid with 
you, my child, and I have reaped all the benefit 
of my frankness, let me then tell you all. An 
offer has been made for your hand, Mary, by one 
who, while professing the utmost devotion to you, 
has not forgotten your old grandfather. He asks 
that he should be one of us, Mary — a new partner 
in our firm — a new member in the little group 
around our hearth. He speaks like one who knew 
the ties that bind us most closely- — he talks of our 
home here as we ourselves might do — he has 
promised that we shall never leave it, too Does 
your heart tell you whom I mean, Mary? If 
not, if you have not already gone before me in 
all I have been saying, his visions of happiness 
are baseless fabrics. Be candid with me, as I 
have ever been with you. It is a question on 
which everything of the future hangs, say if you 
guess of whom I speak." 

Mary Leicester's cheek grew scarlet; she tried 
to speak, but could not; but with a look far more 
eloquent that words, she pressed the old man's 
hand to her lips, and was silent 

I was right then, Mary; you have guessed 
him. Now, my sweet child, there is one other 
confession you must make me, or leave me to di- 
vine it from that crimson cheek. Have his words 
found an echo in your heart?" 

The old man drew her more closely to his side, 
and passed his arm around her as he spoke; while 
she, with heaving bosom and bent-down head, 
seemed struggling with an agitation she could not 
master At last she said. 

" You have often told me, papa, that dispro- 
portion of fortune was an insurmountable obstacle 
to married happiness, that the sense of perfect 
equality in condition was the first requisite of 
that self-esteem which must be the basis of an af- 
fection free and untrammelled from all unworthy 
considerations." 

" Yes, dearest; I believe this to be true." 

" Then, surely, the present is not a case in 
point, for while there is wealth and influence on 
OB.- side, there are exactly the opposltes on the 
other. If he be in a position to make his choice 
among the great and titled of the land, my destiny 
lies among the lowly and the humble. What dis- 
parity could be greater?" 

" When I spoke of equalify " said the old man, 
"I referred rather to that of birth and lineage 
than to any other I meant that social equality 
by which uniformity of tastes and habits are re- 
gulated. There is no m/sa/liance where good 
blood runs on both sides." 

This was the tenderest spot in the old man's 
nature; the pride of family surviving every suc- 
cessive stroke of fortune, or, rather, rising supe- 
rior to them all. 

" I thought, moreover," said Mary, " that in 
his preference of me there was that suddenness 
which savored more of caprice than deep convic- 
tion. How should I reckon upon its lasting? What 
evidence have I that he cares for the qualities 
which will not change in me, and not for those 
which spring from youth and happiness.'' — for I 



am happy, dearest pa; so happy that, with all 
our trials and difficulties, I often accuse myself 
of levity — insensibility even — feeling so light- 
hearted as I do." 

The old man looked at her with rapture, and 
then pressed his lips upon her forehead. 

" From all this, then, I gather, Mary," said 
he, smiling archly, "that, certain misgivings apart, 
the proposition is not peculiarly disagreeable to 
you?" 

" I am sure I have not said so," said she, con- 
fusedly. 

" No, dearest; only looked it. But stay, I 
heard the wicket close — there is some one com- 
ing. I expected Tiernay on a matter of business. 
Leave us together, child; and, till we meet, think 
over what we've been saying. Rtmeniber, too, 
that although I would not influence your decision, 
my lieart would be relieved of its heaviest load 
if this could be." 

Mary Leicester arose hastily and retired, too 
happy to hide, in the secrecy of her own room, 
that burst of emotion which oppressed her, and 
whose utterance she could no longer restrain. 

Scarcely had she gone, when Linton crossed 
the grass-plot, and entered the cottage. A gentle 
tap at the door of the drawing-room announced 
him, and he entered. A more acute observer than 
Mr. Corrigan might have remarked that the def- 
erential humility so characteristic of his manner 
was changed for an air of more purpose-like de- 
termination. He came to carry a point by prompt- 
ness and boldness; and already his bearing an- 
nounced the intention. 

After a few words of customary greeting, and 
an inquiry more formal than cordial for Miss' 
Leicester's health, he assumed an air of solemn 
purpose, and said, 

" You will not accuse me of undue impatience, 
my dear Mr Corrigan, nor think nie needlessly 
pressing, if I tell you that I have come here this 
morning to learn the answer to my late proposi- 
tion. Circumstances have occurred at the Hall 
to make my remaining there, even another day, 
almost impossible. Cashel's last piece of conduct 
is of such a nature as to make his acquaintance 
as derogatory as his friendship." 

" What was it?" 

"Simply this. Lord Kilgoff has at length dis- 
covered, what all the world has known for many 
a day back; and, in his passionate indignation, 
the poor old man has been seized with a para- 
lytic attack." 

Mr. Corrigan passed his hand across hisbrovv', 
as if to clear away some terrible imagination, and 
sat then pale, silent, and attentive, as Linton 
went on.- 

" The most heartless is yet to come! While 
this old man lies stretched upon his bed — insen- 
sible and dying — this is the time Cashel selects 
to give a great entertainment, a ball, to above a 
thousand people. It is almost too much for be- 
lief — so I feel it myself. The palsied figure of 
his victim — his victim do I say? there are two; 
that miserable woman, who sits as paralyzed by 
terror as he is by disease — might move any man 
fro»i such levitv, but Cashel is superior to such 
timidity, Ire fancies, I believe, that this ruffian 



572 



ROLAND CASHEL, 



hardihood is manliness, that brutal insensibility 
means courage, and so lie makes his house the 
scene of an orgie, when his infamy has covered 
it with shame. I see how this affects you, sir. 
It is a theme on which I would never have 
touched did it not concern my own fortunes. 
For me, the acquaintance of such a man is no 
longer possible. For the sake of that unhappy 
woman, whom I knew in better days — to cover, 
as far as may be, the exposure that sooner or 
later must follow her fault — I am still here. You 
will, therefore, forgive my importunity if I ask 
if Miss Leicester has been informed of my 
proposal, and with what favor she deigns to re- 
gard it." 

" 1 have told my granddaughter, sir," said the 
old man, tremulously: " we have talked together 
on the subject; and while I am not able to speak 
positively of her sentiments towards you, it 
strikes me that they are assuredly not unfavor- 
able. The point is, however, too important to 
admit a doubt; with your leave, we will confer 
together once again." 

"Might I not be permitted to address the 
young lady myself, sir? The case too nearly 
concerns all my future happiness to make me 
neglect whatever may conduce to its accomplish- 
ment." 

The old man hesitated; he knew not well what 
reply to make. At length he said, 

" Be it so, Mr. Linton; you shall have this 
permission. I only ask, that before you do so, 
we should clearly and distinctly understand each 
other. IVe arc of the world, and can discuss its 
topics, man to man. With Aer, the matter rests 
on other and very different grounds." 

"Of course; so I understand the permission, 
sir," said Linton, courteously, "on the distinct 
understanding that her acceptance alone is 
wanting to fill up the measure of my wishes." 

" Is it necessary that I should repeat that I 
am totally destitute of fortune— that the humble 
means I possess expire with me, and that I am 
as poor in influence as in all else?" 

" I have sufficient for both, sir, for all that 
moderate wishes can desire. Pray do not add a 
word upon the subject." 

" I must be explicit, Mr. Linton, however 
wearisome to you the theme. You will pardon 
an old man's prolixity, in consideration for the 
motives which prompt it. We have absolutely 
nothing of our once powerful family, save the 
name and the escutcheon — mementoes to remind 
us of our fall! They did, indeed, say, some time 
back, that our title to the estate afforded strong 
grounds for litigation— that there were points of 

considerable importance " 

"May I interrupt you, sir!" said Linton, lay- 
ing his hand on Corrigan's arm. " A subject so 
full of regrets to you can never be a pleasing 
topic to me. I am fully as rich as a man like 
myself could desire; and I trust to personal ex- 
ertions for whatever I may wish to add in the 
way of ambition." 

"And with good reason, sir," said Corrigan, 
proudly. " There are no failures to those who 
unite honesty of purpose with line abilities. I 
will not add a word. Go — speak to my grand 



daughter; I tell you frankly my best wishes go 
with you." 

Linton smiled a look of deep gratitude, and 
moved towards the door. 

"One second more," cried Corrigan, as the 
other laid his hand on the lock; "it may soon 
be, that, as a member of our family, you would 
have the right to express a will on the subject 
we have been talking of. I would wish to say, 
that, as I have abandoned all desire to contest 
this question, I should equally expect the same 
line of conduct from you." 

" Can you doubt it, sir — oris it necessary that 
I should give my promise?" 

" I hoj^e and trust not. But having myself 
given a written pledge, under my own hand and 
seal, to Mr. Cashel, surrendering all right and 

title to this estate " 

" Who gave this?" said Linton, turning sud- 
denly round, and relinquishing his hold upon the 
lock of the door. " Who gave this?" 
" 1 gave it." 
" To whom?" 

" To Mr. Cashel, in the presence of his agent." 
"When?" exclaimed Linton, from whose pale 
features, now, intense agitation had banished all 
disguise. "When did you give it?" 
" Within a fortnight." 

"And this document — this release, was formal 
and explicit?" 

" Perfectly so. I knew enough of law to make 
it obligatory. I stated the conditions for which 
it was given — certain concessions that Mr. Cashel 
had lately granted me, respecting this small prop- 
erty." 

Linton sat down, and covered his face with 
both hands. The trouble of his feelings had 
carried him far away from all thought of con- 
cealment, and of the part which so long he had 
been playing. Indeed, so ii>sensib]e was he to 
every consideration save one, that he forgot Cor- 
rigan's presence — forgot where he was; and in 
the paroxysm of his baffled purpose, muttered 
half aloud broken curses upon the insane folly 
of the old man's act. 

" I am compelled to remind you, sir, that I am 
a listener," said Mr. Corrigan, whose face, suf- 
fused with a flush of anger, showed that the in- 
sulting remarks iiad been overheard by him. 

"And this was done without advice or consul- 
tation with any one?" said Linton, not heeding 
the last remark, nor the look that accompanied it. 
"I was free then, sir, to speak my gratitude, 
as I now am to utter my indignation that you 
should dare to canvass my acts and question my 
motives, both of which are above your control." 
Linton stared at him almost vacantly; his own 
thoughts, and not the old man's words, had pos- 
session of his mind. With a rapidity of compu- 
tation, in which few were his equals, he ran over 
all the varying chances of success which h;.d ac- 
companied his game — the pains he had taken to 
avert all causes of failure — the unwearying atten- 
tion he had given to every minute point and doubt- 
ful issue — and now, here, at the very last, came 
the ruin of all his plans, and wreck of all his 
hopes. 

" You have said enough- — more than enough, 



ROLAND CASH EL. 



573 



sir--to show me how disinterested were the 
views in which you sought my granddaughter in 
marriage,'' said Corrigan, haughtily; "'nor would 
it much surprise me, now, were I to discover 
that he who is so skilful a double-dealer, may be 
no less expert as a calumniator. I will beg you 
to leave my house this instant." 

" Not so fast, sir," said Linton, assuming a 
seat, and at once regaining that insolent com- 
posure for which he was noted; "I have not 
that generous warmth of character which is so 
conspicuous in you. I have never given Mr. 
Cashel a release of any obligation I possess upon 
him. This house is mine, sir — mine by legal 
transfer and right; and it is you who are the in- 
truder!" 

The old man staggered backwards, and leaned 
against the wall — a clammy perspiration covered 
his face and forehead, and lie seemed sick to the 
very death. It was some time before he could 
even utter a word; and then, as with clasped 
hands and uplifted eyes he spoke, the fervor of 
his words told that they were heart-spoken. 
"Thank God for this! but for it, and I had 
given my child to a scoundrel!" 

"Scarcely polite, sir, and, perhaps, scarcely 
politic," said Linton, with his treacherous half 
smile. "It would be as well to bear in mind how 
we stand toward each other." 

"As enemies, open and declared," cried Cor- 
rigan, fiercely. 

" I should say as creditor and debtor," said 
Linton; "but probably we are speaking in syn- 
onyms. Now, sir, a truce to this altercation, for 
which I have neither time nor taste. Tell me 
frankly, can you obtain repossession of this un- 
lucky document which in an ill-starred moment 
you parted with? If you can, and will do so, I 
am willing to resume the position I occupied to- 
wards you half an hour ago. This is plain 
speaking, I am aware; but how much better than 
to bandy mock courtesies, in which neither of 
us have any faith! We are both men of the 
world — I, at least, have no shame in saying that I 
am such. Let us then be frank and business- 
like." 

"You have at last filled up the measure of 
your insults, sir," said Corrigan, fiercely; "you 
have dared to speak of me as of yourself." 

"It is a compliment I have not paid a great 
many, notwithstanding," replied Linton, with a 
languid insolence of manner that contrasted 
strongly with the other's natural warmth; "and 
there are people in this world would accept it as 
a flattery; but once more I say, let us abandon 
this silly squabble. Will you, or will you not, 
accept my proposal ? I am ready to purchase 
the wreck as she lies upon the rocks, wave-tossed 
and shattered. Is it not better to give me the 
chance of floating her, than see her go to pieces 
before your eyes, and drift piecemeal into the 
wide ocean?" 

" Leave me, sir — leave me!" was all the old 
man could utter. 

" If I take you at vour word," said Linton, 
rising, " remember that the last gleam of hope for 
you departs when I close that door behind me. 
I warn you that I am little given to relenting." 



" Insolent scoundrel !" cried Corrigan, carried 
away by indignation. 

"Unhandsomely spoken, old gentleman; such 
words are ill-befitting grey hairs and palsied 
hands; but I forgive them. I repeat, however, 
my nature is not over-disposed to forgiveness. 
An injury with me is like a malady that leaves 
its mark beliind it. The day may come when 
all your entreaties, aided even by the fair suppli- 
cations of a more gentle penitent — — " 

" If you dare, sir!" cried Corrigan, interrupt- 
ing; and the insolence — schooled and practised 
in many a trial — quailed before the look and 
gesture of the old man. 

"You shall have your choice, then," said 
Linton. "From henceforth you will have to 
confess that I am not a secret enemy." And so 
saying he opened the sash which led into the 
garden and passed out, leaving Corrigan over- 
come by emotion and almost panic-stricken. 

The deceptions which are practised on youth 
are seldom attended with lasting influence; but 
when they fall upon a heart chilled and saddened 
by age they are stunning in their effect, and 
seldom, or never, admit of relief. 



CHAPTER LIX. 



GIOVANNI UNMASKED. 



Can sight aiid hearing — even touch deceive? 
Or is this real? 

—Play. 

Probably, in all his varied life, Cashel had 
never passed a day less to his satisfaction than 
that spent at Drumcoologan. His mind, already 
tortured by anxieties, was certainly not relieved 
by the spectacle that presented itself to his 
eyes. The fearful condition of a neglected Irish 
property, where want, crime, disease, and destitu- 
tion were combined, was now seen by him for the 
first time. There was one predominant ex- 
pression on and over everything — " Despair." 
The almost roofless cabin — the scarce-clad chil- 
dren — the fevered father stretched upon his bed 
of clay — the starving mother, with a dying in- 
fant at her bosom— passed before him like the 
dreadful images of a dream. And then he was 
to hear from his agent, that these were evils for 
which no remedy existed; "there had always 
been fever in Ireland;" "dirt they were used to;" 
want of clothing had become " natural" to them; 
falsehood was the first article of their creed; their 
poverty was only fictitious: this one, owned 
several cows; the other, had money in a savings 
bank; and so on. In fact, he had to hear 
that every estate had its plague-spot of bad 
characters, where crime and infamy found a 
refuge; and that it might be poor morality, but 
good policy, to admit of the custom. 

Confused bv contradictory statements, wearied 
by explanations, to understand which nothing 
short of a lifelong should have passed in study- 
ing the people — imposed upon by some, unjust 
towards others — he listened to interminable dis- 
cussions without one gleam of enlightenment — - 



;574 



ROLAND CASH EL. 



and what is far worse, without one ray of hope; 
tlie only piece of satisfaction he derived from 
ithe visit being, that Hoare had consented to ad- 
vance a sum of money upon mortgage of the 
the property, which, in his secret soul, Cashel re- 
solved should be a purchase, and not a mere 
loan. The object he had in view was to buy off 
Linton's claim upon the cottage; and having 
settled all his most pressing debts, to retire for 
some years to the continent, till a sufficient suin 
should have accumulated to permit hiiti to re- 
commence his life as a country gentleman, in a 
manner and with views very different from what 
he had hitherto done. He hoped, by travel, to 
improve his mind and extend his knowledge; he 
trusted that, by observing the condition of the 
peasant in different countries of Europe, he 
might bring back with him certain suggestions 
applicable to his own tenantry; and, at all events, 
he determined that the resources of his large 
fortune should no longer be squandered in 
meaningless debauch, so long as real destitution 
and grinding misery lay at his very door. He 
made many a good and noble resolve, and, like 
most men in such cases, with youth on their side, 
he was impatient to begin to act upon them'. 

It was, then, with a feeling like that of a liber- 
ated prisoner, he heard from Mr. Kennyfeck, that 
although Mr. Hoare and himself had yet many 
preliminaries to arrange, which might detain 
them several hours longer, he might now return 
homevyard to Tubbermore, where his company 
were doubtless in anxious expectation of his 
coming. There were two roads which led to 
Diuaicoologan: one, was a species of carriage- 
road, by which they had come that morning; the 
other, was a mere bridle-path over the mountain, 
and though shorter in mileage, required fully as 
much time, if not more, to travel. Refusmg the 
assistance of a guide, and preferring to be alone, 
he set out by himself, and on foot, to pursue the 
way homeward. 

It was the afternoon of a sharp, clear winter's 
day, when the bracing air and the crisp atmos- 
phere elevate the spirits, and make exercise the 
most pleasurable of stimulants; and as Cashel 
went along, he began to feel a return of that 
buoyancy of heart which had been so peculiarly 
his own in former days. The future, to which 
his hape already lent its bright colors, was 
rapidly erasing the past, and in the confidence 
of his youth he was fashioning a hundred 
schemes of lite to come. 

The path along which he travelled lay between 
two bleak and barren mountains, and followed 
the course of a little rivulet for several miles. 
There was not a cabin to be seen; not a trace of 
vegetation brightened the dreary picture: not a 
sheep, nor even a goat, wandered over the wild 
expanse. It was a solitude the most perfect that 
could be conceived. Roland often halted to look 
around hi in, and each time his eye wandered to 
a lofty peak of rock on the very summit of the 
mountain, and where something stood which he 
fancied might be a human figure. Although 
gifted with strong power of vision, the great height 
prevented his feeling any degree of certainty; so 
that he abandoned the effort, and proceeded on 



his way for miles without again thinking on the 
subject. At last, as he was nearing the exit of 
the glen, he looked up once more: the cliff was 
now perceptible in its entire extent, and tlie figure 
was gone! He gave no further thoiight to the 
circumstance, but seeing that the day was de- 
clining fast, increased his speed, in order to reach 
the high road before night closed in. Scarcely 
had he proceeded thus more than half a mile, 
when he perceived, full in front of him, about a 
couple of hundred yards distant, a man seated 
upon a stone beside the pathway. Cashel had 
been too long a wanderer in the wild regions of 
the" Far West," not to regard each new comer as 
at least a possible enemy. His prairie experience 
had taught him that men do not take their stand 
in lonely and unfrequented spots without an ob- 
ject; and so, without halting, which might have 
awakened suspicion in the other, he managed to 
slacken his pace somewhat, and thus gave him- 
self more time for thought. He well knew that in 
certain parts of Ireland, landlord murder had be- 
come frequent; and although he could not charge 
himself with any act which should point him out 
as a victim, his was not a mind to waste in casu- 
istry the moments that should be devoted more 
practically. He was perfectly unarmed, and this 
consideration rendered him doubly cautious. 
The matter, however, jiad but few i.=sues. To 
go back would beabsurd; to halt wherehewas, still 
more so. There was nothing, then, for it, but to 
advance; and he continued to do so, calmly and 
warily, till about twenty paces from the rock where 
the other sat, still and immovable. Then it was 
that, dropping on one knee, the stranger threw 
back a cloak that he wore, and took a deliberate 
aim at him. 

The steady precision of the attitude was enough 
to shovv Cashel that the man was well versed in 
the use of fire-arms. The distance was short, 
also, and the chance of escape, consequently, the 
very smallest imaginable. Roland halted, and 
crossing his arms u])on his breast, stood to receive 
the fire exactly as he would have done in a duel. 
The other never moved; his dark eye glanced 
along the barrel without blinking, and his iron 
grasp held the weapon still pointed at Cashel's 
heart. 

" Fire!" cried Roland, with the loud utterance 
he would have used in giving the word of com- 
mand; and scarcely was it spoken when the rific 
was flung to the earth, and, springing to his feet, 
a tall and muscular man advanced with an out- 
stretched hand to meet him. 

" Don't you know me yet, Roland ?" cried a 
deep voice in Spanish; "not remember your 
comrade?" 

" What!" exclaimed Cashel, as he rubbed his 
eyes and shook himself as if to ensure he was 
not dieaming. "This is surely ini])ossible! you 
cannot be mv old friend and i-hipmale Enrique!" 

"That am I, my boy," cried the other, throw- 
ing his arms around him and embracing iiim in 
true Mexican fashion, " your own comrade for 
many a year, who has sailed with yon, fought 
with you, drunk with you, played with you, and 
swears now tliat he wishes for nothing but the 
old limes over again." 



ROLAND CASH EL. 



57S 



"But how came you here? and when? By 
what chance did you discover me?" said Roland, 
as he clasped the other's hand in both his 
own. 

" 'Tis a long story, 'amigo mio,' hut you shall 
have it all, one of these days." 

" True; there will be time enough to tell it, for 
you shall not leave me, Enrique. I was longing 
for a face of an old comrade once again — one of 
the old Esmeralda s, with whom my happiest days 
were passed." 

"I can well believe it," said Enrique; "and it 
was to see if wealtii had not sapped your courage, 
as I know it has your high spirits, that I took 
aim at you, a while ago. Had you quailed, 
Roland, I almost think I could have pulled tke 
trigger." 

" And I had well deserved it, too," said Cashel, 
sternly. " But let us hasten forward. Enrique, 
I am longing to see an old friend beneath my 
roof— longing to see you seated opposite to me, 
and answering the hundred questions about 
old friends and times that are thronging to my 
mind." 

"No, Roland, my way lies thither," said he, 
pointing towards the west; " I have been too 
long your guest already." 

" Hovif do you mean?" cried Roland, in amaze- 
ment. 

"Simply, that for seven weeks I have lived 
beneath your roof. The narrative is too long 
for a moment like this; but enough if I tell you 
that it was a plot of Maritana's, who, had I not 
acceded to the notion, would have disguised her- 
self and come hither, to watch and see with her 
own eyes how you played the great man. To 
save her from such a step, when all persuasion 
failed, I came here as the sailor Giovanni." 

" You, Giovanni?" 

"Ay, Roland, and if wealth had not blinded 
'you so effectually, you had soon seen through the 
counterfeit. As Giovanni, I saw your daily life 
— the habits of your household — the sterling worth 
apd fidelity of the men you made your friends; 
and let me tell you, Cashel, our old associates of 
the 'Villa de las Noches' were men of unblem- 
ished honor compared with those well-bred com- 
panions of your prosperity. Often and often 
have I been upon the brink of declaring myself, 
and then, have I held back, sometimes from a 
curiosity to see the game played out, sometimes 
anxious to know how far this course of treachery 
might be carried on without its awakening your 
suspicions. At length, I actually grevv weary of 
seeing you the 'dupe.' I almost ceased to feel 
interest in one who could be imposed upon with 
such slender artifice. I forgot, Roland, that I 
was the looker-on, and not the player of the 
game. It was in this mood of mind I had half 
determined to leave your house, and suffer you 
to . go down the stream as chance might pilot, 
when I discovered that treachery had taken a 
higher flight than I suspected; and that, not con- 
tent with the slow breaching of your fortune by 
play and reckless waste, your utter ruin, your very 
beggary had been, compassed !" 

Cashel started back, and grasped the other's 
arm tightly, but never spoke. 



" Are you still so infatuated as not to guess the 
traitor?" cried Enrique. 

" You mean Linton?" 

"Ido." 

"But are you certain of what you speak? 
or do you mistake the cunning devices of a 
subtle mind for the darker snares of downright 
treachery?" 

"You shall hear," said Enrique. "Sit down 
here upon this stone. I have some hours before 
I sail. The vessel leaves Limerick to-morrow 
for Naples; and thither I am bound, for Mari- 
taiia is there. No, no, my dear friend, you must 
not ask me to stay; I have remained longer than 
I ought; but 1 waited for the time when 1 might 
be able to recompense you for having thus ]jla)ed 
the spy upon your actions. Hear me out patiently 
now, for that hour is come." 

As Cashel seated himself beside Enrique, it 
was only by a great- effort he could compose him- 
self to listen, when a hundred questions came 
thronging to his mind, and doubts and inquiries; 
of every possible kind, demanded explanation. 

"I will not waste your time nor my own by 
dwelling upon your losses at play. I may on6 
day or other amuse you, by showing how little 
chance our old Columbian friends woidd ha\ e had 
against these honorable and right honorable swind- 
lers. That you should be the mark for artifice, 
is natural enough; but I have little ))atience with 
vour blindness in not seeing it. From the first 
liour of your arrival here, Linton set a watch upon 
your doings. Phillis was his principal agent. But 
even upon him Linton had his spies — myself 
among the number. Ay, Roland, I was perhaps 
the only one he trusted ! As I have said, Linton 
marked every step you took, heard all you said," 
read every letter that reached you. Every night 
it was his practice, at a certain hour when you 
repaired to the cottage, to enter your dressing- 
room by a secret door that led from the theatre; 
and then, at his leisure, he ransacked your papers, 
examined your correspondence, searched through 
all the documents which concerned your estate, 
possessing himself of information on every point 
of your circumstances. Nor was this all, he ab- 
stracted papers of value from amongst them, well 
knowing the carelessness of your habits, and with 
what little risk of detection his boldest darings 
were attended. I studied him long and closely. 
For a great while I could not detect the clue to 
his proceedings. 1 even at one time ascribed all 
to jealousy, for he was jealous of the favor by' 
which Lady Kilgoff distinguished you. This, 
however, could not explain all I saw, for it was 
on the subject of your fortune his deepest interest 
was excited. At last came his first move, and the 
whole game disclosed itself before me. There 
lay upon vour table for several days a deed con- 
cerning the cottage where the old gentleman 
resided with his daughter. This, Linton, to my 
surprise, did not take away, but simply contented 
himself by placing it in such a prominent posi- 
tion as would in all likelihood attract your notice. 
To no purpose, however; you would seem to have 
tossed it over, among other papers, without atten- 
tion. He went a step further; he broke the seal, 
and left the enclosure half open. Still it lay un- 



676 



ROLAND CASH EL, 



minded. The next night he carried it off, but 
you never missed it." 

" Nor was it of any consequence," broke in 
Cashel. " It was never perfected, and had neither 
my signature nor my seal." 

" Are you certain of that?" said Enrique, smil- 
ing dubiously. 

"I could swear to it." 

" Look here, then," said the other, as he drew 
forth a pocket-book, from the folds of which lie 
took a heavy package, and opened it before 
Cashel. " Is that name, there — that signature, 
'Roland Cashel,' yours?" 

Cashel stared at the writing without speaking; 
his hands trembled as tliey held the paper, and 
his very frame shook with agitation. 

"I never wrote it!" cried he, at last, with an 
effort almost convulsive. 

"Yet, see if it be not witnessed; there are the 
names and addresses of two persons." 

" It is a forgery; a clever one, I own, but still 
a forgery. I never signed that paper — never saw 
it till this instant." 

'"Well," said Enrique, slowly, "I scarcely ex- 
pected so much of memory from you. It is true 
as you say, you never did sign it; but / did." 

"You, Enrique? — you?" exclaimed Cashel. 

" Yes, Roland. I accompanied Linton to 
Limerick at his request, dressed to personate 
yau. We were met at the hotel by two persons 
summoned to witness this act of signature, of the 
meaning of which I, of course, appeared to know 
nothing — nor did I, indeed, till long afterwards, 
discover the real significance." 

"And how came you by it eventually!" 

" By imitaiing Linton's osvn proceedings. I 
saw that for security be placed it in an iron box, 
which he carried with him to Limerick, and which 
contained another document of apparently far 
greater value. This casket was long enough in 
my company on that morning to enable me to 
take a model of the key, by which I afterwards 
had another made, and by means of which I ob- 
tained possession of both these papers — for here 
is the other." 

" And when did you take them?" 

"About an hour ago. I saw that this drama 
was drawing to a finish. I knew that Linton's 
schemes were advancing more rapidly than I 
could follow; his increased confidence of manner 
proved to me his consciousness of strength, and 
yet I could neither unravel his cunning nor de- 
tect his artifice. Nothing then remained but to 
carry off these papers; and, as the hour of my own 
departure drew nigh, there was no time to lose. 
There they are both. I hope you will be a more 
careful despositary than you have been hitherto." 

" .\nd where is Linton?" cried Roland, his 
passionate eagerness for revenge mastering every 
otlier feeling. 

"Still your guest. He dines and does the 
honors of your board to-day, as he did yesterday, 
and will to-morrow." 

" Nay, by my oath, that he will never do more! 
The man is no coward, and he will not refuse me 
the amende I'll ask for." 

" Were he on hoard, it is a loop and a leap 
I'd treat him to," said Enrique. 



" So should I, perhaps," said Cashel, "but the 
circumstances change with the place. Here he 
shall have the privilege of the class he has be- 
longed to and disgraced." 

" Not a bit of it, Roland. He is an average 
member of the guild; the only difference being, 
with more than average ability. These fellows 
are all alike. Leave them, I say. Come and 
rough it with me in the Basque, where a gallant 
band are fighting for the true sovereign; or let 
us have another dash in the far West, where the 
chase is as the peril and glory of war, or what 
say you to the East? a Circassian saddle and a 
scimitar would not be strange to us. Choose 
your own land, my boy, and let us meet this day 
month at Cadiz." 

"But why leave me, Enrique? I never 
had more need of a true-hearted friend than 
now." 

" No. I cannot stay; my last chance of seeing 
Maritana depends on my reaching Naples at 
once; and as to your affair with Linton, it will be 
one of those things of etiquette, and measured 
distance, and hair-trigger, in which a rough sailor 
like myself would be out of place." 

" And Maritana — tell me of her. They said 
that Rica had come to England." 

" Rica! He dared not set foot on shore here. 
The fellow has few countries open to him now: 
nor is it known where he is." 

" And is she alone? Is Maritana unprotected?" 

"Alone, but not unprotected. The girl -nho 

has twice crossed the Cordilleras with a rif^e on 

her shoulder, need scarcely fear the insults of 

the coward herd that would molest her." 

" But licw is she living? In what rank— among 
what associates?" 

" I only know that she maintains a costly re- 
tinue at the 'Albeigo Reale;' thai her equipages, 
her servants, her liveries, bespeak wealth wilhciit 
limit. She is a mystery to the city she inhabits. 
So much have 1 heard from others; from herself, a 
few lines reached me at Die])pe, begging me to 
see you, and— you will scarcely believe it — asking 
for a release from that bond of betrothal that 
passed between you — as if it could signify any- 
thing." 

" Was the freedom thus obtained to be used in 
your favor, Enrique?" 

The other grew purple, and it was a few sec- 
onds before he could answer " No! that is over 
forever. She has refused me as one so much 
below her, that the very thought of an alliance 
would be degn.daion. The sailor — the buccan- 
eer — raise his eyes to her whom princes seek in 
vain? I go now to say my last farewell: as long 
as there dwells upon my mind the slenderest 
chance of meeting iier, so long willho]:e linger 
in my heart: not the high hope that spirits one 
to glorious enterprise, but that feverish anxiety 
that unnerves the courage and shakes the purpose. 
I cannot endure it any longer." 

" Remain with me, then, for a day — for two at 
furthest — and we will go together to Naples." 
" Do not ask me, Roland. Some accident — 
some one of these chances which befall each hour 
of life— might delay us; and then, I might ne\er 
see her more. She is to leave Naples by the end 



ROLAND CASH EL. 



577 



of the month, but to go whither, or how, she will I 
not tell. Promise me to follow. Let us meet 
there; and then, if the world has not a faster hold 
upon you than I deem it h;is, we'll seek our for- \ 
tune together in new lands. What say you? is it 
a bargain?" 

" Agreed," said Roland. " I'll leave this with- 
in a week, without it be my fate to quit it never. 
Let us rendezvous at Naples, then; and fortune 
shall decide what after." 

" How hundreds of things press upon my 
mind, all of which, when I am gone, will be re- 
membered, but which now are confusedly 
mingled up together! What warnings I meant to 
have given youl what cautions! and now I can 
think of nothing." 

" I have room for but one thought," said 
Cashel, sternly: " it is a debt which every hour 
unpaid increases by a tenfold interest." 

" It need not weigh long upon your conscience. 
Linton wears the dress of a grandee of Spain 
to-night; but he'll conceal it from time to time 
beneath a plain brown domino with yellow cape. 
Do not mix with vour company on arriving, but 
wait till about twelve o'clock in your room, and 
you'll hear him as he enters his own: then, with- 
out risk of disturbance, you can see him; or, if 
you like it better, send another to him. Should 
he be the man you suppose, the whole can be 
easily arranged by the light of morning." 

" And so it shall be," said Cashel in a deep low 
voice. 

" If this life of luxury has not unsteadied your 
finger, I'd not take his place for half your for- 
tune." 

A short motion of the head from Cashel 
seemed to concur with this speech. 

" How I wish you were to be with me, En- 
rique!" said he, after a silence of some minutes. 

"So should I, Roland; but you will not need 
me: were there two to bring to reckoning, I'd 
stay, cost what it might. And here we say fare- 
well." They had walked together, during this 
colloquy, to the high road, which on one side leads 
towards I'ubbermore, and on theotherto Limerick. 

Cashel held his comrade's hand fast clasped 
in his own, without speaking. The sense of iso- 
lation had never struck him so forcibly as now 
that, having met an old and attached friend, he 
was about to part with him so suddenly. It ap- 
peared to darken his solitude into something 
more lonely still. 

"I'd have thought that all this wealth had 
made you happier," said Enrique, as he gazed 
at the sorrow-struck features of his friend. 

" Neither happier nor better," said Roland, 
mournfully. 

"There! see yonder," cried Enrique, "where 
you see the lamps flashing; those are the car- 
riages of your gay company. Remember that 
you are the host to-nigh'; and so, good bye." 

" Good-bye, my old comrade." 

" One word more," said Enrique. " Be not 
weak-hearted — trust none of them — they are 
false, every one: some from envy; some from 
treachery; some from that fickleness that they 
fancy to be knowledge of life; but all are alike. 
And so, till we meet again at Naples." 



"At Naples," echoed Cashel; and, with head 
bent down, pursued his way homeward. 



CHAPTER LX. 



TIERNAY INTIMIDATED — THE ABSTRACTED DEEDS. 



Warmth may suit the gen'rous fool; 
The deeper knave must aye be cool. 



-Bell. 



Rapidly as carriage after carriage rolls up 
the broad approach to Tubbermore, the lamps 
flashing and glittering through the dark wood, 
we must beg of our reader to turn back a few 
hours in our history, and follow the steps of Mr. 
Linton, as, leaving the cottage, he turned towards 
the " Great House." 

Probably, to a mind constituted like his, there 
could be no more poignant sense of sorrow and 
regret than that exi)erienced in consequence of 
a sudden and irrepressible burst of passion. It 
was a great fault — the greatest he could commit 
In justice to him, we will own it was of the very 
rarest in occurrence. His outbreaks of anger, 
like his moments of calm, were all studied be- 
forehand: and nothing short of a catastrophe, un- 
expected and overwhelming, could have sur- 
prised him into the fatal excess of which his in- 
terview with Corrigan was an instance. 

If repentance could have compensated for his 
sin, assuredly the offence might have been 
effaced from the tablet of his misdeeds. Never 
was sorrow more true, heartfelt, and cutting. 
He called none of his accustomed casuistry to aid 
him in softening down his fault; he saw it in all 
the breadth of its enormity, as a foul blot upon 
that system of deceit in which years of practice 
had made him so perfect. He felt compromised 
by himself; and possibly, to a cunning man, this 
is the bitterest of all self-reproaches. 

Very little consideration was needed to show 
that, so far as Corrigan went, reconciliation was 
impossible. He knew the old man too well to 
have a doubt upon that subject. What, then, 
was to be done? In which was the most profit- 
able channel to turn the stream of coming events? 
Were Cashel a man of different mould, there 
would be no price too high to pay for that docu- 
ment which stood between him and his title to 
the estate. It was all the difference between 
rank and obscurity — between wealth and want — 
between the condition of an estated gentlemgn 
and the assumption of a mere pretender. Wide 
as the alternatives lay, Linton knew they would 
not affect Cashel's mind. He foresaw clearly that, 
in a burst of his " most virtuous probity," he would 
declare Corrigan the rightful owner of the estate, 
and walk forth into the world as poor as when he 
began it. With Cashel, therefore, all treaty would 
be impossible. The next consideration was, 
what terms might be made with Corrigan through 
Tiernay. The rough frankness of the old doctor 
had always been reckoned by Linton as a com- 
monplace trick of certain coarse minds, to 
simulate honesty and straightforwardness. He 
believed that mankind consisted of but two cale- 



578 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



gories — the knave and tlie fool: lie who was not 
one, must necessarily be the other. Now, an 
acute study of Tiernay persuaded him that he 
was a shrewd, sound-headed man, whose very 
[)rofes3ion had trained liim into habits of investi- 
g.ition; and thouglU there could be litttle doubt, 
therefore, nito which class he fell. 'There was, 
moreover, this advantage in treating with him, 
that neither personal feeling nor pride of station 
would interfere with the negotiation; he would 
entertain the question in the simple light of a 
bargain— so much for so inuch. The unlucky 
release of all claim upon their property was, of 
course, to be thought of — as deteriorating, if not 
altogether invalidating, the title; but of this it 
might be possible, perhaps, to obtain possession, 
Cashel's papers must be ransacked throughout; it 
was very unlikely that he had taken an' unusual 
care of it, so that Linton was far from supposing 
that this would present a serious difficulty. But 
■ why had he not thought of this before? Why 
had he suffered his disappointment to blind him 
to what was so palpable?" "So much for think- 
ing the game won ere it is finished," exclaimed 
he; " but who would have thought Linton should 
make this blunder?" 

To treat with Tiernay, tnen, realized every 
advantage he could think of. It offered the 
prospect of better terms, an easier negotiation; 
and it presented one feature of inestimable merit 
in his eyes — it afforded the means of gratifying 
his hatred against Cashel, without the vengeance 
costing him anything. This thought, for a while, 
left him incapable of entertaining every other. 
Cashel reduced to poverty— humiliated to the 
position of an adventurer who had obtained a 
l)roperty under false pretences — was a picture he 
could never weary of contemplating. What a 
glorious consummation of revenge, could he have 
involved one other in the ruin!— if Laura had 
been the companion of his fall! But that scheme 
had failed: a friendship — a perilous one, 'tis 
true — had sprung up where Linton had sowed 
the seeds of a very different passion; and nothing 
remained but to involve them both in the disgrace 
and ruin which a separation and its conseqences 
couiJ inflict. " Even this," thought he, " will now 
bj no trifling penalty — the ' niill'ionnaire' Roland 
Cashel would have conferred an dclat on the fall, 
that would become ludicrous when associated 
with the name of a mere adventurer." 

If thoughts of these vengeances afforded the 
most intense pleasure to his vindictive inind, 
there came, ever and anon, deep regrets at the 
loss of that greater game for which he had planned 
and plotted so anxiously. That noble fortune 
which he had almost held within his grasp— that 
high station from which he would have known 
how to derive all its advantages — the political 
pisition he had so long ambitioned — were now 
all to flit from before his eyes like the forms of a 
dream, unreal and impossible. 

So intently had he pursued these various 
reasonings, that he utterly forgot everything of 
his late interview with Tom Keane; and wlien 
the i-emembrance did flash upon him, the effect 
wis almost stunning. The crime would now be 
useless, so far as regarded Linton's own advan- 



tage. Mary Leicester could never be his wife: 
why, then, involve himself, however remotely, in 
a deed as profitless as it was perilous? No time 
should be lost about this. He must see Keane im- 
mediately, and dissuade him from the attempt. 
It would be easy to assure him that the whole 
was- a misconception — a mistake of meaning. It 
was not necessary to convince — it was enough to 
avert the act; but this must be done at once. 

So reflecting, Linton took liis way to the gate- 
lodge, which lay a considerable distance off. 
The space afforded much time for thought, and 
he was one whose thoughts travelled fast. His 
plans were all matured and easy of accomplisii- 
ment. After seeing Keane, he would address a 
a few lines to Tiernay, requesting an interview 
on the following morning. That night, he re- 
solved, should be his last at Tubbermore; the 
masquerade had, as may be conjectured, few 
charms for one who.se mind was charged with 
heavier cares, but still it would give him an 
occasion to whisper about his scandal on Lady 
Kilgoff, and, later on, give him the opportunity of 
searching Cashel's papers for that document he 
wished to obtain. 

On reaching the gate-lodge, under pretence of 
lighting his cigar he entered the house, where 
in all the squalid misery of their untraciable 
habits, Keane's wife sat, surrounded by her rag- 
ged cliildrcn. 

" Tom is at work, I suppose?" said he, care- 
lessly. 

" No, yer honer; he went out early this morn- 
ing to look after a little place for us, as the 
master is goin' to turn us out." 

"I'm sorry for that," said he, compassionately ; 
" land is dear, and hard to be got now-a-days. 
Why don't he go to America?" 

" Indeed, an' I don't know, sir. They say it's 
the asy place to gain a livin'; fine pay, and little 
to do for it." 

Linton smiled at an encomiimi for whose ac- 
curacy he would not have vouched, and then 
tried to ascertain, in the same careless fashion, 
in what direction Keane had gone; but tne 
woman could not tell. She believed it was by 
the high road, but could not be certain, since he 
had left the house shortly after daybreak. 

Linton sauntered out in deep thought. It was 
evident enough to him what the object of that 
journey was: it needed rio clue to track his path. 
It was strange; but now, when the deed was not 
to secure any future benefits to himself, it ap- 
peared before his eyes in all tlie glaring colors of 
its criminality. It was a cold-blooded and use- 
less crime, and he actually shuddered as he 
thought upon it. 

Although he well knew that it would not be 
possible to connect him in any way with the act, 
his conscience made him restless and uneasy, and 
he would have given much that he had never 
mooted it. It was too late, however, now, to 
think of these things; were he to mount his 
horse and follow the fellow Keane, the chances 
of coming up with him were few. The man 
would inevitably have concealed himself till the 
very moment came; and were Linton to be pres- 
ent at such a time, the fact of his presence 



ROLAND CASH EL 



579 



might, in such a remote and unfrequented spot, 
give rise to the very worst suspicions. " Be it 
so," said lie at iengtli, and vvitli the tone of one 
who left the issue to fortune. He found himself 
now upon tile high road, and remembering tliat 
lie was not far from Tiernay's house, resolved on 
making a visit to the doctor in person. It might 
so happen hereafter that a question would arise 
where he had passed the morning. There was 
no saying what turn events might take, and it 
would be as well were he able to show that he 
had spent some time in Tiernay's company; and 
as, in such a critical moment, it would have 
been far from wise to discuss any matter con- 
nected with Cashel's property, it were safest to 
make the object of the visit appear an effort to 
obtain D.ictor Tiernay's kind mediation in the 
difference with Mr. Corrigan. 

To pass half an hour in bis company, under 
any prete.xt, would be to put on record his occu- 
pation on that morning; and, with this resolve, 
he knocked at the door. 

It was with a start of surprise Tiernay received 
Linton as he entered his study. The doctor 
arose from the chair where he had been sitting, 
and stood in the attitude of one who desires by 
his very air and deportment to express that he 
does not mean that the other should be seated 

" This is an honor, sir," said he, at last, " so un- 
deserved on my part, that I am at a loss how to 
acknowledge it." 

" A little patience and a little courtesy are all 
I ask for. Dr. Tiernay," replied Linton, while he 
jilaced a chair and seated himself with the most 
j)erfect unconcern. " You may easily guess that 
1 do not intrude my presence upon you without 
what at least seem to me to be sufficient reasons. 
Whether you may think them so or not, will in a 
great measure depend upon whether you prefer 
to be guided by the false lights of an unjust pre- 
judice, or the true illumination of your own 
natural good sense and practical intelligence." 

Tiernay sat down without speaking; the ap- 
|)eal was made calmly and dispassionately to him, 
and he felt that he could not but entertain it, 
particularly as the scene was beneath his own 
roof. 

Linton resumed: 

"Your friend — I hope the time is not distant 
when I may be enabled to say and mi/ie— Mr. 
("orrigan, acting under the greatest of all mis- 
conceptions, mistaking my heartfelt zeal in his 
behalf for an undue interference in his affairs, 
has to-day expressed himself towards me in a 
manner so uncalled for, so unfair, and ungener- 
ous, that, considering the position I sought to 
occupy in his regard, either bespeaks the exist- 
ence of >ome secret attack upon my character, 
or that a mere sudden caprice of temper over- 
balances with him the qualities he has been 
gracious enough to speak of in terms of praise 
and approbation." 

Tiernay gave a short, dry nod. whose signifi- 
cance was so very doubtful that Linton stopped 
and stared at him, as if asking for further infor- 
n\ation. 

I had made a proposition for the hand of his 
granddaughter," resumed he, "and surely my 



pretensions could, not subject me to rebuke?" 

Tiernay nodded again, in the same puzzling 
way as before. 

" Knowing the influence you possess in the 
family," resumed Linton, "seeing how much con- 
fidence they repose in your counsels, I have 
thought it advisable to state to you that, although 
naturally indignant at the treatment I have met 
with, and possibly carried away for a moment by 
passion, my feelings regarding Miss Leicester are 
unchanged, and, I believe, unchangeable." 

Tiernay moved his head slightly, as though 
implying assent. 

"Am I to understand, sir, that my communi- 
cation is pleasing to you?" said Linton firmly. 

" Very pleasing in every resjject," said Tiernay. 

" And I may reckon upon your kind offices in 
my behalf. Dr. Tiernay?" 

Tiernay shook his head negatively. 

" Be kind enough to speak your mind more in- 
telligibly, sir, for there is need that we should 
understand each other here." 

" I will be as explicit as you can desire, sir. 
Your communication was gratifying to me in so 
far that it showed me how my old and esteemed 
friend Mr. Corrigan had thrown off the delusion 
in which he had indulged regarding you, and 
saw you as I have always thought you — a clever 
worldly man, without scruples as to his means 
when an object had once gained possession of 
his wishes, and who never could have dreamed 
of making Miss Leicester his wife were there not 
other and deeper purposes to be attained by so 
doing." 

"You are candor itself, sir," said Linton; 
"but 1 cannot feel offence at a frankness I have 
myself asked for. Pray extend the favor, and 
say what could possibly be these other and 
deeper purposes you allude to? What advantages 
could I propose myself by such an alliance, save 
increased facilities of conversation with Dr. 
Tiernay, and more frequent opportunities of in- 
dulging in ' tric-trac' with Mr. Corrigan?" 

Tiernay winced under the sarcasm, but only 
said, 

" To divine your motives would be to become 
your equal in skill and cleverness. I have no 
pretensions to such excellence." 

"So that you are satisfied with attributing to 
another objects for which you see no reason and 
motive, and of which you perceive no drift?" 

" I am satisfied to believe in much that I can- 
not fathom." 

" We will pursue this no further," said Linton, 
impatiently. " Let us reverse the medal. Mr. 
Corrigan's refusal of me, coupled with his un- 
courteous conduct, may lead to unpleasant re- 
sults. Is he prepared for such?" 

" I have never known him to shrink from the 
consequences of his own conduct," replied Tier- 
nay, steadfastly. 

" Even though that conduct should leave him 
houseless?" whispered Linton. 

" It cannot, sir, while / have a roof." 

" Generously spoken, sir," said Linton, while 
he threw his eyes over the humble decorations 
of his chamber with an expression of contempt 
there w.ns no mistaking. 



580 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



" Humble and poor enough it is, sir," said 
Tiernay, answering the glance, " but the fruit of 
honest industry. Neither a fatlier's curse, nor a 
mother's tear, liovers over one of the Httle com- 
forts around me." 

"An ancient Roman in virtue!" exclaimed 
Linton, affectedly. " How sad, that our degen- 
erate days so ill reward such excellence!" 

" You are wrong there, sir. Even for merits 
poor and unobtrusive as mine, there are tributes 
of affection more costly than great men know of. 
There are those on every hand around me who 
would resign health, and hope, and life itself, to 
do me service. There are some who, in their 
rude zeal, would think little of making even Mr. 
J^inton regret his having needlessly insulted me. 
Ay, sir, I have but to open that window and 
speak one word, and you would sorely repent this 
day's proceeding." 

Linton sat calm and collected under this burst 
of anger, as though he were actually enjoying 
the outbreak he had provoked. " You have a 
lawless population here, it would seem, then," 
said he, smiling blandly, as he rose from his 
seat. " I think the government is badly rewarded 
by bestowing its resources on such a neighbor- 
hood. A police-barracks would suit vou better 
than an hospital, and so I shall tell Mr. Downie 
Meek." 

Tiernay grew suddenly pale. The threat was 
too palpable to be mistaken, nor was he suffi- 
ciently conversant with the world of policy to de- 
tect its fallacy. 

" Two hundred pounds a year," resumed Lin- 
ton, " can be of no moment to one who is sur- 
rounded by such generous devotion, while some 
respect for law or order will be a good 'alterna- 
tive' — isn't that the phrase, doctor?" 

Tiernay could not utter a word. Like many 
men who pass their lives in seclusion, he had 
formed the most exaggerated ideas of the des- 
potism of those in power; he believed that for 
the gratification of a mere whim or passing ca- 
price they would not scruple at an act of oppres- 
sion that might lead to ruin itself; he felt 
shocked at the peril to which a hasty word had 
exposed him. Linton read him like a book, and 
gazing fixedly at him, said, " Your craft has 
taught you little of worldly skill. Dr. Tiernay, or 
you would have seen that it is better to incur a 
passing inconvenience, than run the risk of a se- 
vere and perhaps fatal misfortune. Methinks that 
a science of expediencies might have instilled a 
few of its wise precepts into every-day life." 

The doctor stared, half in astonisliment, half 
in anger, but never spoke. 

" Reflect a little upon this point," said Lin- 
ton, slowly; "remember, too, that a man like 
myself, who never acts without an object, may 
be a very good associate for him who has 
neither courage nor energy for action at all; and 
lastly, bethink you that the subtlety and skill 
which can make a useful friend, can become 
very readily the materials of a dangerous ene- 
my." 

Linton knew well the force and significance 
of vagueness, either in threat or promise; and no 
irooncr h.id lie doi.c speaking than he left the 



room and the house; while Tiernay, bewildered 
and terrified, sat down to think over what had 
j)assed. 

"He'll come to terms, I see that!" cried Lin- 
ton to himself, as he entered the park of Tub- 
bermore. "A little time— a sleepless night or 
two — the uncertainty of that future, which to 
every man past fifty gets another tinge of black 
with each year — will do the business, and Til 
have him suing for the conditions he would now 
reject." 

Never yet, however, had time been a greater 
object with Linton. The host of creditors whom 
he had staved off for some months back^ — some, 
by paying large sums on account; others, by the 
assurance that he was on the eve of a rich mar- 
riage — -would, at the very first semblance of his 
defeat, return and overwhelm him. Many of his 
debts were incurred to hush up play transactions, 
which, if once made public, his station in society 
would be no longer tenable. Of his former as- 
sociates, more than one lived upon him by the 
mere menace of the past. Some were impatient, 
too, at the protracted game he played with 
Roland, and reproached him with not "finishing 
him off" long before, by cards and the dice-box. 
Otliers, were indignant that they were not ad- 
mitted to the share of the spoil, with all the con- 
tingent advantages of mixing in a class where 
they might have found the most profitable ac- 
quaintances. To hold all these in check had 
been a difficult matter, and few save himself 
could have accomplished it. To restrain them 
much longer was impossible. With these thoughis 
he walked along, scarce noticing the long string 
of carriages which now filled the avenue, and 
hastened towards the house. Occasionally a 
thought would cross his mind, " What if the 
bullet had already done its work? What if that 
vast estate were now once more thrown upon the 
wide ocean of litigation? Would Corrigan pre- 
fer his claim again, or would some new suitor 
spring up? and if so, what sum could reccni- 
pense the possession of that pardon by which the 
whole property might be restored to its ancient 
owners?" Amid all these canvassings, no feel- 
ing arose for the fate of him who had treated 
him as a bosom friend — not one regret, not so 
much as one sensation of pity. True, indeed, 
he did reflect upon what course to adopt when 
the tidings arrived. Long did he vacillate 
whether Tom Keane should not be arrested on 
suspicion. There were difficulties in either 
course, and, as usual, he preferred that coming 
events should suggest their own conduct. 

At last he reached the great house, but instead 
of entering by the front door, he ])assed into the 
court-yard, and gained his own apartment unob- 
served. As he entered he locked the door, and 
placed the key in such a manner that none could 
peep through the keyhole. He then walked 
leisurely around the room; and although he 
knew there was no other outlet, he cast a glance 
of scrutinizing import on every side, as if to en- 
sure himself that he was alone. This done, he 
opened a small cupboard in the wall behind his 
bed, and took forth the iron box, in which, 
since its discovery, he had always kept the piiT- 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



581 



don, as well as the forged conveyance of Tub- 
ber-beg. 

Linton placed the box before him on the 
table, and gazed at it in a kind of rapture. 
" There," thought he, " lies the weapon by which 
at once I achieve both fortune and revenge. Let 
events take what turn they will, tliere, is a cer- 
tain source of wealth. A great estate like this 
will have its claimants; with me it rests who 
shall be the successful one." 

A hurried knocking at the door interrupted 
the current of these musings; and Linton, hav- 
ing replaced the casket in the press, unlocked 
the door. It was Mr. Phillis, who, in all the 
gala of full dress, and with a rare camelia in his 
button-hole, entered. 

" Well, Phillis, is all going on as it ought.'" 
said Linton, carelessly. 

" Scarcely so, sir," said the soft-voiced func- 
tionary; "the house is tilling fast, but there is 
no one to receive the company; and they are 
walking about staring at each other, and asking 
who is to do the honors." 

"Awkward, certainly," said Linton, coolly; 
'■ L.Tdy Kilgoff ought to have been the person." 

"She is gone, sir," said Phillis. 

"Crone! gone! When, and where?" 

"I cannot say, sir; but my lord and her lady- 
ship left this morning early, with post-horses, 
taking the Dublin road." 

Linton did not speak, but the swollen vein in 
his forehead, and the red flush upon his brow, 
told how the tidings affected him He had 
long speculated on witnessing the agonies of 
her grief when the hour of his revenge drew 
nigh; and this ecstasy of cruelty was now to be 
denied him. 

"And my lord* — had he regained any con- 
sciousness? or was he still insensible?" 

*' He appeared like a child, sir, when they 
lifted him into the carriage." 

"And Lady Kilgoff?" 

" She held her veil doubled over her face as 
she passed, but I thought she sighed, and even 
sobbed, as she handed me this letter." 

" ' For Roland Cashel, Esquire,' " said Linton, 
reading as he took it. " Did she speak at all, 
Phillis?" 

" Not a word, sir. It was a sad-looking pro- 
cession altogether, moving away in the dim grey 
of the morning." 

Linton placed the letter in a rack upon the 
chimney, and for some seconds was lost in 
thought. 

"If Lady Janet, sir, would be kind enough 
to receive the company," murmured Phillis, 
softly. 

" Pooh, man, it is of no consequence!" said 
Linton, roughly, his mind swelling on a very 
different theme. " Let who will play host or 
hostess." 

" Perhaps you would come down yourself 
soon, sir?" asked Phillis, who read in the im- 
patience of Linton's manner the desire to be alone, 
and coupled that desire with soiiie mysterious 
purpose. 

"Yes, leave me, Phillis; I'm going to dress," 
said he, hurriedly. " Has lie returned yet?" 



" No, sir; and we expected him at five o'clock.'': 

" And it is now nine," said the other, solemnly; 
"four hours later." 

"It is very singular!" exclaimed Phillis, who 
was more struck by the altered expression of 
Linton's face than by the commonplace fact he 
affected to marvel at. 

" Why singular? What is remarkable? That 
a man should be delayed some time on a business 
matter, particularly when there was no urgency 
to repair elsewhere?" 

" Nothing more common, sir, only that Mr. 
Cashel said positively he should be here at five. 
He had ordered the cob pony to be ready for him 
— a sign that he was going to pay a visit at the 
cottage." 

Lmton made no reply, but his lips curled into 
a smile of dark and ominous meaning. 

" Leave me, Phillis." said he, at length; " I shall 
be late, with all this cumbrous finery I am to 
wear." 

"Shall I send your man, sir?" said Phillis, 
slyly eyeing him as he spoke 

" Yes — no, Phillis — not yet. I'll ring for him 
later." 

And with these words Linton seated himself in 
a large chair, apparently unconscious of the other's 
presence. 

Mr. Phillis withdrew noiselessly— but not far 
— for after advancing a few steps along the 
corrider, he cautiously returned, and listened at 
the door 

Linton sat for a few seconds, as if listening to 
the other's retreating foot steps; and then, 
noiselessly arising from his chair, he approached 
the door of the chamber, at which, with bent- 
down head, Phillis watched. With a sudden jerk 
of the handle Linton threw open the door, and 
stood before the terrified menial. 

"I was afraid you were ill, sir. I thought 
your manner was strange." 

" Not half so strange as this conduct, Mr 
Phillis," said Linton, slowly, as he folded his 
arms composedly on his breast. "Come in" 
He pointed, as he spoke, to the room; but Phillis 
seemed reluctant to enter, and made a gesture of 
excuse. "Come in, sir," said Linton, per- 
emptorily, and he obeyed. Linton immediately 
locked the door, and placed the key upon the 
chimney-piece; then deliberately seating himself 
full in front of the other, he stared at him long 
and fixedly. " So, sir," said he, at length, " you 
have thought fit to become a spy upon my actions. 
Now, there is but one amende you can make for 
such treachery; which is, to confess frankly and 
openly what it is you want to know, and what 
small mystery is puzzling your puny intelligence, 
and making your nights sleepless. Tell me this 
candidly, and I'll answer as freely." 

"I have really nothing to confess, sir. I was 
fearful lest you were unwell. I thought — it was 
mere fancy, perhaps — thatyou were flurried and 
peculiar this morning, and this impression dis- 
tressed me so, that — that " 

" That you deemed fit to watch me. Be it so. 
I have few secrets from any one — I have none 
from my friends. You shall hear, therefore, 
what — without my knowing it — has made me 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



appear unusually agitated. It was my intention 
to leave this house to-morrow, Phillis, and in the 
preparation for my departure I was arranging 
jny letters and papers, among which I found a 
very considerable quantity tliat prudence would 
consign to the flames — that is to say, if prudence 
vi^ere to be one-sided, and had only regard for [he 
interests of one individual where there were two 
concerned. In plain language, Phillis, I was just 
about to burn the mass of documents which fill 
that iron safe, and which it were to the honor 
and credit of Mr. Phillis should be reduced to 
charcoal as speedily as may be, the same being 
nothing more nor less than the accounts of that 
'honest steward,' pinned to the real and (^(5«(? 
fide bills of Mr. Cashel's tradespeople. There 
are, it is true, strange little discrepancies between 
the two, doubtless capable of satisfactory ex- 
jjlanation, but which, to plain-thinking men like 
myself, are difficuU to reconcile; and in some 
one or two instances — a wine merchant's account, 
for example, and a saddler's bill — savor some- 
what of that indiscreet procedure people call 
forgery. What a mistake — what an inadvertence, 
rhillis!" 

There was something of almost coaxing 
familiarity in the way Linton uttered the last 
words; and Phillis grew sick at heart as he 
listened to them. 

" A moment more, an instant later, and I had 
thrown them into the fire; but your footsteps, as 
you walked away, sounded too purpose-like; you 
were so palpably honest, that I began to suspect 
you. Eh, Phillis, was I right?" 

Phillis essayed a smile, but his features only 
accomplished a ghastly grin. 

"I will keep them, therefore, where they are," 
said Linton. " These impulses of rash generosity 
are very costly pleasures; and there is no such 
good practical economy as to husband one's con- 
fidence." 

" I'm sure, sir, I never thought I should have 
seen the day " 

" Go on, man; don't falter. What day do you 
mean? that on which you had attempted to out- 
wit me? or, that on which I should show you all 
the peril of your attempting it? Ay, and there 
IS peril, Mr. Phillis: a felony whose punishment 
is transportation for life, is no small offence." 

"Oh, sir! — oh Mr. Linton! forgive me," cried 
the other, in the most abject voice. " I always 
!)elieved that my devotion to your interests would 
claim your protection." 

" I never promised to further anything that was 
linse or dishonest," said Linton, with "an air of 
assumed morality. 

" Yoil opened and read letters that were ad- 
dressed to another; you spied his actions, and 
kept watch upon all his doings; you wrote letters 
in his name, and became possessed of every 
secret of his life by treachery; you " 

" Don't talk so loud, Phillis: say all you have 
to say to me." 

" Oh, dear, sir, forgive me the Inirsl of passion. 
( never meant it. My temper carried me away 
in spite of me." And he burst into tears as he 
spoke. 

'■ What a dangerous temper, that may at any 



moment make a felon of its owner! Go, Phillis, 
there is no need of more between us. You know 
me. I almost persuaded myself that I knew )ou. 
But if I know anything, it is this" — here he ap- 
proached, and laid his hand solemnly on the 
other's shoulder — " that I would make hell itself 
the punishment of him who injured me, were I 
even to share it with him." 

Phillis's knees smote each other with terror at 
the look that accompanied these words; they 
were spoken without passion cr vehemence, but 
there was that in their tone that thrilltd to his 
inmost heart. Powerless, and overccme by his 
emotions, he could not stir from the spot: he 
wanted to make explanations and excuses, but 
all his ingenuity deserted liim; he tiitd to utter 
vows of attachment and fidelity, but shame was 
too strong for him there also. He viould have 
resorted to menace itself rather than remain silent, 
but he had no courage for such a hazaidous 
course. Linton appeared to read in turn each 
change of mood that passed across the other's 
mind; and, after waiting as it were to enjoy the 
confusion under which he suffered, said: 

"Just so, Phillis; it is a sad scrape you fell 
into; but when a man becomes bankrupt either 
in fame or fortune, it is but loss of time to bewail 
the past; the wiser course is to start in business 
again, and make a character by a good dividend. 
Try that plan. Good-bye!" 

These words were a command; and so Phillis 
understood them, as, with an humble bow, he 
left the room. Linton again locked the door, 
and drawing the table to apart of the room from 
which no eavesdropper at the door could detect it, 
he once more sat down at it. His late scene with 
Phillis had left no traces upon his memory; such 
events were too insignificant tt) claim any notice 
beyond the few minutes they occupied; his 
thoughts were now upon the greater game, m here 
all his fortune in life was staked. He took out 
the key, which he always wore round his neck, 
and placed it in the lock at the same instant 
the clock on the chimney-piece struck ten. He 
sat still, listening to the strokes, and when they 
ceased, he muttered, "Ay, mayhap cold enough 
ere this!" A slight shuddering shook him as he 
uttered these words and a dreamy reverie seemed 
to gather around him, but he rose, and walking 
to the window, opened it. The fresh breeze of 
the night rallied him almost at once, and he closed 
the sash and returned to his place. 

"To think that I should hold within my hands 
the destinies oi those whom most of all the world 
I hate!" muttered he, as he turned the key and 
threw back the lid. The box was empty! With 
a wild cry, like the accent of intense bodily pain, 
he sprang up and dashed both hands into the 
vacant space, and then held them up before his 
eyes, like one who could not credit the evidence 
of his own senses. The moment was a terrible 
one, and for a few seconds the staring eyeballs 
;ind quivering lips seemed to threaten the access 
of a fit; but reason at last assumed tlie mastery, 
and he sat dovn before the table and leaned his 
head upon it to think. Twice before in life had it 
been his lot to lose a whole fortune at one turr> 
of the die, but never before had he staked all the 



ROLAND CASHEL 



683 



"•evengeful feelings of his bad heart, which, 
baffled in their flow, now came back upon himself. 
He sat thus for nigh an hour; and when he 
arose at last, his features were worn as tiiough 
by a long illness; and as he moved his lingers 
through his hair, it came away in masses, like 
that of a man after fever. 



CHAPTER LXI. 



AN UNDERSTANDING BETWEEN THE DUPE ADD 
HIS VICTIM 

So, then, we meet at last. — Harold 

As the rooms began to fill with company, cos- 
tumed in every variety that taste, fancy, or ab- 
surdity could devise, many were surprised that 
neither was there a host to bid them welcome, 
nor was there any lady to perform the accus- 
tomed honors of reception. The nature of the 
entertainment, to a certain extent, took off from 
the awkwardness of this want. In a masquerade, 
people either go to assume a part, or to be 
amused by the representation of others, and are 
less dependent on the attentions of the master 
or mistress of the house; so that, however struck 
at first by the singularity of a fete without the 
presence of the giver, pleasure, ministered to by 
its thousand appliances, overcame this feeling, 
and few ever thought more of him beneath whose 
roof they were assembled. 

The rooms were splendid in their decoration, 
lighted " a i^tor/!o," and ornamented with flowers 
of the very rarest kind. The music consisted of 
a celebrated orchestra and a regimental band, 
who played alternately; the guests, several hun- 
dred in number, were all attired in fancy cos- 
tumes, in which every age and nation found its 
type; while characters from well-known fictions 
abounded, many of them admirably sustained, 
and dressed with a pomp and splendor that told 
the wealth of the wearers. 

It was truly a brilliant scene; brilliant as 
beauty, and the glitter of gems, and waving of 
plumes, and splendor of dress could make it. 
The magic impulse of pleasure communicated 
by the crash of music — the brilliant glare of 
wax-lights — the throng — the voices — the very at- 
mosphere, tremulous with sounds of joy, seemed 
to urge on all there to give themselves up to en- 
joyment. There was a boundless, lavish air, too, 
in all the arrangements. Servants in gorgeous 
liveries served refreshments of the most exquis- 
ite kind. Little children, dressed as images, dis- 
tributed bouquets, bound round with lace of 
Valenciennes or Brussels, and occasionally fas- 
tened by strings of garnets or pearls. A/"/ cfeau 
of rose-water cooled the air of the conservatory, 
and diffused its delicious freshness through the 
atmosphere. There was something princelv in the 
scale of the hospitality; and from every tongue 
words of praise and wonder dropped at each 
moment. 

Even Lady Janet, whose enthusiasm seldom rose 



much above the zero, coniessed that it wa a m;ig- 
nificent/(?/(ry adding, by way of compensation for 
her eulogy, "and worthy of better company." 

Mrs. White was in ecstasies with everything, even 
to the cherubs in pink gauze wings who liaiided 
round sherbet, and whom she pronounced quite 
" classical." The Kennyfecks were in the 
seventh heaven of delight; affecting little airs of 
authority to the servants, and showing the 
strangers, by a hundred little devices, that all 
the magnificence around was no ne^ thing to 
i/wm. Miss Kennyfeck, as the queen of Mada- 
gascar, was a most beautiful savage: while Olivia 
appeared as the fair " Gabrielle" — a sly intima- 
tion to Sir Harvey, whose dress, as Henri IV., 
won universal admiration. Then there were the 
ordinary number of Turks, Jews, Sailors, Cir- 
cassians, Greeks, Highland chiefs, and Indian 
jugglers; " Jim" figuring as a Newmarket " Jock," 
to the unbounded delight and wonderment of 
every " Sub" in the room. 

If in many quarters the question ran, "Where 
is Mr. Cashel ?" or, " Which is he?" Lady Janet 
had despatched Sir Andrew, attired as a " Moon- 
shee," to find out Linton for her. " He is cer- 
tain to know every one here: tell him to come 
to me at once," said she, sitting down near a 
doorway to watch the company. 

While Lady Janet is waiting for him — who, 
better than any other, could explain the myste- 
rious meaning of many a veiled figure, unravel 
the hidden wickedness of every chance allusion, 
or expound the secret malice of each calembourg 
or jest — let us track his wanderings, and follow 
him as he goes. 

Throwing a large cloak over his brilliant dress, 
Linton made his way by many a by-stair and ob- 
scure passage to the back of the theatre, by which 
the secret approach led to Cashel's dressing-room. 
Often as he had trod that way before, never had 
he done so in the same state of intense .excitement. 
With the loss of the papers, he saw before him 
not alone the defeat of every hope he nurtured, 
but discovery, shame and ruin! He whose 
whole game in life was to wield power over 
others, now saw himself in the grasp of some 
one, to whom he had not the slightest clue. At 
one moment his suspicions pointed to Cashel 
himself, then to Tiernay, and lastly to Pliiili.';. 
Possibly rage has no bitterer moment than that 
in which an habitual deceiver of others first finds 
himself in the toils of treachery. There was 
over his mind, besides, that superstitious terror, 
that to unbelieving intellects stands in place of 
religion, which told him that luck had turned 
with him; that fortune, so long favorable, had 
changed at last; and that, in his own phrase, 
" the run had set in against him." Now, a 
half-muttered curse would burst from his 
lips over the foolhardiness that had made him 
so dilatory, and not suffered him to reap the 
harvest when it w-as ripe; now, a deep-breathed 
vow, that if fate were propitious once again, 
no matter how short the interval, he would 
strike his blow, come what might of it. 
Sometimes he blamed himself for having de- 
serted the safe and easy road to ruin by play, 
for the ambitious course he had followed; at. 



r)84 



ROLAND CASHEL, 



other times he inveighed against bis folly for not 
carrying off Mary Leicester before Cashel had 
acquired any intimacy at the cottage. Burning 
and half-maddened with this conflict of regrets 
and hopes, he touched the spring, moved back 
the panel, and entered Cashel's room. 

His first care was to see that the door from 
the corridor was secured on the inside; his next, 
to close the shutters and draw the curtains. 
These done, he lighted the candles on the table, 
and proceeded to make a systematic search 
through the entire chamber. "It is my last 
visit here," said he to himself; " I must take care 
to do my work cleanly." A mass of papers had 
been that morning left behind him by Cashel, 
most of them legal documents referring to his 
transactions with Hoare; but some were memo- 
randa of his intentions respecting Corrigan, and 
plainly showing that Cashel well remembered he 
had never completed his assignment to Linton. 
"If Keane's hand has not faltered," muttered 
he, " Master Roland's memory will not be taxed 
in this world at least; but where to discover the 
deed.' that is the question." In his anxiety on 
this head, he ransacked drawers and cabinets 
with wild and furious haste, strewing their con- 
tents around him, or wantonly throwing them 
on the fire. With false keys for evPry lock, he 
opened the most secret depositories ■ — scarce 
glancing at letters which at any other time he 
had devoured with interest. Many were from 
Lady Kilgoff, warning Cashel against him; his 
own name, seen passingly, would arrest his at- 
tention for a second, but the weightier interest 
soon intervened, and he would throw the papers 
from hii» with contempt.. "How shrewd! how 
very cunning!" muttered he, once or twice, as 
his glance caught some suspicion, some assumed 
clue to his own motives, in her well-known hand- 
writing. Baffled by the unsuccessful result of 
his search, he stood in the midst of the floor, 
surrounded by open boxes, the contents of which 
w-ere strewn on every side; rage and disappoint- 
ment were depicted in his features; and, as his 
clenched hand struck the table, his whole ex- 
pression became demoniac. Curses and deep 
blasphemies fell from his half moving lips, as he 
stood insensible to everything save the wreck of 
his long-cherished hope. 

Let us turn from him to another, in whose 
fortunes we are more interested. Roland Cashel, 
after parting with Enrique, hastened on towards 
Tubbermore; his thoughts engaged on every 
topic save that which might be supposed to oc- 
cupy the mind of a host at such a time. Pleas- 
ure assuredly held a weaker hold upon him than 
the thirst for vengeance, and the ardent longing 
to throw off the thraldom of that servitude he 
had endured too long. 

It was only by observing the long string of 
carriages, whose lamps flashed and disappeared 
at intervals among the trees, that he remembered 
anything of the p/e, and bethought him of that 
character of entertainer he, at the moment, 
should have been performing. There seemed to 
him a terrible inconsistency between his own 
thoughts and that scene of pleasure!— between 
the object in pursuit of which so many were 



hastening with furious speed, and that to which 
his slower steps were leading him! 

" There can be but one a7ne7ide for such in- 
famous conduct," muttered he; "he shall pay it 
with his life's blood." And as he spoke, he 
opened the documents which Enrique had given 
him, and endeavored to read them; the dusky^ 
sliadows of the fast-falling night prevented him, 
and he stood for some minutes lost in thought. 

One of the papers, he was aware, bore the 
forged signature of his name; the other, whose 
antique form and massive seal bespoke an im- 
portance far greater, he tried again and again to 
decipher, but in vain. As he was thus occupied, 
he chanced to look up, and suddenly perceived 
that a stream of light issued from beneath the 
shutters of his own dressing-room, the door of 
which he had himself locked at his departure, 
taking the key along with him. Enrique's words 
flashed across his memory at once. It was Lin- 
ton was there! "At his old work again," mut- 
tered he, in deep anger; " but it shall be for the 
last time." A moment of coming peril was all 
that Cashel needed to elicit the resources of his 
charac.ter. The courage tried in n any a danger 
supplied him with a calm foresight, which the 
ordinary occasions of life rarely or never called 
forth. He bethought him that it were best at 
such a conjuncture to deposit the sealed docu- 
ment in some place of safety ere he went forth 
u])on an enterprise the result of which must be 
doubtful; for all purposes of confronting Linton 
it were suiificient to take the forged deed along 
with him. These were conclusions formed as 
rapidly as they occurred, and acted upon no less 
speedily; for, folding up the parchment, he in- 
serted it into a cleft in an aged elm-tree, noting 
well the spot, and marking all the signs by which ' 
he would be able to return to it. His next 
thought was, how to reach his chamber; to en- 
ter the house at such a time undiscovered, was of 
course out of the question; he would be seen and 
recognized at once, and then there would be an 
end forever of all the secrecy by which he hoped 
to cover the proceedings with I,inton. 

It neither suited his inclinations nor his plans 
that the world should be a party to his ven- 
geance. " Let them discover it when it is over," 
said he; "but let them not be able to interfere 
with its course." All approach to his dressing- 
room through the house being thus impractica- 
ble, nothing remained but to reach it from with- 
out. The chamber was in the second story of 
the building, at a great height from the ground; 
but the walls were here covered with thitk ivy of 
ancient growth, and by this Cashel resolved to 
make the attempt. 

The act was not devoid of danger; but there 
are limes when peril is a relief to the road con- 
flict of thought, and this was such a moment to 
C'ashel. In an instant he made himself ready 
for the attempt, and with an activity that many 
a danger had tested, began the ascent. There 
are occasions when rashness is safety, and now, 
the headlong intrepidity of Roland's attempt 
proved its security, for at each step, as the ivy 
gave way beneath his grasp or his footing, by an 
upward spring he reached another spot,' which 



ROLAND CASH EL. 



5m 



in its turn broke with his weight: every instant 
the danger increased, for the frail tendrils grew 
weaker as he ascended, and beneath him the 
jagged and drooping branches hung down in 
ruinous disorder. By one bold spring he reached 
the window-sill, and alter a momeiUary struggle, 
in which his athletic frame saved him from cer- 
tain death, he gained a footing upon the stone, 
and was able to see what was passing within the 
room. 

At a table covered with papers and open letters 
Linton sat, searching with eager haste for the 
missmg documents; open boxes and presses on 
every side, rifled of their contents, were seen, 
some of which lay in disordered masses upon the 
floor — some in charred heaps within the fender. 
As the light fell upon his features, Cashel re- 
marked that they were lividly pale — the very lips 
were colorless; his hands, too, trembled violently 
as they moved among the papers, and his mouth 
continued to be moved by short convulsive 
twitches. To Roland these signs of suffering 
conveyed a perfect ecstasy of pleasure. That 
careworn, haggard face — that tremulous cheek 
and lustreless eye, were already an instalment of 
his vengeance. 

There was one box which contained many of 
Cashel's early letters, when he was following the 
wild buccaneering life of the West; and this, 
secured by a lock of ])eculiar construction, Linton 
had never succeeded in opening. It stood be- 
fore him, as with a last effort he tried every art 
upon it. The hinges alone seemed to offer a 
prospect of success, and he was now endeavoring 
to remove the fastenings of these. With more 
of force than skill, for defeat had rendered him 
impatient, Linton had already loosened the lid, 
when Cashel burst open the sash with one vigor- 
ous blow and leaped into the room. 

The terrible crash of the shattered window 
made Linton spring round; and there he stood, 
confronted witli the other — each motionless and 
silent. In Cashel's steady, manly form there was 
a very world of indignant contempt; and Linton 
met the gaze with a look of deadly hatred. All 
the dissimulation by which he could cover over 
a treachery was at an end; his deceit was no 
longer of use, and he stood forth in the full 
courage of his scoundrelism— bold, steady, and 
assured. 

"This admits of no excuse — no palliation," 
said Cashel, as he pointed to the open letters and 
papers, which covered the floor; and although 
the words were uttered calmly, they were more 
disconcerting than if given with passionate 
vehemence. 

" I never thought of any," replied Linton, col- 
lectedly. 

" So much the better, sir. It seems to me, 
frankness is the only reparation you can make 
for past infamy!" 

" It may be the only one you will be disposed 
to ask for," said Linton, sneeringly. 

Cashel grew fiery red. To taunt him with 
want of courage was something so unexpected— 
for which he was so totally unprepared — that he 
lost his self-possession, and in a passionate tone 
exclaimed: 



" Is it yau who dare to say this to me ? — you, 
whose infamy has need but to be published 
abroad, to make every one who calls himself 
'gentleman' slum your very contact!" 

" This punctilious reverence for honor does in- 
finite credit to your buccaneer education," said 
Linton, whose eyes sparkled with malignant de- 
light at the angry passion he had succeeded in 
evoking. " The friendship of escaped felons 
must liave a wondrous influence upon re- 
finement." 

" Enough, sir!" said Cashel. " How came you 
into the room, since the key of it is in my pocket?" 

" Were I to inform you," said Linton, "you 
would acknowledge it was by a much more legi- 
timate mode than that by which you effected 
your entrance." 

" You shall decide which is the pieasanter, 
then!" cried Cashel, as he tore open the window, 
and advanced in a menacing manner towards 
the other. 

" Take care, Cashel," said Linton, in a low, 
deliberate voice; "lam armed!" 

And while he spoke, he placed one hand within 
the breast of his coat, and held it there. Quick 
as was the motion, it was not sudden enough to 
escape the flashing eye of Roland, who sprang 
upon him, and seized his wrist with a grasp that 
nearly jammed the bones together. 

"Provoke me a little further," cried he, "and. 
by Heaven! I'll not give you the choice or 
chance of safety, but hurl you from that window- 
as I would the meanest housebreaker." 

" Let me free — let me loose, sir," said Linton, 
in a low, weak voice, which passion, not fear, 
had reduced to a mere whisper. "You shall' 
have the satisfaction you aim at, when, and how, 
you please." 

" By daylight to-morrow, at the boat-quay be- 
side the lake." 

" Agreed. There is no need of witnesses — we 
understand each other." 

" Be it so. Be true to your word, and none 
shall hear from me the reasons of our meeting, 
nor what has occurred here this night." 

"I care not if all the world knew it," said 
Linton, insolently; "I came in quest of a lost 
document — one, which I had my reasons to sus- 
pect had fallen into your possession." 

"And of whose forgery I have the proofs," 
said Cashel, as opening the deed, he held it up 
before Linton's eyes. "Do you see that?'' 

"And do you know, Cashel," cried Linton,, 
assuming a voice of slow and most deliberate 
utterance, "that your own title to this property 
is as valueless and as worthless as that document 
you hold there? Do you know that there is in ex- 
istence a paper which, produced in an open court 
of justice, would reduce you to beggary, and 
stamp you, besides, as an impostor? It may be 
that you are well aware of that fact; and that 
the same means by which you have possessed 
yourself of what is mine, has delivered into your 
hands this valuable paper. But the subtlety is. 
thrown away; / am cognizant of its existence;: 
/have even shown it to another; and on me \t 
depends whether you live here as a masteD,. or 
walk forth in all the exposure of a cheat." 



586 



ROLAND CASH EL. 



The nature of this announcement its possible 
truth, added to the consummate effrontery of him 
who made it, contributed to render Cashel silent, 
for he was actually stunned by what he heard 
I-inton saw the effect, but mistook its import. 
He believed thiit some thought of a compromise 
was passing tirrough a mind where vengeance 
alone predominated, and in this error he drew 
nearer to him, and in a voice of cool and calm 
persuasion added: 

' That vu could pilot the course through all 
these difficulties, no ne knows better than your 
self to be impossible There is but one living 
able to do so, and / am that one " 

Cashei started back, and Linton went on: 

"There is no questi n oi friendship between 
us here It is a matter of pure interest and 
mutual convenience that binds us Agree to my 
lerms, and you are still the owner of the estate, 
reject them, and you are as poor as poverty and 
exposure can make you." 

" Scoundrel.'" said Cashel It was all that he 
could utter the fulness of his passion had nearlv 
choked him, as, taking a heavy riding-glove from 
the table, he struck Linton with it across the 
face. " If there be any manhood in such a 
wretch, let this provoke it'" 

Linton's hand grasped the weapon he carried 
within his coat, but with a quick, short stroke 
Cashel struck down his arm, and it fell powerless 
to his side. 

'You shall pay dearly for this — dearly by 
Heaven!" cried Linton, as he retired towards the 
door 

''Go, sir," said Cashel, flinging it wide open, 
" and go quickly, or I may do that I should be 
sorry for " 

"You have done that you will be sorry for, if 
it costs me my life's blood to buy it." And with 
these words, delivered in a voice guttural from 
rage, Linton disappeared, and Cashel stood alone 
in the centre of the room, overwhelmed by the 
terrible conflict of his passions. 

The room littered with papers — the open 
boxes scattered on every side — his wn hands 
cut and bleeding from the broken glass of the 
window — his dress torn from the recent exertion 
— were evidences of the past: and it seemed as 
though, witlicnt such proofs, he could not credit 
his memory, as to events so strange and stun- 
ning 

To restore something like order to his chamber, 
as a means of avoiding the rumors that would be 
circulated by servants, to write some letters — the 
last, perhaps, he should ever indite, to dress and 
appear among his company, to send for some 
one with whom he might confer as to his affairs 
— such were the impulses that alternately swayed 
him, and to which he yielded by turns, now, 
seating himself at his table, now, hastening 
hither and thither, tossing over the niotlev livery 
of distasteful pleasure, or handling, with the rap 
ture of revenge, the weapons by which he hoped 
to wreak his vengeance. The only fear that 
dwelt upon his mind was, lest Linton should es- 
cape him — lest, by any accident, this, which now- 
appeared the great business of his life, should go 
unacquitted. Sometimes he reproached himse'.f 



for having postponed the hour of vengeance, not 
knowing what chances might intervene, what ac- 
cidents interrupt the course of his sworn revenge. 
Fortune, wealth, station, love itself had no hold 
upon him, it was that mad frame of mind where 
one sole thought predominates, and in its mas- 
tery, makes all else subordinate. Would Linton, 
be true to the rendezvous? — Could such a man 
be a coward ? — Would he compass the vengeance 
he had threatened by other means? were ques- 
tions that constantly occurred to his mind 

If the sounds of music and the clangor of 
festivity did break in upon this mood from tim 
to time, it was but to convey some indistinct and 
shadowy impression of the inconsistency between 
his sad brooding and the scene by which he was 
surrounded — between the terrible conflict within 
him,. and the wild gayety of those who wasted no 
thoaght upon him. 



CHAPTER LXII. 

MURDEP OF MR. KENNVFECK CASHEL DETAINED 

ON SUSPICION 

AmiU iheir feasting and their jo 
A cry of " Blood!" washcaid. 

It was past midnight, and the scene within the 
walls of Tubbermore was one of the most brilliant 
festivity All that could fascinate by beauty- — 
all that could dazzle by splendor, r amuse by 
fancy, or enliven by wit, were there, stimulated 
by that atmosphere of pleasure in which they 
moved. Loveliness elevated by costume — grace 
rendered more attractive by the licensed freedom 
of the hour — gayety exalted into exubeiant jov- 
ousness by the impulse of a thousand high-beat- 
ing hearts — passed and repassed, and mingled 
together, till they formed that brilliant assem- 
blage wherein individuality is lost, and the 
memory carries away nothing but dreaming 
images of enjoyment, visions of liquid eyes and 
silky tresses, of fair rounded aims and fairy feet, 
with stray s\llables that linger on the ear and 
vibrate in the heart for many along year to come. 

It would have been difficult to imagine that 
one, even one, amid that gorgeous throng, had 
any other thought than pleasure, so headlong 
seemed the impulse of enjoyment. In vain the 
moralist might have searched for any trace of 
that care which is believed to be the unceasing 
burden of humanity. Even upon those who sus- 
tained no portion of the brilliancy around them, 
pleasure has set its seal. Lady Janet herself 
wondered, and admired, and stared, in an ecstasy 
of delight she could neither credit nor compre- 
hend. It was true, Linton's absence — '' unac 
countable," as she called it — was a sad drawback 
upon her enjoyment. Yet her own shrewdness 
enabled her to penetrate many a mystery, and 
detect beneath the dusky folds of more than one 
domino those who a few moments previous had 
displayed themselves in all the splendor of a 
gorgeous costume. 

In vain did Lord Charles Frobisher cover his 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



587- 



Tartar dress with a Laplander's cloak and hood, 
to follow Miss Meek unnoticed. In vain did 
Upton abandon his royalty as Henri IV for a 
Dominican's cowl, the better to approach a 
certain fair nun with dark bUieeyes: Lady Janet 
whispered, "Take care, Olivia," as she passed 
her. Even Mrs. Leicester White, admirably dis- 
guised as a gipsy fortune-teller, did not dare to 
speculate upon Lady Janet's " future" — possibly, 
out of fear of her " present." Mr. Howie alone 
escaped detection, as, dressed to represent the 
obelisk of the " Luqsor," he stood immovable 
in the middle of the room, listening to everybody, 
and never supposed to be anything but an inani- 
mate ornament of the saloon. 

It was only when a minuet was about to be 
formed, and a question arose as to whether the 
obelisk could not be removed, that the Egyp-tian 
monument was seen slowly sliding off amidst the 
company, to the great amusement of all who had 
not opened their confidences beneath its shadow. 
For an instant, the laughter that circulated in many 
a. distant group was directed to this quarter, and 
bursts of merriment were excited by the absurdity 
of the incident. With that mysterious instinct by 
which moods of joy or grief are perpetuated from 
heart to heart, till each in a crowded assembly is 
moved as is his neighbor, the whole room shook 
with convulsive laughter. It was just then — at the 
very moment when boundless pleasure filled every 
avenue of feeling — a terrible cry, shrill and 
piercing, burst upon the air. All was still — still 
as a lone church at midnight. Each gazed upon 
the other, as if silently asking, had he heard the 
sound ? Again it came, louder and nearer: and 
then a long, loud, swelling chant rang out, wild 
and frantic as it rose, till it died away in a ca- 
dence of the very saddest and dreariest meaning. 

" What is it? — What can it be?" were uttered 
by many in broken voices; while others, too 
much terrified to speak, sank half fainting upon 
their seats, their colorless cheeks and livid lips 
in terrible contrast to their gay attire. 

"There! — listen to it again! — G.ood Heaven! 
what can it be?" 

" It's a death ' keen!' " said a country gentle- 
man, a magistrate named Goring; ''something 
must have happened among the people!" 

And now, none knew from what quarter aris- 
ing, or by whom spoken, but the dreadful word 
"Murder" was heard through the room. Many 
issued forth to ask for tidings; some, stayed to 
assure and rally the drooping courage of others; 
some, again, divested of the " motley," moved 
hurriedly about, seeking for this one or that. All 
was terror, confusion, and dismay, 

" Oh, here is Mr. Linton!" cried several, as, 
with his domino on his arm, pale, and like one 
terror-struck, he entered the room. " What is it, 
Mr. Linton? Do you know what has happened ?" 

"Get Mrs. Kenny feck and the girls away," 
whispered he to a friend, hurriedly; " tell them 
something — anything — but take them from this." 

" What!" exclaimed Meek, to whom Linton 
had whispered something, but in a voice too low 
to be clearly audible. 

"Kennyfeck is murdered!" said Linton, louder. 

As if the terrible tidings had floated on the 



air, in an instant it was on every tongue, and 
vibrating in every ear; and then, in heartrending 
screams of passionate grief, the cry of the widow 
and her children burst forth, cry following cry 
in wild succession. Seized with an hysteric 
paroxysm, Mrs. Kennyfeck was carried to her 
room; while of her daughters, theeldersat mute, 
speechless, and, to all seeming, insensible; the 
younger, struggling in convulsive passion to go 
to her father. 

What a scene was that! How dreadful to mark 
the symbols of levity — the decorations by which 
pleasure would mock the stern realities of life — 
surrounded as they now were by suffering and 
sorrow! to see the groups as they stood: some 
ministering to one who had fainted, others con- 
versing in low and eager whispers. The joyous 
smiles, the bright glances, were gone, as though 
they had been by masks assumed at will; tears 
furrowed their channels through the deep rouge,' 
and convulsive sobs broke from beneath corsets 
where joy alone had vibrated before. While in 
the ball-room the scene was one of terror and 
dismay, a few had withdrawn into a small apart- 
ment adjoining the garden, to consult upon what 
the emergency might require. These were drawn 
together by Linton, and included Sir Andrew 
MacFarline, the chief justice, Meek, and a few 
others of lesser note. In a few words Linton in- 
formed them that he heard the tidings as he 
passed through the hall; that a peasant, taking 
the mountain path to Scariff, had come upon the 
spot where the murder was committed, and 
found the body still warm, but lifeless — " he also 
found this weapon, the bore of which was dirty 
from a recent discharge as he took it up." 

"Why, this pistol is Mr. Cashel's!" exclaimed 
Sir Andrew, examining the stock closely; " I 
know it perfectly — I have fired with it myself a 
hundred times." 

" Impossible, my dear Sir Andrew!" cried 
Linton, eagerly, "You must be mistaken." 

" Where is Mr. Cashel?" asked the chief justice. 

"No one seems to know," replied Linton. 
" At a very early hour this morning he left this 
in company with poor Kennyfeck. It would ap- 
pear that they were not on the best of terms to- 
gether; at least, some of the servants overheard 
angry words pass between them as they drove 
away." 

" Let us call these people before us," said Sir 
Andrew. 

" Not at present, sir. It would be permature 
and indiscreet," interposed the judge. Then, 
turning to Linton, he added, "Well, sir, and 
after that?" 

"After that we have no tidings of either of 
them." 

"I'll swear to the pistol, onyhow," said Sir 
Andrew, who sat staring at the weapon, and 
turning it about in every direction. 

"Of what nature were the differences between 
Cashel and Kennyfeck supposed to be?" asked 
Meek of Linton. 

" It is impossible to collect, from the few and 
broken sentences which have been reported; 
possibly, dissatisfaction on Cashel's part at the 
dififieultyof obtaining money; possibly, some mis- 



568 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



understanding about his intentions regarding one 
of the girls, whom the Kennyfecks were silly 
enough to suppose he was going to marry." 

A slight tap at the door here arrested their at- 
tention. It was Mr. Phillis, wno came to say 
that footsteps had been heard in Mr. Cashel's 
dressing-room, although it was well known he 
himself had not returned. 

"Might he not have returned and entered the 
room unseen, sir?" said the chief justice, who 
cast a shrewd and piercing look upon the valet. 

■' Scarcely, my lord, since he is known to every 
servant in the house, and people are passing and 
repassing in every direction. 

"But there is every reason to believe that he 
has not returned at all," interposed Linton. " It 
is some one else has been heard in his dressing- 
room." 

" Would it not be as well to despatch mes- 
sengers to Dnimcoologan," said Meek, " and as- 
sure ourselves of Cashel's safety.' Up to this we 
are ignorant if he have not shared the fate of 
poor Kennyfeck." 

" The very suggestion I was about to make. 
I'll take Phillis along with me, and set out this 
instant," cried Linton. 

" We shall miss your assistance greatly here, 
sir," said the chief justice. 

"Your lordship overvalues my poor ability; 
but I will hasten to the utmost, and be soon 
back again." And thus saying, he left the room, 
followed by Phillis. 

"There must be an inquest at once," said the 
chief justice. " Tlie coroner has power to ex- 
amine witnesses on oath; and it seems to me 
that some clue to the affair will present itself." 

" As to this room, don't you think it were 
proper to inquire if any one be really within 
it?" asked Meek. 

"Yes; we will proceed thither together," re- 
plied the judge. 

" I canna be mistaken in the pistol; I'll swear 
to that," chimed in Sir Andrew, whose whole 
thoughts were centred on that object. 

" Well, Mr. Goring," said Meek, as that gentle- 
man advanced to meet them in the corridor, 
" have you obtained any clue to this sad affair?" 

The magistrate drew near, and whispered a 
few words m the other's ear. Meek started, and 
grasped the speaker's arm convulsively; then, 
after a pause said, "Tell the chief justice." 
Mr. Goring approached, and said something in a 
low voice to the judge. 

" Be cautious, sir; take care to whom you 
mention these circumstances, lest they be bruited 
about before wc can examine into them," said 
the chief justice; then retiring into a window 
with Sir Andrew and Meek, he continued: " This 
gentleman has just informed me that the impress 
of a boot with a high heel has been discovered 
near the spot where the murder was committed; 
which boot exactly tallies with that worn by Mr. 
Cashel." 

"The pistol is his; I'll tak' my oath on that," 
muttered Sir Andrew. 

" Here's Phillis coming back," said Meek. 
" What's the matter, Phillis?" 

" Mr. Linton sent me back, sir, to say that 



the ivy which covered the wall on the east end of 
the house has been torn down, and seems to in- 
fer that some one must have climbed up it, to 
reach my master's dressing-room." 

"This is a very important circumstance," said 
the chief justice. " Let us examine the room at 
once." And so saying, he led the way towards it. 
Not a word was spoken as the party passed 
along the corridor and ascended the stairs; each 
feared, even by a syllable, to betray the terrible 
suspicions that were haunting his mind. It was 
a solemn moment; and so their looks and gestures 
bespoke it. The house itself had suddenly be- 
come silent; scarce a sound was heard within 
that vast building, which so late had rung witli 
revelry and joy. A distant door would clap, or 
a faintly-heard shriek from some one still suffer- 
ing from the recent shock; but all else was hushed 
and still. 

" That is the room," said Meek, pointing to a 
door, beneath which, although it was now day- 
break, a stream of light issued; and, slight as the 
circumstance was, the looks exchanged among 
the party seemed to give it a significance. 

The chief justice advanced and tap|)ed at the 
door. Immediately a voice was heard from with- 
in that all recognized as Cashel's, asking. 
"Who's there?" 

" We want you, Mr. Cashel," said the judge, 
in an accent which all the instincts of his habit 
had not rendered free from a slight tremor. 

The door was immediately thrown wide, and 
Roland stood before them. He had not changed 
his dress since his arrival, and his torn sleeve 
and blood-stained trousers at once caught every 
eye that was fixed upon him. The disorder, too, 
was not confined to his own haggard look: the 
room itself was littered with papers and letters, 
with clothes strewn carelessly in every direction; 
and, conspicuously amid all, an open pistol-case 
was seen, from which one of the weapons was 
missing. A mass of charred paper lay within the 
fender, and a great heap of paper lay, as it were 
ready for burning, beside the hearth. There 
was full time for those who stood there to notice 
all these particulars, since neither spoke, but 
each gazed on the other in terrible uncertainty. 
Cashel was the first to break the silence. 

" Well, sirs," said he, in a voice that only an 
effort made calm, " are my friends so very im- 
patient at my absence that they come to seek 
me in my dressing-room?" 

" The dreadful event that has just occurred, 
sir," said the judge, "makes apology for our in- 
trusion unnecessary. We are here from duty, 
Mr. Cashel, not inclination, still less caprice." 

The solemnity of manner in which he spoke, 
and the grave faces around him on every side, 
seemed to apprise Roland that bad tidings 
awaited him, and he looked eagerly to each for 
an explanation. At length, as none spoke, he 
said: 

" Will no one vouchsafe to put an end to this 
mystification? What, I pray, is this event that 
has happened ?" 

"Mr. Kennyfeck has been murdered," said 
the judge. 

Roland staggered backwards, and grasped a 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



589 



chair for support. " When? — How? — Where?" 
said he, in a low voice, every accent of which 
trembled. 

'■ All as yet is hidden in mystery, sir. We know 
nothing beyond the fact that liis dead body was 
discovered in the Gap of Ennisniort , and that a 
pistol-shot had penetrated his brain." Sir An- 
drew grasped tiie weapon more tightly as these 
words were uttered. 

" You left this in his company, Mr. Cashel ?" 
asked Goring. 

" Yes; we set out at daybreak for Drumcoolo- 
gan, where an affair of business required our 
presence. We spent the whole of the day to- 
gether, and as evening drew nigh, and our busi- 
ness had not been completed, I resolved to has- 
ten back here, leaving him to follow whenever 
he could." 

" You have been on the best terms together, I 
believe?" said Goring. 

'■ Stay — I cannot permit this," interposed the 
chief justice, authoritatively. " There must be 
nothing done here which is not strictly honorable 
as well as legal. It is right that Mr. Cashel should 
understand that when an event of tiiis nature has 
occurred, no one, however high his station, or un- 
blemished his fame, can claim exemption from 
that scrutiny which the course of justice demands; 
and the persons latest in the company of the de- 
ceased are more peculiarly those exposed to such 
inquiry. I would, therefore, caution him against 
answering any questions here which may be pre- 
judicial hereafter." 

" Do I understand you aright, my lord ?" said 
Cashel, whose whole frame trembled with agita- 
tion as he spoke " Do your words imply that I 
stand here in the light of a suspected party?" 

"I mean to say, sir," replied the judge, " that 
so long as doubt and obscurity veil the history of 
a crime, the accusation hangs over the community 
at large among wliom it was enacted, and that 
those wlio were last seen in the presence of the 
victim have the greatest obligation to disconnect 
themselves with the sad event." 

"But you stopped me while about to do so," 
cried Roland, angrily. 

" I cautioned you, rather, against any dis- 
closures which, whatever your innocence, might 
augment suspicion against you," said the judge, 
mildly. 

" These distinctions are too subtle for me, my 
lord. The insult of such an accusation ought to 
be enough, without the aggravation of chicanery." 
Then, turning to Meek, Roland went on — " You, 
at least, are above this meanness, and will listen 
to me jjatiently. Look here." He took a sheet 
of paper as he spoke, and proceeded with a pen 
to mark out the direction of the two roads from 
Drumcoologan to Tubbermore. " Here stands 
the village, the road by which we travelled in 
the morning takes this line, skirting the base of 
the mountain towards the north: the path by 
which I returned follows a shorter course, and 
after crossing a little rivulet here, comes out at 
Ennismore, somewhere about this point." 

Just as Roland's description reached thus far, 
a large drop of blood oozed from his wounded 
hand, and fell heavily upon the paper. There 



seemed something so terribly significant in its 
falling exactly on the very spot where the 
murdered body was found, that each looked at 
the other in anxious dread; and then, as if with 
a common impulse, every eye was bent on Cashel, 
who heart-sick with indignant anger, stood unable 
to utter a word. 

" I pray you, sir, do not misconstrue my 
advice," said the judge, mildly, " nor resent a 
counsel intended for your good. Every explana- 
tion you may offer, hereafter, will be service- 
able to your case; every detail you enter into, 
now, necessarily vague, and unsupported as it 
must be by other testimony, will only be injurious 
to you." 

Cashel seated himself in a chair, and crossing 
his arms, seemed to be lost in thought; then, 
suddenly starting to his feet, he cried, 

" Is all this a deep-laid scheme against my 
honor and my life, or do you, indeed, desire to 
trace this crime to its author? If so, let us 
mount our horses and scour the country; let us 
search every cabin; let us try if some discovery 
of a weapon " 

" Ech, sirs, we hae the weapon!" said Sir 
Andrew, with a sardonic grin; " an' it's muckle 
like to its brither yonder," pointing to the ojien 
pistol-case. 

Roland turned suddenly, and now for the first 
time perceived that one of his pistols was missing 
from the case. Up to this moment his anger at 
the suspicions directed towards him were mingled 
with a degree of contemptuous disregard of 
them; but now, suddenly a terrible fear shot 
through his heart that he was in the meshes of 
some deep-laid scheme for his ruin; and his mind 
ran over in eager haste every circumstance that 
seemed to point towards guilt. His presence 
with Kennyfeck on the mountain — his departure 
from Drumcoologan alone — his unexplained re- 
appearance in his own chamber, disordered and 
littered as it stood — his torn dress — his bleed- 
ing fingers — and lastly, the missing pistol — arose 
in terrible array before him; and, with a heart- 
sick sigh, he laid his forehead on the table, and 
never uttered a word. 

It was at this juncture that a groom, splashed 
and heated from a hard ride, placed a small bit 
of twisted paper in Mr. Goring's hand. It was 
written with pencil, and ran thus: 

" Gap of Ennismore. 
" Dear G., — It looks badly; but I fear you 
have no other course than to arrest him. In fact, 
it is too late for anything else. Consult Malone 
and Meek. 

" Yours, in great haste, 

" T. Linton. 

Goring handed the note to the chief justice, 
who, having read it, passed it on to Meek. A 
nod from the latter, as he refolded the paper, 
seemed to accord concurrence with the counsel. 

"Would it not be better to defer this till after 
the inquest?" he whispered. 

"Are ye certain o' findin' him when ye want 
him?" dryly remarked Sir Andrew. 

The chief justice conferred for a few seconds 



590 



ROLAND CASHEL, 



with Meek apart, and then approaching Cashel, 
addressed him in a tone inaudible to all but 
himself. 

" It would be excessively painful to us, Mr. 
Roland Cashel, to do anything which should sub- 
ject you to vulgar remark or impertinent com- 
mentary, and as, until some further light be 
thrown upon this sad catastrophe, your detention 
is absolutely necessarj', may I ask that you will 
submit to this rigor, without compelling us to 
any measures to enforce it." 

"Am I a prisoner, my lord .'" asked Roland, 
growing lividly pale as he spoke. 

" Not precisely, sir. No warrant has been 
issued against you; but as it is manifestly for 
your advantage to disprove any suspicions that 
may attach to you in this unhappy affair, I hope 
you will see the pro[)riety of remaining where you 
are until they be entirely removed." 

Roland bowed coldly, and said, 

" May I ask to be left alone?" 

"Of course, sir; we have neither the right nor 
the inclination to obtrude ourselves upon you. I 
ought to mention, perhaps, that if you desire to 
confer with any friend " 

"Friend!" echoed Cashel, in bitter derision; 
"such friends as I have seen around my table 
make the selection difficult." 

"I used the phrase somewhat technically, sir, 
as referring to a legal adviser," said the judge, 
hastily. 

" I thank you, my lord," replied Roland, 
haughtily. " I am a ])lain man, and am well aware 
that in your trade truth is no match for falsehood." 
He walked to the window as he spoke, and by 
his gesture seemed to decline further colloquy. 

The chief justice moved slowly away, followed 
by the others; Meek withdrawing last of all, and 
seeming to hesitate whether he should not say 
something as he went. At last he turned and 
Slid. 

"I sincerely trust, Mr. Cashel, that you will 
not connect me with this most painful Euspicio;i; 
your own good sense will show you how common 
minds may be affected by a number of concurring 
circumstances, and how, in fact, truth may re- 
quire the aid of ingenuity to reconcile and ex- 
plain them." 

" I am not certain that I understand your mean- 
ing, sir," said Cashel, sternly, "but when a 
number of 'concurring circumstances' seemed to 
point out those with whom I associated as black- 
legs, |)arasites, and calumniators, I gave them the 
benefit of a doubt, and believed them to be gentle- 
men, I almost expected they might return the 
favor when occasion offered." 

For a second or two Meek seemed as if about 
to reply; but he moved noiselessly away at last 
and closed tiie door, leaving Roland alone with 
his own distracted thoughts 



CHAPTER LXIII. 

SCENE OF THE MURDER THE CORONER's VERDICT. 

Are there not proofs enough? 

Or can ihe slubljorn mind reject all truth 

And cling to fallacy? 

—The Will. 

What a change did Tubbermore present to its 
aspect of the day before! All the emblems of joy 
and festivity, all the motley of pleasure, all the 
gay troops of guests hastening onward in glowing 
eagerness and anticipation, were gone, and in 
their stead a dreary and mysterious silence brooded 
over the place, interrupted at intervals by the 
bustle of some dejjarture. For thus, without one 
word of sympathy, without even a passing good- 
bye, Roland's " friends" hurried away, as if flying 
from the very memories of the spot. 

It was a dreary winter's day; the dark leaden 
clouds that flitted past, and the long sighing wind, 
seemed to add their sad influence to the melan- 
choly. 'l"he house itself already appeared to feel 
its altered fortunes. Most of the windows were 
closed and shuttered; the decorations of rare 
])lanls and shrubs and lamps were removed; in- 
stead of the movement of liveried servants to and 
fro, ill-favored and coarse-clad men, the under- 
lings of the law, crept stealthily about, noticing 
each circumstance of the locality, and conferring 
together in mysterious whispers. Moimted mes- 
sengers, too, came and went with a haste that 
boded urgency; and post horses were each mo- 
ment arriving to carry away those whose impa- 
tience to leave was manifested in a hundred ways. 
Had the air of the place been infected with some 
pestilential malady, their eagerness could scarce 
liave been greater. All the fretful irritability of 
selfishness, all the peevish discontent of petty 
natures, exhibited themselves without shame; and 
envious expressions towards those fortunate 
enough to "get away first," and petulant com- 
plaints over their own delay, were bandied on 
every side. 

A great table was laid for breakfast in the 
dining-room, as usual. All the luxuries and ele- 
gancies that graced the board on former occasions 
were there, but a few only took their places. Of 
these, Frobisher and some military men were the 
chief. They, indeed, showed comparatively little 
of that anxiety to be gone so marked in the others. 
The monotony of the barrack and the parade was 
not attractive, and they lingered like men who, 
however little they had of pleasure here, had even 
less of inducement to betake them elsewhere. 

Meek had been the first to make his escape, 
by taking the post-horses intended for another, 
and already was many miles on his way towards 
Dublin. 1"he chief justice and his family were 
the next. From the hour of the fatal event, Mrs. 
Malone had assumed a judicial solemnity of de- 
meanor tliat produced a great impression upon 
the beholders, and seemed to convey, by a kind 
of reflected light, the old judge's gloomiest fore- 
bodings of the result. 

Mrs. Leicester White deferred her departure 
to oblige Mr. Howie, who was making a series of 
sketches for the Pictorial Paul Pry, showing not 



ROLAND CASH EL, 



• 591 



only the various facades of Tubbermore House, 
but several interesting " interiors:" such as tiie 
"Ball-room wlien the fatal tidings arrived;" 
" Dressing-room of Roland Casliel, Esq., when en- 
tered by the chief justice and his party;" the 
most effectiveof all being a very shadowy picture 
of the "Gap of Ennismore — the scene of the 
murder;" the whole connected by a little narra- 
tive so ingeniously drawn up as to give public 
opinion a very powerful bias against Cashel, 
whose features, in the woodcut, would in them- 
selves have made a formidable indictment. 

Of the Kennyfecks, few troubled themselves 
with even a casvial inquiry: except the fact that 
a fashionable physician had been sent for to 
Dublin, little was known about them. But where 
was Linton all this while? Some averred that he 
had set out for the capital, to obtain the highest 
legal assistance for his friend; others, that he 
was so overwhelmed by the terrible calamity as 
to have fallen into a state of fatuous insensibility. 
None, however, could really give any correct ac- 
count of him. He had left Tubbermore, but in 
what direction none could tell 

As the day wore on, a heavy rain began to fall; 
and of those who still remained in the house, little 
knots of two and three assembled at the windows, 
to watch for the arrival of their wished-for 
'■posters," or to speculate upon the weather. 
Another source of speculation there was besides. 
Some hours before, a magistrate, accompanied 
by a group of ill-dressed and vulgar-looking men, 
had been seen to pass the house, and take the 
path which led to the Gap of Ennismore. These 
formed the Inquest, who were to inquire into 
the circumstances of the crime, and whose verdict, 
however unimportant in a strictly legal sense, 
was looked for with considerable impatience by 
some of the company. .To judge froin the 
anxious looks that were directed towards the 
mountain-road, or the piercing glances which at 
times were given through telescopes in that direc- 
tion, one would have augured that some, at least, 
of those there, were not destitute of sympathy 
for him whose guests they had been, and beneath 
whose roof thev still lingered A very few words 
of those that passed between them will best an- 
swer how this impression is well founded. 

'' Have you sent your groom off, Upton?" 
asked Frobisher, as he stood with a coffee-cup in 
his hand at the window. 

"Yes, he passed the window full half an hour 
ago." 

"They are confoundedly tedious." said Jen- 
nings, half suppressing a yawn. " I thought those 
kind of fellows just gave a look at the body, and 
pronounced their verdict at once." 

"So they do when it's one of their own class; 
l)ut in the case of a gentleman they take a pro- 
digious interest in examining his watch, and his 
purse, and his pocket-hook; and, in fact, it is a 
grand occasion for prying as far as possible into 
his private concerns." 

" I'll double our bet, Upton, if you like," said 
l''r&bisher, languidly. 

The other shook his head negatively. 

'■ Why, the delay is clearly in your favor, 
man. If they were strong in their convictions, 



they'd have brought him in guilty an hour ago." 

"That is my opinion too," said Jennings. 

"Well, here goes. Two fitlies be it," cried 
Upton. 

Frobisher took out his memorandum-book and 
wrote something with a pencil. 

" Isn't that it?" said lie, showing the lines to 
Upton. 

"Just so. 'Wilful murder,'" muttered the 
other, reading. 

" You have a great ' pull' upon me, Upton," 
said Frobisher; "by Jove! if you were generous, 
you'd give me odds." 

" How so?" 

" Why, you saw his face since the affair, and I 
didn't." 

'■ It would need a better physiognomist than I 
am to read it. He looked exactly as he always 
does; a thought paler, perhaps, but no other 
change." 

" Here comes a fellow with news," said Jen- 
nings, throwing open the window. "Isay, my man, 
is it over?" 

" No, sir the jury want to see one of Mr. 
Cashel's boots." 

Jennings closed the sash, and lighting a cigar, 
sat down in an easy-chair. A desultory con- 
versation here arose among some of the younger 
military men whether a coroner's verdict were 
final, and whether a " fellow could be hanged" 
when it pronounced him guilty; the astute por- 
tion of the debaters inclining to the opinion that 
although this was not the case in England, such 
would be "law" in Ireland Then the subject 
of confiscation was entertained, and various 
doubts and surmises arose as to what would be- 
come of Tubbermore when its proprietor had 
been executed, with sly jests about the reversio:i- 
ary rights of the crown, and the magnanimity of 
extending mercy at the price of a great landed 
estate. These filled up the time for an hour or 
so more, interspersed with conjectures as to 
Cashel's present frame of mind, and considerable 
wonderment why he hadn't "bolted" at once. 

At last Upton's groom was seen approaching 
at a tremendous pace; and in a few minutes after 
he had pulled up at the door, and dismounting 
with a spring, hastened into the house. 

"Well, Robert, how did it go?" cried Upton, 
as, followed bv the rest, he met him in the 
hall 

"You've lost, sir," said the man, wiping iiis 
forehead. 

" Confound the rascals! But what are the 
words of the verdict?" 

" 'Wilful murder,' sir." 

"Of course," said Frobisher, cooHy; "they 
could give no other." 

■' It's no use betting against you," cried Upton, 
pettishly. "You are the luckiest dog in Europe." 

" Come, I'll give you a chance," said Frobisher; 
" double or quit that they hang him." 

"No, no; I've lost enough on him. I'll not 
have it." 

"Well, I suppose we've nothing to wait for 
now," yawned Jennings. " Shall w-e start?" 

"Not till we have luncheon, T vote," cried an 
infantry sub; and his suggestion met general ap- 



592 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



proval. And while they are seated at a table 
where exquisite meats and rarest wines stimulated 
appetite and provoked excess, let us turn for a 
few brief moments to him who, still their enter- 
tainer, sat in his lone chamber, friendless and 
deserted. 

So rapid had been the succession of events 
which occupied one single night, that Roland 
could not believe it possible months had not 
passed over. Even then he found it difficult to 
disentangle the real circumstances from those 
fancied results his imagination had already de- 
picted, many of the true incidents appearing far 
more like fiction than the dreamy fancies his 
mind invented. His meeting with Enrique, for 
instance, was infinitely less probable tlian that he 
should have fought a duel with Linton, and 
so, in many other cases, his faciilities wavered 
between belief and doubt, till his very senses 
reeled with the confusion. Kennyfeck's death 
alone stood out from this chaotic mass, clear, 
distinct, and palpable, and, as he sat brooding 
over this terrible fact, he was totally unconscious 
'of its bearing upon his own fortunes. Selfish- 
ness formed no part of his nature; his fault lay 
in the very absence of self-esteem, and the total 
deficiency of that individuality vvhicli prompts 
men to act up to a self-created standard He 
could sorrow for him who was no more, and 
from whom he had received stronger proofs of 
devotion than, from all his so-called friends; he 
could grieve over the widowed mother and the 
fatherless girls, for whose destitution he felt, he 
knew not how or wlierefore, a certain culpability; 
but of himself and his own critical position, not 
a thought arose. The impressions that no effort 
of his own could convey, fell with a terrific shock 
upon him when suggested by another. 

He was seated at his table, trying, for the 
twentieth time, to collect his wandering thoughts, 
and determine what course to follow, when a tap 
was heard at his door, and it opened at the same 
instant 

" I am come, sir," said Mr. Goring, with a 
voice full of feeling, "to bring you sad tidings, 
but for which events may have, in a measure, 
prepared you." He paused, perha]is hoping that 
Cashel would spare him the pain of continuing, 
but Roland never spoke. 

" The inquest has completed its labors," 
said Goring, with increasing agitation; " and 
the verdict is one of ' wilful murder.' " 

■' It was a foul and terrible crime," said Cashel, 
shuddering; "the poor fellow was animated with 
kind intentions and benevolent views towards the 
people. In all our intercourse, he displayed 
but one spirit " 

" Have a care, sir," said Goring, mildly. 
" It is j^^st possible that, in the frankness of the 
moment, something may escape you which here- 
after vou might wish unsaid; and standing in the 
[)osition you now do " 

" How so? What position, sir, do I occupy, 
that should preclude me from the open expres- 
sion of my sentiments?" 

"I have already told you, sir, that the verdict 
of the jury was wilful murder, and I hold here 
in my hand the 'varrant for your arrest " 



" As the criminal ? as the murderer?" cried 
Cashel, with a voice almost like a shriek of agony. 
Goring bowed his head, andRoland fell powerless 
on the floor. 

Summoning others to his aid, Goring succeeded 
in lifting him up and placing him on a bed. A 
few drops of blood that issued from his mouth, 
and his heavy snoring respiration, indicated an 
apoplectic seizure. Messengers were sent in 
various directions to fetch a doctor. Tiernay 
was absent, and it was some hours ere one could 
be found. Large bleeding and quiet produced 
the usual effects, and towards evening Cashel's 
consciousness had returned; but memory was 
still clouded and incoherent, and he lay without 
speaking, and almost without thought. 

After the lapse of about a week he was able 
to leave his bed and creep about his chamber, 
whose altered look contributed to recall his mind 
to the past. All his papers and letters had been 
removed; the window was secured with iron 
stanchions; and policemen stood sentry at the 
door. He remembered everything that had oc- 
curred, and sat down in patient thought to con- 
sider what he should do. 

He: learned witliout surprise, but not without a 
pang, that of all his friends not one had remained 
— not one had offered a word of counsel in his 
affliction, or of comfort in his distress. He asked 
after Mr Corrigan, and heard that he had quit- 
ted the country, with his granddaughter, on the 
day before the terrible event. Tiernay, it was 
said, had accompanied them to Dublin, and not 
since returned. Roland was, then, utterly friend- 
less! What wonder if he became as utterly reck- 
less, as indifferent to life, as life seemed value- 
less? And so was it: he heard with indifference 
the order for his removal to Limerick, although 
that implied a gaol! • He listened to the vulgar, 
but kindly-meant counsels of his keepers, who 
advised him to seek legal assistance, with a smile 
of half-contempt. The obdurate energy of a 
martyrdom seemed to take possession of him; 
and, so far from applying his mind to disen- 
tangle the web of suspicion around him, he 
watched, with a strange interest, the convergence 
of every minute circumstance towards the proof 
of his guilt; a secret vindictiveness whispering 
to his heart that the day would come when his 
innocence should be proclaimed, and then, what 
tortures of remorse would be theirs who had 
brought him to a felon's death! 

Each day added to the number of these seem- 
ing ]5roofs, and the newspapers, in paragraphs of 
gossiping, abounded with circumstances that had 
already convinced the public of Cashel's guilt; 
and how often do such shadowy convictions 
throw their gloom over the prisoner's dock ! (^ne 
day, the fact of the boot-track tallying precisely 
with Roland's, filled the town, another, it was 
the pistol-wadding — part of a letter addressed to 
Cashel — had been discovered. Then, there were 
vague rumors afloat that the causes of Cashel's 
animosity to Kennyfeck were not so secret as 
the world fancied, that there were persons of 
credit to substantiate and explain them, and, 
lastly, it was made known, that among the papers 
seized on Cashel's table was a letter, just begun 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



593 



by himself, but to whom addressed uncertain, 

which ran thus: 

"As these in all likelihood maybe the last 
lines I shall ever write " 

Never, in all the gaudy glare of his prosper- 
ity, had he occupied more of public attention. 
The metaphysical penny-a-liners speculated upon 
the influence liis old buccaneer habits might have 
exercised upon a mind so imperfectly tramed to 
civilization; and amused themselves with guesses 
as to how far some Indian "cross" in blood 
might not have contributed to his tragic ven- 
geance. Less scrupulous scribes invented deeds 
of violence, in a word, there seemed a kind of 
impulse abroad to prove him guilty; and it 
would liave been taken as apiece of casuistry, or 
a mawkish sympathy with crime, to assume the 
opposite. Not, indeed, that any undertook so 
ungracious a task; the tide of accusation ran 
uninterrupted and unbroken. The very friend- 
less desolation in which he stood was quoted and 
commented on to this end. One alone of all his 
former friends made an effort in his favor, and 
ventured to insinuate that his guilt was far from 
certain This was Lord Charles Frobisher, 
who, seeing in the one-sidedness of public opin- 
ion the impossibility of obtaining a bet, tried 
thus to " get up" an " innocent party," in the 
ho[)e of a profitable wager. 

But what became of Linton all this time? His 
game was a difficult one; and to enable him to 
play it successfully he needed reflection. To this 
end he affected to be so shocked by the terrible 
event as to be incapable of mixing in society. 
He retired, therefore, to his cottage near Dublin, 
and for some weeks lived a life of perfect se- 
clusion. Mr. Phillis accompanied him; for 
Linton would not trust him out of his sight till 
— as he muttered in his own phrase — " all was 
over." 

This was, indeed, the most eventful period of 
Linton's life; and with consummate skill he saw 
that any move on his part would be an error. It 
is true that, through channels with whose work- 
ings he was long conversant, he contributed the 
various paragraphs to the papers by which 
Casliel's guilt was foreshadowed; his knowledge 
of Roland suggesting many a circumstance well 
calculated to substantiate the charge of crime. 
If he never ventured abroad into the world, he 
made himself master of all his secret whisper- 
ings; and heard how he was himself commended 
for delicacy and good feeling, with the satisfaction 
of a man who glories in a cheat. And how many 
are there who play false in life, less from the 
gain than the gratification of vanity! — a kind of 
diabolical pride in outwitting and overreaching 
those whose good faith has made them weak ! 
The polite world does not take the same interest 
in deeds of terror as do their more humble 
brethren, they take their "horrors" as they do 
their one glass of Tokay at dessert — a some- 
thing, of which a little more would be nauseat- 
ing. The less polished classes were, therefore, 
those who took the greatest pleasure in follow- 
ing up every clue and tracing each circumstance 
that pointed to Roland's guilt, and so, at last, 
liis name was rarely mentioned among those with 



whom so lately he had lived in daily, almost 
hourly, companionship. 

When Linton, then, deemed the time expired, 
which his feelings of grief and shame had de- 
manded for retirement, he reappeared in the 
world pretty much as men had always seen him. 
A very close observer, if he would have suffered 
any one to be such, might have perhajjs detected 
tiie expression of care in certain wrinkles round 
his mouth, and in the extra blackness of his 
whiskers, where grey hairs had dared to show 
themselves; but to the world at large these signs 
were inappreciable. To them he was the same 
even-tempered, easy-mannered man they ever 
saw him. Nor was this accomplished without an 
effort; for, however Linton saw the hour of his 
vengeance draw nigh, he also perceived that all 
his personal plans of fortune and aggrandizement 
had utterly failed. The hopes he had so often 
cherished were all fled. His title to the cottage, 
his prospect of a seat in Parliament, the very 
sums he had won at play, and which to a large 
amount remained in Cashel's hands, he now per- 
ceived were all forfeited to revenge. The pric'e 
was, indeed, a heavy one! and already he began 
to feel it so. Many of his creditors had ab- 
stained from pressing him so long as his intimacy 
with ("ashel gave promise of future splvency. 
That illusion was now dispelled, and each post 
brought him dunning epistles, and threatening 
notices of various kinds. Exposures menaced 
him from men whose vindictiveness he was well 
aware of; but far more perilous than all these 
were his relations with Tom Keane, who con- 
tinued to address letter after letter to him, crav- 
ing advice and pecuniary assistance, in a tone 
where menace was even 'more palpable than en- 
treaty. To leave these unreplied to, might have 
been dangerous in the extreme; to answer them 
even more perilous. No other course was, then, 
open than to return to Tubbermore, and en- 
deavor, in secret, to confer with this man face to 
face. There was not any time to lose. Cashel's 
trial was to take place at the ensuing assizes, 
which now were close at hand. Keane was to 
figure there as an important witness. It was 
absolutely necessary to see him, and caution him 
as to the nature of the evidence he should give, 
nor suffer him in the exuberance of his zeal to 
prove " too much." 

Under pretence, therefore, of a hurried trip to 
London, he left his house one evening, and went 
on board the packet at Kingstown, dismissing 
his carriage as if about to depart; then, suddenly 
affecting to discover that his luggage had been 
carried away by mistake, he landed, and set out 
with post-horses across country towards the west- 
ern road Before midnight he was safe in the 
mail, on his way to Limerick, and by daybreak 
on the following morning he was standing in the 
wood of Tubbermore, and gazing with a thought- 
ful head upon the house, whose shuttered win- 
dows and barred doors told of its altered des- 
tiny. 

From thence he wandered onward towards the 
cottage — some strange, inexplicable interest over 
him — to see once more the spot he had so often 
fancied to be his own, and where, with a fcrxor 



594 



ROLAND CASH EL. 



not altogetlier unreal, he had sworn to pass his 
days in tranquil solitude. Brief as had been the 
interval since last he stood there, the changes 
were considerable. The flower-pots were tram- 
pled and trodden down, the palings smashed, the 
ornamental trees and shrubs were injured and 
broken by the cattle; traces of reckless haste and 
carelessness were seen in the broken gates and 
torn gate-posts; while fragments of packing- 
cases, straw, and paper littered the walks and 
the turf around. 

Looking through the windows, broken in many 
places, he could see the cottage was perfectly dis- 
mantled. Everything was gone, not a trace re- 
mained of those who for so many years had 
i-alled it home! The desolation was complete; 
nor was it without its depressing influence upon 
him who stood there to mark it; for, strange 
enough, there are little spots in the minds of 
those, where evil actions are oftenest cradled, 
that form the refuge of many a tender thought! 
I.inton remembered the coltage as he saw it 
bright in the morning sun; or, more cheerful 
still, as the closed curtains and the blazing fire 
gave a look of homelike comfort to which the 
\eriest wanderer is not insensible; and now it 
was cold and dark. He had no self-accusings as 
to the cause. It -was, to him, one of those sad 
mutations which the course of fortune is ever 
effecting. He even went further, and fancied how 
different had been their fate if they had not re- 
jected his own alliance. 

" In this world of ours," muttered he, " the 
cards we are dealt by fortune would nearly al- 
ways suffice to win, had we but skill. These 
people had a noble game before them, but, for- 
sooth, they did not fancy their partner! And see 
what is come of it — ruin on every side!" 

(iloomy thoughts over his own opportunities 
neglected — over eventful moments left to slip by 
unprofitably — stole over him. Many of his late 
speculations iiad been unsuccessful; he had had 
heavy losses on the "turf" and the '"change." 
He had failed in promises by which menacing 
dangers had been long averted. His enemies 
would soon be upon him, and he was ill provided 
for the encounter. Vengeance alone, of all his 
aspirations, seemed to prosper; and he tried to 
revel in that thought as a compensation for 
every failure. 

Nor was this unmi.xed with fear. What if 
Cashel should enter upon a defence by exposing 
the events of that last night at Tubbermore.' 
What if he should produce the forged deed in 
open court? Who was to say that Enrique him- 
self might not be forthcoming to prove his false- 
hood ? A'^^ain; how far could he trust Tom 
K-eane? might not the fellow's avarice suggest a 
tyranny impossible to endure? Weighty consid- 
erations were these, and full of their own peril. 
Mnton paused beside the lake to ruminate, and 
for some time was deep buried in thought. A 
light rustling sound at last aroused him; he 
looked up, and perceived, directly in front of 
him, the very man of whom he was thinking — 
Tom Keane himself. 

Both stood still, each fixedly regarding the 
other without speaking. It seemed a game in 



which he who made the first move should lose. 
So, certainly, did Linton feel; but not so Tom 
Keane, who, with an easy composure that all the 
other's " breeding" coidd not conij^ass, said: 
" Well, sir, I hope you like your woik?" 
"My work! tiiy work! How can you call it 
mine, my good friend?" replied Linton, with a 
great effort to appear as much at ease as the 
other. 

"Just as ould Con Corrigan built the little 
pier we're standin' on this minit, though his own 
hands didn't lay a stone of it." 

■'There's no similarity between the cases 
whatever," said Linton, with a well-feigned laugh. 
"Here there was a plan — an employer — hired 
laborers engaged to perform a certain task." 

"Well, well," broke in Keane, impatiently; 
"sure we're not in 'coort,' that you need make a 
speech 'Twas your own doing: deny it if you 
like, but don't drive me to prove it." 

"The tone of menace in which these words 
were uttered was increased by the fact, now for 
the first tmie apparent to Linton, that 'I'oni 
Keane had been drinking freely that morning, and 
was still under the strong excitement of liquor. 

Linton passed his arm familiarly within the 
other's, and in a voice of deep meaning, said, 
" Were you only as cautious as you are courage- 
ous, Tom, there's not a man in Europe I'd rather 
take as my partner in a dangerous enterprise. 
You are a glorious fellow in the hour of peril, 
but you are a child, a mere child, when it's 
over." 

Keane did not speak, but a leer of inveterate 
cunning seemed to answer this speech. 

"I say this, Tom," said Linton, coaxingly, 
" because I see the risk to which your natural 
frankness will expose vou. There are fellows 
prowling about on every side to scrape up in- 
formation about this affair; and as, in some un- 
guarded moment, when a glass too much has made 
the tongue run freely, any man may say things, 
to explain which away afterwards he is often led 

to go too far You understand me. Tom?" 

''I do, sir," said the other, nodding shortly. 
" It was on that account I came down here 
to-day, I'om. The trial is fixed for the isth: 
now, the time is so short between this and that, 
you can surely keep a strict watch over yourself 
till ' all is over?' " 

"And what then, sir?" asked Tom, with a 
cunning glance beneath his brows. 

".\fter that," rejoined Linton, affecting to mis- 
take the meaning of the question — " after that the 
law takes its course, and you trouble yourself no 
more on the matter." 

"And is that all, Mr. Linton? — is that all?" 
asked the man, as freeing himself from the other's 
arm, he drew himself up to his full height, and 
stood directly in front of him. 

" I must own, Tom, that I don't understand 
your question." 

"I'll make it plain and azy for you, then," 
said Keane with a hardened determination in his 
manner. "'Twas you yourself put me up to this 
business 'Twas you that left the pistol in my 
possession. 'Twas you that towld me how it was 
to be done, and where to do it; and" — here his 



ROLAND CASH EL. 



mr> 



voice became deep, thick and guttural with 
passion — "and by the 'mortal God! if I'm to 
hang for it, so will you too." 

"Hang!" exclaimed Linton. "Who talks of 
hanging? or what possible danger do you run — 
e.xcept, indeed, what your own indiscreet tongue 
may bring upon you?" 

"Isn't it as good to die on the gallows as on 
the road-side?" asked the other fiercely. "What 
betther am I for what I done, tell me that?" 

" I have told you before, and I tell you again, 
that when 'all is over' you shall be amply pro- 
vided for." 

"And why not before?" said he, almost in- 
solently. 

"If you must know the reason," said Linton, 
affecting a smile, "you shall hear it. Your in- 
caution -would make you at once the object of 
suspicion, were you to be seen with money at 
command as freelyas you will have it hereafter." 

"Will you give me that in writin'? — will you 
give it to me undher your hand?" asked Keane, 
boldly. 

"Of course I will," said Linton, who was too 
subtle a tactician to hesitate about a pledge 
which could not be e.xacted on the instant. 

"That's what I call talkin' fair," said Keane; 
"an", by my sowl, it's the best of your play to 
trate me well." 

"There is only one thing in the world could 
induce me to do otherwise." 

"An' what's that, sir?" 

"Your daring to use a threat to me!" said 
Linton, sternly. " There never was the man that 
tried that game — and there have been some just 
as clever fellows as Tom Keane who did try it — 
who didn't find that they met their match." 

" I only ax what's right and fair," said the 
other, abashed by the daring effrontery of Linton's 
air. 

".\nd you shall have it, and more. You shall 
either have enough to settle in America, or, if 
you prefer it, to live abroad." 

"And wliy not stay at home here?" said Tom, 
dogged!)'. 

"To blurt out your secret in some drunken 
moment, and be hanged at last!" said Linton, 
with a cutting irony. 

"An', may be, tell how one Misther Linton put 
the wickedness first in my head," added Tom as 
if finishing the sentence. 

Linton bit his lip, and turned angrily away to 
conceal the mortification the speech had caused 
him. " My good friend," said he in a deliberate 
voice, "you think that whenever you upset the 
boat you will drown »ic; and I have half a mind to 
dare you to do it, just to show you the shortness 
of calculation. Trust me" — there was a terrible 
distinctness in his utterance of these words — 
" trust me, that in all my dealings with the world, 
I have left very little at the discretion of what 
are called men of honor. I leave nothing, abso- 
I lutely notliing, in the power of such as you." 

At last did Linton strike the right chord of the 
fellow's nature; andm his subdued and crestfallen 
countenance might be read the signs of his pros- 
tration. 

" Hear me now attentively, Keane, and let my 



words rest well in your memory. The trial conies 
on on the 15th; your evidence will be the most 
important of all; but give it with the reluctance 
of a man who shrinks from bringing his landlord 
to the scaffold. You understand me? Letc\er)- 
thing you say show the desire to screen Mr. 
Cashel. Another point: affect not to know any- 
thing save what you actually saw. You never 
can repeat too often the words, 'I didn't see ii.' 
This scrupulous reliance on eyesight imposes 
well upon a jury. These are the only cautions 
I have to give you. Your own natural intelli- 
gence will supply the rest. When all is finished, 
you will come up to Dublin, and call at a certain 
address which will be given you hereafter. And 
now we part. It is your own fault if you lose a 
friend who never deserted the man that stood by 
him." 

" An' are you going back to Dublin now, sir?" 
asked Keane, over whose mind Linton's influ- 
ence had become dominant, and who actually 
dreaded to be left alone, and without his guid- 
ance. 

Linton nodded an assent. 

" But you'll be down here at the trial, sii ?" 
asked Tom, eagerly. 

"I suspect not," said Linton, "If not sum- 
moned as a witness, I'll assuredly not come." 

"Oh, murther!" exclaimed Tom. "I thought 
I'd have you in the ' coort,' just to look up at you 
from time to time, to give me courage and make 
me feel bovvld; for it does give me courage when 
I see you so calm and so azy, without as much 
as a tremble in your voice." 

".It is not likely that I shall be there," rejoined 
Linton; "but mind, if I be, that you do //oi di- 
rect your eyes towards me. Remember, that 
every look you give, every gesture you make, 
will be watched and noted." 

" I wondher how I'll get through it!" exclaimed 
the other, sorrowfully. 

" You'll get through it admirably, man, if you'll 
only think that you are not the person in peril. 
It is your conscience alone can bring you into 
any danger." 

"Well, I hope so! with the help of- " The 

fellow stopped short, and a red flush of shame 
spread itself over features which in a whole life- 
long had never felt a blush. 

" I'd like to be able to give you something 
better than this, Tom," said Linton, as he placed 
a handful of loose silver in the other's palm, " but 
it is safer for the present that you should not be 
seen with much money." 

" I owe more than this at Mark Shea's ' public,' " 
said Tom, looking discontentedly at the money. 

"And why should you owe it?" said Linton, 
bitterly. "What is there in vour circumstances 
to warrant debts of this kind?" 

" Didn't I earn it — tell me that?" asked the 
ruffian, with a savage earnestness. 

" I see that you are hopeless," said Linton, 
turning away in disgust. "Take your own 
course, and see were it will lead you." 

"No — you mean where it will lead us," said 
the fellow, insolently. 

"What! do you dare to threaten me! Now, 
once for all, let this have an end. I have 



596 



ROLAND CASH EL. 



hitherto treated you with candor and with kind- 
ness. If you fancy that my hate can be more 
profitable than my friendship, say so, and before 
one hour passes over your head I'll have you 
committed to prison as an accessory to the 
murder." 

"I ax your pardon humbly — I didn't mean to 
anger yer honer," said the other, in a servile 
tone. " I'll do everything you bid me — and sure 
you know best what ought to be done." 

"Then let us part good friends,' said Linton, 
holding out his hand towards him. "I see a 
boat coming over the lake which will drop me 
at Killaloe; we must not be seen together — so 
good-bye, Tom, good-bye." 

"Good-bye, and a safe journey to yer honer," 
said Tom, as, touching his hat respectfully, he 
retired into the wood. 

The boat which Linton descried was still above 
a mile from the shore, and he sat down upon a 
stone to await its coming. Beautiful as that 
placid lake was, with its background of bold 
mo_;mtains, its scattered islands, and its jutting 
promontories, he had no eye for these, but fol- 
lowed with a peering glance the direction in 
which Tom Keane had departed. 

"There are occasions," muttered he to him- 
self, " when thd boldest courses are the safest. 
Is this one of these? Dare I trust that fellow, or 
would this be better?" And, as if mechanically, 
he drew forth a double-barrelled pistol from his 
breast, and looked fi.xedly at it. 

He arose from his seat, and sat down again — 
his mind seemed Iseset with hesitation and doubt; 
but the conflict did not last long, for he replaced 
the weapon, and walking down to the Take, 
dipped his fingers in the water and bathed his 
temples, saying to himself: 

"Better as it is: over-caution is as great an 
erro as foolhardiness." 

With a dexterity acquired by long practice, he 
now disguised his features so perfectly that none 
could have recognized him; and by the addition 
of a wig and whiskers of bushy red hair, totally 
changed the character of his appearance. This 
he did, that at any future period he might not be 
recognized by tire boatmen, who, in answer to 
his signal, nou pulled vigorously towards the 
shore. 

He soon bargained with them to leave him at 
Killaloe, and as they rowed along engaged them 
to talk about the country, in which he affected 
to be a tourist. Of course the late murder was 
the theme uppermost in every mind, and 
Linton marked with satisfaction how decisively 
the current of popular belief ran in attributing 
the guilt to Cashel. 

With a perversity peculiar to the peasant, the 
agent, whom they had so often inveighed against 
for cruelty in his lifetime, they now discovered 
to have been the type of all that was kind-hearted 
and benevolent; and had no hesitation in attrib- 
uting his unhappy fate to an altercation in 
which he, with too rash a zeal, was the " poor 
man's advocate." 

The last words he was heard to utter on leav- 
ing Tubbermore were quoted, as implying a con- 
demnation on Cashel's wasteful extravagance, at 



a time when the poor around were " perishing 
of hunger." Even to Linton, whose mind was 
but too conversant with the sad truths of the 
story, these narratives assumed the strongest 
form of consistency and likelihood; and he saw 
how effectually circumstantial evidence can con- 
vict a man in public estimation, long belore a 
jury are sworn to try him. 

Crimes of this nature, now, had not been un- 
frequent in that district; and the country peo- 
ple felt a species of savage vengeance in urging 
their accusations against a "' gentleman," who 
had not what they reckoned as (he extenuating 
circumstances to diminish or explain away his 
guilt. 

" He wasn't turned out of his little place to die 
on the road-side," muttered one. "He wasn't 
threatened, like poor Tom Keane, to be 'starnii- 
nated,' " cried another. 

"And who is Tom Keane?" asked Linton. 

" The gatekeeper up at the big house yonder, 
sir; one that's lived man and boy nigh fifty years 
there; and Mr. Cashel swore he'd root him cut, 
for all that!" 

"Ay!" chimed in another, in a mornli, nj 
whine, "and see where he is himself, now!" 

"I wondher, now, if they'd hang him, sir?" 
asked one. 

"Why not." asked Linton, "if he should be 
found guilty?" 

"They say, sir, the gentlemen can always pay 
for another man to be hanged instead of them. 
Musha, maybe 'tisn't true," added he, diffidently, 
as he saw the smile on Linton's face. 

"I think you'll find that the right man will 
suffer in this case," said Linton; and a gleam of 
malignant passion shot from his dark eyes as he 
spoke. 



CHAPTER LXIV. 

THE TRIAL — THE PROSECUTION. 
As I listened I thought myself guilty. — Warren Hastings. 

For several days before that appointed for 
the trial of Roland Cashel, the assize town was 
crowded with visitors from every part of the 
island. Not a house, not a room was unoccu- 
pied, so intense was the interest to vi'itness a cause 
into which so many elements of exciting story 
entered. His great wealth, his boundless extrava- 
gance, the singular character of his early life, 
gave rise to a hundred curious anecdotes, which 
the prers circulated with a most unscrupulous 
freedom. 

Nor did public curiosity stop at the walls of the 
prison; for every detail of his life, since the day 
of his commital, was carefully recorded by the 
papers. The unbroken solitude in which he 
lived; the apparent calm coUectedness in which 
he awaited his trial; his resolute refusal to em- 
ploy legal assistance; his seeming indifference to 
the alleged clues to the discovery of the murder, 
were commented on and repeated till they formed 
the table-talk of the land. 

The only person \vith whom he desired to 



ROLAND CASHEL 



597 



communicate was Doctor Tiernay; but the doc- 
tor had left Ireland in company with old Mr. 
Corrigan and Miss Leicester, and none knew 
whither they had directed their steps. 

Of all his former friends and acquaintances, 
• Cashel did not appear to remember one; nor, 
certainly, did they obtrude themselves in any 
way upon his recollection. The public, it is 
true, occupied themselves abundantly with his 
interests. Letters, some with signatures, the 
greater number without, were addressed to him, 
containing advices and counsels the strangest 
and most opposite, and requests, which to one 
in his situation were the most inappropriate. 
Exhortations to confess his crime came from 
some, evidently more anxious for the solution of 
a mystery than the repentance of a criminal. 
Some, suggested legal quibbles to be used at tlie 
trial; others, hinted at certain most skilful advo- 
cates, whose services had been crowned with 
success in the case of most atrocious wretches. 
A few, asked for autographs; and one, in a neat 
crowquill hand, with paper smelling strongly of 
musk, requested a lock of his hair! 

If by any accident Cashel opened one of these 
epistles, he was certain to feel amused. It was, 
to him at least, a new view of life, and of that 
civilization against which he now felt himself a 
rebel. Generally, however, he knew nothing of 
them: a careless indifference, a reckless disre- 
gard of the future, had taken complete posses- 
sion of him; and the only impatience he ever 
manifested was at the slovv march of the time 
which should elapse before the day of trial. 

The day at length arrived; and even within 
the dreary walls of the prison were heard the 
murmured accents of excitement as the great 
hour drew nigh. 

Mr. Goring at an early hour had visited the 
prisoner, to entreat him, for the last time, to 
abandon his mad refusal of legal aid; explaining 
forcibly that there were constantly cases occurring 
where innocence could only be asserted by dis- 
entangling the ingenious tissue with which legal 
astuteness can invest a circumstance. Cashel re- 
jected this counsel calmly but peremptorily; and 
when pressed home by other arguments, in a 
moment of passing impatience confessed that he 
■was " weary of life, and would make no effort to 
prolong it." 

" Even so, sir," said Goring. " There is here 
another question at issue. Are you satisfied to 
fill the dislionored grave of a criminal? Does 
not the name by which men will speak of you 
hereafter possess any terror for you now?" 

A slight tremor shook Cashel's voice as he re- 
plied, "Were I one who left kindred or attached 
friends behind him, these considerations would 
have their weight, nor would I willingly leave 
them the heritage of such disgrace; but I am 
alone in the world, without one to blush for my 
dishonor, or shed a tear over my sorrow. The 
calumny of my fellow-men will only fall on ears 
sealed by death; nor will their jeers break the 
slumber I am so soon to sleep." 

Goring labored hard to dissuade him from his 
resolve, but to no purpose. The only consolation 
of which Roland seemed capable arose from the 



dogged indifference he felt as to the result, and 
the consciousness of an innocence he was too 
proud to assert. 

From an early hour of the rnorning the court 
was crowded. Many persons distinguished in the 
world of fashion were to be seen amid the gowned 
and wigged throng that filled the body of the 
building; and in the galleries were a vast number 
of ladies, whose elegance of dress told how much 
they regarded the scene as one of display, as 
well as of exciting interest. Some, had been 
frequent guests at his house; others, had often 
received him at their own; and there they sat, in 
eager expectancy to see how he would behave, to 
criticize his bearing, to scan his looks through 
their '''lorgnettes" and note the accents in which 
he would speak. A few, indeed, of his more in- 
timate friends denied themselves the treat such 
an exhibition promised; and it was plain to see 
how highly they estimated their own forbearance. 
Still, Frobisher and some of his set, stood beneath 
the gallery, and watched the proceedings with in- 
terest. 

Some routine business of an uninteresting 
nature over, the cas^e of the King versus Roland 
Cashel was called, and the governor of the gaol 
was ordered to produce the prisoner. A murmur 
of intense interest quickly ran through the 
crowded assembly, and as suddenly was subdued 
to a dead silence as the crowd, separating, per- 
mitted the passage of two armed policemen, after 
whom Cashel walked, followed by two others. 
Scarcely had he merged from the dense throng 
and taken his place in the dock, when a buzz 
of astonishment went round; for the prisoner, 
instead of being dressed decorously in black, as 
is customary, or at least in some costume bespeak- 
ing care and respect, was attired in the very suit 
ire wore on the eventful night of the murder, the 
torn sleeves and blood-stained patches attracting 
e\ery eye around him. He was paler and thinner 
tiian his wont; and if his ct)untenance was moie 
deeply thoughtful, there was nothing in it that 
evinced anxiety, or even expectancy. As he 
entered the dock, they who stood nearest to him 
remarked that a slight flush stole over his face, 
and something that seemed painful to his feelings 
appeared to work within him. A brief effort 
overcatiie this, and he raised his eyes and carried 
his looks around the court with the most perfect 
unconcern. 

The prisoner was now arraigned, and the clerk 
proceeded to read over the indictment; after 
which came the solemn question, " How say you, 
prisoner, guilty or not guilty?" Either not un- 
derstanding the " quaere" as directly addressed to 
himself, or conceiving it to be some formality not 
requiring an answer, Cashel stood in calm and 
respectful silence for some minutes, when the 
judge, in a mild voice, explained the meaning of 
the interrogation. 

"Not guilty, my lord," said Cashel, promptly; 
and though the words were few, and those almost 
of course on such an occasion, the feeling in the 
court was manifestly in concurrence with the 
speaker. The routine detail of calling over the 
jury panel involving the privilege of " challenge," 
it became necessary to explain this to Cashel, 



698 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



whose ignorance of all legal forms being now so 
manifest, ihe judge asked who was counsel for the 
prisoner. 

" He has not named any, my lord." 

With patient kindness the judge turned to the 
dock, and counselled him, even now, late as it 
was, to select some one among the learned mem- 
bers of the bar, ivhose guidance would materially 
serve his interests, and save him from the many 
embarrassments his own unassisted efforts would 
produce. 

"I thank you, my lord, for your consideration," 
replied he, calmly, '" but if I be ii»nocent' of this 
crime, I stand in need of no skill to defend me. 
If guilty, I do not deserve it " 

" Were guilt and innocence always easy of 
detection," said the judge, " your remark might 
have some show of reason; l)ut such is rarely 
the case: and once more I would entreat you to 
entrust your cause to some one conversant with 
our forms and acquainted with our duties." 

" I am not guilty, my lord," replied Roland, 
boldly, '■ nor do I fear that any artifice can make 
me appear such. I will not have counsel." 

The attorney-general here in a low voice ad- 
dressed the bench, and suggested that .'Itliough the 
prisoner might not himself select a c e ender, yet 
the interests of justice, generally, rci.i.,iring that 
the witnesses should be cross-examined, it would 
be well if the court would appoint some one to 
that duty. 

The judge repeated the suggestion aloud, ad- 
ding his perfect concurrence in its nature, and 
inviting the learned bar to lend a volunteer in 
the cause; when a voice called out, "I will will- 
ingly accept the office, my lord, with your per- 
mission." 

" Very well, Mr. Clare Jones," replied the 
judge; and that gentleman, of whom so long 
we have lost sight, advanced to the front of the 
bar, beside the dock. 

Cashel, during this scene, appeared like one 
totally uninterested in all that was going forward; 
nor did he ever turn his head towards where his 
self-appointed advocate was standing. As the 
names of the jury were called over, Jones closely 
scrutinized each individual, keenly inquiring 
from what part of the county he came — vvhetlier 
he had resided as a tenant on the Cashel estate 
— and if he had, on any occasion, expressed 
himself strongly on the guilt or innocence of the 
accused. To all these details Roland listened 
with an interest the novelty suggested, but, it 
was plain to see, without any particle of ihat feel- 
ing which his own position might have called for. 
The jury were at length empannelled, and the 
trial began. 

Few, even among the most accomplished weavers 
of narrative, can equal the skill with which a 
clever lawyer details the story of a criminal trial. 
The orderly sequence in which the facts occur — 
the neat equipoise in which matters are weighed 
— the rigid insistance upon some points, the in- 
sinuated probabilities and the likelihood of others 
— are all arranged and combined with a mas- 
terly power that more discursive fancies would 
fail in. 

Events and incidents that to common intel- 



ligence appear to have no bearing on the case, 
arise, like unexpected witnesses, at intervals, to 
corroborate this, or to msinuate that. Time, 
place, distance, locality, the laws of light and 
sound, the phenomena of science, are all invoked^ 
not with the abstruse pedantry of a bookworm, 
but with the ready-witted acuieness of one who 
has studied mankind in the parti-colored page 
of real life. 

To any one unaccustomed to these efforts, 
the effect produced is almost miraculous: con- 
viction steals in from so many sources, tliat the 
mind, like a city assaulted on every side, is 
captured almost at once. All the force of cause 
and effect is often imparted to matters which are 
merely consecutive; and it requires patient con- 
sideration to disembarrass a case of much thatjis 
merely insinuated, and more that is actually 
speculative. 

In the present instance everything was circum- 
stantial; but so much the more did it impress all 
who listened, even to him who, leaning on the rails 
of the dock, now heard with wonderment how 
terribly consistent were all the events which 
seemed to point him out as guilty. 

After a brief exordium, in which he professed 
his deep sorrow at the duty which had devolved 
on him, and his ardent desire to suffer nothing 
to escape him with reference to the prisoner save 
what the interests of truth and justice imperati\ ely 
might call for, the attorney-general entered upon 
a narrative of the last day of Mr. Kennyfeck's 
life; detailing with minute precision his depart- 
ure from Tubbermore at an early hour in Mr. 
Cashel's company, and stating how something 
bordering upon altercation between them was 
overheard by the bystanders as they drove away. 
"The words themselves, few and unimportant 
as they might seem," added he, " under common 
circumstances, come before us with a teirible 
significance when remembered in connection with 
the horrible event that followed." He then 
traced their course to Drumcoologan, where dif- 
ferences of opinion, trivial, some might call them, 
but of importance to call for weighty considera- 
tion here, repeatedly occurred respecting the 
tenantry and the management of the estate. 
These would all be pro\ed by competent wit- 
nesses, he alleged; and he desired the jury to 
bear in mind that such testimony should be taken 
as that of men much more disposed to think and 
sjieak well of Mr. Cashel, whose very spendthrilt 
tastes had the character of virtues in the peasants' 
eyes, in contrast with the careful and more scru- 
pulous discretion practised by "the agent." 

" You will be told, gentlemen of the jury," con- 
tinued he, "how, after a day spent in continued 
differences of opinion, they separated at evening; 
one, to return to Tubbermore by the road; the 
other, by the less travelled ])ath that led over the 
mountains. .And here it is worthy of remark that 
Mr. Cashel, although ignorant of the way, a 
stranger, for the first time in his life in the dis- 
trict, positively refu'cs all offers of accompani- 
ment, and will not even take a guide to show him 
the road. Mr. Kennyfeck continues for some 
time to transact business with the tenantrv. and 
leaves Drumcoologan, at last, just as night was 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



5G9 



closing in. Now, about half-way between the 
111 alio r- house of Tubberniore and the village of 
Drumcoologan, the road has been so much in- 
jured b) the passage of a mountain-torrent, that 
when the travellers passed in tiie morning they 
found themselves obliged to descend from the 
carriage and proceed for some distance on foot; 
a precaution that .Mr. Kennyfeck was compelled 
also to take on his return, ordering the servant 
to wait for him on the crest of the hill. Tliat 
spot he was never destined to reacli! The groom 
waited long and anxiously for his coming; he 
could not leave his horses to go back and find 
out the reasons of his delay — he was alone; the 
distance to Tubberniore was too great to permit 
of his proceeding thither to give the alarm; he 
waited, therefore, with that anxiety which the 
sad condition of our country is but too often 
calculated to inspire even among the most cour- 
ageous: when, at last, footsteps were heard ap- 
proaching — he called out aloud his master's name 
— but, instead of hearing the well-known voice 
ill answer, he was accosted in Irish by an old 
man, who told him, in the forcible accents of his 
native tongue, 'that a murdered man was lying 
on the road-side.' The groom at once hurried 
back, and at the foot of the ascent discovered 
the lifeless but still warm body of his master; a 
bullet-wound was found in the back of the skull, 
and the marks of some severe blows across the 
face. On investigating further, at a 'little dis- 
tance off, a pistol was picked up from a small 
drain, where it seemed to have been thrown in 
haste, the bore corresponded exactly with the 
bullet taken from the body; but more important 
still, this pistol appears to be the fellow of another 
belonging to Mr. Cashel, and will be identified by 
a competent witness as having been his property. 
" An interval now occurs, in which a cloud of 
mystery intervenes; and we are unable to follow 
the steps of the prisoner, of whom nothing is 
known, till, on the alarm of the murder reaching 
Tubberniore, a rumor runs that footsteps have 
been heard in Mr. Cashel's apartment, the key of 
which the owner had taken with him. The re- 
port gains currency rapidly that it is Mr. Cashel 
himself; and although the servants aver that he 
never could have traversed the hall and the stair- 
case unseen by some of them, a new discovery 
appears to explain the fact. It is this. The ivy 
which grew on the wall of the house, and which 
reached to the window of Mr. Cashel's dressing- 
room, is found torn down, and indicating the 
passage of some one by its branches. On the 
discovery of this most important circumstance, 
the chief justice, accompanied by several other 
gentlemen, proceeded in a body to the chamber, 
and demanded admittance. From them you will 
hear in detail what took place — the disorder in 
which they found the apartment — heaps of papers 
littered the floor — letters lay in charred masses 
upon the hearth — the glass of the window was 
broken, and the marks of feet upon the window- 
sill and the floor showed that some one had 
entered by that means. Lastly — and to this fact 
you will give your utmost attention — the prisoner 
himself is found with his clothes torn in several 
places.;, .jnarks of blood are seen upon them, and 



his wrist shows a recent wound, from which the 
blood flows profusely. Although cautioned by 
the wise foresight of the learned judge again.it 
any rash attempt at explanation, or any inad- 
vertent admission which might act to his preju- 
dice hereafter, he bursts forth into a \iolent 
invective upon the murderer, and suggests that 
they should mount their horses at once, and 
scour the country in search of him. This counsel 
being, for obvious reasons, rejected, and his plan 
of escape frustrated, he falls into a moody de- 
spondency, and will not speak. Shrouding him- 
self in an affected misanthropy, he pretends to 
believe that he is the victim of some deep-planned 
treachery — that all these cicumstances, whose 
detail I have given you, have been the deliberate 
schemes of his enemies. It is difificut to accept 
of this explanation, gentlemen of the jury; and, 
although I would be far from diminishing in the 
slightest the grounds of any valid defence a man 
so situated may take up, I would caution you 
against any rash credulity of vague and unsup- 
ported assertions; or, at least, to weigh them well 
against the statements of truth-telling witnesses. 
The prisoner is bound to lay before you a narra- 
tive of that day, from the hour of his leaving 
home, to that of his return; — to explain why he 
separated from his companion, and came back 
alone by a path he had never travelled before, 
and at night; — with what object he entered his 
own house by the window — a feat of considerable 
difficulty and of some danger. His disordered 
and blood-stained dress — his wounded hand — the 
missing pistol — the agitation of his manner when 
discovered amid the charred and torn remains of 
letters — all these have to be accounted for. And 
remember at what a moment they occurred ! When 
his house was the scene of festivity and rejoic- 
ing — when above a thousand guests were aban- 
doning themselves to the unbridled enjoyment of 
pleasure — this is the time the host takes to arrange 
papers, to destroy letters — to make, in fact, those 
hurried arrangements that men are driven to on 
the eve of either flight or some desperate under- 
taking. Bear all this in mind, gentlemen, and 
remember that, to explain these circumstances, 
the narrative of the prisoner must be full, cohe- 
rent, and consistent in all its parts. The courts 
of justice admit of neither reservations nor mys- 
teries. We are here to investigate the truth, 
whose cause admits of no compromise." 

The witnesses for the prosecution were now 
called over and sworn. The first examined were 
some of the servants who had overheard the con- 
versation between Cashel and Kennyfeck on the 
morning of leaving Tubberniore. They differed 
slightly as to the exact expressions used, but 
agreed perfectly as to their general import: a fact 
which even the cross-examination of Mr. Jones 
only served to strengthen. Some peasants of 
Drumcoologan were next examined, to show that 
during the day slight differences were constantly 
occurring between the parties, and that Cashel 
had more than once made use of the expression, 
'' Have your own way ncni', but ere long I'll take 
mine;" or words very similar. 

The old man who discovered the body, and 
the postilion, were then questioned as to all the 



600 



ROLAND CASHEL, 



details of the place, the hour, and the fact; and 
then Tom Keane was called for. It was by him 
the pistol was picked up from the drain. The 
air of reluctance with which the witness ascended 
the table, and the look of affectionate interest he 
bestowed upon the dock, were remarked by the 
whole assemblage. If the countenance of the 
man evinced little of frankness or candor, the 
stealthy glance he threw around him as he took 
his seat showed that he was not deficient in cun- 
ning. 

As his examination proceeded, the dogged re- 
luctance of his answers, the rugged bluntness by 
which he avoided any clear explanation of his 
meaning, were severely commented on by the 
attorney-general, and even called forth the dig- 
nified censure of the bench; so that the impres- 
sion produced by his evidence was, that he was 
endeavoring throughout to screen his landlord 
from the imputation of a well-merited guilt. 

The cross-examination now opened, but with- 
out in any way serving to shake the material 
character of the testimony, at the same time that 
it placed in a still stronger light the attachment 
of the witness to the prisoner. Cashel, hitherto 
inattentive and indifferent to all that was going 
forward, became deeply interested as this exam- 
ination proceeded; his features, apathetic and 
lieavy before, grew animated and eager, and he 
leaned forward to hear the witness with every 
sign of anxiety. 

The spectators who thronged the court attrib- 
uted the prisoner's eagerness to the important 
nature of the testimony, and the close reference 
it bore to the manner of the crime; they little 
knew the simple truth, that it was the semblance 
of affection for him — the pretended interest in 
his fate — which touched his lonely heart, and 
kindled there a love of life. 

"That poor peasant, then," said Roland to 
himself, "he, at least, deems me guiltless. I did 
not think that there lived one who cared as much 
for me!" 

With the apparent intention of showing to the 
court and jury that Keane was not bia?sed towards 
his former master, Mr. Jones addressed several 
questions to him; but instead of eliciting the 
fact, they called forth from the witness a burst 
of gratitude and love for him that actually shook 
the building by the applause it excited, and 
called for the interference of the bench to re- 
press. 

" You may go down, sir," said Jones, with the 
fretful impatience of a man worsted in a contro- 
versy; and the witness descended from the 
table amid the scarcely suppressed plaudits of 
the crowd. As he passed the dock, Cashel leaned 
forward and extended his hand towards him. 
The fellow drew back, and they who were next 
him perceived that a sallow, sickly color spread 
itself over his face, and that his lips became 
bloodless. 

" Give me your hand, man!" said Cashel. 

"Oh, Mr. Cashel! oh, sir!" said he, with that 
whining affectation of modesty the peasant can 
so easily assume. 

"Give me your hand, I say." said Cashel, 
firmly. " Its honest grasp will make me think 



better of the world than I have done for many a 
day." 

The fellow made the effort, but with such 
signs of inward terror and trepidation that he 
seemed like one ready to faint: and when his 
cold and nerveless hand quitted Cashel's, it fell 
powerless to his side. He moved now quickly 
forward, and was soon lost to sight in the dense 
throng. 

The next witnesses examined were the group 
who, headed by the chief justice, had entered 
Cashel's room. If they all spoke guardedly, and 
with great reserve, as to the manner of the 
prisoner, and the construction they would feel 
disposed to put upon the mode in which he re- 
ceived them, they agreed as to every detail and 
every word spoken with an accuracy that pro- 
foundly impressed the jury. 

The magistrate, Mr. Goring, as having taken 
the most active part in the proceedings, was sub- 
jected to a long and searching cross-examination 
by Jones; who appeared to imply that some 
private source of dislike to Cashel had been the 
animating cause of his zeal in this instance. 

Although not a single fact arose to give a shade 
of color to the suspicion, the lawyer clung to it 
with the peculiar pertinacity that of ten establishes 
by persistence when it fails in proof; and so 
pointedly and directly at last, that the learned 
judge felt bound to interfere, and observe, that 
nothing in the testimony of the respected witness 
could lay any ground for the insinuation thrown 
out by the counsel. 

Upon this there ensued one of those sharp al- 
tercations between bench and bar which seem 
the "complement" of every eventful trial in 
Ireland; and which, after a brief contest, usually 
leave both the combatants excessively in the 
wrong. 

The present case was no exception to this rule. 
The judge was heated and imperious — the coun- 
sel flippant in all the insolence of mock respect — 
and ended by the stereotyped panegyric on the 
"glorious sanctity that invests the counsel of a 
defence in a criminal action — the inviolability 
of a pledge which no member of the bar could 
suffer to be sullied in his person" — and a great 
many similar fine things, which, if not "briefed" 
by the attorney, are generally paid for by the 
client! The scrimmage ended, as it ever does, 
by a salute of honor; in which each, while aver- 
ring that he was incontestably right, bore testi- 
mony to the conscientious scruples and delicate 
motives of the other; and at last they bethought 
them of the business for which they were there, 
and of him whose fate for life or death was on 
the issue. The examination of Mr. Goring was 
renewed. 

" You have told us, sir," said Jones, "that im- 
mediately after the terrible tidings had reached 
Tubbermore of Mr. Kennyfeck's death, suspicion 
seemed at once to turn on Mr. Cashel. Will you 
explain this, or at least let us hear how you can 
account for a circumstance so strange?" 

"I did not say as much as you inferred," re- 
plied Goring. "1 me.-ely observed that Mr. 
Cashel's name became most singularly mixed up 
with the event, and rumors of a difference 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



601 



between him and his agent were buzzed about." 

" Might not this mention of Mr. Cashel's name 
have proceeded from an anxious feeling on the 
part of his friends to know of his safety?" 

" It might." 

" Are you not certain that it was so?" 

" In one instance, certainly. I remember that 
a gentleman at once drew our attention to the 
necessity of seeing after him." 

"Who was this gentleman?" 

" Mr. Linion — a near and intimate friend of 
Mr. Cashel." 

" And lie suggested that it would be proper to 
take steps for Mr. Cashel's safety?" 

" He did so." 

" Was anything done in consequence of that 
advice?" 

" Nothing, I believe. The state of confusion 
that prevailed — the terror that pervaded every 
side — the dreadful scenes enacting around us, pre- 
vented our following up the matter with all the 
foresight which might be desired." 

"And, in fact, you sought relief from the un- 
settled distraction of your thoughts, by fixing the 
crime upon some one — even though he should 
prove, of all assembled there, the least likely?" 

"We did not attach anything to Mr. Cashel's 
disfavor until we discovered that he was in his 
dressing-room, and in the manner already stated. " 

" But you certainly jumped to your conclusion 
by asudden bound ?" 

" It would be fairer to say that our thoughts 
converged to the same impression at the same 
time." 

" Where is this Mr. Linton? Is he among the 
list of your witnesses, Mr. Attorney?" 

" No, we have not called him." 

"I thought as much!" said Jones, sneeringly; 
"and yet the omission is singular, of one whose 
name is so frequently mixed up in these proceed- 
ings. He might prove an inconvenient witness." 

A slight murmur here ran through the court; 
and a gentleman, advancing to the bar, whispered 
some words to the attorney-general, who, rising, 
said: 

" My lord, I am just this instant informed that 
Mr. Linton is dangerously ill of fever at his 
house near Dublin. My informant adds, that no 
hopes are entertained of his recovery." 

" Was he indisposed at the period in which my 
learned friend drew up this case? or was there 
any intention of summoning him here for ex- 
amination?" asked Jones. 

"We did not require Mr. Linton's testimony," 
replied the attorney-general. 

"It can scarcely be inferred that we feared it," 
said a junior barrister, "since the first palpable 
evidences that implicated the prisoner were dis- 
covered by Mr. Linton: the wadding of the 
pistol — part of a letter in Mr. Cashel's own 
handwriting — and the tracks corresponding with 
his boots." 

" This is all most irregular, my lord," broke 
in Jones, eagerly. " Here are statements thrown 
out in all the loose carelessness of conversation, 
totally unsupported by evidence. I submit that 
it is impossible to offer a defence to a cause con- 
ducted in this manner." 



"You are quite right, Mr. Jones; this is not 
evidence." 

"But this is, my lord!" said the attorney- 
general, in a heated manner! "and for motives of 
delicacy we might not have used it, if not driven 
to this course by the insinuations of counsel. 
Here is a note in pencil, dated from the ' Pass 
of Ennismore,' and running thus: ' It looks 
badly; but I fear you have no other course than 
to arrest him. In fact, it is too late for anything 
else. Consult Malone and Meek.' And this can 
be proved to be in Mr. Linton's handwriting." 

Mr. Clare Jones did not speak a word as the 
note was handed up to the bench, and then to 
the jury-bo.x; he even affected to think it of no 
importance and did not deign to examine it for 
liimself. 

" You may go down, Mr. Goring," said he, af- 
ter a slight pause, in which he appeared deliber- 
ating what course to follow. 

Making his way to the side of the dock, Jones 
addressed himself to Cashel in a low, cautious 
voice: 

"It now remains with you, Mr. Cashel, to de- 
cide whether you will entrust me with the facts 
on which you ground your innocence, or prefer 
to see yourself overwhelmed by adverse testi- 
mony." 

Cashel made no reply, but leaned his head on 
his hand in deep thought. 

" Have you any witnesses to call ?" whispered 
Jones. " Shall we try an alibi V 

Cashel did not answer. 

" What is your defence, sir, in one word ?" asked 
Jones, shortly. 

"I am not guilty," said Cashel, slowly; "but I 
do not expect others to believe me so." 

" Is your defence to rest upon that bare asser- 
tion?" asked the lawyer; but Roland did not seem 
to heed the question, as, folding his arms, he 
stood erect in the dock, his attention to all ap- 
pearance bestowed upon the ceremonial of the 
court. 

Jones, at once turning to the bench, expressed 
his regret that, neither being able, from the short- 
ness of the time, to obtain proper information on 
the case, nor being honored by the confidence of 
the accused, he must decline the task of com- 
menting on the evidence; and would only entreat 
the jury to weigh the testimony they had heard 
with a merciful disposition, and wherever discrep- 
ancies and doubts occurred, to give the full 
benefit of such to the prisoner. 

" You have no witnesses to call ?" asked the 
judge. _ 

" I am told there are none, my lord," said Jones, 
with an accent of resignation. 

A brief colloquy, in a low voice, ensued be- 
tween the crown lawyers and Clare Jones, when, 
at length, a well-known barrister rose to address 
the jury for the prosecution. The gentleman 
who now claimed the attention of the court was 
one who, not possessing either the patient habits 
of study, or that minute attention to technical 
detail which constitute the legal mind, was a 
fluent, easy speaker, with an excellent memory, 
and a thorough knowledge of the stamp and 
temperament of the men that usually fill a jury- 



602 



ROLAND CAS H EL. 



box. He was eminently popular with that class, 
on whom he had often bestowed all the flatteries 
of his craft; assuring them that their "order" 
was the bone and sinew of the land, and that 
"our proudest boast as a nation was in the un- 
titled nobility of commerce." 

His whole address on the present occasion 
tended to show that the murder of Mr. Kenny- 
feck was one among the many instances of the 
unbridled license and tyranny assumed by the 
aristocracy over the middle ranks. 

Mr. Kennyfeck was no bad subject for such 
eulogium as he desired to bestow. He was the 
father of a family — a well-known citizen of Dub- 
lin — a grave, white-cravated, pompous man, of 
respectable exterior, always seen at vestries, and 
usually heading the lists of public charities. 
Cashel was the very antithesis to all this: the 
reckless squanderer of accidentally acquired 
wealth — the wayward and spoiled child of for- 
tune, with the tastes of a buccaneer, and the 
means of a prince, suddenly thrown into the 
world of fashion. What a terrible ordeal to a 
mind so untrained — to a temper so unbridled! 
and how fearfully had it told upon him! After 
commenting upon the evidence, and showing in 
what a continous chain each event was linked 
with the other — how consistent were all — how 
easily explicable every circumstance, he remarked 
that the wliole case had but one solitary diffi- 
culty; and although that was one which weighed 
more in a moral than a legal sense, it required 
that he should dwell a few moments upon it. 

" The criminal law of our land, gentlemen of 
the jury, is satisfied with the facts which estab- 
lish guilt or innocence.'without requiring that the 
motives of accused parties should be too closely 
scrutinized. Crime consists, of course, of the 
spirit in which a guilty action is done; but the 
law wisely infers that a guilty act is the evidence 
of a guilty spirit; and therefore, although there 
may be circumstances to extenuate the criminality 
of an act, the offence before the law is the same; 
and the fact, the great fact, that a man has killed 
his fellosv-man, is what constitutes murder. 

" I have said that this case has but one diffi- 
culty; and that is, the possible motive which 
could have led to the fatal act. Now, this would 
present itself as a considerable obstacle if the 
relations between the parties were such as we 
happily witness them in every county of this is- 
land, where the proprietor and his agent are per- 
sons linked, by the sacred obligation of duty, 
and the frequent intercourse of social life, into the 
closest friendship. 

"That blood should stain the bonds of such 
brotherhood would be scarcely credible — and 
even when credible, inexplicable; it would be 
repugnant to all our senses to concei^ e an act so 
unnatural. But was the present a similar case? 
or rather, was it one exactly the opposite? You 
have heard that repeated differences occurred 
between the parties, amounting even to alterca- 
tions. Mr. Hoare's evidence has shown you that 
Mr. Cashel's extravagance had placed him in 
difficulties of no common kind; his demands for 
money were incessant, and the utter disregard 
of the cost of obtaining it is almost bevond belief. 



The exigence on one side, the manly resistance 
on the other, must have led to constant misun- 
derstanding. But these were not the only cir- 
cumstances that contributed to a feeling of es- 
trangement, soon to become something still more 
perilous. And here I pause to ask myself how 
far J am warranted in disclosing facts of a private 
nature, although in their bearing they have an 
important relation to the case before us! It is a 
question of great delicacy; and were it not that 
the eternal interests of Truth and Justice tran- 
scend all others, I might shrink from the per- 
formance of a task w»hich, considered iw a merely 
personal point of- view, is deeply liistressing. 
But it is not of one so humble as myseU' of whom 
there is a question here: the issue is, whether a 
man's blood should be spilled, and no expiation 
be made for it?" 

The counsel after this entered into a discur- 
sive kind of narrative of Cashel's intimacy with 
the Kennyfeck family, with whom he had been 
for a time domesticated; and after a mass of 
plausible generalities, wound up by an in,] utod 
charge that he had won the affections of the 
younger daughter, who, with the consent of her 
parents, was to become his wife. 

" It will not seem strange to you, gentlemen," 
said he, " that I have not called to that table as 
a witness either the widow or the orphan to 
prove these facts, or that I have not subjected 
their sacred sorrows to the rude assaults of a 
cross-examination. You will not think the worse 
of me for this reserve; nor shall I ask of you to 
give my statements the value of sworn evidence; 
you will hear them, and decide what value they 
possess in leading you to a true understanding 
of this case. 

"I have said, that if a regular pledge and 
promise of marriage did not bind the parties, 
something which is considered equivalent among 
persons of honor did exist, and that by their 
mutual acquaintances they were regarded as con- 
tracted to each other. Mr. Cashel made^her 
splendid and expensive presents, which had 
never been accepted save for the relations be- 
tween them; he distinguished her on all occa- 
sions by exclusive attention, and among his 
friends he spoke of his approaching marriage as 
a matter fixed and determined on. In this state 
of things a discovery took place, which at once 
served to display the character of the young gen- 
tleman, and to rescue the family from one of the 
very deepest, becauseione of the most irremediable, 
of all calamities. Information reached them, 
accompanied by such circumstances as left no 
doubt of its veracity, that this Mr. Cashel had 
been married already, and that his wife, a young 
Spanish lady, was still alive and residing at the 
Havannah. 

"I leave you to imagine the misery which this 
sad announcement produced in that circle, where, 
until he entered it, happiness had never been 
disturbed. It is not necessary that I should 
dwell upon the distress this cruel treachery pro- 
duced; with its consequences alone we have any 
concern here; and these were a gradual estrange- 
ment — a refusal, calm but firm, to receive Mr. 
Cashel as before; an intimation tliat they knew of 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



603 



circumstances which, from delicacy to him, they 
would never advert to openly, but which must 
at once bar al! the contemplated relations; and, 
to this sad, humiliating alternative he submitted! 

" To avoid the slanderous stories which gos- 
sip would be certain to put in circulation, they 
did not decline the invitation they had before ac- 
cepted to visit Tubbermore; they came, however, 
under the express stipulation that no close in- 
timacy was ever to be resumed between Mr. 
Cashel and themselves: he was not even to use 
the common privilege of a host — to visit them 
in their own apartments. That this degree of 
cold distance was maintained between them, on 
every occasion, all the guests assembled at the 
house can testify; and he neither joined their 
party in carriage nor on horseback. Perhaps, 
this interdiction was carried out with too rigid 
a discipline; perhaps, the cold reserve they 
maintained had assumed a character of insult, 
to one whose blood still glowed with the fire of 
southern associations; perha]5s, some circum- 
stance with which we are unacquainted contrib- 
uted to render this estrangement significant, and 
consequently painful to a man who could not 
brook the semblance of a check. It is needless 
to ask how or whence originating, since we can 
see in the fact itself cause sufficient for indig- 
nant reproof on one side, for a wounded self-love 
and tarnished honor on the other. 

"Are we at a loss for such motives, then, in 
the presenceof facts like these? Ask yourselves, 
Is a man, bred and trained up in all the riotous 
freedom of a service scarcely above the rank of 
piracy — accustomed to the lawless license of a 
land where each makes the law with his own 
right hand — is such a man one to bear a slight 
with patient submission, or to submit to an o];ien 
shame in tame obedience? Can you not easily 
imagine how all the petty differences of opinion 
they might have had were merely skirmishes 
in front of that line where deeper and graver 
feelings stood in battle array? Can you suppose 
that, however ruled over by the ordinary cour- 
tesies of life, this youth nourished his plans of 
ultimate revenge, not only upon those who re- 
fused with indignation his traitorous alliance, but 
who were the depository of a secret that must in- 
terdict all views of marriage in any other quarter?" 



CHAPTER LXV. 



THE DEFENCE. 



Equal to either fortune, — Eugene Aram. 

As the crown counsel sat down, a low murmur 
ran through the court, whose meaning it would 
be difficult to define; for, if the greater number 
present were earned away by the indignant elo- 
quence of the pleader to believe Cashel a hard- 
ened criminal, some few still seemed to cling to 
his side, and bent their eyes towards the dock 
with looks of sympathy and comfort. And, oh! 
how little know they, whose eyes are beaming 



with the bright spark that warms their generous 
hearts, what lodestars are they to him who stands, 
alone, forsaken, and accused in the criminal 
dock! What a resting-place does the weary and 
tired soul feel that glance of kindly meaning! 
How does it speak to his bruised and wounded 
spirit of hope and charity! AMiat energy will it 
impart to the fast-failing courage! what self- 
respect and self-reliance to him who, a few mo- 
ments back, was sinking beneath the abasement 
of despair! 

Such was the effect now produced upon Roland 
Cashel. The array of circumstances, so formida- 
bly marshalled by his accuser, had completely 
overwhelmed him; the consciousness of innocence 
failed to support him against the feeling which 
he saw spreading like a mist around him. Against 
the accusation — against its fearful penalt) — his 
own stout heart could sustain him; but how bear 
up against the contempt and the abhorrence of 
his fellow-men! Under the crushing weight of 
this shame he was sinking fast, when a stray 
glance — a chance expression of ijiterest, like sun- 
light piercing a dark cloud — gave promise that 
all was not lost. He felt that there were yet 
some who wished to believe him guiltless, and 
that all sympathy for him had not yet died out. 

" Does the prisoner desire to avail himself of 
the privilege he possesses to call witnesses to 
character?" asked the judge. 

" No, my lord," said Cashel, firmly, but re- 
spectfully. "Since my accession to fortune, my 
life has been passed for the most part in what is 
called the 'fashionable world;' and, from what I 
have seen of it, the society does not seem rich in 
those persons whose cominendations, were they 
to give them, would weigh heavily with your 
lordship. Besides, they could say little to my 
praise, which the learned counsel has not already 
said to my disparagement — that I had the com- 
mand of wealth, and squandered it without taste 
and without credit." 

Few and insignificant as were these words, the 
easy and fearless mode of their delivery, the 
manly energy of him who spoke them, seemed to 
produce a most favorable impression throughout 
the court, which as rapidly reacted upon Cashel; 
for now the embers of hope were fanned, and 
already glowed into a slight flicker. 

" The prisoner having waived his privilege, my 
lord," said the attorney-general, " I beg to ob- 
serve that the case is now closed." 

" Is it too late, then, my lord, for me to address 
a few words to the jury?" asked Roland, calmly. 

"What say you, Mr. Attorney-general?" asked 
the judge. 

"Your lordship knows far better than I, that 
to address the court at this stage of the proceed- 
ings, would be to concede the right of reply — 
and, in fact, of speaking twice; since the prison- 
er's not having availed himself of the fitting oc- 
casion to comment on the evidence, gives him 
not the slightest pretension to usurp another 
one." 

" Such is the law of the case," said the judge, 
solemnly. 

" I have nothing to observe against it, my 
lord," said CasheL " If I have not availed my- 



604 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



self of the privilege accorded to men placed as 
I am, I must only submit to the penalty my pride 
has brought upon me — for it was pride, my lord. 
Since that, however, another, and 1 hope a higher 
pride, has animated me, to vindicate my character 
and my fame; so that, at some future day — a long 
future it may be — when the true facts of this dark 
mystery shall be brought to light, a more cautious 
spirit will pervade men's minds as to the guilt of 
him assailed by circumstantial evidence. It 
might be, my lord, that all I could adduce in my 
own behalf would weigh little against the weight 
of accusations, whicli even to myself appear terri- 
bly consistent. I know, for I feel, how hard it 
would be to accept the cold unsupported narra- 
tive of a prisoner, in which many passages might 
occur of doubtful probability, some of even less 
credit, and some again of an obscurity to which 
even he himself could not afford the clue; and 
yet, with all these difficulties, enhanced tenfold 
by my little knowledge of the forms of a court, 
arid my slender capacity, I regret, my lord, that 
I am unable to address the few words 1 had in- 
tended to the jury — less, believe me, to avert the 
shipwreck that awaits myself, than to be a beacon 
to some other who may be as solitary and un- 
friended as I am." 

These words, delivered with much feeling, but 
in a spirit of calm determination, seemed to thrill 
through the' entire assemblage; and even the 
senior judge stopped to confer for some minutes 
with his brother on the bench, in evident hesita- 
tion what course to adopt. At length he said, 

" However we may regret the course you have 
followed in thus depriving yourself of that legiti- 
mate defence the constitution of our country 
provides, we see no sufficient reason to deviate 
from the common order of proceeding in like 
cases. I will now, therefore, address the jury, 
who have already heard your words, and will 
accord them any consideration they may merit." 

"It may be, my lord," said Cashel, "that evi- 
dence so strongly imbued with probability may 
induce the gentlemen in that box to believe me 
guilty; in which case, I understand, your lord- 
ship would address to me the formal question, 
' If I had anything to say why sentence of death 
should not be passed upon me.' Now, if I am 
rightly informed, any observations of a prisoner 
at such a moment are regarded rather in the light 
of petitions for mercy, than as e.xplanations or 
corrections of falsehood. I have, therefore, only 
now to say, that, whatever decision you may 
come to, the court shall not be troubled further 
with interference of mine." 

The judge bowed slightly, as if in reply to this, 
and began his charge; but the foreman of the 
jury, leaning forward, said that his fellow-jurors 
had desired him to ask, as a favor to themselves, 
that the prisoner might be heard. A short con- 
ference ensued between the bench and the crown 
counsel, which ended by the permission being 
accorded; and now Cashel rose to address the 
court. 

" I will not," said he, " abuse the time of this 
court by any irrelevant matter, nor will I advert 
to a single circumstance foreign to the substance 
of the charge against me. I purpose simply to 



give a narrative of the last day I passed with my 
poor friend, and to leave on record this detail 
as the solemn protestation of innocence of one 
who has too little to live for to fear death." 

With this brief preface he began a regular his- 
tory of that eventful day, from the hour he had 
started froin Tubbermore in company with Mr. 
Kennyfeck. 

The reader is already familiar with every step 
and circumstance of that period, so that it is not 
necessary we should weary him by any recap- 
itulation; enough if we say that Cashel proceeded 
with a minuteness devoid of all prolixity, to men- 
tion each fact as it occurred, commenting as he 
went on upon the evidence already given, and ex- 
plaining its import without impugning its truth. 
Juries are ever disposed to listen favorably to a 
speaker who brings to his aid no other allies than 
candor and frankness, and who, without preten- 
sions to legal acuteness, narrates facts with clear 
and distinctive precision. Leaving him, there- 
fore, still speaking, and to the irresistible force 
of truth gradually winning upon his hearers, let 
us quit the court for a brief time, and passing 
through the crowded space before the doors, 
traverse the town, densely thronged by curious 
and eager visitors. We do not mean to linger 
with them, nor overhear the comments they passed 
upon the eventful scene beside them: our busi- 
ness is about a mile off, at a small public-house 
at a short distance from the road-side, usually 
frequented by cattle-dealers and the customers at 
the weekly markets. Here, in a meanly-furnished 
room, where, for it was now evening, a common 
dip candle shed its lugubrious yellow light upon 
the rude appliances of vulgar life, sat a man, 
whose eager expectancy was marked in every line 
of his figure. Every now and then he would 
arise from his chair, and, screening the candle 
from the wind, open the window to look out. 

The night was dark and gusty: drifting rain 
beat at intervals against the glass, and seemed 
the forerunner of a great storm. ' The individ- 
ual we have spoken of did not seem to care for, 
if he even noticed, the inclemency; he brushed 
the wet from his bushy beard and moustaches 
with indifference, and bent his ear to listen to the 
sounds upon the road in deepest earnestness. 
At last the sound of horses' feet and wheels was 
heard rapidly approaching, and a car drove up to 
the door, from which a man, wrapped up in a 
loose frieze coat, descended, and quickly mounted 
the stairs. As he reached the landing, the door 
of the room was thrown wide, and the other man 
in a low, but distinct voice, said, " Well, what 
news?" 

" All right," said he of the frieze coat, as, 
throwing off the wet garment, he discovered the 
person of Mr. Clare Jones. " Nothing could pos- 
sibly go better; my cross-examination clinched 
Keane's evidence completely, and no jury 
could get over it." 

" I almost wish you had let him alone," said 
the other, gruffly, and in evident discontent; "I 
forsee that the sympathy the scoundrel affected 
will be troublesome to us yet." 

"I have no fears on that head," replied the 
other, confidently. "The facts are there, and 



ROLAND CASH EL. 



605 



Crankle's speech to evidence ripped him up in a 
terrific manner." 

" Did he allude to the Spanish girl?" 

" He did, and with great effect." 

" And the Kilgoff affair — did he bring ' my lady' 
up for judgment?" 

" No. The attorney-general positively forbade 
all allusion to that business." 

" Oh, indeed!" said the other, with a savage 
sneer, " ' The court' was too sacred for such 
profanation." 

" I think he was right, too," said Jones. " The 
statement could never have been brought to 
bear upon the case before the court. It would 
have been a mere episode outside of the general 
history, and just as likely impress the jury with 
the opinion that all the charges were trumped up 
to gain a conviction in any way." 

The other paused, and seemed to reflect for 
some minutes, when he said, "Well, and what 
are they at now?" 

"When I left, the court had just refused 
Cashel's demand to address the jury. The chief 
baron had ruled against him, and, of course, the 
charge is now being pronounced. As I knew 
how this must run, I took the opportunity of 
coming over here- to see you." 

"J/v name was but once mentioned, you tell 
me," said the other, in an abrupt manner. 

"It was stated that you were dangerously ill, 
without hope of recovery," said Jones, faltering, 
and with evident awkwardness. 

" And not alluded to again?" asked the 
other, whom there is no need of calling Mr. 
Linton. 

"Yes, once — passingly," said Jones, still fal- 
tering. 

" How do you mean, passingly?" asked Lin- 
ton, in anger. 

" The crown lawyers brought forward that note 
of yours from Ennismore." 

Linton dashed his closed first against the 
table, and uttered a horrible and blasphemous 
oath. 

" Some bungling of yours, I'll be sworn, 
brought this about," said he, savagely; " some 
piece of that adroit chicanery that always recoils 
upon its projector." 

" I'll not endure this language, sir," said Jones. 
" I have done more to serve you than any man 
would have stooped to in my profession. Unsay 
these words." 

" I do unsay them — I ask pardon for them, 
my dear Jones. I never meant them seriously," 
said Linton, in that fawning tone he could so 
well assume. "You ought to know me better 
than to think that /, who have sworn soleinnly 
to make your fortune, could entertain such an 
opinion of you. Tell me now of this. Did 
Cashel say anything as the note was read?" 

" Not a syllable." 

" How did he look?" 

" He smiled slightly." 

"Ah, he smiled !" said Linton, growing pale; 
"he smiled! He can do that when he is most 
determined." 

" What avails all his determination now? No 
narrative of his can shake the testimony which 



the cross-examination has confirmed. It was a 
master-stroke of yours, Mr. Linton, to think of 
supplying him with counsel." 

Linton smiled superciliously, as though he 
was accustomed to higher flights of treachery 
than this. "So then," said he, at length, "you 
say the case is strong against him." 

"It could scarcely be stronger." 

"And the feeling — how is the feeling of the 
court?" 

"Variable, I should say; in the galleries, and 
among the fashionably-dressed part of the as- 
semblage, inclined somewhat in his favor." 

" How? Did not the charge of attempted 
bigamy tell against him w'ith his fair allies?" 

" Not so much as I had hoped." 

" What creatures women are!" said Linton, 
holding up his hands. "And how are they bet- 
ting? What says Frobisher?" 

" He affects to think it no case for odds; he 
says there's a little fellow in the jury-box never 
was known to say ' Guilty.' " 

" A scheme to win money — a stale trick, my 
Lord Charles!" muttered Linton, contemptu- 
ously; "but I've no objection to hedge a little, 
for all that." 

" I must be going," said Jones, looking at his 
watch; "the charge will soon be over, and I 
must look to the proceedings." 

" Will they be long in deliberation, think you?" 
asked Linton. 

" I suspect not; they are all weary and tired. 
It is now ten o'clock." 

" I thought it later," said Linton, thoughtfully; 
"time lags heavily with him whose mind is in 
expectancy. Hark! there is some one below 
talking of the trial!" He opened the door to 
listen. " What says he?" 

" He speaks of Cashel as still addressing the 
court. Can they have consented to hear him 
after all?" 

A fearful curse broke from Linton, and he 
closed the door noiselessly. 

" See to this, Jones; see to it speedily. 
My mind misgives me that something will go 
wrong." 

"You say that you know him thoroughly, and 
that he never would " 

" No, no," broke in Linton, passionately; " he'll 
not break one tittle of his word, even to save 
his life! When he promised me that all should 
be secret between us, he made no reservations, 
and you'll see that he'll not avail himself of such 
privileges now. I do know him thoroughly." 

" Then what, or whence, is your fear?" 

Linton made no other answer than a gesture 
of his hand, implying some vague and indistinct 
dread. "But go," said he, "and go quickly. 
You ought never to have left the court. Had 
you remained, perhaps this might have been pre- 
vented. If all goes right, you'll be here by day- 
break at furthest, and Keane along with you. 
Take care of that, Jones; don't lose sight of him. 
If — if — we are unfortunate — and do you think 
such possible?" 

" Everything is possible with a jury." 

" True," said he, thoughtfully; " it is an issue 
we should never have left it to. But away; 



606 



ROLAND CASH EL, 



hasten bark. Great Heaven! only to think how 
much hangs upon the next half hour!" 

" To Cashel, you mean?" said Jones, as he 
prepared himself for the road. 

'"No; I mean to me. I do know him thor- 
oughly; and- well I know the earth would be too 
narrow to live upon, were that man once more 
free and at liberty." 

In his eagerness for Jones's departure he 
almost pushed him from the room; and then, 
when he liad closed and locked the door again, 
lie sat down beside the low flickering fire, and as 
tlie fitful light played upon his features, all the 
appliances of disguise he wore could not hide 
the terrible ravages that long corroding anxiety 
had made in hiai. Far more did lie resemble 
the arraigned criminal than he who now stood in 
the dock, and with a cheek blanched only by im- 
prisonment, waited calm, collected, and erect — 
" Equal to either fortune." 

Linton had often felt all the terrible suspense 
which makes the Paridise or the Hell of the gam- 
bler: he had known what it was to have his whole 
fortune on the issue, at a moment when the rush- 
ing mob of horsemen and foot concealed the 
winning horse from view, and mingled in their 
mad cheers the names of those whose victory had 
been his ruin and disgrace. He had watched 
the rolling die, on whose surface, as it turned, 
all he owned in the world was staked; he had 
sat gazing on the unturned card, on which his 
destiny was already written; — and yet all these 
moments of agonizing suspense were as nothing 
compared-to that he now suffered, as he sat with 
bent-down head trying to catch the sounds which 
from time to time the wind bore along from the 
town. 

As if to feed his mind with hope, he would re- 
capitulate to iiiniself all the weighty and dam- 
natory details which environed Cashel, and which, 
by their singular consistency and colievence, 
seemed irrefutable. He would even reckon them 
upon his fingers, as "so many changes against 
him." He would try to imagine himself one of 
the jury, listening to the evidence and the 
charge, and asked himself "were it possible to 
reject such proofs?" He pictured to his mind 
Cashel addressing the court with all that rash 
and impetuous eloquence so characteristic of him, 
and which, to more trained and sober tem]jers, 
would indicate a nature little subject to the cold 
discipline of restraint; and from all these specu- 
lative dreams he would start suddenly up, to lean 
out of the window and listen. Other thoughts, 
too, would cross his mind, scarcely less distract- 
ing. What would become of him should Cashel 
escape? Whither should he retire? If, at one 
moment, he half resolved to "stand his ground" 
in the world, and trust to his consummate skill 
in secret calumny to ruin him, another reflection 
showed that Cashel would not play out the game 
on these conditions. K duel, in which one at 
least must fall, would be inevitable; and al- 
though this was an ordeal he had braved oftener 
than most men, he had no courage to dare it 
now. Through all this tangled web of harassing 
hope and fear, regrets deep and piognant entered, 
that hehadnot workedhisruinbv slower and safer 



steps. " I might have been both judge and jury 
— ay, and executioner, too," muttered he, "had I 
been patient." And here he gave a low, sardonic 
laugh. " When the hour of confiscation caiiie, I 
might have played the crown's part also." But 
so is it: there is no halting in the downward 
course of wickedness; the very pleadings of self- 
interest cannot save men from the commission of 
Crimes, by which they are to hide Follies. 

The slow hours of the night dragged heavily on; 
the fire had gone out, and the candle too — un- 
noticed, and Linton sat in the dark, brooding over 
his gloomy thoughts. At one moment he would 
start up, and wonder if the whole were not a ter- 
rible dream — the nightmare of his imagination; 
and it was only after an effort he remembered 
where he was, and with what object. He could 
not see his watch to tell the hour, but he knew 
it must be late, since the fire had long since died 
out, and the room was cold and chill. The agony 
of expectation became at last too great to en- 
dure; he felt his way to the door and passed 
out, and groping down the narrow stair, reached 
the outer door, and the road. 

All was dark and lonely; not a sound of horse- 
man or foot-traveller broke the dreary stillness of 
the hour, as Linton, urged on by an ini])ulse he 
could not restrain, took his way towards the to\\ n. 
The distance was scarcely above a mile, but his 
progress vvas slow, for the road was wet and slip- 
pery, and the darkness \-ery great. At last he 
reached the long straggling suburb, with its inter- 
minable streets of wretched hovels; but even 
here none were yet astir, and not a light was 
seen to glimmer. To this succeeded the narrow 
streets of the town itself — where, at long inter- 
vals, a dusky yellow haze glimmered by way of 
lamplight. Stopping beneath one of these, Linton 
examined his watch, and found that it was near 
five o'clock. The lateness of the hour, and the 
unbroken stillness on every side, half induced 
him to believe that "all was over," and Cashel's 
fate sealed for good or evil; but then Jones 
would have hastened back to bring the tidings! 
There could not be a doubt on this head. Urged 
onward to greater speed by emotions which now 
were scarcely supportable, he traversed street 
after street in frantic haste; when suddenly, on 
turning a corner, he came in front of a large 
building, from whose windows, dimmed by steam, 
a great blaze of light issued, and fell in long 
columns upon the " Square" in front. A dense, 
dark mass of human figures crowded the wide 
door-way, but they were silent and motionless all. 
Within the court, too, the stillness was unbroken; 
for as Linton listened he could now hear acough, 
which resounded through the building. 

" The jury are in deliberation," thought he, 
and sat down upon the step of a door, his eyes 
riveted ujjon the Court-house, and his heart 
beating so that he could count its strokes. Not 
far from him, as he sat there, scarcely a hundred 
paces oft', within the building, there sat another 
man, waiting, with a high throbbing heart, for 
that word to be uttered, which should either open 
the door of his ]>risqn, or close that of the grave 
upon him forever. The moments of expectancy 
were terrible to both ' they were lil'e-long agonies 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



m 



distilled to seconds; and he who could live 
through their pains must come forth from the 
trial a changed man forever after. 



CHAPTER LXVI. 



'NOT GUILTY. 



Free to go forth once more, but oh, 

How changed! — Harou). 

A SLIGHT movement in the crowd near the 
door — a kind of waving motion like the quiet 
surging of the sea — seemed to indicate some 
commotion within the court; and although Lin- 
ton saw this, and judged it rightly as the evi- 
dence of something eventful about to happen, he 
sat still to await the result with the dogged firm- 
ness with which he would have awaited death 
itself 

As we are less interested spectators of the 
scene, let us press our way through the tired and 
exhausted crowd that fill the body of the build- 
ing. And now we stand beneath the gallerv, and 
immediately behind a group of about half a dozen, 
whose dress and demeanor at once proclaim 
them of the world of fashion. These are Lord 
Charles Frobisher and his friends, who, with 
memorandum-books and timeiiieces before them, 
sit in eager anxiety, for they have wagers on 
everything: on the verdict — how the judge will 
charge — if the prisoner will confess — if he will 
attempt a defence; and even the length of time 
the jury will sit in deliberation, is the subject of 
a bet! 

This anxiety was now at its climax, for, di- 
rectly in front of them, a small door had just 
opened, and a crowd of men entered, and took 
their seats in the gallery. 

Their grave coantenances, marked by watch- 
ing and eager discussion, at once proclaimed 
that they were the jur)'. 

There was a low murmur heard throughout the 
court as they took their seats; and instinctively 
many an eye was turned towards the dock, to 
watch how /le bore himself in that trying moment. 
With a steady gaze fixed u|)on the spot from 
which his doom was to be spoken, he stood erect, 
with arms folded and his head high. He was 
deathly pale; but not a trace of anything like 
fear in the calm lineaments of his manly features. 

"The jury seem very grave," whispered Upton 
to Frobisher. 

"I wish that stupid old judge would bestir 
himself," replied Lord Charles, looking at his 
watch; "it wants four minutes to five: he'll 
scarcely be in court before it strikes, and I shall 
lose a pony through it." 

" Here he comes! — here he conies!" said an- 
other; and the chief baron entered the court, his 
face betra)ing that he had been aroused from 
sleep. 

" .\re you agreed, gentlemen of the jury?" 
asked the judge, in a low voice. 

" Not perfectly, my lord," said the foreman. 
" We want your lordship to decide a point for us; 



which is — If we should be of opinion that any 
grave provocation led to the death of Kennyfeck, 
whether our verdict could be modified, and our 
finding be, in consequence, for manslarghter. and 
not murder?" 

"The indictment," said the judge, "does not 
give you that option. It is framed without any 
count for the minor offence. I ought, perhaps, 
also to observe, that nothing has transpired in 
the evidence given here, this day, to warrant the 
impression you seem inclined to entertain. 
Your verdict must be one of Guilty, or Not 
Guilty." 

"We are of opinion, my lord," said a juryman, 
" that great latitude in the expression of tem- 
per should be conceded to a young man reared 
and educated as the prisoner has been." 

'These sentinitaits, honorable to you as they 
are, cannot be indulged at the expense of justice, 
however that may find a fitting jjlace in a recom- 
mendation to mercy; and even this must be ac- 
companied by something more than sympathies." 

"Well said, old boy!" muttered Frobisher to 
himself. " My odds are looking up again." 

" In that case, my lord, we must retire again," 
said the foreman; and the jury once more quitted 
the court, whose occupants at once resumed all 
the lounging attitudes from which the late scene 
had aroused them. Exhaustion, indeed, had over- 
come all save the prisoner himself, who paced 
the narrow limits of the dock with slow and 
noiseless steps, raising liis head at intervals, to 
watch the gallery where the jury were to appear. 

In less than half an hour the creaking of a 
door awoke the drowsy court, and the jury were 
seen re-entering the box. They continued to 
talk among each other as they took their seats, 
and seemed like men still under the influence of 
warm discussion. 

"Not agreed!" muttered Frobisher, looking at 
his book. " 1 stand to win, even on that." 

To the formal question of the court, the fore- 
man for an instant made no reply, for he was 
still in eager conversation with another juror. 

" How say you, gentlemen of the jury? Are 
you agreed ?" 

"We are, my lord," said the foreman; "that 
is to say, some of the jury have conceded to the 
rest for the sake of a verdict." 

" This does not seem to me like agreement," 
interposed the judge. " If you be not of the 
same mind, it will be your duty to retire once 
more, and strive by the use of argument and 
reason to bring the minority to your opinion; or 
in failure of such result, to avow that you are 
not like-minded." 

" We have done all that is possible in that re- 
spect, my lord; and we beg you will receive our 
verdict." 

" If it be your verdict, gentlemen," said the 
judge, "I desire nothing more." 

" We say. Not Guilty, my lord," said the fore- 
man. 

There was a solemn pause followed the words, 
and then a low murmur arose, which gradually 
swelled till it burst forth into a very clamor, that 
only the grave rebuke of the bench reduced to 
the wonted decorum of a court of justice. 



608 



ROLAND CASH EL. 



" I am never disposed, gentlemen of the jury, 
to infringe upon the sacred prerogative whicli 
environs your office. You are responsible to God 
and your own consciences for the words you 
have uttered here, this day ; but my duty requires 
that I should be satisfied that you have come to 
your conclusion by a due understanding of tlie 
facts laid before you in evidence, by just and 
natural inferences from those facts, and by 
weighing well and dispassionately all that you 
have heard, here, to the utter exclusion of any- 
thing you may have listened to outside of this 
court. Is your verdict in accordance with these 
conditions?" 

" So far, my lord, as the mysterious circum- 
stances of this crime admit, I believe it is. We 
say ' Not Guilty,' from a firm conviction on our 
minds that we are saying the truth." 

"Enough," said the judge. "Clerk, record 
the verdict." Then turning to the dock, towards 
which every eye was now bent, he continued : 
" Roland Cashel, a jury of your countrymen, sol- 
emnly sworn to try you on the charge of mur- 
der, have this day pronounced you ' Not Guilty.' 
You go, therefore, free from this dock, to resume 
that station you occupied in society, without stain 
upon your character, or blemish upon your 
fame. The sworn verdict we have recorded ob- 
literates the accusation. But, for the sake of 
justice, for the interests of the glorious preroga- 
tive we possess in trial by jury, for the sacred 
cause of truth itself, I implore you, before quit- 
ting this court, to unravel the thread of this dark 
mystery, so far as in you lies — to fill up those 
blanks in the narrative you have already given us 
— to confirm, to the extent in your power, the 
justice of that sentence by which you are restored 
once more to the society of your friends and 
family. This, I say, is now your duty; and the 
example you will give, in performing it, will re- 
flect credit upon yourself, and do service to the 
cause of truth, when you, and I, and those 
around us, shall be no more." 

It was with stronger show of emotion than 
Cashel had yet displayed that he leaned over the 
dock, and said: 

"My lord, when life, and something more than 
life, were in peril, I deemed it right to reserve 
certain details from the notoriety of this court. 
I did so, not to involve any other in the suspicion 
of this guilt, whose author I know not. I did 
not do so from any caprice, still less from that 
misanthropic affectation the counsel was ungen- 
erous enough to ascribe to me. I believe that I 
had good and sufficient reasons for the course I 
adopted. I still think I have such. As to the 
rest, the discovery of this guilt is now become 
the duty of my life — I owe it to those whose 
words have set me free, and I pledge myself to 
the duty." 

The bench now conferred with the crown law- 
yers as to the proceedings necessary for the dis- 
charge of the prisoner; and already the crowds, 
wearied and exhausted, began to withdraw. The 
interest of the scene was over; and in the vari- 
ous expressions of those that passed might be 
read the feelings with which they regarded the 
result. Many reprobated the verdict as against 



law and all the facts; some attributed the "find- 
ing" to the force of caprice; others even hinted 
the baser motive, that they didn't like "to hang 
a man who spent his income at liome;" and 
others again, surmised that bribery might have 
had "something to do with it." Few believed 
in Cashel's innocence of the crime; and even 
they said nothing, for their convictions were 
more those of imjjulse than reason. 

" Who could have thought it!" muttered iJpton, 
as, with a knot of others, he stood waiting for 
the crowd to pass out. 

Frobisher shrugged his shoulders, and went on 
tolling a line of figures, in his memorandum-book. 
"Better off than I thought!" said he to him- 
self; "seven to five taken that he would not 
plead — eight to three, that he would not call 
Linton. Long odds upon time won: lost by 
verdict four hundred and fifty. Well, it might 
have been worse; and I've got a lesson- — never 
to trust a jury." 

" I say, Charley," whispered Upton, "what are 
you going to do.'" 

" How do you mean?" 

" Will you go up and speak to him?" said he, 
with a motion of his head towards the dock. 

Frobisher's sallow check grew scarlet. Lost 
and dead to every sense of honorable feeling 
for many a day, the well had not altogether dried 
up, and it was with a look of cutting insolence 
he said: 

" No, sir; if I did not stand by him before, 

I'll not be the hound to crawl to his feet now." 

" By Jove! I don't see the thing in that light. 

He's all right now, and there's no reason why we 

shouldn't know him as we used to do." 

" Aie you so certain that he will know jcu ?" 
was Frobisher's sharp reply, as he turned away. 
The vast moving throng pressed forward, and 
now all were speedily commingled — spectators, 
lawyers, jurors, witnesses. The spectacle was 
Oier, and the empty court stood silent and noise- 
less, where a few moments back human hopes 
and passions had surged like the waves of a sea. 
The great space in front of the court-house, 
filled for a few moments by the departing crowd, 
grew speedily silent and empty — for dav had not 
yet broken, and all were hastening homeward to 
seek rejjose. One figure alone was seen to stand 
in that spot, and then move slowly, and to all 
seeming irresolutely, onward. It was Cashel him- 
self, who, undecided whither to turn, walked list- 
lessly and carelessly on. 

As he turned the corner of a street, a jaunt- 
car, around which some travellers stood, stopped 
the way, and he heard the words of the driver. 
" There's another place to spare." 
"Where for?" asked Cashel. 
" Limerick, sir," said the man. 

" Drive on, b 1 you," cried a deep voice 

from the other side of the vehicle; and the fel- 
low's whip descended with a heavy slash, and the 
beast struck out into a gallop, and speedily was 
out of sii;lit. 

" Didn't you see who it was?" muttered the 
speaker to the man beside him. 
"No." 
" It was Cashel himself — I knew him at once; 



ROLAND CASH EL. 



609 



and I tell you, Jones, he would have known me, 
too, for all this disguise, when a gleam of day 
came to shine." 

As for Cashel, he stood gazing after the de- 
parting vehicle, with a strange chaos of thought 
working within. "Am 1 then infamous?" said 
he at last, "that these men will not travel in my 
company. Is it to tliis the mere accusation of 
crime has brought me!" And, slight as the in- 
cident was, it told upon him as some acrid sub- 
stance would irritate and corrode an open wound 
— festering tiie tender surface. 

"Better thus dreaded than the 'dupe' I have 
been!" said he, boldly, and entered the inn, where 
now the preparations for the coming day had be- 
gun. He ordered his breakfast, and ppst-horses 
for Killaloe, resolved to see Tubbermore once 
again, ere he left it forever. 

It was a bright morning in the early spring as 
Cashel drove througii the wide-spreading park 
of Tubbermore. Dewdrops spangled the grass, 
amid which crocus and daffodil flowers were scat- 
tered. The trees were topped with fresh buds; 
the birds were chirping and twittering on the 
branches; the noiseless river, too, flowed past, 
its circling eddies looking like blossoms on the 
stream. All was joyous and redolent of promise, 
save him whose humbled spirit beheld in every- 
thing around him the signs of self-reproach. 

"These," thought he, " were the rich gifts of 
fortune that I have squandered! This was the 
paradise I have laid waste! Here, where I might 
have lived happy, honored and respected, I see 
myself wretched and shunned! The defeats we 
meet with in hardy and hazardous enterprise are 
softened down by havijig dared danger fearlessly 
— by having combated manfully with the enemy. 
But what solace is there for him whose reverses 
spring from childlike weakness and imbecility — 
whose life becomes the plaything of parasites and 
flatterers! Could lever have thought I would be- 
come this? What should I once have said of 
him who would have prophesied me such as I 
now am?" 

These gloomy reveries grew deeper and darker 
as he wandered from place to place, and marked 
the stealthy glances and timid reverences of the 
peasants as they passed him. "It is only the 
jury have called me ' Not Guilty,'" said be to 
himself; " the world has pronounced another 
verdict. I have come from that dock as one 
might have risen from an unhonored grave, to be 
looked on with fear and sorrow. Be it so; mine 
must be a lonely existence." 

Every room he entered recalled some scene of 
his past life. Here was the spacious hall, where, 
in all the excesses of the banquet, laughter had 
rung and wit had sparkled, loud toasts were 
proffered, and high-spirited mirth had once held 
sway. Here was the drawing-room, where grace 
and female loveliness were blended, mingling 
their odors like flowers in a "bouquet." Here, 
the little chamber he had often sought to visit 
Lady Kilgoff, and passed those hours of "sweet 
converse" wherein his whole nature became 
changed, and his rude spirit softened by the 
tender influences of a woman's mind. Here was 
his own favorite room — the spot from which, in 



many an hour snatched from the cares of host, 
he had watched the wide-flowing river, and 
thought of the current of his own life, mingling 
with his reveries many a high hope and many a 
glorious promise. And now the whole scene was 
changed. The mirth, the laughter, the guests, 
the hopes, were fled, and he stood alone in those 
silent halls, that never again were to echo with 
the glad voice of pleasure. 

The chief object of his return to Tubbermore 
was to regain possession of that document which 
he had concealed in the cleft of a beech-tree, 
before scaling the approach to the window. He 
found the spot without difficulty, and soon pos- 
sessed himself of the paper, the contents of 
which, however, from being conveyed in a char- 
acter he was not familiar with, he could not 
master. 

He next proceeded to the gate-lodge, desirous 
to see Keane, and make some arrangement for 
his future support before he should leave Tubber- 
more. The man, however, was absent; his wife, 
whose manner betrayed considerable emotion, 
siid that her husband had returned in company 
with another, who remained without, while he 
hastily packed a few articles of clothing in a 
bundle, and then left the house, whitherto she 
knew not. 

Roland's last visit was to Tiernay's house; but 
he, too, was from home. He had accompanied 
Corrigan to Dublin, intending to take leave of 
him there; but a few hurried lines told that he 
had resolved to proceed further with his friends, 
and darkly hinting that his return to the village 
was more than doubtful. 

Wherever Cashel turned, desertion and desola- 
tion met him; and the cutting question that ever 
recurred to his mind was, " Is this my doing! 
Are these the consequences of my folly?" The 
looks of the villagers seemed to tally with the 
accusation, as in cold respect they touched their 
hats as he passed, but never spoke; " not one said 
God bless him." 

He twice set out for the cottage, and twice 
turned back — his over-full heart almost choked 
with emotion. The very path that led thither re- 
minded him too fully of the past, and he turned 
from it into the wood, to wander about for hours 
long lost in thought. 

He sought and found relief in planning out 
something for his future life. The discovery of 
the murderer — the clearing up of the terrible 
mystery that involved that crime — had become a 
duty, and he resolved to apply himself to it 
steadily and determinedly. His unacquitted debt 
of vengeance on Linton, too, was not forgotten. 
These accomplished, he resolved again to betake 
himself to the " new world beyond seas." Wealth 
had become distasteful to him: it was associated 
with all that lowered and humiliated him. He 
felt that with poverty his manly reliance, his 
courageous daring to confront danger, would re- 
turn — that once more upon the wild prairie, or 
the blue waters of the Pacific, he would grow 
young of heart and high in spirit, forgetting the 
puerile follies into which a life of affluence had 
led him. " Would that I could believe it all a 
dream!" thought he. "Would that this whole 



610 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



year were but a vision, and that I could go back 
to what I once was, even as ' the buccaneer' they 
called me!" 

His last hours in Tubbermore were spent in 
arrangements that showed he never intended to 
return there. His household was all discharged 
— his equipages and horses despatched to the 
capital to be sold — his books, his plate, and all 
that was valuable in furniture, were ordered to be 
packed up and transmitted to Diibihi. He felt a 
kind of malicious pleasure in erasing and effac- 
ing, as it were, every trace of the last few months. 

" I will leave it," muttered he, " to become the 
wreck I found it — would tliat I could be what I 
was ere I knew it!" 

The following day he left Tubbermore forever, 
and set out for Dublin. 



CHAPTER LXVn. 



ON THE TRACK. 



And, with a sleuth-hound's scent, 
Smells blood afar! 

It was nightfall when Roland Cashel entered 
Dublin. The stir and movement of the day were 
over, and that brief interval which separates the 
life of business from that of pleasure had suc- 
ceeded. Few were stirring in the streets, and 
they were hastening to the dinner-parties, whose 
hour had now arrived. It was little more than a 
year since Cashel had entered that same capital, 
and what a change had come over him within 
that period! Then, he. was buoyant in all the 
enjoyment of youth, health, .and affluence; now, 
although s-till young, sorrow and care had worn 
him into premature age. His native frankness 
had become distrust; his generous reliance on the 
world's good faith had changed into a cold and 
cautious reserve which made him detestable to 
himself. 

Although he passed several of his former ac- 
quaintance without being recognized, he could 
not persuade himself but that their avoidance of 
him was intentional, and he thought he saw a 
purpose-like insolence in the pressing entreaties 
with which the new^-vendors persecuted him to 
buy "The full and true report of the trial of 
Roland Cashel for murder." 

And thus it was that he whose fastidious mod- 
esty had shrunk from everything like tlie no- 
toriety of fashion, now saw himself exposed to 
that more terrible ordeal, the notoriety of crime. 
The consciousness of innocence could not harden 
him against the poignant suffering the late ex- 
posure had inflicted. His whole life laid bare! 
Not even to gratify the morbid curiosity of gos- 
sips; not to ainuse the languid listlessness of a 
world devoured by its own ennui ; but far worse! 
To furnish motives for an imputed crime! To 
give the clue to a murder! In the bitterness of 
his torn heart, he asked himself — " Have I de- 
served all this?-^Is this the just requital for my 
conduct towards others? Have the hospitality I 
have extended, the generous assistance I have 



proffered — have the thousand extravagances I 
have committed to gratify others — no other fruits 
than these?" Alas! the answer of his enlight- 
ened intelligence could no longer blind him by 
its flatteries. He recognized at last, that to his 
abuse of fortune were owing all his reverses; 
that the capricious extravagance of the rich man 
— his misplaced generosity, his pompous display 
— can create enemies far more dangerous than 
all the straits and appliances of rebellious 
poverty; that the tie of an obligation which can 
ennoble a generous nature, may, in a bad heart, 
develop the very darkest elements of iniquity; 
and that he who refuses to be bound by gratitude 
is enslaved by hate! 

He stopped for an instant before Kennyfeck's 
house; the closed shutters and close-drawn blinds 
bespoke it still the abode of mourning. He 
jjassed the residence of the Kilgoffs, and there, 
the grass-grown steps and rusted knocker spoke 
of absence. They had left the country. He 
next came to his own mansion — that spacious 
building which, at the same hour, was wont to 
be brilliant with wax-lights and besieged by fast- 
arriving guests, where the throng of carriages 
pressed forward in eager haste, and where, as 
each step descended, some form or figure moved 
by, great in fame or more illustrious still by 
beauty. Now, all was dark, .gloomy, and de- 
serted. A single gleam of light issued from 
the kitchen, which was speedily removed as 
Roland knocked at the door. 

The female servant who opened the door 
nearly dropped the candle as she recognized the 
features of lier master, who, without speaking, 
passed on, and, without even removing his hat, 
entered the library. Profuse in apologies for 
the disorder of the furniture, and excuses for 
the absence of the other servants, she followed 
him into the room, and stood, half in shame and 
half in terror, gazing at the wan and worn coun- 
tenance of him she remembered the very ideal 
of health and youth. 

'' If we only knew your honor was coming 
home to-night " 

"I did not know it myself, good woman, at 
this hour yesterday. Let me have something to 
eat — well, a crust of bread and a glass of wine — 
there's surely so much in the house?" 

" I can give your honor some bread, but all 
the wine is packed up and gone." 

" Gone? whither, and by whose orders?" said 
Roland, calmh'. 

"Mr. Phillis, sir, sent it off about ten days 
ago, witli the plate, and I hear both are off to 
America!" 

"The bread alone, then, with a glass of water, 
will do," said he, without any emolicn or the 
least evidence of surprise in his manner. 

" The faie smacks of the prison still," said 
Roland, as he sat at his humble meal; "and 
truly the house itself is almost as gloomy." 

The aspect of everything was sad and depress- 
ing. Neglect and disorder pervaded wherever 
he turned his steps. In some of the rooms the 
remains of past orgies still littered the tables. 
Smashed vases of rare porcelain, broken mirrors, 
torn pictures — all the work, in fact, which ruffian 



ROLAND CASH EL. 



611 



intemperance in its most savage mood accom- 
plishes — told who were they who replaced his 
.fashionable society; while, as if to show the un- 
feeling spirit of the revellers, several of tiie pas- 
quinades against himself, the libellous calumnies 
of the low press, the disgusting caricatures of in- 
famous prints, were scattered about amid the 
wreck of the debauch. 

Roland saw these things with sorrow, but 
without anger. " I jjiust have fallen low indeed," 
muttered he, " when it is by such men I am 
judged." 

In the room which once had been his study a 
great pile of unsettled bills covered the table, 
the greater number of which he remembered to 
have given the money for; there were no letters, 
however, nor even one card of an acquaintance, 
so that, save to his creditors, his very existence 
seemed be forgotten. 

Wearied of his sad pilgrimage from room to 
room, he sat down at last in a small boudoir, 
which it had been his caprice once to adorn 
with the protraits of "his friends!" sketched by 
a fashionable artist. There they were, all smil- 
ing blandly, as he left them. What a commen- 
tary on their desertion of him were the looks so 
full of benevolence and affection! There was 
Frobisher, lounging in all the ease of fashionable 
indifference, but still with a smile upon his 
languid features. There was Upton, the very 
picture of straightforward good feeling and 
frankness. There was Jennings, all beaming 
with generosity; and Linton, too, occupying the 
chief place, seemed to stare with the very 
expression of resolute attachment that so often 
had imposed on Cashel, andmade him think him 
a most devoted, but perhaps an indiscreet, friend. 
Roland's own portrait had been turned to the 
wall, while on the reverse was written, in large 
characters, the words, "To be hung, or hanged, 
elsewhere." The brutal jest brought the color 
for an instant to his cheek, but the next moment 
he was calm and tranquil as before. 

Lost in musings, the time stole by; and it was 
late in the night ere he betook himself to rest. 
His sleep was the heavy slumber of an over- 
worked mind; but he awoke refreshed and with 
a calm courage to breast the tide of fortune, 
however it might run. 

Life seemed to present to him two objects of 
paramount interest. One of these was the 
discovery of Kennyfeck's murderer; the second 
was the payment of his debt of vengeance to Lin- 
ton. Some secret instinct induced him to couple 
the two together; and although neither reason 
nor reflection afforded a clue to link them, they 
came ever in company before his mind, and rose 
like one fact before him. 

Mr. Hammond, the eminent lawyer, to whom 
he had written a few lines, came punctually at 
ten o'clock to confer with him. Roland had 
determined to reveal no more of his secret to the 
ears of counsel than he had done before the 
court, when an accidental circumstance totally 
changed the course of his proceeding. 

" I have sent for you, Mr. Hammond," said 
Cashel, as soon as they were seated, " to enlist 
your skilful services in tracing out the real 



authors of a crime of which I narrowly escaped 
the penalty. 1 will first, however, entreat your 
attention to another matter, for this may be the 
last opportunity ever afforded me of personally 
consulting you." 

'■ You purpose to live abroad, sir?" asked 
Hammond. 

" I shall return to Mexico," said Roland, 
briefly; and then resumed: " Here is a document, 
sir, of whose tenor and meaning I am ignorant, 
but of whose importance I cannot entertain a 
doubt; will you peruse it?" 

Hammond opened the parchment; but scarcely 
had his eyes glanced over it, when he laid it down 
before him, and said: 

'■ I have seen this before, Mr. Cashel. You 
are aware that I already gave you my opinion as 
to its value?" 

" I am not aware of that," said Roland, calmly. 
" Pray, in whose possession di-d you see it, and 
what does it mean?" 

Hammond seemed confused for a few seconds; 
and then, as if overcoming a scruple, said: 

" We must both be explicit here, sir. This 
document was shown to me by Mr. Linton, at 
Limerick, he alleging that it was at your desire 
and by your request. As to its import, it simply 
means that you hold your present estates without 
a title; that document being a full pardon, re- 
voking all penalty of confiscation against the heirs 
of Miles Corrigan, and reinstating them and theirs 
in their ancient possessions. Now, sir, may I 
ask, do you hear this for the first time?" 

Roland nodded in acquiescence; his heart was 
too full for utterance, and the sudden revulsion of 
his feeling had brought a sickly sensation over 
him. 

"Mr. Linton," resumed Hammond, "in show- 
ing me this deed, spoke of a probable alliance 
between you and the granddaughter of Mr. Cor- 
rigan; and I freely concurred in the propriety of 
a union which might at once settle the difficulty 
of a very painful litigation. He promised me 
more full information on the subject, and engaged 
me to make searches for a registry, if such ex- 
isted, of the pardon; but I heard nothing more 
from him, and the matter escaped my memory 
till this moment." 

"So that all this while I have been dissipating 
that which was not m"ine,""said Roland, with a 
bitterness of voice and manner that bespoke what 
he suffered. 

" You have done what some thousands have 
done, are doing, and will do hereafter — enjoyed 
possession of that which the lavv gave you, and 
which a deeper research into the same law may 
take away." 

" And Linton knew this*?" 

" He certainly knew my opinion of this docu- 
ment; but am I to suppose that you were ignbr- 
ant of it up to this moment?" 

" You shall hear all," said Cashel, passing his 
hand across his brow, which now ached with the 
torture of intense emotion. " To save myself 
from all the ignominy of a felon's death,.! did 
not reveal this before. It was witli me as a point of 
honor, that 1 would reserve this man for a personal 
vengeance, but now, a glimmering light is break- 



612 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



ing on my brain, that darker deeds tlian all he 
worked against nie lie at his door, and that in 
follouing up my revenge I may be but robbing 
the scaffold of its due. Listen to me, attentively." 
So saying, Cashel narrated every event of the 
memorable day of Kennyfeck's death, detail- 
ing his meeting with Enrique in the glen, and 
his last interview with Linton in his dressing- 
room. 

Hammond heard all with deepest interest, only 
interrupting at times to ask such questions as 
might throw light upon the story. The whole 
body of the circumstantial evidence against 
Roland not only became easily explicable, but 
the shrewd perception of the lawyer also saw the 
consummate skill with which the details had 
been worked into regular order, and what con- 
sistency had been imparted to them. The great 
difficulty of the case lay in the fact, that, suppos- 
ing Kennyfeck's death had been planned by 
others, with tlie intention of imputing the crime 
to Cashel, yet all the circumstances, or nearly all, 
whicli seemed to imply his guilt, were matters of 
perfect accident for whicli they never could have 
provided, nor even ever foreseen: such as his 
entrance by the window — his torn dress — the 
wound of his hand — and the blood upon his 
clothes. 

" I see but one clue to this mystery," said 
Hammond, thoughtfully; " but the more I re- 
flect upon it, the more likely does it seem. 
Kennyfeck's fate was intended for you — he fell 
by a mistake." 

Roland started with astonishment, but listened 
with deep attention, as Hammond recapitulated 
everything which accorded with this assumption. 

" But why was one of my own pistols taken 
for the deed ?" 

" Perhaps to suggest the notion of suicide." 

" How could my death have been turned to 
profit? Was I not better as the living dupe than 
as the dead enemy.'" 

" Do you not see how your death legalized the 
deed with a forged signature? Who was to dis- 
pute its authenticity? Besides, how know we 
what ambitions Linton may not have cherished 
when holding in his hands the only title to the 
estate. We may go too fast with these sus- 
picions, but let us not reject them as inconsis- 
tent. Who is this same witness, Keane? What 
motives had he for the gratitude he evinced on 
the trial ?" 

" None whatever: on the contrary, I never 
showed him any favor; it was even my intention 
to dismiss him from the gate-lodge!" 

" And he was aware of this?" 

" Perfectly. He had besought several people 
to intercede for him, Linton among the rest." 

"So that he was known to Linton? And what 
has become of him since the trial ?" 

" That is the strangest- of all. My wish was 
to have done something for the poor fellow. I 
could not readily forget the feeling he showed, 
at a moment, too, when none seemed to remem- 
ber me; so that when I reached Tubbermore I 
at once repaired to the lodge, but he was gone." 

"And in what direction?" 

" His wife could not tell. The poor creature 



was distracted at being deserted, and seemed to 
think — from what cause 1 know not — that 
he would not return. He had come back after 
the trial in company with another, who remained 
on the road-side while Keane hastily packed up 
some clothes, after which they departed to- 
gether." 

"This must be thought of," said Hammond, 
gravely, while he wrote some lines in his note- 
book. 

'■ It is somewhat strange, indeed," said Cashel, 
" that the very men to whom my gratitude is 
most due are those who seem to avoid me. Thus 
— Jones, who gave me his aid upon the 
trial " 

" Do not speak of him, sir," said Hammond, 
in a voice of agitation; " he is one who has sul- 
lied an order that has hitherto been almost with- 
out a stain. There is but too much reason to 
think that he was bribed to destroy you. His 
whole line of cross-examination on the trial was 
artfully devised to develop whatever might in- 
jure you; but the treacheiy turned upon the men 
who ])lanned it. The attorney-general saw it, 
and the court also. It was this saved you." 

Cashel sat powerless and speechless at this 
disclosure. It seemtd to fill up in his mind the 
cup of iniquity, and he never moved nor uttered 
a word as he listened. 

" Jones you will never see again. The bar of 
some other land across the sea may receive him, 
but there is not one here would stoop to be his 
colleague. But now for others more important 
1 will this day obtain the judge's notes of the 
trial, and give the whole case the deepest con- 
sideration. Inquiry shall be set on foot as to 
Keane, with whom he has gone, and in what 
direction. Linton, too, must be watched, there- 
port is that he lies dangerously ill at his country 
house, but that story may be invented to gain 
time." 

Cashel could scarcely avoid a smile at the 
rajjidity with which the lawyer detailed his plan 
of operation, and threw out, as he went, the signs 
of distrust so characteristic of his craft. As for 
himself, he was enjoined to remain in the very 
strictest privacy— to see no one, nor even to leave 
the house, except after nightfall. 

"Rely upon it," said Hammond, "your every 
movement is watched; and our object will be 
to ascertain by whom. This will be our first 
clue; and when we obtain one, others will soon 
follow." 

It was no privation for Cashel to follow a 
co.irse so much in accordance with his wishes. 
Solitude — -even that which consigned him to the 
saddest reveries — was far more pleasurable than 
any intercourse; so that he never ventured be- 
yond the walls of his house for weeks, nor ex- 
changed a word, except with Hammond, who 
regularly visited him each day, to report the 
progress of his investigation. 

The mystery did not seem to clear away, even 
by the skilful contrivances of the lawyer. Of 
Keane not a trace could be discovered, nor could 
any clue be obtained as to his companion. All 
that Hammond knew was, that although a 
doctor's carriage daily drove to Linton's house, 



ROLAND CASH EL, 



313 



Linton himself had long since left the country — 
it was believed for the Continent. 

Disappointed by continual failures, and wearied 
by a life whose only excitement lay in anxieties 
and cares, Cashel grew each day sadder and more 
depressed. Tiie desire for vengeance, too, that 
first had filled his mind, grew weaker as time 
rolled on. The wish to reinstate himself fully in 
the world's esteem diminished, as he Uved apart 
from ail its intercourse, and he sank into a low 
and gloomy despondency, which soon showed 
its ravages upon his face and figure. 

One object alone remained for him — this was 
to seek out Corrigan and place in his hand the 
document of his ancestor's pardon; this done, 
Roland resolved to betake himself to Mexico, and 
again, among the haunts of his youth, to try and 
forget that life of civilization which ha»d cost him 
so dearly. 

CHAPTER LXVIII. 

LA NINETTA. 

How sweefe and lovely tlost thou make the shame 

Which, like a canker in the fragrant rose, 
Doth spot the beaiitie of thy budding name. 

Some years passed over, and the name of 
Roland Cashel ceased to be uttered, or his 
memory even evoked, in that capital where once 
his wealth, his eccentricities, and his notoriety, 
had been the theme of every tongue. A large 
neglected-looking house, with closed shutters 
and grass-grown steps, would attract the attention 
of some passing stranger to ask whom it belonged 
to, btit the name of Mr. Cashel was almost all 
that many knew of liim, and a vague imisression 
that he was travelling in same remote and far-away 
land. 

Tubbermore, too, fell back itvto its former con- 
dition of ruin and decay. No one seemed to 
know into whose hands the estate had fallen, but 
the talismanic word " Chancery" appeared to 
satisfy every inquiry, and account for a desolation 
that brooded over the property and all who dwelt 
on it. Tlie very "cottage" had yielded to the 
course of time, and little remained of it save a 
few damp discolored walls and blackened 
chimneys; while here and there a rare shrub, or a 
tree of foreign growth, rose among the rank weeds 
and thistles, to speak of the culture which once 
had been the pride of this lovely spot. 

Had there been a "curse upon the place," it 
could not have been more dreary and sad-look- 
ing! 

Of the gate-lodge — where Keane lived — a few 
straggling rtiins alone remained, in a corner of 
which a miserable family was herded together, 
tlieir wan looks and tattered clothing showing that 
they were dependent for existence on the charity 
of the very poor. These were Keane's wife and 
children, to whom he never again returned. There 
was a blight over everything. The tenantry 
themselves, no longer subject to the visits of the 
agent, the stimulus to all industry withdrawn, 
would scarcely labor for their own support, but 
passed their lives in brawls and quarrels, which 



more than once had led to a felon's sentence 
The land lay untilled; tlie cattle, untended, 
strayed at will through the unfenced fields. The 
villages on the property were crammed by a host 
of runaway wretches whose crimes had driven 
them from their homes, till at length the district 
became the plague-spot of the country, where, 
even at noonday, few strangers were bold enough 
to enter, and the word "Tubbermore" had a 
terrible significance in the neighborhood round 
about. 

Let us now turn for the last time to him whose 
fortune had so powerfully influenced his property, 
and whose dark destiny seemed to throw its 
shadow over all that once was his. For years 
Roland Cashel had been a wanderer He 
travelled every country of the old world and the 
new; his appearance and familiarity with the 
language enabling him to assume the nationality 
of a Spaniard, and thus screen him from that 
painful notoriety to which his story was certain 
to expose him. Journeying alone, and in the 
least expensive manner- — for he no longer con- 
sidered himself entitled to any of the property 
he once enjoyed — he made few acquaintances 
and contracted no friendships. One object alone 
gave a zest to existence — to discover Mr. Cor- 
rigan, and place within his hands the title-deeds 
of Tubbermore. With this intention he had 
searched through more than half of Europe, 
visiting the least frequented towns, and pursuing 
inquiries in every possible direction; at one 
moment cheered by some glimmering prospect 
of success, at another dashed by disappointment 
and failure. If a thought of Linton did oc- 
casionally cross him, he struggled manfully to 
overcome the temptingsof a passion which should 
thwart the dearest object of his life, and make 
vengeance predominate over truth and honesty. 
As time rolled on the spirit of his hatred became 
gradually weaker; and if he did not forgive all 
the ills his treachery had worked, his memory of 
them was less frequent and less painful. 

His was a cheerless, for it was a friendless, ex- 
istence. Avoiding his own countrymen from 
the repugnance he felt to sustain his disguise by 
falsehood, he wandered from land to land and 
city to city like some penitent in the accomplish- 
ment of a vow. The unbroken monotony of this 
life, the continued pressure of disappointment, 
at last began to tell u|jon him, and in his moody 
abstractions — his fits of absence and melancholy 
— might be seen the change which had cc me over 
him. He might have been a long time ignorant 
of an alteration which not only impressed his 
mind, but even his " outward man" when his 
attention was drawn to the fact by overhearing 
the observation of some young Englishmen upon 
his appearance, as he sat one evening ni a cafe 
at Naples. Conversing in all that careless freedom 
of our young countrxnien, which never supposes 
that -their language can be understood by others, 
they criticized his dress, his sombre look, and his 
manner; and, after an animated discussion as to 
whether he were a refugee, political offender, a 
courier, or a spy, they wound up by a wager that 
he was at least forty years of age. One of the 
party dissenting — on the ground that, although 



614 



ROLAND CASH EL. 



he looked it, it was rather from something on the 
fellow's mind tlian years. 

"How shall we find out?" cried the proposer 
of the bet. " I, for one, shouldn't like to ask 
him ills age." 

"If I knew Spanish enough, I'd do it at once," 
said another. 

"It might cost you dearly, Harry, for all that; 
he looks marvellously like a fellow that wouldn't 
brook trifling." 

"He wouldn't call it trifling to lose me ten 
'carlines,' and I'm sure I should win my wager; 
so here goes at him with French." Rising at the 
same moment, tlie young man crossed the 
room and stood before the table where Cashel sat 
with folded arms and bent-down head, listening 
in utter indifference, to all that passed. 
" Monsieur!" said the youth, bowing. Cashel 
looked up, and his dark, heavily-browed eyes 
seemed to abash the other, who stood blushing, 
and uncertain what to do. 

With faltering accents and downcast look he 
began to mutter excuses for his intrusion ; when 
Cashel, in a mild and gentle voice, interrupted 
him, saying in English, " I am your countryman, 
young gentleman, and my age not six-and- 
twenty." 

The quiet courtesy of his manner as he spoke, 
as well as the surprise at his being English, seemed 
to increase the youth's shame for the liberty he 
had taken, and he was profuse in his apologies ; 
but Cashel soon allayed this anxiety by adroitly 
turning to another part of the subject, and saying, 
" If I look much older than I am, it is that I have 
travelled and lived a good deal in southern 
climates, not to speak of other causes, which 
give premature age." 

A slight, a very slight touch of melancholy in 
the latter words gave them a deep interest to the 
youth ; who with a boyish frankness — far more 
fascinating than more finished courtesy — asked 
Roland if he would join their party. Had such 
a request been made half an hour before, or, had 
it come in more formal fashion, Cashel would 
inevitably have declined it ; but what between 
the generous candor of the youth's address, and 
a desire to show that he did not resent his in- 
trusion, Cashel acceded good-naturedly, and took 
his seat amongst them. 

As Roland listened to the joyous freshness of 
their boyish talk — the high hearted hope — the 
sanguine trustfulness wilh which they regarded 
life — he remembered what but a few years back 
he had himself been. He saw in them the self- 
same elements which had led him on to every 
calamity that he suffered— the passionate pursuit 
of pleasure — the inexhaustible craving for excite- 
ment that makes life the feverish paroxysm of a 
malady. 

They sat to a late hour together ; and when 
they separated, the chance acquaintance had 
ripened into intimacy. Night after night "they 
met in the same place ; and while they were 
charmed with the gentle seriousness of one in 
whom they could recongize the most manly 
daring, he, on his side, was fascinated by the con- 
fiding warmth and the generous frankness of their 
youth. 



One evening, as they assembled as usual, 
Roland remarked a something like unusual ex- 
citement amongst them ; and learned, that from 
a letter they had received that morning, they 
were about to leave Naples the next day. There 
seemed some mystery in the reason, and a kind 
of reserve in ever alluding to it, which made 
Cashel half suspect that they had been told who 
he was, and that a dislike to further intercourse 
had suggested the departure. It was the feeling 
that never left him by day or night — that dogged 
his waking and haunted his dreams— that he v/as 
one to be shunned and avoided by his fellow-men. 
His pride, long dormant, arose under the sup- 
posed slight, and he was about to say a cold 
farewell, when the elder of the party, whose name 
was Sidney, said : 

" How I wish you were coming with us!" 
"Whither to?" said Cashel, hurriedly. 
"To Venice — say, is this possible?" 
" I am free to turn my steps in any direction — 
too free — for I have neither course to sail nor 
harbor to reach." 

"Come with us, then, Roland," cried they all, 
" and our journey will be delightful." 

" But why do you start so hurriedly? What 
is there to draw, you from this at the very 
brightest season of the year?" 

" There is ratlier that which draws us to 
Venice," said Sidney, coloring slightly; "but 
this is our secret ; and you shall not hear it till 
we are on our way." 

Roland's curiosity was not exacting ; he asked 
no more ; nor was it till they had proceeded 
some days on their journey that Sidney confided 
to him the sudden cause of their journey, which 
he did in few words: 

"La Ninetta is at Venice — she is at the 
' Fenice.' " 

" But who is La Ninetta? You forget that you 
are speaking to one who lives out of the world." 
" Not know La Ninetta!" exclaimed he; "never 
have seen her?" 

" Never even heard of her." 
To the pause which the shock of the first as- 
tonishment imposed there now succeeded a burst 
of enthusiastic description, in which the three 
youths vied with each other who should be most 
eloquent in praise. Her beauty, her gracefulness, 
the witching fascination of her movenn nts, the 
enchanting captivation of her smile, were themes 
they never wearied of. Nor was it till he had 
suffered the enthusiasm to take its course that 
they would listen to his calm question: 
" Is she an actress?" 

" She is the first 'Ballarina of the world," cried 
one. "None ever did, nor ever will, dance like 
her." 

"They say she is a Prima Dctina, too; but 
how could such excellence be united in one 
creature?" 

To their wild transports of praise Roland 
listened patiently, in the hope that he might glean 
something of her story; but they knew nothing, 
except that she was reputed to be a Sicilian, of 
a noble family, whose passion for the stage had 
excited the darkest enmity of her relatives; inso- 
much, that it was said she was tracked from city 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



615 



to city by hired assassins. She remained two 
days at Naples; she appeared but once at Rome; 
in Genoa, though announced, she never came to 
the theatre. Such were the extravagant tales, 
heightened by all the color of romantic adventure 
— liow, at one time, she had escaped from a royal 
palace by leaping into the sea — how, at another, 
she had ridden through a squadron of the Swiss 
Guard, sabre in hand, and got clean away from 
Bologna, where a cardinal's letter had arrested 
her. Incidents, the strangest, the least probable, 
were recounted of her: the high proffers of mar- 
riage she had rejected — the alliances, even with 
royal blood, she had refused. There was nothing, 
wliere her name figured, that seemed impossible; 
hers was a destiny above all the rules that guide 
humbler mortals. 

Excellence, of whatever kind it be, has always 
this attraction — that it forms a standard by which 
men measure with each other their capacities of 
enjoyment and their powers of appreciation. 
Roland's curiosity was stimulated, therefore, to 
behold with his own eyes the wonder which had 
excited these youthful heroics. He had long 
since ceased to be sanguine on any subject; and 
he felt that he could sustain disappointment on 
graver matters than this. 

When they reached Venice, they found that 
city in a state of enthusiastic excitement fully 
equal to their own. All the excesses into which 
admiration for art can carry a people insensible 
to other emotions than those which minister to 
the senses, had been committed to welcome " La 
Regina de la Balla." Her entrie had been like a 
triumph; garlands of flowers, bouquets, rich tapes- 
tries floating from balconies, gondolas with bands 
of music; the civic authorities even, in robes of 
state, met her as she entered; strangers flocked 
in crowds from the other cities of the north, and 
even from parts beyond the Alps. The hotels 
were crammed with visitors, all eager to see one 
of whom every tongue was telling. A guard of 
honor stood before the palace in which she re- 
sided — as much a measure of necessity to repel 
the pressure of the anxious crowd as it was a 
mark of distinction. 

The epidemic character of enthusiasm is well 
known. It is a fervor to which none can remain 
insensible. Cashel was soon to experience this. 
How could he preserve a cold indifference to the 
emotions which swayed thousands around him? 
How maintain his calm amid that host, which 
surged and iretted like the sea in a storm? La 
Ninettawas the one word repeated on every side; 
even to have seen her once was a distinction, and 
they who had already felt her fascinations were 
listened to as oracles. 

She was to give but three representations at 
Venice, and ere Cashel's party had arrived all the 
tickets were already disposed of. By unceasing 
efforts, and considerable bribery, they contrived 
at last to obtain places for the first night, and early 
in the forenoon were admitted among a privileged 
number to take their seats. They who were thus, 
at a heavy cost, permitted to anticipate the 
general public, seemed — at least to Cashel's eyes 
- — to fill the house; and so, in the dim indistinct- 
ness, they appeared. Wherever the eye turned, 



from the dark parterre, below, to the highest 
boxes above, seemed filled with people. There 
was something almost solemn in that vast con- 
course, who sat subdued and silent in the misty 
half light of the theatre. The intense anxiety of 
expectation, the dreary gloom of the scene, co»- 
tributed to spread a kind of awe-struck influence 
around, and brought up to Roland's memory a 
very different place and occasion — when, himself 
the observed of all observers, he stood in the 
felons' dock. Lost in the gloomy reverie these 
sad thoughcs suggested, he took no note of time, 
nor marked the lagging hours which stole heavily 
past. 

Suddenly the full glare of light burst forth, and 
displayed the great theatre crowded in every part. 
That glittering spectacle, into which beauty, 
splendor of dress, jewels, and rich uniforms enter, 
broke upon the sight, while a kind of magnetic 
sense of expectancy seemed to pervade all, and 
make conversation a mere murmur. The opera 
— a well-known one of a favorite composer, and 
admirably sustained — attracted little attention. 
The thrilling cadences, the brilliant passages, all 
fell upon senses that had no relish for their ex- 
cellence; and even the conventional good-breed- 
ing of the spectators was not proof against the 
signs of impatience that every now and then were 
manifested. 

The third act at last began, and the scene re- 
presented a Spanish village of the New World, 
which, had it been even less correct and true to 
nature, had yet possessed no common attraction 
for Roland — recalling by a hundred little traits 
a long unvisited but well-remembered land. The 
usual troops of villagers paraded about in all that 
mock grace which characterizes the peasant of 
the ballet. There were the same active moun- 
taineers, the same venerable fathers, the comely 
matrons with little baskets of nothing carefully 
covered by snowy napkins, and the young maidens, 
who want only beauty to make them what they 
affect to be. Roland gazed at all this with the 
indifference a stupid prelude ever excites, and 
would rapidly have been wearied, when a sudden 
pause in the music ensued, and then a deathlike 
stillness reigned through the house. The 
orchestra again opened, and with a melody 
which thrilled through every fibre of Roland's 
heart. It was a favorite Mexican air; one to 
which, in happier times, he had often danced. 
What myriads of old memories came flocking to 
his mind as he listened! What fancies came 
thronging around him! Every bar of the meas- 
ure beat responsively with some association of 
the past. He leaned his head downwards, and, 
covering his face with his hands, all thought of 
the present was lost, and in imagination he was 
back again on the green sward before the " Villa 
de las Noches;" the mocking-bird and the nightin- 
gale were filling the air with their warblings; the 
sounds of gay voices, the plash of fountains, the 
meteor-like flashes of the fire-flies, were all be- 
fore him. He knew not that a thousand voices 
were shouting around him in wildest enthusiasm 
— that bouquets of rarest flowers strewed the 
stage— that every form adulation can take was 
assumed towards one on whom every eye save 



616 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



his own was bent ; and that, before her, rank, 
beauty, riches — all that the world makes its idols 
— were now bending in deepest homage. He 
knew nothing of all this, as he sat with bent-down 
head, lost in his own bright dreamings. At 
length he looked up, but, instead of his fancy 
being dissipated by reality, it now assumed form 
and substance. There was the very scenery of 
that far-off land; the music was the national air 
of Mexico; the dance was the haughty Manolo; 
and, oh! was it that his brain was wandering- 
had reason, shaken by many a rude shock, given 
way at last? The dancer — she, on whose witch- 
ing graces every glance was bent — was Maritana! 
There she stood, more beautiful than he had 
ever seen her before; her dark hair encircled 
with brilliants, her black eyes flashing in all the 
animation of triumph, and her fairly-rounded 
limbs the perfection of symmetry. 

Oh, no! this was some mind-drawn picture; 
this was the shadowy image that failing intellect 
creates ere all is lost in chaos and confusion! 
Such was the conflict in his brain as, with staring 
eyeballs, he tracked her as she moved, and fol- 
lowed each graceful bend, each proudcommanding 
attitude. Nor was it till the loud thunder-rofl 
of applause had drawn her to the front of the 
stage, to acknowledge the favor by a deep rev- 
erence, that he became assured beyond all 
question. Then, when he saw the long dark 
lashes fall upon the rounded cheek, when he be- 
held the crossed arms upon her bosom, and marked 
the taper fingers he had so often held within his 
own, in a transport of feeling, where pride, and 
joy, and shame, and sorrow, had each their share, 
he cried aloud: 

"Oh, Maritafia! Maritana! Shame! shame!" 
Scarcely had the wild cry re-echoed through 
the house than, with a scream, whose terror 
pierced every heart, the girl started from her 
studied attitude, and rushed forward towards the 
foot-lights, her frighted looks and pale cheeks 
seeming ghastly with emotion. 

'■ Where? — where?" cried she. " Speak again 
— I know the voice!" But already a scene of 
uproar and confusion had arisen in the parterre 
around Cashel, whose interruption of the piece 
called down universal reprobation;, and cries of 
"Out with him!" "Away with him!" rose on 
every side. 

Struggling madly and fiercely against his 
assailants, Cashel for a brief space seemed likely 
to find his way to the stage; but overcome by 
numbers, he was subdued at last, and consigned 
to the hands of the guard. His last look, still 
turned to the "scene," showed him Maritana, as 
she was carried away senseless and fainting. 



CHAPTER LXIX. 

THE FATE OF KEANE HIS DEPOSITION. 

The laughing Seine, whose midnight flood 
Shrouds many a deed of crime and blood! 

— Warren. 

They alone who have passed much of their 



lives on the Continent of Europe can estimate 
the amount of excitement caused by such an in- 
cident as that we have just related. So much 
of life is centred in the theatre, so many interests 
revolve around it, engrossing, as it doeb, so much 
of the passions and the prejudices of those 
whose existence seldom rises above the pursuit 
of pleasure, that anything which might interrupt 
" the scene," which should disturb its progress, 
or mar its effect, is sure to evoke the loudest 
evidence of public indignation. Where a high 
cultivation of the arts is employed to gloss over 
the corruptions of a vicious systein, it may be 
easily conceived how men would be judged more 
leniently for crimes than for those minor offences 
which rebel against the usages of good society. 

The " Ballet interrupted in its most interesting 
moment," "La Ninetta carried away fainting at 
the very commencement of her most attractive 
movement," insulted-^so it was rumored — "by 
some offensive epithet of a Spaniard," were 
enough to carry indignation to the highest pitch, 
and it needed the protection of the guard to 
screen him from the popular vengeance. 

After a night of feverish anxiety, where hopes 
and fears warred and conflicted with each other, 
Cashel was early on the following morning con- 
ducted before the chief commissary of the police. 
His passport represented him as a Spaniard, and 
he adhered to the pretended nationality to avoid 
the dreaded notoriety of his name. 

While he answered the usual questions as to 
age, religion and profession, an officer deposited 
a sealed jsaper in the hands of the prefetto; who, 
opening it, appeared to study the contents with 
much care. 

"You have called yourself II Senor Roland da 
Castel, sir?" said the official, staring fixedly upon 
him. " Have you always gone by this name?" 

" In Mexico and the New World I was ever 
known as such. In England men call me Roland 
Cashel." 

" Which is your more fitting appellation — is it 
not?" 

" Yes." 

"You are then an English, and not a Spanish 
subject?" 

He nodded assent. 

" You were, however, in a South American 
service?" said the prefetto, reading from his 
paper. 

Roland bowed again. 

" In which service, or pretended service, you 
commanded a slaver?" 

"This is untrue," said Cashel, calmly. 

" I have it asserted here, however, by those of 
whose statements you have already acknowledged 
the accuracy." 

" It is not the less a falsehood." 

"Perhaps you will allow more correctness to 
the next allegation? It is said that, under the 
pretended right to a large inheritance, you visited 
England, and succeeded in preferring a claim to 
a vast estate?" 

Roland bent his bond in assent. 

"And that to this property you possessed 
neither right nor title?" 

Roland started: the charge involved a secret 



ROLAN D CASH EL. 



617 



he believed unknown, save to himself, Hammond, 
and Linton, and he could not master his sur- 
prise enough to reply. 

'' But a weightier allegation is yet behind, sir," 
said the prefetto, sternly. " Are you the same 
Roland Cashel whose trial for murder occupied 
the assizes of Ennis in the spring of the year 
18— ?■• 

" I am," said Cashel, faintly. 

"Your escape of conviction depended on the 
absence of a material witness for the prosecu- 
tion, I believe.'" 

" I was acquitted because I was not guilty, sir." 

" On that point we are not agreed," said the 
prefetto, sarcastically; "hut you have admitted 
enough to warrant nie in the course I shall pur- 
sue respecting you — the fact of a false name 
and passport, the identity with a well-known 
character admitted — I have now to detain you 
in custody until such time as the consul of your 
country may take steps for your conveyance 
to England, where already new evidence of your 
criminality awaits you. Yes, prisoner, the mys- 
tery which involved your guilt is at length about 
to be dissipated, and the day of expiation draws 
nigh." 

Roland did not speak. Shame at the degraded 
position he occupied, even in the eyes of those 
with whom he had associated, overwhelmed him, 
and he suffered himself to be led away without 
a word. 

Alone in the darkness and silence of a prison, 
he sat indifferent to wiiat might befall him, 
wearied of himself and all the world. 

Days, even weeks, passed on, and none inquired 
after him; he seemed forgotten of all, when the 
consul, who had been absent, having returned, 
it was discovered that the allegations respect- 
ing the murder were not sufficient to warrant 
his being transmitted to England, and that the 
only charge against him lay in the assumed 
nationality — -an offence it was deemed sufficiently 
expiated by his imprisonment. He was free 
then once more — free to wander forth into the 
world where his notoriety had been already pro- 
claimed, and where, if not his guilt, his shame 
was published. 

Of Maritaiia all that he could learn was that 
she had left Venice without again appearing in 
public; but in what direction none knew acwir- 
ately. Cashel justly surmised that she had not 
gone without seeing him once more, had it not 
been from the compulsion of others; and if he 
grieved to think they were never to meet more, 
he felt a secret consolation on reflecting how 
much of mutual shame and sorrow was spared 
them. Shame was indeed the predominant 
emotion of his mind; shame for his now sullied 
name — his character tarnished by the allegations 
of crime; and shame for her, degraded to a 
" Bid'arina." 

Had fortune another reverse in store for him? 
Was there one cherished hope still remaining? 
Had life one solitary spot to which he could now 
direct his weary steps, and be at rest? The 
publicity which late events had given to his name, 
rendered him more timid and retiring than ever. 
A morbid lense of modesty — a shrinking dread 



of the slights to which he would be exposed in 
the world — made hir.i sliun all intercourse, and 
live a life of utter seclusion. 

Like all men who desire solitude, he soon dis- 
covered that it is alone attainable in great cities. 
Where the great human tide runs full and strong, 
the scattered wrecks are scarcely noticeable. 

To Paris, therefore, he repaired; not to that 
brilliant Paris where sensuality and vice costume 
themselves in all the brilliant hues derived from 
the highest intellectual culture, but to the dark 
and gloomy Paris which lies between the arms 
of the Seine- — the " He St. Louis." There, amid 
the vestiges of an extinct feudalism, and the 
trials of a present wretchedness, he passed his 
life in strict solitude. In a mean apartment, 
whose only solace was the view of the river, with 
a few books picked up on a neighboring stall, 
and the moving crowd beneath his window to at- 
tract his wandering thoughts, he lived his lonely 
life. The past alone occupied his mind: for the 
future he had neither care nor interest, but of his 
bygone life he could dream for hours. These 
memories he used to indulge each evening in a 
particular spot; it was an old and ruinous stair 
which descended to the river, from a little 
wooden platform, near where he lived. It had 
been long disused, and suffered to fall into rot 
and decay. Here he sat, each night watching the 
twinkling lights that glittered along the river, and 
listening to the distant hum of that great hive of 
pleasure that lay beyond it. 

That the neighborhood about was one of evil 
repute and danger, mattered little to one who set 
small store by his life, and whose stalwart figure 
and signs of personal prowess were not unknown 
in the quarter. The unbroken solitude of the 
spot was its attraction to him, and truly none 
ever ventured near it after nightfall. 

There he was sitting, one night, as usual, 
musing, as was his wont. It was a period when 
men's minds were stirred by the expectation of 
some great but unknown event; a long political 
stagnation — the dead sea of hopeless apathy- 
was beginning to be ruffled by short and fitful 
blasts that told of a coming hurricane. Vague 
rumors of a change — scattered sentences of some 
convulsion, whence proceeding, or whither tend- 
ing, none could guess — were abroad. The long- 
sleeping terrors of a past time of blood were once 
more remembered, and men talked of the guillo- 
tine and the scaffold as household themes. It 
was the summer of 1830 — that memorable year, 
whose deeds were to form but the prologue of 
the great drama we are to-day the spectators at. 
Roland heard these things, as he who wanders 
along the shore at night may hear the brooding 
signs of a gathering storm, but has no "venture 
on the sea." He thought of them — with a cer- 
tain interest, too — but it was with that interest 
into which no personal feeling enters; for how 
could great convulsions of states affect hivt ? 
How could the turn of fortune raise or depress 
him? 

He sat, now pondering over his own destiny, 
now wondering whither the course of events to 
come was tending, when he heard the plash of 
oars and the rushing sound of a boat moving 



618 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



through the water in the direction of the stair. 
The oars, which at some moments were plied 
vigorously, ceased to move at others; and, as 
well as Cashel could mark, the course of the 
boat seemed once or twice to be changed. 
Roland descended to the lowest step of the 
ladder, the better to see what this might portend. 
That terrible river, on whose smiling eddies the 
noonday sun dances so joyously, covers beneath 
the shadovv of night crimes the most awful and 
appalling. 

As Cashel listened, he perceived that the row- 
ing had ceased, and two voices, whose accents 
sounded like altercation, could be heard. 

The boat, drifting, meanwhile, downward on 
the fast current, was now nearly opposite to where 
he sat, but only perceptible as a dark speck 
upon the water. The night was calm, without a 
breath of wind, and on the vapor-charged at- 
mosphere sounds floated dull and heavily; still 
Cashel could hear the harsh tones of men in 
angry dispute, and to his amazement they spoke 
in English. 

" It's the old story," cried one, whose louder 
voice and coarser accents bespoke him the in- 
ferior in condition — "the old story that I am sick 
of listening to — when you have luck! when you 
have luck!" 

'■ I used not to have a complaint against for- 
tune," said the other. "Before we met, she had 
treated me well for many a year." 

"And 'twas me that changed it, I suppose," 
said the first, in the same insolent tone as before: 
"do you mean that?" 

" The world has gone ill with me since that 
day." 

" And whose fault is that?" 

" Partly yours," said the other, in a slow, de- 
liberate voice, every syllable of which thrilled 
through Cashel's heart as he listened. " Had 
you secured the right man, it was beyond the 
power of fortune to hurt either of us. That 
fatal, fatal mistake!" 

" How could I help it?" cried the other, en- 
ergetically; "the night was as dark as this — it 
was between two high banks — there was nothing 
to be seen but a figure of a man coming slowly 
along — you yourself told me who it would be — I 
didn't wait for more; and troth!" — here he gave 
a fiendish laugh — "troth! you'll allow the work 
was well done." 

" It was a most determined murder," said the 
other, thoughtfully. 

"Murder! murder!" screamed the first, in a 
voice of fierce passion; " and is it you that calls it 
a murder?" 

" No matter how it is called. Let us speak of 
something else." 

" Very well. Let us talk about the price of it. 
It isn't paid yet?" 

" Is it nothing that I have taken you from ab- 
ject, starving misery, from a life of cold, want, 
and wretchedness, to live at ease in the first city 
of the universe? Is it no part of the price that 
you spend your days in pleasures and your nights 
in debauch? — that, with the appetite of the peasant 
you partake of the excesses of the gentleman? 
Is it no installment of the debt, I say, that you, 



who might now be ground down to the very earth 
as a slave at home, dare to lift your head and 
speak thus to me ?" 

" And is it you dares to tell me this?" cried the 
other, in savage energy; "is it you, that made me 
a murderer, and then think that 1 can forget it 
because I'm a drunkard ? But I don't forget it! 
I'll never forget it! I see him still, as he lay 
gasping before me, and trying to beg for mercy 
when he couldn't ask for it. I see him every day 
when I am in a lonely place; and, oh! he's never 
away from me at night, with his bloody hands on 
his head trying to save it, and screaming out for 
God to help him. And what did I get for it? 
answer me that," yelled he, in accents shrill with 
passion. "Is it my wife begging from door to 
door — is it my children naked and hungry — is it 
my little place, a ruin and a curse over it — or is 
it myself trying to forget it in drink, not knowing 
the day nor the hour that it will rise up against 
me, and that I'll be standing in the dock where I 
saw /lim that you tried to murder too?" 

" There is no use in all this passion," said the 
other, calmly; "let us be friends, Tom: it is our 
interest to be so." 

" Them's the very words you towld Mr. Phillis, 
and the next day he was taken up for the robbery, 
and you had liim transported." 

" Phillis was a fool, and paid the penalty of a 
fool; but you are a shrewd fellow, who can see 
to his own advantage. Nowlisten to me calmly: 
were it not for bad luck, we might all of us have 
had more money now than we could count or 
squander. Had Maritana continued upon the 
stage, her gains would by this time have been 
enormous. The bank, too, would have prospered; 
her beauty would have drawn around us all that 
was wealthv and dissipated in tlie world of fash- 
ion; we could have played what stake we pleased. 
Princes, ambassadors, ministers of state, would 
have been our game. Curses be on his head who 
spoiled this glorious plan! From that unhappy 
night at Venice she never would appear again, 
nor could she. The shock has been like a blight 
upon her. You have seen her yourself, and know 
what it has made her." 

The artifice by which the speaker contrived 
to change the topic, and withdraw the other from 
a painful subject to one of seeming confidence, 
was completely successful; and in the altered 
tone of voice might be read the change which 
had come over him. 

" You wish to go to America, Tom?" continued 
he, after a pause. 

"Ay; I never feel safe here. I'm too near 
home." 

" Well, if everything prospers with us, you shall 
have the money by Tuesday — Wednesday at 
farthest. Rica has at last found a clue to old 
Corrigan, and, although he seems in great 
poverty, his name upon a bill will still raise some 
hundreds." 

" I don't care who pays it, but I must get it," 
said the other, whose savage mood seemed to 
have returned. "I'll not stay here. 'Tis little 
profit or pleasure I have, standin' every night to 
see the crowds that are passing in, to be cheated 
out of their money — to hear the clink of the goold 



ROLAND CASH EL, 



619 



I'm never to handle — and to watch all the fine 
livin' and coortin' that I've no share in." 

" Be satisfied. You shall have the money; I 
pledge my word upon it." 

"I don't care for your word. I have a better 
security than ever it was." 

" And what may that be?" said the other, 
cautiously. 

"Your neck in a halter, Mr. Linton," said he, 
laughing ironically. " Ay, ye don't understand me 
— poor innocent that ye are! but I know what 
I'm saying, and I have good advice about it 
besides." 

" How do you mean good advice, Tom?" said 
Linton, with seeming kindliness of manner. 
" Whom have you consulted?" 

" One that knows the law well," said Tom, 
with all the evasive shrewdness of his class. 

" And he tells you " 

" He tells me that the devil a bit betther off 
you'd be than myself — that you are what they 
call an 'accessory' — that's the word; I mind it 
well." 

"And what does that mean?" 

" A chap that plans the work, but hasn't the 
courage to put hand to it." 

" That's an accessory, is it ?" said the other, 
slowly. 

" Just so." He paused for a few seconds, tlien 
added, " Besides, if I was to turn 'prover, he says 
that I'd only be transported, and 'tis vou would 
be hanged" — the last word was uttered in a harsh 
and grating tone, and followed by a laugh of in- 
solent mockery — " so that you see 'tis better be 
honest with me, and pay me my hire." 

" You shall have it, by G !" said Linton, 

with a deep vehemence; and, drawing a pistol 
from his bosom, he fired. The other fell, with a 
loud cry, to the bottom of the boat. A brief 
pause ensued, and then Linton raised the body 
in his arms to throw it over. A faint struggle 
showed that life was not extinct, but all resistance 
was impossible. The lightness of the boat, how- 
ever, made the effort difficult; and it was only 
by immense exertion that he could even lift the 
heavy weight half way; and at last, when by a 
great effort, he succeeded in laying the body over 
the gunwale, the boat lost its balance, and upset. 
With a bold spring, Linton dashed into the cur- 
rent, and made for shore; but almost as he did 
so, another and a stronger swimmer, who had 
thrown off his clothes for the enterprise, had 
reached the spot, and, grasping the inert mass as 
it was about to sink, swam with the bleeding 
body to the bank. 

When Cashel gained the stairs, he threw the 
wounded man upon his shoulder, for signs of 
life were still remaining, and hastened to a cab- 
aret near. A surgeon was soon procured, and 
the bullet was discovered to have penetrated the 
chest, cutting in its passage some large blood- 
vessel, from which the blood flowed copiously. 
That the result must be fatal it was evident; but 
as the bleeding showed signs of abatement, it 
seemed possible life might be protracted some 
hours. No time was therefore to be lost in ob- 
taining the dying man's declaration, and a juge 
d'instruction, accompanied by a notary, was im- 



mediately on the spot. As the surgeon had sur- 
mised, a coagulum had formed in the wounded 
vessel, and, the bleeding being thus temporarily 
arrested, the man rallied into something like 
strength, and with a mind perfectly conscious 
and collected. To avoid the shock which the 
sight of Cashel might occasion, Roland did not 
appear at the bedside. . 

Nor need we linger either at such a scene, nor 
witness that fearful struggle between the hope 
of mercy and the dread consciousness of its all 
but impossibility. The dying confession has 
nothing new for the reader; the secret history of 
the crime is already before him, and it only re- 
mams to speak of those events which followed 
Keane's flight from Ireland. As Linton's servant 
he continued for years to travel about the Con- 
tinent, constantly sustained by the hoi^e that the 
price of his crime would one day be forthcoming, 
and as invariably put off by the excuse, that 
play, on which he entirely depended for means, 
had been unlucky, but that better times were cer- 
tainly in store for him. The struggles and diffi- 
culties of an existence thus maintained; the ter- 
rible consciousness of an unexpiated crime; the 
constant presence of one who knew the secret of 
the other, and might at any moment of anger, or 
in some access of dissipation, reveal it, made up 
a life of torture to which death would be a boon; 
added to tliis, that they frequently found them- 
selves in the same city with Cashel, whom Lin- 
ton never dared to confront. At Messina they 
fell in with Rica, as the proprietor of a gaming- 
table which Linton continually frequented. His 
consummate skill at J'lay, his knowledge of life, 
and particularly the life of gamblers, his powers of 
agreeability, soon attracted Rica's notice, and an 
intimacy sprang up which became a close friend- 
ship — if such a league can be called by such a 
name. 

By the power of an ascendancy acquired most 
artfully, and by persuasive flatteries of the most 
insidious kind, he induced Rica to bring Mari- 
tafia on the stage, where her immense success had 
replenished their coffers far more rapidly and 
abundantly than play. At Naples, however, an 
incident similar to what happened at Venice was 
nigh having occured. She was recognized by a 
young Spaniard who had known her in Mexico; 
and as the whole assumed history of her noble 
birth and Sicilian origin was thus exposed to con- 
tradiction, they took measures to get rid of this 
unwelcome witness. They managed to hide 
among his effects some dies and moulds for coin- 
ing — an offence then, as ever, rife at Naples. A 
police in vestigation, in which bribery had its share, 
was followed by a mock trial, and the young fel- 
low was sentenced to the galleys for seven years, 
with hard labor. 

Thier career from this moment was one of un- 
changing success. Maritafia's beauty attracted to 
the play-table all that every city contained of 
fashion, wealth, and dissipation. In her ignorance 
of the world she was made to believe that her 
position was one the most exalted and enviable. 
The homage she received, the devotion exhibited 
on every side, the splendor of her life, her dress, 
her jewels, her liveries, dazzled and delighted 



620 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



her. The very exercise of her abilities was a 
source of enthusiastic pleasure to one wiio loved 
admiration. Nor had she, perhaps, awoke from 
this delusion, had not the heart-uttered cry of 
Roland burst the spell that bound her, and evolved 
the maiden's shame in her young heart. Then — 
with a revulsion that almost shook reason itself 
— she turned with abhorrence from a career as- 
sociated with whatever could humiliate and dis- 
grace. Entreaties, prayers, menaces — all were 
unavailing to induce her to appear again; and 
soon, indeed, her altered looks and failing health 
rendered it impossible. A vacant unmeaning 
smile, or a cold im[)assive stare, usurped the place 
of an expression that used to shine in joyous 
brilliancy. Her step, once bounding and elastic, 
became slow and uncertain. She seldom spoke; 
when she did, her accents were heavy, and her 
thoughts Siemed languid, as though her mind was 
weary. None could have recognized in that wan 
and worn face, that frail and delicate figure, the 
proud and beautiful Maritana. 

She lived now in total seclusion. Noneeversaw 
her, s-ive Rii:a, who used to come and sit beside 
her each day, watching, with Heaven alone 
knows what mixture of emotion! that wasting 
form and decaying cheek. What visions of am- 
bition Linton might yet connect with her none 
knew or could guess; but he followed the chang- 
ing fortunes of her health with an interest too 
deep and earnest to be mistaken for mere com- 
passion. Such, then, was her sad condition 
when they repaired to Paris, and, in one of the 
most spacious hotels of the Rue Richelieu estab- 
lished their "Bank of Rouge et Noir." This 
costly establishment vied in luxury and splendor 
with tiie most extravagant of those existing in the 
time of the empire. All that fastidious refine- 
ment and taste could assemble, in objects of art 
and vcrth, graced the salons. The cookery, the 
wines, the service of the different menials, rivalled 
the proudest households of the nobility. 

A difficult etiquette restricted the admission 
to persons of acknowledged rank and station, and 
even these were banded together by the secret tie 
of a political purpose, for it was now the eve of 
that great convulsion which was to open once 
more in Europe the dread conflict between the 
masses and the few. 

While Linton engaged deep in play, and still 
deeper in politics, "making his book," as he 
called it, " to win with whatever horse he pleased," 
one dreadful heartsore never left him: this was 
Keane, whose presence continually reminded him 
of the past, and brought up besides many a dread 
for the future. 

It would have been easy at any moment for 
Linton to have disembarrassed himself of the 
man by a sum of money; but then came the 
reflection^" What is to happen when, with ex- 
hausted means and dissolute habits, this fellow 
shall find himself in some foreign country? Is 
he not likely, in a moment of reckless despair, 
to reveal the whole story of our guilt.' Can I 
even trust him in hours of convivial abandonment 
and debauch? Vengeance may, at any instant, 
overrule in such a nature the love of life— re- 
morse may seize upon him. He is a Romanist, 



and may confess the murder, and he moved by 
his priest to bring home the guilt to the Protes- 
tant." Such were the motives which Linton 
never ceased to speculate on and think over, 
always reverting to the one same conviction, 
that he must keep the man close to his person, 
until the hour might come when he could rid him- 
self of him forever. 

The insolent demeanor of the fellow — his 
ruffian assurance — the evidence of a power that 
he might wield at will — became at last intolerable. 
Linton saw this "shadow on his path" wherever 
he wandered. The evil was insupportable from 
the very fact that it occupied his thoughts when 
great and momentous events required them. It 
was like the paroxysm of some painful disease, 
that came at moments when health and calm of 
spirit were most wanted. To feel this, to recogr 
nize it thoroughly, and to resolve to overcome it, 
were, with Linton, the work of a moment. " His 
hour is come," said he, at length; "the company 
at La Morgue to-morrow shall be graced by a 
guest of my inviting." 

Although to a mind prolific in schemes of 
villany, the manner of the crime could offer no 
difficulty, strange enough, his nature revolted 
against being himself the agent of the guilt. It 
was not fear, for he was a man of nerve and cour- 
age, and was, besides, certain to be better armed 
than his adversary. It was not pity, nor any feel- 
ing that bordered on pity, deterred him; it was 
some instinctive shrinking from an act of ruffian- 
ism; itwas the bloodof aman ofbirththat curdled 
at the thought of that which his mind associated 
with criminals of the lowest class — the convent- 
ional feeling of Honor surpassing all the dictates 
of common Humanity! 

Nothing short of the pressing emergency of 
the hour could have overcome these scruples, 
but Kcanc's insolence was now in itself enough to 
compromise him, and Linton saw that but one 
remedy remained, and that it could not be de- 
ferred. Constant habits of intercourse with men 
of a dangerous class in the Faubourgs and the 
Cite gave the excuse for the boating excursion 
at night. The skiff was hired by Keane himself, 
who took up Linton nt a point remote from 
where he started, and thus no clue could be 
traced to the person who accompanied him. The 
remainder is in the reader's memory, and now we 
pursue our story. 

The surgeon who examined Keane's wound not 
only pronounced it inevitably fatal, but that the 
result must rapidly ensue. No time was, there- 
fore, to be lost in obtaining the fullest revelations 
of the dying man, and also in taking the prompt- 
est measures to secure the guilty party. 

The authorities of the British embassy lent a 
willing aid to Cashel in this matter, and an ex- 
press was at once despatched to London for the 
assistance of a police force, with the necessary 
warrant for Linton's arrest. Meanwhile Keane 
was watched with the narrowest vigilance, and 
so secretly was everything done, that his very ex- 
istence was unknown beyond the precincts of 
the room he inhabited. 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



621 



CHAPTER LXX. 

THE " BANK. OF ROUGE ET NOIR." 

Vice has ils own ambitions. 

— Morton. 

It was already nigh daybreak. The " bank" had 
long since been closed, and none remained of 
Rica's giiests save the most inveterate gamblers, 
who were now assembled in a small room in a se- 
cret part of the establishment, presided over by 
the host himself. 

The persons here met were no bad represen- 
tatives of the "play world," of which they 
formed an important part. They were men, many 
of them of the highest rank, who had no other 
object or pursuit in life than play! Mingling to 
a certain extent in public life, they performed 
before the world their various parts as soldiers, 
statesmen, courtiers, or ambassadors. Their 
thoughts meanwhile travelled but one solitary 
track. The only field in which their ambition 
ranged was the green cloth of the rouge et noir 
table. As soldiers they would have lost a battle 
with more fortitude than as gamblers they would 
lose a bet. As statesmen they would have risked 
the fate of a kingdom to secure a good " martin- 
gale" at play. Men of highest breeding, in so- 
ciety, abounding in all the graces that adorn in- 
tercourse: here, they were taciturn, reserved, al- 
,most morose, never suffering their attention to 
wander for an instant from that engrossing theme 
wiiere gain and loss contended. 

Into this society, noiseless and still as stifled 
feelings and repressed emotions could make it, 
Linton entered; a full dress replacing the 
clothes he so lately wore, not a trace of unusual 
agitation on his features, he seemed in every re- 
spect the easy man of fashion for which the world 
took him. 

A slight nod — a familiar motion of the hand 
— were all the greetings which passed between 
him and such of his acquaintances as deigned 
t ) raise their heads from the game. Linton per- 
ceived at once the play was high, nor did he 
need to cast a look at the mountain of gold, the 
coinage of every European nation, to know that 
the " bank" was a winner. The chief player was 
a young noble of the king's household, the Duke 
de Marsac, a man of originally immense fortune, 
the greater part of which he had already squan- 
dered at play. His full dress of the court, for 
he had dined the day before at the royal table, 
contrasted strangely with the haggard expression 
of his features, while his powdered hair hung in 
stray and dishevelled masses over his temples — 
even his deep lace ruffles, which in his agitation 
he had torn to very rags, all bespoke the aban- 
donment of the loser. Linton, who always 
passed for a mere frequenter of the house, un- 
connected with its interests in any way, saw at a 
glance that a perfectly quiet demeanor was im- 
peratively necessary; that not a word should be 
uttered, not a syllable let fall, which should 
break the spell of that enchantment that was lur- 
ing on the gambler to his ruin. 

No man was more master of the hundred little 



artifices by which the spectator — "the gallery" 
is the play phrase — can arouse the hopes and 
stimulate the expectations of the losing player. 
He knew to perfection when to back the unlucky 
gambler, and how to throw out those half mut- 
tered words of encouragement so dear and prec- 
ious to the loser's heart. But if he knew all this 
well, he also knew that there are times when 
these interferences become impertinent, and 
when the intense excitement of the game will 
not admit of the distraction of sympathy. Lin- 
ton, therefore, was silent; he took his seat be- 
hind the chair of one of his intimates, and 
watched the table attentively. 

At the close of a game wherein fortune vacil- 
lated for a long time, the duke lost above a hun- 
dred thousand francs — a kind of pause, like a 
truce, seemed to intervene, and Rica sat with 
the cards before him, not making preparations 
for a new deal. 

"Fortune is too decidedly your enemy this 
evening, my lord duke; I am really ashamed to 
see you lose thus continuously." 

"There is a certain Chateau de Marlier, which 
belongs to me, near St. Germain," said the duke. 
" It has been valued, with its grounds, at up- 
wards of seven hundred thousand francs; are you 
disposed to advance so much upon it?" 

" As loan or purchase?" asked Rica. 

" Whichever you prefer. If the choice were 
mine, I should say as a loan," 

" Parbleu! it is a beautiful spot," said one of 
the players. " It was formerly a hunting seat of 
Louis XIV." 

" You are quite correct, sir," said the duke. 
" It was a present from that monarch to my 
grandfather, and possesses, amongst its other ad- 
vantages, the privilege of giving the owner a du- 
cal coronet. If any man be weak enough in these 
days to care for the distinction, he can be Duke 
de Marlier on easy terms. 

" Take him," whispered Linton in Rica's ear. 
"I accept the venture as my own." 

"Were I to accept this offer, my lord duke," 
said Rica, " am I to understand that no mort- 
gages nor charges of any kind are in existence 
against this property?" 

" It is perfectly unencumbered," said the 
duke, calmly. There are some half-dozen pic- 
tures — a Velasquez or two amongst them— which 
I should reserve as my own; but everything else 
would belong to the purchaser." 

" The cost of transferring property in France 
is considerable, I believe, and there is some diffi- 
culty respecting the right of foreigners to inherit," 
said Rica, again. 

" Take him, I say; the risk is mine," wliispered 
Linton, whose impatience at the other's caution 
became each moment stronger. 

" Do you accept. Monsieur de Rica?" said the 
duke, pushing back his chair from the table, as 
though about to rise, "oris there to be an armis- 
tice for the present?" 

" It would be ungenerous, my lord duke, to 
refuse you anything in my power to grant," said 
Rica, obsequiously. " Asa high-spirited but un- 
fortunate player " 

''Let not this weigh with you, sir," said the 



622 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



duke, proudly; the chances are that I leave my 
estate behind me on this table. That is the only 
consideration for you to entertain." 

"Take him at once; it will be too late, soon," 
whispered Linton again. 

"1 agree, my lord," said Rica, with a slight 
sigh, as if yielding in opposition to his inclina- 
tion. " When is the money to be forthcoming?" 

" Now, sir. Here, upon this spot: here, where, 
before I rise, 1 am determined to have my re- 
venge." 

" The bank always closes at daybreak," said 
Rica, gravely. 

" Upon this occasion it will not," said the 
duke, with an air of command. 

" Be it so, ray lord duke; you shall have every- 
thing as you wish it. I only call these gentlemen 
to witness that this proceeding is contrary to my 
desire, and must form no precedent for the 
future." 

" Few will be found to ask for such conces- 
sion," said the duke, tartly. " Let us have no 
more trifling, but begin." 

" I back the duke," said Linton, opening his 
pocket-book, and taking out a roll of bank-notes. 
"Whatever I have touched to-night has gone 
luckily with me, and I am sure to bring him 
good fortune." 

" If I might ask a favor, monsieur," said the 
duke, " it would be to leave me to deal single- 
handed with my destiny." 

"As you please, my lord," said Linton, gayly. 
" If you will not accept me as ally, you must 
have me as adversary. Charley, make room for 
me beside you," continued he, addressing a man 
whose haggard cheek and deep sunken eye could 
scarcely recall the features of Lord Charles 
Frobisher. 

" He's in for it," muttered Frobisher, as Linton 
seated himself at his side. 

"We shall see," said Linton, calmly, arrang- 
ing his note-book before him. Meanwhile, Rica 
was busily engaged in counting out to the duke 
the heavy sum of the purchase. This occupied 
a considerable time, during which Linton amused 
the others with a running fire of that gossipry 
which goes the round of Parisian society, and 
takes in the world of politics, of literature, of 
art, and of morals. The eventful period was full 
of rumors, and none knew better than Linton 
how to e.xalt some into certainty, and degrade 
others into mere absurdity. " If the bank wins," 
said he, laughingly, at the close of some observa- 
tion on the condition of parties, " our friend 
Rica will be the last duke in Europe." 

" Bah!" said an officer of the royal guard; 
" grape and canister are just as effectual as ever 
they were. There is nothing to be apprehended 
from the mob. Two battalions of infantry and 
a squadron of hussars will carry the 'ordinances,' 
if the ministry but give the order." 

" I wish they would begin the game," said 
Frobisher, querulously, for he took no interest in 
any topic but that of play. 

" Has any one given orders that the doors 
shall be close-barred and locked ?" said another. 
"The police will be here presently." 

" What should bring the police here, sir?" said 



Linton, turning suddenly towards the speaker, 
with a look of almost insolent defiance. 

"They are making perquisitions everywhere 
the last few days," said the youth, abashed by 
the tone and manner of the question. 

"Ah! so they are— very true. I beg your 
pardon," cried Linton, affecting a smile. "We 
are so intent upon our game here, that one 
actually forgets wliat is occurring in the greater 
game that is playing without." 

" If there's to be no more play I'm off to bed," 
yawned Frobisher, as he stretched himself along 
the chairs. A group had meanwhile gathered 
round a table where refreshments and w ine were 
laid out, and were invigorating themselves for 
the coming campaign. 

"I remember the last seance with closed doors 
I assisted at," said a handsome middle-aged 
man, with a grey moustache, and short-cut grey 
hair, " was in the stable at Fontainebleau. We 
played for seventeen hours, and when we separ- 
ated we discovered that the empire was at an end, 
and the emperor departed !" 

" We might do something of the same kind 
now, Blancharde," said another; "it would be no 
difficult matter, I fancy, to play an old dynasty 
out and a new one in at this moment." 

"Hush, Rozlan! Marsac is not one 'of us,'" 
whispered the former, cautiously. 

" He's going the shortest way to become so, 
notwithstanding. Nothing enlarges the sphere 
of political vision like being ruined! One always 
becomes liberal, in the political sense, when it is 
impossible to be so in any other!" 

The chatting now turned on the events that 
were then impending, a great di\ersity of opinion 
existing as to whether the king would in.sist upon 
carrying the "'ordinances," and a still wider di- 
vergence as to what result would follow. During 
this discussion, Frobisher's impatience went be- 
yond all control, and at last he rose, declaring 
that he would remain no longer. 

" You forget that the doors are locked for 
twenty-four hours, sir," said another, "and 
neither can any one leave or enter the room be- 
fore that time."- 

" We are more sacred than a privy council or 
a chapter of .the knights of St. Louis," said 
Rozlan. 

" Now then to see who is the next Due de 
Marlier!" whispered Linton in Rica's ear. " Let 
us begin." 

" One word wtth you, Linton," whispered 
Rica; "don't bet high, it distracts my attention — 
make a mere game of amusement, for this will 
be a hard struggle, and it must be the last." 

"So I perceive," rejoined Linton; "events are 
coming fast; we must be off ere the tide overtake 
us." 

"The game, the game!" cried Frobisher, strik- 
ing the table with his rake. 

"And Maritafia?" whispered Linton, holding 
Rica by the arm. 

The other grew lividly pale, and his lip quiv- 
ered as he said, "Is this the time, Linton " 

" It is the very time," rejoined the other, de- 
terminedly, " and I will have my answer now. 
You cannot equivocate with me." 



ROLAND CASH EL. 



623 



" I do not seek to do so. I have told you 
always what I tell you still — I cannot coerce 
her." 

"There will be no need. This dukedom will 
do the business. I know her well — belter than 
you do. See, they are watching us yonder. 
Say the word at once — it is agreed." 

" Hear me, Linton " 

"I'll hear nothing; save tiie one word, 
' agreed.' " 

" Let me but explain " 

" There is nothing to explain. The betrothal 
you allude to is — as none knows better than 
yourself — -an idle ceremony; and if she loves 
the fellow, so much the more urgent are the 
reasons for my request. Be quick, I say." 

'■ If she consent " 

" She shall. My lord duke, a thousand par- 
dons, I beg, for this delay; but Rica has been 
tormenting me these ten minutes by the refusal 
of a petty favor. He is become reasonable at 
last; and now for the combat!" 

The party seated themselves like men about 
to witness an exciting event; and, although each 
had his venture on the game, the duke was the 
great object of interest, and speculation was high 
as to how the struggle was to end. 

It is no part of our object to follow the chang- 
ing fortunes of that long contest, nor watch 
the vacillating chances which, alternately, ele- 
vated to hope and lowered to very desperation. 
Before the day began to dawn, every player save 
the duke had ceased to bet. Some, worn out 
and exhausted, had sunk to sleep upon the 
rich ottomans; others, drinking deep of cham- 
pagne, seemed anxious to forget everything. 
Frobisher, utterly ruined, sat in the same place 
at the table, mechanically marking the game, on 
which he had no longer a stake, and muttering 
exclamations of joy or disappointment at ima- 
ginary gains and losses, for he still fancied that 
he was betting large sums, and participating in 
all the varying emotions of a gambler's life. 

The luck of the bank continued. Play how 
he would, boldly " back the color," or try to suit 
the fitful fortunes of the game, the duke went on 
losing. 

Were such an ordeal one to evoke admiration, 
it would scarcely be withheld from him, who, 
with an unwearied brain and unbroken tetnper, 
sat patiently there, fighting foot to foot, contest- 
ing every inch of ground, and, even in defeat, 
preserving the calm equanimity of his high 
breeding. Behind his chair stood Linton — a 
flush of triumph on his cheek as he continued 
to behold the undeviating course of luck that 
attended the bank. "Another deal like that," 
muttered he, "and I shall quarter the arms of 
Marlier with Linton." 

The words were scarcely uttered, when a deep 
sigh broke from the duke — It was the first tliat 
had escaped him — and he buried his head between 
his liands. Rica looked over at Linton, and a 
slight, almost imperceptible motion of his eye- 
brows signalled that the battle was nigh over. 

"Well! how is the game? Am I betting? — 
what's the color?" said the duke, passing his 
clammy hand across his brow. 



" I am waiting for you, my lord duke," said 
Rica, obsequiously. 

" I'm ready — quite ready," cried the other. 
"Am I the only player? I fancied that some 
others were betting. " Where's my Lord Charles? 
— ah, I see him. Ancl Mr. Linton — is he gone?" 

" He has just left the room, my lord duke. 
Will you excuse me if I follow him for an 
instant?" And at the same moment Rica arose, 
and left the chamber with hasty steps. 

It was at the end of a long corridor, tapping 
gently at a door, Linton stood, as Rica came up. 

"What! is't over already?" said Linton, with a 
look of angry impatience. 

" This is not fair, Linton!" said Rica endeavor- 
ing to get nearest to the door. 

" What is not fair?"said the other, imperiously. 
"You told me a while ago that she must pro- 
nounce, herself, upon her own future. Well, I 
am willing to leave it to that issue." 

" But she is unfit to do so at present," said 
Rica, entreatingly. "You know well how un- 
settled is her mind, and how wandering are her 
faculties. There are moments when she scarcely 
knows me — her father." 

"It is enough if she remember w?," said Linton, 
insolently. " Her intellects will recover — the 
cloud will pass away; and, if it should not, still — 
as my wife, it is an object I have set my heart 
on; and so, let me pass." 

" I cannot — I will not peril her chances of re- 
covery by such a shock," said Rica, firmly; then 
changing suddenly, he spoke in accents of deep 
feeling: " Remember, Linton, how I offered you 
her whom you acknowledged you preferred. I 
told you the means of coercion in my power, and 
pledged myself to use them. It was but two days 
since I discovered where they were; to-morrow 
we will go there together. I will claim her as my 
daughter: the laws of France are impeiative in 
the matter. Mary Leicester shall be yours." 

"I care for her no longer," said Linton, 
haughtily. " I doubt, indeed, if I ever cared for 
her. She is not one to suit my fortunes. Mari- 
taiia is, or at least may become so." 

"Be it so, but not now, Linton; the poor 
child's reason is clouded." 

"When she hears she is a duchess," said Lin- 
ton, half sneeringly, " it will dispel tlie gloomy 
vapor." 

" I implore you — I entreat — on my knees I beg 
of you " said the distracted father, and, un- 
able to utter more, he sank powei less at Linton's 
feet; meanwhile the other opened the door, and 
stejjping noiselessly over tiie prostrate figure en- 
tered the room. 



CHAPTER LXXL 

ARREST OF LINTON. 



Like a bold criminal he stood, 
Calm in liis guih. 

— The Fokger. 

With firm step and head high, Linton entered 
a room where the dim half light of the closed 



624 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



jalousies made each object indistinct. He halted 
for an instant, to cast a searching glance around, 
and then advanced to a door at the farthest end 
of the apartment ; at this he tapped twice gently 
with his knuckles. He waited for an instant, 
and then repeated his summons. Still no answer, 
even though he rapped a third time, and louder 
than before. Linton now turned the handle 
noiselessly, and opened the door. Fora moment 
or two he seemed uncertain whether to advance 
or retire ; but his resolution was soon made — he 
entered and closed the door behind him. 

The chamber in which Linton now stood was 
smaller than the outer one, and equally shaded 
from the strong sunlight. His eyes were now, 
however, accustomed to the dusky half light, 
and he was able to mark the costly furniture and 
splendid ornaments of the room. The walls 
were hung with rose-colored damask, over which 
a drapery of white lace was suspended, looped 
up at intervals to admit of small brackets of 
bronze, on which stood either " statuettes" or 
vases of rare "Sevres." At a toilet-table in the 
middle of the room were laid out the articles of 
a lady's dressing case, but of such costly splendor 
that they seemed too gorgeous for use. Trinkets 
and jewelry of great value were scattered care- 
lessly over the table, and an immense diamond 
cross glittered from the mother-o'-pearl frame of 
the looking-glass. 

The half open curtains at the end of the room 
showed a marble bath, into which the water flowed 
from a little cascade of imitation rustic, its tiny 
ripple murmuring in the still silence of the room. 
There was another sound, still softer and moje 
musical than that, there — the long-drawn breath- 
ing of a young girl, who, with her face upon her 
arm, lay asleep upon a sofa. With stealthy step 
and noiseless gesture, Linton approached and 
stood beside her. He was not one to be 
carried away by any enthusiasm of admiration, 
and yet he could not look upon the faultless 
symmetry of that form, the placid beauty of that 
face, on which a passing dream had left a linger- 
ing smile, and not feel deeply moved. In her 
speaking moments, her dark and flashing eyes 
often lent a character of haughty severity to her 
handsome features; now, their dark lashes 
shrouded them, and the expression of the face 
was angelic in sweetness. The olive- darkness of 
her skin, too, was tempered by the half light, while 
the slight tinge of color on her cheek might have 
vied with the petal of a rose. Linton drew a chair 
beside the sofa, and sat down. VVilh folded arms, 
and head slightly bent forward, he watched her, 
while his fast-luurying thoughts travelled miles 
and miles— speculating, planning, contriving — 
meeting difiiciillies here — grasping advantages 
there — playing over a game of life, and thinking 
'if an adversary could find a flaw in it. 

"She is worthy to be a duchess," said he, as 
he gazed at her. "A duchess! — and what more? 
— that is the question. Ah, these women, these 
women! if they but knew their power! If they 
but knew how all the boldest strivings of our in- 
tellects are as nothing compared to what their 
beauty can effect! Well, well; it is better that 
they should not. They are tyrants, even as it 



is — petty tyrants — to all who care for them; and 
he who does not is their master. That is the real 
power — there the stronghold — and how they fear 
the man who takes his stand behind it! — how they 
crouch and tremble before him! — what fascinat- 
ing graces do they reserve for liivt, that they 
would not bestow upon a lover! Is it that they 
only love where they fear? How beautiful she 
looks, and how calmly sweet! — it is the sleeping 
tigress, notwithstanding. And now to awake 
her; it is a pity, too; that wearied mind wants 
repose, and the future gives but little promise 
of it." 

He bent down over her, till he almost touched 
the silken masses of her long dark hair, and, in 
a low, soft voice, said: 
" Maritana — Maritana." 

" No, no, no," said she, in the low, muttering 
accents of sleep, "not here — not here!" 

"And why not here, dearest?" said he, catch- 
ing at the words. 

A faint shudder passed over her, and she gath- 
ered her shawl more closely around her. 

" Hace mal tiempo — the weather looks gloomy," 
— said she, in a faint voice. 

" And if not here, Maritana, where then?" said 
he, in a low tone. 

"In our own deep forests, "beneath the liana 
and the cedar; where the mimosa blossoms, and 
the acacia scents the air; where fountains are 
springing, and the glow-worm shines like a star 
in the dark grass. Oh, not here, not here!" 
cried she, plaintively. 

"Then in Italy, Maritana, 'mia, where all that 
the tropics can boast is blended with whatever 
is beautiful in art; where genius goes hand-in- 
hand with nature; and where life floats calmly 
on, like some smooth-flowing river, unruffled and 
unbroken." 

A faint low sigh escaped her, and her lips 
parted with a smile of surpassing loveliness. 

" Yes, dearest — there, with me, beside the blue 
waters of the Adriatic, or lost amid the chestnut 
forests of the Apennines. Think of those glo- 
rious cities too, where the once great still live, 
enshrined by memory, in their own palace walls. 

Think of Venice- " 

The word was not well uttered when, with a 
shrill scream, she started up and awoke. 

" Who spoke to me of my shame? Who spoke 
of Venice?" cried she, in accents of wild terror. 
" Be calm, Maritana. It was a dream — noth- 
ing butadream," said Linton, pressing her gently 
down again. " Do not think more of it." 

" Where am 1 ?" said she, drawing a long 
breath. 

" In your own dressing-room, dearest," said 
he, in an accent of deep devotion. 

"And you, sir? Why zxe. you here? and by 
what right do you address me thus?" 

"By no right," said Linton, with a submissive 
deference which well became him. "I can plead 
nothing, save the devotion of a heart long since 
your own, and the good wishes of your father, 
Maritana, who bade me speak to you." 

"I will not believe it, sir," said she, proudly, 
as she arose and walked the room with stately 
step. " I know but too well the influence you 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



625 



wield over him, although I cannot tell how it is 
acquired. I have seen your counsels sway, and 
your wislies guide him, when my entreaties were 
unheard and unheeded. Tell me nothing, tlien, 
of his permission." 

" Let me speak of that better reason, where 
mv heart may plead, Maritana. It was to offer 
you a share in my fortunes that I have couie 
here — to place at your feet whatever I possess in 
rank, in station, and in future hope — to place 
you where your beauty and your fascinations 
entitle you to shine — a peeress of the court of 
Prance — a duchess, of a name only second to 
royalty itself." 

The girl's dark eyes grew darker, and her 
flushed cheek grew crimson, as with heaving 
bosom she listened. "A duchess!" murmured 
she, between her lips. 

"La Duchesse de Marlier," repeated Linton, 
slowly, while his keen eyes were riveted on 
her. 

"And this real — not a pageant — not as that 
thing you made of me before?" 

"La Duchesse de Marlier," said Linton again, 
"knows of no rank above her own, save in the 
blood royal. Her chateau was the present of a 
king — iier grounds are worthy of such a donor." 

" And the Duke de Marlier," said she, with a 
look of ineffable irony, " who is to play himl Is 
that part reserved for Mr. Linton?" 

"Could he not look the character?" said Lin- 
ton, putting on a smile of seeming good-humor, 
while his lip trembled with passion. 

" Look it — ay, that could he; and if looks would 
sufifice, he could be all that liis ambition aims at." 

"You doubt my sincerity, Maritafia," said he, 
sorrowfully; "have I ever given you cause to do 
so?" 

" Never," cried she, impetuously. " I read you 
from the first hour I saw you. You never de- 
ceived me. My training has not been like that 
of others of my sex and age, amidst the good, 
the virtuous, and the pure. It was the corrupt, 
the base-born, and the abandoned offered their 
examples to my eyes: the ruined gambler, the 
beggared adventurer— ;'//<'/> lives were my daily 
study. How, then, should I not recognize one 
so worthy of them all?" 

"This is less than fair, Maritana; you bear me 
a grudge for having counselled that career where- 
in your triumphs were unbounded; and now you 
speak to me harshly for offering a station a jjrin- 
cess might accept without a derogation." 

" Tell me not of my triumphs," said she, 
passionately; '" they were my shame! You cor- 
rupted me, by trifling with my ignorance of the 
world. I did not know then, as now I know, 
, what were the prizes of that ambition I cherished! 
But^V(7« knew them; you speculated on them, as 
now you speculate upon others. Ay, blush for 
it; let your cheek glow, and sear your cold heart 
for the infamy! The coroneted duchess would 
have been a cost Iier merchandise than the wreatlied 
dancer! Oh, shame upon you! — shame upon you! 
Could you not be satisfied with your gambler's 
cruelty, and ruin those who have manhood's 
courage to sustain defeat, but that you should 
make your victim a poor, weak, motherless girl. 



whose unprotected life might have evoked even 
your pity?" 

"I will supplicate no longer; upon you be it, 
if the alternative be heavy. Hear me, young lady. 
It is by your father's consent — nay, more, at his 
desire — that I make you the proffer of my name 
and rank. He is in my power — not his fortune, 
nor his future prospects, but his very life is in 
my hands. You shudder at having been a dancer: 
think of what you may be — the daughter of a 
forc^at, a galley-slave! If these be idle threats, 
ask himself; he will tell you if I speak truly. It 
is my ambition that you should share my title and 
my fortune. I mean to make your position one 
that the proudest would envy: reject my offer if 
you will, but never reproach me with what your 
own blind folly has accomplished." 

Maritana stood with clasped hands, and eyes 
wildly staring on vacancy, as Linton, in a voice 
broken with passion, uttered these words: 

" I will not press you, now, Maritana; you shall 
have to-night to think over all I have said; to- 
morrow you will give me your answer." 

"To-morrow?" muttered she, after him. 

" Who is there?" said Linton, as a low, faint 
knock was heard at the door. It was repeated, 
and Linton approached and opened the door. A 
slight gesture of the hand was all that he could 
perceive in the half light; but he understood it, 
and passed out, closing the door noiselessly be- 
hind him. 

" Well ?" said Rica, as he grasped the other's 
arm; " well ?" 

" AVell ?" echoed Linton, peevishly. "She is 
in her most insolent of moods, and affects to think 
that all the splendor I have offered hej is but the 
twin of the mock magnificence of the stage. She 
is a fool, but she'll think better of it, or she must 
be taught to do so." 

Rica sighed heavily, but made no answer; at 
last he said, 

"It isover with the duke, and he bears it well." 

"Good blood always does," said Linton. "Your 
men of birth have a lively sense of how little they 
have done for their estates, and therefore part 
with them with a proportionate degree of indif- 
ference. Where is he?" 

" Writing letters in the boudoir off the drawing- 
room. You must see him, and ask when the 
necessary papers can be signed and exchanged." 

Linton walked on, and passing through the 
play-room, around which in every attitude of 
slumber the gamblers lay, entered the boudoir, 
before a table in which the Duke de Marsac was 
busy writing. 

" Fortune has still been obdurate, my lord duke, 
I hear," said he, entering softly. 

The duke looked up, and his pale features were 
totally devoid of all emotion as he said, 

" I have lost heavily, sir." 

"I am sincerely grieved to hear it; as an old 
sufferer in the same field, I can feel for others." 
A very slight movement of impatience on the 
duke's part'showed that he regarded the sympathy 
as obtrusive. Linton saw this and went on: "'I 
would not have invaded your privacy to say as 
much, my lord duke, but I thought it might be 
satisfactory to you to learn that your ancient 



626 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



dukedom — the chateau of your proud ancestors 
— is not destined to fall into plebeian hands, nor 
suffer the indignity of their profanation. I mean 
to purcliase the property from Rica myself." 

" Indeed!" said the duke, carelessly, as though 
the announcement had no interest for him. 

" I had fancied, my lord, this information 
would have given you pleasure," said l.inton, 
with evident irritation of manner. 

"No, sir," said the other languidly. "I am 
ashamed to say I cannot appreciate the value of 
these tidings." 

" Can the contract and transfer be speedily 
made out," said Linton, abruptly. 

"Of course; there shall be no delay in the 
matter. I will give orders to my ' Notaire' at 
once." 

" And where shall you be found to-morrow, my 
lord duke, in case we desire to confer with you?" 

The duke grew lividly pale, and he arose 
slowly, from his chair, and, taking Linton's arm, 
drew him toward a window in silence. Linton saw 
Well that some new train of thought had suddenly 
sprung up, and wondered what could so instan- 
taneously have wrought this change in his manner. 

"You ask me, sir," said the duke, with a slow 
emphasis on every word, " where am I to be 
found to-morrow? Ls not Mr. Linton's knowledge 
of Paris sufficient to suggest the answer to that 
question?" There was a fierce boldness in the 
way these words were uttered Linton could not 
comprehend, any more than he understood what 
they might mean. 

" I must plead ignorance, my lord duke. I 
really discredit the eulogium you have pronounced 
upon my information." 

"Then I will tell you, sir," said the duke, 
speaking in a low thick whisper, while his dark 
eyes glared with the fire of intense e.xcitement. 
" You will find me in the Seine!" 

Linton staggered back as if he had been struck, 
and a pallor spread over his features, making the 
very lips bloodless. " How do you mean, sir? 
Why do you dare to say this to me i" said he, in 
in a voice broken and guttural. 

"Since none should better know how to ap- 
preciate the news," was the cold answer. 

Linton trembled from head to foot, and, cast- 
ing a wary look around on every side to see that 
they were alone, he said, " These words may 
mean much, or they may mean nothing — at least 
nothing that has concern for me. Now, sir, be 
explicit: in what sense am I to read them?" 

The duke looked astonished at the emotion 
which all the other's self-command could not re- 
press; he saw, too, that lie had touched a secret 
spring of conscience, and with a calm reserve he 
said, " Take what I have said in the sense your 
own heart now suggests, and I venture to affirm 
it will be the least pleasing interpretation you can 
put upon it!" 

"You shall give me satisfaction for this, sir," 
said Linton, whose passion now boiled over. " I 
will not endure the tyranny of insinuations from 
any man. Here, before you quit the house — if 
ever you quit it — I will have full satisfaction for 
your insolence." 

" Insolence!" cried the duke. 



"Yes, insolence. I repeat the word, and these 
gentlemen shall hear a still stronger word ad- 
dressed to you, if that will not suffice to arouse 
your courage." 

This speech was now directed to the crowd of 
gamblers, who, suddenly awakened by the loud 
talking, rushed in a body into the room. 

Questions, and demands for explanation, 
pressed on every hand, their countrymen gather- 
ing round the antagonists on either side, both of 
whom maintained for some minutes a perfect 
silence. The duke was the first to speak. 
"Gentlemen," said he, "you have heard an ex- 
pression addressed to me which no Frenchman 
listens to without inflicting chastisement on the 
speaker — I do not ask — I do not care in the least 
— who this person may be — what his rank and 
position in life; I am ready to admit him to the 
fullest equality with myself. It only remains 
that I should satisfy myself of certain doubts, 
which his own manner has originated. It may 
be that he cannot call me, or any other gentleman, 
to account for his words." 

Linton's face twitched with short convulsive 
jerks as he listened, and then, crossing the room 
to where the duke stood, he struck him with his 
glove across the face, while, with a very shout 
of passion, he uttered the one word — " Coward!" 
The scene became now one of the wildest con- 
fusion. The partisanship of country surrounded 
either with a group, who in loud tones expressed 
their opinions, and asked for explanations of 
what had occurred. That some gross insult had 
been put upon Linton was the prevailing impres- 
sion; but how originating, or of what nature, 
none knew, nor did the principals seem dis- 
posed to afford the information. 

"I tell you, Frobisher," said Linton, angrily, 
"it is a matter does not admit of explanation." 

"Parbleu, sir! you have placed it out of the 
reach ot such." said an old French officer, "and 
I trust you will feel the consequences." 

The chaos of tongues, loud in altercation and 
dispute, now burst forth again, some asserting 
that the cause of quarrel should be openly de- 
clared at once, others averring that the oppro- 
brious epithet applied by Linton to the duke 
effectually debarred negotiation, and left no 
other arbitrament than the pistol. In the midst 
of this tumult, where angry passions were al- 
ready enlisted, and insolent rejoinders passed 
from mouth to mouth, a still louder uproar was 
now heard in the direction of the salon, and the 
crash of a breaking duor, and the splintering 
noise of the shattered wood, overtopped the other 
sounds. 

" The commissaire de police!" cried some one, 
and tlie words were electric. The hours of play 
were illegal — the habits of the house such as to 
implicate all in charges, more or less disgraceful 
— and immediately a general rush was made for 
escape — some seeking the well-known private 
issues from the apartment, others preparing for a 
bold attempt to force their passage through the 
armed followers of the commissary. 

Every avenue of escape had been already 
occupied by the gendarmes; and the diccomfited 
gamblers were seen returning into the room 



ROLAND CASH EL, 



627 



crestfallen and ashamed, when the commissary, 
followed by a knot of others in plain clothes, 
advancing into the middle of the chamber, pro- 
nounced the legal form of arrest on all present. 

"I am a peer of Frarice," said the Duke de 
Marsac, haughtily. "1 yield to no authority that 
does not carry the signature of my sovereign." 

" You are free. Monsieur le Due," said the 
commissary, bowing respectfully. 

"I am an English gentleman," said Linton, 
stepping forward. " 1 demand by what riglit ) ou 
presume to detain me in custody?" 

" Wliat is your name, sir?" asked the com- 
misary. 

" Linton!" was the brief reply. 

" That's the man," whispered a voice from 
behind the coniinissaiy, and, at the same instant, 
that functionary approached, and layinghis hand 
on the other's shoulder, said: 

" I arrest you, sir, on the charge of murder." 

"Murder!" repeated Linton, with a sneer that 
he could not merge into a laugh. "This is a 
sorry jest, sir." 

" You will find it sad earnest!" said a deep 
voice. 

Linton turned round, and straight in front of 
him stood Roland Cashel, who, with bent brows 
;md compressed lips, seemed struggling to repress 
the passion that worked within him. 

"I sav, Frobisher, are you omitted in the in- 
dictment?" ciied Linton, with a sickly attempt to 
laugh; "or has our buccaneering friend forgotten 
to stigmatise you for the folly of having known 
him?" 

"He is in wy custody," said a gruff English 
voice, in reply to some observation of the coai- 
missary; and a short, stout-built man made a. 
gesture to another in the crowd to advance. 

" What! is this indignity to be put upon me?" 
said Linton, as he saw the handcuffs jjroduced, 
and prepared to be adjusted to his wrists. "Is 
the false accusation of a pirate and a slaver to 
expose me to the treatment of a convicted felon?" 

" I will do my duty, sir," said tiie police 
officer, ste.idily. " If I do more, my superiors 
can hear of it. Tom, put on the irons." 

"Is this your vengeance, sir?" said Linton, as 
he cast a look of ineffable hate towards Cashel; 
but Roland made no reply, as he stood regarding 
the scene with an air of saddest meaning. 

" You knew him better than I did, Cliarlev," 
said Linton, sneeringly, "when you black-balied 
him at the yacht-club; but the world shall know 
him better yet than either of us — mean-spirited 
scoundrel that he is." 

"Come away, sir," said the officer, as hejjlaced 
himself on one side of his prisoner, his fellow 
doins the same at the other. 

"Not till I see your warrant," said Linton res- 
olutelv. 

"Thtre it is, sir, all reg'lar," said the man; 
" signed by the secretary of state, and attested 
by the witness." 

"The rascality is well got up," said Linton, 
trying to laugh, "but by Heaven thev shall pay 
for it!" These words were directed to where 
Roland stood, and uttered with a concentrated 
hate that thrilled .through every heart around. 



As Linton was led forth, the commissary pro- 
ceeded to arrest the different individuals present 
on the charge of gambling in secret. In the 
midst of the group was Rica, standing pale with 
terror, and overcome by the revelations he had 
listened to. 

" 1 will be resposible for this gentleman's ap- 
pearance," said Cashel addressing the commissary. 
■■ 'i'here is no need to subject him to the insult 
of an arrest." 

" He can only be liberated by a bail bond in 
presence of the judge, sir. You can accompany 
me to tlie court, and enter into the recognisances, 
if you wdl." 

" Be it so," said Cashel, bowing. 

Rica made a sign for Roland to approach him. 
He tried to speak, but iiis voice was inarticulate 
from faintness, and the only audible sound was 
tile one word, '' Marilana." 

"Where?" said Cashel, eagerly. 

Rica nodded in the direction of a small door 
that led from the ihaniber, and Cashel made a 
gesture of assent in answer. 

With lieadlong speed Roland traversed tliecor- 
ridor, and entered the ante chandjer at tlie end 
of it. One glance showed him that the room was 
empty, and he passed on into the chamber where 
so lately Linton had spoken with Maritana. 'I'his, 
too, was deserted, as was the bedroom which 
opened into it. Hastening from place to place, 
he called her name aloud, but no answer came. 
'J'errified by a luindied fears, for he well knew 
the rash, impetuous nature of the girl, Roland 
entreated, in tones of wildest passion, "that she 
might come forth — that her friends were all around 
her, and nothing more to fear," But no voice 
replied, and when the sound of his own died 
away, all was silent. The window of the dress- 
ing-room was open, and as Roland looked from 
it into the street beneath, his eye caught the frag- 
ment of a dress adhering to the hook of the 
"jalousie." It was ])lain now she iiad made her 
escape in this manner, and that she was gone. 

Too true! Overcf me by tenor- — her mind dis- 
tracted by fears of Linton — without one to suc- 
cor or protect her, she had \ielded to the impulse 
of her dread, and leaped from the window! 'I'liat 
small rag of fluttering gauze was all that remained 
of Maritaila. 

Rica was to hear these sad tidings as he was 
led away by the commissaiy, but he listened to 
them like one whose mind was stunned by cal- 
amity. A few low murmuring words alone es- 
caped him, and they indicated that he felt every- 
thing which was happening as a judgment upon 
him for his own crimes. 

Even in his examination before the judge, 
these half uttered self-accusings broke forth, and 
he seemed utterly indifferent as to what fate 
awaited him. By Cashel's intervention, and the 
de|)osit of a large sum as bail for Rica's future ap- 
pearance, his liberation was effected, and he was 
led away from the spot unconscious of all around 
him. 

As Cashel assisted the weak and tottering man 
through the crowded passages of the court, he felt 
his arm gently touched by a hand, at the same 
instant that his name was uttered. He turned 



628 



ROLAND CASH EL. 



hastily, and saw at liis side a woman, who, 
yoiuliUil and still handsome, bore in her appear- 
ance the signs of deep poverty and still deeper 
sorrow. Her dress had once been rich, but now, 
from time and neglect, was disfigured and shabby ; 
her veil, partly drawn across her face, was torn 
and ragged, and her very shoes were in tatters. 
A more sad-looking object it were difficult to 
conceive, and in the hurried glance Roland be- 
stowed upon her, at a moment when all his 
thoughts were intent upon other cares, he be 
lieved that slie was one entreating charity. 
Hastily drawing forth his purse, he offered her 
some money, but she drew proudly up, saying, 
"This is insult, sir, and I have not deserved it." 

Cashel started with amazement, and drawing 
closer, stared eagerly at her. 

"Great Heaven!" cried lie, "is this possible? 
Is this— — " 

'' Hush!" cried she. " Let me not hear my 
name — or what was once my name — spoken 
aloud. I see now — you did not know me, nor 
would I have brought myself to the shame of 
being recognized but for his sake. He is now 
before the tribunal, and will be sent to prison 
for want of bail." 

Cashel motioned to her not to leave the spot; 
.ind having safely placed Rica in his carrage, re- 
turned to the court. 

By the guarantee of his name, and the offer of 
any moneyed security which might be required, 
("ashel obtained permission for Lord Cliarles 
Frobisher to go free; and then hurrying outside, 
communicated the tidings to her who stood 
trembling with fear and anxiety. 

With tearful eyes, and in a voice broken by 
sobs, she was uttering her thanks as Lord Charles 
joined them. 

" This, then, wasj)Y'//r doing?" said he, staring 
coldly at her. 

" Say, rather, it was your own, my lord," said 
Cashel, sternly. 

"Oh, Charles! tliank him — thank him," cried 
she, hysterically. " Friends have not been so 
plenty with us, that we can treat them thus!" 

" Lady Charles is most grateful, sir," said 
Frobisher, with a cold sneer, "I am sure the 
show of feeling she evinces must repay all your 
generosity." And, with this base speech, he 
drew her arm within his, and moved hastily 
away. One look towards Cashel, as she turned 
to go, told more forcibly than words the agony 
of lier broken heart. 

And tills was the once gay, light-hearted girl 
— the wild and daring romp,whose buoyant spirit 
seemed above every reverse of fortune. Poor 
Jemima Meek! she had run away from her 
father's home to link her lot with a gambler! 
Some play transaction, in which his name was 
involved, compelled him to quit the service, and 
at last the country. Now, depending for support 
upon his family, now, hazarding his miserable 
means at play, he had lived a life of recklessness 
and privation — nothing left to him of his former 
condition, save the name that he had brought 
down to infamy! 



CHAPTER LXXn. 

ALL MYSTERY CEASES MARRIAGE AND GENERAL 

JOY. 

"The end of all." 

What a contrast did Roland Cashel's life now 
present to the purposeless vacuity of his hue 
existence! Every hour was occupied; even to a 
late period of each night was he engaged b}' cares 
which seemed to thicken around him as he 
advanced. 

^Ve should but weary our reader were we to fol- 
low him in the ceaseless round of duties which 
hard necessity imposed. Each morning his first 
visit was to the hos] ital of St. Louis, where 
Keane still lay, weakly struggling against a malady 
whose fatal leimination was be)ond a doubt; and 
although Roland could not wish for the ]5iolonga- 
tion of a life which the law would dtniand in 
e-xpiation, he felt a craving desire that tiie testi- 
mony of the dying man should be full and explicit 
on every point, and that every dubious ciicimi- 
stance should be explained ere the grave closed 
over him. 

To seek for Maritana, to endeavor to recover 
this ])oor forlorn girl, was his next care, and to 
this end he spared nothing. Whate\er money 
could ])urcliase, or skill and unwearied enterprise 
suggest, were all employed in the search. Rica, 
whose nature seemed totally changed by the ter- 
rible shock of Linton's culpability, gave himself 
up implicity to Cashel's guidance, and was un- 
ceasing in ids efforts to discover his missing child. 
But with all the practised f(uttntssof tlieiolice 
at their command, and all the endeavors which 
their zeal could practise, ih.e search was fi-jitless, 
and not a trace of her could be delec'.'.d. 

Through the Nea]iolilan cniLassy,oiders were 
transmitted to Naples to irquire into the 
case of Enrique, whose innocence the testi- 
mony of Keane went far to establish. 'I'he re- 
sult was, as Cashel ardently ho| ed, his com- 
plete vindication, and a telegraphic despatch 
brought tidings that he was already librratod, 
and on his way to Paris. While both Roland 
and Rica waited impatiently for the ariival of 
one whose assistance in their .^earch would be 
so valuable, the most perfect good understand- 
ing grew up between them, and Cashel began to 
perceive how, beneath the vices which a life of 
reckless debauchery had created, there lay — in- 
active and unused for many a day — kindly feel- 
ings and warm affections for which he had never 
given him credit. As tliis confidence grew 
stronger, Rica became more frank and open in 
all his intercourse, and at last revealed to Cashel 
the whole story of his life — ^^ strange, eventful 
history, whose vicissitudes were the changing 
fortunes of a gambler's existence. For such 
was he — without a passion, a pursuit of any 
kind but play, he had passed his life in that one 
baneful vice. For it he had toiled and labored: 
to indulge that passion he had engaged in deadly 
duels, and periled his life by acts of forgery. 

His marriage with Corrigan's daughter was 
brought about solely to procure the means of 



ROLAND CASH EL, 



Ci^Jt 



play; nor was there an energy of his mind or an 
impulse of his nature had any other direction. 
Linton's skill as a gambler — the unceasing re- 
sources he seemed to possess — tiie stratagems and 
devices he could deploy — created for him in Rica's 
mind, a species of admiration that soon degener- 
ated into a bhnd submission to all his dictates. 
Such an ally as tiiis, so deeply versed in all the 
weak points of his fellow-men — so thoroughly 
master of every impulse that moves — of every 
hope and fear that sways the gambler's nature — ■ 
had been the cherished desire of his heart for many 
a year, and now Fortune had at last given iiini 
such an associate. Tiieir sudden success seemed 
to warrant the justice of the liope. Everj thing 
prospered with them since their new league. If 
he did not gain an equal ascendancy over the 
daugliter's mind as he had acquired over the 
fatlier's, still the ambitious future he often pictured 
before her dazzled and deliglited her, and thus, 
ere long, he contrived to obtain a degree of 
power, although of different kinds, over both. 
From sucli an associate as Linton concealment 
was impossible; and Rica soon saw himself com- 
pletely at tlie mercy of a man who had sifted 
every motive of his heart, and weighed every 
action of his life, and at last became his pitiless, 
tyrannical master. 

Rica's connection with Corrigan suggested to 
Linton's inventive mind the possibility of suc- 
ceeding to that estate for which already he had 
periled so much. His plan was to obtain from 
Corrigan a fidl renunciation n{ his claim to the 
property, and then to take ih; necessary steps 
to investigate the long dormant title. All their 
efforts to discover tlie old man's residence were, 
however, vain; for although they once obtianed 
a cJue to the fact, some information seemed to 
h.ive apprised the others of their danger, and 
tlieir abode was immediately changed. 

rt was with a strange thrill of mingled jiain and 
pleasure Cushel heard Rica speak of his daughter 
Mary— of her he had deserted .for so many a year, 
and yet now yearned towards with an affec- 
tion that s|)rang from his self-accusings. I'he ter- 
ril.ile chastisement his own vices had inflicted on 
his lonely and deserted lot seeiued never absent 
from his thoughts; and he would sit for hours 
silently, while the heavy tears rolled along his 
f jriowed cheeks and his strong, heaving bosom 
showed his agony. 

The fruitlessness of their search after Mari- 
taila in Paris, and the death of Tom Keane in 
tiie hospital, removed the only obstacles to their 
departure from that city; and Rica and Cashel, 
v.-ho now felt their fortunes bound up together, 
prejjared to take their leave of Paris. Tlie trial 
of Linton was to take place in Limerick, and 
tliither Roland was summoned by the law officers 
of the crown. This sad duty accom])lished, he 
was to accompany Rica to Cohunbia, whither 
some slight hope of recovering Maritaiia induced 
hini to proceed. As for Cashel, once in the old 
hannt.s, of childhood, he had resolved never to 
qiiit them lu'ire. 

Rdl.ind's arrangements for departure were 
soon inade^and he repaired to the embassy 
where he had been invited to breakfast on the 



last morning of his stay. There was a certain 
bustle and movement in the court yard which 
attracted his attention; and he saw two travelling- 
carriages, with an attendant "fourgon," sur- 
rounded by servants, and loaded with all ilu- 
preparations for a long journey. 

"You have come in time, Mr. Casliel," said 
the ambassador, as he shook hands with him, 
" to see our new minister at Florence, who is now 
on his way thither; and what will have more in- 
terest in your eyes, a very pretty girl, wl-.o has 
become the great literary character of our circles 
here. I regret much that she is about to leave 
us." 

Cashel bowed politely, but with the cold indif- 
ference of one for whom the tidings had no pe- 
culiar interest, and accompanied the ambassador 
into a salon, crowded with company. 

"I have a young countr}man to present to 
you, my lord," said his excellency, leading 
Cashel lorward, " who I trust will wear a less 
sombre face in the sunny south than he has done 
in our northern latitudes. Mr. Roland Cashel — 
Lord Kilgoff " 

A sudden start of surprise was made by both, 
and Roland stood mute and thunderstruck, as 
Lord Kilgoff advanced towards him with ex- 
tended hand, and said- 

" Yes, Mr. Cashel, jour old friend, in better 
health and spirits than when last you saw him; 
better able to thank you for much hospitality, 
and apologize for much injustice." 

"Let me have my share in both acknowledg- 
ments," said Lady Kilgoff, rising, and taking 
Cashel's hand with much cordiality. 

Roland tried to mutter a few words, but he 
could not succeed, and his eyes ranged about 
the chamber till they fell upon one who, pale 
and motionless, regarded him with a look of most 
e.vjjressive sadness 

" Miss Leicester, too, here?" ?aid he, at last. 

"Yes, Mr Cashel," said Lady Kilgoff; "chance 
is about to do for us, what all our skill would have 
failed in Here are two worthy people who will 
not hear your name mentioned, and who now 
must consent, not alone to hear, but .'■ee you in 
person I am quite convinced you never did or 
could have injured them. Stand forward, Mr. 
Corrigan, and make }Our charge." 

" I will save that gentleman the pain of accusing 
me," said Roland, with deep emotion. "1 have 
injured him deeply, but yet unwittingly. I have 
long desired this meeting, to place in his hands 
a document 1 have never ceased to carry about 
me — the title to a properly of wliich I was not 
the rightful owner, and which is his — and his 
only." 

" I will not, I cannot accept of it, sir," said 
Corrigan, proudly " I will never see that cot- 
tage more." 

" I do not speak of ' the Cottage,'" said Cashel, 
" but of the whole estate of 'I'ubbermore, the 
ancient possession of your house — still yours. 
There is the proof." And, as he spoke, he drew 
forth the pardon, and handed it to Corrigan. 

The old man tremblecl in every limb as he 
perused the paper, which he now read over for 
the third time. 



630 



ROLAND CASHEL. 



" A royal pardon fo Miles Corrigan, my grand- [ 
father?" exclaimed he, gasping for breath; "and j 
how came vou by this, sir?" 

"The s'.oy is soon told," said Cashcl, relating 
in a few words the snigiilar steps of the dis [ 
covery. | 

'■ And yon have travelled throughout Europe! 
for upwards of three years to disencumber your- 
self of 1 6, coo/, a ye.ir?" said the ambassador, 
smiling good- n at ti redly. 

" 1 have done so to disencumber myself of the 
weight of an injustice." 

" And this is tne youth you would accuse of 
deception?" said Lady Kilgoff, haughtily. 

" Forgive me, lady; forgive one who has suf- 
fjKed too heavily from the world not to fall into 
the error of thinking once unjustly of a bene- 
factor." 

" I have no title to the name, sir," said Casliel. 
"Nay, more. I am your debtor for wealth which 
I squandered, be'ieving it my own." 

'' I knew him better than any of you," cried 
old Doctor 'I'iernay, rushing forward and grasp- 
ing Cashel by both hands. " My own generous, 
higli-hearted boy. Come here, Mary: tell him 
candidly that you, too, were always of my opin- 
ion, '["his is no time for coyness. Let us have 
a little honesty after all this deception." He 
drew Cashel to one side, and, in a deep whisper, 
said, " What of that Spanish girl? — Are you 
married or not?" 

Roland smiled at the eagerness of the old 
man's manner, and, in half sadness, said, "Poor 
Maritana is nowa fugitive — we know not where." 

A sudden commotion at the door, and a tu- 
mult of voices, interrupted the scene, and Rica 
rushed in, crying in ecstacy, '" She is found— my 
child is found!" 

The travellers of the diligence passing tlirough 
the wood of Versailles had discovered the form 
of a sleeping girl at the foot of a tree, and car- 
i^ied her back with them to Paris. Enii(]ue him- 
self, being among them, rt-cognized her at once, 
dnd soon siiccecded in finding out Rica, into 
whose arms he resrored her. 

While, Rica hurrledlv i)oured forth this explan- 
ation, old Corrigai stood tremulous « ith agita- 
tion, and at last, ;id\'ancing towards him, said, 
"Leices'er, I am no longer afr;;id to meet }Ou. 
Fortune has, at last, favored me. 1 am rich now, 
and can m;ike you rich also." 

Rica started back: a siufden sickness came 
over him, and he fell powerless at the old man's 
feet. 

What a scene of heartfelt emotion followed, as 
Mary recognized lier long-lost father; and the 
careworn, sorrow-struck man saw the w.nrm af- 
fections ot those whom, in a lifelong, he had in- 
jured. 

"Theendofall thiswill lie," said Lady Kilgoff, 
laughing through tears, " that l shall havetopio- 
ceed on my journey alone. I foresee thnt we shall 
not share in all the general joy at these dis- 
coveries." 

"I have a sister, too," exclaimed Mary, with 
enthusiasm, " whom I am burning with impa- 
tience to see. Where is she? when are we to 
meet?" 



"She is below — she is in ray cifriage at the 
door," said Rica. 

The ambassador heard the words and left the 
room, returning in a moment with Maritana on 
his arm. Wearied and exhausted as she was, 
there was that in her native grace and beauty 
that caused a thrill of admiration as she entered. 

" Here is your sister, Marilann," said Rica, 
leading her to where Mary stood, gazing with 
wisttui eyes at the Spanish beauty. Maritana 
looked steadily at the fair loveliness befoie her, 
where timidity and gentleness seemed impressed, 
and then, as if yielding to some sudden impulse, 
she sprang forward, and, clasping her hand, cov- 
ered it with kisses, exclaiming with raptute- — 

" Non! non la sua hermana, ma la sua esclava! 
— Not her sister, but her slave." 

Among the group who with admiring eyes 
gazed u|3on this little scene, theie stood a dark, 
sombre-looking man, whose mean attire and 
travel-worn look could not conceal a certain dig- 
nity of air and manner. Cashel's quick glance 
soon discovered him, and in a moment they were 
locked in a fast embrace. "My old, true-hearted 
comrade!" cried Roland. 

"Yes, seiiora!" said Maritana, as if answering 
the look of astonishment of Mary; "and for all 
that he seems now. he is a well-born caballero, 
and noble to boot." 

" Everything looks worse and worse for my 
prospects of companionship," said Lady Kilgoff, 
poutingly. " Mr. Corrigan — Mary — are you both 
bent on desertion?" 

" We are bound for Ireland, fair lady; the 
little remnant of my life is a debt I owe my 
countrv." 

" Sei~ior Rica, and youi'Iovely daughter, will you 
be our companions?'' 

"Our road lies westward, lady. The New 
World must teach us to forget the old one." 

" Mr. Cashel, am I to guess whither your steps 
will lead you?" 

" It would save me the pain of deciding if you 
did," said Roland, sadly. 

"You come with us, Roland," said Mr. Cor-^ 
rigan; " you once told me that you felt Tubber- 
beg a home. Let us see if time has not erased 
tl e impression." 

" And Maritaiia, too!" cried Mary. 

".-^nd Enrique!" said Maritaiia. 

"Then I must be of the party," said Dr. 
Tiernay. "1 was never intended by nature for 
an embassy physician, but as a village doctor I 
still feel that 1 shall hold up my head with 
dignity." 

Rica, who meanwhile was in earnest conversa- 
tion with Cashel, now advanced into the middle 
of the group, and said — " Mr. Cashel once con- 
tracted a solemn pledge to me, from which I feel 
no inclination to release him. I ask him before 
this assembl^.ge if it be true he promised to i-.iarry 
mv daughter?" 

Roland grew deadly pale, but in a faint voice 
rejilied, " It is true." 

'■Ave vou willing to keep your pledge?" said 
Rica, firmly. 

Cashel made no answer but a slight motion of 
the head. 



ROLAND C A S H E L . 



631 



"Then she is yours," said Rica, jilacing Mary 
Leicester's liand in his. While Maritana, in a 
transport of feeling, fell into her lather's arms, 
and sobbed aloud. 

"Then we are all hound once for Ireland," 
cried Mr. Corrigan; "and I trust never to leave 
it more." 

" I will not promise," said Cashel, as he drew 
Mary closer to him. "The memories I bear of 
the land are not all painless." 

" Rut you have seen nothing of Ireland that 
was IrishI" exclaimed Tiernay, boldly. "You 
saw a mongrel society made up of English adven- 
turers, who, barren of hope at home, came to 
dazzle with their fashionable vices the cordial 
homeliness of our humbler land. You saw the 
poor pageantry of a mock court, and the frivol- 
ous pretension of a tinsel rank. You saw the 
emptiness of pretended statesmanship and the 
assumed superiority of a class whose ignorance 
was only veiled by their insolence. But of 
hearty, generous, hospitable Ireland — of the land 
of warm impulses and kindly affections — you saw 
nothing. That is a country yet to be explored 
by you. nor are its mysteries the less likely to be 
unravelled, that an Irish wife will be your guide 
to them. .\nd now to breakfast, for I famishing." 

Where the characters of a tale bear a share in 
influencing its catastrophe, the reader seems to 
have a prescriptive right to learn something of 
their ultimate destiny, even though tlie parts tiiey 
played were merely subordinate. Many of ours 
here cannot lay claim to such an interest, and 
were seen but like the phantoms which a magic 
lantern throws upon the wall — moving and 
grouping for a moment, and then lost forever. 

It is from no want of respect to our reader, if we 
trace not the current of such lives; it is simply 
fron- the fact, that when they ceased to act, they 
ceased, as it were, to e.xist. Are we not, all of 
us in the world acted upon and influenced by 
events and people — purely passers-by, known to- 
day, seen perhaps for a week, or known for a 
month, and yet never after met with in all life's 
journey? As on a voyage many a casual air of 
wind, many a wayward breeze helps us onward, 
and yet none inquire "whence it cometh or 
whither it goeth," — so is it in the real world; and 



why not in the world of fiction, which ought to 
be its counterjiart? 

Of those in whom our interest centred, the 
reader knows all that we know ourselves. Would 
he, or rather she, care to learn that the elder 
Miss Kennyfeck never married, but became a 
companion to Lady Janet, who, on the death of 
Sir Andrew, caused by his swallowing a liniment, 
and taking into his stomach what was meant for 
his skin, went abroad, and is still a well-known 
character in the watering-places of Germany, 
where she and her friend are the terror of all 
who tremble at evil-speaking and slandering.' 

Olivia married the Reverend Knox Softly, and 
seems as meek as a curate's wife ought to be, 
nor bears a trace of those days when she smiled 
on cornets or mingled sighs witli captains ot 
hussars. If some of our characters have fared 
ill in this adventurous history, others have been 
more fortunate. The dean is made a colonial 
bishop, and the distinguished Mr. Howie's jiic- 
ture occupies a place in the last exhibition! 

Meek is still a placeman: bland, gentle, and 
conciliating as ever, he made at the close of the 
session a most affecting speech upon the sorrows 
of Ireland, and drew tears from the ventilator 
at his picture of her destitution! 

Mrs. Kennyfeck and "Aunt Fanny" keep 
house together in the ancient city of Oalwa>. 
Attracted to each other by a thousand an- 
tipathies, more cohesive than any friendship, 
they fight and quarrel unceasingly, and are never 
known to agree, save when the enthusiasm of 
their malevolence has discovered a common vic- 
tim in the circle of their "friends." 

Here ends our history; nor need we linger 
longer with those whose happiness, so far as 
worli ly prosperity can make it, is at last secured. 

There is but one destiny of which we have to 
speak. Linton was never brought to trial; the 
day after his landing in England he was found 
dead in the cell of his prison — no trace of vio- 
lence, nor any evidence of poison to account for 
the circumstance; and whether through some 
agency of his own, or by the workings of a 
broken heart, the fact remains a mystery. 

THE END. 



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